Matt
Hey! Tough game, shame it didn’t go your way. You wanna come drown your sorrows at my place? Or yours?
Guilt pooling heavy in his gut, Nick bites his lip as he types out a response to Matt.
Nick
Sorry I can’t tonight, I’ve got plans.
It feels like a weak excuse, reading it back, but it’s not a lie. Technically.
Nick sends a text to Connor, asking if he wants to hang out, and by the time he gets an affirmative response to that he’s mostly dressed. He’s also had a response from Matt. A simple,
Matt
oh ok, sure, talk tomorrow? :)
Totally fine. Absolutely no reason for him to be feeling that guilt burn through him like acid, like he’s somehow sneaking behind Matt’s back.
They aren’t anything. Him and Connor aren’t anything.
The burn doesn’t fade.
Nick finds Connor in the entrance to the players’ parking lot, waiting for him in a rumpled navy suit with a duffle bag over his shoulder. Nick falls into step beside him, their shoulders bumping together—a habit from back in the day when they were desperate to touch each other, caught in an electric orbit and trying not to give the game away in public.
They both seem to realize at the same time what they’ve done, flushing lightly and putting a little more space between them. “I’m parked over here,” Nick says, gesturing to the left, pushing determinedly through the awkwardness.
Connor scoffs, folding himself awkwardly into the Taycan’s passenger seat. “Jesus, the legroom in this thing sucks.”
“Get shorter, bitch,” is Nick’s succinct reply.
The world goes quiet when the doors are shut, but it doesn’t stay that way for long as music starts to play from the car’s sound system. It cuts in automatically with whatever Nick was listening to last—which just so happens to be a Sticks+Stones song. Nick scrambles to switch the playlist.
“Well, thank fuck that game is over with,” he says, then grimaces. “I mean… maybe now they’ll find something else to talk about for a while.”
“We can only hope,” Connor agrees. “You really gave us the run-around, damn.”
“Are you kidding? I was dying out there, you asshole. You had me following you like a fucking puppy.”
“You got two goals!”
“Yeah, and if you hadn’t been there I’d have got five,” Nicksays. It’s not bragging if it’s true. “You barely even let me in the O-zone.” He pauses, shooting a sly grin at Connor when they stop at a red light. “You’ve still got it, man. Those big ol’ European rinks haven’t slowed you down one bit.”
“They’re not that much bigger.” The exasperation in Connor’s voice suggests this is a common refrain. “But… thanks. It’s—You’ve always known how to get me at my best.”
“Make that two of us.” No one challenges him like Connor does. “You mind if we go to my place?” He cringes at how that comes out. “I mean, like, I am so tired of being in the public eye.” Whatever conversation they’re about to have, it’s not one he wants to risk being overheard.
Thankfully Connor doesn’t seem to think anything of it. “As long as there’s food.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “No offence, but I’m glad we’re in opposing conferences. I don’t think I could handle the media getting that fixated on our history more than twice a year.”
Nick winces. If Connor thinks this is bad, he should’ve been around during Nick’s first season.
“Hey, seriously, though,” Connor says, softer. Nick glances his way, breath catching in his throat as he looks at the boy he used to love glowing in the neon lights of the strip. “You’ve done amazing things here. You basically built this team from expansion up, and you should be proud of yourself, Nicky. I sure am.”
Nick swallows hard against the unexpected swell of emotion that rises inside him. Even when they were at their worst, fighting over every little thing, Connor convinced that the slightest interaction would out them to the world, he had neversuggested Nick wouldn’t be able to handle the NHL, only that if they kept going the way they were, he’d never get the chance to try. And maybe he was right. They’ll never know now. But it doesn’t matter.
Connor is proud of him.
Whatever tentative truce they had settled upon in the car fizzles away once they’re riding in the elevator up to Nick’s apartment—for all that they cleared the air and hung out over the summer, they haven’t actually beenalonesince they reconnected. And having Connor here, squeezed into the small metal box with him… all it does is send Nick through a mental Rolodex of all the hotel elevators he shared with Connor in the Q, shyly brushing fingers and having to fight to keep themselves apart until they got to their shared room.
