Page 65 of Hockey Bois
Not sure how to navigate a pissed-off Brady, Nicky offered a smile. “Don’t some teams actually drink on the bench?”
“Right!?” Brady pulled his hoodie off with more force than necessary, completely forgetting to remove his hat first; it got stuck inside. Digging it out only seemed to fire him up more.
Nick chuckled but didn’t say anything. He considered things as he changed into his hockey shorts, got his shin guards on, taped them up. When enough time had passed, he asked, “You ever been on a team that drinks on the bench?”
“Hmm?” Brady said. He’d calmed down as he’d fallen into the rhythm of changing. “Oh, uh, yeah back when I was in college. I did once and ended up getting a skate to my face under the visor ’cuz I fell. Probably not related, but it’s not like I’m doing it again to find out.”
“You took a skate blade to the face?” His jaw dropped. “Did it bleed a lot? Oh my God, do you have a hockey scar!?”
“It did bleed a lot. They made me leave the ice to get it cleaned up, and then they wouldn’t let me back on because there was blood all over my jersey. It washed out, though.”
“Are you serious?!” This was the most exciting hockey-related story he’d heard. How had he only stumbled into it by accident? Oh right. Because Brady wasn’t big on sharing. If Nick had a hockey scar, there would literally be no way to shut him up about it.
Brady gave a half shrug and a nonchalant, “Yeah.”
“You didn’t answer me about having a scar…”
“I got one. It’s small. And it’s under my beard, so you can’t see it.”
Nick really,really, wanted to ask if he’d be able tofeelit if he ran his hand through Brady’s beard. Luckily, this conversation hadn’t happened at the bar, or he legit would have.
“Oh,” Nick said instead. “I only have a scar from running into a wall when I was seven.” Yeah, much better than asking to touch his beard.
That startled a laugh out of Brady. “You ran into a wall?”
“I was seven?”
“Not any better, dude. So you decided after being so coordinated that you ran into awall, you’d become a runner?”
“Uhh… I mean… those aren’t related events…”
“Why’d you decide to start doing hockey? You fall flat on your ass during an open skate?” Brady teased. His eyes crinkled at the edges, the only evidence he spoke out of fond amusement instead of maliciousness.
And still Nick felt defensive, like Brady didn’t think he was any good and couldn’t understand why he bothered to put in the effort. “I always wanted to play,” he said. “I love watching, and it didn’t really seem right that I’d never participated. So I worked my butt off to learn, and here I am. And yes, I’ve probably fallen on my ass a hundred times during open skates. Isn’t there something to be said about always getting back up, though?”
Brady gave him a once over, and then a smile. A real one. “Yeah, there sure is,” he said as he stood up. He offered an ungloved hand to Nick. “Now let’s fucking show Mags he needs to shut his damn mouth, giving us shit like he’s any better than we are.”
The tension drained out of Nick. He should’ve known Brady hadn’t meant anything. How was he supposed to know that was a sore spot for Nick?
He accepted Brady’s hand and let him pull him up. “Heisa better skater than me,” Nick pointed out.
“True, but he’s got no hockey sense. He tries to push in when he shouldn’t. He’s got the perfect skill set for a stay-at-home defenseman, but he gets all these ideas that he can be the hero or whatever, so we get burned by a breakaway goal the other way. You’ve got him beat with actual understanding of the game, hands down.”
Nick muttered thanks and got onto the ice to warm up. He was suddenly very determined to make sure Brady’s compliment was proven true.
He did next to nothing in the first period, though as a plus he wasn’t out for the lone goal the other team scored. Hewasout for the opening faceoff for the second, and he heard Mags behind him.
“Drinking before games. Can barely score as it is.”
Oh fuckthat.
Technically, Nick jumped before the puck dropped. It left the ref’s hand, fell where GG’s stick waited, and a few inches above the ice, Nick made a break for it. GG won it clean to Lexi, or so Nick assumed. He didn’t see what happened, but when he turned to check on the play, there was a pass coming his way.
He caught it midstride, entered the zone, stopped hard to avoid the D scrambling to come back, and—
“GOALLLLL!”
The bench went wild, the goalie threw his stick on the ice and screamed at his team, and Young Greg nearly tackled him.
