Chapter 13 Nico
nico
The arena was packed. The league had turned us into a spectacle, and Kansas City showed up to watch. The lower bowl was full of Condors and Warriors jerseys. In the middle of all the chaos, at least some of it belonged to us.
Throughout the crowd, signs waved. #Packo. #PowerPlayOfLove. #TwoMinutesForFlirting. One made me look twice: #BromanceToRomance. My stomach dropped.
The announcer called us “two rival superstars proving goodwill still exists in sports.” The crowd roared.
The plan was simple: a two-period scrimmage with local high school and college players. Packy would captain Team Green, and I’d lead Team Yellow.
Before puck drop, the event coordinator handed us mics. Packy thanked the crowd and called me his “good buddy,” which set off another wave of chants. Behind the glass in front of us, a group of teenage girls screamed like we’d walked onstage with guitars.
Packy slid his arm around my back when I started speaking. It wasn’t a quick gesture for show; he held on, solid and warm against me.
What the hell is this?
My heart was thundering, but I smiled anyway. “We’re honored to be here. Thank you for supporting the Kansas City Hockey Foundation and giving kids a chance to play.”
The crowd roared again, and Packy took the mic.
“The Foundation is doing incredible work. Hockey is the greatest sport in the world, and every kid should have a chance to play. Their opportunities to enjoy the game shouldn’t be limited by what their parents can afford.
We’re here to help make that a reality in Kansas City. ”
After the foundation president explained how the scrimmage would work, Pack and I shook hands.
He leaned toward the mic and grinned. “Try to keep up, Rossi.”
“Don’t trip over your ego, Paquette.”
We were already dressed in our uniforms, so we headed to center ice for the puck drop.
It took me about thirty seconds to understand these kids could really play.
The pace was fast and clean, with crisp passes, smart reads, and no charity.
Pack’s team was just as good, and every time he touched the puck, the crowd noise surged.
Once, he stripped me clean at the blue line and flashed the same infuriating grin he’d used on me since college. I wanted to wipe it off his face.
The score was tied 4–4 with a minute remaining.
The sound in the arena changed to a restless buzz, the kind that always comes before overtime.
My line jumped over the boards. Team Green had a shift change too, and when Packy and his line took the ice, his narrowed eyes and pursed lips were all too familiar. He was taking no prisoners.
Thirty seconds later, they had us pinned in our defensive zone. Someone missed a pass, and the puck skittered away against the boards. Pack and I took off toward it at the same time. We laughed as we battled for it, sticks thwacking, until the puck popped free. Pack got his stick on it first.
Fuck.
He raced toward the goal, and I chased him full tilt. I was close enough to taste the ice spray from his skates. He cut through traffic, deked right, and snapped a wrister top shelf before our goalie could set.
The game-ending siren wailed before the goal horn finished blaring. Game over. Green wins.
The arena went wild. I bent over, gasping, while my teammates clapped my helmet and yelled about effort and heart. Of course I smiled along, even though I’d lost the game for us.
Pack, on the other hand, had been brilliant. Playing against him, one-upping each other, had sent my brain into freefall. This was more than nostalgia for college. It was something new.
His teammates swarmed him. I should’ve stayed back and let him have a moment with them, but I pushed off and skated to him anyway.
Our eyes met as he turned, and the grin he’d been wearing widened. His teammates shuffled backward, giving us room.
“Great game,” I said.
His eyes sparkled. “You too.”
He pushed forward and wrapped me in his arms. I was too shocked to move at first, but then my hands found his shoulders and held on.
“That was fun,” I said near his ear.
He didn’t let go. “The best.”
The crowd roared, yelling the hashtag chants louder than ever.
Fuck the cameras. Fuck the goddamn hashtags. This is real.
Photographers rushed onto the ice, asking for pictures. After we took team photos, everyone gathered for a group shot, with Packy and me planted front and center.
While the cameras flashed, he leaned over and said, “I forgot how much I like to play when it doesn’t feel like war. We should get some guys together for shinny sometime.”
He wants to spend time with me? Voluntarily?
“Yeah.” I tried to sound casual. “That’d be great.”
He grinned again, and some of my tension let go. Maybe we were starting to find our way out of the hate pit.
In the locker room, I’d only had time to strip off my pads when the door swung open, and Packy walked in with a crowd of reporters trailing behind him. My teammates lit him up with chirps while he gave me an apologetic look.
“Sorry, Nico. They’re on a deadline. Mind if we do this here?”
It took me too long to answer because my brain had hit pause. Pack was shirtless. Sweat still shone on his skin, and the overhead lights brought out the clean lines of his shoulders, chest, and stomach. Damn. When I forced my eyes upward, I caught him looking somewhere south of my face.
I was bare-chested too, but what the fuck? Did he like that?
He lifted his gaze, and though our eyes met, neither of us said a word.
A reporter cleared his throat. “How did it feel playing without the stress of a Warriors–Condors matchup?”
Packy’s grin looked genuine. “Easier on the bruises, harder on the ego. Rossi’s team almost kept up.”
As my teammates heckled him from their stalls, I laughed. “We carried the show. He just got lucky at the end.”
Another reporter laughed. “You have a lot of chemistry for two infamous rivals.”
“Don’t let that get out,” Pack said. “The league will have us sharing a room next.”
“You wouldn’t last five minutes,” I said.
His eyes locked on mine. “Try me.”
The boys whooped like it was all a joke, but I wasn’t sure it was.
When the reporters finally cleared out, Packy stayed. After a moment, he shifted on his feet. “I need a shower,” he said. “Looks like you do too. Meet in the hall?”
“Ten minutes,” I said.
He nodded and headed out.
We didn’t talk much in the car. Packy scowled at his phone, thumbs stabbing the screen hard enough to make me wince.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked.
He didn’t look up. “The guys.”
“Warriors?”
“Yeah. Them and some from college. A few around the league.”
He turned toward me, eyes hot and restless.
“Messages?” I asked. “I’ve been getting them too.”
“They think…” He took a breath, and his voice came out hollow. “They don’t know what to make of this.”
I should have let it go, but his eyes were so shiny my chest ached. “They’re breaking our balls, Pack. They think we’re supposed to hate each other.”
“Duh!” He went quiet for a moment, then said, “I don’t know what I feel.”
“I don’t hate you, Pack.” I put a hand on his arm. “I don’t.”
He pulled away and stared at me, probably trying to decide what to believe. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. “Good for you. I’m glad we’ll have some time apart.”
He turned toward the window. My throat tightened until it was painful, and I looked away too. What he said shouldn’t have hurt, right? So why did it feel like he’d stabbed me in the gut?
I leaned back in my seat and wondered if I’d only imagined a thaw between us. Since the PR program started, we’d swung between hostility and ease. One minute, we were close enough to touch; the next, we were braced for impact. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore, but he didn’t feel the same.
That was a major problem because I didn’t simply like Pack.
I wanted him. My desires were working against my best interests.
After what he said, I should have been angry, ready to ignore him for good.
But instead, I was hurt. I’d sworn a long time ago that I’d never let Packy make me feel that way again.
Epic fail. I sighed and stared out my window, trying to imagine being home with my friends.
At the hotel, we barely looked at each other during check-in. The elevator ride was short and quiet except when I asked if he was up for dinner.
He frowned. “Um…”
That was his entire response. When the bellman stopped at his door, I tried again. “So, dinner?”
He tugged his ear and let out a long breath. “I’m wiped, Nix. I need a nap, but I’ll call you.”
Yes, and if I have an ounce of self-respect, I’ll ignore the call.
The silence pressed in as I settled in my room. The next morning, Pack would leave for Buffalo, and I’d fly to New York. We’d be apart for a while, and I had no idea whether “I’ll call you” meant tonight or sometime in the uncertain future.
I collapsed on the bed and tried to sleep, but every time I started to nod off, I jerked awake, thinking, “Pack’s right down the hall, will he text?” After a while, I gave up on napping and checked my messages.
THEO: You in love, Romeo? Looked like you wanted to kiss Paquette after the game.
JACE: Faceoffs or foreplay? #PackoForever.
NOAH: Watched a TikTok called Top 10 Glances That Could Melt Ice. You and Packy were #2. Fix that. #PackoRules.
KAI: Sharing a room now or just hearts?
“Fucking hell!” I tossed my phone aside and stared at the wall. My teammates were the best guys I’d ever known, but they could be vicious. I considered replying with something poetic like eat shit, but feeding them a reaction would only make things worse.
The room was quiet, and I was almost breathing normally again when my phone dinged. It was a message from one of our old college teammates.
NEILSTER: I always knew you two were fucking. I made you a playlist. It’s “I Will Always Love You” on loop. #PackoBromanceWithoutTheB
“Aaaah!” Yelling once wasn’t enough, so I shouted again and pounded my fist on the bed. Then I punched a pillow, imagining it was Neil’s face, before taking a hot shower.
While I was toweling my hair dry, the phone dinged. I went to see who’d sent another asinine message.
PACKY: Hungry but not feeling a restaurant. Room service and maybe a movie?
I covered my eyes and groaned. Was this a peace offering? Another mood swing? Pack’s unpredictability was enough to give me whiplash.
Fuck me. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to leave things where they’d been in the car.
NICO: Sure. Be there in a few.
PACKY: Burgers okay?
NICO: Perfect.
I pulled on a hoodie and sweats, glanced in the mirror, and combed my fingers through my hair. Shit. I’d have to be careful because I was tired; for me, that usually meant having no filters.
Stay calm. Be normal. Help him have fun.