If that was Tony’s attempt at reassurance… If he got the wrong idea from his meeting with Jazz…
Maybe he’s thrown away more than he ever needed to, to keep hockey in his grasp.
The buzzing of his phone snaps him out of his fugue state, and he scrambles to find the device. “Where the hell are you?” Amy asks, never one to mince words. “I’ve been waiting out here forever.”
He lets out a slow breath, feeling beginning to return to his limbs in the form of ants crawling across his skin. “Be there in a minute.”
Maybe she’ll know what it all means. She’s always been smarter than him.
Nick hardly sleeps that night, and it’s not because of Amy’s knee digging into his kidney. His conversations with Connor and Jazz and Tony all keep echoing in his thoughts, and whenever he closes his eyes all he can see is the look on Matt’s face as Nick ended things. It’s been a week since those texts after Quebec, and he’s heard nothing since. Even the rest of the band won’t talk to him—which hegets, but it still hurts.
And now, after having spoken to Amy, he’s replaying his meeting with Jazz in a whole new light. Maybe she didn’t actually sound threatening when she said his contract wasn’t her priority right now—maybe she just sounded stressed the fuck out because the trade deadline was imminent.
Nausea burns in the pit of his belly, and he wishes he were at home so he could cuddle his cat. Amy’s not much of a hugger.
He thinks of nights in bed with Matt, those strong arms braced snugly around him, the weight of his larger frame pinning Nick to the mattress, soothing him better than any weighted blanket.
If he remembers Matt’s schedule correctly—which ofcoursehe does; he’s had it memorized for weeks—the band should beflying to Oregon right about now. They’ve got a hometown show for Matt, then Michigan and Chicago for the others, then they’re over to New York for the radio thing and some shows.
Has Matt thought about him as often as Nick has? Or is he too pissed off to care? Nick would probably be pissed, if it were him, but Matt’s not usually that petty.
Is it too much to hope that Matt wants him to reach out?
Before he can think better of it, Nick’s carefully throwing back the sheets and creeping out of bed. He swipes his phone off the nightstand and tiptoes out into the living room, dialing before his nerves can get the better of him.
The call goes straight to voicemail. Perfect. “Hey,” he starts, wincing when his voice cracks. “I, uh… I’m sorry. Both for everything I said, and for being a fucking coward right now and calling while I know you can’t pick up.” He snorts to himself—Jesus, he’s a piece of work. “I… God, Matt. I know I fucked up. I don’t need you to tell me that. Plenty of other people have done so on your behalf, believe me.”
Nick swallows hard, emotion welling in his throat. “I shouldn’t have called you a distraction. I shouldn’t have run away. I feel like we’ve established that I turn into an asshole when I’m scared, and Christ, I haven’t been that scared in a long time.” He sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s like… sometimes it feels like my feelings for you are just one big neon sign floating over my head. Like people take one look at me and they cansee it, how I—How much I care about you. It fucking terrifies me, man.” Nick swallows hard. “But not as much as the idea of not having you in my life.”
Any minute now the machine’s gonna cut him off, he thinks with a flare of panic, gripping tighter to his phone. “I’m really sorry, babe. And you can yell at me all you want when I get home, I promise, just…please, don’t give up on me yet. I—”BEEEEP.
Damn it. Well, he got the gist of it across. Hopefully that’s enough.
It feels like it’s been forever since Nick’s done this: sprawled out on the couch in Marco’s living room, Lindsay’s feet digging into his thigh, some absolute reality TV trash on while their cats tangle together on the armchair. Marshmallow is a fluffy white lump on the dog bed next to the couch, occasionally licking Nick’s dangling hand.
On the screen, a woman throws a full glass of wine right in the face of the guy she’s on a date with, and Lindsay cackles. “Serves him fucking right!” she crows—then she looks towards Nick, frowning. “You’re quiet tonight.” She prods him hard with her toes. “Still haven’t heard from Matt?”
“Nope.” Nick’s pretty sure Lindsay hears his breath hitch. “But, y’know, he’s crazy busy right now, so…” They’ve been playing back-to-back gigs since the EP came out, and going by social media—which Nick isnotstalking, thank you very much—they’ve had a packed media schedule around it too. Nick tweeted something nice about the EP, and he’s clinging to the hope that since all the band members liked the tweet, he hasn’t lost Matt yet. But his voicemail has gone unacknowledged.
He’s starting to think it always will—Matt did tell him not to expect him to wait around, after all.“You don’t get to put me down and pick me up when it suits you.”Isn’t that exactly what Nick’s trying to do?
If Matt never speaks to him again, he’ll deserve it.
“Oh, Nick,” Lindsay says, sighing. He pokes her in the shin.
“I’m fine,” he insists. “I’m just… thinking about some shit.”
“Wow, don’t hurt yourself,” Marco mutters.
“Asshole.”
Marco grins, tossing an M&M at his head. “Care to share with the class?”
Nick hums, hugging the couch cushion to his chest. It’s something that’s been stuck in his head for a while now, growing steadily more insistent since Pride Night, practically screaming at him since he left Quebec. “What do you think would happen if I came out?”
Beside him, Marco and Lindsay both freeze. On the TV, some woman starts cussing out her mom but Lindsay scrambles for the remote, muting it.
“Nick,” she says, voice carefully neutral. “That’s… I know this week has been a lot, but Matt wouldn’t want you to make any hasty decisions.”
