Chapter 42 Nico
nico
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so I went for a run and headed north. Outside, the city was coming to life. Delivery trucks were double-parked on Eighth Avenue, coffee cart owners were setting up, and the morning traffic noise was already too loud.
My legs settled into a fast rhythm as I tried to burn off the restlessness that had me so anxious. Yet no matter how hard I tried to focus on the run, my brain wouldn’t stop racing. What happens when the playoffs are over? Will Pack still want to talk? Was Buffalo the end or only a break?
By the time I reached Central Park South, my shirt was plastered to my chest. I peeled it off and tied it around my waist, still heading north. The park stretched out on my right, wide and green.
Does Pack miss me as much as I miss him? Does the texting really mean anything?
I didn’t stop until 110th Street. My head was clearer, and the knot in my stomach had eased. It was great to take what was probably the deepest breath I’d had since Buffalo.
The run back was slower, but I still pushed myself. When I got home, I stripped in the entryway and tossed my soaked clothes into a pile. The blinds were still closed, so the apartment was cool and dim. I lay on the living room floor until my heart finally slowed.
Eventually, I got up and took my clothes to the laundry room, then ate a banana in the kitchen. Figuring Pack was still asleep after last night’s win, I decided to text him later.
The shower was hot enough to turn my skin pink, but it felt so good I stayed under the spray until it ran cool. The tightness in my chest had eased from a stranglehold to something I could live with for another day.
After pulling on shorts and a soft T-shirt, I stretched out on the couch with my tablet. Sunlight poured through the windows, cutting the room into neat geometric shapes. It should have been peaceful, but I was still on edge.
I opened TikTok to distract myself, but the first video was about Pack and me. Someone had mixed footage from our outreach events with clips of us goofing off in college. Jesus. Back then, we’d been all about long, sultry looks, whispered jokes, and not-so-secret smiles.
It was more of the same after the PR tour began, but somehow more intense. At one event, I didn’t even look at the reporter asking a question because I was practically drooling over Pack. The video ended with us skating in the snow in Buffalo, face-to-face, so close it looked like we were dancing.
The caption read:
The slowest slow burn in hockey history. Tell me again what big rivals they are. #Packo #FlirtingOnIce #BladesOfLove #PackoLove
I read some of the comments.
@topcheddar1169: This is not a rivalry, this is foreplay on ice. #PackoForeplay
@heart_over_hockey: I hope they know what they have. #MenForMen
I kept scrolling, and soon another clip of us showed up. This one was quieter: a slideshow with recent shots of me, and photos of Pack from the playoffs. He looked so sad, even when he should’ve been thrilled. The caption was:
Is it just me or do they both look not okay lately?
This time, the comments hit even harder.
@itguruwithapuck: I’ve watched hockey my whole life. That’s not stress. That’s grief.
@softsticktaps: I wish they knew how many people are rooting for them. #PackoForever
My stomach clenched so tight I nearly gagged. I threw my tablet at the end of the sofa and covered my face with my hands. While I wondered what to do, the doorbell rang.
I didn’t move at first. When it rang again, I got up and stretched before walking to the door. Whoever it was started knocking.
“Okay,” I yelled. “I’m coming.”
My brain froze when I looked through the peephole. I glanced away, then back again. Pack was standing in the hall, staring straight ahead. While I watched, he licked his lips. My heart kicked so hard it made me gasp.
Holy fuck.
For a moment, I couldn’t move, and then my hands were on the locks, fumbling the chain and deadbolt. I opened the door so fast it hit the wall.
Pack’s hand was raised, ready to knock again. He froze when he saw me. “Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked.
“You’re here.” The smile that broke across my face was so wide it hurt. “You’re actually here.”
“I didn’t want to—” He stopped and swallowed. “I couldn’t keep texting. I had to see you.”
My heart pounded so hard I pressed a hand to my chest. “I’m really glad you came.”
“I’m a mess,” he said, the words rushing out. “Playoffs, no sleep. I probably smell like an airplane, but I couldn’t wait.”
“Hey.” I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Take a breath.”
He shifted and looked past me. We were still standing in the doorway.
“Come in,” I said.
I closed the door behind him, but neither of us moved. There were only three feet between us, but it might as well have been a mile. His shoulders sagged. He looked away, then back.
Then he stepped forward. Or maybe I did. He wrapped his arms around me, and I held on tight. Afraid he might disappear, I pressed my face against his shoulder and breathed him in. Soap, his cologne. Pack.
He raised a hand to the back of my head. “I missed you,” he said. “So fucking much.”
My breath caught. I tightened my hold on him because I couldn’t trust what I might say if I opened my mouth too soon.
We held on until we stopped shaking. When I pulled back, his eyes were rimmed with red. It was fear, maybe. Desperation?
“Let’s sit,” I said, nodding toward the living room.
We sat on the couch so close our thighs touched.
Pack’s hand found mine. His grip was strong, but the space between us seemed fragile.
I was almost afraid to breathe for fear I’d break the moment.
It made no sense because I’d rehearsed this conversation a thousand times, but with him there, everything was surreal.
I forced myself to speak. “I’ve been stupid for a long time. I didn’t say what I should have. I didn’t ask the only question that really mattered.”
“Me too.” His voice trembled. “I got scared and used playoff timing as an excuse.” He shook his head and sighed. “Have I lost you because of it?”
“Hey.” I squeezed his hand. “We’re still here.”
He took a shaky breath and looked down. “I’m terrified. If I say this wrong—”
“Do you want us to end?” I asked. From what he’d said, I figured the answer was no, but I needed to hear him say it.
His head jerked up. “God, no.”
Relief hit so hard I had to close my eyes. When I opened them, he was watching me.
“I don’t either,” I said.
He moved closer and rested his free hand on my thigh.
“I’m not good with words when I’m nervous.” My heart pounded so hard I had to take a moment to get myself together. “So I’ll just say it.”
He nodded.
“I love you.”
It was like stepping off a ledge.
His eyes teared up, and he made a rough sound in his throat.
I pressed on. “When I asked about you moving to New York, I was being a coward. What I wanted to ask was whether you were open to a future with me. Because I want one with you.”
He opened and closed his mouth, then cleared his throat. “Yes, I want a future with you.” His eyes shone as he squeezed my hand. “I love you too, Nix. I think I always have, but I never knew what to call it.”
The lightness in my chest was so sudden that I slumped back against the cushions.
“That explains a lot,” I said. “We’ve been circling this since college.”
“Yeah.” He brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “If you really hate someone, you don’t spend seven years finding excuses to touch them, even if the best you can do is pick a fight in a hockey game.”
I laughed. “Does beating each other with our sticks count?”
“Frustration,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll buy that.”
“So…” A crooked smile played on his lips. “I guess we’re idiots.”
Nodding, I returned his smile. “Hopeless ones.”
“Happy ones?”
“The happiest.”
The first brush of his lips was gentle. Then I deepened the kiss, exploring his mouth while he moaned softly. We both sighed when we pulled apart and leaned our foreheads together.
“You really love me?” he whispered.
“Completely. And you want a life with me?”
“More than anything.”
The words settled between us, steady and real, until he eventually pulled back and looked into my eyes. “Love you, Nix.”
“Love you too.”
I couldn’t sit still because every part of me ached for him.
“Bedroom?” I asked.
His smile was everything. “Yeah. Absolutely.”