Chapter 17 #2
The guitar is quiet, unplugged as it is, but sitting this close Nick can hear it just fine as Matt begins to play. He hums along quietly, fingers dancing over the fretboard. Nick is transfixed.
This isn’t Matt performing—at least, it’s a very different kind of performance.
He isn’t belting out lyrics with that sly, exhilarated smile on his face, isn’t bouncing around a stage with his audience screaming for him.
Isn’t even grinning like he does when he’s practicing and Nick is the only audience but still getting a full-blown show.
Instead he’s just focusing on his fingers, a slight half-smile tugging at his lips as he bobs his head along with the rhythm. Every few seconds, he looks up to catch Nick’s eye, then ducks down shyly again to keep playing.
After what feels like forever, the song fades out and Matt’s hands go still, and he finally looks up properly.
“So it’ll be something like that,” he says, shrugging.
“I dunno. Obviously it’ll make more sense with, like, percussion and stuff.
But … that’s where I’m at so far.” His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he smiles tentatively.
Now, Nick knows absolutely nothing about how to construct music—even after hanging out with the band for several months, he still doesn’t really understand how people just make songs.
But he knows what sounds good. “That was amazing,” he insists, watching a bashful expression cross Matt’s features.
“You don’t have to butter me up. I already like you,” the musician teases. Nick’s heart thuds hard, but his grin doesn’t falter.
“Then it’s a good thing I mean it,” he retorts. “Seriously, it sounded great. I’m sure it’ll be even better once you all work your magic together on it.” He rests a hand on Matt’s thigh, squeezing lightly. “Hey, throw me that pillow?” He punctuates his request with a gesture, and Matt frowns.
“Shit, does your head hurt? I can—” His thighs tense like he’s going to stand, but Nick tugs on his guitar strap.
“No, it’s fine,” he insists. “It doesn’t hurt.
” It’s not even a lie—his side is a little achy where the bruising is, but being on the floor is still pretty great.
“I’m just straining my neck a little to look at you like this.
” Nick rubs both hands up Matt’s thighs lightly. “But I’m not done looking at you yet.”
As understanding dawns, Matt’s brown eyes flash with amusement and something a little sultrier.
He stretches an arm out to reach for the pillow, leaning forward to help Nick get it situated comfortably.
His guitar rests against Nick’s chest, and he ducks down even lower to press their lips together.
“You like me like this, huh?” he drawls, wiggling his eyebrows. “Is it the guitar?”
“Sure doesn’t hurt,” Nick replies. “Play me more songs?”
“So demanding,” Matt says, shaking his head.
“Fine, hang on.” Carefully, without squishing Nick, he arranges his legs a little more comfortably, stretched out in front of him instead of tucked beneath him.
It’s a position that feels like it should be more sexual—Matt’s ass pressed right up against Nick’s crotch, Nick looking up from between Matt’s legs—but it’s just …
comfortable. Intimate, if Nick dares think it.
It’s a level of closeness Nick’s never really experienced before and he doesn’t know what it means, not with his brain scrambled and his heart too bruised to hope.
But he likes it.
“So where are we going again?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Matt hums contemplatively from the passenger seat of Nick’s car. “A surprise that requires hockey bags, huh?”
“Exactly.” Nick smiles, moving into the next lane over. It’s the first time he’s driven since the concussion, but he’s doing fine. His bruises barely even hurt anymore.
And, more importantly, he’s been cleared to skate.
He’s been back on ice a couple times, making steady laps under the keen eye of the trainers before they’d even consider letting him handle a puck, but he’s been tentatively allowed back for training.
He turns off the road onto a dirt track, snorting when Matt mumbles something about a body-dump. “You think I’d do that in my own car? Please, I’ve listened to the podcasts.”
They’re headed towards a huge house with an even bigger barn behind it. It’s fancy, like so many big houses in Vegas, but it’s out of place in the desert with its country charm. The porch light is on, though the house seems to be empty.
Nick drives past the house, parking round the back. “Here it is. C’mon.”
“What the hell is this place?” Matt grabs their bags before Nick can, shouldering both hockey bags with ease.
Nick just smirks, pulling out a set of keys and walking towards the barn door. “You’ll see.”
When he beckons Matt inside, the musician lets out a low, impressed whistle.
The barn houses a half-size ice rink, a goal at one end and a little bench area on one side. The ice is absolutely pristine, and the warm lighting hanging from the broad beams overhead gives the place a much cozier feel than Nick is used to.
It is, dare he say it, almost romantic.
“Holy shit,” Matt murmurs, then whips around. “You don’t own this, do you?”
“God, no. It’s owned by a friend. One of the many rich eccentrics of Vegas,” he says, grinning wryly.
“I train here in the off-season sometimes. He’s a cool guy.
Huge hockey fan. Lets me use it whenever I want as long as I let him hang out when I train, sign shit for his grandkids, that kinda thing.
Pretty sweet deal.” He holds out an arm in a dramatic sweeping gesture.
“But he’s in New Zealand right now, so this place is all ours.
” To emphasize that, he steps forward to tug Matt into a brief kiss.
They don’t spend long in the small changing room—neither of them is getting fully geared up, but Nick’s under strict instruction to not even look at ice unless he’s wearing a helmet and chest protection.
As they walk out to the rink, Nick gives Matt a slow once-over; he’s practically vibrating with excitement, but he moves fluidly, the posture of a hockey player coming back to him like he never left.
“Are you feeling up to this?” Matt asks, eyeing him in concern. Nick waves him off, skating effortlessly.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “I’m not gonna go wild—it’s chill. But don’t let me stop you.” He gestures towards the rest of the ice. “This is your playground. Go play.”
Matt tugs him in for a firm kiss, then pulls away, skating backwards and laughing.
In his pocket, Nick’s phone buzzes repeatedly.
Pulling it out, he sees a dozen new notifications in the team group chat.
His stomach clenches—a bunch of the guys are headed to Hugsy’s for post-practice food and video games and they want Nick to come join them.
He should be there; he’s the captain, he needs to spend time with his boys.
Make sure everyone’s doing okay. Things have been weird, with him out injured and the rookies trying to step up to compensate.
A good captain would be working with them, even off the ice, as much as possible.
You’re allowed to take a day off, mutters a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Marco—and indeed, he has a private text from his best friend, who knows where he is and who he’s with and is promising to back up whatever lie he wants to give.
If Nick were with a girl, he wouldn’t have to lie. He’d get some chirps about ditching his boys for a date, but they wouldn’t argue. Instead, Nick has to add one more thread to the web he’s weaving.
Nick
Sorry boys—had PT earlier and now I’m wiped. Next time!
He pushes away the rising guilt, turning back to watch Matt skate. It’s one missed gathering, not the end of the world. Making Matt happy like this is worth it.
Nick keeps to his trainer-approved warm-up, his eyes fixed on Matt as the other man sprints up and down the ice, turning tight curves and snowing Nick occasionally with hard stops, mischief in his smile.
Watching him makes Nick’s heart swell. He recognizes something familiar in the joy in those brown eyes—this is a man who loves the ice the way Nick loves it. Who gets it.
“When was the last time you got a chance to skate?” Nick calls out. Matt shrugs, slowly skating a loop to end up at his side. He reaches out, tangling his fingers in Nick’s, and it’s so unexpected Nick almost trips.
“Maybe, like, six months ago?” Matt muses. “Even longer since I last played hockey. We tried to join a rec league a while back, but we were so busy we could never make practice.”
The longest Nick’s ever been off the ice is six weeks for a broken jaw in the Q—the idea of going six whole months without putting skates on makes his chest hurt. “Any time you wanna skate, we can come out here. We’ll bring the rest of the band, too.”
Matt looks at him in surprise. “Seriously? Will the owner mind?”
“Nah,” Nick says, waving him off. “Like I said, he’s chill.” He squeezes Matt’s hand, the pair of them keeping a slow pace around the rink. “I can tell you miss it. It’s not quite a rec league, but … it’s something.”
“It’s perfect,” Matt insists, twisting to skate backwards, taking both of Nick’s hands in his.
“The band will be so psyched.” Then he smirks, giving Nick an obvious look of appraisal.
“Maybe next time you can put your full gear on. I want to see if it’s as sexy up close as it looks on the jumbotron. ”
Nick barks a surprised laugh, pulling Matt in so they’re both drifting across the ice, arms around each other.
He bites the musician’s bottom lip playfully.
“That does it for you, huh?” he drawls, loving the faint flush creeping across Matt’s cheeks.
“That could be arranged. Preferably on a day you don’t bring the rest of the band, though. ”
Matt’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. Their momentum slows, and Nick winks, pulling away to resume skating.
It takes Matt a second to follow but he reaches for Nick’s hand once more. “I, uh, sounds good, yeah.” He pauses, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Oh, that reminds me … Case asked if we were coming over for board games tonight.”
“You can go if you want to,” Nick says immediately. “Don’t feel like you have to invite me or whatever.” He doesn’t want to keep Matt from his friends just because he’s taken on the task of helping Nick through his recovery. Maybe Nick can head to Hugsy’s, if his teammates are still there by then.
The musician shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. “She asked about both of us,” he says exasperatedly. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d be up to it with the concussion and stuff. We can get pretty loud.”
“Oh.” This time Nick does stumble, but Matt’s grip keeps him upright. “Okay. Then, uh, yeah, that’d be cool. I think I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re not feeling it, you can say no.”
“No!” Nick protests instantly. “I like hanging out with your friends! They’re cool.” He swallows around a dry throat. “I’m just … still getting used to it. Being with people who aren’t straight. People who … who know. About me.”
Even Marco’s sisters have never had it confirmed, though he knows they have their suspicions. But it’s not the same as being with the band, having them make little jokes about his queerness in a way that feels friendly rather than insulting, like they’re welcoming him to the club.
A glimpse of the community he wishes so badly he could be part of.
Matt’s smile turns knowing, and he turns back around to skate at Nick’s side, still holding his hand. “I’m glad we can be that for you.” He brings their joined hands up, kissing Nick’s wrist. “I wish you could meet some of our other friends. Wish I could really show you the community out here.”
“You have.” Nick’s voice cracks as he thinks of the Sticks+Stones concerts, of the way he felt in those crowds. The feeling of belonging he’s never quite managed to get anywhere else, even on the ice, no matter how hard he tries.
“Not as much as I’d like to,” Matt says sadly, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
A grimace flickers across Nick’s face—that’s the price he has to pay for being in the NHL. A necessary evil, as much as his heart longs to know what life might be like on the other side of things.
He can wait till retirement for that, right?