Page 53 of Ethan

“I don’t know,” Ethan grumbled.

Hank braced his hip against the open door. “Bo’s in here, meditating, or whatever passes for that these days.”

Ethan laughed, but it sounded forced and Hank continued, “But I’m sure we could find somewhere to talk. If you wanted.”

“Our room’s actually empty. Three guesses where Charlie went off to and the first two don’t count.”

Hank was actually really surprised by that. Charlie was conscientious to a fault—really, with all the guys, but more than everyone combined with Ethan. Sure, he was painfully weird and close to Max, but Hank hadn’t thought he’d abandon Ethan now, just to hang out with Max. Not the night before Ethan’s first NHL game, even if itwasa preseason game.

“Really?” Some of Hank’s surprise must have escaped because Ethan gave another one of those sharp barks of unamused laughter.

“Oh, he definitely talked my ear off, first,” Ethan said.

And Hank realized, then, the fact hitting him right in the chest, deep and resonant, that Charlie’s reassurances hadn’t actually reassured, but Ethan had come to Hank after, because he thought Hank’swould.

“Oh,” Hank said.

“And I figured that your room would be noisy”—Ethan leaned closer, his curls nearly brushing Hank’s chin, and his heart stuttered about it—“and yeah, seems to be. Is that shit still working for him?”

“You know it is. Well, when he needs it to,” Hank amended. “I told you he apparently spent the whole offseason making up fornot.”

He wasn’t going to say the wordsexor, and definitely not the wordfucking. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to get either of them out without his voice going all wonky and weird about it.

He’d gotten past the point of denying, even to himself, that the shape of these wants in Hank’s middle—elbowing out all the space he needed for his vital organs—was sexual desire. He was way less sure about what he should do about it, and not necessarily because he thought Ethan would push him away.

“Right,” Ethan said, pulling back. Hank swore the brief look Ethan shot him was full of heat.

Yeah, themutualpart of this was not the issue.

It was the timing and the situation and how this was supposed to be the culmination of all of Hank’s plans and efforts. Inhockey. Not whatever this thing was becoming with Ethan.

“Anyway, you should come to my room,” Ethan continued.

“What if Charlie comes back?”

Ethan elbowed him in the side. “Don’t be stupid. Charlie likes you.”

Charlie liked him, possibly, on his hockey team. Charlie would probably not like him sniffing around his youngest brother, especially not right now.

He’d tell them both to focus.

And goddamn it, Hank wastrying.

“I just . . .” Ethan sighed. “I’m kinda freaking out, and I feel like what Charlie said is freaking me out more.”

What else was he supposed to do when Ethan shot those big sad blue eyes in his direction? When Ethan wanted—when heneeded—Hank? So many people had told him through the years that he was one of the toughest, most disciplined players they’d ever met, but in the face of all that? Well, Hank was only human.

“I got you,” Hank promised. “Give me a second.”

He ducked back into the room. Bo was waist-deep in a guided meditation, following the soothing voice of the woman telling him to dip the tips of his fingers into the pond, so Hank didn’t bother him. Instead he grabbed his phone and his keycard, yanked on a sweatshirt and slid his feet into a pair of slides and headed back out.

Ethan lifted his head as Hank closed the door behind him.

“You put a sweatshirt on,” Ethan observed, mouth quirking into a pout.

Never mind how hard it was to continue to donothingabout the heat that kept blooming between them when Ethan said shit like that.

“It’s . . . um . . . cold in here.” Hank stumbled over the excuse.