Falling is Like This, Part V-VI
Title:: Falling is Like This
Author: speakingwosound
Pairing: Nick Leddy/Jeremy Morin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 24, 500
Summary: Nick Leddy is gay. He’s also on the brink of making it to the NHL. He thinks he’s reconciled these things. Until he meets Jeremy Morin.
Disclaimer: Not real, sadly.
A/N: Takes place between Rookie Development Camp in June and World Junior Champions in January. I’ve kept it mostly accurate, although I’ve fudged a bit on the types of players that show up at Rookie Development Camp. Just go with me for that, yeah?
Part I-III | Part IV
Part Five. World Junior Championships. December 26, 2010 - January 5, 2011. Buffalo, NY.
Tournaments on the national stage are like nothing else. Nick has dreams of winning the Stanley Cup, maybe a Norris Trophy someday, but, if he’s honest, he might want an Olympic Gold medal just as badly. He’s can’t really explain it. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, the languages being thrown around, the memories of winning World Junior gold last year, but for whatever reason, it’s just feels like something else to be here.
There’s a lot more pressure this year, though. Pressure to defend their title, on home turf, and pressure to make use of their last opportunity. Both Nick and Jeremy are nineteen, as are a good number of their teammates, and this is it for them, the last go around before they make the leap to the real International stage.
The pressure is in the back of Nick’s head from the moment he gets to Buffalo. He’s not generally a very stressed guy, but it’s there, when he takes the ice for their first practice, when his name is called to too much applause before their first game, and it’s there, distracting him, when Jeremy gets hit.
It doesn’t look like much, but the important hits rarely ever do. Jeremy doesn’t even go down for long enough for the trainer to leave the bench, but he doesn’t play another shift and when the period ends, he’s not in the dressing room.
Nick doesn’t have any experience with this. He’s never had to care for someone and watch him get hurt and be utterly powerless to do anything about it. He wants to hit something, hit someone. He wants some sort of control over his life, over Jeremy, over knowing that he’s going to be okay, but the only thing he can control right now is this game, this tied game, and so he doesn’t go out there and throw his shoulder around and he doesn’t use his minimal Finnish to rile anyone up. He never thought he had it in him, but, somehow, he locks away the part of himself that’s worrying and drawing worst case scenarios and just wanting Jeremy, and focuses on the game.
It’s true, what they say about muscle memory, and Nick promises himself never to complain about a drill in practice again. ‘Cause that’s how he’s functioning now, because his body has done this hundreds, thousands of times, made plays, stopped odd-man rushes, shot from the point on the power play, and so he can do all these things even now, when his mind is locked away with Jeremy and the medical staff.
Overtime ends quickly and they’re all back in the locker room. There’s some celebrating, but it’s only game one and they have an early practice in the morning, so it doesn’t look out of place for Nick to shower and dress fairly quickly. He waves to his teammates and heads into the bowels of HSBC Arena in search of the medical suites. He’s played here before, but things are set up differently for the tournament, and he’s a little lost when he runs in to Coach Allain.
“Good game, Leddy.”
“Thanks, Coach. I was-” A hundred things run through his head. Excuses for why he’s here, looking for Jeremy, excuses like teammate and best friend and need. In the end he settles on simple, straight-to-the-point. “I’m looking for Jeremy. Do you know where the medical staff is?”
“I’m heading there myself. Come on.” And Coach puts a hand on his shoulder, as if he gets it, and Nick doesn’t know if that’s good, but he doesn’t argue.
Jeremy’s room is already pretty crowded when they get there, his bedside lined with trainers and parents. Coach walks right in, but Nick hesitates in the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt, not sure if he’s wanted in this circumstance, not sure if Jeremy needs to see him as much as Nick needs to see Jeremy.
Jeremy looks too pale, paler than he did that night he was called up to Chicago, and Nick’s heart wrenches. His shoulder twitches in sympathy pains for the way Jeremy’s is wrapped tightly in ice, his hand cradled loosely in his lap, and he lets out an involuntary little moan.
Jeremy hears him. His eyes are glassy and it takes him a moment longer than usual to focus on Nick, but he does and the smile that’s all relief, as if he thought that maybe Nick wouldn’t want to see him, is all the assurance Nick needs.
“Hey,” Nick says, quietly in the rush of voices in the room, but they’ve always been attuned to each other and Jeremy hears him. Jeremy looks at him and thinks things like hug and kiss and touch. He needs to prove to himself that everything’s going to be okay, that Jeremy is going to be okay, but the only part Nick can reach is Jeremy’s left foot. He places a warm hand on it, and Jeremy presses his toes into Nick’s palm. It’s enough.
“Hey.” Jeremy smiles, his mouth a little bit slower to respond on the right side and if it didn’t look so adorable, Nick would panic. “Did we win?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we did. How you feeling?”
Jeremy tries to shrug, but he grimaces instead, using his good hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Mmm, I’m okay. I want to play.”
“Jeremy-” It’s warning and exasperation and everything his mother would say all wrapped up into one word, and that women by Jeremy’s head must be his mother. She’s pretty and small and not at all the hard-looking hockey mom that his own is, but she has Jeremy’s eyes and Nick already adores her a little bit for it.
Jeremy rolls his eyes, ignoring her and using his good hand to motion at Nick. “Mom, dad, this is Nick Leddy. Nick, these are my parents.”
This isn’t how Nick wanted to meet them. He wanted it to be over a nice dinner, where he’d be dressed in a suit and a tie instead of a Team USA hoodie and track pants, and his palm would smell a lot less like his hockey gloves when he shakes their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“And you.” LuAnn Morin’s handshake is strong and her smile is warm and inviting. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Nick has the insane desire to laugh. He wants to warn LuAnn that whatever she’s heard about Nick, as a player, as her son’s roommate, barely scratches the surface. This, he knows, is some sort of karma asskicking for having it so easy with his parents. This is going to be a real coming out, that’s painful and messy, with consequences, and it doesn’t matter that Nick really cares this time, much more than he did with his own, ‘cause it’s the inevitable conclusion to this evening and there’s nothing, nothing, he can do but try and make it a little easier.
“I wanna play tomorrow. Just give me whatever painkillers you need.”
Coach Allain touches Jeremy’s thigh lightly. “Let the trainers decide that, yeah?”
Jeremy whines, low in his throat, and presses his foot into Nick’s hand. “Nick-” And Nick realizes that Jeremy isn’t going to make this easy, ‘cause he’s frustrated and tired and a little high on painkillers.
Nick pats his foot, but he also ignores him and turns his attention to the trainers. “How bad is it?”
The taller one, with slightly balding hair who must have been a hockey player in his day ‘cause he seems to understand exactly what Jeremy is asking, shakes his head. “It’s hard to tell. Could be a couple days. Could be a couple weeks.”
Coach Allain nods. “You’ll know in the morning?”
The trainer nods while the other one prods a little more at Jeremy’s shoulder, and Nick has a hard time tearing his eyes from the pain on Jeremy’s face.
“It’s too swollen to get a good look tonight. He needs to rest, sleep off the painkillers. We’ll run some tests in the morning.”
“Good.” Coach pats him before pulling away. “You hear that, kid? Get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy nods, valiantly keeping things together until their Coach is gone and the rest of them are left to sort this mess out.
“You can come home with us, honey.” And this is it. Nick knew that she’d say that, ‘cause it’s a mom think to want to help and take care of her boys. They’re at the age where mothers don’t get to do that for them very often anymore, and Nick knows that his mom would jump at the chance, too. But, the thing is, it’s not her job anymore, it’s his and he really doesn’t want to have to break her heart tonight.
Jeremy doesn’t seem to care, though. The look he’s giving Nick says that all he wants to do is crawl into Nick’s skin and stay there and he doesn’t really care how this all goes down as long as that happens. Except, Nick knows that he will care, in the morning, when he’s rested and his shoulder’s hurting and his life doesn’t feel like it’s ending, and it’s really Nick’s responsibility to make sure that they don’t fuck this up irreparably.
So, Nick makes one last valiant effort to do this the peaceful way. “Um, that’s okay Mrs. Morin. All of Jeremy’s things are back at the hotel, and I’m sure he’d be more comfortable there.”
“We’ll stop by and grab some clothes for him in the morning. You don’t need to worry yourself.”
“I really don’t mind.” Nick tries, as earnest as he’s ever said anything in his life. “It’s no trouble.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waves him away, and Nick sighs. He really hadn’t wanted it to come to this, and he can’t be the one to do it, but Jeremy seems to have reached the same conclusion.
Jeremy’s taken his mother’s hand in his good hand, and Nick can see from here that he’s holding it lightly, his hands a little shaky from the pain and the medicine. “Mom, I love you. But, I’m tired and my shoulder hurts like hell and I feel a little dizzy and all I wanna do is curl up with Nick and make all that go away. I promise I’ll see you in the morning.”
LuAnn freezes, and Jeremy’s dad takes a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Son, did you say-”
“Yes.” Jeremy sighs, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes slipping shut, and Nick’s going to kill him for leaving Nick in this situation.
“Mr. and Mrs. Morin.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick can see the trainers trying valiantly to pretend like they’re not hearing a bit of this. “I know that Jeremy didn’t want to have to tell you this way, and I didn’t, either. We were going to tell you tomorrow, at dinner, but - um, no one wanted to see him get hurt and, well, I really care about your son. You have to believe me.”
The silence stretches. Nick’s starting to believe that he’s fallen down some sort of rabbit hole that never ends, when LuAnn finally shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
Nick glances at Jeremy, who’s looking pale and miserable, and he sighs. “Look, I really want to get Jeremy home and a little more comfortable. Can we meet tomorrow? Lunch? Jeremy should be feeling a little better by then and I promise I’ll answer every question you have.”
They look like they want to argue, but Jeremy shifts on the bed and his eyes fly open as a groan leaves him, and LuAnn places a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Sleep well.” And then they’re gone.
Nick’s inclination is to think about it. He wants to worry and pick it apart and understand exactly what she meant, but Nick doesn’t have time to obsess. Not when the trainers are handing him a bag of pills and listing off important instructions, and he has to spend the whole time he’s helping Jeremy back to the hotel reciting the instructions in his head so that he doesn’t forget and kill his partner with two blue pills too many or something.
Jeremy’s looking a bit more awake by the time he’s washed his face, slipped into sleep pants, and taken another couple of pills. Nick tries to leave him, to take a quick shower and attempt to make himself look a bit more human again, but Jeremy grabs his wrist and pulls him down to the bed.
“Thank you.” Jeremy presses a kiss to the back of Nick’s ear. “For dealing with my parents.”
Nick flinches. “We have some damage control to do tomorrow.”
“I know.” Jeremy bites his lip, his smile still a little lop-sided, and Nick’s stomach aches in that way it’s been doing since Christmas and, suddenly, Nick gets it.
“I love you, Jeremy.”
He would have said it a thousand times by now if he had known that Jeremy was gonna grin like that. A bright, drug-induced, lop-sided grin, and Nick’s stomach flips all over again. “You too.”
Nick wonders, later, if Jeremy had just been waiting for Nick to say it first, or if it had something to do with crossing the hurdle of telling his parents, or with getting injured, or if it had just taken time, but when Jeremy curls up with him and Nick turns off the lights, Nick gets the feeling, for the first time, that this might be all he’ll ever need.
***
Winning a bronze medal doesn’t feel quite as good as winning gold, but it’s still the first time that the US has medaled in back-to-back Junior Championships. It still feels weighty in Nick’s hands, and it still catches the light in that way only international tournament medals do. It still feels pretty damn good.
And it still deserves a party.
They’ve gotten rid of the parents and the girlfriends and the coaches, and now it’s just them, a team full of teenagers just on the cusp of something great, with beer and a hotel room and the whole night in front of them. Of course, it’s devolved into nothing more than video games and wrestling, but Nick’s happy to lean back in his chair and think about how much this reminds him of that last day of Rookie Development Camp in Chicago.
Nick almost wants to laugh at how hilarious those similarities are, and yet Jeremy is wiggling his eyebrow at him from across the room and nothing’s the same at all. Eight months on and Nick could never have imagined where that night would lead him, to this moment, here, now, and he wouldn’t change it if someone offered him a genie and three wishes.
Because Nick feels amazing. What had started out, ten days ago, as a nightmare tournament has ended up pretty fucking okay. Jeremy’s shoulder is still a little soar, but he only missed one game and even if he has to go back to Rockford and really let it heal and get stronger, he did get to play in the medal game and Nick got to hug him and give him a little kiss at the bottom of the game-ending pile. That hug would be Nick’s favorite moment of the tournament, except afterwards, when parents were milling around the locker room, Jeremy’s mom had come up to him and kissed him on the cheek and that, that is something Nick will never forget.
“You’re thinking about it again?”
Nick pulls his hand away from his cheek quickly, giving Jeremy a little smile. “Your mom loves me.”
“Whatever, man. She was so happy we won that you could have been Coach Allain for all she knew.”
“Your mom have a crush?”
Jeremy shrugs. “Maybe.”
“You’re lying.” Nick grins. “She loves me.”
Jeremy looks like he’s going to keep protesting, but then he leans forward and whispers into Nick’s ear. “She knows something good when she sees it.”
Nick just looks at him. I love you is what he wants to say, ‘cause he has the crazy urge to say it all the time now, and even if it’s frustrating that he can’t, Jeremy seems to get it most of the time. Like now, when he takes Nick’s beer and sets it down on the closest surface. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
Nick laughs, wondering how much Jeremy has had to drink. Jeremy is walking fine, though, as they leave the party and stop by their room to drop off their medals and pick up their coats.
It’s cold in Buffalo in January, and Nick wraps his scarf tightly around his neck, grinning in to it when Jeremy reaches over to take his hand. It’s late enough, everyone who’s anyone inside watching Team Canada’s breakdown to Team Russia, and the moon is out and flurries are falling on the trees, still weighed down by little white Christmas lights.
If there was ever a time when Nick feels young and brave and anonymous, it’s now, in the exact moment when he’s straddling the line between Juniors and the big leagues, in this city filled with the world’s next generation of superstars, Jeremy’s hand in his. It feels like everything, this moment, and Jeremy must be feeling it, too, ‘cause he doesn’t fight it when Nick stops and pulls Jeremy into his arms.
“This is perfect,” he whispers, and he means it, every last bit.
“Hmm.” Jeremy rests his forehead against Nick’s. “Your nose is cold.” He drops a kiss on the tip and Nick laughs.
“Wanna go back?”
“No.”
And so they stand like that, kissing and laughing in the snow, like tomorrow and everything that brings will be kind enough to wait for them.
Part 6. Regular Season. January, 2011. Chicago, IL.
These are the things Nick remembers.
He remembers barely making it to the airport in Buffalo before getting the phone call calling him up to Chicago. He had sort of guessed this was coming from the moment Jason Cullimore had been placed on waivers, but he had managed to forget about it during the Tournament, so it had still come as a nice surprise.
He remembers yelling at the ticket agent to get the changes made to his flight, and he remembers Jeremy chastising him for being mean to the woman, before Jeremy had pulled Nick into the airport bathrooms and given him a quick goodbye kiss.
He remembers getting to Chicago with just enough time to spare for a warm-up game of soccer with Duncs, Seabs, and Soupy. His legs had been cramped, after the flight and the taxi ride to the rink, and it had felt good to stretch them out before taking the ice.
He doesn’t remember much about the game. A 3-2 shoot-out win over Ottawa that was a bit too close for comfort, but Nick only played 10-12 minutes of it and he had spent most of that time reminding himself that the ice surface has different dimensions in International play than in the NHL. Still, it felt good to be in Chicago for the first time since October.
He’ll always remember the g8t game, love u text waiting for him when he got back to the locker room, reading it between the time when Sharpie thumped him on the back with a “great game back, kid” and when he looked up to find a slew of reporters gathered around his bench.
He remembers telling himself that it was his first game back, the first time he’s talked to reporters since winning the bronze, even though he knew that that couldn’t be it, that there was no logical reason for this many people to be interested in him, when Crawford had made 24 saves and Tazer had scored during the shoot-out.
And he remembers, vaguely, the picture being shoved into his hands and, although he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was, he had had some insane hope that it was something, anything else, so he did look down. And that’s where he still is, now, looking at the picture and running back through his day, trying to figure out how he could have known this was coming, trying to remember if there were any signs that he missed, but there weren’t.
“Leddy, do you have anything to say?”
The picture is taken from the perfect angle, so that Nick’s face is clearly illuminated by the Christmas lights in the trees, but all that can be seen of Jeremy is his back. Nick can tell, by the body type and the angle of Jeremy’s arms and the hair curling at his neck, that it’s Jeremy, but no one else could know that. No one else could get anything from this picture except that it’s Nick, and a guy, and that’s all that matters, now, that Jeremy is safe.
Nick doesn’t stop and consider. He’s been considering his whole life, and, if he’s really honest with himself, he’s known all year that he’s been building to this moment. Whatever anyone has told him, about being closeted in the NHL, about keeping his mouth shut and sitting down, the only reason he had ever taken head was because of Jeremy. And, now, that doesn’t matter. Nick can be who he’s always been meant to be.
He clears his throat. “I’m gay.”
The room goes silent. As if everyone was expecting him to deny what is so clearly in front of them, as if Nick was going to grovel and beg and do anything to keep himself out of the media cycle. They don’t know that this has been inevitable, from the first Lidstrom poster Nick had pasted on his wall, to the handjobs he had exchanged in high school, to the moment he had been introduced to Jeremy. It’s as much a part of him as hockey is, and he’s never been able to deny himself hockey, so why should he have ever expected to have hidden this?
“How long have you known?” The first question comes from a particularly dumb looking reporter on his left, and Nick would normally blow her off, but he just smiles and shrugs.
“Forever.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Nick fights not to roll his eyes.
“Did you know this picture was being taken?”
This time, he really does roll his eyes. “Don’t you think I would have dressed a little nicer if I had known I’d have an audience?”
“Who’s the other man?”
Nick would have answered questions about himself all day. He would have done an hour-long interview for Sports Illustrated. He would have sat down with ESPN and talked to them about what it means to be gay and a hockey player, in some hope that he could play the role model for some little boy somewhere, learning to skate on his back pond and worrying about these strange feelings that he’s having.
He won’t answer that question.
He turns his glare on all of them at once, and his voice is low and he wanted it to be hard and lethal, but it comes out a little bit shaky. “I’m not going to answer that. I’m never going to answer that. If you want to pick apart my life, have at it, but leave him out of it. Got that?”
The room sort of erupts at this point, as if they’ve been waiting for blood before they pounced on him, and Nick suddenly understands the shark-reporter metaphor. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t fight it as he’s dragged away.
***
Nick doesn’t remember much about Seabs pulling him out of the locker room or the drive back to Duncan’s place or the shower that he’s apparently taken. All he knows is that things seem a little less clear now, like all his convictions are a little less meaningful when he wanders into the living room and his face is on ESPN. The label says “First Gay Hockey Player” and Nick chokes out a laugh.
Seabs looks up, catching sight of Nick and patting the seat next to him. Nick crosses to it, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them.
“I’m not the first gay hockey player.”
Seabs chuckles. “No, you’re not.”
“That graphic is stupid.” He tilts his head to the TV and Seabs chuckles again.
“Nice photo though.” Seabs’ referring to the one ESPN has plastered on the left side. Nick’s senior yearbook photo, as if showing him actually playing hockey would afford him too much dignity.
All it does is remind Nick of that other photo. The one of he and Jeremy, wrapped around each other and looking so happy and Nick will never be able to decide if it was worth it.
He groans, hiding his eyes in his knees. “I’m such an idiot. I just-” Nick lifts his head, frowning. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. That no one cares about a couple of nineteen year-old kids that won a bronze metal at the World Juniors?” He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous, ‘cause it means a lot to him, it means everything, but he really didn’t think that anyone else would care.
Seabs looks at him, reaching over to rub at the skin at the back of Nick’s neck. “They care ‘cause you’ve just done something amazing.”
Nick lets his feet slide to the floor and starts pacing. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? This whole thing is so stupid. I kissed him, then, ‘cause I thought I was safe, and it shouldn’t have to be safe. It should just be. I should just be able to be myself and - fuck.” Nick wipes at his eyes furiously, tears of frustration pooling there and threatening to spill over.
“Hey.” Seabs catches his wrist and pulls him back down to the couch, rubbing his arm and pressing a little kiss to the top of his head. “You can be yourself, now. I know you haven’t been here long enough to understand how amazing that is, but-” Seabs tightens his grip, as if this is somehow hard for him, too, and Nick glances up. “You’ve done something a lot of us have wanted to do for a long time, and we haven’t had enough guts to do it. You’re amazing, kid. The most amazing person I’ve ever known, and we have your back. The whole team. Okay?”
Nick frowns, and Seabs’ face lightens again as he laughs. “Duncs and I have been together since our AHL days. Haven’t you ever wondered why I live here?”
Nick thinks back on it, realizes that he’s never not seen Seabs here, but he has always assumed - what, exactly? That Seabs just likes it here? “That makes so much more sense,” he says out loud, and Seabs laughs again, a full, chest-deep laugh, and Seabs is a little odd, but Nick decides he likes him a lot.
There’s a knock on the door, and that seems weird, but Nick supposes they’re trying to shelter him or something, ‘cause when Seabs opens the door, he ushers in Duncan and Sharpie quickly before slamming it behind them.
“There are a ton of reporters out there,” Duncan offers, taking off his coat and giving Seabs a quick kiss. It’s so obvious, now that Nick knows what to look for, and he feels pretty stupid for not reading the signs before.
“Where are the kids?” Seabs asks, frowning.
“Finishing up with the media.” Duncan crosses to the couch and places a kiss to Nick’s hair, in the same spot that Seabs kissed a few minutes ago, and Nick can’t shake the feeling that he’s just adopted two gay older brothers. He grins as Duncan looks him over, as if there might be some sort of physical damage somewhere. “You okay kid?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get stoned or anything.”
“Smart ass.” Duncs ruffles his hair, before getting up off the couch. “I’m gonna put a pizza in the oven. You hungry?”
“Sure.” He gets up, stretching and feeling his muscles complain about not being stretched out after the game. He groans, and Sharpie pulls him into a tight hug.
“Thought you might want this. You left it in the locker room” He hands Nick his phone, giving him another quick hug, before following Duncs and Seabs into the kitchen. Nick trails behind, thumbing through his messages. A few from his parents, his high school buddies, the guys in Rockford. None from Jeremy, though. He shoots back a couple responses, before putting it down next to him on the table.
Every couple of second, he thumbs the power button, just to make sure, ‘cause it would really suck if it lost battery at this moment. It hasn’t, and yet nothing comes. Nick doesn’t really know what to do with that.
He knows that this has probably scared Jeremy away forever. He knows that, over the past eight months, Nick has gotten Jeremy to open up in ways he never thought he would but, this, this is probably pushing him over the edge. But Jeremy’s always been willing to face these things and, even if the answer is no, Nick always figured that he’d at least call to end things rather than leave Nick hanging in this awful silence.
Sharpie reaches a hand over to cover Nick’s. “He’ll call.”
Nick shrugs. “Maybe.” He takes a bite of his pizza. It’s cold, and Nick wonders how long he’s been sitting here staring at his phone. “Sorry, I’m not good company right now.”
They stare at him, like he’s just said the dumbest thing in the world, and Nick blushes. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m really tired and - I’m gonna go to bed, okay?”
“Okay.” Duncan frowns at him. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” He pushes his chair back and grabs his phone, waving stupidly before practically running to his room. He doesn’t know what his rush is, though, ‘cause when he gets there he just sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone and wanting to call for hours before he presses speed dial and holds it up to his ear.
“Hey.” Jeremy answers on the second ring. He sounds groggy, his voice hoarse.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been up.” Jeremy swallows, and it’s loud enough for Nick to hear. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Nick shrugs. “There are a bunch of reporters outside of Duncs’ apartment.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nick’s stomach drops. This is it. The last thing he’s ever going to hear Jeremy say, and there’s nothing he can do. “Please, Jeremy, please don’t-”
Jeremy sighs. “I’m sorry about the picture. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to come outside with me, and I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“I love you.”
“Nick, I’m not-” Jeremy pauses. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Nick grins, ‘cause Jeremy isn’t saying yes, but he’s not saying no either, and images start flying through Nick’s head, of years playing hockey side-by-side, kissing over the Stanley Cup, retiring in Minnesota someday. “This is our chance, Jeremy. We can really do this. It’s done and we don’t have to hide anymore. Isn’t that amazing?”
“You’re so brave, Nick. The bravest person I’ve ever known.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I love you, but I just don’t know if that’s enough, if I can do this. I need some time, Nick. Okay?”
“Yeah, ah-” And what else is he going to say? Demand an answer here and now and risk losing him forever? “Take as much time as you need. But, Jeremy?”
“Yeah?”
“I, I really need you. Here. With me. So, try to be quick, yeah?”
Jeremy laughs. “Yeah, I will. ‘Night.”
“’Night.” Nick drops the phone into his hand. He feels numb as he falls back onto the bed, cradling the phone to his chest, and drifting off into a fitful sleep.
***
When Nick gets up in the morning, it sounds like there’s a party in the living room. His head feels heavy, filled with something, and he takes a long, hot shower, his skin burning when he blasts the cold for a second before stepping out. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t really care, except it smells like waffles and coffee and his stomach growls.
He braves the living area, opening his door quietly enough so that no one knows he’s there until he bangs into a chair and then everyone’s staring at him. This must be what a deer in headlights actually feels like, but then Seabs steps forward and pulls him into a hug. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” Nick’s stomach growls again, and Seabs laughs. “What time is it?”
“2.”
“I missed practice.”
Tazer looks over at him from the couch. “We cancelled it today.”
“Oh.” Nick doesn’t know what else to say. Now that he looks around, almost half the team is here. He doesn’t know if he should thank them, or do something, anything, but Seabs just manhandles him into a chair and piles a stack of waffles in front of him.
Nick eats slowly, watching from the kitchen as ESPN plays on the big TV. He’s joined by Kaner and Tazer, who both pull out chairs and sit at the table with him.
“You’ve had some nice support from around the league.” Tazer offers.
Kaner grins. “Yeah. Crosby. Ovechkin. Briere. Kesler up in Vancouver. Wonder who he’s with?”
“Hopefully not Luongo.” Tazer shudders.
“Thank you for that picture, asshole.” Kaner punches Tazer’s shoulder and Nick is caught somewhere between grinning and keeping his stomach from flipping around every bit of waffle he’s already eaten.
He pushes away from the table, dropping his plate in the sink and wandering over to the couch. “They’re still using that terrible high school photo of me.”
“Yeah.” Sharpie laughs. “I asked our PR people to send ESPN a link to your photo gallery on the website. So far, nothing, but at least they’ve started showing footage of you.”
“I have a gallery?”
“Yeah. Everyone does.”
“Huh.” Nick shrugs.
“You wanna play something? I’m kinda sick of watching this.” Sharpie hands him a controller.
Nick plays a couple of games, but his reaction time is really sluggish and he can’t get his mind into it. So he passes his controller off to Soupy and curls his feet under him. These are, perhaps, the most competitive people he’s ever known, and it’s entertaining enough to watch them beat the crap out of each other at video games. It’s nice, being here, surrounded by his teammates, even if they’re only his some of the time, and he rests his head on Duncan’s shoulder, content to just be.
***
Nick’s daze lasts longer than he’d really like it to. For the next forty-eight hours, he’s really too busy to think much about anything. He holds a mini-press conference before his first practice, answering any and every questions that is not about Jeremy and the media seems, in the end, as satisfied or as bored as they’re gonna get.
He’s never left alone. Either Duncs or Seabs is always at his side, and, in the few cases where they’re busy or in the bathroom or something, Sharpie is always there to step in. Seabs even tries to come in with him when Coach Q calls him up after practice.
“Seabs, get out.”
Seabs looks a little torn, but Coach Q doesn’t look too angry, so when Nick nods, Seabs slips out the door. Nick glances at his Coach and smiles the little half-smile that’s become his norm lately. “Thanks. I love Seabs, but, it gets a little stifling.”
Coach Q chuckles. “I’d imagine.”
“Um-” Nick glances around the office. It’s filled with pictures and memorabilia, little reminders of memories that Nick hopes to have someday, and he suddenly feels bad, ‘cause Coach Q is a good guy and Nick hasn’t made things easy for him. “I’m sorry. Not for coming out, but for the picture. I know I must be a lot of trouble.”
Coach Q waves him away. “Nonsense, kid. This team is about family, and whether you’re here or in Rockford, that doesn’t change anything.” Nick swallows. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Coach Q raises an eyebrow and Nick shrugs. “As fine as I’m gonna be.”
“You okay to play tonight?”
“Yes.” Nick almost jumps off his chair. “Yes, I’m fine. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Just wanted to make sure.” He gives Nick a quick, fatherly smile, before waving him away. “Now go. Out of my office.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They beat the Islanders 5-0 and everything starts to die down. The media is more interested in the tight race to the playoffs in the West, and, with three days between games, the team has fallen back into normal routines. Except, Nick doesn’t know what normal life is supposed to be like anymore. All he does now is eat, sleep, and play hockey, and while that might be most teenagers’ dream, it doesn’t fill his time.
Nick misses Jeremy every second.
He misses him when he’s playing Xbox and he sees the little Tazer avatar. He misses him when he sees Duncs and Seabs exchange quick little kisses in the kitchen. He misses him when he lies awake at night, unable to sleep, running over and over the events that have led him to his point.
It’s been a week, and Jeremy still hasn’t called.
***
The only good thing happening is that Nick is playing well on the ice. He’s doesn’t know if it’s his way of taking out his frustration or something, but, this time around, he feels stronger, faster, better equipped to keep up with the play at this level, and everyone seems to be noticing.
Talk with the media has finally started to focus more on his skill than his sexuality. There’s an article in the paper about how he’s turning some heads with his play, and if it does include the line “Leddy is proving that being gay doesn’t exclude him from being a good player,” it is at least positive. It helps, too, that the team is winning as they head into their weeklong break in the middle of January.
The break is a little weird for everyone. They’re all used to spending their off-time training, so when Coach Q imposes a mandatory three-day rest period on the middle of the week, everyone’s a little lost.
Duncs, Seabs, and Nick are using the time wisely, playing a Mario Kart tournament and eating pancakes, when the doorbell rings. The doorbell usually signals evangelists, ‘cause everyone they know just walks in, but it rings again and Duncan pauses the game. The door is at a good angle from the couch, and Nick freezes before Duncs has the door halfway open.
“Mo. What are you doing here?”
Jeremy glances past him at Nick, before he pushes his hands into his pockets and looks down. “I need to talk to Nick.”
Duncan glances back at the couch, and Nick nods, dropping his controller and taking Duncs’ place at the door. He’s only wearing thin sweats and a Hawks hoodie, so he crosses his arms around his chest to keep out the cold and not at all to keep himself inside. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jeremy whispers.
“What are you doing here?”
Jeremy shrugs. “I talked to Sharpie. He said that you were doing okay.”
“I’m alright.” It’s mostly a lie. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jeremy looks at him, his eyes big and blue. “No. That’s a lie. I’m not doing fine at all.”
Nick looks at him, really looks at him. He looks terrible, deep, dark circles around his eyes, his skin as pale as when he hurt his shoulder. Nick’s stomach churns. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Jesus, Nick, don’t apologize.” Jeremy’s voice breaks and he rubs a hand across his eyes. “Sharpie called me.”
“He shouldn’t have done that.”
“He didn’t tell me what to do. He just told me that I need to talk to you. He’s right.”
“Jeremy-”
“I don’t now what to do with you, Nick.” Jeremy breathes, and Nick stops talking, holding his breath even though the air is cold and his lungs burn. “You’ve screwed everything up. I had a plan, you know? I was gonna play hockey and nothing else was gonna matter and then you came along and - fuck, I don’t know. You don’t fit in. You never have.”
Nick’s lets out a short, clipped little laugh. “If it makes you feel better, you weren’t in mine, either.”
“Yeah, but-” Jeremy waves his hand, as if trying to encompass everything, the buildings, the street, them. “You’re good at this. This is who you are. You can just come out and-”
“Don’t.” Nick cuts him off. “Don’t, okay? Don’t tell me that this has been easy for me. ‘Cause I love you, Jeremy, and I’m sorry for what’s happened, but it has not been easy for me.”
“No, no, I-Fuck, this isn’t coming out right.” Jeremy drops his head, kicking at the welcome mat with his shoe. When he glances back up, Nick can read every line etched into it. “I’m miserable. I miss you.”
Nick’s tired, his body aches for Jeremy, and he’s had enough of this. He wraps his hand in Jeremy’s shirt and pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together and grasping Jeremy’s hip with his free hand. He presses hard, licking his tongue along Jeremy’s mouth until Jeremy melts into him, groaning as his hands come up to cradle Nick’s waist.
Nick pulls back, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to Jeremy’s. “What’d you feel?”
Jeremy whimpers, closing his eyes. “Everything,” he whispers brokenly. “Everything.”
“Then what else could matter?” Jeremy shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss him again. It’s an apology and forgiveness and I love you and Nick grins against his mouth.
When Jeremy pulls away, he drops his forehead to Nick’s, their breath sharing space. “Think they got what they needed?”
Nick frowns. “What?”
Jeremy turns his head, looking across the street at a couple of women with their cameras raised. “Them.”
Nick laughs. For the first time in days, he just laughs and it’s almost like crying and he lets Jeremy push him inside, ‘cause this is it. They’re going to be in this evening’s news cycle, and it doesn’t matter. This is everything. And all he can do is tighten his hold on Jeremy and pull him in for another kiss.
Author: speakingwosound
Pairing: Nick Leddy/Jeremy Morin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 24, 500
Summary: Nick Leddy is gay. He’s also on the brink of making it to the NHL. He thinks he’s reconciled these things. Until he meets Jeremy Morin.
Disclaimer: Not real, sadly.
A/N: Takes place between Rookie Development Camp in June and World Junior Champions in January. I’ve kept it mostly accurate, although I’ve fudged a bit on the types of players that show up at Rookie Development Camp. Just go with me for that, yeah?
Part I-III | Part IV
Part Five. World Junior Championships. December 26, 2010 - January 5, 2011. Buffalo, NY.
Tournaments on the national stage are like nothing else. Nick has dreams of winning the Stanley Cup, maybe a Norris Trophy someday, but, if he’s honest, he might want an Olympic Gold medal just as badly. He’s can’t really explain it. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, the languages being thrown around, the memories of winning World Junior gold last year, but for whatever reason, it’s just feels like something else to be here.
There’s a lot more pressure this year, though. Pressure to defend their title, on home turf, and pressure to make use of their last opportunity. Both Nick and Jeremy are nineteen, as are a good number of their teammates, and this is it for them, the last go around before they make the leap to the real International stage.
The pressure is in the back of Nick’s head from the moment he gets to Buffalo. He’s not generally a very stressed guy, but it’s there, when he takes the ice for their first practice, when his name is called to too much applause before their first game, and it’s there, distracting him, when Jeremy gets hit.
It doesn’t look like much, but the important hits rarely ever do. Jeremy doesn’t even go down for long enough for the trainer to leave the bench, but he doesn’t play another shift and when the period ends, he’s not in the dressing room.
Nick doesn’t have any experience with this. He’s never had to care for someone and watch him get hurt and be utterly powerless to do anything about it. He wants to hit something, hit someone. He wants some sort of control over his life, over Jeremy, over knowing that he’s going to be okay, but the only thing he can control right now is this game, this tied game, and so he doesn’t go out there and throw his shoulder around and he doesn’t use his minimal Finnish to rile anyone up. He never thought he had it in him, but, somehow, he locks away the part of himself that’s worrying and drawing worst case scenarios and just wanting Jeremy, and focuses on the game.
It’s true, what they say about muscle memory, and Nick promises himself never to complain about a drill in practice again. ‘Cause that’s how he’s functioning now, because his body has done this hundreds, thousands of times, made plays, stopped odd-man rushes, shot from the point on the power play, and so he can do all these things even now, when his mind is locked away with Jeremy and the medical staff.
Overtime ends quickly and they’re all back in the locker room. There’s some celebrating, but it’s only game one and they have an early practice in the morning, so it doesn’t look out of place for Nick to shower and dress fairly quickly. He waves to his teammates and heads into the bowels of HSBC Arena in search of the medical suites. He’s played here before, but things are set up differently for the tournament, and he’s a little lost when he runs in to Coach Allain.
“Good game, Leddy.”
“Thanks, Coach. I was-” A hundred things run through his head. Excuses for why he’s here, looking for Jeremy, excuses like teammate and best friend and need. In the end he settles on simple, straight-to-the-point. “I’m looking for Jeremy. Do you know where the medical staff is?”
“I’m heading there myself. Come on.” And Coach puts a hand on his shoulder, as if he gets it, and Nick doesn’t know if that’s good, but he doesn’t argue.
Jeremy’s room is already pretty crowded when they get there, his bedside lined with trainers and parents. Coach walks right in, but Nick hesitates in the doorway, not sure if he should interrupt, not sure if he’s wanted in this circumstance, not sure if Jeremy needs to see him as much as Nick needs to see Jeremy.
Jeremy looks too pale, paler than he did that night he was called up to Chicago, and Nick’s heart wrenches. His shoulder twitches in sympathy pains for the way Jeremy’s is wrapped tightly in ice, his hand cradled loosely in his lap, and he lets out an involuntary little moan.
Jeremy hears him. His eyes are glassy and it takes him a moment longer than usual to focus on Nick, but he does and the smile that’s all relief, as if he thought that maybe Nick wouldn’t want to see him, is all the assurance Nick needs.
“Hey,” Nick says, quietly in the rush of voices in the room, but they’ve always been attuned to each other and Jeremy hears him. Jeremy looks at him and thinks things like hug and kiss and touch. He needs to prove to himself that everything’s going to be okay, that Jeremy is going to be okay, but the only part Nick can reach is Jeremy’s left foot. He places a warm hand on it, and Jeremy presses his toes into Nick’s palm. It’s enough.
“Hey.” Jeremy smiles, his mouth a little bit slower to respond on the right side and if it didn’t look so adorable, Nick would panic. “Did we win?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we did. How you feeling?”
Jeremy tries to shrug, but he grimaces instead, using his good hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Mmm, I’m okay. I want to play.”
“Jeremy-” It’s warning and exasperation and everything his mother would say all wrapped up into one word, and that women by Jeremy’s head must be his mother. She’s pretty and small and not at all the hard-looking hockey mom that his own is, but she has Jeremy’s eyes and Nick already adores her a little bit for it.
Jeremy rolls his eyes, ignoring her and using his good hand to motion at Nick. “Mom, dad, this is Nick Leddy. Nick, these are my parents.”
This isn’t how Nick wanted to meet them. He wanted it to be over a nice dinner, where he’d be dressed in a suit and a tie instead of a Team USA hoodie and track pants, and his palm would smell a lot less like his hockey gloves when he shakes their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
“And you.” LuAnn Morin’s handshake is strong and her smile is warm and inviting. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
Nick has the insane desire to laugh. He wants to warn LuAnn that whatever she’s heard about Nick, as a player, as her son’s roommate, barely scratches the surface. This, he knows, is some sort of karma asskicking for having it so easy with his parents. This is going to be a real coming out, that’s painful and messy, with consequences, and it doesn’t matter that Nick really cares this time, much more than he did with his own, ‘cause it’s the inevitable conclusion to this evening and there’s nothing, nothing, he can do but try and make it a little easier.
“I wanna play tomorrow. Just give me whatever painkillers you need.”
Coach Allain touches Jeremy’s thigh lightly. “Let the trainers decide that, yeah?”
Jeremy whines, low in his throat, and presses his foot into Nick’s hand. “Nick-” And Nick realizes that Jeremy isn’t going to make this easy, ‘cause he’s frustrated and tired and a little high on painkillers.
Nick pats his foot, but he also ignores him and turns his attention to the trainers. “How bad is it?”
The taller one, with slightly balding hair who must have been a hockey player in his day ‘cause he seems to understand exactly what Jeremy is asking, shakes his head. “It’s hard to tell. Could be a couple days. Could be a couple weeks.”
Coach Allain nods. “You’ll know in the morning?”
The trainer nods while the other one prods a little more at Jeremy’s shoulder, and Nick has a hard time tearing his eyes from the pain on Jeremy’s face.
“It’s too swollen to get a good look tonight. He needs to rest, sleep off the painkillers. We’ll run some tests in the morning.”
“Good.” Coach pats him before pulling away. “You hear that, kid? Get some rest, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Jeremy nods, valiantly keeping things together until their Coach is gone and the rest of them are left to sort this mess out.
“You can come home with us, honey.” And this is it. Nick knew that she’d say that, ‘cause it’s a mom think to want to help and take care of her boys. They’re at the age where mothers don’t get to do that for them very often anymore, and Nick knows that his mom would jump at the chance, too. But, the thing is, it’s not her job anymore, it’s his and he really doesn’t want to have to break her heart tonight.
Jeremy doesn’t seem to care, though. The look he’s giving Nick says that all he wants to do is crawl into Nick’s skin and stay there and he doesn’t really care how this all goes down as long as that happens. Except, Nick knows that he will care, in the morning, when he’s rested and his shoulder’s hurting and his life doesn’t feel like it’s ending, and it’s really Nick’s responsibility to make sure that they don’t fuck this up irreparably.
So, Nick makes one last valiant effort to do this the peaceful way. “Um, that’s okay Mrs. Morin. All of Jeremy’s things are back at the hotel, and I’m sure he’d be more comfortable there.”
“We’ll stop by and grab some clothes for him in the morning. You don’t need to worry yourself.”
“I really don’t mind.” Nick tries, as earnest as he’s ever said anything in his life. “It’s no trouble.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waves him away, and Nick sighs. He really hadn’t wanted it to come to this, and he can’t be the one to do it, but Jeremy seems to have reached the same conclusion.
Jeremy’s taken his mother’s hand in his good hand, and Nick can see from here that he’s holding it lightly, his hands a little shaky from the pain and the medicine. “Mom, I love you. But, I’m tired and my shoulder hurts like hell and I feel a little dizzy and all I wanna do is curl up with Nick and make all that go away. I promise I’ll see you in the morning.”
LuAnn freezes, and Jeremy’s dad takes a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder. “Son, did you say-”
“Yes.” Jeremy sighs, his head falling back against the pillows, his eyes slipping shut, and Nick’s going to kill him for leaving Nick in this situation.
“Mr. and Mrs. Morin.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick can see the trainers trying valiantly to pretend like they’re not hearing a bit of this. “I know that Jeremy didn’t want to have to tell you this way, and I didn’t, either. We were going to tell you tomorrow, at dinner, but - um, no one wanted to see him get hurt and, well, I really care about your son. You have to believe me.”
The silence stretches. Nick’s starting to believe that he’s fallen down some sort of rabbit hole that never ends, when LuAnn finally shakes her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
Nick glances at Jeremy, who’s looking pale and miserable, and he sighs. “Look, I really want to get Jeremy home and a little more comfortable. Can we meet tomorrow? Lunch? Jeremy should be feeling a little better by then and I promise I’ll answer every question you have.”
They look like they want to argue, but Jeremy shifts on the bed and his eyes fly open as a groan leaves him, and LuAnn places a kiss on her son’s forehead. “Sleep well.” And then they’re gone.
Nick’s inclination is to think about it. He wants to worry and pick it apart and understand exactly what she meant, but Nick doesn’t have time to obsess. Not when the trainers are handing him a bag of pills and listing off important instructions, and he has to spend the whole time he’s helping Jeremy back to the hotel reciting the instructions in his head so that he doesn’t forget and kill his partner with two blue pills too many or something.
Jeremy’s looking a bit more awake by the time he’s washed his face, slipped into sleep pants, and taken another couple of pills. Nick tries to leave him, to take a quick shower and attempt to make himself look a bit more human again, but Jeremy grabs his wrist and pulls him down to the bed.
“Thank you.” Jeremy presses a kiss to the back of Nick’s ear. “For dealing with my parents.”
Nick flinches. “We have some damage control to do tomorrow.”
“I know.” Jeremy bites his lip, his smile still a little lop-sided, and Nick’s stomach aches in that way it’s been doing since Christmas and, suddenly, Nick gets it.
“I love you, Jeremy.”
He would have said it a thousand times by now if he had known that Jeremy was gonna grin like that. A bright, drug-induced, lop-sided grin, and Nick’s stomach flips all over again. “You too.”
Nick wonders, later, if Jeremy had just been waiting for Nick to say it first, or if it had something to do with crossing the hurdle of telling his parents, or with getting injured, or if it had just taken time, but when Jeremy curls up with him and Nick turns off the lights, Nick gets the feeling, for the first time, that this might be all he’ll ever need.
***
Winning a bronze medal doesn’t feel quite as good as winning gold, but it’s still the first time that the US has medaled in back-to-back Junior Championships. It still feels weighty in Nick’s hands, and it still catches the light in that way only international tournament medals do. It still feels pretty damn good.
And it still deserves a party.
They’ve gotten rid of the parents and the girlfriends and the coaches, and now it’s just them, a team full of teenagers just on the cusp of something great, with beer and a hotel room and the whole night in front of them. Of course, it’s devolved into nothing more than video games and wrestling, but Nick’s happy to lean back in his chair and think about how much this reminds him of that last day of Rookie Development Camp in Chicago.
Nick almost wants to laugh at how hilarious those similarities are, and yet Jeremy is wiggling his eyebrow at him from across the room and nothing’s the same at all. Eight months on and Nick could never have imagined where that night would lead him, to this moment, here, now, and he wouldn’t change it if someone offered him a genie and three wishes.
Because Nick feels amazing. What had started out, ten days ago, as a nightmare tournament has ended up pretty fucking okay. Jeremy’s shoulder is still a little soar, but he only missed one game and even if he has to go back to Rockford and really let it heal and get stronger, he did get to play in the medal game and Nick got to hug him and give him a little kiss at the bottom of the game-ending pile. That hug would be Nick’s favorite moment of the tournament, except afterwards, when parents were milling around the locker room, Jeremy’s mom had come up to him and kissed him on the cheek and that, that is something Nick will never forget.
“You’re thinking about it again?”
Nick pulls his hand away from his cheek quickly, giving Jeremy a little smile. “Your mom loves me.”
“Whatever, man. She was so happy we won that you could have been Coach Allain for all she knew.”
“Your mom have a crush?”
Jeremy shrugs. “Maybe.”
“You’re lying.” Nick grins. “She loves me.”
Jeremy looks like he’s going to keep protesting, but then he leans forward and whispers into Nick’s ear. “She knows something good when she sees it.”
Nick just looks at him. I love you is what he wants to say, ‘cause he has the crazy urge to say it all the time now, and even if it’s frustrating that he can’t, Jeremy seems to get it most of the time. Like now, when he takes Nick’s beer and sets it down on the closest surface. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
Nick laughs, wondering how much Jeremy has had to drink. Jeremy is walking fine, though, as they leave the party and stop by their room to drop off their medals and pick up their coats.
It’s cold in Buffalo in January, and Nick wraps his scarf tightly around his neck, grinning in to it when Jeremy reaches over to take his hand. It’s late enough, everyone who’s anyone inside watching Team Canada’s breakdown to Team Russia, and the moon is out and flurries are falling on the trees, still weighed down by little white Christmas lights.
If there was ever a time when Nick feels young and brave and anonymous, it’s now, in the exact moment when he’s straddling the line between Juniors and the big leagues, in this city filled with the world’s next generation of superstars, Jeremy’s hand in his. It feels like everything, this moment, and Jeremy must be feeling it, too, ‘cause he doesn’t fight it when Nick stops and pulls Jeremy into his arms.
“This is perfect,” he whispers, and he means it, every last bit.
“Hmm.” Jeremy rests his forehead against Nick’s. “Your nose is cold.” He drops a kiss on the tip and Nick laughs.
“Wanna go back?”
“No.”
And so they stand like that, kissing and laughing in the snow, like tomorrow and everything that brings will be kind enough to wait for them.
Part 6. Regular Season. January, 2011. Chicago, IL.
These are the things Nick remembers.
He remembers barely making it to the airport in Buffalo before getting the phone call calling him up to Chicago. He had sort of guessed this was coming from the moment Jason Cullimore had been placed on waivers, but he had managed to forget about it during the Tournament, so it had still come as a nice surprise.
He remembers yelling at the ticket agent to get the changes made to his flight, and he remembers Jeremy chastising him for being mean to the woman, before Jeremy had pulled Nick into the airport bathrooms and given him a quick goodbye kiss.
He remembers getting to Chicago with just enough time to spare for a warm-up game of soccer with Duncs, Seabs, and Soupy. His legs had been cramped, after the flight and the taxi ride to the rink, and it had felt good to stretch them out before taking the ice.
He doesn’t remember much about the game. A 3-2 shoot-out win over Ottawa that was a bit too close for comfort, but Nick only played 10-12 minutes of it and he had spent most of that time reminding himself that the ice surface has different dimensions in International play than in the NHL. Still, it felt good to be in Chicago for the first time since October.
He’ll always remember the g8t game, love u text waiting for him when he got back to the locker room, reading it between the time when Sharpie thumped him on the back with a “great game back, kid” and when he looked up to find a slew of reporters gathered around his bench.
He remembers telling himself that it was his first game back, the first time he’s talked to reporters since winning the bronze, even though he knew that that couldn’t be it, that there was no logical reason for this many people to be interested in him, when Crawford had made 24 saves and Tazer had scored during the shoot-out.
And he remembers, vaguely, the picture being shoved into his hands and, although he didn’t need to look at it to know what it was, he had had some insane hope that it was something, anything else, so he did look down. And that’s where he still is, now, looking at the picture and running back through his day, trying to figure out how he could have known this was coming, trying to remember if there were any signs that he missed, but there weren’t.
“Leddy, do you have anything to say?”
The picture is taken from the perfect angle, so that Nick’s face is clearly illuminated by the Christmas lights in the trees, but all that can be seen of Jeremy is his back. Nick can tell, by the body type and the angle of Jeremy’s arms and the hair curling at his neck, that it’s Jeremy, but no one else could know that. No one else could get anything from this picture except that it’s Nick, and a guy, and that’s all that matters, now, that Jeremy is safe.
Nick doesn’t stop and consider. He’s been considering his whole life, and, if he’s really honest with himself, he’s known all year that he’s been building to this moment. Whatever anyone has told him, about being closeted in the NHL, about keeping his mouth shut and sitting down, the only reason he had ever taken head was because of Jeremy. And, now, that doesn’t matter. Nick can be who he’s always been meant to be.
He clears his throat. “I’m gay.”
The room goes silent. As if everyone was expecting him to deny what is so clearly in front of them, as if Nick was going to grovel and beg and do anything to keep himself out of the media cycle. They don’t know that this has been inevitable, from the first Lidstrom poster Nick had pasted on his wall, to the handjobs he had exchanged in high school, to the moment he had been introduced to Jeremy. It’s as much a part of him as hockey is, and he’s never been able to deny himself hockey, so why should he have ever expected to have hidden this?
“How long have you known?” The first question comes from a particularly dumb looking reporter on his left, and Nick would normally blow her off, but he just smiles and shrugs.
“Forever.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Nick fights not to roll his eyes.
“Did you know this picture was being taken?”
This time, he really does roll his eyes. “Don’t you think I would have dressed a little nicer if I had known I’d have an audience?”
“Who’s the other man?”
Nick would have answered questions about himself all day. He would have done an hour-long interview for Sports Illustrated. He would have sat down with ESPN and talked to them about what it means to be gay and a hockey player, in some hope that he could play the role model for some little boy somewhere, learning to skate on his back pond and worrying about these strange feelings that he’s having.
He won’t answer that question.
He turns his glare on all of them at once, and his voice is low and he wanted it to be hard and lethal, but it comes out a little bit shaky. “I’m not going to answer that. I’m never going to answer that. If you want to pick apart my life, have at it, but leave him out of it. Got that?”
The room sort of erupts at this point, as if they’ve been waiting for blood before they pounced on him, and Nick suddenly understands the shark-reporter metaphor. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn’t fight it as he’s dragged away.
***
Nick doesn’t remember much about Seabs pulling him out of the locker room or the drive back to Duncan’s place or the shower that he’s apparently taken. All he knows is that things seem a little less clear now, like all his convictions are a little less meaningful when he wanders into the living room and his face is on ESPN. The label says “First Gay Hockey Player” and Nick chokes out a laugh.
Seabs looks up, catching sight of Nick and patting the seat next to him. Nick crosses to it, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them.
“I’m not the first gay hockey player.”
Seabs chuckles. “No, you’re not.”
“That graphic is stupid.” He tilts his head to the TV and Seabs chuckles again.
“Nice photo though.” Seabs’ referring to the one ESPN has plastered on the left side. Nick’s senior yearbook photo, as if showing him actually playing hockey would afford him too much dignity.
All it does is remind Nick of that other photo. The one of he and Jeremy, wrapped around each other and looking so happy and Nick will never be able to decide if it was worth it.
He groans, hiding his eyes in his knees. “I’m such an idiot. I just-” Nick lifts his head, frowning. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. That no one cares about a couple of nineteen year-old kids that won a bronze metal at the World Juniors?” He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous, ‘cause it means a lot to him, it means everything, but he really didn’t think that anyone else would care.
Seabs looks at him, reaching over to rub at the skin at the back of Nick’s neck. “They care ‘cause you’ve just done something amazing.”
Nick lets his feet slide to the floor and starts pacing. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? This whole thing is so stupid. I kissed him, then, ‘cause I thought I was safe, and it shouldn’t have to be safe. It should just be. I should just be able to be myself and - fuck.” Nick wipes at his eyes furiously, tears of frustration pooling there and threatening to spill over.
“Hey.” Seabs catches his wrist and pulls him back down to the couch, rubbing his arm and pressing a little kiss to the top of his head. “You can be yourself, now. I know you haven’t been here long enough to understand how amazing that is, but-” Seabs tightens his grip, as if this is somehow hard for him, too, and Nick glances up. “You’ve done something a lot of us have wanted to do for a long time, and we haven’t had enough guts to do it. You’re amazing, kid. The most amazing person I’ve ever known, and we have your back. The whole team. Okay?”
Nick frowns, and Seabs’ face lightens again as he laughs. “Duncs and I have been together since our AHL days. Haven’t you ever wondered why I live here?”
Nick thinks back on it, realizes that he’s never not seen Seabs here, but he has always assumed - what, exactly? That Seabs just likes it here? “That makes so much more sense,” he says out loud, and Seabs laughs again, a full, chest-deep laugh, and Seabs is a little odd, but Nick decides he likes him a lot.
There’s a knock on the door, and that seems weird, but Nick supposes they’re trying to shelter him or something, ‘cause when Seabs opens the door, he ushers in Duncan and Sharpie quickly before slamming it behind them.
“There are a ton of reporters out there,” Duncan offers, taking off his coat and giving Seabs a quick kiss. It’s so obvious, now that Nick knows what to look for, and he feels pretty stupid for not reading the signs before.
“Where are the kids?” Seabs asks, frowning.
“Finishing up with the media.” Duncan crosses to the couch and places a kiss to Nick’s hair, in the same spot that Seabs kissed a few minutes ago, and Nick can’t shake the feeling that he’s just adopted two gay older brothers. He grins as Duncan looks him over, as if there might be some sort of physical damage somewhere. “You okay kid?”
“Yeah. I didn’t get stoned or anything.”
“Smart ass.” Duncs ruffles his hair, before getting up off the couch. “I’m gonna put a pizza in the oven. You hungry?”
“Sure.” He gets up, stretching and feeling his muscles complain about not being stretched out after the game. He groans, and Sharpie pulls him into a tight hug.
“Thought you might want this. You left it in the locker room” He hands Nick his phone, giving him another quick hug, before following Duncs and Seabs into the kitchen. Nick trails behind, thumbing through his messages. A few from his parents, his high school buddies, the guys in Rockford. None from Jeremy, though. He shoots back a couple responses, before putting it down next to him on the table.
Every couple of second, he thumbs the power button, just to make sure, ‘cause it would really suck if it lost battery at this moment. It hasn’t, and yet nothing comes. Nick doesn’t really know what to do with that.
He knows that this has probably scared Jeremy away forever. He knows that, over the past eight months, Nick has gotten Jeremy to open up in ways he never thought he would but, this, this is probably pushing him over the edge. But Jeremy’s always been willing to face these things and, even if the answer is no, Nick always figured that he’d at least call to end things rather than leave Nick hanging in this awful silence.
Sharpie reaches a hand over to cover Nick’s. “He’ll call.”
Nick shrugs. “Maybe.” He takes a bite of his pizza. It’s cold, and Nick wonders how long he’s been sitting here staring at his phone. “Sorry, I’m not good company right now.”
They stare at him, like he’s just said the dumbest thing in the world, and Nick blushes. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m really tired and - I’m gonna go to bed, okay?”
“Okay.” Duncan frowns at him. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” He pushes his chair back and grabs his phone, waving stupidly before practically running to his room. He doesn’t know what his rush is, though, ‘cause when he gets there he just sits on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone and wanting to call for hours before he presses speed dial and holds it up to his ear.
“Hey.” Jeremy answers on the second ring. He sounds groggy, his voice hoarse.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been up.” Jeremy swallows, and it’s loud enough for Nick to hear. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Nick shrugs. “There are a bunch of reporters outside of Duncs’ apartment.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nick’s stomach drops. This is it. The last thing he’s ever going to hear Jeremy say, and there’s nothing he can do. “Please, Jeremy, please don’t-”
Jeremy sighs. “I’m sorry about the picture. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked you to come outside with me, and I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“I love you.”
“Nick, I’m not-” Jeremy pauses. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Nick grins, ‘cause Jeremy isn’t saying yes, but he’s not saying no either, and images start flying through Nick’s head, of years playing hockey side-by-side, kissing over the Stanley Cup, retiring in Minnesota someday. “This is our chance, Jeremy. We can really do this. It’s done and we don’t have to hide anymore. Isn’t that amazing?”
“You’re so brave, Nick. The bravest person I’ve ever known.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that I love you, but I just don’t know if that’s enough, if I can do this. I need some time, Nick. Okay?”
“Yeah, ah-” And what else is he going to say? Demand an answer here and now and risk losing him forever? “Take as much time as you need. But, Jeremy?”
“Yeah?”
“I, I really need you. Here. With me. So, try to be quick, yeah?”
Jeremy laughs. “Yeah, I will. ‘Night.”
“’Night.” Nick drops the phone into his hand. He feels numb as he falls back onto the bed, cradling the phone to his chest, and drifting off into a fitful sleep.
***
When Nick gets up in the morning, it sounds like there’s a party in the living room. His head feels heavy, filled with something, and he takes a long, hot shower, his skin burning when he blasts the cold for a second before stepping out. He doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t really care, except it smells like waffles and coffee and his stomach growls.
He braves the living area, opening his door quietly enough so that no one knows he’s there until he bangs into a chair and then everyone’s staring at him. This must be what a deer in headlights actually feels like, but then Seabs steps forward and pulls him into a hug. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” Nick’s stomach growls again, and Seabs laughs. “What time is it?”
“2.”
“I missed practice.”
Tazer looks over at him from the couch. “We cancelled it today.”
“Oh.” Nick doesn’t know what else to say. Now that he looks around, almost half the team is here. He doesn’t know if he should thank them, or do something, anything, but Seabs just manhandles him into a chair and piles a stack of waffles in front of him.
Nick eats slowly, watching from the kitchen as ESPN plays on the big TV. He’s joined by Kaner and Tazer, who both pull out chairs and sit at the table with him.
“You’ve had some nice support from around the league.” Tazer offers.
Kaner grins. “Yeah. Crosby. Ovechkin. Briere. Kesler up in Vancouver. Wonder who he’s with?”
“Hopefully not Luongo.” Tazer shudders.
“Thank you for that picture, asshole.” Kaner punches Tazer’s shoulder and Nick is caught somewhere between grinning and keeping his stomach from flipping around every bit of waffle he’s already eaten.
He pushes away from the table, dropping his plate in the sink and wandering over to the couch. “They’re still using that terrible high school photo of me.”
“Yeah.” Sharpie laughs. “I asked our PR people to send ESPN a link to your photo gallery on the website. So far, nothing, but at least they’ve started showing footage of you.”
“I have a gallery?”
“Yeah. Everyone does.”
“Huh.” Nick shrugs.
“You wanna play something? I’m kinda sick of watching this.” Sharpie hands him a controller.
Nick plays a couple of games, but his reaction time is really sluggish and he can’t get his mind into it. So he passes his controller off to Soupy and curls his feet under him. These are, perhaps, the most competitive people he’s ever known, and it’s entertaining enough to watch them beat the crap out of each other at video games. It’s nice, being here, surrounded by his teammates, even if they’re only his some of the time, and he rests his head on Duncan’s shoulder, content to just be.
***
Nick’s daze lasts longer than he’d really like it to. For the next forty-eight hours, he’s really too busy to think much about anything. He holds a mini-press conference before his first practice, answering any and every questions that is not about Jeremy and the media seems, in the end, as satisfied or as bored as they’re gonna get.
He’s never left alone. Either Duncs or Seabs is always at his side, and, in the few cases where they’re busy or in the bathroom or something, Sharpie is always there to step in. Seabs even tries to come in with him when Coach Q calls him up after practice.
“Seabs, get out.”
Seabs looks a little torn, but Coach Q doesn’t look too angry, so when Nick nods, Seabs slips out the door. Nick glances at his Coach and smiles the little half-smile that’s become his norm lately. “Thanks. I love Seabs, but, it gets a little stifling.”
Coach Q chuckles. “I’d imagine.”
“Um-” Nick glances around the office. It’s filled with pictures and memorabilia, little reminders of memories that Nick hopes to have someday, and he suddenly feels bad, ‘cause Coach Q is a good guy and Nick hasn’t made things easy for him. “I’m sorry. Not for coming out, but for the picture. I know I must be a lot of trouble.”
Coach Q waves him away. “Nonsense, kid. This team is about family, and whether you’re here or in Rockford, that doesn’t change anything.” Nick swallows. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Coach Q raises an eyebrow and Nick shrugs. “As fine as I’m gonna be.”
“You okay to play tonight?”
“Yes.” Nick almost jumps off his chair. “Yes, I’m fine. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Just wanted to make sure.” He gives Nick a quick, fatherly smile, before waving him away. “Now go. Out of my office.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They beat the Islanders 5-0 and everything starts to die down. The media is more interested in the tight race to the playoffs in the West, and, with three days between games, the team has fallen back into normal routines. Except, Nick doesn’t know what normal life is supposed to be like anymore. All he does now is eat, sleep, and play hockey, and while that might be most teenagers’ dream, it doesn’t fill his time.
Nick misses Jeremy every second.
He misses him when he’s playing Xbox and he sees the little Tazer avatar. He misses him when he sees Duncs and Seabs exchange quick little kisses in the kitchen. He misses him when he lies awake at night, unable to sleep, running over and over the events that have led him to his point.
It’s been a week, and Jeremy still hasn’t called.
***
The only good thing happening is that Nick is playing well on the ice. He’s doesn’t know if it’s his way of taking out his frustration or something, but, this time around, he feels stronger, faster, better equipped to keep up with the play at this level, and everyone seems to be noticing.
Talk with the media has finally started to focus more on his skill than his sexuality. There’s an article in the paper about how he’s turning some heads with his play, and if it does include the line “Leddy is proving that being gay doesn’t exclude him from being a good player,” it is at least positive. It helps, too, that the team is winning as they head into their weeklong break in the middle of January.
The break is a little weird for everyone. They’re all used to spending their off-time training, so when Coach Q imposes a mandatory three-day rest period on the middle of the week, everyone’s a little lost.
Duncs, Seabs, and Nick are using the time wisely, playing a Mario Kart tournament and eating pancakes, when the doorbell rings. The doorbell usually signals evangelists, ‘cause everyone they know just walks in, but it rings again and Duncan pauses the game. The door is at a good angle from the couch, and Nick freezes before Duncs has the door halfway open.
“Mo. What are you doing here?”
Jeremy glances past him at Nick, before he pushes his hands into his pockets and looks down. “I need to talk to Nick.”
Duncan glances back at the couch, and Nick nods, dropping his controller and taking Duncs’ place at the door. He’s only wearing thin sweats and a Hawks hoodie, so he crosses his arms around his chest to keep out the cold and not at all to keep himself inside. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Jeremy whispers.
“What are you doing here?”
Jeremy shrugs. “I talked to Sharpie. He said that you were doing okay.”
“I’m alright.” It’s mostly a lie. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jeremy looks at him, his eyes big and blue. “No. That’s a lie. I’m not doing fine at all.”
Nick looks at him, really looks at him. He looks terrible, deep, dark circles around his eyes, his skin as pale as when he hurt his shoulder. Nick’s stomach churns. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t. Jesus, Nick, don’t apologize.” Jeremy’s voice breaks and he rubs a hand across his eyes. “Sharpie called me.”
“He shouldn’t have done that.”
“He didn’t tell me what to do. He just told me that I need to talk to you. He’s right.”
“Jeremy-”
“I don’t now what to do with you, Nick.” Jeremy breathes, and Nick stops talking, holding his breath even though the air is cold and his lungs burn. “You’ve screwed everything up. I had a plan, you know? I was gonna play hockey and nothing else was gonna matter and then you came along and - fuck, I don’t know. You don’t fit in. You never have.”
Nick’s lets out a short, clipped little laugh. “If it makes you feel better, you weren’t in mine, either.”
“Yeah, but-” Jeremy waves his hand, as if trying to encompass everything, the buildings, the street, them. “You’re good at this. This is who you are. You can just come out and-”
“Don’t.” Nick cuts him off. “Don’t, okay? Don’t tell me that this has been easy for me. ‘Cause I love you, Jeremy, and I’m sorry for what’s happened, but it has not been easy for me.”
“No, no, I-Fuck, this isn’t coming out right.” Jeremy drops his head, kicking at the welcome mat with his shoe. When he glances back up, Nick can read every line etched into it. “I’m miserable. I miss you.”
Nick’s tired, his body aches for Jeremy, and he’s had enough of this. He wraps his hand in Jeremy’s shirt and pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together and grasping Jeremy’s hip with his free hand. He presses hard, licking his tongue along Jeremy’s mouth until Jeremy melts into him, groaning as his hands come up to cradle Nick’s waist.
Nick pulls back, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to Jeremy’s. “What’d you feel?”
Jeremy whimpers, closing his eyes. “Everything,” he whispers brokenly. “Everything.”
“Then what else could matter?” Jeremy shakes his head, leaning forward to kiss him again. It’s an apology and forgiveness and I love you and Nick grins against his mouth.
When Jeremy pulls away, he drops his forehead to Nick’s, their breath sharing space. “Think they got what they needed?”
Nick frowns. “What?”
Jeremy turns his head, looking across the street at a couple of women with their cameras raised. “Them.”
Nick laughs. For the first time in days, he just laughs and it’s almost like crying and he lets Jeremy push him inside, ‘cause this is it. They’re going to be in this evening’s news cycle, and it doesn’t matter. This is everything. And all he can do is tighten his hold on Jeremy and pull him in for another kiss.