Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Evan
Wednesday evening, Nico showed up at my apartment carrying a garment bag.
“What’s that?” I asked as he stepped inside.
“A surprise.” He hung the bag on my coat rack. “Close your eyes.”
“Nico—”
“Come on. Humor me.”
I closed my eyes, feeling ridiculous, and heard the soft sound of a zipper. Fabric rustling.
“Okay. Open.”
He was holding a jersey—red, black, and white, with the Lasers logo across the chest. When he turned it around, brIGGS and the number seventeen was on the back.
“It’s for you,” Nico said. “For tomorrow night’s game. If you want to wear it.”
I stared at the jersey, and my breath caught. His name. His number. A visible declaration to everyone in that arena that I was there for him.
“Look at the front,” he added, turning it around to the front again.
I took the jersey from him and examined it. There, just above the Lasers logo, was his signature in silver Sharpie.
“You don’t have to wear it,” he said. “I just thought—”
“I want to.” The words came out rough through my tight throat. “I want to wear it.”
His smile was brilliant. “Yeah?”
“Of course.”
“Try it on.”
I pulled the jersey over my head, and unlike the oversized look I’d expected, it fit perfectly. The shoulders sat correctly. The sleeves hit at the right length, and the hem fell just to my hips.
“I had them find your size in the back,” Nico admitted. “Didn’t want you swimming in an extra large.”
I looked down at myself, at the physical manifestation of what we were building. “How do I look?” I asked, though I could see the answer on his face.
“Perfect.” He pulled out his phone. “Can I take a picture?”
We stood together, Nico’s arm around my waist, both of us smiling. He took several photos, then showed me his favorite, the one where we were looking at each other instead of the camera.
“I’m using this as my wallpaper,” he said.
“You’re going to make me emotional before I even wear this to the game.”
“Good.” He kissed me softly. “If we win, the team’s going to the Captain’s Sports Bar. Cap’s. Private room upstairs.” He observed my reaction carefully. “Is that okay? Meeting the rest of the team?”
My stomach flipped with nerves, but I nodded. “I want to. I want to be part of your world.”
“You already are. I’ve got morning skate at eight tomorrow,” he said at the door. “But I’ll leave your ticket at Will Call. Same section as last time.”
After he left, I stood in my living room, still wearing the jersey, and took a selfie. Then I texted it to Danny.
Evan
Don’t say anything.
Danny
I’m not saying anything.
Danny
I’m just sitting here not saying anything about the enormous grin on your face in that photo.
Evan
I told you not to say anything.
Danny
That wasn’t anything. That was an observation.
Danny
Whose jersey is that?
Evan
You know whose jersey it is.
Danny
I need to hear you say it.
Evan
Good night, Danny.
Danny
You’re wearing his NAME, Evan.
Danny
Evan.
Danny
EVAN.
I turned my phone face down and went to bed smiling.
Thursday evening, I put the jersey on before I left the apartment. Looked at myself in the mirror, turning so I could see the brIGGS and seventeen on my back. I took a breath.
Then I went to the game.
Chloe spotted me immediately, and her face lit up with a wide smile. “Look at you! Official now!”
“Too much?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Not at all. You look great.” She gestured to the woman sitting next to her. “Evan, this is Naomi, André’s wife. Naomi, this is Evan. Nico’s boyfriend.”
Naomi was petite with bright eyes that crinkled when she smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you from André. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
“You too,” I said, taking my seat. “I feel like I’m still figuring all of this out.”
“It’s overwhelming at first,” Naomi said. “The hockey, the schedule, the whole world of it. But you figure it out.” She smiled. “And you don’t have to figure it out alone.”
I nodded, and for the first time since I’d sat down, the nerves in my stomach settled a little. “How long have you and André been together?”
“Twelve years. We met in college, before he got drafted.” She laughed. “Back when I thought hockey was just ice skating with sticks.”
“That’s about where I am now.”
“You’ll learn. And we’ll help.”
The warmth of their acceptance eased the tension in my shoulders. These women didn’t have to be kind to me, didn’t have to welcome me into their group. But they did, and it mattered more than I could say.
When the players came out for warmups, Nico skated onto the ice, and my heart did the same somersault it had Tuesday. But this time, when he looked up and found me in the crowd, his smile was even broader.
Because I was wearing his jersey.
The game against Edmonton was intense from the first drop of the puck. The Chinooks played with an edge, challenging every puck battle and forcing San Jose to earn every inch of ice.
Chloe and Naomi watched with the focused energy of people who’d done this hundreds of times, calling plays under their breath, reacting a half-second before the crowd caught up. I watched them sometimes as much as the ice, using their reactions to understand what I was seeing.
The first line—Nico, André, and Jonah—moved together like they shared a single instinct. André won the faceoff and got it to Nico immediately, who found Jonah in a position I wouldn’t have seen coming. Jonah put a shot on goal that made the goalie scramble.
“They’re good together,” I said.
“Best line in the league right now,” Naomi said proudly. “André and Nico have crazy chemistry.”
The first period ended scoreless, but San Jose came out flying in the second. André scored first, a beautiful wrist shot that had all of us on our feet screaming. Then Jonah scored on a power play, with assists from both André and Nico.
By the third period, San Jose was up 3–1, and when they added an empty net goal in the final minute, the arena exploded in celebration.
Final score: 4–2, San Jose.
“You coming to Cap’s?” Naomi asked as we filed out of our section.
“Yeah. Nico invited me.”
I followed Naomi and Chloe through the post-game crowd to the family lounge, showed my pass at the checkpoint, and found a spot near the wall to wait. The room filled quickly with other partners and guests, the same celebratory energy as last time, everyone riding the high of a convincing win.
Nico came through the door twenty minutes later, freshly showered, still bright-eyed from the game. His gaze found me immediately, and his face did the thing it always did—opened up like something he’d been holding had come loose. He crossed the room and pulled me into a brief, warm hug.
“Good game,” I said.
“Good crowd,” he said back, and I knew he meant me specifically.
Captain’s Sports Bar was a five-minute drive from the arena, a brick building with neon signs and a packed main floor that roared with conversation and music. Nico led us through the crowd and up a back staircase to a private room on the second floor.
The space was bigger than I expected, with leather booths lining the walls, a long bar along the side, and flat screen TVs showing sports highlights. Music pulsed from hidden speakers, and the room was already filling with players and their guests.
“The team owns a stake in the place, so we get this room whenever we want it,” Nico said.
“Smart investment.”
Nico got pulled away to talk to some teammates about the game. “I’m so sorry. I’ll find you later.”
Naomi took me under her wing. We grabbed drinks—I got a beer I didn’t really want, just needed something to hold on to—and found seats in a booth.
Within minutes, platters of wings, nachos, sliders, and mozzarella sticks appeared on the tables, and the energy in the room kicked up another notch.
André slid into the booth next to Naomi. He leaned over and kissed her, then turned to me with a huge grin.
“Evan! Good to see you again. Glad you came tonight.”
“Thanks for having me.”
“Of course. Anyone who makes Nico smile like that is welcome anytime.” He scooped up a nacho chip. “You settling into the hockey life okay?”
“I think so. Still learning.”
“You’ll be an expert by playoffs. Trust me.”
Nico joined us a few minutes later, slipping into the booth next to me. His thigh pressed against mine under the table, and he rested his hand on my knee—casual, comfortable, claiming.
Over the next hour, Nico made a point of introducing me to teammates as they came by, easily and with no hedging about who I was or why I was there. Just, “This is Evan.” The way he said it, with his hand on my knee and no further explanation offered, seemed to be more than enough.
Jonah and Chloe arrived at our table, both of them laughing about something. Chloe slid in across from me with a warm smile. Jonah clapped Nico on the shoulder.
“You’ve been in a great mood lately, man. I’m guessing that’s this guy’s doing?”
“Might be,” Nico said.
Thompson, a defenseman I recognized from watching games, came over with a beer and a friendly nod. “You’re the guy Nico’s been texting, right? Thanks for coming tonight.”
“I had a fantastic time. You guys played great.”
“Helps when the forwards actually do their jobs,” Thompson said, grinning at Nico.
“Don’t start,” Nico warned, but he was smiling.
A player appeared at Thompson’s shoulder, looked between me and Nico, and nodded once. “Good to meet you.” Then he grabbed a handful of nachos from the platter and wandered off.
“That’s Fortin,” Nico said. “That was basically a speech for him.”
Not everyone was as enthusiastically welcoming.
A few teammates offered polite nods from across the room but kept their distance.
I caught a couple of raised eyebrows when Nico put his arm around my shoulders and noticed a few awkward glances exchanged between players who clearly weren’t sure how to react.
But no one was hostile. No one said anything negative. They just… took it in.
“Some guys need time to adjust,” Naomi said quietly, noticing my observation. “It’s not personal. They’re just not used to it.”
“I get it.”
“But most of them are good guys. They’ll come around,” she said.