Far from the excitement he expects, Spencer’s smile slides off his face, replaced by an awkward grimace. “Matt didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Nick frowns at his boyfriend, who suddenly looks guilty.
“I thought I had,” Matt insists. “I—We finalized our studio booking to record the new album. We’ll be out there for six weeks.” Nick’s stomach starts to sink. “We head out on April 19th.”
It takes Nick a second to do the math, but when he does, his blood turns to ice. “That’s… that’s pretty much the entire postseason.”
He tries to keep his voice even. Judging by Marco wincing, he’s failed.
“It’s the only time the studio is free,” Matt explains apologetically. “We’re already later than scheduled, and the label is breathing down our necks about it.”
“Man, that’s a bummer,” Picard declares, reminding Nick that he is in fact surrounded by half his team. “You’re gonna miss, like, all our playoff games!”
“We can come to the first few.” When Matt speaks, it’s directly to Nick. “And we made sure the place we’re staying has all the sports channels, so we can watch your games while we’re gone.”
Nick hates that this conversation is happening in public. His boyfriend is going to be out of state for the most difficult, intensely stressful part of his hockey season, and Nick can’t even be mad about it because no one is supposed to know.
Ducking to pet Marshmallow as she races by, he composes himself the best he can, and when he straightens up it’s with a cocky smile on his face. “It’s fine,” he says. “We’ll have to make sure we stay in long enough for you to watch us play when you get home.”
The rest of the team cheers, and the party atmosphere surges once more—no one notices that Nick’s smile is entirely fake.
No one except Matt, whose golden-brown eyes watch him with regret. “I’m sorry,” he starts, but Nick waves him off. He can’t do this right now.
He needs a distraction, and fast.
“You said you had good news,” he finally remembers to say. “What’s up?”
It works because Matt’s eyes light up in glee. “Oh shit, yeah. Marco, you’re gonna wanna hear this too.” His voice is loud enough to get several other people’s attention, and his bandmates gather around excitedly.
“So our manager got a call from the record label this morning. They want us to do a whole North American tour in the summer next year. With a big one to kick it off in our new hometown.” His eyes shine brighter than ever as he beams. “We’re playing the Lair, baby!”
Immediately the whole yard erupts into cheers, and Nick doesn’t even think before he’s tackling Matt in a rib-crushing hug, onlybarelyremembering to keep his lips out of the equation. “Holy shit!” He looks to the rest of the band, reaching to squeeze Casey’s hand since she’s closest. “Guys! That’s so fucking cool!”
“Nothing’s set in stone yet,” Spencer says over all the excited noise, “but things are looking real damn good right now.”
“You know what this means, right?” Duke cuts in. Nick, perplexed, raises an eyebrow. “If you’re gonna come play the Lair, you shouldplay the Lair.” He hitches up the baby on his hip, turning to his captain. “We’ve got a free day tomorrow, right?”
Nick catches his drift immediately, the grin sliding across his face a lot more genuine now. “Oh,hell yeah.” He turns to the band. “You guys wanna come skate with us?”
The proposition is met with whoops of encouragement from several hockey players, while all four members of the band look even more stunned.
Nick forces himself to push his hurt aside as his teammates rush to persuade the band to join them. It’s not a big deal, Matt not being there through playoffs. He’ll just have to make sure they make it to the only games that will still be playing by the time they get back: the final series itself.
Despite the celebrations, Nick will not be swayed from his original goal of the day, and after giving it fifteen minutes or so for the party to kick back in, he catches Matt’s eye, jerking his chin subtly towards the house.
Once they’re out of sight, he reaches back to grab him gently by the wrist, leading him silently into Howie’s office. Locking the door—he won’t make that mistake twice—he turns and stares, Matt’s deep brown eyes locked on his, time stretching out between them. Nick can hear his heartbeat in his own ears, a steady refrain ofhe loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
He can’t bear it any longer—tugging Matt by the front of his T-shirt, he spins him around, pressing him against the door and slamming their lips together. Matt’s arms wrap around him so tight it’s like they’re trying to be one person, kissing with everything they’ve kept held back for so long. Nick sees fireworks and grips his neck to get ever closer. It’s not enough, not evenclose, but eventually they need to breathe and Nick pulls away with a fractured gasp.
Matt smiles at him, pupils huge. “Hey,” he murmurs, dropping a sweet kiss on Nick’s lips. “I missed you.”
“I love you,” Nick whispers, watching the way it changes Matt’s expression. His eyeslight up, kiss-swollen lips curving in a beaming smile, like it’s the best news he could imagine. “Matt. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea—and you sang my favorite song, you romantic piece of shit. How the hell was I supposed to cope with that?”
Matt is entirely unrepentant, grinning at him. “Figured if you weren’t already in love with me that might tip you over the edge, maybe,” he explains, and Nick can’t help but laugh, pullinghim into another kiss where all they really do is smile into each other’s mouths.
“I’m sorry,” Nick adds quietly, his touch turning apologetic as it trails across Matt’s collarbones. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“I don’t care,” Matt says dismissively. Then his nose wrinkles. “I mean, Ido, but… Nicky, baby, I’m not mad. I know how scary that must have been for you. Yeah I was pissed, and hurt, but I get where your head was at—and you left that voicemail and I missed you like hell but I was so fuckingbusyand it felt rude to try and have this talk in the five minutes between sound-check and a press call like you don’t matter, because youdo. You matter so fucking much.” He presses his forehead to Nick’s, hands tight on his shoulders, silently pleading for some forgiveness of his own. “And I knew we had the cover coming up so I thought if I could just hold off until then you’d hear it and you’dknow.” Tipping back just enough to meet Nick’s gaze once more, he cups his cheek, gaze so reverent Nick can hardly breathe. “You do know, right? Sweetheart.” His eyes glow as they bore into Nick’s. “I love you, Nick Tiernan,” he says, quiet but firm, not an ounce of doubt in his words. Nick’s fingers clench tighter at the cotton of his shirt, elation filling him—it sounds so much better in person than it did over the phone.
