Chapter 21 #2
“That’s our thing, though,” Nick points out.
“That’s how we work. That’s how we’ve always worked.
” Ever since they took him at eighteen, gave him four months to prove himself, then made him captain to “spearhead the direction of the franchise.” It shouldn’t work, but it does, because their scouts are damn talented, and Nick knows first-hand what it takes to prepare for the transition up from juniors without floundering.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jazz replies. “Everyone’s learned to defend against it. They know how to exploit the weaknesses of a bunch of young guys still learning the league. When it works, it’s magic, but when it doesn’t it’s a fucking disaster. And we can’t afford another disaster.”
“So what are you going to do? Send the rookies back down to the farm team? Trade them out?”
“Detroit’s shown interest in Moose,” Jazz says. Nick’s heart lurches. “We could trade him out for a veteran in D, give Patts someone to steady him out. He’s racking up too many penalty minutes this season. Though at least two thirds of them are from defending you,” she adds pointedly.
“It’s his job, isn’t it?” Nick shakes his head, frowning.
“Patts isn’t the problem. Hell, Moose isn’t the problem.
” He bites his lip before he can say anything further, remembering what Jazz had walked in on minutes before.
He doesn’t want to seem like he’s throwing anybody on the chopping block for personal reasons.
Of course, Jazz is smarter than that. “Burrows?” she asks shrewdly. Nick keeps his face impassive.
“He’s not meshing well with the rookies.
” Or anyone else on the team, for that matter.
“No one trusts him to step up to bat for them. So the forward lines overcompensate, they leave gaps, and we get our ass handed to us.” It happens every damn game, it feels like.
The guy’s been in Nevada for three seasons and is still the least-liked guy in the locker room.
Humming in thought, Jazz looks down at her numbers. “He’s got the experience.”
“Doesn’t mean shit if he’s too busy going on an ego trip for anyone to respect it.” He grips the arms of the chair tight, curbing his tongue on the rest of what he wants to say. “Moose is a great player, and he’s doing well here. Tell Detroit to fuck off.”
“You know I can’t do that, Nick.” After a beat, Jazz sighs and leans back in her chair.
“But I’ll talk to the coaches.” Her lips purse, ink-dark eyes levelling on Nick in the kind of stare that makes him feel naked, exposed.
He tries not to squirm and clenches his jaw against the urge to defend himself against everything she’s not saying.
Keeping the team steady is the captain’s job.
Eventually, Jazz clears her throat. “This team is all about taking risks, and at first it worked for us. But lately that hasn’t been the case, and if we need to switch things up, so be it. We cannot have another season like last year.”
Nick swallows hard. “You said I was doing better this year.”
“Better in that we don’t feel the need to sign you over to the Player’s Assistance program.
” It’s news to Nick that they considered that last year—was he really that bad?
“You are doing better. We all appreciate that. But the fact remains that there’s been a lot of pressure placed on your shoulders, and a lot of media scrutiny that’s only going to get worse in post-season, especially the way things are going in Quebec. ”
A small noise of protest escapes Nick, but he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t know what Jazz knows about him and Connor, and he doesn’t want to give her any reason to look deeper into it.
“Is that why I haven’t been offered a contract extension yet?” he asks before he can help himself.
“We’re still discussing the terms of any offer we may put forward. That’s not our priority right now.” Her voice is neutral, but it sounds like a threat to Nick: prove you’re worth keeping, or you’re gone.
His lunch sits heavy in his stomach. “The pressure I’m under right now is no worse than it was when I first got here.”
“But it’s different,” Jazz counters. “LaPorte joining the league, last season’s stats, your new friendships—you can’t afford to lose focus right now.”
Nick reads between the lines: the team can’t afford for him to lose focus.
For all they’ve praised him over the years for being the future of this franchise, the heart of Nevada, they’ll drop him in a second if they think he’s not living up to expectations.
He tries not to listen to sports commentary, but he’s not oblivious to what’s been said about him all season.
All the people who think his first two seasons were the best he’ll ever be.
He just didn’t think Jazz was one of those people.
“Anyway…” Jazz breezes past it like she hasn’t just set his entire career teetering on the edge.
“Those are all conversations for the off-season. All we need you thinking about right now is playoffs. I’ll share your thoughts with Tony and I’ll see what I can do about Detroit.
Anything else you think we should be aiming for in the deadline trades? ”
He shakes his head jerkily. “I don’t think we need to be making waves.
Not when we just got things settled. Bringing in too many new faces could be disruptive.
” Especially if they bring in veterans who will undermine Nick’s position as captain because they think their experience outweighs his talent.
The rest of the conversation with Jazz is kind of a blur to Nick, his mind still echoing her previous words over and over.
You can’t afford to lose focus right now. It’s shown, hasn’t it? That for at least parts of the season, his mind has been elsewhere. His priorities have been skewed.
His personal life has been getting in the way of his game.
He says his goodbyes and leaves Jazz’s office, heart pounding as a solution settles into place in his head.
Nick knows what he has to do. But God, is it going to hurt.
Instead of going home, Nick drives to Matt’s place, ants crawling under his skin.
His heart rattles his ribcage as he parks in the lot behind the building, where it’s most private.
He can see Matt’s car, and a mix of relief and despair flares within him.
He’s not sure what he would have done if Matt hadn’t been home, but now he doesn’t have any excuse to delay this.
He’s got to do what he’s got to do to protect his career. Surely Matt will understand that?
He knows the door code, so he doesn’t need to get Matt to buzz him up. Riding in the elevator seems to take an age, but when it opens on Matt’s floor, he wishes the journey had been a little bit longer. He’s not ready.
Nick tries to keep a smile on his face when Matt answers the door, heart clenching at the way the musician lights up at the sight of him. “You’re a nice surprise,” Matt says, then pauses, looking Nick over. His expression falls. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s no fooling you, is there?” Nick remarks, stepping inside awkwardly. As soon as the door’s shut, Matt rests a hand on his hip and leans in to kiss his cheek. Nick freezes in his embrace—if he lets himself give in, he’ll never be able to have this conversation.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Is everything okay?”
Nick sucks in a slow breath. “Can we… We need to talk.” He steps back, away from Matt, who stares at him uncertainly.
“I… Sure.”
“I just came from a meeting with Jazz,” Nick starts, looking somewhere just over Matt’s right shoulder.
He can’t look him in the eye and say this at the same time.
“Turns out they’re still ‘discussing the terms of any offer they may put forward’ regarding my contract extension.
A polite way of saying they haven’t decided to keep me yet. ” His throat is dry. He swallows hard.
“Oh, Nick, that’s—”
“She said,” he continues, ignoring the interruption, “that they think I’m losing focus. That the media scrutiny on my personal life is affecting my game.”
Even without looking directly at Matt, he can see the moment it dawns on him what Nick’s trying to do. The way he crumples to lean against the back of the couch, color draining from his face. “Nicky, don’t do this.”
“I don’t want to leave Vegas,” Nick says, hating the way his voice cracks. “I can’t—I can’t afford not to get re-signed at the end of this season. I can’t afford to do anything that might suggest I’m not fully committed to this team.”
“Baby, please—”
“I can’t do this anymore, Matt.” The words rip out like barbed wire on his tongue.
“It’s too much of a distraction, it’s … it’s just too much.
” The feelings, the fear, the constant looking over his shoulder waiting for it to come crashing down …
Nick can’t handle that and a playoff run that will potentially culminate in facing Connor for the cup.
“We can figure something out,” Matt pleads, stepping towards Nick. “I can stop coming to games, we can stay out of the public eye. Please, just give it a chance!”
“We said when we started this that it would be casual.” Nick’s feet are rooted to the floor, his eyes on the wall opposite, his entire focus on trying to remember all the words he’d thought up on the drive over. “And that if it wasn’t working, we’d say so. Well, this isn’t working for me anymore.”
“Bullshit,” Matt spits, and Nick flinches. “We’re good, Nicky. We’re more than good—I know you feel it too. Are you seriously going to throw that away because you think it’s fucking with your hockey?”
“It’s my career, Matt,” Nick retorts. “And it’s shitty, the way this league is, the way the media is.
But I can’t fucking change that, so I have to protect myself the best I can.
” He can feel his eyes starting to itch at the corners, and swipes at them furiously.
God, he cannot start crying right now. “You knew what my life was like when we started this.”