by Rachel Reid
Shawn: Kip! WTF is this you???!!!!!!!!
It was a picture of Scott gazing (a little too lovingly) at Kip as Kip stared up at a statue of Perseus. The scene definitely looked romantic, and the statue’s marble penis hovering between their faces didn’t help tone things down.
Most people wouldn’t notice any of that, right?
Kip: Yes.
Shawn: You want to tell me why you’re on a date with Scott Hunter?
Kip: It wasn’t a date!
A total lie.
Shawn: Explain yourself.
Kip: We met at work. We’re friends. It’s nothing.
Shawn sent back a gif of a RuPaul’s Drag Race contestant making a “bitch, please” face.
Kip: It’s nothing! I’m serious! As if Scott Hunter would want to date me. Come on!
Shawn: Hmmm...
Kip: Does he seem gay to you? Even a little?
He hated every word he was typing. He didn’t want to lie to his friends.
Shawn: Hmmm...
Kip: It’s nothing.
Shawn: Well, next time you and your straight friend Scott are doing “nothing,” you should invite me. And maybe go to the beach or something. Or a pool. Or a bathhouse.
Kip rolled his eyes, and then sent the eye-roll emoji.
Shawn: He looks like he wants to eat you. That’s all I’m saying.
Kip: He does not.
(Even though he completely did.)
He decided not to tell Scott about the photos being online. Scott didn’t even have any official social media accounts. There was a good chance he would never find out about these.
Overall, they weren’t a big deal. All of the focus was on Scott Hunter being spotted in the wild. No one even mentioned Kip except to label him an “unknown friend.”
No reason to tell Scott. It would only stress him out.
At nine-thirty that night, Scott said, “Are there pictures of us online? From the museum?”
“Um... I don’t know,” Kip lied. “Why?”
“Carter just texted me one.”
Fuck. Kip pulled out his phone and made a show of opening Twitter, as if he hadn’t checked it all day.
“Oh. Yeah, there are a few. Nothing... I mean, they’re mostly pretty blurry. I don’t know why people are even bothering to post them.”
He waited for Scott’s reply, and hoped Scott didn’t notice how flushed he was. He had already lied to Shawn about these dumb photos; now he was lying to Scott about them. In truth, Kip just wanted to look at them, and be a little proud of them. He had never seen a picture of the two of them together before.
“Why was Carter sending you one of them?”
“Just...making fun of me, or whatever. He knows I hate this kind of attention.”
“So he doesn’t think—”
“I don’t know! Fuck!” Scott threw his phone down on the couch and started pacing. “We shouldn’t have gone! It was stupid. I just wanted... Fuck. What I was thinking?”
“Hey,” Kip said, trying to sound soothing. “It’s not a big deal. It’s nothing. It’s not like we’re making out in the pictures.”
“What if we were? I mean, not making out. But what if I touched you in some obvious way by accident? Or what if I...looked at you the way I know I always do?”
Kip hoped to god that Scott never saw the photo that Shawn had sent him.
“It’s too fucking hard to be careful,” Scott said. “I should never have...”
“Right,” Kip said tersely.
It was fucking ridiculous. Their “date” couldn’t have been more chaste, and here Scott was having a meltdown over the fact that they had been spotted standing near each other in a public place.
For the first time, Kip seriously considered leaving to go home for the night. He was filled with so much more than irritation with Scott. His usual fear that there was no way this was going to work between them in the long term was overtaking him.
He loved Scott so much, and he would do almost anything to stay with him. But he couldn’t lie about who he was. And he didn’t want to lie about who Scott was to him.
“I think... I’m gonna head home, all right?”
“What?” Scott seemed completely caught off guard by this. “Why?”
“I just...” Kip chewed his lip. He didn’t want to get in a fight about any of this, but if he stayed they would fight because Kip couldn’t pretend he wasn’t upset. “I’ve got stuff to do at home.”
It sounded like the lie it was.
“Please don’t go,” Scott said.
Kip was going to insist that he needed to leave, but then Scott said, “I’m sorry.”
Kip sighed. “You don’t have to apologize, Scott.”
“Well... I feel like I do, all right? And I wish I could promise things will be better, but the truth is...” He scrubbed a hand over his face and swore under his breath. “I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying. It probably doesn’t seem like it, but every tiny step we take is a huge leap for me.”
“I know,” Kip said. He did know. Scott even attempting a public outing with him had been a big deal. They had only been dating a few weeks; how much could Kip really ask of him?
“Things are going to get more hectic for me when the playoffs start,” Scott said. “I just want to know that we’re okay.”
Kip nodded. “We’re okay.”
“Please stay,” Scott said. “I love you so much, Kip. I need you. Please be patient with me.”
And how could Kip resist that?
“I’ll stay.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The crowd was deafening, but Kip still managed to hear Elena when she leaned over and said into his ear, “I think someone is going to have great sex tonight.”
Kip blushed and smiled even wider than he had been already. The Admirals had just won their fourth game in a row in the first round of the playoffs, sweeping the higher-ranked Pittsburgh and moving on to the next round. Kip watched Scott celebrate with his teammates on the ice. He was so proud of him.
Scott had had less and less time for him as the playoffs had grown closer. Though Kip was spending most nights at Scott’s place, Scott was only home for about half of them. Kip had told his parents that he’d been crashing with friends in Manhattan. He’d needed to tell them something.
Their relationship was still new—just two months old, really. Kip reminded himself of that whenever he felt frustrated about it. He did wonder sometimes if Scott would ever be ready to come out. To let them be a real couple.
In private, though, when Scott did have time for him, things were wonderful.
The two teams lined up to shake each other’s hands. Each player on the Pittsburgh team seemed to take a moment to say something to Scott when they had their turn with him. He even received a few quick, manly hugs from some of them. It showed how well respected Scott was, even by his opponents.
Kip loved him. And he was expecting great sex tonight.
* * *
Kip was brushing his teeth in Scott’s apartment when he received a text from him.
Going out with the guys. Will probably be pretty late.
Kip tried to not feel disappointed. The Admirals had just swept Pittsburgh out of the playoffs! Of course Scott would want to celebrate with his team.
He sat on the edge of Scott’s bed and wrote back. Ok. Have fun.
He sighed. The truth was he’d been spending a lot of time alone lately. It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends; he just didn’t have friends who knew about Scott, besides Elena. His family didn’t know about Scott. His family that he technically lived with.
It was getting harder.
As nice as Scott’s penthouse was, it was also empty and lonely. Plus, it didn’t belong to Kip. He’d moved some clothing and basic toiletries in, and his
laptop spent most of its time here, but he was still a guest.
Any sexy thrill of having a secret relationship that had once existed had definitely faded. The disastrous museum outing had probably killed the last of it. Kip had grown tired of being careful when he spoke to his friends and family. He was tired of the lies and half-truths. Mostly he was tired of avoiding everyone because he didn’t want to lie. He had always been a very social guy. He didn’t like this.
Scott seemed to be a lot more comfortable than Kip was with their weird relationship. He very obviously loved coming home to Kip, always greeting him with a warm smile and a kiss. Even the most basic domestic activities like preparing food or watching television appeared to make him very happy. They made Kip happy too, but he’d been feeling very...compartmentalized. He fit into Scott’s life at home, and it was definitely important to Scott that Kip attend the games, but beyond that there was nothing. Kip wasn’t telling his friends about Scott, and Scott sure as hell wasn’t telling his friends about Kip.
Not that their relationship was bad. Kip was in love. Totally and completely in love. And he had no doubt that Scott loved him too. Plus, their sex life was still amazing. For a guy with limited prior experience, Scott sure found new ways to surprise Kip in bed.
It would be ridiculous for Kip to say that he felt like a prisoner in Scott’s apartment. It wasn’t that. It was just that their relationship really only existed within the walls of Scott’s home. It was the most important thing in Kip’s life, and he couldn’t carry it beyond the front door. Now that the playoffs had started, Kip had given up hope that Scott might make their relationship public anytime soon. And when the playoffs ended, Scott’s plan was to sneak off to Europe with him.
And then what? The next hockey season would start and Scott would get busy and maybe Kip would start school...or worse, maybe he’d just continue working his shitty job and continue pretending to not be dating anyone. Pretending he wasn’t sharing his life with a man he loved. Letting his parents think that he was couch surfing in Manhattan, or sleeping with an endless parade of random men.
Kip threw his phone down on the mattress. He was being selfish. The city was celebrating the Admirals’ victory tonight. He should be nothing but proud, and grateful that Scott gave him whatever he could.
Scott loved him. He knew that. He just wished it didn’t have to be so complicated.
* * *
Kip heard the unmistakable thud of Scott bumping into the dresser, followed by the sound of him swearing under his breath. Kip turned on the bedside lamp.
“Hey,” he said, his voice scratchy.
“Hi,” Scott whispered. “Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep. Jus’ gettin’ undressed.”
“You’re a little drunk, huh?” Kip asked with a slight grin.
“A bit. Not really. Maybe.”
Kip sat up, grinning wider now. “I’ve never seen you drunk before.”
“Not that drunk,” Scott muttered. “Just...had a good time.”
“Mm.”
Scott pulled off his shirt and pants, and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Kip watched the door, waiting for him.
“Go back to sleep,” Scott said again when he returned. “You have work tomorrow.”
It was true. Kip had to get up for work way too soon.
Scott got into bed and quickly kissed Kip on the cheek before turning off the light. Kip frowned into the darkness, wanting to say something but not knowing what. And the middle of night when your boyfriend is at least a little drunk and you have to go to work in a couple of hours probably wasn’t the best time.
“Congratulations on the win,” he said finally. “I’m really proud of you.”
But Scott was already asleep.
* * *
It hadn’t helped that a couple of weeks ago there had been an Admirals team dinner where wives and girlfriends were invited to attend. Part of Kip had wanted to argue that a private event like that, where Scott would be amongst the people he considered to be his family, could be a perfect opportunity to introduce him. Maybe coming out didn’t need to be a big deal. Maybe Scott could just...show up with Kip. Let his teammates draw their own conclusions.
He didn’t bring this up with Scott, and Scott never even hinted that he might bring Kip along. Instead, he’d only apologized when he told him about the dinner. He had told him he wished he could bring him, but that was it.
Kip had been a little low ever since.
A customer had left one of the free newspapers they give out in subway stations on a table at work. A photo of Scott, jubilant after one of the two goals he’d scored last night, filled the front page. When Kip glanced at it, he felt both guilty and emotional. He was an asshole. His boyfriend was a fucking hero and he was an ungrateful jerk who expected Scott to jeopardize everything he had worked for his whole life? For him?
He looked at Scott’s exuberant face on the cover of the newspaper and was filled with the gut-wrenching truth that there was no way this thing with Scott would possibly last. How could it?
This was the exact headspace that Kip was in when Maria said, “So... I have to tell you something.”
“Oh?”
“I put in my notice.”
It took Kip a moment to register what she had said. “Shit. Really?”
“Yeah. Um, my friend got promoted to manager at one of the Starbucks in Midtown, and they were hiring...”
“Oh.”
“I’ll still have to get up at ass o’clock, but the pay is better and there are benefits, you know? Health insurance.”
“Yeah. No, yeah. That’s great. Good for you.” His enthusiasm was beyond forced.
“Aw, Kip. I’m sorry. I should have given you a heads-up. I just didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”
“No, it’s fine. Don’t be. It’s fine! I’m happy for you. Really.”
“Hey,” she said brightly, “if they’re ever hiring again, I’ll put in a good word for you. If you want.”
“Oh, sure. Yeah. Maybe. Thanks.”
“I probably won’t work there for too long,” Maria said. “I’ve been thinking about...police academy.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s probably dumb...”
“No! Maria, you’d be great! And we could use more good cops, y’know?”
Kip worked the rest of his shift in a daze. He couldn’t tell what was truly bothering him: that he would miss working with Maria, or that he resented her leaving while he was stuck here.
You could quit too, dummy.
When he went back to Scott’s apartment after work, Scott wasn’t there. He hadn’t received any texts from him all day.
Resigned to endure another lonely evening, Kip dragged himself into the shower and came out feeling a little better. He wondered if Scott would be home for dinner.
It wasn’t unusual for Scott to not keep in touch. Not lately, anyway. The playoffs and everything leading up to them had understandably consumed him. He had apologized to Kip in advance for how little time he’d be able to give him, which was ridiculous. It was the Stanley Cup playoffs and Scott was the biggest star in the league, for chrissakes. Adding to that was the fact that Scott, despite his many achievements, had never actually won the Stanley Cup.
Yeah, it was important that Kip be cool about this.
When Scott got home later that evening, he looked exhausted.
“Hey,” Kip said, kissing him quickly. “What were you up to today?”
“Oh, just... ESPN asked me and a couple of the guys to record some promos for round two of the playoffs. Took longer than I thought it would.”
“Ah.”
“I’m gonna—” Scott gestured toward the bedroom. “Long day. And I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”
“Sure. Yeah.” My day sucked, thanks for asking.
Scott disappeared into the bedroom, and Kip sank onto the sofa. He knew he was probably overreacting because he had been in a bad mood to begin with, but in that moment he felt like Scott’s fucking pet.
And then he became angry with himself, because why the fuck had he been waiting for Scott to come home? Why was this his life now? He used to go to the Kingfisher all the time—at least once a week. And he went out to clubs. And dinner with friends. And lunch with friends. And brunch with friends. Now he just left work and went to Scott’s apartment and waited for him to come home. And if Scott was away, he went to Scott’s apartment and watched television alone until he fell asleep.
He loved Scott. Absolutely. But this could not be his life long-term. He was twenty-six!
For the past few weeks, Kip had been bracing himself for Scott’s inevitable realization that he was too good for Kip. Or, at least, that Kip was not worth risking his whole career for. But maybe he shouldn’t be waiting for that moment. Maybe he should initiate the conversation. Because the painful truth was that if Scott had no plans to change things, then Kip couldn’t stay in this relationship.
Kip almost wanted to march into the bedroom right then and just ask Scott, point-blank, “Are you ever going to come out? Am I worth it?” but the timing would be terrible. Scott was obviously drained.
And what was the answer Kip was expecting to hear? Yes. Absolutely. I will come out publicly tomorrow. Let me get on the phone so I can call a press conference?
So Kip didn’t say anything. He just watched television for a while, then slipped into the bed next to Scott’s sleeping body. He stared into the darkness for hours, worrying.
* * *
Scott wrapped black hockey tape around the blade of his stick using the exact same method he’d perfected when he was a teenager. It was two hours before game time in Boston.
“Hey,” Carter said, testing the blade sharpness on his own skates with his thumb, “did you hear what your boyfriend was saying?”
Scott nearly dropped his stick. “What?”
“Rozanov. Mouthing off again.”