THE RIVALRY CONTINUES—Tiernan And LaPorte Both Make All-Star Roster
With the announcement of the full roster for this year’s NHL All-Star Weekend, and Tiernan’s return to full fitness, comes the confirmation of an extra chance to see childhood rivals Nick Tiernan and Connor LaPorte go head to head on the ice this season.
Click Hereto see the current All-Star Roster and our picks for the NHL Fan Vote!
—Over The Boards, January 25th, 2023
Given his recent concussion, Nick would have been well within his rights to scratch for All-Star Weekend.
But Nick actually likes All-Star; he’s gone almost every year since he joined the NHL, and it’s always a fun time. He knows alot of guys get bored of it after a while and would rather go on vacation, but Nick’s not that old and jaded yet.
Also, he doesn’t exactly have anyone to go on vacation with, unless he wants to crash Marco and Lindsay’s romantic getaway in Argentina.
Nick hadn’t realized just how much he’s changed in the last year until he walked into the room and saw several people immediately light up and drag him over to get a drink, slotting him into their conversation—a conversation about how hungover they were likely to be by the time Sunday rolled around and how many hot chicks they could score while they were in town. His smile freezes in place, and he forces out a laugh, even as his stomach starts to sink.
Of course. That’s what he’s usually like at All-Star. Right there with them, hiding behind that rock-solid mask of his, joking about drinking and womanizing and all the things “good straight bros” do best; lying about disappearing to go hook up with girls—a lie that only began because in his first year there, he kept having to go and have panic attacks in corners about how he was a fraud and a liar and how Connor should’ve been there and how the hell did he think he could do any of this without him.
Oh, look. Guess who just walked in.
Nick hadn’t forgotten that Connor was on the roster for the Atlantic Division this year. Hell, they’d been texting right before his flight. But… there’s something jarring about seeing him there, after the direction his thoughts had just taken, following the realization that he’s practically forgotten how to wear the mask that was once second nature to him. The mask that existed partly because of Connor in the first place.
Thankfully, Connor’s arrival distracts his fellow hockey players from the conversation. They’re gathering around the Orignaux in equal parts welcoming and chirping, joking about how he’s a few years late.
Connor stands there, pale-faced and with his jaw clenched in a way Nick recognizes, and while there’s a small, petty part of Nick that wants to leave him to flounder because that’s what he had to do his first time here, he’s better than that.
“Conn! Hey, man!” he cuts in. There’s naked relief in Connor’s eyes as they land on Nick.
“Hey, Nicky.”
Nick slings an arm around him in a bro-hug, then keeps it there, easily directing Connor off to the side, away from the crowd. “You good?”
“Yeah. This is just… a lot.” Connor was always easily overwhelmed in social situations. Nick’s kind of amazed he didn’t take the fine and bow out of this one.
“It’ll be fine once you get used to it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Connor grumbles, just on the edge of petulant. Nick laughs.
“Seriously, once the hockey starts it’s all chill. Just let them get their jokes in and as soon as Nate shows up they’ll move on to giving him shit for his no-carb beers and forget all about you.”
That, at least, gets the barest hint of a smile out of the man.
His mask might be rusty, but he’s still got it, and it slides more firmly into place as the evening draws out. Except it’s worse this time because he’s unbearably self-conscious about it—it feels like it did back in the early days, when he was sure that everyone could see right through him and he was coming off as fake as he sounded in his head. He’s spent so much time in Vegas around people he doesn’t have tohidein front of—the band, and Marco and Lindsay—that for the first time in a long time he actually feels the constriction of the wordcloseted. It’s a too-tight shirt, a noose around his neck, getting ever tighter.
It doesn’t help that off to the side, Connor is eyeing him incredulously every time he says something blatantly untrue.
Eventually, someone notices that Nick’s been nursing the dregs of the same beer for the last hour and declares it time for another round. “I’ll get it,” Nick offers, desperate for a chance to breathe. He’s only half surprised when Connor volunteers to help him carry, sticking right by his shoulder as they head towards the bar.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Connor hisses in furious French, once they’re at the end of the bar and relatively ignored. “Can you even see yourself right now?”
Nick laughs but it’s a hollow sound. “I’d really rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”
“You never used to be like this,” Connor continues, dark brows drawn together as he frowns down at Nick. It’s a face of clear disapproval, and it makes Nick’s hackles raise.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
“Yeah, well, a lot of shit’s happened since we were teenagers,” he points out sharply. “You don’t get to judge me for what I’ve done to get through this. You only just fucking got here, okay? Don’t act like you know how it is.”
Connor flinches, but Nick’s past the point of feeling bad about it. Doesn’t he understand that all this is what Nick had to do to survive in this world as a terrified, closeted gay teenager with an entire team’s weight on his shoulders?
