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There continued to be banging on his hotel room door.
“Come on, Benny!”
Sitting cross-legged on the area rug at the end of the bed, Eric kept his eyes closed and focused on his breath.
In. And out.
“It was supposed to be a good thing!”
In. And out.
“We’re just being your friends!”
In. And ou -
“If you don’t open the door, the other guests are gonna call security.”
At Scott’s more reasonable tone, Eric opened his eyes and resigned himself to his fate.
The door opened to reveal a distraught looking Carter Vaughn and a calm Scott Hunter, two of the men Eric knew cared the most about him in the world. Sweet, good hearted guys who really had meant well. Even if they’d missed the mark so wildly this time.
“I’m so sorry,” Carter started, but Eric waved him off.
“It’s OK.” At Scott’s unconvinced eyebrow, Eric insisted. “It really is.”
“You kinda stormed out of there,” Scott said.
“I don’t storm.”
“Eric can’t storm,” Carter said. “He’s too chill to storm.”
“And yet,” Scott said, his gaze never leaving Eric’s face. There was a moment, only uncomfortable to someone as energetic as Carter, and then Scott spoke again. “We’re sorry, Benny.”
“We really are,” Carter chimed in and Eric decided if he didn’t sort this out right now, their team’s Alternate Captain was going to dissolve in self-flagellating goo.
“Guys,” Eric said, stressing the word and earning a fleeting grin from Scotty, “it’s really not a big deal. Storming or otherwise, I just…I was caught off guard.” He offered a one-shouldered shrug in apology, wincing as the bruise on his left peck objected to the move. “I just didn’t think to warn you guys not to.”
“You also didn’t tell us your shoulder’s hurting,” Scott said, the Captain of the Admirals inserting himself into the friends’ conversation for a moment.
“I’m fine,” Eric said.
And with that, Carter’s regret snapped in favor of his compulsive need to be positive. “You got a brand deal with Shrugging It Off, Benny?” Carter’s chronic grin was back on his youthful face, stretching from ear to ear. “Bruises hurt, old man. And friends screw up.”
“And it doesn’t have to be fine,” Scotty said. Possibly because he knew Eric well enough to know that, coming from Scotty, those words held far more weight. Bordered on hypocritical, but lately, a certain someone had been doing the impossible and actually getting Scott Hunter to admit he didn’t have to shoulder everything on his own. A man who’d spent his entire life focusing on the importance of teamwork while still managing to keep the important things inside.
Carter’s hand landed on Eric’s shoulder, keeping the moment from getting any heavier. “We’ll tell them to knock it off. Leave you alone for the rest of the night if you really want that.” Sometimes people didn’t believe him, but Carter Vaughn could look serious when he wanted to. When it mattered. “We’ll even destroy the cake.”
“Odd choice of words,” Eric murmured.
Scott huffed a laugh. “You haven’t watched your teammates eat recently, have you?”
“You’ve just mentioned this bakery like every time we come to town,” Carter said. “And for once a place actually had an online ordering portal that actually worked. And the dates lined up kinda perfectly…”
“I appreciate that you guys wanted to celebrate my birthday,” Eric said, and he let himself smile for real. “I just didn’t realize how old it would make me feel.”
“Didn’t prepare for the idea of a bunch of twenty-something’s toasting your golden years?” Scott asked with a genuinely cheeky grin.
“Careful, Hunter,” Eric growled. “You’re up next.”
“Thirty-five is only old in hockey years,” Carter said, utterly unhelpful. “Nobody else thinks you’re old.”
“Too bad I only care what the idiots downstairs think.”
“Also,” Scott said, turning his mirth on Carter, “you’re the one who found the dinosaur paper plates.”
Eric blinked. “The what?”
“They’re procompsognathus!” Carter’s excitement was right back up to eleven. “They’re tiny dinosaurs that hunt in packs!” He was beaming. “Like hockey players, bro! Team spirit!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Eric deadpanned as Scott glanced down the hallway and waved somebody off.
“They’re very cool,” Carter insisted, “and Cameron would happily explain the logic. If…you want.”
“If I come back downstairs and agree to eat cake and drink fruit juice with my teammates?”
“Might want to put some more clothes on first,” Scott said as he kept his attention on whatever was going on down the hall. Eric thought he heard muffled footsteps on the hotel’s plush carpeting; always an interesting choice for a hallway.
“Is everything alright here, gentlemen?” The hotel employee was friendly, her smile bright but her eyes keen, taking in the three grown men who someone had, indeed, called security on. One of whom was wearing only loose fitting sweatpants and a bruise the size of a grapefruit on his chest.
“We’re fine,” Carter said and Scotty laughed.
Seeing her ignore Carter’s answer - it made sense, since he was the “shouting man in the hall” someone would have mentioned - Eric offered a friendly, calculated smile in return. “I’m so sorry if we disturbed the other guests, ma’am. My friends meant well.” He shot Carter a teasing grin. “Loudly and in public, but well.”
“We’re very sorry,” Scotty echoed, and in that way of his, he was much more convincing than either of his teammates.
The hotel employee nodded, looking mostly convinced. “There are other guests trying to rest, sirs, so if you could keep the banging and shouting to a minimum going forward?”
“Of course,” Scotty said as Carter nodded eagerly and Eric inclined his head. “Quiet as church rats going forward.”
“Church rats?” Eric asked.
“As if anyone on this team could be as quiet as a mouse.”
The employee fought down a smile as she turned away, signalling the pair of security officers waiting by the elevator that everything was alright. Eric raised an eyebrow as Carter winced. “I guess I was being really loud.”
“Surprised they sent a lady,” Scott said. “Grown men shouting and banging on things - I would have thought they’d send large men with tasers.”
“The team spends a lot of money on this hotel,” Eric said.
“And most of our guys will grovel and cough in front of a pretty woman calling them on their shit,” Carter agreed.
“And she did bring back up.”
“Unlike a certain Winger at last week’s game,” Scott observed as Carter became abruptly interested in the plush carpeting under his feet.
“We all make mistakes,” Eric said.
“We all mean well.”
“It’s fine.”
“Fuck the both of you.”
Scotty laughed while Eric stepped back from the doorway. “Let me grab a shirt and we can head down to the party I almost ruined.”
“Derailed,” Carter clarified to Scott. “Let’s be honest: our guys were gonna party either way.”
“But they have been behaving themselves while we’re up here, right?”
“Better be. That was a fancy cake.”
“I’m pretty sure the fruit juice will have survived this long.”
“Our friend has weird taste in drinks, Scotty.”
“Shh. It’s his birthday.”
Tugging on a sweatshirt to match his sweatpants - a guy has to have an outfit for his own birthday party, right? - Eric grabbed his phone and room key before stuffing his feet into worn sneakers and meeting his friends at the door. “Alright, gang. Let’s head downstairs and learn what psychopomps have to do with turning thirty.”
“Thirty-five.”
“That’s not the word.”
“Pyromancy?”
“No!”
“Pigmalian.”
“Scotty, make your friend behave.”
“Oh so now he’s my friend?”
“I will not be held responsible for this nonsense.”
“This is literally entirely your doing, Carter.”
“Traitors, the both of you.”
Eric draped his arms around his friends shoulders as they waited for the elevator, not even pretending it wasn’t a smile. “I’m so glad you assholes are my friends.”