Page 68 of No Line Change

“Nice to see you too, babe,” Everett called after him. He turned and winked at Henri. “Thanks for that pass, Baps. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Henri rushed inside after Novak to hide the blush on his cheeks. He really couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient person to develop a crush on. As he moved deeper into the room, he was surprised to see it was exactly the same as Henri’s. Same double bed, same size bathroom, same layout, except in reverse. On a few of his former teams, the ‘stars’ had gotten better rooms than the rest of them. Nice suites or rooms with balconies or at least nicer views.

But Dylan Everett, future hall-of-famer, didn’t seem to have any special treatment.

Everett closed the door and tossed Novak a wine key from his pocket, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Novak fumble with a bottle while Henri unstacked the trio of plastic cups they’d gotten from the front desk.

“You two are real classy,” Everett teased when Henri handed him a red cup filled with a generous pour of the equally red wine. He sniffed it before taking a sip. Henri couldn’t at all tell from his reaction whether he approved of the wine.

“I don’t even like wine,” Novak said. “Gives me a headache. But I’m here anyway to celebrate your greatness, so you’re welcome.” He took such a quick, tiny sip that Henri doubted he’d even had any, and then immediately made a face like he’d tasted the most vile thing on the planet. “Ugh.”

“You’re such a baby.” Everett slung an arm around Henri’s shoulder, a feeling that was quickly becoming as familiar as it was fantastic. “You’re really gonna make me and Baps drink all that?”

“No one is forcing you,” Novak grumbled. “I’ve had more than Baps so far⁠—”

Henri immediately downed half of the cup, stopped to lick his lips and cringe at the too-sweet flavor, then finished the rest of it because why not. He held out the plastic cup and shook it so that Novak would pour him some more. Everett laughed.

“You two are the worst. Fuck.”

“You pronounced ‘best’ wrong,” Everett said. He held up his cup once Henri had more wine. “To many, many, many more goals scored by the three of us.”

“To more wins,” Novak countered, lifting his cup to press against Everett’s.

They looked at Henri expectantly.

There was a lot Henri wanted. So much he wanted to prove, things he longed for and craved so badly…but only one thing he felt he could safely share to these two men with their Stanley Cup wins and years of partnership, their successes and their satisfaction with their careers.

“To no line changes,” he said with a wry half-smile. They cheered when he finished the toast. Even Novak drank deeply after that.

“Best trio in the league.” Everett used his free hand to mess up Henri’s hair and then fistbump Novak. “Drink up, boys. Ain’t nobody splitting us up.”

After the second cup of wine, Henri felt that loosening in his head that came with a good buzz. Normally, he held on as long as he could. He liked to keep a harsh grip on his orderly thoughts. But as he drank with Everett and Novak, joked with them, laughed with them, he let go. He was going to fucking relax for once in his god damn life and enjoy hanging out with his teammates.

So he let the cheap wine take over.

Novak groaned. “How are you two still going?”

“There’s still half a bottle of wine left,” Everett said.

“Yeah, but it tastes like ass. Fuck, Evers. You’re not even buzzed, are you?”

“Off of cheap wine?” He laughed deeply, a rumble in his chest that Henri felt across the room.

“I mean, look at Baps. He’s gone.”

Henri frowned. Gone? “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

Novak and Everett looked at each other.

“…was that French?” Novak asked.

“That was French,” Everett confirmed. His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but he smoothed it out. “I’ve got some beers in the mini-fridge.”

The night kept going, with Henri’s focus drifting in and out. He was aware that he was sprawled across an armchair in the corner of the room, watching Novak and Everett first arm wrestle, then thumb wrestle when they nearly broke a lamp, then give up once again when this time they nearly spilled the rest of the wine. They talked about the season and hockey and Novak’s kids. Henri said some things too, though not much. He preferred to ride the cadence of their voices, their happiness enough to buoy his own.

“I gotta get some sleep,” Novak said as he stretched and held off a yawn. “I’m too old for this shit. Staying up all night when we got a flight.”

“Too old?” Everett gave him an incredulous look. “I’m older than you.”