Page 50 of Hockey Halloween
Brock
Brock Warner hadn’t even finished pulling on his sweatshirt when Gwen stepped in front of him, blocking his way out of the training facility. He’d almost escaped into the chilly September afternoon, but the universe had other plans.
“I need a favor,” she said sweetly, looking straight up to meet his eye. There was something unnerving in the way she met his eyes without flinching, something other hockey players couldn’t always manage.
Gwen’s favors usually involved an uncomfortable number of pictures and charity events where he showed the team’s commitment to the community.
Brock was all for giving back, but sometimes the events required him to dress up in weird outfits or—the worst of all—interact with the team’s mascot, Nibbly.
The Gliders had the (mis)fortune of being represented by a flying squirrel with googly eyes bigger than his hand, and its antics were well known throughout the league.
They were objectively funny…but Brock preferred when they were happening in the arena while he was safely on the ice.
“Is Nibbly going to be there?” he asked, eyes shifting up and down the hallway in case said mascot was already lurking in wait.
Nibbly had pied him his first year on the team, back before Brock knew better.
It was supposed to be commemorating when he won the Norris Trophy for best defenseman in the league.
Brock hadn’t expected it—none of the veterans on the team had warned him, damn them—and gotten a face full of blueberry pie on an Instagram livestream.
He’d avoided Nibbly as much as possible since then.
“Oh my God !” Her laugh filled the hallway, and she smacked his arm. He rubbed the spot automatically, even though it hadn’t hurt. “Are you still upset he pied you that one time?”
“I had blueberry up my nose, Gwen,” he said. “Blueberry. My snot was blue for a week.”
“TMI, Warner,” she said breezily. “Yes, he’ll be there, but I wouldn’t worry. It’s a big event. You can probably avoid him.”
“A big event?” That didn’t sound great either.
He hated dealing with the public. It was so…
awkward. The fans weren’t the problem—as long as the Gliders were doing okay, the fans were great.
Brock was an introverted mess when it came to large gatherings.
The press had very generously called him ‘surly’ and ‘grumpy’, which was code for ‘kind of an antisocial asshole.’ Despite his talent and popularity in Philly, Gwen normally didn’t drag him to events where he’d be forced to deal with the public too much. “I don’t know, Gwen, I?—”
“Stop freaking out on me!” She giggled and handed him a flyer. As he read it, she recited all the details from memory. “It’s a team Halloween party! Ticket revenue all goes to charity, and we’ll be auctioning off items.”
“And you want me to sign some?” he asked hopefully .
She gave him A Look. “Duh, but you know that’s not what I’m asking. I need to get at least ten players to attend. I’m at seven.”
“Great. I can put some pressure on some of the newbies?—”
“I need star power! You’re the fan favorite around here.”
“Only because Barczyk got traded,” he mumbled. She ignored him.
“Your jersey sells the most,” she said, ticking off her fingers. “You went to the All-Star game last year. You’re our most veteran defenseman and alternate captain. You’re hot and single. And…” She paused dramatically and put her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me say it.”
His shoulders slumped. “And I owe you,” he said.
He did owe her. Gwen had covered for him multiple times regarding his sexuality.
There were other out players in the league, thanks in part to Lars Nilsson’s accidental self-outing a few years ago.
The responses had been mostly positive, but Brock had seen how much attention those guys had gotten.
Attention was not Brock’s friend, and he’d much rather stay closeted if it saved him from the press.
He’d go the route of no longer hiding when he dated someone, but he didn’t want a press conference talking about his sexuality, so whenever reporters poked around, Gwen handled it.
“Hey,” she said, finally sounding serious. “Sorry, I didn’t want it to sound like I’m not glad to help you out with that. I was just hoping that my being happy to help you meant you wouldn’t mind helping me out too.”
“It’s fine.” He waved a hand. Gwen had been in his corner for three years now; he knew that when she asked for favors, it really was just that. Asking. “A Halloween party? I just gotta schmooze with fans for a couple of hours? No speeches or anything?”
“Oh, God no. I remember when you won the Norris. I’d never do that to you again.
” When Warner had won the Norris Trophy last year, it had been a real honor.
His acceptance speech had been all of three words: thank you everyone.
When Gwen reviewed the footage with him, she used the word ‘constipated’ more often than anything else.
“You just gotta wear a costume and mingle. I’ll have a players-only area where you can recharge.
Some photos, maybe some ball hockey with some kiddos, and you’ll be off the hook for the rest of the season. Pinky promise.”
“Good.” He paused in consideration. “I still want in on casino night and the dog calendar. If you need me.”
Gwen laughed. “See, this is why I ask you to do the fun ones. You're a good sport. Thanks, Warner. You’re a sweetheart underneath all that scowling and brooding.”
“I don’t scowl,” he grumbled, realized he was indeed scowling, and smoothed out his face.
Brock also didn't tell her that she reminded him a lot of his little sister, which had endeared her to him well before she’d taken over the team's social media full time. “And no problem. So I need a costume…?”
“Oh,” Gwen said with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I can find you something if you want.”
They had an eight-day road trip coming up ahead of Halloween.
Unless he took care of it tonight, he’d probably forget and be stuck with whatever he could pick up at Target on the way to the party.
And honestly, he was curious about what Gwen would pick out for him.
So yes, he was more than happy to hand this off. “Yes, please.”
She already had her phone out. “On it. I'll have it mailed to your apartment.”
“Thanks, Gwen, you're the best,” he called over his shoulder, using her momentary distraction to escape. Just in case she tried to get him to film a promo video for the party.