Page 69 of Hockey Bois
“Nervous? Who’s nervous?” Nick mumbled to himself as he arranged and rearranged the toiletries in the bathroom.
As planned, he’d arrived in Middle-of-Nowhere, PA (dubbed not-so-fondly by Brady) super late on Friday and checked into the hotel on Brady’s behalf. The room had two double beds, which only disappointed Nick for a second. It was reasonable, not presumptuous, and didn’t put Nick in an awkward position if Brady wasnothinting at a hookup.
He’d taken the bed by the door, just because, and then proceeded to not sleep more than a few hours. A lot of the night was spent watching crappy movies and texting his cousins for emotional support.
Their “support” consisted primarily of warnings to have condoms handy and to not get too sweaty during the tournament because “no one likes making out with hockey-gear smell permeating the air.”
Basically useless.
By the time 7:00 a.m. rolled around—an hour before check-in at the rink and more than that before the first game—he was puttering around the room, stalling.
Was Brady going to stop by here first? Would he show up at the rink? Who else was already in town?
“Fuck,” he sighed. “I need coffee.”
The quest for caffeine distracted him. He took in every sight and smell in the podunk town, hoping to tease Brady about it later. Aaand then he was thinking about Brady again, which only brought back his nervous jitters.
There were a bunch of people crowded in the back lot of the rink. Nick only recognized Benns’s and GG’s cars, and he soon saw them milling about with the other people who were dicking around with balls and pucks while they waited for the rink to open.
“You bring enough for the whole team?” GG nodded toward the coffee when he saw Nick approach.
“All three of us? Sadly, no.”
“It’s still early,” Benns said. “They haven’t even let us officially sign in yet. Wouldn’t hurt to warm up out here with the other teams, get a sneak peek at the competition.”
“It’s cold as balls,” GG muttered under his breath. “I’d rather stay in my car with the heat blasting.”
Nick didn’t disagree about the cold. It wasn’t snowing, which he supposed was a blessing, but it was probably warmer on the actual ice rink than it was out here. He was tempted to follow GG’s lead, but the real issue was that sitting in his car meant thinking. Thinking meant stressing out. Stressing out meant he’d play poorly and make a fool of himself (both on and off the ice).
Guess I’m playing around and scouting out the competition…
Nick was midway through a shootout practice with a ten-year-old and a seven-year-old who were there with their dad when a black Jeep pulled into the lot. Nick was purposefully helping the seven-year-old beat her older brother, not even trying to stop her shots but coming out and poke-checking the older kid each time (with mixed results… he really needed to be more appreciative of the work Guy did in net) when Brady walked up.
Gear bag slung over one shoulder, customary joggers and hoodie on (no hat, though, hmm), Brady pulled out a stick.
“You know we’re here for an ice-hockey tournament, right?” Brady motioned for the kid to pass him a ball. “Shouldn’t you be using a puck?”
“Pucks don’t move right on the ground,” the ten-year-old said sagely.
“You are absolutely right,” Brady agreed and started to stick handle. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re taking over for Guy. Traffic wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Every goalie’s gotta start somewhere,” Nick said as he got into position. “Don’t aim for the face, yeah?”
Nick squared up “in goal.” It was really just his hockey bag and a trash can, more like a football goal post than an actual net, but it did the job. He also didn’t have anything but his regular gear, making any attempt at a real save difficult if not dangerous.
Not that he had faced a real shot yet; despite how good the ten-year-old was, it was nothing compared to what he usually saw in games.
Brady bounced the ball on the blade of his stick like it was the easiest thing in the world. Half the reason Nick had agreed to play goalie was he couldn’t get the ball to cooperate the way he could with a puck, and here was Brady, acting like there was no noticeable difference and he was an expert at both sports.
Show off.
“No promises,” Brady said, and then proceeded to whack it out of midair toward Nick.
Nick hit it away with his glove, a failed attempt at actually catching it. Still a save, though.
“Whoo!” cheered the little girl.
“How’d you hit that?!” the little boy demanded of Brady.
