Chapter 36 Nico
nico
Three Weeks Later
The puck snapped off Noah’s stick and slammed into the corner. Twenty-one thousand fans created a wall of sound that made it hard to think. Game six, third period, down by one. Win or go home.
I dug my edges in and pushed, my lungs burning as I chased the puck. Fox Painter got there first and chipped it past me with no time to spare.
Half a second late, Rossi. Again.
I cursed and chased him back the other way. My legs still had life, but I was lagging enough to matter. Pouring on the speed, I slammed Painter into the wall, grabbed the puck, and ripped a pass toward Noah.
Shit. The puck clipped a Lynx skate and skittered loose.
Theo shouted a warning as a shot rang off his shin pad. I spun, grabbed possession, and tore through neutral ice. The crowd roared as I crossed the blue line.
This was it. I wound up and released.
The puck sailed high. Clean miss.
Do I even know how to play hockey anymore?
Painter scooped the rebound and was gone. By the time I hit the bench for a line change, my chest was heaving so hard I couldn’t even swear. The noise blurred. Coach Murphy was talking, but I didn’t hear what he was saying.
Jace nudged my shoulder. “You good?”
“Yeah.” It was an automatic answer. A lie.
I bent over and stared at the ice while my legs shook. Was I fucking up because I couldn’t do any better? Still struggling for air, I couldn’t even scoff. My head hadn’t been there all night.
I kept seeing Pack’s face at the bakery, his eyes warning me not to argue about talking after the playoffs.
Since then, things had gotten worse. The Warriors were in their own playoff series, but that didn’t explain his careful texts and polite goodnights.
There was a growing distance between us that he never explained.
The Lynx scored on a power play, pulling me out of my thoughts. They were up 4–2. A little later, with a minute left to play, our line was back on the ice. Since Murphy had pulled Kai, we had an extra attacker on the ice, and we pushed hard for a goal as the clock wound down.
Noah rang the puck off the crossbar. Theo shot off the rebound, but it bounced off a post and skidded away. We were all praying for a miracle that never came.
The final buzzer cut through the arena’s noise. Lynx sticks flew into the air as their bench jumped over the boards. I dropped to one knee, steadying myself with a hand on the ice. We’d lost the series, and even in the chaos, I couldn’t stop wondering if I’d lost something even more important.
We flew home from Montreal that night. Kai was devastated, staring straight ahead with his hood up, his face blank.
We took turns telling him we won as a team and lost as one.
He’d stopped thirty-one of the Lynxes’ thirty-five shots, and if the rest of us had played as well, the flight home would’ve been completely different.
My phone buzzed right before landing. Pack. The Warriors would play their game seven against Pittsburgh in two days, so he was at home.
PACK: Sorry it took me so long to write but I’ve been trying to figure out what to say. I’m so damn sorry you guys lost. I really thought you’d pull it off. I watched the game with some of the boys, and we were all shocked. Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?
I stared at the screen longer than I should have.
Anything he could do? Yes, talk to me. Stop sounding like someone who’s afraid of saying the wrong things.
I typed, deleted, and typed again.
NICO: Hey, handsome. Thanks for watching. We’re almost home. Everyone’s pretty shook, but we’ll get through it. Right now, the best thing you can do is keep your head locked in and beat the hell out of Pittsburgh on Thursday. If one of us wins, we both do. I miss you like crazy.
My phone buzzed again while we taxied.
PACK: Miss you too, babe. Want to have a video call tomorrow? We don’t have morning skate, and I’m free all day. Text me when you wake up and we’ll figure it out.
Text him? Not “call me,” or “I’ll call you.” Just text. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.
NICO: I’d love that. May want to talk a long time because I’m missing you hard tonight.
A few seconds passed.
PACK: We’ll talk as long as you want. Try to get some sleep.
There it was again, warm and sincere, but distant enough to leave space for doubt.
NICO: You too, babe.
I stared out at the terminal lights coming into view.
He’s not pulling away, but he isn’t pulling me closer, either.
In my apartment, I sat on the edge of the bed holding my phone. Pack cared. I knew that. The problem wasn’t trust, but momentum. We kept circling the same questions without answering them, and every time we waited, the distance hurt a little more.
Fuck this. I didn’t want another careful conversation or scheduled video call. If we were building something real, we needed to be in the same room. We had to find the balls to say what we actually meant.
I didn’t text the next morning, and I didn’t call. Instead, I packed a change of clothes, hailed a cab to LaGuardia, and got on the next flight to Buffalo. The plane landed shortly before ten. After downing some coffee, I rented a car and plugged Pack’s address into the GPS.
The streets went by in a blur as I thought about how he might react to my visit. I didn’t practice speeches or arguments because there was nothing to plan. This wasn’t about winning a debate; it was about being honest. Either he wanted what I did, or he didn’t. I had to know.
My heart raced as I climbed the steps to his porch and rang the bell. Nothing. I took slow breaths while I waited, then rang again. While sweat gathered under my collar, I wrung my hands. Finally, I knocked.
Has he fucking left after saying he’d be here?
The door opened, revealing Pack in a hoodie and sweatpants, with disastrous hair and a pillow crease etched into his cheek. His eyes drooped with exhaustion.
“You’re here,” he said. No smile, no follow-up.
“I didn’t want to talk on the damn phone again,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “Needed to see you in person. Touch you.”
A smile tugged at his lips as he stepped back. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “I’m a mess from the playoffs, but… God, I’m sorry you guys lost.”
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight and burying his face against my shoulder. His body was solid and familiar, and he smelled like sleep.
“Missed you,” I whispered into his hair, fighting the urge to push him against the wall and fuck some sense into both of us.
“I know,” he said softly. “I missed you too.”
He lifted his head and brushed his mouth against mine, more like a question than a kiss. When I slid my hand into his hair and deepened the kiss, he responded with the passion I’d missed so much. Moaning softly, he pulled me closer and pressed his chest against mine. My knees nearly buckled.
I was so relieved. He needed me as much as I did him.
We only pulled apart to catch our breath.
He rested his forehead against mine, then kissed me again.
This time it was softer. I tried to hold on to every detail, terrified this might be the last time we’d share this.
In my life, I’d already learned that hot kisses and missing someone didn’t always mean everything would be okay.
When he drew away, his voice was rough. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”