9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“I’ve heard this is the best lab of the whole course,” Gina said as Brody dropped his backpack on the floor underneath their shared lab table.

“Yeah?” Brody asked.

“Don’t sound so excited,” she teased. “I thought you liked this class.”

He and Gina had been in a lot of the same classes for most of the last two years.

He liked her because she never hit on him. In fact, she’d have bust a gut at the thought of it. She had a high school sweetheart, a girlfriend who was a budding track star at the University of Oregon.

“I do, I’m just tired.” Exhausted really. It was Tuesday. They’d had two games this last weekend and then of course, there’d been Saturday night—which he’d spent attempting to catch up on his lab work and staying up too late waiting on Dean—and then Monday, when he’d had a full morning of classes before Coach B had run them through a surprisingly brutal practice.

“Aw, didn’t they tell you this year would get tougher—with the classes and your hockey stuff?” Gina looked sympathetic.

“Yeah.” And he’d ignored them because he was Brody Faulkner and he was fucking invincible.

Or he had believed that.

He didn’t feel particularly invincible this morning.

He felt lost and torn and tired .

“Well, it’s a good thing that, at least, you’ve got the best lab partner in the whole section,” Gina said brightly.

“I sure do,” Brody agreed, giving her a smile. She was great, and even though he had every intention of carrying his own weight, having Gina as his partner would guarantee that he didn’t have to do more than half the work.

“Okay, here’s the instruction sheet,” Gina said, pushing it across the desk. “Let’s review it, and then we’ll start.”

It always helped Brody to sink into the work, into the technical minutiae of the process. It was one of the reasons he’d fought so hard to keep his biology major. He genuinely enjoyed science. Picking his way through things, discovering how they worked on a deeper level.

It helped today, too. Focusing on something he loved banished some of his bone-deep exhaustion, even.

His brain added, and that used to be hockey . But Brody shut that thought down hard and fast, because he didn’t have the energy to deal with his bigger problems today.

Except it turned out that they came up anyway.

They were halfway through the lab—smearing their unwashed fingers across agar plates and doing the same after some intensive scrubbing with surgical soap—when Gina said casually, “I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend.”

Brody nearly dropped the glass slide he’d just prepped. “What?”

“I saw you two in Sammy’s the other night. Looked awfully comfy with him. And he’s big, isn’t he? I didn’t know—”

Before Gina could say, I didn’t know you liked guys like that , Brody interrupted her. “That’s Dean. My new roommate.”

“Oh. Oh. Sorry.” Gina flushed. “You just looked . . .uh . . .very cozy with him.”

They’d been on opposite sides of the booth, but Brody thought back to that night and he could see it. He’d probably been gazing at the guy like he was the answer to questions he hadn’t even asked. All things considered, he really couldn’t blame Gina for wondering.

“We’re . . .” Brody stopped and started over. Gina was a friend, and queer, too. He could trust her. “I’m . . .I think I might . . .”

Of course that didn’t really make it any easier to say out loud.

“Hey, you know it’s okay, yeah?” Gina said softly, encouragingly.

“Yeah. But I’m just such a mess . . .ugh, such a mess. This whole Dean thing. And then I know I’m gonna need to decide if—” Brody stopped again. He didn’t want to say it out loud to Gina , who was already on the premed track, that he was seriously considering not playing pro hockey. That might make it real. He swallowed hard. “The only time it doesn’t feel like a mess is when I’m with him, and I screwed it up, right after we kissed and hooked up, and now I don’t think he wants what I want. It’s all just a disaster.”

Gina looked at him steadily then after his outburst, reached over and grasped his arm, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to have all the answers, you know?”

“That’s what Ramsey said,” Brody said. It still baffled him that Ramsey had been the one to give him good advice, but it was undeniable he had. Why hadn’t he listened? Well, Brody had , but it was so much easier to hear the words than to actually take them to heart. To accept them for himself.

“Well, God , now I’m gonna lose my shit. Me and Ramsey agreeing on something. On anything ,” Gina said with a bark of laughter.

“I know,” Brody said, and to his surprise, he was laughing too.

He couldn’t believe it, but he actually felt better now—not even worse. It had helped to get that out. To admit, at least, that everything felt terrible and unsure and new and different—except when he was sitting with Dean and they were just talking. That with him, at least some of this stupid self-identity angst disappeared.

“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same?” Gina asked when they finally stopped chuckling.

“I . . .well, he’s straight.” That was the easiest answer. Of course, it wasn’t really true.

Dean hadn’t had a big gay freakout; that had been all Brody.

“He told you that?”

“In as many words,” Brody said.

He really didn’t want to go into the experiment. He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted after. Or how Dean had avoided him after.

You freaked out. Of course he avoided you, after.

But surely, if he was interested, it wouldn’t have been so goddamn hard to convince the guy to even be friendly.

“Ah. Well, come on, let’s finish this lab. And then you can run by the coffee shop. Maybe you can’t have the guy, but you can have an iced latte with an extra shot,” she teased.

Brody nudged her. “You gonna come with me?”

“I can spare a few minutes. Koffee Klatch?”

“Sounds good,” Brody said. “So next week we need to check these under the microscope and examine for differences in the bacterial growth?”

Gina nodded. “Then we’ll do the final lab report, with our findings. That’ll be the most work, for sure.” She winced. No doubt she was thinking of Brody’s tight schedule, but even the prep work for the lab had convinced him that the sacrifices he was making to take his major were worth it.

He enjoyed the classes too much to call it quits.

“We’ll make it work,” Brody promised.

“Alright.” But Brody could see the worry lingering in his friend’s gaze.

“And in three weeks it’s the midterm,” Gina reminded him.

“Yeah, but we got this,” Brody said, shooting her the cockiest smile in his arsenal.

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the rest of her concern melting away, and that was good enough for him.

If Gina thought he could tackle all this, surely he could actually do it.

They’d been skating for nearly forty-five minutes, Coach B rattling off formations and drills like he’d been a boot camp instructor in a former life, when Elliott missed the shot.

It was an easy pass from Mal, and should’ve gone right in, but Elliott juggled the puck a second longer than he should’ve, and instead of decisively taking action, he hesitated, and that was all the time Ramsey needed to steal it, skating quick and darting in between Ivan and Elliott then shooting it to Brody.

“Shit,” Mal exclaimed loudly, a frown plastered across his face.

“Sorry,” Elliott muttered, and the whole play fell apart, Coach B skating up and neatly plucking the puck away from Brody.

Rather, Brody let their coach take it.

Well, at least that was what Brody told himself. It was less of a blow to his ego, considering he was a player entering the prime of his abilities and Coach must be forty now, and a coach.

Now it wasn’t just Mal frowning, but Coach too, Zach joining him and stopping next to him with an abrupt shower of ice from his skates.

“What’s going on?” he asked mildly.

Coach B did not look mild at all. He looked frustrated, shoving a hand through his dark hair.

“Elliott, what the hell was that?” he demanded.

Elliott just shrugged. He famously hated practice. Brody got that. He hadn’t really been enjoying it himself lately, which wasn’t really fair, because the team was good and getting better. Probably because of all these brutal-ass practices. But with each practice, Brody felt himself sliding to the edges, struggling to give a shit about what was even happening on the ice.

He was existing in the space between the locker room and the rink, present but not as present as he should’ve been. It wasn’t fair to his team. It wasn’t fair to him .

So far nobody had called him on it, because he was making as much effort as he could to pretend on the surface that everything was normal.

But everything wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t normal. Not anymore.

It didn’t help that Coach Blackburn was a stickler and demanded every ounce of effort from his players. So far, Brody had managed to slide under his radar—probably because he’d decided that Elliott, with his famously bad lack of practice dedication, had garnered most of his attention—but he had a feeling those days were numbered.

“Why didn’t you take the shot?” Coach’s voice softened a fraction, but considering the look on his face, it wasn’t much of an improvement.

“I don’t know,” Elliott said, his jaw sticking out. “I’d have taken it in a game. This is just a practice.”

“You should be treating every practice like a game, and every game like a practice.” Brody hadn’t even realized he’d said it out loud, until every eye on the ice swiveled in his direction.

He felt a twinge of guilt that everyone looked so fucking surprised that he’d spoken up. He should be better than this. He used to be better than this.

“Exactly,” Coach said with an approving nod in Brody’s direction. “You take that shot, Elliott. You gotta. If you don’t, how will you be sure you’ll do it during a game.”

“I’d do it,” Elliott said. He turned to Malcom. “Come on, Mal. Back me up.”

Elliott and Malcom were sort of like oil and water, which was why it was so odd that they’d ended up on the same line and it was working out.

Mal took nothing more seriously than practice.

He always brought his A-game. He reminded Brody a little of Dean, with his single-mindedness.

But Mal didn’t say anything, just scuffed his skate on the ice and didn’t meet Elliott’s entreating gaze.

Coach had to know he was pushing them all, and pushing them hard.

But Brody wasn’t sure Coach cared how hard it was, not when he’d already said half a dozen times they shouldn’t just want to get better, they needed to get better.

Same was true of most of the coaches in the NHL, too.

And that’s what you’re in for, a lifetime of this.

Brody knew he should’ve been enjoying the tough expectation that he play at a certain level, but instead, all he did was resent it.

This used to be fun.

The weird thing was that most everyone else seemed to be there. Even Ramsey, who Brody had never seen work so hard, was excelling.

He felt like the only one dragging his skates.

“Again,” Coach said, waving around the ice. “And this time, take the fucking shot, Elliott.”

Elliott made a face after Coach had turned, heading back to the boards to watch.

They ran the play again, but this time Brody made sure that Malcom couldn’t get the puck to Elliott in the same way, and then he stole it, passing it over to Ramsey, who cleared it easily.

Elliott made a frustrated noise, threw up his hands and his stick, and skated off, right as the buzzer sounded, indicating the end of practice.

Brody knew he should go after him—it had always seemingly fallen to him to counsel and mentor the younger guys, because he was good at it and before this year had actually enjoyed it—but this time, before he could, Ramsey grabbed his arm. “Let me,” he said.

Brody raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna talk sense into him?”

“Better than Mal, who might kill him. Or Coach B, who doesn’t understand him. Or you.”

Brody didn’t ask Ramsey why he would be a bad choice, because obviously Ramsey had seen the change in him, he just hadn’t said anything about it.

Yet.

Trudging into the locker room, Brody shucked his gear, headed to the showers, and when he got out, Zach was leaning against the locker next to his. Ramsey’s unoccupied locker. He must still be talking to Elliott.

“Hey,” Zach said. “Coach wants to see you, if you’ve got a minute.”

If you’ve got a minute was complete bullshit, because Brody couldn’t imagine blithely telling their assistant coach that he was too busy to see Coach Blackburn.

Well, he could imagine it, but he didn’t think it would go down well.

Or at all.

“Sure,” Brody said. He still had a few hours of homework he had to tackle, but he’d make time to see Coach first.

Not that he wanted to. A sick feeling bloomed at the base of his stomach, sudden worry that Ramsey wasn’t the only one who’d clocked his disinterest and subsequent forced interest.

You should be fucking grateful at how lucky you are. You know how many people would kill for this opportunity?

He knew. But it didn’t seem to convince him any better that he still wanted it.

“Whenever you’re dressed,” Zach said, with a studied casual tone that made Brody’s stomach tighten even further.

Maybe he was just hungry.

Or maybe he was actually terrified that Coach, whom he couldn’t help but respect, even as he didn’t precisely like him, would sit down across from him and expose all the weaknesses he’d been trying so hard to bury.

“Alright.” Brody tried to match Zach’s offhandedness, but he didn’t think he quite got there, especially when Zach reached out and patted him on the shoulder and shot him one last empathetic look before departing.

Ten minutes later, he was dressed and sitting down in Coach’s office.

Coach Blackburn was an undeniably intimidating figure. Still slim and still fit, he clearly possessed the same instincts he’d had when he’d been a player.

Before the season had begun, Brody had even been excited at how much better of a coach Blackburn was supposed to be than a player.

But that had faded, leaving feelings behind Brody didn’t know how to identify.

“Brody,” Coach said, steepling his fingers in front of him as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you spoke up out there, with Elliott.”

The funny thing was that Brody was actually regretting saying it. At least saying it like that. He should’ve been the one to defend his teammate and then pull Elliott aside after practice, like Ramsey was doing right now, and talk some sense into him.

“You haven’t been as much of a team leader as I was promised, when I came in,” Coach said bluntly.

Brody’s stomach clenched.

Definitely not just hunger.

“Who told you that?” Brody asked.

That seemed—not safe, exactly—but safer .

Coach leaned forward, eyes intent on Brody. “It doesn’t matter who said it or why. What matters is that you’re detaching from this team and I’m not sure why.” He paused. “I’m not sure you know why.”

Brody told himself firmly not to squirm under that intense gray stare.

“This year just hasn’t been what I expected.” But before Coach could remind him that they’d only lost three games this year and won the rest, Brody plowed ahead. “Which isn’t anything to do with you. Or the team. Just . . .I’m adjusting to the new vibe.”

His dark eyebrows slanted. “Vibe?”

Brody laughed nervously. “I mean, just . . .not that there’s anything wrong with how you’re running the team, of course not, it’s just very different than how Coach Nichols ran it.”

“Here’s the thing, Brody.” Coach’s face, so hard and craggy, suddenly softened, surprising the hell out of Brody. He’d been sure he was in for a shitty lecture after he’d said that. “I’m not only trying to win games, I’m trying to prep you for a career in the pros. You were drafted? That’s fucking great. But it takes a lot more than that to make it. I know what it takes. Zach knows what it takes. That’s partly why we’re here. Why Zach wanted me to come back.”

The door opened and Zach walked in, worry creasing his face. “You didn’t wait,” he said under his breath to his boss, but Coach just shrugged. “He was here, I was here,” he said, tilting his head up and meeting Zach’s eyes. “You didn’t miss much.”

Zach smiled. “Alright,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind Coach’s desk. “So, you wanna talk about it, Brody?”

“I was telling him how getting drafted and getting onto an NHL roster are two very different things,” Coach said.

Zach nodded. “They are. That’s what we’re trying to do here. Do you know I was the last Evergreens player to sign an entry level contract? To make it onto a roster? And do you know when I left college?”

Brody shook his head. He hadn’t realized this. But now that he did, it made more sense why Zach was brought in, and then he convinced Coach B to return, as well.

“Seven years ago. Seven years since the Evergreens have seen someone make it. If we’re hard on you, that’s why,” Zach said. “We want to change that pattern.”

“Not that we’re gonna try to change it, but we’re gonna actually do it,” Coach echoed. He glanced back at Zach, and Zach nodded in agreement.

It was clear they were on the same page—and it was also clear that goal for the team and for the season was possibly the opposite of what he wanted. Or really, what he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore.

He wasn’t convinced enough he wanted to give up on a lifetime of goals and all that hard work and throw in the towel on hockey. And he wasn’t convinced he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a lab or in a hospital. Would he regret walking away? He didn’t want to be that person, full of bitter resentment.

“Brody,” Zach said carefully, “you gotta think about what you want.”

“I’m trying,” he retorted. Annoyed that they were putting him on the spot.

“You say the right things, and you’re out there every day on the ice, putting the work in, but I gotta wonder if your heart’s in it,” Coach said. His tone was gentle, but the admonition was there. You gotta do more than just show up, kid.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say.

“I want to keep my options open,” he finally said. “The truth is, honest to God, I don’t know what direction I’m gonna take, so the last thing I wanna do is close the door on something I might actually want.”

“Good. Actually, I was hoping you’d say that.” Coach looked approving, and then to Brody’s surprise, he glanced behind him again, at Zach.

Zach’s pose was relaxed, but Brody realized as he stared at the guy that was all surface level bullshit. He wasn’t tense, exactly, but he was glancing over at the back of Coach’s head, all the time. Like he was keeping an eye on him.

Maybe it was that Coach Blackburn had been his coach, when he’d played hockey for the Evergreens. Or maybe he was worried about Coach B cracking up again, since this was his first job after the death of his wife had left him grieving and lost.

Brody didn’t know what those looks meant, but he did know they were at least a distraction from the something in his stomach that still felt like crawling away from this whole conversation.

“Were you really?” Brody couldn’t help the question.

“Actually, I try not to be a tough guy,” Coach said, his tense expression cracking neatly in half to reveal a surprisingly kind smile. “Right, Zach?” He glanced back at him again .

“Of course not,” Zach said, and he was gazing right back. Did all assistants and head coaches look at each other this much and he’d missed it? Brody didn’t think so. The only time he ever looked at someone like this . . .

Brody cut that thought off hard and fast, though he did think, and consider saying, Just come and stand next to him, it’d be easier than giving your neck a cramp by turning to look at him every five seconds.

But he didn’t, because while Coach Blackburn might’ve revealed himself as sympathetic, he wasn’t necessarily soft or the joking kind.

Zach they could poke fun at, a little, because he was still in his twenties and very much still a hockey bro.

But Coach was different. The whole team knew that.

“Yeah,” Zach agreed. “You’ve got the skills, Brody. You’ve got the raw material, and even more than that, I’d argue. You’re skating well. Your instincts are getting better. Other than the slight setback of the knee, you’re right where the ’Canes want you, and in a few years, who knows? Maybe you’ll end up on their roster. Maybe sent down to the developmental league for a year or two. But the potential’s there.”

“But not if you don’t want it. Not if you don’t put that extra effort in, the kind of effort that doesn’t come from your brain,” Coach added, shooting him another one of those hard-ass looks.

Brody didn’t ask where it came from, because he already knew, and he wasn’t sure yet if he had it.

But he’d find out, because it was looking like he didn’t have much of a choice.

Either he dedicated himself, or he should call it quits.

“Listen, though, Brody . . .” Finally Zach walked around the side of the desk and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. “Take the year. Figure your shit out. You were always gonna come back for your senior year, right?” When Brody nodded, he continued. “Then spend this year figuring out if you want to be a pro hockey player, and then next year, all you’ll need is to take that last little step up and you’ll be there. I do expect though, that you’ll keep working like you do want it. We don’t accept less here, in Portland. Alright?”

Brody looked over at Coach, who didn’t seem either surprised or bothered by Zach’s declaration.

“You’re okay with this?” he asked, because he couldn’t help it. He needed to know.

Could he take the year?

He’d thought he’d have weeks, maybe, not months. And that didn’t solve the problem, but it sure made it a hell of a lot easier to deal with.

“Zach wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” Coach said, his voice steady. “But if you phone it in—”

“I wouldn’t,” Brody interrupted.

“But if you do ,” Coach continued with a suddenly grim tone, “then the next conversation won’t be so easy, okay?”

Brody nodded. “Okay.” He could accept that—or at least, he was gonna have to.

Dean debated with himself for a full ten minutes before sending Brody the text.

It’s what a friend would do , he argued with himself.

I got a great table in the library, he finally sent, before one side of his brain could point out to the other that all these things he was feeling weren’t only platonic, if you wanna join me.

He knew Brody’s practice had ended half an hour ago, and after he almost always studied somewhere. If not their apartment, then Koffee Klatch, or the library.

He’d not tried to memorize Brody’s schedule, but he’d done it accidentally. Or at least that was the argument he continued to make.

They’d already met up twice this week for more study sessions, and even though the desires he couldn’t quite deny kept pressing on him, insistent and undeniable, he was getting better at ignoring them in favor of just enjoying Brody’s company.

If friendship was what Brody wanted to offer him, he’d take it—even if sometimes it felt like fate was playing the world’s biggest cosmic joke on him.

Ha, guess you’re not straight after all.

Ha, guess you’re into the idea of sex way more than you ever wanted to be.

But not with just anyone.

Just one person. Just one guy .

One guy who doesn’t seem interested in you. Not that way.

Dean shoved his phone away before he spent the next half an hour of important study time staring at the screen, waiting for Brody’s reply to pop up on the screen.

And then, suddenly, it didn’t matter, because he was right there, all Brody’s pretty boy-ness on full display in a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue hoody that made his skin glow.

Jesus, you’re a fucking wreck. Skin glow, my ass.

“Hey,” Brody said, slipping into the seat opposite Dean without an invitation—and without an explanation of how he’d known exactly where Dean was without Dean telling him.

“Oh, uh, hey,” Dean stammered.

“You’re right, this is the best table in the library,” Brody said with a teasing grin. Dean felt it lick right along his skin.

He took a deep breath and then let it out.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean agreed. “That how you found me?”

Every time he didn’t see Brody for hours—sometimes even for a day at a time—he always thought, I can control this, I can overcome this— but whenever Brody appeared in his proximity, it was clear just how deeply he’d slipped under his skin.

Dean wasn’t even mad about it; only surprised, each and every time.

Okay, he was a little mad about it.

He’d be a lot less mad if somehow Brody made his way into his bed.

Even if he wanted that, even if by some miracle he landed there, you’ve got no fucking clue what to do with him.

“Yep.” Brody grinned. “Close to the bathrooms. Close to the vending machines. And in the quietest corner. Means we won’t be bothered.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

He, who so rarely even formed friendships, wanted to hoard every moment with Brody, holding them close, treating them like precious gems he secreted away for a bad day.

Wes would tell him he was fucked, which was why Dean hadn’t told Wes about any of this, yet.

Dean tried to return to his textbook, but the words swam in front of his eyes. When he glanced up at Brody, Brody was staring at him, a puzzled expression on his face. And he hadn’t gotten out his own books or the notebook he took class notes in yet.

You’re something past fucked, if you know what kind of notebook he uses for notes.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I just . . .” Brody didn’t do almost anything awkwardly, but he was shrugging awkwardly now.

“You just what?” Dean asked.

“I had a weird meeting after practice with my coach. Coaches, actually.” Brody made a face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Brody made another face. “Not really, no. We’re here to study, aren’t we?”

“Are you gonna be able to study if you don’t lay it out there? Talk it over?” Dean wanted to know.

Brody shrugged, still looking unsure.

And normally, yeah, Dean would be the first fucking guy to say, leave me the hell alone , but Brody hadn’t done that to him, ever. Even during his whole pity party after the last game. He’d sat there and listened, even though it was crazy late at night. He’d, Dean realized later, stayed up for him. Waited for him to get home.

Even watched his football game even though he didn’t give a shit about football.

But Dean was beginning to realize, that was what being Brody’s friend meant. He gave a shit about him .

Other people did too—Wes was the most obvious example Dean could think of—but he’d never felt such a strong desire to turn it around and give that consideration right back.

“Come on,” Dean said, “tell me about it.” He wasn’t the most persuasive guy in the universe; words had never been his thing. Actions were. And he knew action wouldn’t work here, even as he felt the pull to reach under the table and just touch Brody.

“Coach figured out that I’ve been feeling . . .unmotivated,” Brody admitted.

“I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.”

Brody looked away. “I was hoping that nobody had realized it,” he said. “I keep thinking it’s gonna come back—the way I felt about hockey before I got injured—but it just won’t .”

“What did you do when you got hurt last year?” Dean asked. Because he didn’t know what else to possibly say.

“I don’t know, rehabbed the knee after I got cleared by the surgeon. Did everything I could in the gym to stay in shape—get in better shape.”

Dean had had a front row seat, a glorious three-dimensional view, of how fit Brody’s body was, just the other night. But he wasn’t going to say it, so he nodded instead.

“And I guess . . .” Brody paused. “I did other stuff, too. Focused a lot on my classes, in a way I can’t, really, when hockey’s happening. Did extra reading. Dug into some lab stuff that interested me.”

“So you filled that time with your science shit,” Dean said.

Comprehension was dawning on Brody’s face. “Yeah, I think so. I can’t just . . .despite what you might think of me, I’m not just gonna sit on my ass and do nothing , just ’cause I can.”

Dean heard the unspoken end of Brody’s sentence. Just ’cause my parents are rich.

Yes, maybe he’d thought that once, but he hadn’t believed that was true in at least a month, now.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry I ever thought that was true.”

“Oh.” Brody looked even more surprised.

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding. “You work hard. It shows.”

“I must, if you’re willing to be friends with me,” Brody teased lightly.

“So, you had time last year to really dig into something that interested you. And it only interested you more, and now you come back, and you’re playing hockey again but you’re . . .” Dean didn’t want to put words in Brody’s mouth so he trailed off. Hoping that Brody might finish his thought for him.

And he did.

“Torn,” Brody said. “I feel torn. But Coach also talked about how he and Zach are pushing us all to get us to that next level, and that’s a lot of work we weren’t doing before. And I don’t dislike it, not exactly, but it’s a lot to commit fully to a program like that if I’m having doubts.”

“What else did your coach say?” Dean wondered.

“He gave me the season to figure my shit out, which . . .I’ll give him this. It was more than I expected.”

“More than I’d give you,” Dean said, his tone deadpan.

Brody looked downright shocked for a moment, then he realized Dean was joking and he smiled and then even started laughing.

“Oh my God,” he said, “Dean Scott makes an actual fucking joke. I should put it on the goddamn calendar and commemorate this day for years to come.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Dean retorted lightly.

“Close, but yeah, you’re pretty good, anyway,” Brody said. He leaned across the table and patted Dean’s hand. Or at least that was what he’d attempted to do, before Dean lost the rest of his mind and actually took his hand in his own, bigger one, and squeezed it.

And then didn’t let it go.

His callouses rubbed against Brody’s callouses, electricity running up his arm from the feel of their skin touching.

Brody’s light brown eyes dilated and he caught his breath. Dean’s own was pumping faster, like his lungs couldn’t quite get enough air.

He’d been pretty sure that Brody’s freakout and then his subsequent insistence that they be friends had been meant they’d only be friends.

But the way Brody was staring at him now didn’t feel only platonic.

It felt loaded. Weighty. Like any moment Brody might lean over and kiss him again, obliterating that particular fallacy.

But then Brody tugged his hand away, and the moment disappeared.

Dean told himself he wasn’t disappointed, but he was. He felt it, deep down, in his bones.

The craziest thing was that he hadn’t even decided that he wanted Brody, though it wasn’t like he thought the lie he was telling himself about being unsure was all that convincing these days.

The story he’d told himself about Brody being dramatic, about being too much trouble, too much distraction, had faded away in light of them becoming friends and hanging out more often.

The truth was, he’d found out that Brody was level-headed and nearly as focused as Dean was. Maybe he didn’t know what the goal was, exactly, but he kept pushing forward. Kept striving, anyway. Made it impossible not to respect the hell out of the guy.

“I . . .uh . . .” Brody’s hand was his own again, but Dean didn’t miss how he stammered, still.

“Something else,” he continued when Dean nodded. “There were some weird vibes in that meeting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t even know. Something off, or different, in the way Coach and Zach talked and even just freaking looked at each other.”

“Like how?”

Brody met his gaze for one burning second and then glanced away. “I don’t know. Like they were on a different wavelength, almost. Like they had a deeper connection. Maybe it’s ’cause Coach used to be Zach’s coach, too, back in the day. But it felt different even than that. More than just a coach or even a mentor. Like Zach was worried about him, and aware of him.”

Dean tried to figure out exactly what Brody was trying to say without actually saying it.

“You mean he . . .he likes him, like that?”

“Maybe. Or he’s . . .I don’t know. Aware of him. But it goes both ways.” Brody frowned.

“You didn’t like it?”

“It . . .it worried me,” Brody admitted. “Coach went through it when his wife died. Everyone knows that. Maybe he’s vulnerable still, even though he tries to be a hard-ass.”

“Maybe they’re friends. Like we’re friends.” It was all Dean could think of to say.

Friends who might want more than to only be friends.

Brody looked shaken, like he’d thought it, but hadn’t anticipated that Dean would actually say it out loud. Dean hadn’t expected that he’d say it out loud, but then he had.

“I mean, yeah , sure. I . . .I guess,” Brody said.

“Come on, let’s get some studying done,” Dean said, and Brody let out a breath. “You feel better, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brody said, but there was something else in his eyes, as his gaze met Dean’s, right before he glanced down towards his books, that said the opposite.

That maybe Brody had asked more questions than he’d answered.