Page 13 of Ethan

“Yes, you do,” Ethan retorted.

Charlie’s face got worse, and Ethan had to remind himself of what Avery had said—something he’d already known.

When he’d been a kid, he hadn’t even understood why all these guys hung around Charlie’s games, always wanting to talk to him and their parents after. But as he’d grown up, he’d realized they were all there to scout Charlie.

There’d been an unbelievable pressure on Charlie to be good—to begreat—since he was single digits. And then he’d been drafted first overall by the Bandits, and that pressure had only grown and grown andgrown.

“I’m sorry.” Charlie looked contrite and like he wished he could do more than just apologize. Guilt swamped Ethan.

“Shit, no. It’s okay. You’re just trying to help me. Get me going on the right path,” Ethan pointed out, and Charlie’s face finally relaxed a fraction.

“Exactly,” Charlie said knowingly, and Ethan ignored the part of him that wanted to tell him it was pointless to apologize if he was still going to be a patronizing dick.

Maybe he wasn’t so annoyed after all that he’d be going back to the West Coast, back to school. Maybe the year apart would help Charlie adjust to this new situation, and when he showed up next year, he’d be normal about everything.

Of course, that was a pipe dream because this was Charlie and the list of things he wasnotnormal about was getting longer by the minute, but Ethan could still hope.

But as frustrating as Charlie was, it was still incredible to watch him once they made it to the ice.

As good as he’d been at such a young age, he’d gotten even better during his last two years in the NHL. Ethan had seen it because he’d watched it on TV when Charlie was in the US development program and then the NHL and even in a handful of games in person, but it was entirely different to be together on the ice with him.

Ethan had always felt good, confident even, about his own skills. But as they took the different drills, it was hard not to compare himself and the effort he was putting in to the nearly effortless way Charlie skated through everything, like he’d been born with skates on his feet and a stick in his hand.

Halfway through, they took a break, Ethan skating over to the boards to grab his water bottle. He felt Charlie’s eyes on him, but to his relief, Charlie didn’t come over.

He didn’t see Charlie say anything to Max either, so he was fairly confident Charlie hadn’tsentMax, either, but Max did eventually make his way over to where Ethan was leaning against the boards.

Or maybe the two of them had learned to communicate without even speaking. That wouldn’t surprise Ethan at all.

“Hey,” Max said in that quiet, kind way of his. He pulled his helmet off and pushed his dark hair back from his face, sweaty and even darker around the temples.

Ethan didn’t usually think guys were hot—apparently Hank was the exception to this—but he supposed his brother could’ve picked worse.

“Hey,” Ethan said. “Before you even ask, I’m fine. I’m good.”

Max had the nerve to actually look a little wounded by this, his honey-brown eyes softening even further. “I wasn’t going to ask.”

It only took one semi-hard glance to get Max to cave. He was an only child—a fact that Ethan only knew under duress, because Charlie was incapable of shutting up about him—and clearly he hadn’t been forged in the fires of a four-child household.

“Okay, I was going to ask, but only because I give a shit,” Max said. “Not because of Barney.”

“Right,” Ethan said, squirting more water into his mouth. He still wasn’t used to everyone calling CharlieBarney.

Not that Max said it like everyone else. The way he said it, in his accented English, was so much softer and sweeter, like he could barely stand to let it out of his mouth.

Disgusting, really.

“NHL pace is faster. Tougher.” Max shrugged. “You’re gonna need time to adjust. I just don’t want you to think you can’t, because you clearly can. It’s just different.”

“I know I can,” Ethan said. He’d been training during the summers—on the ice and off it, too—with Charlie and Avery and they’d been in the NHL for two and four years, respectively. He knew what it took. Maybe he was just a little tight. Nervous, even though he’d tried so hard not to be.

“’Course you can.” Max patted him on the shoulder and skated off. Right over to Charlie. Naturally.

Maybe hewasnervous. He’d shake it off, though. He’d always shaken it off. Not worn the pressure like a mantle, like Charlie. Clinging to it, even, like he actuallylikedit. Nope, Ethan was different. More laid-back about it, more relaxed.

He needed to remember that. They were different players.

He didn’t need to beCharlie. He needed to be Ethan.