Page 127 of Hockey Bois
Nick winced, painfully aware that wasn’t an option for him. “I got work shit to deal with. If I were back home, I’d probably be at work today.”
“It’s Sunday, dude.”
“I’m aware. I had to get super-special permission to take tomorrow off, and if I’m feeling it, I might head into the office in the evening.”
“…that’s fucking insane.”
“Mid-year closing,” Nick grumbled. “I have to analyze the accounts I’ve handled this year, report on all of them, finalize—” He realized his job, while moderately interesting to another accountant, was probably boring as shit to Brady. “It’s a lot of work,” he said instead.
“Sounds like it. You get overtime?”
“That is the one perk because yes, yes I do.”
“Sweet. Hey, isn’t that Benns’s kid?”
“I think so.”
Once again, Nick was torn between disappointment at the loss of their private time and relief that they had chaperones. It didn’t help that Brady was adorable as he raced with Benns’s daughters to the game section of the museum and proceeded to be their personal cheerleader/coach as they did the goalie simulator. Nick was grateful that Benns’s amusement was there to counterbalance his heart swelling in his chest, the only tether to keep him grounded.
If Benns hadn’t been there? Nick would have been completely screwed. As it was, he was only about 85% screwed. That was a reasonable amount that he could navigate up through the end of the night.
*
“Fuck,” Nick groaned as he missed his check and went into the boards. His shoulder throbbed, and worse, the guy had gotten out of the zone uncontested because Nick’d made a stupid play. He made a half-hearted attempt to get back into the action, but the goal horn sounded before he could do anything.
He hadn’t given up the game-winning goal—the other team was already two goals up on them—but his cheeks burned in shame as he skated to the bench.
“Ain’t even a checking league, bro,” Donno said, half scolding, half confused.
“I’m aware,” Nick grunted. He was going to have a bruise for sure. What the fuck was the point of having shoulder pads?
“Okay so, like, don’t?”
“Yeah, thanks. Message received.”
Donno nodded, his job done and his two cents shared, and went back to watching the game.
They didn’t win, as predicted. They’d limped their way to the semi-finals and lost steam early in the first. It was annoying, even if it was expected, that they’d ended the tournament before dinner.
“Should we head into the city?” Benns asked as a group of them left the rink. He sounded like he was trying to be cheerful, though none of them were particularly happy with their performance. They’d gone from champions to out-classed losers so quick that Nick felt like they were imposters who’d somehow conned their way into their Wheaton Cup win.
As Brady had tried to point out in the locker room, the experience was important whether they’d left with the W or not, and maybe next week that’d feel true. Right now, it just stunk.
“City could be fun,” Gail said. “Might as well end the night with somethi—”
The automatic doors whirred open to reveal a tsunami in the parking lot. The gray clouds that had threatened rain all weekend were pouring over their attempts to salvage the evening. Thunder cracked, and a few of them jumped.
“Fuck me,” Gail said. She practically had to yell to be heard over the roar. “Thought this place was 24/7 snow, not rain.”
Guy cursed in French under his breath, straightened up with an air of pride, and marched toward his car.
He was drenched within the first few feet.
“This rink doesn’t have a bar, does it?” Mags asked hopefully.
“There’s a shop that has soggy pretzels and questionable poutine,” GG said.
They all grimaced.
