Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nico
“You seeing Evan tonight?” André asked as we walked toward the parking lot after practice.
“Yeah. Having dinner.”
“Tell him things before he has to ask.” He lightly punched my arm.
“Working on it.”
“Good,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Have fun.”
André grinned and headed toward his car. I stood there in the early afternoon sun, feeling nervous, hopeful, and terrified all at once.
I had hours to kill before I needed to leave for Evan’s, and I spent them failing to distract myself.
I tried watching game tape, but I couldn’t focus.
Tried playing a video game, but couldn’t get past the first level.
Finally, I gave up and just started getting ready.
I took a shower and pulled on my best dark jeans and a button-down shirt.
I grabbed my keys and headed to Nonna’s Trattoria, the Italian place downtown that had the best homemade pasta in the city.
Ordered way too much food—lasagna, chicken cacciatore, caprese salad, garlic bread, tiramisu, and a Chianti—and drove to Evan’s apartment with the bags filling my car with the smell of basil and tomatoes.
When I knocked on his door, my heart hammered so hard I thought he’d be able to hear it.
He opened the door, smiling. Just that. No hesitation, no guardedness, just glad to see me. “Hi.”
My pulse kicked up. “Hi. I brought Italian.”
“It smells amazing.”
I followed him inside. “I might have overordered.” I set the bags and the bottle of wine on his kitchen island.
Evan looked inside the bags and laughed. “This is enough food for six people.”
“I didn’t know what you liked.”
“I like all of it.” He inhaled deeply and hummed his appreciation. “Let me get plates and glasses.”
We moved around his kitchen together, a dance of reaching for silverware and filling water and wine glasses. He set the table while I unpacked the food. It was domestic, ordinary, and perfect. My throat tightened.
This. This was what I’d almost lost.
We sat across from each other at his small dining table. We’d eaten here before, talked here before, but tonight felt different, and we both knew it.
“This looks incredible.” Evan served himself some lasagna.
“Nonna’s has the best Italian in the city. I took my parents there when they visited last year and I’ve been going back ever since.”
“Your parents came to visit?”
“Yeah. They flew up from San Diego and stayed for a long weekend. Went to a game, met some of the guys, the whole thing.”
Evan took a bite of lasagna and made a small sound of appreciation. “This is fantastic.”
“Right? Everything there is amazing.”
We ate in silence for a moment, and then Evan said, “What are your parents like?”
“My mom’s intense,” I said. “In a good way. She’s a high school math teacher, so she’s used to managing chaos. And she doesn’t take shit from anyone. Growing up, she could shut down any argument with one look.”
“Sounds terrifying.” He sipped his wine.
“She is. But she’s also the most loving person I know. She’d do anything for me and Miguel.”
“And your dad?”
“Quieter. He’s a tax accountant, works from a home office. Loves golf and terrible action movies.” I smiled, thinking about him. “He’s the one who got me into hockey. Used to take me to Anaheim games when I was a kid, put me in a youth hockey program when I was five.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah. He’s a good guy.” I swallowed a bite of chicken. “What about yours? You never talk about them.”
Evan’s expression shifted, his eyes shuttering. “They’re in LA still. We’re… not super close.”
“Why not?”
“They weren’t thrilled when I came out in high school. Didn’t disown me or anything dramatic, but there was definitely disappointment. We talk on holidays and birthdays, see each other maybe once a year. It’s cordial but not warm.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it.” He reached for the garlic bread. “Danny’s more family than they are at this point.”
“He seems like a good friend.”
“The best. He’s been there for me since I moved to San Jose, through the fallout from the Ryan disaster, building my business. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“I’m glad you have him.”
We kept eating, the conversation flowing easily. Evan asked about hockey. Not the technical stuff, but what it was like growing up playing, how I got drafted, what it felt like the first time I stepped onto NHL ice.
I told him about being twenty-two and terrified. “My first game, some guy checked me so hard into the boards I literally saw stars. Couldn’t remember my own name for thirty seconds.”
“Jesus. Did they pull you from the game?”
“No, I stayed in. Stubbornness, mostly.” I paused. “But then I scored my first goal a few games later. Called my parents right after. I didn’t even take my gear off first. Just sat at my stall with my phone, and my mom answered crying.”
“Happy crying?”
“The happiest. She couldn’t even talk. My dad kept saying ‘that’s my boy’ in the background.”
He told me about college, of hating every second of business school, the marketing internship that changed everything, and the terror of starting his consulting firm. “I was genuinely convinced I’d be bankrupt within six months.”
“But you didn’t fail,” I said.
“No. Somehow I didn’t.” He smiled. “Though there were some close calls that first year.”
“What’s your favorite part? About what you do?”
His brows drew together, gaze going distant as he thought. “Helping people figure out their story. Every business, every brand… they have a story to tell, they just don’t always know what it is. I like finding that and helping them share it.”
“That’s cool. I never thought about it like that.”
“What about you? What’s your favorite part of hockey?”
“The moment right before the puck drops,” I said without hesitation. “When I’m lined up for the faceoff and everything goes quiet in my head. All the noise, all the pressure… it just disappears and it’s just me and the ice and the game. Nothing else matters.”
Evan watched me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “You love it.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I could tell. When I watched you play. The way you moved, the way you competed… you were completely in your element.”
Warmth spread through my gut. “I’m glad you watched.”
“Me too.”
We finished dinner and moved to the couch with coffee and tiramisu.
“Thank you for dinner,” Evan said. “I know we can’t exactly go out, but I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. Not yet. So thank you for making this feel like enough.”
“Thank you for giving me a chance.”
“I want this to work, Nico. I’m scared, but I want it to work.”
“I do too.”
We sat there for a moment, our gazes locked and charged. Then Evan shifted slightly closer, and I reached out and took his hand. His fingers threaded through mine.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked gently.
“Anything.”
“Have you told your family you’re gay?”
The question made my gut twist. “No. Not yet.”
“Are you planning to?”
“Eventually. When I’m ready.” I looked down at our joined hands. “I’m just scared of how they’ll react. Especially Miguel. He’s so deep in the hockey culture, I don’t know if he’ll understand.”
“There’s no rush,” Evan said. “Tell them when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” I squeezed his hand. “I will. Someday.”
We were quiet for a while, just sitting there, holding hands. Then Evan said, “Stay the night?”
The question made my heart kick up. “I’d love to.”
The food got packed away quickly, but Evan still took his time with the kitchen. Everything went into the dishwasher, the counters wiped clean.
We finally made it to his bedroom, and we took our time with each other. No urgency, just the two of us, honest and unhurried in a way we hadn’t quite been before.
We undressed each other slowly—his shirt first, then mine, the rest following without rushing.
When there was nothing left between us, I kissed him slowly, and he kissed me back the same way, and for a while that was enough.
His hands moved through my hair, mine traced the lines of his back, and neither of us was in a hurry to stop.
Eventually Evan pulled back, his pupils blown, and looked at me for a moment.
Then he shifted, straddled my face, and we took each other into our mouths at the same time.
Hands gripped hips, and the hum he made around my cock went straight through me.
I focused on him, on what I knew he liked, and felt him do the same for me.
For a while there was nothing in the world except that, two people who knew each other completely, taking care of each other in the most direct way possible.
When he came apart, he pulled off and called my name. I followed, and afterward we lay tangled together in the dark while his breathing slowed against my thigh.
This was what I’d been missing without knowing how to name it. Not just him—though God, it was him—but the freedom to be completely myself with someone. No careful deflections, no guilt eating at me while he trusted me. Just Evan and me, honest and open and together.
In the morning, I woke up before him. Gray winter light came through the blinds, and the apartment was quiet. I lay there for a while, not wanting to move, listening to him breathe.
Eventually he stirred, found me with his eyes still half closed, and said nothing. Just shifted closer. We stayed like that for a while before either of us spoke.
“I have a game tonight,” I said. “But I want to take you somewhere on Sunday. Get out of the apartment but still keep a low profile. If you’re up for it.”
He opened one eye. “Where?”
“A park I know. Eastern foothills. It’s quiet in the winter. Nobody really goes up there this time of year.” I paused. “We’d have the trails to ourselves.”
He considered that for a moment. “In public.”
“In public,” I confirmed. “But it will be just us. No one’s going to see us on a hiking trail in January.”
The corner of his mouth curved. “Okay,” he said. “Pick me up after practice.”
We beat Nashville 3–2 on Saturday night. Not a pretty win. They pushed us into overtime, and Anderssen had to make thirty-one saves to keep us in it. But a win was a win, and I texted Evan from the locker room before I’d even taken my skates off.
Nico: We won. See you tomorrow at one.
Evan: I know. I watched. Get some sleep.
Sunday afternoon, I picked him up at one and drove us to the park, one of my favorite spots when I needed to burn off energy.
The trail wound upward through oak and bay laurel, quiet enough that we could hear each other without raising our voices.
We walked mostly in silence, which with Evan never felt like absence, but like ease.
The higher we climbed, the more the trees opened up, and eventually we reached a ridge that looked out over the entire Santa Clara Valley. San Jose spread below us, reflecting the afternoon sun, and beyond it the bay stretched toward San Francisco.
“Wow.” Evan stopped beside me and went still.
“Right?”
We stood there for a while, the bay glittering in the afternoon light.
I kissed him, and he kissed me back, deep and slow.
I thought about how much had changed in four weeks and how much hadn’t changed yet.
Miguel still didn’t know. My parents still didn’t know.
The world still thought Nicolás Briggs went home alone after games.
Evan’s hand was warm in mine. I was happier than I’d been in years, and none of the hard parts were over. They were just starting.
I looked at Evan, gazing at the city. Whatever was waiting, I wasn’t going to face it alone anymore.