“Also, Marco’s looking for you.”
That makes Nick snort. “Goddamn helicopter parent,” he mutters under his breath, though evidently not too quiet for Kat to hear. Her smirk widens.
“I’m telling him you said that.” Before Nick can say anything further, her headset crackles with a call, and she’s on it immediately. A distracted wave goodbye is all he gets, and then he’s alone once more.
The home opener is always a spectacle, but Nevada lives and breathes the motto “Go Big or Go Home”—he’s already walked a red carpet, done what felt like a million interviews and posed for photos, videos, whatever social media hoops Kat needed him to jump through. He’s got glitter in his hair from the confetti cannons, and even now, an hour before puck drop, he can hear the rumble of the crowd gathering in the stadium. It’s a rush. It’s almost enough to make him forget he has a whole hockey game to play.
Almost.
“Get your head in the game, Tiernan,” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair and turning in the direction of the locker room. He can’t afford to have his thoughts with the crowd, or the season ahead, or on Connor fucking LaPorte. All that matters is right here, right now, one shift at a time.
The locker room is a comforting whirlwind of chaos and noise, sucking him in immediately—he barely gets three steps in before someone’s balled-up sock whacks him in the back of the head.
“Sorry, Cap!” Motormouth calls sheepishly, hurrying to grab the wayward article. “I was aiming for Beau.”
“Oh, screw you,” Beau retorts from Nick’s other side, holding his armor in one hand and flipping his fellow rookie off with the other.
“Children!” Nick mock-scolds, rolling his eyes—he can look forward to plenty more of that, with four entire rookies on theroster. They usually average out as the youngest team in the NHL, but this season is a whole other level.
“Hey, man.” Marco is already half-dressed in the stall next to him, and he meets Nick for a fist-bump without hesitation. “Kat said you were looking for me?”
Bracing himself for a question about his headspace—or worse, aboutConnor—Nick is startled when Marco’s brown eyes meet his, gleaming. “Yeah, guess what?” He practically bounces as he pulls up his shorts. Before Nick can speak, he barrels on. “Sticks+Stones are in the crowd tonight.”
Nick blinks, the words meaning nothing at first, and then it clicks. “That band you and your sister are, like, obsessed with?” The older man nods. “No way!”
“Yeah!AndKat said they’d be cool to meet us after the game.”
“Us, like…?” Nick gestures to the locker room at large, and Marco snorts.
“Uslike you and me, dipshit. And, I guess, if anyone else wants to. Hey!” He raises his voice, grabbing the attention of their teammates. “Any of y’all like Sticks+Stones?”
In the back corner, GJ snorts. “Not all of us are overgrown emo kids, Perez,” he taunts.
“They’re okay, I guess,” Banjo pipes up. “They’re a little… y’know.” He flicks an exaggerated limp wrist, and something inside Nick twists painfully as the locker room fills with snickers.
“I like their vibe,” Sunny says, loud enough to be pointed, though his gaze stays on Marco and Nick. “But, uh, the music isn’t really my jam. Sorry, man.”
“Well, fuck all of you,” Marco declares, but he’s smiling, running a hand through his mussed black hair.
“My daughter likes ’em, Marco!” Tony calls, and the guys snicker again. Nick’s not sure why; their GM’s fourteen-year-old daughter is probably cooler than every damn one of them.
“Oh, comeon,” Marco huffs. “I hate you all and you have no taste.”
“Trix is your BFF and he literally likes Britney Spears.” The flat retort comes from Howie, the only one of them not dressing for the game tonight. An off-season knee surgery has the veteran goalie out for another six weeks.
“Trix is well aware of his crimes.”
“I am yourcaptain!” Nick’s protest goes ignored, as usual. He added a Britney song to the team playlistone timeand has never lived it down.
“Anyway,” Marco says in a quieter voice, the attention of the locker room now off them as everyone hurries to finish changing. The clock is ticking down on the wall, and management are starting to get their game-faces on. “You’re coming with me. No, you don’t get a choice. I’m not going by myself like a loser.”
Nick sits to put his shin guards on, sighing like Marco’s request is an enormous hardship. “Iguess. Someone’s gotta tell Linds how much of an embarrassing fanboy you are.”
“Oh, she’s gonna besomad she couldn’t make it tonight.” Marco grimaces. “I mean, she’s already pissed, but like, now she’ll be double pissed.”
“She feeling any better?”
“Had a 101 fever when I left this morning.”
