by Rachel Reid
“Oh, fuck you.”
When they were out on the street, Maria hugged him. “I’m happy for you, Kip. I mean it. I act like a bitch, but you’re one of the best people I know and you deserve that fantasy man.”
He kissed her cheek. “Thank you. Maybe next time we go out Scott will come too.”
“Tell him to leave his shirt at home. And to bring a teammate!”
Kip laughed. “Will do.”
Maria headed toward the subway, and Kip and Elena headed in the opposite direction.
“After tonight, you might be dating a Stanley Cup champion,” Elena said.
“Finally, a reason to be impressed by him!”
She took his arm and tilted her head onto his shoulder. “I’m glad you’ll be in good hands when I’m gone.”
“Me too. But I am going to miss you so fucking much.”
“I know.”
“And...”
He couldn’t see her eyes, but he was sure she rolled them. “I’ll miss you too,” she said. “Not to get all emotional, but I like you.”
Kip laughed and nudged her. “Thanks, pal.”
* * *
The third period was agony.
Scott could feel the tension radiating from the crowd. He certainly felt it on the bench, and in his own stomach.
The period had started with L.A. scoring a quick goal to make it 2–1. With ten minutes left in the period, Huff had scored off an assist from Scott to tie it 2–2. The crowd had roared while the Admirals had breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Then came the real nail-biting stuff.
First, New York got a penalty, so they’d been shorthanded for two minutes. It seemed to last for twenty minutes, but they’d managed to kill it off without giving up a goal. There had been five minutes left on the clock.
Another minute had gone by and L.A. almost scored, but Bennett made an amazing save that kept New York in the game.
Then, with two minutes left, Scott had gotten the puck and he would never remember how exactly it happened, but suddenly he was on a breakaway. He raced toward the net, completely focused on his target, and sent the puck just over the L.A. goaltender’s right leg.
Now Scott stood behind the bench with the rest of his teammates and watched the clock tick down the final seconds of the game.
Eight... Seven... Six...
Holy shit.
We did it. We’re going to win the Stanley Cup.
Five... Four...
The roar of the crowd was deafening; eighteen thousand people on their feet, cheering for their home team. It was everything Scott had ever dreamed this moment would be.
Two... One...
And it was over. Scott vaulted over the boards, nearly crashing into two of his teammates as the whole team spilled onto the ice together. Sticks and gloves and helmets flew in all directions as they made a beeline to where Bennett stood in front of his net with his arms raised in victory. Within seconds, all of the Admirals had piled onto their goalie in a joyous, thrashing mess of ecstatic hockey players.
Players took turns hugging each other and thumping each other on the back. Scott could hear Carter screaming “Yeaaaaahhhh!” behind him, and when he turned to embrace his friend he was nearly knocked over by the force of Carter jumping up into his arms. He wrapped his legs around Scott’s waist, forcing him to hold him for a second.
“We fucking did it, Scotty!”
“Hell yeah, we did.”
Carter released him and dropped back onto the ice. “Shit, we should probably go line up, huh?”
Scott glanced over at center ice, where the devastated Los Angeles team was waiting in an awkward huddle for the traditional handshakes.
“Right. Yeah. Let’s go.”
He called to his teammates to line up, and they quickly but respectfully shook hands with the L.A. players. A lot of the Los Angeles guys had tears in their eyes. Scott understood. He had been in their position before.
But not tonight. Tonight he had achieved the dream he’d held since childhood.
He waited impatiently as the Stanley Cup was carried out and the league commissioner gave a boring speech. Scott was announced as the playoff MVP, which was an honor, but wasn’t the trophy he wanted to be holding. Besides, it felt ridiculous to be singled out when his entire team had worked so hard to get here. Scott wasn’t a big fan of individual awards.
Finally, finally, Scott, as team captain, was handed the Stanley Cup. He took the giant silver trophy in his hands and it was...awkward to hold, actually. Heavy, but also hard to grip. But Scott certainly wasn’t going to let it slip out of his hands now. He kissed the Cup and then hoisted it triumphantly over his head, turning so the whole crowd could see it. It belonged to New York now: the team and the fans.
And that’s when the tears came. Scott let them happen. Everything about the moment was surreal and overwhelming and he had so many thoughts at once.
But mostly, I wish my mom was here to see this.
She would have been so proud of him. And it was her, as much as anyone, who had gotten Scott to this moment. All the hockey schools and trainers and agents in the world wouldn’t have gotten him to the NHL if she hadn’t laid the foundation with her support, and her long hours working at the grocery store so he could afford secondhand hockey gear.
Scott wasn’t religious, but he turned his eyes up to the rafters and quietly said, “This is for you, Mom.”
He handed the Cup to Carter, who kissed it, like, five times before raising it high above him. Scott found Kip in the crowd, across the ice, standing and cheering with everyone else. Scott gave him a little wave. He wasn’t sure if Kip saw it.
It was later, when the ice started to fill up with the wives and girlfriends and children of his teammates, that Scott started to feel it. Mixed with all of his happiness was a troubling feeling of wrongness. He watched his teammates kiss their partners, and hoist their children up, and Scott wanted to be able to share this moment with his partner. With the man he loved.
And what would be the harm in having Kip come down onto the ice? The place was a zoo anyway: hockey players and staff and reporters and photographers and family members. Who would even notice if Scott’s boyfriend was among them?
Decision made, he skated over to the glass near Kip. He waved his hands, which a lot of people seemed to notice, but not Kip. Then Scott saw Elena nudge him and say something to him, and point at Scott. Kip looked, and smiled. Scott’s heart fluttered. God, he loved him.
Scott gestured toward the penalty box. Kip made an exaggerated what? face, and Scott gestured again. He saw Elena, again, say something to Kip, and then Kip nodded and pointed toward the penalty box. Scott nodded back, and took off to meet him.
From the box, Scott watched Kip make his way through the crowd. People seemed to be watching this little sideshow they were putting on with great interest.
So much for being subtle.
When Kip reached the glass that separated the seating from the penalty box, he was flushed and grinning and adorable.
And Scott knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself from doing something very stupid in a moment.
But...
“Climb over the glass!” Scott yelled. “I’ll catch you.”
“Okay!” Kip stepped onto the ledge and hoisted one leg over the glass. Scott helped him over, and Kip fell into his arms.
“You did it!” Kip said.
“I did it,” Scott agreed.
They stood there for a moment, still holding each other and smiling, and maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through him, or maybe the whole night had just felt like such a wonderful dream and there was only one thing that could make it perfect and that was...
He could see the surprise in Kip’s eyes as Scott leaned in and kissed him. Scott thought it might just be a quick peck,
but as soon as their lips touched, he just went for it. He kissed Kip like they were alone and maybe hadn’t seen each other in months. He kissed him like a man who had everything he had ever dreamed of.
When they broke apart, Kip gaped at him. “Holy shit!”
“I don’t care,” Scott said. “I love you.”
And it was true. He didn’t care. Well, he cared that now he may have pulled focus from his teammates and their achievement a bit. He knew he’d feel bad about that, especially when he glanced up at the giant scoreboard screens and saw a live shot of himself and Kip, wrapped up in each other.
“Well,” Kip said giddily, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now.”
“Mm. May as well go for broke, then.”
Scott kissed him again, and everything around them disappeared. It was just Scott and the man he loved, making out in a penalty box.
But then, reality. Which was also pretty excellent at the moment.
“The press is gonna want a word with me, I think,” Scott said, glancing at the ice. There were a lot of stunned faces staring at them.
“Go,” Kip said, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Okay, but listen: I’m going to the dressing room with my team in a few minutes, and we can bring in family and friends soon. Come talk to Huff’s wife, Laura. She’ll tell you where to go. She’s done this a few times.”
“Scott. Go. For fuck’s sake, stop worrying about me. You just won the Stanley Cup!”
Scott beamed. “I just won the Stanley Cup!”
“Yes. Get out there and be a hero, Hunter!”
But Scott refused to leave him behind. Not yet. This place was too chaotic, and he had to make sure Kip would be taken care of. He grabbed onto his hand and pulled him onto the ice with him. Kip slipped a bit when his sneakers hit the ice, and Scott steadied him with an arm around his waist.
There was a microphone in Scott’s face almost immediately. He let go of Kip and gestured toward Huff, who skated over.
“You must be Kip,” Huff said.
“I am, yes.”
“Figured. The kissing gave it away.”
Kip blushed and Scott smiled—he probably wouldn’t stop smiling for days. Maybe months.
“Welcome to the extended Admirals family, kid,” Huff said. “Come meet the Huffs.”
Scott watched Huff as he led Kip away from the media throng that had formed. Huff was truly the best.
Scott turned toward the reporters and cameras.
“So,” he said, “any questions?”
* * *
If Kip had thought the game had been wild, it was nothing compared to the party in the locker room after.
The room was packed with excited, sweaty men, proud wives and girlfriends, sleepy kids, the press. Beer and champagne were flowing—Scott and his teammates were drinking champagne out of the Stanley Cup. Men were singing, men were yelling, men were crying.
Scott and Kip had gotten separated quite a few times, and it had given Kip an opportunity to notice the stares he was receiving from...basically everyone.
But he refused to shrink away. Scott wanted him there, so there he was.
Carter Vaughan caught him when Kip had been standing alone. “Here’s the guy I’ve been wanting to meet! Come here, man!”
Before Kip knew what was happening, Carter enveloped him in a sweaty hug. “Kip, Kip, Kip. I love that fucking name, you know. So, what the fuck, right? Did you and Scott Hunter really just make out in front of the whole damn world?”
“We really did.” Kip was still buzzing about it.
“That’ll get a few tweets.”
Kip smiled. “I expect so.”
“Scott Hunter’s got a boyfriend.” Carter shook his head, grinning. “Man, I can’t even imagine what it’s like dating a dude that perfect.”
“It’s pretty great.”
Someone handed Carter a beer, and Carter said, “Hey, get one for my man Kip, all right?”
When whoever it was returned with a beer for Kip, Carter asked, “So what’s your story, Kip? Scott said you’re a student?”
“About to be again, yeah. Starting my master’s degree in September.”
“You play sports at all?” the beer guy—who was drinking a Coke himself—asked.
“Nah.”
“Sorry,” Carter said, “this rude asshole is Eric Bennett. You don’t recognize him because he usually has a mask over his face.”
“Hi,” Bennett said.
Kip nodded. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations.”
“You a hockey fan?” Carter asked.
“I am now, for sure. I’ve always liked watching hockey. Hadn’t been following too closely, until...”
“Until you started dating the biggest star in the game?”
“Right. Yeah.”
Carter looked at him with some curiosity. “So you’re not a Scott Hunter fanboy. You just happened to meet him?”
“Yeah. He didn’t tell you?”
“Nope. Is it cute?”
Kip shrugged. “It’s probably boring. One day he just came into the place I worked. It’s, uh...it’s a smoothie shop. Anyway. He got a smoothie, and then he came back the next day...and again...”
“That,” Carter said with a wide grin, “is fucking cute. He picked you up at work? I didn’t think Hunter had any game!”
“He didn’t, really. Pick me up, I mean. He just kind of kept coming in. And I sort of...hinted...”
Carter shared a knowing look with Bennett. “Yeah, that makes a lot more sense. He was probably hoping you might just trip and fall on him or something if he kept showing up.”
“Maybe. It all worked out in the end, anyway.”
“You ready to be in the middle of a media storm when this gets out?” Bennett asked.
“No,” Kip said, straightening his spine. “But I’ll be there. Right by Scott’s side.”
Carter laughed. “All right, stand down, soldier. We’ve got your back. I like you, Kip. Almost as much as I like saying your name.”
“Thanks.”
Scott joined their little circle, draping a heavy arm across Kip’s shoulders. “Are these guys bothering you?” he asked with a sloppy grin. It was possible he’d had a lot of champagne already.
“We’re just trying to figure out how a guy this great ended up with a mess like you, Hunter,” Carter joked.
“I don’t know either, but I’m sure glad he did,” Scott said, and he kissed Kip on the cheek. Kip turned bright red. He glanced at Carter and Bennett, expecting them to be looking away, but they were both just smiling at them.
Scott dipped his head to speak directly into Kip’s ear. “They’re kicking out everyone who isn’t on the team, but I’ll see you at home, right?”
“Definitely. But I don’t expect you anytime soon. It’s your night. Have fun, okay?”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you.”
And then Scott had kissed him quickly on the mouth. It was just a peck, but it was no small gesture, given where they were standing.
Kip practically floated all the way home, replaying the last couple of hours in his head and dreaming of the future.
* * *
Kip spent a few hours back at home staring at his phone.
He had received a lot of texts that night.
Maria: Aaaahhh!!! What the FUCK???!! That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen?????
Shawn: You. Fucking. Bitch. You lying fucking bitch. We’re getting lunch together. SOON.
Kyle: First of all, congratulations and I am happy for you. Secondly, holy fucking shit!
Megan: Um... WHAT?!
He’d also gotten texts from people he hadn’t talked to in months. There had been a couple of missed calls from his parents. He would return them tomorrow.
Elena had left the game at some point, but she had texted him. Congratulations. You boys just made history.
A second text said, Seriously, though, I almost cried.
Kip kept watching the same video over and over again. It was the interview Scott had done on the ice, immediately after they’d kissed. It, along with many photos and screengrabs of them kissing, had gone viral.
“Sure, yeah,” Scott had told the interviewer, who had asked him if he wanted to comment on what everyone had just witnessed. “I was just celebrating a little with my boyfriend.”
“I don’t think that the world was aware that you’re...”
“Gay? Yes, I’m gay. I was planning on making some sort of official announcement, but what the hell, right? Everyone is here now.”
The interviewer had been silent a moment, seemingly stunned, before she blinked and said, “And...are you... Is there anything you want to tell us about him?”
“Absolutely. He means the world to me and I love him.”
Kip grinned like an idiot every time he watched it. Scott’s voice was so steady. So confident, like he had no regret at all. No looking back.
Kip tried not to pay too much attention to what social media was saying about it, but a glance told him that there seemed to be more people who were thrilled than who were disgusted. Definitely a lot of shock on both sides, though.
“This is going to be fucking nuts,” Kip muttered to his phone. Starting tomorrow morning, his life was going to be very different.
But tonight he was at home, madly in love, and so fucking happy. He was proud of Scott for so many reasons.
He watched the interview again.
* * *
Scott was surprised, but not really, to find Kip sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, and not in bed, when he got home. It was almost three-thirty in the morning.
He was wearing sleep pants and a tank top, and he was everything Scott wanted to see at that moment.
“You’re awake,” Scott said stupidly.
“Of course. You seem less drunk than I was expecting.” Kip slid off the stool and crossed the floor to meet Scott.
“I stopped drinking a while ago.” Scott put his hands on Kip’s waist.