Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
[Image Description: Nick Tiernan and Connor LaPorte, standing in front of a hotel. It’s dark out, though the street is well-lit. Connor has a hand on Nick’s shoulder, and the pair are standing very close together. Both of them are wearing gym shorts and hoodies.]
@CentreIce_Baby: Looks like this is a rivalry that’s been well and truly put to bed! Remembering all the rumors about these two in Juniors…
@MattyQC: Fellas is it gay to spend time with your friends get over yourselves.
@OtterlyDallasFan: “rivalry” more like breakup amirite? Looks like the boys are back together, finally!
@HockeyRocker_: Were you literally staking out their hotel for this??? Y’all are what’s wrong with hockey these days. Keep that shipping shit on Tumblr where it belongs.
—Instagram, December 7th, 2022
Matt
Hey, not to be That Guy, but you never text me back last night. Everything okay?
Guilt churns within Nick as he reads the text from Matt for what feels like the thousandth time. He is stretched on the rug in the center of his living room with his cat snuggled on his chest, her tiny purrs rumbling against his ribcage.
He’s home for a few hours before his game tonight, trying to gather the motivation to make a sandwich.
That text has been sitting unanswered for the last three days, taunting Nick whenever he picks up his phone.
He doesn’t know what to say, not with all these stupid feelings swirling around in his chest, threatening to claw their way up his throat.
Why can’t he just be normal about this?
The corners of Nick’s eyes burn. “Fuck!” he growls, startling Dolly as he tosses his phone onto the couch.
He’s going to have to talk to Matt eventually—the longer he leaves it, the less likely it is that he can just gloss over things like nothing happened. He can’t even blame his schedule; they’ve had home games all week.
Maybe he should just end it now, before he gets in over his head.
The thought makes his veins turn to ice, but it soothes the anxiety buzzing on his skin.
He can’t be outed if he’s not hiding anything—anyone.
The numerous Reddit threads speculating on his sexuality and the history between him and Connor—threads that have tripled in number since the game (he’s checked)—will die out with nothing to fuel their flames.
He’s not sure what’s worse: the homophobes wanting proof so they can kick his pansy ass out of the league, or the “fans” who think he should live his truth no matter the consequences—and no matter his personal feelings, apparently.
“Fuck,” he says again, this time a sigh of a word, emphatic and sad. “I hate hockey.”
It’s a lie, mostly. He loves hockey. Always has, since the very first time he picked up a stick. He loves everything about the game: watching it, playing it, teaching it.
But he hates that the sport will never love him back. Not the real him. The Nick Tiernan who lights up the league is nothing but a pack of lies held together with stick tape and anxiety.
Suddenly, his phone rings, dragging him out of his shame spiral. He’s tempted to ignore it. If it’s Marco, he’ll see him in a few hours. If it’s anyone else, he doesn’t care.
But then it rings again. Nick bites his lip—it could be some kind of emergency.
Dragging himself off the floor, the contact picture filling his screen makes his eyebrows rise. “Hey, squirt. What’s up?”
“You didn’t call me yesterday.” Amy’s voice is unimpressed.
Nick swears. He was supposed to do that, wasn’t he? “Sorry, I got caught up in stuff.” A feeble excuse and they both know it.
“You’re forgiven,” she assures him lightly. “Do you want to reschedule, or can you talk now? I tried to time this right. I know it’s a game day.”
“You timed it perfect, Ames. I’m all yours. How was DC, and the architecture museum thing?”
“I’d much rather talk about whatever’s going on with you and Connor that had you so in your head you forgot to call me.
” It’s a statement, not an accusation. Ever since he started going away to play hockey as a teenager, Nick’s had a standing weekly call with his little sister.
Even when he was at his worst, he still made time for Amy.
“Nothing happened with me and Connor!” he protests.
“Jesus Christ, I know I’m pathetic but I’m not that bad.
We hung out, caught up. He told me about his new boyfriend that he’s super into.
” He can’t help the way his voice wavers just a fraction.
Amy makes a sympathetic noise down the phone, and he lets out a grumble of irritation.
“No, it’s not that. I told you, I’m over him.
” It doesn’t even sound like a lie anymore.
“I’m happy for him. Seriously. It’s just…
” A shaky huff of breath slips between his lips. “He always gets it easy, y’know?”
Connor’s the one who can flee the goddamn country without a care for those he’s left behind and return whenever he fucking pleases with the same lack of attention for Nick’s feelings.
Now, on top of that, he’s barely been back in Canada six months and he’s already head over ass for some dude who sounds perfect for him.
“Is this about Matt Hudson?” Amy asks bluntly. Immediately, Nick sits up.
“What do you know about Matt Hudson?” In all his previous calls, he’s never named names, just telling her in the vaguest terms possible that there was a guy he was sort of hooking up with.
“I talked to Marco.”
“Motherfucker.” Is nothing sacred anymore? “So you know everything, then.”
“I don’t know,” Amy says evenly. “Why don’t you tell me everything, and we can compare notes.”
“Fine. But I’m pissed at you for talking behind my back.”
“Whatever. Die mad. Now spill.”
Wanting to set the story straight from whatever Marco’s interpretation of events might be, Nick informs his sister of everything that’s happened since the season began.
With Matt, with Connor, the whole mess tangled up in his brain that came to a head after the Orignaux game and led to him crying in his car.
When Amy sighs down the phone, it’s with such profound disappointment that he actually flinches.
“I love you, but you are so stupid sometimes,” she declares matter-of-factly. An incredulous snort escapes Nick.
“Wow, okay,” he mutters. “No need to get mean.” He’s trying his best here.
“This guy likes you. For more than your dick—and, ew, I can’t believe you made me say that sentence. I hate you.”
“I didn’t make you say anything!” Nick yelps. He doesn’t want his baby sister thinking about his dick either.
“What’s stopping you from taking a chance, huh?
From what you’ve said, even if he turns you down, he’s not the kind of asshole to tell anyone.
You shoot your shot, the worst that happens is he says no and you have to stop sleeping with a guy who only wants you for sex anyway.
Otherwise, congrats, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend. ”
“It’s not that simple, Ames.”
“It could be,” she retorts. “You’re just scared.”
Wow, she’s really not pulling her punches today.
“I’m looking at pictures of this guy on Tumblr,” Amy says suddenly, because she’s still on Tumblr in the year 2022. “He’s prettier than Connor.”
“I’m telling Connor you said that.” He can’t, of course, because Connor doesn’t know about Matt.
“Tell him. He deserves it.” Her tone is unrepentant. “You’re in some of these pictures,” she adds, and his heart jumps. “Nothing bad. Just … you’re smiling, with him. A real smile. I’ve missed that.” She pauses. “I’ve missed you.”
“You know you can come visit any time,” he says immediately, which is the easiest part of that to address.
“I wish I could but I’m super busy with school right now.”
“I know,” Nick says, sighing. “Whatever. Live your life. I don’t care.”
“Liar.” She sounds amused. “I’ll see you next month at the Jersey game,” Amy reminds him. “I’ve cleared my schedule. Mom’s said she can make it. She might even bring Trevor.”
“Oh, yay.”
“Be nice,” Amy scolds, as if she’s the elder of the two of them.
Their mom’s been seeing Trevor for two years now, so Nick probably isn’t getting rid of him at this point. “If he tries to get me to call him Dad again I’m gonna puke on his shoes.”
“You spend too much time with your cat if that’s your go-to threat,” is Amy’s dry response. “Anyway, I have to go, and so do you. Promise me you’ll try and be brave, okay? I love you.”
All of a sudden, a memory flashes through Nick’s head: himself at fifteen, with a chip on his shoulder the size of a puck, about to leave home for the hockey season.
Amy, almost twelve and curled in like she’s trying to hide herself from the world, eyes filled with tears as she begs to go with him.
“Promise me you’ll try and be brave, okay?
I love you.” That’s what Nick had told her, hugging her tight and swearing that things would be okay in the end.
How the tables have turned.
He swallows hard against the lump that’s risen in his throat. “Love you, too. And … I’ll try.”
She hangs up, and Nick stares at the phone in his hand.
He takes a deep breath. Then another.
Then he opens his recent calls and presses his finger to a name that’s repeated in red half a dozen times.
It barely rings for a second before a breathless voice is answering. “Nick? Hi!” Matt says, and guilt squirms within Nick at how surprised the man sounds. “How are you? Is … are you okay?”
“I … yeah. Sorry. It’s … been a weird week,” Nick says, which is the best he can offer without just spilling every pathetic yearning thought in his head. “You busy?”
“Never too busy for you, babe,” Matt replies, without missing a beat. Warmth tingles through Nick’s belly.
Even if he can’t be as brave as his sister thinks he is, at least this is a start.
Thanks to Nick’s cowardice, by the time he and Matt can actually get together in person and talk things out, it’s the last day before their hectic holiday schedules have them apart till almost New Year’s.