Page 50 of Ethan

“No, you hate that I see through your stupid bullshit. Especially when you lecture me aboutmystupid bullshit,” Ethan said.

“So you agree,” Charlie said, popping the trunk so they could grab their equipment bags. “Youaremostly excited to see Tuck.”

“I mean, sure I am. He’s . . . well, he’s pretty much my best friend,” Ethan said. They hadn’tsaidthat, but he’d never been closer to anyone, just his brothers. And they were hisbrothers.

“That’s what Max and I are, and we’re good at keeping things focused on hockey,” Charlie said, so smug and patronizing that Ethan imagined Avery also sendinghimthe look.

“You don’t even know that we won’t, you’re just being paranoid,” Ethan said, grabbing his bag from Charlie’s trunk. “The season hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already freaking out.”

Charlie huffed out a breath as Ethan turned to head into the building.

“Wait,” Charlie said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. Stopping him in his tracks. Ethan might’ve shrugged him off, but this was still Charlie. Still one of the people Ethan loved more than anyone else. “It’s just . . .” Charlie hesitated. “Last year sucked so much. You don’t even know what it’s like to be the savior of the franchise and then not be able to fuckingsaveit. To fail year after year, to not even make the playoffs last year. And every year before that, to make it but not make it far enough. The Bandits drafted me to bring a Cup to New York, and I’mfailing.”

Ethan wanted to tell Charlie that he wasn’t failing. Not even fucking close. That he’d been drafted when he was eighteen. That he’d taken his first puck drop at nineteen, and that he’d only been doing this for three full seasons, and nobody expected him to work miracles. To drag the entire team to the Stanley Cup finals and then over the finish line.

But then Charlie knew that, even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“I know, Barney,” Ethan said softly and reached out, squeezing his arm back. “I know. I’m gonna take it seriously, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

Charlie huffed again. Looking away as he grabbed his own bag. “I know. I know you wouldn’t.”

It was probably a really good thing that Charlie couldn’t hear his heartbeat, though, as they approached the double doors that led into the practice facility. Couldn’t hear it double and then triple as Charlie pulled the doors open and led them deeper inside.

Any moment, they’d walk around a corner, and Hank would be right there.Inperson. Again. Finally.

But they got all the way to the locker room, and Ethan didn’t see him. He and Charlie passed their bags off to Karl, the equipment manager, and Ethan resisted the urge to pull his phone out of his pocket to recheck Hank’s last text from last night.see you tomorrow,he’d said, just ten hours ago.

Where the hell was he?

Max was there. Danny. Brock Jones. Both the goalies. More than half the room was full of guys, all shouting greetings at each other after a summer apart. Making fun of each other for the weight they had—or hadn’t—put on. Charlie was even smiling, but that was probably because he and Max had their heads tucked together.

Ethan changed and resistedanotherurge. This one to text Hank and ask where the hell he was.

He finished getting ready to warm up, going slow as hell, thinking that maybe the longer he delayed, the more chances he’d have for Hank to just walk in.

First day of camp, and Ethan knew how desperate Hank was to make the roster, once and for all,officially. Because of that, he’d have thought Hank would be here early. But he and Charlie had gotten here pretty dang early, because Charlie was Charlie and for once he hadn’t had to twist Ethan’s arm about it, because he’d been eager, too.

But there was nothing to be done about it. Hank wasn’t here.

Finally, Ethan nudged Charlie and mumbled something about warming up in the gym, and Charlie nodded absently.

At least Ethan had been right about that, which was how the second year in, Charlie was more relaxed about them playing together. Wasn’t acting like Ethan needed to follow him around like a lost duckling.

Ethan pushed open the gym doors and was half a step inside when he froze.

Hank washere, pedaling on one of the stationary bikes, backwards hat on, biceps bunching under his T-shirt as he leaned over the handlebars.

God, he looked good. Big and strong and hot.

And then there was the way he looked when he saw Ethan approach.

A smile, wide and genuine, stretching across his face. “Eth!” he called out, and Ethan didn’t need any further encouragement.

His fingers itched as he walked closer to the bikes. He’d spent most of last night tossing and turning in between dreams where he got to reach out and touch. Where none of their touches were like last time, casual and easy. Instead, where every one dripped with purpose and meaning. When they touched, the earth quaked.

But Hank was on the bike and Ethan didn’t want to force him to get off, just so they could embrace.

Ethan came to a stop in front of Hank’s bike, leaning onto the handlebars a bit. “Hey,” he said.