Chapter 21 #3
“And I said I’d never pressure you to come out,” Matt agrees, reaching out plaintively. He catches one of Nick’s wildly gesturing hands, holding tight even when he tries to jerk away. “If you’re worried about the media, we can do something about that.”
“It’s not just the media!” Nick exclaims in frustration. Why couldn’t Matt just make this easy for him? “It’s everything! The longer this goes on, the more I—”
Fall for you, he doesn’t say, the words dying as he shakes his head.
“It’s about my hockey. And having you around means I can’t focus on my team the way I should.”
“So no one’s allowed to have relationships in the NHL?” Matt asks sharply. “Shit, guess you’d better tell the rest of the guys.”
“It’s different and you know it!” Nick pulls again, trying to free his hand, but Matt holds fast—with one tug, Nick stumbles forward, caged in by muscular arms and a firm chest. He has no choice but to look Matt in the eye now, that sad brown gaze a knife straight to his heart.
“Nicky,” Matt murmurs brokenly. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us.”
“I have to,” Nick insists in a cracked whisper. “They’re looking for an excuse to drop me.”
“I refuse to believe that. You’re their star player.”
“That doesn’t mean shit if I’m not doing what they pay me for.” Nick bites his lip, stomach squirming. He can’t think like this, when his head is swimming with Matt’s cologne, skin burning in every place they press together. “Maybe … maybe next season, when my contract’s secure, we could—”
“Oh, fuck you!” Suddenly he’s untethered, pushed back as Matt steps away from him, running a hand through his hair.
“No. Fuck that. You don’t get to put me down and pick me up when it suits you.
” He wraps his arms around his stomach, mouth in a severe line as he looks at Nick.
“If you’re saying we’re done, then we’re done. ”
“Then … then I guess we’re done.”
The words hang heavy in the space between them, lingering like a bad smell. It doesn’t feel real. None of today has felt real. Part of Nick still expects to wake up to the sound of his alarm and discover it was all a horrible dream.
“Fine,” Matt bites out. “If that’s what you want.”
“You know it’s not.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because I’ve given up everything that ever meant anything to me in order to be the best hockey player of my fucking generation,” Nick bursts out, throwing his arms up, “and I can’t stop now.”
“Have you ever considered maybe that’s the problem?” Matt argues. “You can’t live like that, Nicky. It’ll kill you.”
At last, Nick manages a smile—a dark, wry smile, but a smile all the same.
“If it keeps me on the ice, that’s all that matters,” he says, and Matt’s snort is skeptical.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I really am. But my priority is always going to be hockey.
” That’s how it has to be, for him to succeed.
For him to survive. That’s what they teach you, about staying at the top of your game: it involves some tough sacrifices, but if you’re willing to make them, it’ll be worth it.
So why doesn’t this feel worth it?
“I think you should go.” Matt’s voice is hollow. “And if you get your head out of your ass, you can call me, but don’t you dare expect me to wait around for you.”
“I don’t,” Nick promises, even though he dies a little inside thinking about Matt with somebody else.
He takes a step back towards the door, unsure what to do.
He’s never broken up with somebody before, or been broken up with, really.
Connor had just left without a word. “I’m sorry, Matt. I really am.”
“Shockingly,” Matt snaps, “that doesn’t make me feel better.”
Yeah, Nick gets that.
With one last look over his shoulder, the little voice in his brain screaming at him to take it all back and beg Matt to forgive him, Nick reaches for the door handle, and leaves.
The news, when it breaks, comes to Nick via Twitter before any of the official channels.
“Holy shit,” he swears, drawing the attention of his two companions—Marco and Lindsay are squeezed on the couch with him, politely letting him pretend he isn’t still tear-streaked and hoarse. “Bam-Bam’s gone.”
“What?” both Perezes gasp; Nick hands his phone over, showing them the tweet.
@HockeyInsider: TRADE ALERT:
Nevada Receives: Marten Skaj, 2nd round draft pick (2024)
Detroit Receives: Brad Burrows
“He’s been traded.” Nick’s voice trembles. He’s told his best friends about breaking up with Matt—hence the crying—and a little about the meeting with Jazz, but he hasn’t said a word about what went down in the corridor just before it.
“Fuck, is that legit?” Marco scrambles for his own phone to verify it, both of them knowing how the internet loves to talk shit about that stuff during the trade deadline.
“Kelsey’s left the group chat,” Lindsay says, referring to Bam-Bam’s Instagram model girlfriend.
When Nick opens up the team group chat, the latest notification is just the words:
Burrows #92 has left the group.
No goodbyes, no explanations.
“Team account has posted it. It’s official,” Marco confirms, wide-eyed. Then, he breaks into a wide grin. “About fucking time!” he whoops, punching the air in celebration. “Good riddance to that asshole, right, babe?”
Nick’s not sure which one of them he’s talking to. His ears are still ringing with Bam-Bam’s words from earlier, the certainty in his voice when he declared that everyone knew the truth about Nick.
Was this his doing? Surely his remarks in Jazz’s office weren’t enough to change Tony’s mind about which defenseman to offer Detroit. Did Jazz tell the GM what she saw?
What did she see?
While Marco and Lindsay celebrate, Nick sits beside them, nails biting into his palms with the force of his clenched hands.
This should make him feel better. With Bam-Bam traded away, it’s surely a sign that management is taking his side. Only, Nick can’t think of it like that—not with the no-trade clause in his own contract. There was no real way to take Bam-Bam’s side here. They can’t get rid of Nick. Yet.
The end of the season looms like a specter in Nick’s mind—is he already too late, breaking up with Matt when the decision has already been made?
His jaw clenches. It’s never too late. He’s got time to prove he’s worth keeping. After all, he’s got no more distractions.