Chapter 2
Chapter Two
[Image Description: The four members of Sticks+Stones stood with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera, in front of T-Mobile Arena. They’re all holding up Nevada Dragons merchandise, but there is no crowd—it’s not a game day.]
@SticksStonesBand: Getting on board with our new home team! GOD have we missed hockey. Excited to see the Dragons kick ass this season! #LetsGoDragons #VegasBaby
@TagMeInCoach: New album WHEN??
@Unic0rnWarri0r: Disappointing to see you supporting the NHL after all the ways they’ve failed the LGBTQ+ community. I expected better.
@EmosaurusBex: @Unic0rnWarri0r Oh grow up they’re allowed to have hobbies
—Instagram, October 1st, 2022
In the excitement of it all, Nick almost forgets about his pre-game promise. It’s not until they’re sitting in their stalls, having thundered into the locker room high off the back of a 4–1 win, that Marco knocks their knees together.
“Hurry up, dude. We got places to be.”
Nick blinks, puzzled—he’s done his media already. And then he remembers: the band.
“Oh, shit, yeah.”
Marco snorts, pulling his gross, sweaty sock off with an indecent noise of satisfaction. “Shower and get pretty, Tiernan.”
“I’m always pretty,” Nick retorts with an exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes.
As tempting as it is to take as long as physically possible in order to watch Marco get more and more wound up, Nick does want to get out of here before traffic gets too obnoxious.
Also, he wants to watch Marco lose his cool over these people, whoever they are.
Marco never acts like this, not about any VIP or celebrity they’ve had at the arena—and, being based in Vegas, they get more than their fair share.
Nick honestly could not name a single Sticks+Stones song, nor any of its bandmembers.
He doesn’t even know what they look like.
All he knows is they’re some emo band that’s just started making it into the big leagues—though Marco will insist that he was listening to them way before they were cool.
Nick’s definitely heard their music before, but he can’t say he’s paid much attention to it.
He was always more into pop than rock. More Katy Perry than Fall Out Boy. Not to be a stereotype or anything.
However, if he remembers correctly, he’s pretty sure at least one of the members of the band is queer, possibly?
He’s sure he saw something about it while scrolling Twitter one time—he doesn’t exactly look for that kind of stuff, but …
it’s nice, sometimes, to see other people who have the guts to do what he doesn’t.
Sure, the music industry is totally different to professional sports, but also, they’re still a rock band. That’s pretty hardcore.
Once they’re showered and dressed in regular clothes, Nick and Marco bid goodbye to their teammates and go in search of Kat, who’s waiting in the hallway, phone in hand. When they approach, she looks up with a smile. “The band’s ready if you are, boys.”
“Do we have stuff to sign for them? Pucks or whatever?” That’s usually how it goes. Make nice, take pictures, sign some merch, and everyone goes away happy—especially the PR teams.
“Wait! Shit!” Marco exclaims, going wide-eyed. “Do we have anything for them to sign? Oh my God, I should’ve grabbed a flyer, or like, anything. Kat, do you have a notebook?”
Kat fixes him with such a look of exasperation that Nick chokes on a laugh. “I do have a notebook,” she says flatly. “But … we also sent Jesse out during the game to pick up the vinyl of their last album for you.”
There are stars in Marco’s eyes as he grips both of her hands in his. “I love you,” he says in an awed whisper. Gently, she removes herself from his grasp, rolling her eyes.
“You’re welcome.”
“Do I get a vinyl too?” Nick asks, mostly to be a shit.
“You don’t even listen to them!” Marco protests indignantly. Kat’s smile doesn’t falter.
“They only had one vinyl in stock, I’m afraid.” Then, she reaches into her little team-branded fanny pack. “But I have a notebook.”
Yeah, he deserved that.
Kat leads them up through the backstairs to where the VIP boxes are at, and Marco almost trips over his own feet when they stop outside a door.
“Jesus, at least try and be cool, man,” Nick mutters under his breath, earning an elbow to the ribs.
Kat knocks, and after a beat a voice calls them in. Nick magnanimously lets Marco go first—it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the way he’s trying to hide his phone by his hip, camera aimed at his best friend. Lindsay will bake him cookies for this video.
He needn’t try so hard; Marco completely forgets about Nick’s existence the second they step into the box and stares at the four people waiting for them.
Nick’s first thought is that they look like rockstars.
Even decked out in Dragons gear, they just have that quality about them.
One of the guys has his home jersey on, and he’s got the build to suit it—huge arms and broad shoulders and at least four inches of height on Nick.
His hair is jet black and falls across his forehead in that artfully mussed way all emo boys in 2009 did their hair.
Nick hates that it kind of works for him, actually.
Beside him is a shorter guy with long blond hair and a lip ring, wearing a blood-red leather jacket over a distressed Dragons T-shirt and black jeans. He has his elbow on the shoulder of the third guy, and as Nick gets a good look at this one, his mouth goes dry.
The first thing he notices is his eyes, which are deep brown, almost mahogany in the stadium lighting—especially with the bright red streaks dyed into his brown hair.
There’s a silver bar through his right eyebrow, and a sword dangling from his left ear while chains wind up the shell of his right.
He’s tall—taller than both Nick and Marco—and turned to the side just enough that Nick can see the quite frankly spectacular ass filling out a pair of distressed gray skinny jeans.
Seriously, he spends his time with hockey players; he’s seen a lot of great asses and this guy’s is definitely up there.
But of course, Marco isn’t looking at any of the offensively beautiful men standing in front of them.
He’s looking up at the one female member of the band, jaw dropped just a little.
Up, because she’s taller than him, wearing big, chunky platform boots that make her at least six foot six, and that is a power move that Nick can absolutely get behind.
In Marco’s defense, she’s also a total smokeshow.
She’s wearing one of those cute dragon-scale sequin jackets that a bunch of their female fans wear, with a tight black tank-top and a silver mini-skirt that shows off mile-long legs.
She looks like she could knock Marco out with a single blow, honestly. And the longer he stares at her, the more it looks like she might actually do that.
Her bandmates are starting to frown, the pretty one’s jaw tightening as he shifts closer to her, and Marco immediately goes wide-eyed and takes a half-step back.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts at her. “It’s just … my sister has the biggest crush on you.”
There’s a beat, and then the woman laughs loudly, her green eyes filling with delight. Behind his best friend, Nick snickers.
“I’m sure she’s the only one,” he teases. As Marco whips around indignantly, Nick puts his phone behind his back. Lindsay’s going to love that whole exchange. Nick might just send it to the whole team.
“Is your sister here tonight?” the blond guy asks, the tension dissipating from the room. Although Marco is still staring at them like he’s seeing Santa Claus in real life, it’s no longer creepily directed at just one person.
“No, she’s in college in California. She’s going to kill me for this.” The band members laugh like Marco’s joking, but Nick knows better. Sofia is going to riot.
“Well, thanks for coming up to meet us, especially after the ice time you both put in tonight,” Pretty Boy with the red streaks in his hair says with the kind of smile that belongs on the cover of magazines. “Your goal in the first was sick.”
That’s directed at Nick, who startles slightly, forced to stop admiring the man’s biceps.
“Oh, y’know…” he deflects with a drawl he’s been told is charming.
“Had to do something to start the season off with a bang.” He’s damn proud of it, honestly; the first goal on home ice this season, and it was an absolute beauty.
“Thanks for coming out to support. You guys been fans long?”
That’s the thing about playing on an expansion team—nobody has been a diehard Dragons fan since childhood. They either draw in new hockey fans, or they lure them away from other teams, and in Nick’s experience that’s a hard-won battle.
“We moved to Vegas over the summer,” Pretty Boy replies. “Figured we may as well support our new local team.”
“What he’s not telling you is he’s really a Vancouver fan,” the muscular guy in the jersey says.
“I can like more than one team!” Seriously, Nick is going to need Marco to step in and pick up the conversation here soon, because if this guy keeps looking at him with those eyes and that face he is going to say something stupid.
“I’m Matt. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out a hand, and Nick notices he’s got shimmery scarlet nail polish on his fingers. Cute.
“Nick,” he replies, impressed at how casual he makes it sound. Matt’s grip is just the right side of strong, and far too brief for Nick’s liking. “And this is Marco. He’s a huge fan of your band.”
Marco glares daggers at Nick for a split second while the band aren’t looking, then steps in to offer his own handshake. He’s blushing. God, it’s adorable.
“Man, that’s still kinda wild to hear,” Matt says with a small, incredulous shake of his head. “You guys are, like, legit famous hockey stars and you know about our band.”