Page 62 of Ethan

Not even bothering to correct him.

Ethan sighed and got up after him, heading into his own bedroom. Shucking his sweatpants and sweatshirt, he settled into bed too, checking his phone before he put it on the charger.

Hank hadn’t texted.

Well, that was okay. They didn’t get lunch together every time. They didn’t text before their nap every game, either. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Nothing was screwed up because Ethan had suggested the bet.

The Bandits were up three to zero going into the third period.

Ethan was still on the fourth line, playing less minutes, but at least for this game, Coach had switched some of the more offensively minded guys to his line. Sasha had scored again, and Ethan had felt like his assist had actually been something to be proud of.

But even more than that, Hank was playing better. Looser. More confidently.

Coach had paired him with Keegan Bennett today—Benny, the team liked to call him—and not having to be on the ice with Nikoseemed to be helping Hank get his skates under him better. Get his mind clearer.

There were a lot of things to be happy about, going into the third period, and not just the score.

Ethan took his spot on the bench, between Sasha and Jonas, the wingers he was centering today, and watched as Charlie skated around the middle of the ice, getting ready to take the opening faceoff.

He expected to glance down the bench to see Hank there. Meet his eyes, at least.

They’d greeted each other and played sewer ball with the rest of the guys like they usually did. Like Ethan hadn’t suggested anything at all last night. But he was thinking about it. He wasstillthinking about it. And he hoped Hank was thinking about it, too.

They didn’t even have to call it a date, even though in Ethan’s head, it was going to be a date.

But Hank wasn’t on the bench. Niko and Brock were, though.

Ethan looked out, and sure enough, there was Hank on the ice, with Benny. A good sign, Ethan decided, something inside him lightening. Coach was giving Hank more opportunities. More chances. Maybe there was a window where he could still change his fate.

And in the same breath, change Ethan’s, too. He already knew it wouldn’t be the same if Hank got sent back down again and Ethan stayed on the roster.

Hank locked in tight when he was on the ice, so Ethan wasn’t expecting any acknowledgment, but to his surprise, Hank looked over at him and tilted his head slightly. Enough, Ethan thought, maybe a little delusionally, that Hank might have done it for him.Justfor him.

Laughter bubbled out of him. Hank wassucha dick sometimes. Leaving Ethan hanging like that and not even saying it. Not even saying itnow, really.

The ref dropped the puck, and Charlie won the faceoff, flicking the puck behind him in an easy, practiced motion. Right back to Hank.

Normally, Ethan wouldn’t be entirely sure if Hank would keep it or not—he changed it up, depending on the play, on the opponents’ forward line and the d-pair, though in the last few games, Hank had barely even hesitated before flicking it to one of the wingers or back to the center.

But not today.

Today, he kept it, sliding into the offensive zone, taking it himself.

When Ethan had first watched footage of Hank playing, he’d been struck by Hank’s deft offensive touch—hardly normal in a d-man. But he’d been focusing more the last few games on his defense. Or maybe letting Niko get into his head, make him think that the best offensive defenseman out there was from Finland, not from Canada.

But Hank deked one guy and then the other, his long legs moving with confidence and speed.

He passed the puck over to Charlie, pulling the focus of the opponents’ d-pair, but then Charlie passed it back, a quick flick of his wrist.

Hank barely got the puck back on the blade of his stick before he shot it, far enough out that nobody had managed to get in his shooting lane yet, and before the goalie was expecting the shot.

It sailed right over the goalie’s left shoulder and hit the net.

The Bandits’ goal light flashed and Ethan might’ve been embarrassed at the yell he made when the puck went in, but it was hard to be embarrassed when Hank was beaming too, and even harder to be embarrassed when right after the celly, Hankturned towards the bench, right before he skated towards it for the traditional line of fist bumps after a goal, and he didn’t just meet Ethan’s eyes,

He lifted his stick, pointing it right at him.