Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Nico
Evan followed me inside my house, and before I could say anything, he kissed me.
Not tentative. Not questioning. Just kissed me like he meant it.
When he pulled back, I was breathing hard. “What was that for?”
“Because I wanted to.” He smiled. “Because I can.”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling him closer. “You can.”
I didn’t want to let go yet, but there were things I needed to understand. We moved to the family room couch, and I kept his hand in mine.
“Tell me about the call with Wesley,” I said. “What did he say?”
“Practical stuff. Cameras, social media, how to keep my professional identity separate from all of this.” He paused. “I have a list. I’ve already started working through it.”
“Sounds like a helpful phone call.”
“He also suggested I talk to Rachel. Your PR manager.” He met my gaze. “He thinks she might be able to help keep the hockey coverage separate from my personal life.”
I nodded slowly. “I can make that introduction. If you want.”
“I do.” He paused. “But you can’t fix this for me, Nico,” he said. “I have to do the work myself.”
That landed hard.
“I’ve been trying to fix it,” I said sheepishly. “Haven’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know how to not do that. I see you struggling and I want to…” I gestured vaguely. “Do something. Make it better.”
“I know. But sometimes I don’t need you to make it better. I just need you to be there while I figure it out.”
I nodded slowly. “I’m not good at that yet. But I’m trying.”
“I know you are.”
We sat on the couch in a comfortable silence that had been missing for weeks. His shoulder pressed against mine. His hand found mine without looking.
This… this still worked.
“What about you?” Evan asked. “Did you figure anything out this week?”
“Yeah.” I turned to face him. “I figured out I’ve been resenting you. For the team stuff I skipped, the way I was playing, the suspension. I made bad choices and then blamed you for how they turned out, and that wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“So, what do you need from me?” he asked. “To make this work.”
“I need to go to team stuff,” I said. “Beer nights, dinners, optional skates. Not every one, but most of them. Without feeling guilty about it.”
“Okay.”
“And I need you to actually tell me when you’re struggling. Not just say you’re fine. Because when you say you’re fine and you’re not, I try to fix things you haven’t asked me to fix.”
“That’s fair.”
“And I need to know that you can handle this. Not perfectly. Not without hard days. But that you actually want this life, not just me.”
“I can do that.” He paused. “That’s what today was. Showing up at the game. Being visible. Choosing this.”
“Yeah. It was.”
I kissed him, pulling him closer, and he came easily.
His fingers threaded through my hair, and the tension I’d been carrying for weeks finally eased.
Not desperate or trying to fix anything.
Not weighted with fear or uncertainty. Just us—present, connected, choosing each other without all the noise. The way it used to feel.
He pulled back. Took a breath.
“And I deleted the social media apps. Closed the browser tabs. I’m not reading comments anymore.” He paused. “Danny’s monitoring for me. If there’s something I actually need to know about—a specific threat, something spreading that needs to be addressed—he’ll tell me. Everything else, I don’t see.”
I looked at him. “How does that feel?”
“Terrifying.” A small smile. “But also kind of freeing.”
“That’s smart,” I said. “The Danny part especially.” I pulled him back against me. Having someone in Evan’s corner who could filter the noise without Evan having to absorb it… that was better than willpower alone, and more sustainable. Evan had built a system. Not a perfect one, but a real one.
That was different from where we’d been three weeks ago.
We stayed like that, just being together. No crisis to manage. No problems to solve.
Around midnight, Evan shifted in my arms. “I should go.”
I looked at him.
“Or I could stay,” he said quietly. “If that’s okay.”
“It’s okay.”
He settled back against me. And stayed.
Saturday morning, I woke up with Evan beside me and felt like I could breathe.
“I’ve got optional skate at ten,” I said. “Then team lunch. See you tonight?”
He was still half asleep. “Have fun with the guys,” he murmured. “Come over to my place.”
No hesitation. Just have fun and come over. Something in my chest unlocked.
That was what I’d needed. Not Evan trying to be okay with things that made him miserable. Evan actually being okay with me having a life that didn’t revolve around managing his anxiety.
The optional skate was exactly that—optional, low-stakes. No pressure, just guys working on specific things or getting extra conditioning in. I skated with Thompson and Fortin, worked on my shot, felt my legs remember what it was like to just play.
At lunch, André slid into the chair next to me. “Good to have you back.”
“Good to be back.”
“You’ve been MIA for weeks,” Fortin said from across the table. “We missed you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been… figuring some things out.”
“Evan good?” André asked.
“Yeah. We’re good now.”
“He coming to games again?”
“Yeah. He was there last night.”
André grinned. “I saw. That’s great, man.”
We talked about the previous night’s game, about the upcoming road trip, and about whether we’d make the playoffs. Normal team stuff. The kind of conversation I’d been missing without realizing how much.
That evening I went to Evan’s. The apartment looked better than it had on Wednesday—cleaner, blinds open, like he’d been taking care of himself instead of just surviving.
“The apartment looks great,” I said when he let me in.
“I straightened and cleaned. I did a lot of normal things today.” He said it simply, without making it a thing. Just a fact about a day that had gone differently than the days before it.
I followed him to the couch, and we sat close enough that our shoulders touched.
Then I pulled out my phone.
“I want to post something,” I said. “About the media attention. About respecting your privacy.”
Evan looked at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. But I want to. Not to fix it—I know I can’t fix it—but to make it clear that harassment isn’t okay.” I paused. “Is that… would that be okay with you?”
“What would you say?”
I showed him what I’d drafted that afternoon.
I appreciate all the support I’ve been given. I’m asking you to extend that support by respecting my boyfriend’s privacy. Thank you for understanding.
Evan read it twice. “You’d really post that?”
“If you’re okay with it. This is your choice. I’m not doing it to fix things. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. Post it.”
I posted it on Instagram and set my phone on the table.
“That was brave,” Evan said.
“It was just the truth.” I shrugged. “Turns out that’s easier than I thought it’d be.”
We spent the rest of the evening just being together. We made dinner and found something on his TV that we both pretended to watch.
I had my arm around him on the couch, and he was tucked against my side, his head on my shoulder, one hand resting on my chest. But it felt different tonight. Lighter. Like we’d finally stopped bracing for impact.
Evan turned his head to look up at me. “What are you thinking?”
“That I missed this. Just… being with you.”
He shifted, moving closer, his hand sliding up to my jaw. “I missed it too.”
I kissed him. Meant it to be brief, just a touch of lips, but he kissed me back and something shifted. His fingers scraped against the scruff on my jaw, and I felt him sink into it, into me, the way he hadn’t in weeks. Suddenly, the movie didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this.
I pulled him closer, and he came willingly, turning to straddle my lap.
His weight settled over me, thighs bracketing my hips, and the kiss deepened—languid but thorough.
His hands found my shoulders, mine settled on his hips.
We took our time in a way we hadn’t in weeks. No urgency. No desperation. Just want.
“Nico,” he murmured against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
“Bedroom?”
“Definitely.”
He slid off my lap, and I stood, and we crossed the room with our hands still on each other, neither of us willing to get too far.
I yanked his shirt over his head, feeling the heat of his skin under my palms. He got mine off before we even made it through the doorway, his hands sliding over my chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle.
My hands found his back, the curve of his spine, the lean strength of him.
We shed the rest of our clothes on our way to the bed—jeans kicked off, boxers abandoned—and fell onto it together in a tangle of limbs.
I took my time. Kissed his neck, felt his pulse jump under my lips. Kissed his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.
Evan pulled me back up and kissed me hard. Not careful, not measured—the way he used to kiss me before everything went sideways. His hands were in my hair, on my shoulders, pulling me closer like he couldn’t get enough contact.
“I want you,” he said. No hesitation. No qualifying.
I made sure he was ready first—slick fingers, slow and patient, watching his face. His eyes stayed on mine the whole time. Not drifting, not going somewhere else in his head. Just here.
“Now,” he said. “Nico, now.”
I rolled on a condom and pushed inside slowly, giving him time. His legs wrapped around me and he pulled me in deeper, and the sound he made went straight through me.
I kept the rhythm slow. His hands slid up my back, nails digging in when I hit the right angle. My forehead pressed against his. His breathing matched mine.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.” He said it clearly. Not rough, not wrecked. Like a fact he’d decided on.
He came first, his back arching off the bed, my name tumbling from his lips. I followed him with my face pressed to his neck, holding on.
We stayed like that until our breathing slowed, until the sweat cooled on our skin. Then I shifted and pressed one more kiss to his mouth before carefully pulling out.
“Come on,” I said. “Shower.”
We made our way to the bathroom. I took care of the condom and turned on the water, waiting for it to warm up before pulling him under the spray with me.
I reached for the body wash and worked it into a lather, running my hands over his shoulders, down his back. Washing him slowly and carefully. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my touch. This was just… being here. Taking care of him because I wanted to, not because he needed saving.
When I was done, he took the body wash from me and returned the favor, his hands gentle on my skin, washing away everything that had been sitting on my shoulders for three weeks. No words, just touch. Just presence.
We stood under the spray together after we were clean, his arms around my waist, my chin resting on top of his head. The water running over both of us, washing away the last of the distance between us.
I stayed the night. We fell asleep the way we used to, with his back against my chest, my arm around him, the apartment quiet around us. No phones. No checking. Just sleep.
I slipped out early for morning skate, careful not to wake him.
Practice was good. Focused. My timing was better; my head was clear. Coach didn’t pull me aside or give me warning looks, he just let me play.
In the locker room after practice, André caught me at my stall.
“Saw your post last night.”
“Yeah?”
“Good call. People needed to hear that.”
“I hope it helps. Even a little.”
“It will. You set a boundary. That matters.” He clapped my shoulder. “Glad you’re back, man.”
“Me too.”
The game that night was against Ottawa. I played well—not perfectly, but solidly. Focused. Part of the team. Got an assist in the second period, and the arena cheered.
I could see Evan cheering from my comp seat, back where he belonged.
We won 3–1.
After the game, I found Evan in the family lounge with Naomi and Chloe, the three of them were mid-conversation. He looked up when he saw me and smiled. He was there, he was okay, and that was everything.
We left together through the players’ exit. There were cameras—media, fans, phones out capturing us. I kept my arm around him, and we walked.
It still wasn’t easy. But he was there, and so was I, and we were walking toward something instead of away from it.