Page 101 of Hockey Bois
“Physically, on the same plane of existence as the rest of us. Mentally, checked out.”
Brady frowned at Nick, eyes roaming over his body. Nick was wedged into a corner so he wouldn’t fall over, but he preened under the attention and gave an uncoordinated wave.
“He’s a fucking mess, isn’t he?”
“Pretty much,” Gail confirmed.
“Awesome. Text his cousin, would ya? I’ll update him when we’ve seen a doctor.”
“Will do.”
“’m fine!” Nick said a little more emphatically, if not belatedly. His head didn’t even hurt. That was a good sign, right?
Apparently, pain was not the only thing to worry about, because he lost track of time, himself, and the world around him for a bit. The locker room was there until it wasn’t, and then Nick was walking with Brady’s good hand holding him firmly by the back of the neck. He didn’t understand why until Brady nudged him to the right, skillfully keeping Nick from veering toward a set of stairs he hadn’t noticed.
“Oh,” he said a little too loudly in the empty lobby. “Maybe Iama mess.”
“Yeah, you are, but that makes two of us. I swear to fucking God, if I need stitches, I’m gonna be pissed.”
Nick stopped short and ignored Brady pushing him forward. “Why would you need stitches?”
“Because I punched a guy and my knuckles are bleeding all over the place. C’mon, keep moving. We gotta get you in my car.”
“Why did you punch a guy?” Nick’s feet gave in to Brady’s urging, and he kept walking. “I have my own car, I can drive—”
“You have a concussion, dude. You’re not driving anywhere.”
“Oh.” He might have known that. “But why did you punch a guy?”
“Pretty sure I answered that with the concussion thing,” Brady grumbled. “Take a right; I’m by the trees.”
Nick looked around in confusion. “No, you’re not. You’re right here. The trees are all the way over there by your car.” He didn’t understand why Brady sighed in response.
Brady gentlemanly held open the passenger door for Nick, and not-so-gentlemanly forced him into the car when Nick tried to walk the other way. Sitting was nice, and Nick sighed as he relaxed into the seat. Maybe he could take a nap—
“Wake up.”
Nick jerked as a hand cupped his cheek. The hand was gentle, warm, calloused, amazing. He whimpered.
“Open your eyes,” Brady said. “Don’t make me slap you.”
He opened one eye. “You wouldn’t.”
“Stay awake and we won’t have to find out. I gotta get our gear. Where do you keep your phone and wallet?”
“Side pocket. Under the tape.”
“Okay. You got an insurance card in there?”
“Yep.” He enjoyed the pop the “p” made when he said it, so he said it again. “Yep.”
Brady didn’t smile, but there were crinkles around his eyes. “You’re an idiot. Stay the fuck awake. Count how many cars are in the parking lot or how many people you see go in or out of the rink.”
“That’s boring.”
“Don’t give a shit.” Brady closed the door. He pointed a finger in warning and said through the glass, “Stay awake.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s a myth,” Nick grumped, but he did his best. He settled on counting the stars he could see in the sky. There were four or five distinct ones, though by the time Brady got back he’d somehow gotten to fifteen, possibly from counting a plane or the same stars over and over again.
