*edit* added the kids from past the 5th round now that im home again
Tommy Lafreniere. RW/C
From Quebec (although sportsnet says he’s from BC? Weird), 18yrs old and described as speedy. Had 24 goals and 32 assists in 68 games played last season
David Lewandowski. LW
From Germany but had his first year in Canada with the Blades where he marked 15 goals and 24 assists in 52 games. 18yrs old. He’s a noted hard shot—a rookie for Leon to mentor?
And then the interesting addition:
Traded next year’s pick with Nashville, Edmonton gained an additional pick this year they used to select:
Asher Barnett. D
From Illinois, 18yrs old. Described as more of an allrounder, with good physicality and puck handling. He’s committed to the University of Michigan, and was the captain of his USA development team.
Daniel Salonen. G
A goalie!! 19yrs of age, from Finland. Seems to have split his season between two clubs, with a .933 and .909 save percentage (the .909 was for only 8 games). Not much seems to have been written about him yet, so he's kind of a mystery (as all goalies are).
Aidan Park. RW/C
You might recognise him from the viral moment where he accepted his jersey in shorts and a hoodie/tshirt. He wasn't expecting to get drafted, but was a local who wanted to support his friends and ended up going second last. He's 19, from California, and seems to be considered a defensively responsible forward. The last team he's listed as playing games in the regular season (Green Bay Gamblers) he had 33 goals and 33 assists in 55 games (gotta love numerology). He played for the Calgary bandits during the playoffs and had 0 points in 3 games. Looks like he's also committed to the University of Michigan
asher having a crush on his little brothers like best friend and always coming to his games to cheer him on
Bestfriends Brother
Asher Barnett x fem!reader
word count: 2.0k
----
you don’t remember when it started.
that’s the worst part.
because if you could pinpoint the exact moment, some clear, undeniable shift, you could maybe talk yourself out of it. blame it on a phase. a stupid little crush that came and went like everything else.
but it didn’t.
it stuck.
and now you’re sitting on oliver’s bedroom floor, legs crossed, controller forgotten in your lap while he’s mid-rant about something that happened at practice, and all you can think about is him.
“and then he just missed the net, like completely whiffed it, i swear- wait, are you even listening?”
you blink, dragging your attention back. “yeah. yeah, totally.”
oliver narrows his eyes at you from his spot on the bed. “you’re a terrible liar.”
you roll your eyes, tossing a pillow at him. “you’re just dramatic.”
he catches it easily, shoving it behind his back. “i’m serious. you’ve been weird all week.”
you haven’t. you’ve been careful. there’s a difference.
you shrug, leaning back on your hands. “i’m not weird. i just have other things going on.”
“like what?”
like your brain short-circuiting every time his older brother walks into a room or is mentioned in conversation. like pretending you don’t care when he ruffles your hair and calls you “kid” even though he knows you hate it because you're only a year younger than him.
“school,” you say instead, way too quickly.
oliver snorts. “you’ve never cared about school a day in your life.”
you kick his foot lightly, but your mind is already drifting again. because you know asher’s home visiting.
you heard the front door earlier. heard his voice, laughing about something, and it sent this stupid, fluttery feeling through your chest that you immediately tried to ignore.
you don’t even realize you’ve gone quiet again until oliver brings you back out of it.
“okay, seriously,” oliver says, sitting up. “what is up with you?”
“nothing,” you insist.
he doesn’t buy it. he never does.
before he can push more, there’s a knock on the door, and it swings open without waiting for an answer.
“you guys ordering food or what?” asher leans against the doorframe, one shoulder pressed to the wood, hair still slightly damp like he just got out of the shower.
your brain goes completely blank.
oliver groans. “took you long enough. we’ve been starving.”
“you’ve been complaining for ten minutes,” asher shoots back.
your gaze flickers up. big mistake. he’s already looking at you.
and then he smiles.
“hey,” he says, easy, like he always does.
“hi,” you manage, trying not to sound like your brain just melted.
oliver doesn’t notice. of course he doesn’t.
he’s too busy arguing about what to order, shoving his phone toward asher while listing off options like it’s life or death.
you stay quiet, pretending to scroll through your phone.
—
it gets worse after that.
because suddenly you’re aware. of everything. of how often asher’s around. how easily he fits into your space, into your conversations, into your life like he’s always just been there waiting for you to notice him like this.
“hey,” you say one afternoon, leaning against oliver’s locker. “do you have anything going on friday?”
he looks up, confused. “uh… practice?”
“after.”
“no? why?”
you shrug like it’s nothing. like your stomach isn’t twisting itself into knots. “i was thinking we could go to ann arbor. see ash's game.”
“ash's game?” he repeats. “since when do you care about hockey? i practically beg you to come to mine and you never do.”
you shrug again. “i don’t know. thought it could be fun.”
he eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t push. “sure. whatever.”
so you go.
—
and then you ask again a couple weeks later.
“again?”
“what?”
“you want to go again?”
“yeah,” you say, way too casual. “it was fun.”
he snorts. “you didn’t even understand half of what was happening.”
“i did too.”
“you asked me what icing was.”
you glare at him. “it’s confusing.”
“it’s not.”
“are you coming or not?”
he sighs, shaking his head. “fine. yeah.”
—
third time.
“please?”
he studies you for a second longer this time.
“what?”
“nothing,” he says slowly. “you’re just… weirdly into this all of a sudden.”
“i’m allowed to have interests.”
“since when is hockey one of them?”
you open your mouth.
close it.
“just come, please." you say instead.
he does.
—
fourth time.
he doesn’t question it.
just grabs his keys, already used to the routine.
but you can feel it. the way he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye during the drive.
the way he notices exactly where your attention goes.
you try not to be obvious. you really try. but then asher scores and you’re on your feet. cheering, smiling and completely, undeniably focused on him.
—
fifth time.
you don’t even get the full sentence out.
“do you want to go to ann ar—”
“oh my god.”
you freeze. “what?”
“you have a crush on my brother.”
your heart drops. “what? no-”
“yes,” he says, pointing at you. “that’s why you keep dragging me to these games.”
you open your mouth but nothing comes out. oliver just stares at you, waiting. the silence stretches. long. painfully long.
“please don’t tell him,” you mumble. "i'm sorry."
he blinks. once. twice. and then he bursts out laughing. “oh my god, you’re serious.”
you shove his shoulder. “oliver.”
“this is insane,” he says, still laughing.
“it’s not that crazy.”
“it’s a little crazy.”
you groan, covering your face with your hands. “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t,” he says easily. “but wow. this explains everything.”
you peek at him through your fingers. “you’re not mad?”
“why would i be mad?”
“i don’t know. it’s your brother.”
he shrugs. “yeah. and?”
you stare at him. “that’s it?”
“that’s it.”
you lower your hands slowly. “you’re weird.”
“says the girl who’s been secretly in love with my brother for who knows how long.”
“i’m not in love with him,” you snap.
he raises an eyebrow.
you hesitate. "i just think he’s cute.”
oliver grins. “sure.”
but for the first time in weeks, you feel a little less like you’re going to spontaneously combust every time asher walks into a room or is mentioned because at least now you’re not the only one who knows.
--
you should’ve known it wouldn’t stay a secret for long. it happens a week later.
you’re back at their house, sprawled out on the couch this time instead of his bedroom floor, a movie playing that neither of you are actually watching. oliver’s on his phone, occasionally laughing at something and shoving the screen in your face.
“he’s coming down,” oliver says suddenly.
your head snaps toward him. “what?”
he doesn’t look up from his phone. “asher. he’s coming down.”
your stomach drops. “okay? and?”
“just warning you.”
“why do i need a warning?” you snap, a little too defensive.
he looks at you, slow grin spreading across his face. “relax.”
“i am relaxed.”
“you look like you’re about to throw up.”
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
“what’s up, losers?”
your entire body goes stiff as asher walks in and drops down onto the couch beside you. too close. way too close.
“what are you guys watching?” he asks, glancing at the screen.
“something dumb,” oliver mutters.
asher hums.
“hey, can you grab me a water?” oliver says, looking at asher.
asher raises an eyebrow. “you have legs.”
“yeah, but you’re already up.”
“i’m literally sitting down.”
“so”
asher rolls his eyes but stands anyway. “you’re the worst.”
“love you too.”
asher disappears into the kitchen.
“oliver.”
“relax,” he says, way too amused.
asher comes back, oliver takes the water, twisting the cap open.
“so, did you know she’s been coming to all your games?”
you choke on air.
“what?” asher asks.
“yeah,” oliver continues, completely unfazed. “dragging me to ann arbor like every other week. it’s actually kind of annoying.”
“oliver-”
but it’s too late.
asher’s already looking at you, really looking at you. not the usual quick glance. not the easy, distracted attention you’re used to. this is different.
“you’ve been coming to my games?” he asks.
your brain short-circuits.
“i-um-just a couple,” you mumble, glaring at oliver.
“five times,” oliver corrects.
you kick him hard and he just laughs.
and asher’s still looking at you.
there’s something in his expression you can’t quite read. something you’ve never seen directed at you before. it makes your chest tighten.
“why?” he asks.
simple question. impossible answer.
you shrug, suddenly very interested in the thread on the sleeve of your hoodie. “i don’t know. it’s fun.”
“you hate hockey.”
“i don’t hate it.”
“you asked me what icing was,” oliver cuts in again.
“i will actually end you,” you snap.
asher huffs out a quiet laugh.
and then it goes quiet, too quiet. oliver suddenly stands up.
“i’m gonna go upstairs,” he says quickly.
you whip your head toward him but he’s already gone. traitor. now you’re alone with asher. your heart is pounding so loud you’re convinced he can hear it. you keep your eyes on your hands, picking at your nails, because looking at him feels like a mistake.
“hey,” he says, softer this time.
you don’t look up. “hi.”
there’s a pause.
and then, “is it because of me?”
your breath catches. you freeze. "what?”
“you going to the games,” he says. “is it because of me?”
there’s no teasing in his voice like you'd expect, just genuine curiosity.
you let out a shaky breath. "maybe,” you admit, barely above a whisper.
he smiles. not the easy, casual one you’re used to. something softer. something real. “took you long enough,” he says.
you blink. “what?”
he shakes his head a little. “i was starting to think i imagined it.”
“imagined what?”
“you,” he says simply. “looking at me like that.”
your brain completely shuts down. "i don’t"
“you do,” he interrupts. “you have for a while.”
you stare at him. “wait,” you say slowly. “you knew?”
“i had a feeling,” he admits. “just didn’t want to be wrong. you’re oliver’s best friend.”
“and?”
“and i didn’t want to make things weird if i was wrong.”
you huff out a small, disbelieving laugh. “it’s already weird.”
“yeah,” he says, smiling slightly. “it is. doesn’t mean i don’t feel the same, though.”
your heart stops. "huh?”
“i like you." he says like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
“you’re lying,” you say automatically.
he huffs out a laugh. “i’m not.”
“why?”
“why what?”
“why would you like me?” the question slips out before you can stop it.
“because it’s you. you gonna keep coming to my games?”
you roll your eyes, but it’s softer this time. “yeah.”
