Page 150 of Ethan

Hank swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

Ethan reached over and tangled their hands together, ignoring the smear of mustard on his thumb. “You’re so good, and I wanteveryone to see that—though I think they already kinda do—but even more than that, I wantyouto see it again.”

“Kind of like how I want you to see how great you fit in with Max and Gabby?” Hank asked archly. But he was smiling. Feeling lighter inside than he’d been in ages. Funny that the confidence wasn’t reallygone, just currently a bit misplaced.

Ethan barked out a laugh. “Is that how it’s gonna be?”

Hank squeezed his hand. “It’s how it’s been so far.”

It was a lot later that night, when they were having dinner at Max’s place—allof them, all three Barneses and Max and Hank—when Avery approached him again.

Hank was bringing dishes into the kitchen, and to his surprise, Avery had already parked himself at the sink.

“I told Charlie not to bother, for once,” Avery said, glancing over at him. “You can bring those over here.”

“Yeah?”

Avery rolled his eyes. “If Charlie had his way, he’d clean every inch of not only his apartment, but Max’s, and he’s making me a little nuts, right now. Maybe Max can sit on him or something.”

“His own personal weighted blanket,” Hank observed, and Avery barked out a laugh as he flicked the water on.

“He could use that,” Avery agreed. Gave him a look. “You’re funny. Not that I believed Eth would go for a guy without a sense of humor, but you’re quiet about it.”

Hank knew. “Like you said at practice; we’re gonna be the quietest d-pair in the east. Maybe in the whole NHL.”

Avery laughed again but the look he gave him before his attention returned to the dirty dishes in the sink was contemplative. “You’ve been thinking about it, huh?”

“Well, yeah,” Hank said. “How could I not? Coaches seem to want it.Yousaid you want it.”

“What about what you want?”

Hank leaned against the kitchen counter. “For awhile, I wasn’t really thinking beyond how much I wanted to make the roster and finally stay there.”

“For better or for worse, I never had that struggle,” Avery said matter-of-factly. And of course he hadn’t. He was a generational talent.

“No,” Hank said dryly.

“I said for better or forworsefor a reason,” Avery said. “I was overwhelmed, at first, when I got to the NHL. Got dumped into the deep end, immediately, because everyone just assumed I could do it. You had more time to get used to the speed and the strength and the schedule. More developmental time. Less pressure.”

Hank hadn’t ever thought of it that way; had only thought, like when he’d been a kid in midgets and every time he’d let in a goal he’d sat on the bench after and cried, that he might end up being a failure. That in the end, the only person who might believe in him might behim.

All potential. No follow-through.

But that hadn’t happened. He’d worked hard. He’d made the most of his opportunities.

He hadn’t failed. Instead, he’d fuckingsucceeded.

“I can see that,” Hank said slowly.

“But here’s the other thing,” Avery said, shooting him a look, and Hank didn’t need more than that to pick up a towel and begin to take the dishes that Avery handed him, drying each one after he washed it. “You spent a lot of time in the AHL. Maybe more than you should’ve. Those guys are there for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed. Hated to say it, because he’d been one of them, but there was a reason they hadn’t made it to the NHL yet.

“They’re a hair slower and slightly less skilled. Which isn’t to say they can’t get better. But you play down to what you’rearound all the time. You become a reflection of what you see, constantly.”

Hank had a feeling he understood what Avery was trying to say. He didn’t need to be so careful about it; Hank could take the criticism. Needed the honesty, especially if they were going to end up paired together.

But he shouldn’t have worried. Avery looked over at him and continued. “You’ve got the talent and the skill and the capability. But you’ve gotten a little lazy.”