2023 starts with Nick Tiernan and Matt Hudson kissing in the guest bedroom of the Perez house next to a trio of polyamorous cats, hearts racing and thoughts blurring with a dozen things they aren’t supposed to feel.
It’s the best start Nick’s had inyears.
Chapter Seventeen
“… Well, we expect the games to get tougher this side of Christmas, but this has been one chippy contest so far! Seventeen minutes remaining, and the Dragons are leading the Spitfires 4–2, but Winnipeg is not going down without a fight.”
“I think a fight is exactly what we’re going to get, Phil. The tension down here is thick enough to cut a skate through.”
“You said it there. Tiernan’s always been one to get under a guy’s skin and he’s certainly been doing that all night to Winnipeg. It seems like Ohlson is learning to take after his captain, too. He’s just drawn a tripping call, and once again Nevada’s on the power play.”
“Beaucage wins the face-off, passes back to Duchesne. Tiernan finds a space on the left side and takes the puck. He’s blocked by Fields, but sticks with it, gets the puck back to Beaucage.”
“It looks like some words are being exchanged there, Mark. Fields is staying on Tiernan’s back.”
“He is indeed—the puck is with Davis, Davis passes wide Tiernan gets around Fields and stretches for it. Shoots a one-timer and—Goal for the Nevada Dragons!”
“And Tiernan is down! A blatant cross-check from Winnipeg’s Wendell Fields sends him crashing into the boards. Jeez, that’s a solid hit!”
“If there’s ever a straw that broke the camel’s back, that hit is it. Patterson drops his gloves and is straight on Fields, and he’s not the only one. The Dragons are not gonna let that stand.”
“Tiernan is still down. Is he even conscious? Nevada’s brought a medic onto the ice. Let’s hope he just got his bell rung a little, because that was one heck of a collision there.”
“Officials have finally broken up the fight—Oh, my, we do apologize to those watching for the language the microphones just picked up from Fields there.”
“That’s going to be a fine, for sure. Right after Pride Night, too, jeez.”
“Those of you watching the previous game will remember that Fields is one of a handful of players this season to refuse to wear their team’s Pride jersey for warm-ups, citing religious reasons.”
“Well, I don’t think that same excuse is gonna slide here. Fields is escorted off the ice. None of his teammatesseem to want to come to the defense of that—rightly so—and good news, Tiernan is on his feet and being assisted towards the bench. Sadly, I’d say he’s done for the night.”
“Keeping our fingers crossed for Tiernan’s quick recovery. The last thing the Dragons need is to lose their captain for a long stretch.”
“Too right. Well, it’s 5–2 to the Nevada Dragons, sixteen minutes remaining. Let’s see how the penalty minutes shake out after this mess.”
—Live Broadcast, Winnipeg @ Nevada, January 3rd, 2023
He got lucky.
That’s what Rachelle, their team doctor, tells him when the scans come through. A grade 2 concussion, and nothing but bruises on the rest of his body. From the force and the angle at which he hit the boards, it could’ve been a whole lot worse.
Nick will take her word for it. All he knows is, he hurts.
“I want you off the ice for at least seventy-two, and then you’re day-to-day after that,” she tells him, though half her gaze is on Jazz, who’s sitting by the side of his hospital bed looking grave.
Nick almost protests—that’ll keep him at home for the entire four-game road trip—but he keeps his mouth shut. Having Jazz around—living proof that it only takes one bad hit to end your hockey career and your mobility—has taught them all how careful they need to be about recovery protocol.
And he won’t admit it, but that hit has shaken him.
When Marco shows up to take him home, his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and there’s a bruise on hischeek that Nick’s pretty sure wasn’t there at first intermission. How bad did things get after he was hit? His memory is fuzzy—he was unconscious for about fifteen seconds on the ice there—but from the tightness to his best friend’s jaw, it can’t have been good.
It’s only when Nick is tucked up in bed at Marco’s place with a bowl of soup and his cat curled against his side that he finds out what really happened. Marco shows him the video and holds his hand while the foul slurs Fields used echo through the linesman’s mic for everybody to hear. Nick’s stomach churns for reasons that have nothing to do with his concussion. “Shit.”
“If it helps, the general consensus is that he was already so mad off the back of Pride Night, he was just looking to take it out on somebody, and you happened to be there,” Marco offers. It does help, a little, but it still fucking sucks.
If he can take a hit like this for justbeing there, how bad would it be if the truth ever got out? There have been a few jabs over the years just based on rumors, but if they had anything substantiated… Nick may not just lose his career.
He says as much to Marco, heart fluttering anxiously. His best friend frowns hard, concern in his dark eyes.
