Page 168 of Hockey Bois
He tried rearranging the items on his cluttered mantle, realized it was dusty, and decided now was as good a time as any to clean them off.
6:42 p.m.
He went upstairs and looked through his closet. What was the appropriate outfit for a not-date with his not-boyfriend he hadn’t seen in a few weeks because his not-boyfriend had freaked the fuck out and ditched town? He settled on the same faded shorts he’d been wearing all day. He changed his shirt, though, since he’d sweated through it. Caps shirt, superhero shirt, or something plain? Something plain. Brady’d said he looked good in navy blue once, so he went with that.
6:54 p.m.
He held the phone in his hand until the alarm went off at 6:55 p.m. Butterflies in his stomach, hedreadedthis meeting. Maybe despite Lucy’s encouragement, despite how well they clicked, Brady wasn’t ready for them to ever be more than they’d been.
If they were done, if Brady was done with him, it’d crush him, but Nick would let it happen.
Ugh, he was such a melodramatic sap.
He hit every red light on the five-mile drive to the bar. He hadn’t even known it was possible to take so long getting there, but he didn’t roll into the parking lot until the first intermission. The game was on a TV by the bar, only one person paying it any mind.
There he was, old-school Pens jersey with JAGR printed on the back. Backward 68 cap, slightly too-short shorts, fucking sandals and socks. Brady sitting there was somehow timeless, like he could’ve been plucked out of any moment from the past year and put here and Nick would never know any different.
Fuck was he gone on this guy.
He shook his head to snap out of it. He wasn’t there to spend the evening staring at Brady from the doorway. They had to talk, and hopefully between the two of them, there was enough functioning adulthood to get through it.
The best way to Brady’s heart was always through hockey, so Nick checked the score as he walked over. “You hate to see it,” Nick said over the general noise of the bar. Brady swung his bar stool around to face Nick, licking his lips and very obviously giving him a once over. “Respectable team like Pittsburgh getting beaten by upstarts like the Senators.” He tsked loudly as he took the open seat next to Brady.
“They could still come back,” Brady said defensively, a scowl and grin warring for dominance on his face.
“It’s seven to two. In thefirst period.”
“It’s preseason,” he said. “Crosby and Malkin aren’t even playing.”
“So they’re not coming back?” Nick teased. He sobered and whispered, “It’s good to see you.” That was normally where he’d end things, but he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I missed you.”
Brady was suddenly engrossed with his beer. His thumbs traced through the condensation on the glass, and he turned it slowly between his hands. “I missed you, too.”
Nick took a deep breath like he was about to dive underwater, then started. “Then where have you been?” he asked. “What’s going on? You disappear, and now we’re at the same crappy bar we’re always at, watching hockey like nothing happened.”
He’d said it as gently as he could, no yelling or harshness to his voice; still, Brady winced. “I know… I know I shouldn’t have… left. Or should have told you…”
“True,” Nick scolded him with a soft smile, hoping it would take away some of the sting. Yes, he was hurt, but he didn’t want to hurt Brady to make up for it. “If there’s something wrong, I wish you’d talk to me about it.”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Brady said with a sigh.
“People don’t run to Pittsburgh and crash on their sister’s couch if everything’s fine.”
“How’d you know I was in Pittsburgh?” Brady narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “How’d you know I was at Lucy’s place?”
“Your sister posted on Facebook that you were there. She took a picture and tagged you and everything.” It wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t the full truth. He didn’t think it was a good time to drop the bombshell that he and Lucy had conspired against him. Well, more like conspiredforhim.
“You checking Facebook to find me?” Brady asked with possibly the worst poker face Nick had ever seen.
“You didn’t give me many options.”
The bartender dropped off a Natty Boh for Nick and then walked away. He took a long gulp, some liquid courage; he’d probably need to chug the whole thing to really feel it, though. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he turned toward Brady so he could see him head-on; he was tired of stealing glances out of the corner of his eye.
“Why’d you leave?” Nick asked. He tried to keep the accusation from his voice, tried to make his face open with curiosity and not anger. Hewasn’tangry, hadn’t even really been angry back in January if he was being honest with himself. He wasconcerned, and he thought he’d earned that much.
Brady groaned, head thrown back to stare at the mismatched ceiling tiles. “This is going to sound stupid,” he said slowly, measuring out each word, “but I’m not really into guys?”
Nick raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, you’ve beeninat least one guy.”
