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“You do,” Henri said, leaving no room for argument. “Why do you care?”

Everett huffed, “Because he’s my friend.”

Completely plausible, except Everett’s reactions tonight didn’t read as friend. So Henri waited patiently, giving Everett the chance to open up more…or continue denying it, if that was more comfortable for him.

Everett flashed a look outside—they were parked down the street from the restaurant, shielded from the busy street by an SUV parked behind them—before leaning closer to Henri.

“He is my friend, and I want him to do well,” Everett started. “But maybe…maybe I’m a little happy it’s not as easy for him as he thought it would be. Like, fuck him for leaving and thinking he can make himself look good and us look bad. We had a good team. I don’t give a shit that we aren’t winning Cups left and right. We have a good team. I will happily retire here even if it means I never step foot in the playoffs again, but he just threw it all away to play with strangers for more money.”

Henri sat there, frozen. He held his breath as he considered what Everett was saying and all the things he wasn’t that lurked beneath. He also searched for a way to change topics and spare them both some awkwardness.

Turned out there was no need: Everett proved again he was nothing like Henri by opening up some more.

“I don’t have anything against someone wanting to change teams,” Everett whispered. “You want more money, fine. You want better playoff odds, fine. I get it. This is a job. I just didn’t expect it from Alexei. And I didn’t like that he didn’t tell anyone about it before he did it.”

“You were close,” Henri said, just as quietly. It was still the edge of what he meant, a hint that didn’t have to mean a damn thing but also an invitation if Everett wanted to take it.

Everett didn’t say anything at first, then gave a tight nod. His throat worked as he gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing and gaze cast down on his hands. “Yeah. I don’t know that I’ve ever been closer to anyone, but he left and I had to find out from reporters and not from him.”

Oh. Shit. Maybe Sokolov’s attitude tonight wasn’t about Henri at all. Maybe he really was an asshole all the time, and the rare times he was being nice, that was the act, the front he put on to make nice people like Dylan Everett think he was a decent guy.

Henri hesitated a moment, then placed a hand on Everett’s shoulder. It felt too heavy, too intimate in the confined space, like he was pressing into Everett instead of gently offering comfort, and he wished he had more experience with…whatever the fuck was happening here. Heart-to-hearts? Comfort? …friendship? Fuck, he was pathetic.

“Like you said, players leave all the time,” Henri said, voice barely above a whisper. “His decision wasn’t about you. And it’s on him how he handled it.”

“You’re right,” Everett said darkly. “It wasn’t about me. I can’t even say he betrayed me or the team by leaving, because we weren’t even considerations. You actually have to care to stick a knife in someone’s back.” Then he visibly pulled himself back together, his anger dissolving or packed away to wherever it’d been before. He pulled back to his side of the car and straightened. “Sorry, I’m being dramatic. I’m over it, I promise. Seeing him in town just stirs up old shit.”

Henri squeezed Everett’s shoulder before letting go. He missed the contact and wished he had some excuse to re-initiate it. Strange, since he wasn’t normally a tactile person. Hugs weren’t his thing—though he endured celebratory ones on the ice—so this physical comfort thing felt forced.

“People get moved all the time without getting any say in it,” Henri said. It was obvious he meant himself, so he quickly kept going so Everett couldn’t try to offer platitudes. “It’s a luxury to get to make that choice for yourself. I’ve only been on the team for a few months, but it’s long enough to know I cannot understand Sokolov’s decision. He had a good team in a city that loved him. He had you as his captain and best friend. I would give a lot to have what he had, and he just threw it away. So I get why you’d be upset. I’m upset, and it has nothing to do with me.”

It was awful, laying himself so bare like this. He rarely talked honestly about the trades. Yeah, the media asked him about it all the damn time, but he couldn’t say shitty things about former teams or captains or anything without it making him even less appealing to other teams where his reputation hadn’t been tarnished yet. Really, only his father knew. His friends back in Montreal had been banned from talking hockey around him, unless it was to tell him how their own games were going. He was well-acquainted with how well Dynastie du Puck did each season in their beer league.

But Everett, he thought, understood. Not from experience—his NHL career was the polar opposite of Henri’s—but he was the kind of captain who got to know his players. He’d been in the league over a decade, probably known dozens of Henris. He got it.

“Henri…” He twisted so they were facing once more and reached out to put a hand on Henri’s thigh. The contact was gentle, completely friendly, but it scorched Henri like a brand. It felt like he was on fire, an inferno radiating from that single point of contact, and what worried him most is that he’d let himself be consumed by the flames if Everett wanted him.

“Dylan,” Henri said back, because it was more dangerous to let the silence build.

Something flickered through Everett’s eyes, and he bit his bottom lip. Henri had the awful impulse to reach out and stop him. “Are you…?” He never finished the question, so Henri couldn’t know how to answer.

He probably wouldn’t know, anyway.

“Sorry, you probably want to get home,” Everett said, finally putting his hands on the steering wheel. “Where’s your apartment?”

Henri told him, and they drove in silence. When they arrived, Henri squashed the impulse to invite Everett inside.

“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” Henri said instead. He opened the car door and gasped. The air in the car had been electric, and now suddenly he was able to breathe, able to think clearly. Once he was safely on the sidewalk, he turned back. “I’m glad I came out tonight, though for your company more than your friend’s. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“He doesn’t like a lot of people. I wouldn’t take it personally. Night, Baps. See you in the morning.”

Henri closed the door and watched as Everett pulled away. He didn’t think he’d be able to put tonight behind him, and all the confusing feelings it dug up.

CHAPTER 27

Alexei (November 2023)

Can you give me Luke’s number