Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
[Image description: A crumpled paper setlist. There are doodles on the paper, mostly of broken hearts and crying faces.]
STICKS+STONES
Designated Breakdown Hours
(No Crying Before Noon)
Old Enough to Know Better
Boxes
Store-Bought Stability
Chrysalis
Heads Up
Skin to Skin
Your Fists in My Face
(Your Heart in My Hands)
Pull Away the Weeds
The Light You Make (Is Hurting My Eyes)
Everyone’s Dying but Me
Sad Boy Songs
Snowblind
It’s Not Me, It’s You
Swallow You Whole
ENCORE
Everything Happens All the Time Forever
Blameless Arson
@EmosaurusBex: This set was incredible but YIKES what happened to Matt? U ok bb? #SaddestShowOnEarth #NonStopCrying
@SticksB1tch_: Jfc this isn’t a setlist it’s a cry for help
—Instagram, March 17th, 2023
First thing the next morning, Nick Facetimes Sofia. She’s suspicious, of course—he rarely calls just to chat—but once he assures her that everyone is fine, she’s willing to listen.
When he’s done, she stares at him in stunned silence, looking remarkably like her brother did upon hearing the same spiel. Finally, she barks out a laugh. “God in heaven, you truly are incapable of not throwing your whole ass into things once you’ve got your mind on ’em, aren’t you?”
“That sounds like an insult.” Nick narrows his eyes, making her laugh harder.
“A loving one,” Sofia promises. “Good Lord, Nick, that’s … that’s bold as hell. But”—she pauses and Nick holds his breath—“if it’s really what you wanna do, then I can definitely help make it happen.” She scrutinizes him through the camera. “You really think anyone else will go for it?”
The million-dollar question, right there. As much as Nick would like to think he’s brave enough to do this alone, he knows better. If no one is on board, his plan is dead in the water.
“All I can do is ask, right?” he says with confidence he doesn’t feel, shrugging. He’s pretty sure Sofia sees right through him, the way she purses her lips.
“Well, I can get studio space pretty much whenever, so you just make the calls you need to make and let me know, okay? I’ll tell Bee, don’t worry.”
“Thanks, Sof.” Hanging up on Sofia with a plan in his head and nerves buzzing in his stomach, Nick scrolls through his contacts, going straight for what he knows will be the easiest call.
“Hey, Nicky. What’s up?” Connor says cheerfully. It sounds like absolute chaos in the background, raised voices and faint music and … someone singing?
“Where the hell are you, man?” Nick blurts out. Connor laughs.
“I’m at home,” he says. “Some of the guys are over. They’re playing video games.” Connor sounds simultaneously fond and exasperated, and Nick hears him pull away from the phone to yell at everybody to keep it down. “What can I do for you? Don’t you have a game tonight?”
“Yeah, it’s whatever,” Nick dismisses. He hears Connor scoff.
“You’re three points away from clinching!”
“Exactly, it’s basically a done deal.” They’ve got time, Nick isn’t worried. “I—I need to lay something on you. It’s kind of big. You might want to sit down.”
“Are you okay?” All humor is gone from Connor’s voice. Nick hears shuffling and then a door slams, and the call is silent. “I’m ready, what’s wrong?”
“I’m going to come out,” Nick says quickly. It’s the first time he’s actually said those words in that order, and they hang in the air for several long moments. His heart races.
“Holy shit,” Connor whispers. A strangled laugh wrings its way out of Nick’s throat.
“Yeah. And, uh … I need your help.”
Slowly, carefully, he explains his idea to his ex-boyfriend, waiting for the moment Connor calls him an idiot and hangs up the phone.
It doesn’t come. Connor is silent the whole time, but it’s a thoughtful kind of silence punctuated by the occasional hum. When Nick finishes, he braces himself.
“Yes,” Connor says immediately. Nick blinks.
“Yes, like…?”
“Yes, I’m in.”
“Wait, really?” Nick goggles at his phone. “Just like that?”
“I’m already one wrong move away from accidentally outing myself,” Connor points out. “I’d rather do it on my own terms. Besides,” he adds, softer, “we’ve always been in this together, Nicky. No matter what happened in the middle there. If you’re doing this, so am I.”
A lump rises in Nick’s throat, and he swallows hard. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I… Shit, man, I really didn’t want to have to do this by myself.”
“As if I’d ever let you,” Connor retorts. “If they want to start a fight, they can do it with both of us. And anyone else who wants to get on board.” Suddenly there’s a loud crash from Connor’s side of the call, and a quiet curse in French slips out. Nick snorts.
“Go deal with that,” he urges. “I’ll catch you later, give you the details.”
“Sounds good. Talk soon. Love you, Nicky. Proud of you.”
Nick’s eyes itch threateningly. “Thanks, Conn. You too.”
He hangs up, letting his phone drop to his lap as he runs his fingers through his hair, letting out a long, shaky breath.
Tony wants him to put his heart on the ice, huh?
He’d better be careful what he wished for.
Nick hates mid-roadie travel days. Going from one hotel to another, practicing on somebody else’s ice. Especially travel days that aren’t even game days. He’s got nothing to focus on, nothing to build his routine around. It’s the worst.
It’s especially bad today, sitting in a hotel room in Colorado, alone with his iPad propped on his knees because it’s March 18th and right now Matt is in New York City with the band, about to start their interview with StarlingFM any minute, and Nick hasn’t heard the man’s voice in way too long.
He’s been trying to distract himself, stay busy the way Matt clearly is since he hasn’t had any time to fucking call in the last week. God, has it only been a week? Nick feels like he’s aged a decade.
He wasn’t going to listen. He’d decided when he left Dallas that he was going to stop pining and let Matt have the space he evidently wanted. But then the plane had landed and his phone had beeped with a single text message.
Matt
Please listen tonight. If you can. I hope it explains things.
And, well, if Matt’s going to dump him for good over the fucking radio, the least Nick can do is tune in. So here he is, tangling the drawstring of his hoodie between his fingers, feeling so anxious he might puke before the band even comes on.
The song currently playing ends, and the show host’s upbeat voice cuts in.
“All right, folks, I hope you’re ready, because we’ve got one heck of a treat for you this afternoon!
I have in the studio with me the band Sticks+Stones, whose second album Castles and Monuments, released in July of 2020, shot them headfirst into the spotlight of the pop-punk scene.
They just released an EP which is, if I may say so, absolute fire. ”
“Thank you, that’s so sweet of you to say,” Matt says, voice warm. Nick’s heart lurches.
“It’s just the truth, my friend! And you’re now gearing up to record your third album very shortly, isn’t that right?”
“We are, yeah,” Casey confirms brightly. “It’s taken us a little longer than planned to get there, but we’re headed into the studio next month.”
“Ooh, exciting stuff!”
Nick’s knee bounces impatiently as the band introduce themselves: Matt sounds fine, if maybe a little tired. Not that that means anything. He’s a performer, after all.
Not that Nick wants him to be feeling like shit, but … it would be nice not to be alone in it.
“Well, we all know the real reason you guys are here with me today,” the host continues, her excitement audible. “You’re going to play us a couple of tunes. Can you tell me more about the cover you’ve chosen today? I have to say, it’s not what I expected!”
Matt’s laugh is almost sheepish, and just barely covers the loud snort that Nick is pretty sure comes from Spencer.
“It’s a bit of an oddball choice,” Matt agrees.
“But we didn’t want to pick a song that already sounds like something we’d play—we like to take something different and make it sound like us. ”
“It’s a fun thing to have in our back pocket if we ever want to mix up a setlist,” Casey adds. “But this one, this one’s pretty special. We’re all super stoked to be playing it, and we can’t wait for people to hear it.”
“Then I won’t keep everyone waiting any longer!” the host enthuses. “We’re ready when you are!”
No one speaks for a few seconds, and the only sounds are the shifting of bodies and instruments. Somebody, probably Matt, clears their throat. Spencer starts a backing beat, and the guitar kicks in.
It’s achingly familiar, the rhythm right on the tip of Nick’s tongue—he knows this song, he’s sure of it—and then Matt starts singing and all the air leaves Nick’s lungs at once.
They’re playing Britney Spears.
Matt’s voice is low, sultry, and slightly husky as he sings the opening verse. It reverberates through Nick. Arousal floods through him, but it’s secondary to the absolute tidal wave of emotion wrecking its way through his mind as the man he loves sings “Toxic” on national radio.
Oh, shit. He loves Matt.
There’s no way he can possibly deny it anymore: he’s obsessed with this man. And hearing him sing about slipping under, about being addicted, Nick hopes—prays—that maybe he’s not in it alone, that he’s forgiven.
It’s an incredible cover, is the thing. The band has clearly put a lot of time and effort into it, keeping the feel of the original but giving it their own flare; Britney would be proud, Nick thinks somewhat hysterically.
Beside him, his phone buzzes several times, but he can’t bring himself to move.
He’s got his eyes closed as he listens to the song—his favorite song.
Matt knows that and he’s singing it for him.
Does this mean he’s listened to the voicemail?
Is this his way of accepting Nick’s apology, or is it just …
a commitment the band made, too late to switch it up when the time came?