Chapter 10 Andrew #3
“Ouch,” Nicki whistles. “Don’t mince your words.”
“You’re other things too,” Andrew says. Though Nicki didn’t appear offended by his words, this feels important to say anyway. “Protective, loyal, decent.”
“Don’t go ruining my reputation. People might think I’m something I’m not.”
“Would it be so bad if people knew the real you?”
“That entitled rich asshole is the real me.”
“Maybe,” Andrew says, because yes, that is definitely Nicki. But Andrew is starting to suspect there’s so much more. “But there are other parts to you, too.”
“Those parts aren’t for everyone.”
“Who are they for then?”
“Maybe they’re for my boyfriend.”
Digging his toes deeper into the sand, Andrew forces aside the imposter syndrome threatening to crash over him.
“One day when you get one for real, they’ll be lucky.”
“Because of the money and fame,” Nicki snarks, tone sharp in a way Andrew isn’t used to.
“No, the other things.”
“Most people don’t wanna date an asshole. That’s not exactly a winning personality trait, and the people who do, well what they really want is the money or fame.”
“You deserve someone who likes you just for you, Nicki.”
“Selfish asshole and all?”
“Well, your manners could certainly use improving at times.”
“That’s very pointed.”
“The consequence of being the oldest sibling raised by lawyers.” Andrew wiggles his toes in the sand, focusing on the cool compression as the water continues to lap at his ankles. “You are an asshole whose manners could do with a check at times.”
“As you’ve said multiple times.”
“But—” Andrew pauses, deciding laying most of his cards on the table won’t hurt anyone. Not anyone besides him anyway. “Some people like someone being selfish with them.”
“That what you like?” Nicki asks, his eyes suddenly on Andrew and not the sea.
“It doesn’t matter what I like,” Andrew protests. “This isn’t about me.”
“Bullshit.”
“What did you say?”
“I said bullshit, princess. If this is about me, then it’s about you, too. Stop fucking pretending you don’t have any wants or needs.”
Andrew shoves his hands into his pockets, unable to explain how those words feel like sandpaper to his soul. He’s spent his entire life doing just that, wanting life to be easier for the people he loves. Making himself as small as possible became as second nature as did masking.
“I don’t like having those.”
“Wants and needs?”
Andrew nods.
“We’re going to work on that.”
“I feel like maybe I misheard you,” Andrew says. “It sounded like you said ‘we’re going to work on me having wants and needs.’”
“That’s because that is what I said. You’re helping me with my family problem by being my fake boyfriend, so I’m going to help you learn to be selfish.”
Hearing Nicki repeat it doesn’t make it make any more sense. Amanda and Denise said he was difficult and grumpy and didn’t care about anyone but himself and yeah, maybe some of that is true, but there’s more to this story—there’s more to Nicki.
“You don’t need to do that, really. I don’t need you to feel obligated.”
“Do I look like I feel fucking obligated?” Nicki retorts.
“No, you look pissed off.”
“That’s just my face.”
“You never look pissed off in your ad campaigns.”
“You paying a lot of attention to me?” Nicki smirks, looking decidedly less grumpy about the prospect. He really is a cocky asshole.
“Your face is everywhere, it’s hard to avoid,” Andrew grumbles. “They have your poster in my break room.”
What Andrew doesn’t point out is that the poster is technically of the entire team, but Nicki’s the only one Andrew ever paid attention to.
He doesn’t think he has a thing for hockey players, it was always just Nicki and his aesthetically pleasing face and endless tattoos.
Nicki doesn’t feel the same about Andrew though, which is for the best probably. He’d only be disappointed eventually.
“I knew you were obsessed with me,” Nicki says with the air of someone used to being the center of attention and reveling in it.
“Not obsessed,” Andrew corrects. “Besides, they make you seem very…personable.”
“What can I say, they pay me a lot of money to be charming.”
“So you can be charming when you want to be?”
“I can be charming when it’s required,” Nicki corrects, “but it’s not real. It’s all a show—a version of Nicholas Whitmore the public loves. It’s easy to show people what they want to see.”
There’s something in his tone that suggests maybe he doesn’t like the fame and notoriety the way Andrew assumed.
“And who is the real Nicki?”
“A grumpy asshole who is gonna help you learn how to be a little more selfish. You’re too fucking nice.”
It’s obvious Nicki is done with his introspection, but Andrew’s not sure he’s ready for Nicki’s attention to be focused on him.
This is the time where he would usually let himself fall into the background, letting one of his brothers take center stage.
Unfortunately, none of his brothers are here, and the only person Nicki is looking at is him.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Andrew tries.
“Stop overthinking. We’re doing this”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Nicki, no.”
“Princess, yes.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” Except that Andrew doesn’t. Not anymore. Maybe he did, but somewhere between that horrible first meeting and losing his shit in a rage room to being rescued from the paparazzi, something changed. Something is changing.
“Saying it doesn’t make it true,” Nicki asserts, his acute observations at such odds with the careless playboy image the media paints of him.
Andrew can’t help but wonder if that’s a willful oversight by the media and fans, or if that’s how Nicki wants people to think about him—-as nothing more than a handsome face and powerful hands.
“Look, we can’t do this,” Andrew sighs, not at all ready to admit he doesn’t hate Nicki anymore, not when he doesn’t understand what his feelings towards the other man are. “I don’t want to be selfish.”
“Why?”
“It’s rude.”
“That’s a bullshit fucking answer. Tell me the truth.”
Instantly, Andrew’s heart rate speeds up. “No.”
“Yes,” Nicki challenges.
“No.”
Suddenly the memory of being fifteen and nearly drowning jumps to the forefront of Andrew’s mind.
The taste of salt water and bile coming back up his throat, the sound of crashing waves and Charlie’s anguished sobs echoing in his ears while an unfamiliar lifeguard hovers above him.
The awareness of his own body had been uncomfortable, just like now.
So often over the years, he’s felt like an alien, his own self-awareness coupled with intense interoception means that he sometimes feels like an intruder in his own body. His breathing is too loud. Each heart beat is too strong. Existing in his own body feels wrong.
“Tell me,” Nicki pushes.
This is the time Andrew would normally retreat, even from Charlie. He would find somewhere private to isolate until he could pull his mask back on, but there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
“No,” Andrew tries again, digging his nails into his palms.
“What are you so scared of?” Nicki questions. It would be easier to hear Nicki’s harsh accent grunting at him or even to hear him bark out the demand. Instead, there’s nothing in his tone but curiosity and an unexpected gentleness that has the truth spilling out without his permission.
“People won’t like me,” Andrew yells, once again snapping in front of Nicki. “My friends, my brothers, my parents. I’m who they need.”
It’s not until he’s stopped talking that Andrew realizes he was shouting, that his chest is heaving and his hands ache from clenching them.
It’s the rage room all over again, but there’s nothing else to blame this meltdown on except himself and the way Nicki makes him feel raw and exposed because he challenges the lies Andrew tells, even the ones he tells himself.
The day Andrew realized the scope of his neurodiversity he felt affirmed.
There was a deep sense of relief in being able to understand his own brain and how he interacted with the world around him.
What he hadn’t realized at the time, what he didn’t realize until very recently, is that the day he self-diagnosed his mask started to break.
The cracks were small at first, but the more time goes by, the harder Andrew finds it to keep his mask up the way he used to.
“And what about what you need?” Nicki’s tone isn’t sharp anymore. It would be easier if it were. It’s curious, gentle, and that hurts more somehow.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.”
“Nicki.”
“Princess.”
Andrew’s shoulders sag. Whatever energy he would normally use to argue has been swept away by the tide and the truth. This is why he isolates when he feels this way. It’s easier to hide than to feel like this.
“Let’s go back to the house. You can shower and change into, what the fuck did you call them—house clothes?”
“I don’t have house clothes here,” Andrew sighs.
“You’ll wear my clothes,” Nicki says in a tone that leaves no room for arguing, which is good because Andrew has nothing left in him to fight right now. Every ounce of him is tired.
“How do you know I want to shower?”
“Your feet are dirty. You said you hate being dirty.”
Nicki isn’t wrong, he does want a shower, and the fact that Nicki knows this already, knows Andrew so well after a few fake dates, makes him wonder why everyone else in his life doesn’t.
“Alright, yeah.”
“I’m fucking starving,” Nicki announces. “What do you want to eat?”
“I’m fine,” Andrew automatically answers.
“I asked what you wanted, princess. I’m not eating in front of you. Unless you’re not hungry.”
“I’m not not hungry,” Andrew admits.
“Right, so let’s go to the house. Shower. Food. Rest.”
“Who put you in charge?” Andrew questions, surprised to find himself falling into step beside Nicki as they each grab their shoes and make their way towards the staircase that leads up to Nicki’s house.
“Me. Your only job is to relax.”
Andrew barks out a laugh. “Have you met me? I don’t do that.”
“Well, you’re going to do that now,” Nicki asserts.
“I don’t think you understand how things work. You can’t just demand something happen because you want it.”
“Yes, I can.” Nicki’s big hand settles at the back of Andrew’s neck again and something funny happens in Andrew’s stomach, little swoops of pleasure when Nicki squeezes. “I take care of what’s mine.”
“You make me sound like a possession,” Andrew scoffs.
“You’re mine.”
“I am not yours.”
“Yes, you are. Boyfriends remember. That makes you mine.”
“You’re such a fucking only child,” Andrew snorts. “Fine, yours. Until the end of this deal.”
Nicki grunts, his fingers spreading wide as they glide down Andrew’s back to rest at the base of his spine, guiding him up the stairs. He can manage on his own perfectly fine, something he should probably point out. He doesn’t.
“I should get my phone,” Andrew says when they pass the car on the way to the house.
Nicki’s hands settle at his waist, physically moving him away. “No.”
“I didn’t ask permission, Nicki.”
“No,” Nicki repeats. “It stresses you out.”
“Being alive stresses me out.”
“Well you being alive is needed. The phone is not.”
“Nicki—” he starts, cut off when Nicki’s hands settle at his hips more firmly to physically move him closer to the house.
It’s caveman behavior—brutish and bossy—but the strength of his hands and the selfish relief at not having to deal with his family outweighs any arguments he might have.
Or most of them. He has to pretend to object, at least a little. His pride demands it.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Andrew offers. “We can shower and eat first, but then phone after. At some point, I do have to actually deal with all of this. My brothers, Charlie especially, are probably worried.”
“Shower, eat, then watch a movie.”
“Who said anything about a movie?”
“Me, it’s my rest day. I always watch a movie when I have a day off.”
“Fine, shower, food and movie. Then phone and the real world.”
Nicki frowns but doesn’t argue. Andrew takes it as an agreement. Given that their feet are sandy and damp, exploring the house is postponed in favor of a shower.
Though it’s not technically a tour, Andrew's eyes track over everything as he takes in the house. Every room is designed in a way that affords a view of the sea, the furnishing luxurious and sleek but never taking away from the vast number of windows.
“We’re making a mess,” Andrew points out, the trail of sand behind them as they take the stairs to the second floor making him twitch. “I’ll clean it after.”
“I have house cleaners.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“Fine,” Andrew sighs, still distracted by the clumps of sand that fall onto the pretty marble stairs.
Once they reach the top landing, Nicki’s hand reappears at Andrew’s lower back, guiding him left towards a set of double doors.
He doesn’t bother asking if this is Nicki’s room because the answer is obvious once the doors are opened.
He takes in the king sized bed in the center of the room with several hockey sticks stacked in the corner.
There’s a beautiful piece of art above the bed in elegant contrast to the hockey gear piled haphazardly in the corner.
What really draws Andrew’s attention is the wall of floor to ceiling windows opposite the bed with an unobstructed view of the sea.
It’s beautiful, calm, and not at all what he would’ve expected of Nicki before this morning.
“You look surprised.”
“The room is nice.”
“And that surprises you?” Nicki’s presence beside him is becoming familiar. So much so that Andrew forgets to mask.
“Yeah, thought maybe you lived in a sex dungeon.”
“The sex dungeon is in the basement.”
“You don’t have a basement,” Andrew points out.
“No, I don’t.” Nicki moves across the room, leading Andrew to the impressive en suite. “Why don’t you shower and I’ll find you something to wear.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind me using your bathroom?”
“If I minded, I wouldn’t have brought you here. I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”
“Course not,” Andrew mumbles. “Who would do that?”
“There are clean towels on the shelf. You can put them in the warmer there in the corner if you like. Use whatever toiletries are in the shower, and I’ll leave clothes for you on the bed.”
“Thanks,” Andrew says, looking anywhere but at Nicki.
His thoughtfulness has rattled Andrew more than when he’s being an asshole.
Asshole Nicki is easy to handle. He grew up with three brothers after all.
This quieter version of Nicki who remembers that Andrew hates being dirty and offers him a warm towel and clean clothes has Andrew rattled.
Desperately trying to ignore his own spiraling thoughts, he puts the water on high, making sure it’s hot enough to allow him to forget his own existence before stepping beneath the spray.