Chapter 13 Nicholas #2
It’s not hard to find the suitcase. There is an entire row of polo shirts, organized in a visually pleasing pastel rainbow-esque pattern.
There is also an entire row of sweatshirts, all in creams and whites, with matching sweatpants hung on adjacent hangers.
Lining the wall beneath the sweatsuits are three pairs of identical loafers, and two pairs of identical designer dress shoes—one in black and the other brown.
There’s also several suits hung up in suit bags that Nicholas is curious to see, but he’s pretty sure Andrew would have his ass if he snooped.
Andrew would look absolutely stunning in a luxury suit, and Nicholas can already imagine dressing him, or at the very least fronting the bill.
Nicholas doesn’t really have an eye for style, but he pays a lot of money to stylists to look good.
The way Andrew reacted to his car, and the sight of the classic luxury shoes in his closet, makes Nicholas believe this man has an eye for finer things in life.
Things Nicholas has in spades. Things Nicholas fully intends to share.
By force if necessary, which it will be if Andrew’s reaction to letting Nicholas pay for extra food from his personal chef for him is anything to go by.
Nicholas has a stupid amount of money just from his hockey career, even more from his trust fund and family investments.
If he can use even a little bit of it to make Andrew’s life easier and give him a little taste of the kind of luxury he wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford on an accountant's salary, then he is going to do it.
Especially since, as far as Nicholas can tell, Andrew is getting the rough end of the deal, as evidenced by his family showing up here today.
There’s no family waiting to ambush Nicholas.
No one who cares about his new boyfriend.
Not that he’s told his mother or father yet, he was going to save that little surprise for his dad’s big sixtieth birthday party.
But even if he had told them, he’s not sure he would’ve received more than indifference or the reminder he’s going to fuck it up. Which he probably is.
Nicholas is so far out of his fucking depth.
* * *
“Fuck,” Nicki curses, throwing his stick to the ice in frustration. If he had something else to throw he would, but he’s already thrown his gloves and his helmet.
This game was supposed to be easy, a sure win. The other team had played dirtier than he was prepared for and better. The latter of which pisses him off the most. There’s nothing that pisses Nicholas off more than when his team plays their best and it isn’t good enough.
You’ll see, hockey won’t last. When you realize you can’t make it, there will always be a place for you with the company, Nicholas. I might be disappointed with you but you’re my son. I won’t let you fail. That would look bad on the family.
The words his father spoke to him the day he signed his NHL contract are burned into his brain.
He’d stupidly thought, just this once, maybe his father would be proud of him.
It wasn’t an Ivy League school, or something prestigious in finance like his father, but it was the fucking NHL.
Nicholas was a damn good hockey player, and he’d worked his ass off to get picked up.
Calling his father hadn’t afforded him the praise or pride he thought maybe he’d finally earned.
It reminded him that in the end, his father assumed he would fail, and that failure would always be seen as a reflection on him.
Every loss reminds Nicholas of his father’s voice.
He’s been playing long enough to know he’s made a solid career out of this.
People are in the fucking stands wearing his jersey, not his fucking father’s, yet every time they lose, he feels like a child begging for the love and approval he’ll never get.
“Fuck,” Nicholas yells again, punching his fist into his locker hard enough his knuckles sting.
“Easy, Whitmore.” The words come from his captain, and one of the only people on the team who hasn’t given up on Nicholas.
Not that he can blame them. Nearly a year since his transfer and he’s yet to make a single friend on the team.
Not that he wants any friends. This is work.
He doesn’t need to be invited to the guys’ stupid fucking beach barbecues or team bonding events.
“Fuck off, Tony.”
“Can’t do that, Whitmore. It’s my job as captain to make sure all my players are okay. That was a hard loss.”
Nicholas grunts, yanking his jersey off. His pads come next, followed by his base layer. Every layer he sheds makes his sore body ache. He needs a long, hot shower and something to break.
“The guys are going out for a beer.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish,” Tony laughs, far too goodnatured considering how strenuous and brutal the last two and half hours were.
Honestly Tony’s smiling at all pisses Nicholas off. Fucking positive fucker.
“The team is going out for a beer and something greasy, which is a necessity since we don’t have a game for two days.”
“No,” Nicholas repeats.
“Don’t think I was asking you, Whitmore.” Tony claps him on the back, his large hand oddly warm against Nicholas’s skin, chilled from the drying sweat and air conditioning. “You never come with us.”
“That’s because I don’t want to,” Nicholas gripes, stripping off his pants. “I don’t need any fucking Boy Scout friendship shit.”
“Yeah, none of us were Boy Scouts,” Tony laughs. “Except maybe Anders.”
To Nicholas’s displeasure, Tony cups his hands and screams across the locker room. “Hey Anders, were you a Boy Scout?”
Anders, their youngest player—just nineteen and a goddamn fucking baby as talented as he is young—turns and blushes at the attention. Beside him Pavel, whose locker borders Anders, nudges him with a grin.
“I was, Captain. Only for a few years then my mom made me pick because scouting and hockey practice overlapped. It was too much for her on her own.”
“I knew it,” Tony grins.
“Teach me to tie knots,” Davey, one of their defensemen, yells from a few lockers down.
“Why, you gonna tie up your lady?” Sergei, their usually quiet goalie, bellows.
The hooting and hollering is drowned out by Davey flipping Sergei off and the guys dissolving into some kind of weird half-wrestling, half-undressing thing that Nicholas is not included in. Not that he wants to be. He’s perfectly happy being left alone.
“Hit the showers, then meet us for a drink. Or in Anders' case, a cheeseburger.”
Across the room, Anders blushes while he’s hit on the back by anyone within reach.
Anders joined when Nicki did, the two of them new to the team, and to wildly different receptions.
Everyone likes Anders, he’s impossible not to like.
Nicholas, on the other hand, is best appreciated from afar or through a screen.
“What part of no did you not understand?” Nicholas frowns.
“The part where I’m tired of you being a grumpy fuck. You’re part of this team.”
“I pull my weight on the fucking ice,” Nicholas grits out.
“You do,” Tony says, unruffled by Nicholas’s anger.
“But a team isn’t just a group on the ice.
You need to stop acting like we don’t matter off the ice.
So you’re coming, Captain’s orders. By the way, feel free to invite your boyfriend.
The guys with partners usually invite them after a loss.
It’s good for morale to be reminded that none of us are alone. ”
“That sounds like sentimental bullshit.”
He doesn’t bother asking how his captain knows he’s dating someone.
After Andrew went up to his room to sleep the night before, he’d stayed up all night scouring social media and sending the most intrusive articles to Amanda to see if she could do anything to get them taken down.
He didn’t care about himself, he is used to being the fodder of celebrity gossip, but Andrew deserves better than having his home and workplace leaked.
That, at least, couldn’t be legal. According to Amanda, it’d all been found through public records, or so the fucking rags claimed, so there was nothing they could do.
The next morning, Andrew was gone for work before Nicholas woke up, and he’d been in a bad mood since.
The idea of going to a bar tonight is the last thing he wants, which is weird since usually Nicholas loves going out for a drink and finding someone to pick up.
Except he can’t pick anyone up now that this whole fake relationship is public.
Worse, he doesn't want to. Somehow the only person he wants is a khaki wearing control freak who likes to boss Nicholas around.
“See something you like, Tony?” Nicholas asks when he realizes Tony hasn’t wandered away.
Maintaining eye contact, Nicholas shoves off the rest of his clothes so he can shower.
After spending his formative years in boarding school and nearly a decade playing professional hockey, he doesn’t have an ounce of modesty left.
Not that there’s anything to be modest about.
Nicholas is even better looking naked than he is in uniform.
“Not fucking likely,” Tony laughs. “I’m straight, but even if I wasn’t, I’d pass on your chiseled ass. I prefer a little more squish on my partners. That, and for them to not be assholes.”
Several nosy fuckers who are clearly eavesdropping, including Davey and Pavel, holler with laughter. Nicholas grabs the closest thing he can find, his discarded gloves, and chucks them at Pavel’s head, which only garners more attention and more laughter.
“Thought you were supposed to be lifting team morale,” Nicholas gripes to Tony.
“I am.” Tony leans in close and winks. “At your expense. That’s what you get for declining the last half a dozen invites to hang out with us.”
“I declined them because I don’t need fucking friends. I was traded here to win.”
“And how’s that going for us?”