Nick tries to keep a smile on his face when Matt answers the door, heart clenching at the way the musician lights up at the sight of him. “You’re a nice surprise,” Matt says, then pauses, looking Nick over. His expression falls. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s no fooling you, is there?” Nick remarks, stepping inside awkwardly. As soon as the door’s shut, Matt rests a hand on his hip and leans in to kiss his cheek. Nick freezes in his embrace—if he lets himself give in, he’ll never be able to have this conversation.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Is everything okay?”
Nick sucks in a slow breath. “Can we… We need to talk.” He steps back, away from Matt, who stares at him uncertainly.
“I… Sure.”
“I just came from a meeting with Jazz,” Nick starts, looking somewhere just over Matt’s right shoulder. He can’t look him in the eye and say this at the same time. “Turns out they’re still ‘discussing the terms of any offer they may put forward’regarding my contract extension. A polite way of saying they haven’t decided to keep me yet.” His throat is dry. He swallows hard.
“Oh, Nick, that’s?—”
“She said,” he continues, ignoring the interruption, “that they think I’m losing focus. That the media scrutiny on my personal life is affecting my game.”
Even without looking directly at Matt, he can see the moment it dawns on him what Nick’s trying to do. The way he crumples to lean against the back of the couch, color draining from his face. “Nicky, don’t do this.”
“I don’t want to leave Vegas,” Nick says, hating the way his voice cracks. “I can’t—I can’t afford not to get re-signed at the end of this season. I can’t afford to doanythingthat might suggest I’m not fully committed to this team.”
“Baby, please?—”
“I can’t do this anymore, Matt.” The words rip out like barbed wire on his tongue. “It’s too much of a distraction, it’s… it’s just too much.” The feelings, the fear, the constant looking over his shoulder waiting for it to come crashing down… Nick can’t handle thatanda playoff run that will potentially culminate in facing Connor for the cup.
“We can figure something out,” Matt pleads, stepping towards Nick. “I can stop coming to games, we can stay out of the public eye. Please, just give it a chance!”
“We said when we started this that it would be casual.” Nick’s feet are rooted to the floor, his eyes on the wall opposite, his entire focus on trying to remember all the words he’d thought up on the drive over. “And that if it wasn’t working, we’d say so. Well, this isn’t working for me anymore.”
“Bullshit,” Matt spits, and Nick flinches. “We’re good, Nicky. We’remorethan good—I know you feel it too. Are you seriouslygoing to throw that away because you think it’s fucking with your hockey?”
“It’s mycareer, Matt,” Nick retorts. “And it’s shitty, the way this league is, the way the media is. But I can’t fucking change that, so I have to protect myself the best I can.” He can feel his eyes starting to itch at the corners, and swipes at them furiously. God, hecannotstart crying right now. “You knew what my life was like when we started this.”
“And I said I’d never pressure you to come out,” Matt agrees, reaching out plaintively. He catches one of Nick’s wildly gesturing hands, holding tight even when he tries to jerk away. “If you’re worried about the media, we can do something about that.”
“It’s not just the media!” Nick exclaims in frustration. Why couldn’t Matt just make this easy for him? “It’s everything! The longer this goes on, the more I?—”
Fall for you, he doesn’t say, the words dying as he shakes his head.
“It’s about my hockey. And having you around means I can’t focus on my team the way I should.”
“So no one’s allowed to have relationships in the NHL?” Matt asks sharply. “Shit, guess you’d better tell the rest of the guys.”
“It’s different and you know it!” Nick pulls again, trying to free his hand, but Matt holds fast—with one tug, Nick stumbles forward, caged in by muscular arms and a firm chest. He has no choice but to look Matt in the eye now, that sad brown gaze a knife straight to his heart.
“Nicky,” Matt murmurs brokenly. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to us.”
“I have to,” Nick insists in a cracked whisper. “They’re looking for an excuse to drop me.”
“I refuse to believe that. You’re their star player.”
“That doesn’t mean shit if I’m not doing what they pay me for.” Nick bites his lip, stomach squirming. He can’t think like this, when his head is swimming with Matt’s cologne, skin burning in every place they press together. “Maybe… maybe next season, when my contract’s secure, we could?—”
“Oh, fuck you!” Suddenly he’s untethered, pushed back as Matt steps away from him, running a hand through his hair. “No. Fuck that. You don’t get to put me down and pick me up when it suits you.” He wraps his arms around his stomach, mouth in a severe line as he looks at Nick. “If you’re saying we’re done, then we’re done.”
“Then… then I guess we’re done.”
The words hang heavy in the space between them, lingering like a bad smell. It doesn’t feel real. None of today has felt real. Part of Nick still expects to wake up to the sound of his alarm and discover it was all a horrible dream.
“Fine,” Matt bites out. “If that’s what you want.”
