Page 141 of Ethan

That Ethan Barnes was not just a rookie you could fuck up because you felt like it, and if you did, there’d be consequences.

Hank wasn’t sure if he pushed his own gloves off or they just came off, but he was grappling on the guy’s jersey, pushing him around and then, using all his bulk, took him down to the ice.

The guy was getting a few swings in, here or there, but Hank was in control.

Well.

Not in control. Not really. He was really fucking out of control, to be honest, but at this moment, he didn’t give a crap.

What hewasin control of was pummeling this guy into the fuckingground.

He just wanted to make sure that next time someone considered giving Ethan a bruise thatHankwould be making sure he iced later, that they thought twice about it.

Someone pulled him off, but not before he’d gotten at least half a dozen good blows in. Some to the chest, a few to the jaw, and even one that Hank thought might actually end up being a black-ish eye later.

He wasn’t sad about that at all.

“What the fuck,” the guy spit up at him, angry still as Hank tried to take one last swing at him, even though the ref was slowly but surely pulling him away.

“Just try that fucking shit again,” Hank threatened in a low, angry voice.

A minute later, the refs had officially broken up the fight, and Hank leaned down to pick up his gloves, his stick, his helmet. Barely registering as the ref announced to the arena his very first five-minute major for fighting.

It was worth it though, when Hank skated over to the box, and he saw Ethan staring at him from the bench, eyes wide and lips parted, like he couldn’t quite believe that had just happened.

Well, heshouldbelieve it. Ethan had been whining for ages about not wanting to be protected, but fuck that noise. Hank was never going to let him go unprotected. Nobody on the team would choose that, honestly, but Hank cared more—and in a different way—than the rest of the guys.

Hanklovedhim.

Sometimes he thought he might not be that great at showing it, but today, he could. Today, he could show Ethan that the next guy who went for him? He’d think twice.

Sitting in the box, though, Hank thought five minutes had never passed so slowly.

He did get a nice, long front-row seat to the slightly jagged pairing that was Avery and Brock, and he kept thinking of who could possibly pair with their new d-man to give him a better shot at both defense and showcasing the offensive skill that Hank had always admired.

He’d never tell Avery, but honestly Hank had modeled some of his game on Avery’s own. His seamless ability to gracefully flip between defending the puck and creating offensive opportunities? The way he relied on his incredible edge work and balance to give him an advantage? Avery was never going to be the biggest d-man out there, or the broadest or the strongest, but somehow he was still the best.

And somehow, also, Avery’s skill made Hank realize just how Jonesy was not playing as well as he had, at one time.

He wasn’tbad, but with Avery out there, it was painfully obvious that Jonesy wasn’t his equal. Not even close.

Hank’s five minutes finally ended, and he hit the ice—Jonesy swapping him out for a shift change, and for thirty seconds, he got to follow Avery into the offensive zone.

It was only thirty seconds. Not even half a shift, but it was enough of a taste, watching Avery take the puck and slide a pass, unbelievable vision honestly, over to Barney, who took it and shot it.

Danny tipped it in, and the Bandits were now up three to two.

When Hank got back to the bench, Max gave him a look, eyebrows rising nearly past the edge of his helmet. “I see you handled that,” he said.

“Yeah,” Hank said. Someone had needed to. Not that Maxwouldn’t. During Charlie’s rookie year, Max had pushed around plenty of guys who’d tried to go for him. Max had done it too, once or twice, this season, when he could, with Ethan. But the lesson hadn’t been sinking in the right way. And now, maybe, it would.

Ethan didn’t say anything until the intermission between the second and third period. Hank was on his way into the locker room, but suddenly Ethan’s hand was there, and he was tugging him sideways, past the entrance and down the hall.

“What?” Hank said.

“Are you good?” Ethan asked, his eyes searching Hank’s face like somehow he had visible bruising already, though he didn’t think there was, because Hank was pretty damn sure that idiot hadn’t managed to land any punches where it counted.

“I’m fine,” Hank said. He reached back and wrapped his fingers around Ethan’s forearm and squeezed gently. “Should be askingyouthat.”