Nick always thought that now he’s older, more mature, he’d be a little less pathetic in his heartbreak.
Turns out he was wrong about that one.
He feels like shit. He slept like ass and the flight had turbulence and half his team are being cranky little assholes about being away so much this close to Christmas. Nick has had A Day and he’s still got to play hockey later. He should be making better choices for himself.
But Nick Tiernan is not known for making sensible decisions. So he lies on the bed in his hotel room in Detroit, scrolling through Matt’s Instagram tags, pausing on every picture of him with his arm around some hot musician or celebrity, reading the insinuations in the comments.
Is it on purpose? Is he showing off all the other fuckbuddies he has, to make it clear to Nick that things were never that serious?
No. Matt’s not that petty. Not like Nick, whose social media in the last week has been thirst traps and team parties, aggressively trying to prove how fine and not-heartbroken he is.
So sue him, hewantsMatt to feel bad. Just a little bit, at least.
Deep down, though, he knows it’s his own fault. If he weren’t so scared of losing his reputation, so needy for the adoration of the hockey world, he could be out. He could win Matt over, prove he’s ready for a real relationship.
Except that would be another lie, wouldn’t it? He’snot, not even a little bit. Without even getting into the whole Connor situation, Nick cannot imagine a world in which he’s not allowed to play NHL hockey. Cannot imagine the slurs and sneers and hits he would take if hedidmanage to stay in the game, somehow. The respect he’d lose—from his teammates, his opponents, his fans. Call him shallow, but… hockey is his entire life, and he’s not ready to be done yet.
He grimaces, running a hand through his hair and shoving his phone under the pillow.
It’s a good thing he’s perfected his act already. He’s going to need it.
Nick stops going on social media, except to make regular Kat-mandated posts to please the algorithm gods. It makes it easier than trying to scroll through the seemingly endless flood of Sticks+Stones content his feed wants to thrust in his face.
True to his promise of space, Matt has not contacted him since the day he left. Nick’s not exactly feeling festive, either.
But he’s the captain, so it’s his job to get his team focused and on their A-game. If he’s going to make hockey his whole damn life, he thinks wryly, then he’s going to quit neglecting his teammates in favor of moping over a boy and be the leader they need.
“I know it’s tough, guys,” Nick says in the locker room before the game. “We just gotta get through this game, and then we’ll be on the red-eye home. Christmas isn’t over yet. You won’t miss the important parts.”
“Not all of us,” GJ says with a pointed look. They’re all well aware of how frustrated he is at missing the first half of Hanukkah.
“Hockey is what it is,” Hugsy points out ruefully, scrubbing a hand over his beard. “We knew this when we signed up. Schedule just dealt us a shitty hand this year.” Roadies either side of Christmas, and not even anywhere close to home. Boston and goddamn Calgary. Joy.
“I’m sorry,” Nick offers. “I know you all miss your kids. I get it.”
“But you don’t, though,” Hacker bites out. “You don’t have kids, Trix. Don’t have a family to miss over the holidays.”
“What the fuck, man! I still have a family! You think I don’t miss my sister every damn year?”
“Not the same as missing kids, though. Or a partner,” Bam-Bam joins in, sneering. “You don’t have a girl waiting at home for you. Youneverdo.” There’s something knowing, somethingmaliciousin his gaze, and it makes Nick take an uneasy step back. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marco’s head snap up.
“My personal life is none of your goddamn business, Burrows,” Nick snarls, standing there with one sock still clipped to his garter while the other bunches at his ankle, acid-hot adrenaline racing through him and making his stomach bubble.
“Ooh, did I hit a nerve?” Bam-Bam smirks at him, eyeing him with a hint of disgust. Like he understands exactly why Nick doesn’t have a wife or girlfriend to spend Christmas with.
“Get your head outta your ass and that ass on the ice,” Marco cuts in, on his feet now. “I get that you’re pissed. I am too. This sucks, and Boston sucks, but it is what it is and if you don’t like it, I’m sure Tony can find some other idiot who wants to get paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to wear knife shoes eighty-two nights of the year.” He eyes the grumbling players down, a pointed reminder of exactly what theirsacrificeaffords them. Bam-Bam scoffs but gets back to dressing for the game. The tension slowly disperses, everywhere except in Nick’s shoulders.
“C’mon, man,” Hugsy murmurs, nudging him gently. “You know how they get. It’s just hot air.”
“Yeah.” Nick’s on autopilot as he gets dressed, thoughts churning—he can’t keep on like this forever. Sooner or later, the fact that he’s always single is going to become more suspicious than sad, and more pricks than just Bam-Bam will start to draw conclusions.
But that’s not a problem for right now; he needs to focus on the game.
He can deal with that dilemma over Christmas—his festive season recently got a whole lot emptier, after all.
With Dolly at the Perez household snuggled happily between her two feline loves, Nick doesn’t bother gathering her up to go home when they finally land in Vegas, hours before sunrise. He just drags himself upstairs to the guest room that is practically his, strips down to his boxers, and passes the fuck out for another five hours.
When hedoesget up, Lindsay doesn’t even let him pretend he’s going back to his place any time soon. She shoves him down onto the couch, thrusts a mug of heavily spiked hot chocolate into his hands, and curls up between him and Marco to watch some cheesy Christmas rom-com. They like to mock the terrible clichés, even though nine times out of ten Lindsay is sniffling at the romantic ending anyway.
