“That’s awesome, man.” Nick swallows, gathering his courage—if he doesn’t say this now, he never will. “We weren’t good for each other, looking back. In a lot of ways. And yeah, cutting me out like that was a dick move, and if you ever do anything like that again I will come to your hockey rink and kick you in the nuts so hard you cry in front of your whole team.”
“That’s specific.”
“I know.” Nick will not apologize for the scenarios he’s dreamed up over the years. “But at the same time, we were stupid kids. You were terrified—forboth of us. You thought you were protecting me, you selfish jerk,” he adds teasingly. “And it gave us both a whole lot of fucked-up issues that we’re still dealing with.But…” He pauses, turning to look Connor dead in the eye. “You’re still one of my best friends, and I love you. Andyou deserve to be happy.” Then, before it can get too serious, he grins. “And this guy clearly has you fuckingsmitten, man. I can’t wait to meet him in March. If… if you’re okay with that.”
“Of course!” Connor assures him, before Nick can even begin to doubt whether Connor would want to introduce his ex to his new boyfriend. “We can definitely figure something out.” Hesmiles, nudging Nick’s shoulder with his own. “I’m really glad you’re in my life again, Nicky.”
Nick lets himself lean against Connor, just a little bit. “Me too, Conn.”
They keep talking for a while longer, Connor much freer with stories now that Nick knows about Théo. He’s not out to his Quebec teammates, he says, but some of the guys in Switzerland know.
More than once, Nick almost slips and tells him about Matt.
But he doesn’t, because, well, what can he say?“I’m happy for you and your new boyfriend, but would you like to hear about my fuckbuddy who I’m pretty sure I have actual feelings for but who definitely wouldn’t date me and is probably going to break my heart?”
Yeah. Not that it’s a competition or anything, but Nick is not going to go there.
Eventually it gets late enough that both of them are yawning, and Connor checks his watch with a frown. “I should get back to my hotel room,” he says. “My roommate doesn’t usually mind me being out late, but…”
“He’ll question it if you don’t come back at all,” Nick finishes knowingly. “Yeah, no problem, man. I’ll drive you back.”
“I can get a cab?—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Nick argues, already reaching for his shoes. “They’ll charge you out the ass this time of night.”
Connor puts up a token protest, but Nick ignores it, grabbing a hoodie off the hook by his door on the way out and putting it on in the elevator—and abruptly realizing, when the sleeves fall past his knuckles, that it’s not actually his.
Shit. Hopefully Connor is too tired to notice.
Connor’s hotel isn’t far, and Nick is a pro at navigating the streets of Vegas at all hours, so the drive doesn’t take too long. When they’re only a few minutes away, Connor shifts in the too-small passenger seat, turning to look at his friend. “Hey, Nicky,” he says, quiet in the silence of the night. “You know, all that stuff you said before, about me deserving to be happy despite my mistakes and everything, you know that applies to you too, right?”
It’s a good thing there’s no traffic on the road because Nick’s hands jerk at the wheel. “I—What d’you mean, man?” He laughs it off, but Connor’s gaze narrows.
“I know you, Nicky,” he reminds him pointedly. “I get it if you don’t wanna tell me about it—you don’t owe me anything. But whatever you’re hiding… you deserve good things, too. What I did when we were kids… it wasn’t about you. Not like that. I loved you so fucking much, y’know?” He chuckles bitterly. “So much I convinced myself I was ruining your life with my existence.”
“Conn—”
“No, it’s fine. Therapy,” Connor adds with a half-hearted grin. “But I’m sorry, about how it looked from your end, how it must have made you feel all these years. And I hope you aren’t letting that scare you away from the joy you deserve.”
Nick can’t help himself—he snorts derisively. “Fucking therapy,” he mutters, seeing Connor frown out of the corner of his eye. He pulls into the drop-off zone outside the hotel, turningto face him properly. “Look, Connor, I appreciate what you’re saying, but it’s a little more complicated than that for me.”
In the dark, Connor’s furrowed brows make the shadows on his face even sharper. “You’ve always thought the worst of yourself, Nick.”
Nick’s answering grin is bright and too tight—the kind he gives the cameras. “Guarantee there’s a whole bunch of people who think worse of me than I do, babe.”
That earns him an impatient huff and an eyeroll. As soon as they’re both out of the car, Connor is leaning in to hug him. “You’re a dick,” he mutters, “and I love you, and I want good things for you.So quit the act and let yourself be happy, you goddamn idiot,” he adds in that stupid fancy French. Nick buries his face in the man’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn of tears.
“Not sure I know how to do that, man.” His own French is rough, and rusty, but he manages.
Pulling back, Connor scruffs Nick around the back of the neck like a wayward kitten, shaking him gently. “Figure it out,” is his firm instruction, before he lets go and steps away. “Good luck in California. I’ll call you next weekend.”
“Safe trip home,” Nick replies, as if Connor hasn’t just rattled him to his very core.
He waits until Connor’s inside before pulling away, turning back out onto the road. And then, instead of taking the turn that will take him back out to his apartment building, he goes the other direction and just… drives. Keeps going, until he’s out in the desert, nothing around him but the hazy glow of Vegas light pollution and the few stars that dare shine through it.
As he drives, his thoughts aren’t on Connor. Not any further than wishing they had talked years ago rather than wasting all this time, convinced they’d each ruined everything with their own selfishness.
Mostly, he’s thinking about Matt Hudson—and the big, important, terrifying feelings Nick has for him, with absolutely no idea what the fuck to do about it.
