Chapter 31
nico
Snow fell in thick, unapologetic flakes over the outdoor rink at Canalside Park, covering the boards and bleachers.
Volunteers worked to keep it off the long folding tables piled high with donated winter coats.
Buffalo didn’t fool around when it came to winter.
It was cold, bright, and loud, and it suited Pack perfectly.
We laced up our skates as soon as we arrived. Pack headed for the ice while a group of reporters pulled me aside to ask about the Condors’ shootout loss to Montreal the night before. When they finished, I spotted Pack crouched near the boards, helping a kid tighten his skates.
Pack wore a Warriors beanie that didn’t quite keep his messy brown hair in place, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. Every few seconds, he looked up and scanned the crowd like he was searching for someone.
For me.
When the kid skated off, Pack straightened and found me immediately. His face lit up, and he pushed off, skating toward me without a shred of self-consciousness. He stopped so close that snow dusted my jacket from the brim of his hat.
Grinning like an idiot, he said, “You light up this whole damn place.”
I laughed softly. “I think that’s the glow from your cheeks.”
His grin widened, and I couldn’t resist brushing my knuckles across his wrist. Everyone else was too busy to notice.
The league had sent us to help at Warm Hearts in Warm Coats: Skate with the Pros, a charity coat drive with us as the main attraction.
The rink was packed with families, couples, kids in oversized helmets, and reporters clustered around the edges.
We paused to listen to a high school choir warming up at one end of the ice.
A Pride table near the entrance added a bright splash of color to the snowy scene. I stopped for a moment, and the volunteers gave me a warm welcome. They told me how much it meant to have an openly gay player at the event.
A college-aged guy leaned forward. “Is it true about you and Paquette?”
Before I could answer, Pack skated by, flashing me a grin so big it was almost reckless.
“Looks like it,” the guy said with a wink. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
I laughed it off and skated away, wishing I knew how to do an Axel.
Pack waved me over and introduced me to the event organizer, who made a quick announcement over the loudspeaker and told us to enjoy ourselves. We helped kids onto the ice, skated slow laps with beginners holding on to our arms, and signed autographs. Some Warriors fans even asked for mine.
It wasn’t long before chants of “Packo, Packo, Packo!” broke out. Teenagers waved signs saying things like #PackoForever, #PackoStares, and even #LoveOnTheIce. We acknowledged them with casual waves.
A group of youth players arrived in full gear, and we spent a few minutes talking with them. Making them feel special brought back great childhood memories. The pros I’d met when I was starstruck treated me well, and it was an honor to carry on that tradition.
Through it all, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Pack. He worked with a little girl who was struggling to skate backward, beaming more than she was. When he caught me watching, he flashed a crooked grin that made my stomach flutter.
The PA system crackled again. “If everyone would gather near the stage, it’s time for Ask the Players.”
Pack and I joined the organizer on a portable platform beside the rink. Fans crowded closer, holding steaming cups of hot chocolate and spiced tea. An umbrella heater hummed overhead.
I leaned close to Pack’s ear. “Ready for this?”
“Not even a little,” he whispered. “But let’s fake it.”
We sat on tall stools as the organizer reintroduced us. The crowd couldn’t have cheered any louder if we’d just won the Laurentian Cup.
The early questions were easy. A teenage guy asked, “Packy, what do you eat before a game?”
“Usually something beige,” Pack said, drawing laughter from the fans. “Seriously, it’s always pasta with marinara, grilled chicken, and a big salad.”
I shook my head at the crowd. “Big lie. He hates vegetables. If someone puts them on his plate, he hides them in his napkin.”
Pack grinned at me as more laughter rang out, and then a young woman asked, “Is Nico really as fast as he looks?”
“No,” I said before Pack could answer. “Faster.”
Pack snorted so hard he nearly fell off his stool, which made us both crack up.
“Nico skates like the wind,” he said. “Mostly because he doesn’t remember how to stop.”
The questions were easy and fun, and we answered them without much thought until a thin teenage boy wearing a Pride toque raised his hand. A staff member gave him the mic, and his hand trembled as he held it.
“Um… This is for both of you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “You seem… really close.”
Most of the crowd laughed. The kid’s cheeks flushed, but he went on.
“I wanted to ask if there’s something more, like people are saying online?” His eyes moved between us, full of nervous hope. “Because it would be really cool if there was.”
The crowd went completely silent. My heart was pounding. Next to me, Pack stiffened. He stared at the kid as his face showed a rush of panic, recognition, and fear. Then he forced a smile, but his lips were shaking.
“That’s… wow.” Pack’s laugh was weak. “It’s flattering. Really.” He cleared his throat. “Nix and I are… I mean, Nico and I… We’re here to support the coat drive, and it’s… um…”
He stalled, unusual for him.
The kid’s eyes widened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I—”
“It’s okay,” I said, turning to Pack and resting my foot on the rung of his stool. “We appreciate the question, but we prefer to keep our private life private.”
The answer sounded smooth, even professional, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The part about keeping things private was real. The lie was what I left out: Yes, you’re right. We’re together. You deserve to know that people like you are everywhere, including pro hockey.
The kid nodded, and it hurt to see the hope fade from his eyes. He’d worn a Pride toque to a hockey event in Buffalo. It must have been scary to raise his hand in a crowd of strangers and ask two pro athletes if they were queer. That took a ton of courage.
And what did I do? I smiled and shut him down.
Some of the tension eased in Pack’s shoulders. I wanted to hold his hand and tell him it was okay, but I didn’t move. That would have been worse than telling the kid yes.
The organizer cleared his throat and asked a safe question about our favorite road cities. The crowd finally moved, and there were a few relieved sighs. It seemed like everyone was glad to move on.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I kept looking at the kid. He sat with his arms crossed, toque pulled down, talking to the girl beside him. He looked okay. Maybe he really was.
I remembered being that age, searching for proof that someone like me could fit in places that seemed unwelcoming. I remembered how much even small signs of hope meant.
And we’d just told him to look somewhere else.
The next question was about playoff predictions, and Pack answered easily. As he moved his hand to make a point, it brushed mine. It might have been an accident, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t.
I answered the next question on autopilot, smiling and nodding, but my mind was focused on the box Pack and I were in, and the kid wearing the Pride toque.
I’m sorry we couldn’t be what you needed today. Maybe someday we will.
The organizer moved us through the last questions quickly. Pack answered smoothly, back to his professional self, but I could see tension under the surface.
Afterward, we spent another hour skating with fans, posing for photos, and signing more autographs.
Pack smiled for the cameras and was patient with all the kids who wanted to show him their slapshot form or get advice from one of Buffalo’s biggest stars.
I wished everything could be that easy for him.
As the afternoon faded into twilight, we headed back to his SUV. He was quiet during the drive home. After a few minutes, he took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back, and we held on until he had to shift gears.
He let out a long breath as soon as the front door closed behind us.
While we hung up our coats, I asked, “You okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.” His hand trembled as he dropped his keys into a bowl.
“Pack.”
“What that kid asked? I thought I’d be ready, but I wasn’t.” He looked at me, eyes wet. “I know I should’ve said yes. It would have meant so much to him, but I was…” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I was too scared. I’m sorry.”
I held his face in my hands. “You handled it. We handled it. No one’s upset, especially not me.”
He swallowed, and his voice shook. “I’ll do better.”
I opened my arms. “Come here.”
He hugged me, and we stood with our cheeks pressed together while I breathed him in. Cold air, cologne, and a hint of sweat. All Pack. He held me like he never wanted to let go.
“Long day,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Everyone’s watching us,” he said. “Waiting for something to happen.”
“I know.”
“You sure I didn’t disappoint you?”
My throat tightened. I pulled him closer until we were chest to chest, our heartbeats in sync. “I’m sure,” I said, then kissed the top of his head. I wanted to tell him I was disappointed in myself, but that would have only made things harder.
He lifted his face and brushed his lips against mine. Instead of being playful or hungry, the kiss was careful, a silent plea for reassurance.
“We’re okay,” I whispered. “I want to be with you, Pack. No matter what happens or where we are.”
We stayed like that until he relaxed. He placed his hands on my waist and rested his forehead against mine. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm again.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said. “We’ll order food later.”
I smiled. “Perfect.”
He laced our fingers together and led me toward the bedroom. Halfway there, I glanced at him. His smile was small but real, and my heart finally slowed down.
By the bed, holding each other again, he shivered. No matter what happened, I had to take care of him. We’d get through this together.