Chapter 21 Packy
packy
Morning skate made me wonder if I’d landed in an alternate universe.
In one reality, it was a normal game day, with stretching, light drills, and a free skate-and-shoot.
In the other, the hockey faded into the background while smirks, private jokes, and low-grade chirping followed me around the rink.
Logan passed me the puck and asked, “You like trending, Packy?”
Harpy laughed so hard he nearly wiped out.
“Don’t worry,” Edwards called out, “your other half will be here soon.”
I told them all to fuck off and kept skating, but the laughter stuck with me, buzzing in the background like static.
They weren’t being mean. It was the kind of teasing hockey players turn into an art, but something about it felt off. We were about to play the Condors, and Nico was their captain. The fact that no one made a big deal of it only made me feel more out of place.
After Criswell dismissed us, I stayed behind on the ice. The lights hummed overhead as my breath fogged. Trying to focus, I almost convinced myself the online chaos didn’t matter. Edits, weird comments, and groundless speculation were the price of being a professional athlete.
Back in the locker room, most of the guys were already gone. Blunt said hi and disappeared into the trainer’s room, and Mason threw up a hand as he walked out. I’d just finished getting dressed when my phone buzzed.
NICO: Wheels down at the airport. Try not to score on me too hard tonight
Of course he’d used the winking emoji. I read the message again, and part of me wanted to laugh. Another part wanted to throw my phone into the cold tub.
Why the hell could I picture him sending it? He’d still been on the plane, suit jacket open, earbuds in. He was sure to be wearing the crooked grin that always made him look like he was up to something. My heart kicked me in the ribs.
I typed, “Can’t promise anything,” then deleted it. “Behave yourself” was too stiff, and “See you” sounded cold. Shit. I shoved the phone back in my pocket.
What the hell are we doing?
The question stayed with me all the way home. One text message and my body was thrumming with excitement. Nico was supposed to be a friend again, but we’d already moved past that.
Fuck. Straight guys aren’t supposed to feel like this.
As I merged onto the highway toward Williamsville, I tried to remember the last time I’d slept with a woman.
My ex and I hadn’t touched each other for over six months before she left, so it had been nearly two years.
I hadn’t even dated in all that time, not because I wasn’t horny, but because no one had interested me enough.
So why the fuck had I been so quick to jump into bed with Nix? The answer was easy: because I was interested in him. If I needed evidence, I’d spent half of last night awake, wondering if he’d stay over, in my bed, wrapped around me.
Tears burned my eyes, and I pulled onto the shoulder. I’d carried this ache for years. The way our friendship collapsed, the resentment, how I’d tried to erase him from my mind and failed every time. I’d convinced myself I hated him when… Fuck, I’d hated myself for never trying to fix things.
We’d been circling something since the day we met, but we never talked about it except that night in the cold when I’d said, “I’m straight. You know that, right?”
Now I didn’t know what I was. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure labels mattered.
I gripped the wheel. “Whatever my life was before, I want Nix.”
Saying it out loud made it real.
The big question was what he wanted. Was this only sex for him, or did he want something that could be real?
I pulled back onto the road and decided to invite him over to talk after the game. Talking wasn’t dangerous; it was responsible. We needed to be on the same page about whatever this was.
So, talking. Not sex. Only talking.
It took too long to realize the sound in the car was me laughing.
Okay. Talking and sex.
Holky was already grinning when I walked into the locker room. “Hey, Packy. Did you catch the SportsCenter segment called ‘Packo: Love or Cross-Check?’” He held up his phone. “I’ve got it queued.”
“You should definitely watch,” Mason called from across the room. “Beautiful work. Great clips of you and your man. Bud, the way he looks at you, all those slow blinks? It’s like a cat in love.”
Harpy held out his fist for a bump. “Luca calls them kitty kisses. Our cat Puck does it all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Do I give Nico kitty kisses too?”
Riley slung an arm around my shoulders. “No. You just bite your lip and eye-fuck him for the cameras.”
Brody snorted. “Made me hard seeing it the other night.”
“Same,” Gabe said. “Thanks for that, Packy. We went at it until one in the morning.”
I covered my ears. “TMI, boys. Keep your fucking to yourselves.”
“No problem,” Dog said. “As long as you tell us about yours.”
“Get real. I’ve never fucked Nico.”
It was true.
After I changed into workout clothes, Holky was still scrolling through his phone. “Holy shit, boys. There’s a new TikTok. Caption’s ‘Packo, a love story in three periods’ with tons of hashtags and eggplants.”
My heart took off. “The fuck?”
Harpy pointed his phone at the TV on the wall. “Up there, guys.”
I groaned as soon as it started. Someone had found pictures and videos from when Nix and I were in college.
The ones they used showed us touching or sharing looks, along with lots of cellys where we found each other before we did our linemates.
In one of them, we were hugging, and it looked like Nix kissed my throat.
Adding insult to injury, there was narration, and the voice was none other than fucking Marissa.
Packy and Nico’s story started when they were in college. They roomed together, played on the same line, and, according to people who knew them, they were together all the time. “It was sickeningly sweet,” one of their college teammates says. “I thought something was going on back then.”
The video switched to clips of us after we went pro, glaring at each other across faceoffs, delivering checks that could drop a bull, and fighting every time. She’d even used footage of us hitting each other with our sticks.
But something went wrong. They say the line between love and hate is razor-thin, and Nico and Packy’s college fun turned into fights every time they met on the ice. But check out their faces. Instead of being mad, they look sad. They’d lost the magic, and deep inside, they wanted it back.
The fighting scenes faded into scenes of us together over the last few weeks, complete with smiles, whispers, and chirps. Of course she’d included that shirtless interview, and the video ended with the pic of Nix squeezing my ass.
But there’s good news for romance lovers everywhere. The magic is back, better than ever. They’re older, they’re hotter, and they’re wiser. This time, let’s hope it lasts. Hashtag Packo. Hashtag BroLove.
“Who posted that?” I asked.
“PackoLoverInNY,” Logan said. “You guys have a dedicated channel.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Harpy clapped my shoulder. “Relax. At least you’re trending for romance instead of game misconducts. That’s progress.”
The boys cackled like a pack of hyenas until Holky called out, “Okay, guys. It’s shirt time!”
Like synchronized strippers, they pulled off their Warriors tanks and pulled on matching white T-shirts. I froze. The front of the shirts featured my ass, being squeezed by Nico’s hand. Under the picture, in bubblegum pink, was a caption: #PackoLove.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” I yelled.
“Team unity,” Dog said. “You’re welcome.”
“And you’re all dead.”
Holky was beaming. “You mean beloved. And you’ll be happy to know we made extras for the team’s charity auction.”
Harpy started toward the door. “Soccer time, guys.”
Like most teams, we warmed up before games with a soccer ball kick-around. As the guys filed out, Riley put a hand on my back and pushed me forward. “C’mon, dude. Don’t jinx us by staying in here.”
I followed them out, hoping the chirping was over.
Fuck Marissa and fuck the league. I could imagine all the suits rubbing their hands together over the publicity.
Meanwhile, I didn’t know how to feel. I resented the way they were using us, but I sure didn’t want the league to fold.
And I couldn’t deny being happy about how this had brought Nix and me back together.
While we kicked the ball around the loading dock, their shirts almost glowed under the harsh lights.
Of course, the team’s social media crew was filming.
Why should the Warriors miss out on such great publicity?
They’d post it, and I didn’t even want to see the comments about Paquette’s teammates giving him shit over Packo.
I kicked the ball much harder than necessary. “Fucking perfect. Now the internet gets a sequel.”
“Relax, man.” Dog bounced the ball off his knee. “We’re giving the fans what they want.”
“What they want is a hockey game.”
Harpy grinned. “Nah. They want drama, romance, and maybe a little tongue.”
The guys hooted, and before I could answer, Holky pointed at something behind me and yelled, “No fucking way. Check them out.” He sounded like he was reading a script.
I turned and gasped. The Condors were jogging toward us, wearing the same shirts the Warriors had on.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Harpy said, bumping Noah Parker’s fist.
“Good to have you, boys,” Logan called out. “I see you got our care package.”
“And Gabe’s phone call,” Mercer, their goalie, said.
While everyone laughed, I couldn’t help looking for Nix. He was in the back, wearing a gray Condors shirt.
Riley cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Rossi! Get your ass over here.”
Fuck me. The Condors’ social media crew had joined ours with their own fucking cameras.
Both teams closed in as Edwards and Mason walked me to the center of the pack. Theo Grant and a young guy I didn’t know were frog-marching Nico toward me.
When we were face-to-face, Harpy said, “Time for the kiss cam, boys. Pucker up.”
As everyone chanted, “Kiss! Kiss!” I wanted to melt into the floor, and Nix looked like he wished he were anywhere else but Buffalo.
Then our eyes met, and he smiled. “Hey, Pack.”
It was very hard to breathe, but I couldn’t help smiling too. “Hey, Nix.”
Everyone went silent. After a few seconds, Dog said, “Nix, huh?”
“And Pack,” the young Condor added.
“We’re using pet names now?” Harpy said.
Theo nudged Nix. “That’s really sweet, Nix. Good for you.”
“Leave him alone,” I snapped, which of course made everyone laugh. All except Nix, who smiled again.
They all started chanting again, clapping their hands to the rhythm this time. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Nix rubbed the back of his neck and said, “I hate them.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
He blinked at me, a slow kitty kiss, and the noise blurred into the background. A moment later, I realized I’d caught my lip under my teeth.
I looked away. “See you on the ice. Watch out because I might kick your ass.”
He grinned. “Not if I get you first.”
The boys laughed again, louder than ever, and it was official: I wanted to die.