Or perhaps . . . it was because the Gold were more like a family than a business.
Which should sound ridiculous because it was a business, and hockey was his job.
But somehow, it wasn’t ridiculous.
The men and women on the team were a family. Without qualification. As obvious as a crosscheck to his opponent’s numbers would get him sent to the box. It was just . . . fact.
What was also fact?
That even now, well after the game, the locker room would still be full of the guys and Brit shooting the shit, hanging around because they actually liked each other.
A rare feat indeed.
Laughing to himself as he strode through the door, handing the tablets to Max and Coop, he thought back on his first game with the team. God, it had been such a weird feeling, as though he’d ended up in an alternate reality.
There wasn’t the least bit of hazing or him needing to earn his spot. They’d included him, given him the benefit of the doubt, and right away, he’d felt like he had a place.
They’d invited him to dinner after the match.
They’d actually included him in the conversation from the get-go—as well as giving him an assigned day on manning the radio. The latter was something everyone took turns with, and though the guys had some overlap in taste, it was something of a rite of passage to get your pregame playlist poked at.
Today’s postgame playlist was Brit’s choice, which meant that as he finished getting undressed and headed to the showers, he was serenaded by various boy bands with syrupy lyrics and poppy soundtracks.
The songs were fucking catchy, he’d give Brit that.
But he much preferred his classic rock pre or postgame.
He wondered what kind of music Dani listened to, though he supposed he wouldn’t be in a position to find out.
“What’s going on in that big, juicy brain of yours?” Max asked, when Ethan sat back down in his stall and began pulling his clothes on.
Big, juicy brain was the team’s favorite way to refer to him.
A guy works on getting one master’s degree, and suddenly he was everyone’s favorite nerd.
But seriously, what else was there to do when a man was on the road for half a season and drinking and partying got really old? Plus, his parents were professors, had always teased each other about being career students. It would have been a surprise if he didn’t follow in their footsteps, at least a little bit. “What are you talking about?” he muttered.
“You look all mopey,” Max said, bending and tying his shoes.
Ethan scowled but didn’t otherwise comment as he yanked on his underwear and slacks, began buttoning his shirt.
“You’ve got a little frown in between your brows. Angie would say you’re being all scowly.”
“Did you just do air quotes?”
A shrug. “They’re endearing.”
“No,” Ethan said. “They’re really not.”
“So, does the mope have to do with a certain brunette who won’t give you the time of day?”
Ethan’s eyes shot up, a critical error that had him giving away his hand before he’d been ready to. This was why he was shit at poker, and he knew he was fucked when Max’s eyes sharpened. He was one of the worst gossips on the team, perhaps only eclipsed by Brit.
Though, Coop was honing his skills.
Pretty soon, they’d have three Musketeers to contend with.
Ethan shoved his shoes on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hmm,” Max said, leaning back in his stall and crossing his arms behind his head, “and here I thought you’d be better at lying.”
Ethan laughed. “You saw me last poker night. How could you possibly think that?”
Max smirked. “True.” A beat. “So, win Dani over yet?”
He froze. Fucking motherfucker was such an asshole . . . and too damned inquisitive for anyone’s good. “Don’t you have to get home to your family?” he grumbled.
“Not right at the moment.”
Great. He sighed, slipped into his jacket, then risked a look out of the corner of his eye.
Max was still staring at him.
“What?” he asked again. “I’m not talking about Dani.”
“Ah. No progress. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He shrugged. “It’s . . . not fine, but I’m not going to pursue something she doesn’t want. I’m not an asshole.”
“No, you’re not. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” His face went serious. “I could—”
“No. Thanks, though, man.”
Max nodded, was surprisingly quiet as they went through the remaining motions of getting ready to go.
“So, aside from the lack of progress with the unnamed brunette tech guru, I also detect a dash of sad. Did you fail a pop quiz or something?”
“No, I most certainly did not,” he said.
“You’re getting straight As, aren’t you?”
“My GPA is beside the point.” He grinned. “Also, so what if I am?”
Max slugged him. “Brawn. Brains. It’s not fair, man. Look at this”—he held up his arm, pointed to his bicep, which was respectable in the hockey realm where lean strength was valued over grizzly bear status like Ethan had—“it’s puny in comparison.”
“You have tree trunks like this,” Ethan said, holding up his own arm, “and you’d crush Angie. She’s tiny.”
“Maybe.”
“Speaking of Angie, I heard she was pregnant again. Congrats.”
Max smiled. “Thanks, man.”
“Is Brayden excited to be a big brother again?” he asked.
“He’s a teenager,” Max said. “He’s not excited about much, unless it’s some new TikTok trend.” A sigh. “But he didn’t sulk off to his room”—Max smiled—“and he stopped after school today to pick up Angie’s favorite milkshake from the Dairy, so really, even though he is a teenager, he isn’t too bad of one.”
“Brayden’s a good kid.”
Max shook his head, still smiling. “Yeah, he is.”
Brit
