“Hey, man, you can’t think like that, okay? First off, you don’t need to go stressing about shit that hasn’t happened and maybe never will,” he scolds gently. “And second, if you think this whole fucking team wouldn’t step up to protect you if thatdoeshappen, you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Did you see the chaos that came after that hit? The way Patts fucking destroyed Fields?”
Nick did see—Marco made sure to show him the clip that covered the on-ice fighting after the hit. Fields was barely visible under the sea of red and silver jerseys.
“Even Fields’s teammates were pissed about what he did. Hell,we could hear the chewing out he got from their leadership core in our own damn locker room.” Marco smirks wryly, givingNick a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “I know it’s hard to believe when shit like this happens, but there’s more decent guys in the league than bigots—even if the bigots are louder. We’ve got your back, kid.”
Nick smiles back, though his anxiety remains a tight little knot in the center of his chest. He wishes he could believe that with as much confidence as Marco, but as today has shown, it only takes one hit. Nick’s luck will run out eventually.
The team heads off on their road trip, Nick’s bruises start to heal, and his brain starts to clear. It doesn’t hurt to move after the first couple days.
Wendell Fields is given a three-game suspension and the maximum fine allowable, as well as some mandatory sensitivity training. It’s better than Nick expected.
He’s bored without hockey to play. He’s never been great on IR, and it’s worse with the team on the road without him.
But being stuck at home for a week isn’tallbad—not with the right company.
Nick stretches his arms out at his sides, letting his fingers dig into the plush rug he’s lying on. Turning his head, he looks up at where Dolly’s tail dangles over the edge of the coffee table, swinging like a metronome. His audiobook has been abandoned, his focus on the faint music coming from his home gym.
He can just about catch a guitar riff stopping and starting, repeating over and over but a little different each time, like the person playing it can’t make their mind up. Sometimes, if Nick closes his eyes and listens really closely, he can hear singing.
Then the music stops and he hears the door click and quiet footsteps padding down the hall.
“Hey, you hungry? I—Oh.” Matt pauses, staring down at the hockey player. He’s still got his guitar slung over his shoulders—the slightly battered sunshine-yellow one covered in stickers that usually lives in the studio room at his apartment. His college guitar, his baby.
“Hi,” Nick says, eyes only half-open. Matt’s brows draw together.
“Hi. You, uh, doing okay down there?”
“All good,” he assures him. “Just needed to not be on the couch for a bit, y’know?” Nick isn’t used to this much inactivity, and he’s going a little stir-crazy. He’s not even allowed to look at screens until the doctor clears him—which is probably for the best, honestly.
“How’s the songwriting going?” he asks, bending his knees up with his feet flat on the ground, humming happily as something in his back loosens off.
“It’s going. Think I’ve figured out the bridge for this one song I’ve been stuck on for, like, the last week, so I’m pretty hyped on that.” Matt grins and Nick smiles back.
“Will you play it for me?” he asks hopefully, making the musician huff.
“C’mon, you know it doesn’t work like that,” he teases, walking further round the couch to stand right by Nick’s feet. “You gotta trust the creative process.”
The whole time Matt has been staying at his place, using his gym as a makeshift studio, he’s refused to let Nick in to listen to what he’s working on; insisted that he needs to wait to hear the songs in their complete, intended form; that he’ll quickly get sick of hearing the same twenty seconds played over and over; snatched away his lyric notebook every time Nick tries to take a peek.
“I thought the whole point of being a hot rockstar was to serenade people into dropping their pants for you,” Nick teases,tilting his head to let his hair fall into his eyes and batting his eyelashes.
“Pretty sure I’m way ahead of that with you,” Matt retorts, smirking. “If youreallywant me to play you something, I guess I can oblige. Maybe you can help me out, actually.”
Suddenly, he steps over Nick, one foot on either side of his ribs. Then, he lowers himself down carefully, until he’s perched in the cradle of Nick’s hips, leaning back against his thighs. He’s got his guitar placed perfectly in his lap, and Nick stares at him, suddenly a whole lot warmer.
“Wellhellothere,” Nick drawls, eyes bright and lips curled. “Exactly what kind of help are you after?”
The quiet laugh that Matt lets out rumbles through both of them, a flirtatious glint in those brown eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter,” he scolds. “I’m not set on the lyrics yet, so I won’t sing, but… let me know what you think of this, yeah?”
Nick is immediately intrigued, but then Matt shifts slightly, taking up his guitar in hand, and Nick’s breath catches.
The guitar is quiet, unplugged as it is, but sitting this close Nick can hear it just fine as Matt begins to play. He hums along quietly, fingers dancing over the fretboard. Nick is transfixed.
This isn’t Mattperforming—at least, it’s a very different kind of performance. He isn’t belting out lyrics with that sly, exhilarated smile on his face, isn’t bouncing around a stage with his audience screaming for him. Isn’t even grinning like he does when he’s practicing and Nick is the only audience but still getting a full-blown show.
Instead he’s just focusing on his fingers, a slight half-smile tugging at his lips as he bobs his head along with the rhythm. Every few seconds, he looks up to catch Nick’s eye, then ducks down shyly again to keep playing.
After what feels like forever, the song fades out and Matt’s hands go still, and he finally looks up properly. “So it’ll besomething like that,” he says, shrugging. “I dunno. Obviously it’ll make more sense with, like, percussion and stuff. But… that’s where I’m at so far.” His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he smiles tentatively.
