Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
[Video description: The four members of Sticks+Stones sit on a long couch opposite a woman with bubblegum-pink hair, her arms and legs covered in tattoos.]
“… So you guys have been making yourselves at home in Vegas pretty well. Most notably, becoming a regular presence among the Nevada Dragons—both at games, and spending time socially with some of the players.” She looks more at Matt than any other member of the band, and he grins.
“We’re really stoked to be able to go to games again—where we were living before it wasn’t really feasible for us, travel-wise. And we were touring constantly. But it’s a great vibe at the Lair, and they’re having a solid season, so it’s super fun to be there.”
The interviewer purses her lips above her microphone.
“It’s an unusual crossover, a band like yours and a bunch of top-tier athletes from a sport that’s known to be pretty …
traditional, to say the least.” She laughs lightly.
“Could this signal a change in direction for your music, to try and reach a new audience?”
At this, the band all exchanges glances.
“If you’d like to have a conversation about the way the league’s administration is stagnating so badly it’s affecting the players and the audience, then we’re here for that,” Matt says, voice even and smile sharp.
“It’s one of our favorite conversation topics,” Casey chimes in beside him. Matt nods.
“But if you want us to address the rumors that we’re befriending hockey players for clout to try and go mainstream, I will point out that all four of us were hockey players before we were ever a band. It’s not that deep, guys.”
“We’re not selling out,” Spencer adds jokingly. Matt grins once more.
“Far from it—if anything, we’re turning hockey audiences over to a whole new mindset.” He glances to the camera and winks. “No one says jocks can’t be fans of our music. Broaden your horizons, folks.”
—AltSound, November 3rd, 2022
The closer it gets to the Halloween show, the more intense the flirting in the texts between Nick and Matt grows. It’s gotten to the point where Nick doesn’t dare check those messages unless he’s alone because of the blush they bring to his face.
Marco, of course, finds all this hilarious. Thankfully, not quite hilarious enough to tease Nick in front of Sofia and Bianca—though he insists that all the secrecy will be for naught the second those girls see the way he and Matt look at each other.
Nick will cross that bridge when he comes to it.
For now, he’s got a bigger problem.
“GAbrIEL!” he yells as soon as he steps through the front door and sets Dolly’s carrier down. “I have an emergency!”
Sofia is the first one to appear, skidding out from the kitchen. “Ooh, kitty!” she coos gleefully, dropping to her knees to release Dolly.
“Where’s your brother?”
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder, where on cue Marco hurries out, oven mitt still on one hand. “What’s the matter?” He looks alarmed—maybe Nick shouldn’t have busted out the full first name. Too late now.
“The show tomorrow,” Nick says, as Bianca and Lindsay arrive at a much more sedate pace.
“Don’t tell me it’s cancelled?” Sofia looks horrified, and Nick shakes his head.
“No, no, it’s fine. But … it’s a costume party.” He hadn’t realized until Matt had texted him a “teaser picture” of his costume—mostly just black fabric, nothing Nick could make out—and asked what he was wearing.
“Yeah, dude, we knew that,” Bianca says.
Nick lets out a whine. “I didn’t!” he exclaims. “I don’t have a costume.”
Silence follows his words. Then, Marco snorts. “Jesus, you’re dramatic.”
“This is serious!” He can’t show up to the concert as the only one without a costume. He’ll stick out like a sore thumb!
“Hey, it’s okay, we’ve got time,” Sofia insists, despite the fact that there’s literally twenty-four hours until the party and all the good costume stores will definitely be sold out of anything halfway decent by now. “What do you wanna go as?”
“I don’t know!” Nick says in despair, throwing his hands in the air. “Marco, what’s a costume that’s, like, sexy, but not too try-hard?”
“Oh my God, I’m back in high school,” Marco groans. Lindsay giggles, stepping forward to eye Nick in consideration. He tries not to squirm under the scrutiny.
Then, she smirks. “I think I have an idea.”
Halloween in Las Vegas is unlike anywhere else in the world.
Nick’s first Halloween in Sin City, he was cajoled into going out to some club with a few older teammates, with the promise that he wouldn’t be IDed despite being barely eighteen and certainly looking it.
He’d put on some sunglasses and a bomber jacket and called it a Top Gun costume and let the guys drag him onto the strip.
He’d woken up at 9 a.m. beneath a stranger’s kitchen table with absolutely no memory of anything past about midnight, covered in glitter and at least five phone numbers written on his skin.
After getting home, having a panic attack in the shower, and spending several hours scouring the internet for any sign that he might have said or done something he shouldn’t have, he’d vowed never to go to a Vegas Halloween party again.
This, he’s pretty sure, is breaking that vow.
The House of Blues has spared no expense on decorating for the occasion: fake cobwebs and chains hang from the ceiling; clusters of—hopefully fake—candles provide atmospheric lighting around the bars and table areas.
There are skeletons and spiders and grotesque faces on the walls, and performers on stilts in LED-lit costumes walk through the crowd, offering trays of neon-bright drinks.
Sofia and Bianca practically vibrate with excitement, arms linked tightly so they don’t lose each other in the crush.
Nick stands close behind them, one hand on Sofia’s shoulder, though his gaze is on the crowd of people filling the room.
He’s very glad he came in costume, now. Literally everyone is dressed up as something—and while Sticks+Stones might not have been on the books until recently, the party’s early billing of “Emo Night” has clearly drawn in the right sort of crowd.
There are dozens of classic horror monsters, naturally—vampires and Frankensteins and werewolves and an assortment of movie psychopaths. Add in plenty of ghosts and ghouls, demons ranging from sexy to utterly horrifying, and the staples of Halloween are all well represented.
But there’s a ton of pop culture references, too, and they’re exactly the kind Nick would expect from a crowd like this.
He can see at least eight people dressed as various versions of Gerard Way, and as soon as he realizes this it hits him just how much time he’s spent talking to Matt—there is no way he would recognize that otherwise.
But among all of it, there are no cheap Spirit Halloween costumes, no last-minute cop-outs, and Nick leans forward to press a kiss to the back of Sofia’s head.
“Thank you for saving my ass with this costume,” he tells her, just loud enough to be heard over the chatter and music. She turns, flashing him a grin.
“Least I could do, since you got us into this party in the first place.”
Nick is still amazed at how much she managed to do with a quick trip to the mall, a pair of scissors, paint and some makeup.
So now he’s here dressed as a corpse jock—or, as Lindsay put it, “the first idiot to die in a horror movie.” He’s got a bloodied, slashed-up athletics T-shirt (cut strategically to show off his abs) with a black and white letterman jacket (also ripped and bloodied), and a pair of black gym shorts that are about as high cut as he would dare go without worrying he might expose himself.
Paired with white tube socks and tennis shoes, and some truly incredible injury makeup from Sofia, he looks pretty damn good, if he can be so bold.
Never doubt an art student on a deadline.
“Oh, look, Bee, there’s another Sally!” Sofia exclaims, tugging on her girlfriend’s hand and pointing to where another person has the same costume as Bianca—Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Bianca grins, downing the last of her drink and turning to the three of them.
“We came to party,” she declares, “and no offence to you old-timers, but this ain’t where the party’s at.”
“I’m down to party,” Marco insists, setting his empty glass aside. “Babe? Trix? You down?”
“Always.” Nick shoots back the dregs of his cocktail, and together the five of them head for the chaos.
Nick has been to all kinds of parties in his NHL career, from the stuffy black-tie galas to the type of ragers that definitely would’ve been shut down by the cops if they’d happened anywhere else.
But at almost every one of them he’s been one of the stars of the show, aware that he’s putting out a persona and a reputation and, even at a “private” party he has an image to uphold.
Here, no one gives a singular fuck who he is, and it’s so refreshing.
He takes Sofia’s hand and lets her drag him into the crowd.
They’re warming everybody up with some dance music over the speakers, and while the hardcore fans have already wrestled their way to the barricade, the rest are happily spread out and dancing.
Nick relishes being able to throw himself into the anonymous crowd and just let his body move.
All too soon, the music starts to fade out, and then a booming voice echoes through the speakers.
“Friends and foes, ghoulish guests, this is your five-minute warning for the start of the evening’s entertainment.”