by Rachel Reid
“Oh.” He relaxed, feeling stupid.
“Said he’ll feel bad about taking away your first Stanley Cup victory.”
He rolled his eyes. “All right.”
“Said he’d be nice and give you one of his rings.”
“Charitable.”
“I don’t know about you,” Carter said, “but I’m looking forward to shutting him up.”
Scott ripped the tape off the roll with his teeth. “Hell yes.”
Besides wanting to beat Rozanov, round two was the point when the Admirals had been eliminated from the playoffs last year, so it was important to Scott that they make it to the third round.
Huff walked into the dressing room, eating an apple. He sat and pulled out his phone. “Who wants to see a cute picture of my kids?”
“Do we have a choice?” Carter asked.
“Nope! Check it out!” Huff passed his phone to Carter, who glanced at it and handed it over to Scott.
“Nice,” Scott said, looking at the smiling faces of Huff’s son and daughter, chocolate smeared all over their mouths. “They’re getting so big!”
“I know. I miss so much,” Huff sighed. “I feel like I have at least another season in me after this, but then I gotta think seriously about getting Laura that ranch she’s always wanted.” He smiled. “You can take the girl out of Alberta...”
“Well, let’s get you another Stanley Cup ring first,” Scott said. “Then you can think about retirement.”
“How many will this be?” Carter asked. “Four?”
Huff waved a hand. “Who the hell can keep track?”
Carter chuckled. “Fuck you, old man.”
Scott knew for a fact that Huff had already won four Stanley Cups with three different teams. None with New York. It was four more than either Carter or Scott.
Scott sat and pulled out his own phone. He brought up a couple of recent photos of Kip that he’d taken. It was probably a risk even having these on his phone, but he had to give himself something, for fuck’s sake.
He let himself look at Kip’s sexy grin for a minute, enjoying the warmth that flooded him every time he saw it. Then he pocketed the phone and went back to pretending that part of his life didn’t exist.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kip had expected Elena to attend the upcoming home games with him, but when he mentioned it to her she texted back, Can’t. I’m not in town.
Kip: Where are you?
Elena: L.A.
Kip frowned and sent back a question mark.
Elena: Work. I’ll explain when I get back.
This was not great news. Elena was literally the only person he could bring without having to answer a lot of questions about how he had two prime tickets to a sold-out game.
The Admirals had won the first game against Boston. Boston had won the second. They would be playing the third game tomorrow night in New York.
Scott should be home soon.
Kip picked up the copy of Sports Illustrated from Scott’s coffee table. The glamour shot of Scott stared back at him. Scott had been embarrassed about the cover, but he had seemed to warm to it a bit when he’d seen how much Kip liked it.
The cover had Scott, shirtless and wearing hockey pants, holding a hockey stick across the back of his shoulders and neck. He stared straight at the camera, cold and challenging and absurdly sexy. The dramatic lighting showed every groove of his muscular torso and arms.
The copy on the cover said THE RETURN in big, white letters. Kip had read the article several times. It mentioned that Scott was unmarried, and didn’t have any surviving family. It was just a brief sentence or two, almost offhand, but it gave the reader the impression that Scott might be very lonely.
Kip wondered if the interviewer had asked Scott if he was seeing anyone. What would Scott have said? Just a simple “no”? Or would he have blushed a bit and fidgeted and mumbled “no comment”? Or would he have said that he was in a fulfilling relationship, but he had chosen to keep it private?
From this line of thought, Kip’s imagination jumped to a possible future scenario where Scott came out publicly and their relationship became known. What would the articles about Scott look like then? Certainly his love life would take up a lot more of the page than a couple of sentences.
Kip closed the magazine. The kernel of dread that seemed to be living in his stomach lately began to grow.
Scott’s whole life could be ruined because of him. Or he could finally be whole and happy. Or he could be whole and happy with someone else...
Kip scrubbed his hands over his face. He hated thinking these things.
Scott walked through the door about forty minutes later. He smiled tiredly at Kip, who went to him and kissed him. Scott’s beard had filled in quite a bit.
“I watched the game last night,” Kip said.
“I’d like to get that one back.”
“You’ll win the rest,” Kip assured him.
“You’re coming tomorrow night, right?”
“Yeah. Alone, though. Elena’s in L.A.”
“Oh. That’s too bad,” Scott said absently. He seemed distracted. Probably because he was an important person with actual problems that mattered. He didn’t need Kip’s insignificant worries piled on top of him.
“Rozanov bothering you?” Kip asked.
“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “He’s a real pain in the ass.”
“You wanna take a bath and unload all your problems on me?”
Scott gave him a small, grateful smile. “Yeah. Okay.”
Kip listened to Scott vent all evening. He kept his own problems to himself.
* * *
“It’s getting quiet in here,” Rozanov said, feigning confusion. “Why is it so quiet? There are so many people here! It should be loud, yes?”
“Shut up, Rozanov.” Scott bent to take the face-off against him.
“It was loud earlier. But since we scored that fourth goal it has been quiet. Is weird, I think.”
Scott gritted his teeth and made sure he won the fucking face-off.
Rozanov wasn’t wrong. The energy had been sucked out of Madison Square Garden. The hometown crowd was understandably unhappy with the 4–1 lead that Boston now had over the Admirals. It would be the second game in a row that Boston won in the series, unless by some miracle New York scored three goals in the next seven minutes.
Scott and Carter charged toward the net, Huff hanging back slightly. They executed the play they had perfected in practice: Scott passed to Carter, Carter immediately knocked it back to Huff, who took the shot and—
Stopped by the Boston goaltender.
“Sorry, Scott,” Huff said. “Fuck.”
“That was a cute move!” Rozanov chirped as he skated by Scott. “I fucking love old-timers hockey!”
He nudged Scott, which prompted Scott to shove him. Hard.
Rozanov stumbled backward, then moved like he was going to shove Scott right back. The referee, Hal Coleman, stepped in. “Come on, guys. Rozanov, stop being a dick. Hunter, stop listening to Rozanov.”
“How many minutes would I get if I just killed him?” Scott grumbled as he watched Rozanov skate away.
“I’d have to give you at least ten,” Hal said dryly. “Not worth it in the playoffs.”
Scott skated to the bench.
“Good effort, Hunter,” someone said, and others said similar things in agreement.
Scott sat down hard on the bench and resisted the urge to slam his stick against the boards. This game was a complete fucking embarrassment and it was infuriating.
He glanced across the ice to where Kip was sitting. He was easy to spot because he was next to one of the only empty seats in the building. He was sitting hunched forward, with his hands clasped in front of his mouth. Just one of thousands of anxious, disappointed
people in the building tonight.
Tomorrow the team would review, they would practice, and they would regroup. In two nights they would make this crowd roar.
* * *
Kip walked out of the subway station near Elena’s apartment and trudged through the chilly April drizzle. Elena was back from California and had invited Kip over to watch the fifth game of the New York vs. Boston series. He was looking forward to seeing her. He was looking forward to seeing anyone.
The Admirals had rallied and won the second home game against Boston, tying the series at two wins each. NHL playoff series were all best of seven, so the series would go to at least six games.
Scott had been very distant the past few days. He barely spoke, and didn’t seem to be listening when Kip said anything to him. Besides the games, he’d had meetings and practices and gym sessions. He was focused on beating Boston, which Kip completely understood.
And that was why things were a little chilly between them. That was the only reason. He told himself that almost constantly.
Scott had left for Boston yesterday while Kip had been at work. He hadn’t even really said goodbye.
Kip was glad Elena was back.
“Aw, you’re all cold and wet,” she said when she opened the door. “Come on in. I ordered pizza. I have beer.”
“I love you.”
She waited until the first intermission to drop a bomb on him. “I have some news,” she said. “Equinox is opening up a West Coast headquarters.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. And...they want me to manage the cybersecurity team there.”
It took Kip a moment. “You’re moving?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“When? I mean... What? You’re leaving?”
“Next month.”
“Next month?”
She placed her hand over his. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry to spring this on you like this.”
“Fuck. That sucks. I mean, congratulations, but...”
“Thank you.”
“No, really. I’m proud of you. Just... Damn.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too.”
“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Kip said miserably.
“Aw, sweetie. You’ll come visit. You and Scott both, okay?”
“Yeah...” Would that day ever happen, where he and Scott could travel together as a couple in North America? “Shit, I can’t believe you’re really leaving. It’ll be like...losing my leg or something.”
She squeezed his hand. “It’s much worse than that,” she said with a wry smile.
* * *
“Hey, what’s up?” Scott asked. It sounded to Kip like he had caught Scott at a bad time. But he had waited until the morning after game five in Boston (which the Admirals had won) to call.
“Sorry. Are you... I can call later?”
“It’s fine. What is it?”
Kip was a little taken aback. Scott never asked him why he was calling. They just...called each other.
“Just...had kind of a shitty day yesterday.”
“Oh. Okay. What happened?”
“Elena is moving to California. She got a promotion and Equinox is opening a new division there.”
“Good for her!”
“Yeah. It is. But...sucks for me.”
“Right. Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry,” Scott said. “I guess I’m used to my friends moving. Being traded and stuff.”
“Oh.”
Their conversation was so stiff. Kip hated it.
“Is that it?” Scott asked.
“Is what it?”
“Elena moving. Is that the only reason your day sucked?”
Now Kip was getting angry. “It’s a pretty good reason.”
“I know... Just... I have to go. We’re heading to the airport...”
“Sure. Yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be—” Scott sighed. “I’ll talk to you later, all right?”
“Okay.”
They ended the call and Kip walked miserably out of the break room at work. He immediately checked the fridges to see what needed to be restocked. He didn’t feel like dealing with customers right now.
What the fuck was he even mad about? That his shitty life was changing? That the people around him were bettering themselves? It wasn’t like he wanted everything to stay the same forever. He’d had his heart secretly set on that museum job until recently. Even now he was waiting to hear back from grad schools. He couldn’t possibly be mad at his friends for moving on.
He wasn’t mad. He was just frustrated and feeling sorry for himself. And mentally preparing himself to be rejected from the schools he’d applied to at the same time as his friends announced new, better jobs.
Maybe having to keep quiet about his relationship with Scott was making him long for some news that he could talk about.
Maybe if he didn’t have to keep quiet about his relationship with Scott...
Fuck. At this rate there probably wouldn’t be a relationship with Scott to keep quiet about.
* * *
When Scott got back to his apartment in Manhattan, Kip wasn’t there.
Scott knew he wouldn’t still be at work. He wondered if he was out somewhere, or if he just wasn’t staying there anymore. He hadn’t spoken to him since their tense phone call that morning.
He decided to text him. Hey. Just got home. You staying here tonight?
It took a few minutes to get a reply.
Kip: No. I’m home tonight. Family stuff.
Kip hadn’t mentioned any family stuff. Scott had the distinct impression that he was being blown off.
Scott: Oh. Sorry to hear that.
He waited.
Kip: Congrats on the win last night.
Scott relaxed a little. That was something at least.
Unless Kip was being sarcastic...
But that would be ridiculous. Right?
Scott: Thanks.
He tried to think of something to add that wouldn’t sound pushy or angry or desperate or paranoid or...
Scott: Hope to see you soon.
Ugh.
Kip: Ok.
Whoa. That wasn’t good.
Scott: Are you home now?
Kip: Yes.
Scott chewed his thumb, trying to decide what to say next.
Scott: Are you coming to the game tomorrow night?
Kip: If you want me to.
Scott: Of course I do! Are you mad at me?
There was a long pause, and then:
Kip: No. I’ll see you at the game.
Scott’s brow furrowed. He had no idea how to deal with this. He was used to having the freedom to focus on his team and his game, on his own health and fitness, and his contract and business agreements. He had never focused on his own happiness. And having someone else’s happiness be affected by him was just...terrifying. Probably a recipe for disaster.
He had no idea what was going on, or how to fix it. What he did know was that he really didn’t need any distractions right now.
* * *
Kip hadn’t been lying about the family stuff. His sister and her boyfriend were joining them for dinner, so he’d made sure he was there too.
The meal had been fine, with a lot of talk about the puppy Megan and Andrew were hoping to adopt. Kip had been worried that the conversation would be focused on him, and that he would have to lie to his family even more than he already had been. As a result, he asked way more questions about the puppy than he normally would.
It was after dinner when Megan cornered him. Andrew went into the kitchen to help with cleanup, and she grabbed Kip’s arm and pulled him upstairs.
“So what’s going on with you anyway, Kip?�
�� she asked. “Mom says you’re almost never here anymore. Are you seeing someone or something?”
Fuck.
“Nah,” he said as smoothly as possible. “Just, you know, couch surfing mostly. Saves time commuting to work in the mornings.”
“Hm,” she said.
“What?”
“Are you happy, Kip?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I don’t know.”
“I worry about you.”
Kip made a face. “Why? We barely even talk anymore. I’m fine.”
“You’re still my little brother. You can’t be happy living here with Mom and Dad, sleeping on friends’ couches, hooking up with random dudes and working that job you hate.”
“Jesus, Meg. Anything else?”
“I’m sorry. I just want to see you happy, is all.”
“I’m fine,” he said again. He sighed, and added, “I applied to some grad schools, all right? Just waiting to hear back. Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Awesome! That’s great!”
“Good. Get off my back.”
He liked Megan a lot. They had always gotten along well, even if they had drifted apart a bit these past few years. He wanted to tell her that he had actually been staying at his boyfriend’s apartment. He wanted to tell her that he was in love for the first time. He imagined her face if he told her he was dating Scott Hunter.
At that moment, he didn’t feel like he was dating Scott Hunter. Things had grown tense and distant between them lately, and Kip was sure he knew why.
At ten o’clock he got into bed. He had to get up extra early for work the next day, since he’d be commuting from Brooklyn again. His stomach clenched around the dread that sat like a lump inside him. He was so certain that his relationship with Scott was doomed that he felt compelled to just rip the bandage off quickly. Just end it now so he didn’t need to suffer later.
And maybe, one day, he could wake up in his bedroom in his parents’ house, drag himself to his shitty job, and fondly remember the brief time in his life that he’d lived the fantasy of being Scott Hunter’s boyfriend.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Good evening, Ilya,” Scott said. He was standing opposite Rozanov at the face-off circle, ready for the first puck drop of the game.
“Don’t worry, old man,” Rozanov said with a grin, “I know you must be getting tired. I’ll make sure you lose so you can get started on your summer vacation.”
