Page 23 of Hockey Bois
“No thanks. I’m happy where I am.”
Brady moved to shoulder past them, probably hoping they’d give him enough room to do so, but the taller one stepped in front of him.
“C’mon, BJ.”
The effect was instantaneous. Brady went from annoyed-but-calm to ramrod straight, tense like a whip about to crack.
“Don’t call me that,” Brady growled.
“It’s all good, BJ. I get it. You wanna pad your stats. My brother here”—he jerked his thumb at the other guy, who nodded—“he plays D4 for the same reason, but at the end of the day—”
Brady moved right into the other guy’s face. Despite his bravado up to that point, the man’s eyes went wide and he tried to back away, but there was nowhere to go except into the wall or his brother.
“Do not fucking call me that. I’m not your bro. I’m not your bud. I’m not your friend. I’m not fucking interested, so piss off and hope I don’t wreck your brother too bad when I play him half an hour from now. You hear me?”
The guy gulped. “Yeah, fine. I hear you, bro—uh, Jens.”
Brady gave him some space. “Good,” he said, then walked down the now-clear path to the locker rooms.
Nick tried not to make eye contact with either of them as he followed.
“You know,” the guy called after them, slightly braver now that Brady was walking away, “I know a guy who played with you in high school.”
Brady turned around but didn’t stop. “It is very important to your health that you don’t finish that thought,” he called while walking backward.
The guy opened his mouth one last time and only stopped when his brother grabbed his shoulder and shook his head.
“Atta boy,” Brady said, finally turning away with a mock salute. “Not as dumb as you look.”
*
“You want to talk about it?” Nick offered once everyone else had cleared out of the locker room.
“Hell no.”
Nick nodded. That was the answer he’d expected. He had to offer, though, just in case talking was what Brady needed.
They finished lacing up. Nick finished first, rushing to catch up and get his warm-up in.
“Hey.”
Nick stopped in his tracks at the sound of Brady’s voice. He seemed hesitant, almost bashful. Vulnerable, even. Maybe he did want to talk after all.
“Yeah?”
“Just, uh… wanted to say thanks. For having my back out there.”
Nick blinked, not sure how to respond. He’d done so little—the bare minimum of what he could have done—and yet here was Brady, thanking him like he’d been the one to chase off those two assholes.
“Of course, man. Anytime.”
They were playing the Mother Puckers, a team that featured the slightly smaller, thinner jock from the front lobby. Nick kept looking at Brady down the bench, Gail talking his ear off in urgent tones while Brady stared a hole through the guy’s forehead.
Uh oh.
“Jensie okay?” Benns asked. “He seems…”
“Pissed?” GG said.
