Page 31 of No Line Change

“It’s not that bad,” Henri said dismissively. Really, he meant he didn’t care what was in front of him. He wasn’t here to drink; he was here to wallow, but it was rude to do it at a bar without buying something.

“That is a full bottle of beer, sir. And you’ve been here a while. Don’t give me that BS about ‘not that bad’.” Everett waved over the bartender and flashed his best smile. “We’ll have two of that IPA on tap, please. Thank you.”

“I’ve been here a while?” He had, but how would Everett know that?

“Yeah. Saw you in here when I came down to grab some candy bars from the front desk. That was like an hour ago.”

“Maybe this is my second or third beer,” Henri countered.

Everett snorted. “You’re not drinking two or three Molsons.” The bartender slid over their glasses, and Everett made a point of handing her Henri’s ignored Molson before replacing it with the newer, much more amber beer that he’d ordered on his behalf. Henri set aside his phone, screen down, and accepted the beer.

“Cheers.” He clicked his beer against Henri’s.

“Santé,” he echoed back. He wasn’t really in the mood to drink, but he was too polite to say as much, so he took a sip and winced. This beer was certainly more flavorful than the last one.

“Good, isn’t it?” Everett nudged him under the bar with his leg, their thighs brushing together. “How you settling in this season?”

Henri reeled at the question and glanced at his phone. “Things are fine.”

“You like the team?”

“Yes,” he said, because that was safer than admitting it was his favorite team by far. “Everyone’s been very welcoming.”

“Good,” Everett repeated and drank some more of his beer. “You let me know if that changes. I’ll kick their asses.”

Henri huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah right.”

“I will. The Turkeys aren’t cliquey, and it’s gonna stay that way.”

Whether his offer was true or not, Henri appreciated the sentiment. “It is nice. Being with the Turkeys.”

Another nudge under the bar. “You didn’t like it in LA, I take it?”

Henri’s expression soured, and he turned to stare at his beer. Rubbed his thumb through the condensation on the glass. “No. I didn’t.”

“Hmmm.” Everett put his massive hand on the back of Henri’s neck and squeezed. “I’ve heard some of the crap that was going around the league.” Henri worked very hard not to tense, knowing Everett would feel it instantly. “I don’t want you to worry about any of that shit. You’re doing good. I can’t speak for Nover, but I’m really happy to have you on our line.”

His thumb ran through Henri’s hair, the type of casual affection that Henri was completely unaccustomed to.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “I like playing with you too.”

Another of Everett’s trademark smiles, so pleased his eyes scrunched together. Then his hand was gone, and Henri felt cold.

His phone buzzed with a notification, and Henri’s mind snapped to everything he’d been obsessing over before Everett came to distract him. An apology welled up in his throat, an attempt to preemptively shoulder the blame before Everett noticed he was the weak link.

“Sorry for that PK goal today,” he said miserably. Watching the footage, he was certain if he’d pressured half a second sooner, he’d have been able to intercept the pass. “I know they tried a bunch of other people to center you. I’m happy for the opportunity and⁠—”

“Baps,” Everett said firmly, and Henri’s jaw snapped shut. “We did try a bunch of other centers, and you’re the one we picked to stay. I promise, you’re here because you can do it. No one’s worried about that goal. No one cares that we were shaky last season. They see that our line is clicking and carrying the team, so they’ll give us space to work. We’re all gonna fuck up and make mistakes. You forget who was in the box while you were killing that penalty?”

Henri couldn’t help it; he smiled. “You.”

“Me,” Everett agreed. “It’s all right. Our line is still carrying the team.”

We didn’t today.

I didn’t.

“I know I'm not…not as good as Sokolov.” Henri was too afraid to meet Everett’s eyes and have him confirm it.