The Admirals had defeated Detroit in game six, knocking them out of the playoffs. New York was moving on to the Stanley Cup finals against the Western Conference champions, Los Angeles. The series would open in New York in three days.
Today, Scott was going to talk to Coach Murdock. He had asked his coach before the team’s video meeting if he could meet with him privately afterwards.
“If this is bad news I would really rather not hear it,” Murdock said, as soon as Scott had entered the man’s office. His tone was deadly serious, but he was a lot softer than he seemed. He’d want to know either way.
“It’s not,” Scott assured him, and he sat in one of the two chairs across Murdock’s desk from him. “It shouldn’t be, anyway.”
“You’ve got twenty minutes. Shoot.”
Scott exhaled, and started the speech he’d prepared. “There’s something I want to tell you about myself that will probably become public knowledge soon enough. I know the timing isn’t great for this, but I really do think it’s for the good of the team and for myself that I—”
“Jesus Christ, Hunter,” Murdock said. “Can I get the bullet-point format of this thing?”
Murdock froze, and stared at Scott like he’d just told him he was a wizard.
Please don’t yell at me. Not about this.
“You’re gay.”
“Yes.”
Murdock tented his hands in front of his face and leaned back in his chair. When he lowered his hands, he was smiling. “How many times have you said those words out loud?”
Scott smiled shakily back, relieved. It was going to be okay.
“Before now? Twice. The first time was to my agent. The second time to Carter, Huff, and Bennett.”
Murdock nodded. “Smart, telling them first.”
“I thought so.”
“And you’re telling me because...”
“I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. I want to go public. Soon.”
Murdock’s face turned serious again. “When, exactly?”
“After the playoffs,” Scott said quickly. “I promise. I don’t have to tell the rest of the team just yet. I’m not trying to distract anyone.”
Murdock seemed to consider this. “Why now?”
“Because I don’t want to live a lie anymore. And... I’m with someone. It isn’t fair to him.”
“Ah. You’re in love. That makes sense. Love makes men do all sorts of dumbass things.”
Scott gave a small smile. “I think this actually might be the smartest thing I’ve done.”
“You know what’s going to happen, right? When this gets out? You got a plan for that?”
“Kind of.”
Murdock swore under his breath. Scott wondered if maybe they were done. Then Murdock said, “When I played, I was one of about two non-white players in the league.”
Scott didn’t say anything.
“My road to the NHL was...challenging, let’s say. I don’t think there was a single game where I didn’t hear a player, or a fan, or a parent, or, hell, even a ref, have something to say about a Black man playing hockey.”
“You were a trailblazer,” Scott said.
“Sure. In retrospect, maybe. Didn’t feel like that at the time. I just wanted to play hockey. Didn’t think much about my legacy beyond being the greatest center the game had ever seen.”
“Funny thing is that the press, all they wanted to talk about was my skin color. How revolutionary I was. How I was changing the game. How I had overcome so many obstacles. It was all just noise to me back then.”
“And now?”
“Now I look back and I can see why all that noise was important. And I know it was important because players like Vaughan tell me that they were inspired by me. I made them feel a little more certain that they belonged in this sport that we all love.”
Scott nodded. “I know there’s going to be a lot of...noise. I’m prepared for that. I’m focused on my game. On my team. On winning. But if I can make even one kid more comfortable with who they are, make them a little braver about living their life without shame... I’m not going to run from that. I want that.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking about offering Sports Illustrated the story rather than a press conference. Do it quietly, y’know?”
Murdock blew out a breath. “I don’t envy you—which is not something I ever thought I’d say—but I certainly respect the hell out of you, Hunter. I’ve got your back if anyone comes for you.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
They shook hands, and Murdock said, “It’s not Rozanov, is it?”
“Jesus. No! Why does everyone—?”
“Good. I don’t need that kind of circus.”
Scott laughed and left the office. He ran into Carter in the hallway.
“How’d that shit go?” Carter asked.
“Good, actually. I wish I thought everyone would take the news as well as you guys have.”
“Yeah, well...” Carter shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, and looked at the ground. Scott knew he had been struggling a bit to accept Scott’s sexuality. He had been...quieter than usual.
“Listen,” Carter said. “I want you to know—if I’ve been acting weird, or whatever, it’s not because you’re... You know. Gay and shit.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, I’m serious. I don’t have a problem with that. But I guess I do have a problem with you not thinking you could tell me sooner.”
Scott hung his head. “I know. I should have told you. I wanted to. I was just scared.”
“I just hate thinking you were, like, all alone. All that time.”
Scott glanced up at his friend. God, I’ve been such an idiot.
He put a hand on Carter’s shoulder, and Carter stepped forward and hugged him.
“Thanks, Carter.”
Carter thumped him on the back, and they broke apart. “Hey,” Carter said. “I, uh, I had this reservation for tonight. It’s a very private restaurant. Dark, little nooks, expensive as all hell. Anyway, Gloria has to work late, so I was thinking...maybe you could take your man.”
Scott was stunned. “I—I don’t know. I mean, we haven’t—”
“Take your man out on a damn date, Scott. You’re gonna come clean about this shit anyway, right? Ease into it a bit. Like I said, this place is discreet and also romantic as fuck. And delicious. Shit, actually, can I be your date?”
Scott laughed. “I’ll ask him if he wants to go.”
He had no doubt Kip would want to go out somewhere with him. He was less sure that Kip would want to go to a restaurant that was “expensive as all hell.” But he recognized this gesture from Carter for what it was.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “It means a lot. Really.”
Carter punched him in the arm. “Go be happy, asshole.”
* * *
“How fancy is this place?” Kip asked Scott over the phone. “I don’t think I have anything to wear that’s nice enough...”
“Don’t worry about it,” Scott assured him. “Not to sound arrogant, but you’re with me. You can wear whatever you want.”
“I wanna look nice for you.” Kip added a dark blue button-up shirt to the “maybe” pile on his bed.
“You always look nice. Did you get the address I sent you?”
“Yeah. I went to the restaurant’s website. It looks fancy...”
“It’s just a restaurant. Carter chose it, so it’s probably good. He knows food.”
“Yeah, okay.” He made a face at a small hole in the sleeve of a black sweater he’d been considering.
They had agreed to meet at the restaurant because if they met at Scott’s place there was a really good chance they would never make it to dinner.
“The car is going to pick you up at seven,” Scott said. “That okay?”
“Sure. You don’t have to send a car. I can take the train.” He tossed a gray sweater onto the pile.
“I’m sending a car. It’s a special night!”
Kip smiled. “Fine.”
“I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”
“Yeah. Can’t wait.”
“Me neither.”
They ended the call and Kip sighed, frowning again at his sad wardrobe. He hadn’t been able to believe it when Scott had asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner that night. Scott had said he was going to loosen up about their relationship and eventually come out to the world, but Kip hadn’t expected to be going on actual dates like this so soon. He was thrilled, but he was also woefully unprepared to be taken anywhere this posh. The only truly fancy clothing he’d ever owned had been the tux Scott had given him, but that was, he assumed, back at Scott’s apartment. Kip had kind of lost track of the suit after Scott had stripped him out of it.
Besides, nice restaurant or not, the tuxedo would probably be a bit much.
He finally settled on an outfit comprised of his darkest jeans, a dress shirt, a dark tie, and a V-neck sweater in deep plum. He snapped a quick photo of himself and sent it to Elena.
Kip: This look ok?
Elena: For what?
Kip: Dinner with Scott!
Elena: Where are you going?
He told her the name of the restaurant.
Kip nodded at his phone, relieved. Elena sent another message. You look hot, by the way.
He smiled.
This was going to be the best first date ever.
* * *
Scott sat alone at the cozy table for two in the dark corner of the restaurant and tried not to care if anyone was looking at him.
Being alone in public often opened him up to being approached by strangers. He was fine with it most of the time, but tonight was for him and Kip, not for them. This restaurant was very exclusive, though, and Carter hadn’t been kidding about how dark and private the tables were. It was an ideal place for Scott to test the waters a bit. Had Carter invented the story of not being able to use the reservation himself? Maybe he had just booked this with Scott and Kip in mind in the first place. Scott appreciated the gesture, either way.
He sipped some water and glanced again toward the front of the restaurant. Kip should be here any minute.
Scott had spent an absurdly long time getting ready, as if this were a blind date and not dinner with the man he was madly in love with. The man he’d been sharing his life with for months. The man he hoped to share his life with forever.
Finally, at just after seven-thirty, Kip was guided to the table by the maître d’.
Scott’s heart did flips in his chest. Kip looked so handsome, and so happy to see him.
“Hi,” Scott said, standing to give him a quick hug.
“Hi. You’re wearing a suit! I knew I’d be underdressed...”
“You look good,” Scott said, letting his eyes travel over him. “Perfect.”
“If you say so,” Kip grumbled, sliding into the semicircular booth. Their thighs brushed together, but Scott refused to flinch.
“This place is nice,” Kip observed.
“Yeah, uh, Carter said it’s...romantic.”
Kip smiled at him, and Scott blushed.
“I’m just happy to be somewhere with you,” Kip said. “Wouldn’t matter where. But this is nice. Thank you.”
“I’m a little worried that Carter might show up here,” Scott said. “I think he’s sort of keen to meet you.”
“That’s sweet, right?”
“Yeah. It is. I want to introduce you to everyone, but not tonight.”
Kip tapped his foot against Scott’s. “Not tonight.”
“Hey, um, do you want some wine? Or a drink? After tonight I’m abstaining from alcohol until after the finals, so...”
“Is that your rule, or your coach’s?”
“Coach’s. But I would have made the same rule for myself anyway.”
“Tough but fair.”
“Hey, some coaches make their players abstain from sex.”
“Shit. You ever had a coach who did that?”
“Yeah. Once.” Scott leaned in. “The hardest part for me was pretending it was difficult.”
Kip laughed, but it sounded a little sad. Scott touched their knees together under the table and saw a heat in Kip’s eyes that drew him in automatically. He wanted to kiss him.
“Any questions about the wine menu?” the sommelier said, interrupting the moment. Scott snapped backward, and immediately felt bad about it.
He clumsily ordered some wine, with the assistance of the eager-to-please sommelier. People expected Scott to know about things like wine, or to at least be interested, because he had money. He didn’t care about it.
He ordered a bottle of “The first thing you said. That one. Sounds good,” and the man left.
“Sorry,” Scott said as soon as he was gone. “I know I kinda...jumped back, just then.”
“It’s okay.”
“No—It’s—I didn’t mean to. I guess I’m not used to the idea of...”
“Not expecting you to suddenly be comfortable with everything,” Kip said. “We’ll take it slow.”
Scott smiled gratefully at him. Impulsively, he covered Kip’s hand with his own, on top of the table for anyone to see. Kip grinned and flipped his hand over, tangling their fingers together. It felt good. It was exhilarating, but it wasn’t scary.
Kip squeezed his hand, then pulled his own away to pick up his menu. “So what’s good here?”
“I have no idea,” Scott said. “I was checking out the menu a bit before you arrived. I understand about half of it.”
“I’m only going to say this once, because I know it makes me sound like trash, but this place is fucking expensive.”
“You know,” Scott said, “I still balk at prices like these. Even though I can easily afford them, I still instinctively look for the cheapest thing on the menu.”
“There is no cheapest thing on this menu.”
“Order whatever you want,” Scott said, “obviously. I think I’ll get the halibut because at least I know what that is.”
“Jesus. Is it stuffed with hundred-dollar bills?”
The wine arrived, and Kip was obviously trying not to laugh as Scott went through the charade of tasting it and pretending to know if it was any good. He nodded at the pleased sommelier and the man filled their glasses. He left, and their server came and they ordered, and then they were finally alone again.
“Hey,” Kip said in a soft voice, raising his glass. “To whatever’s next.”
“To whatever’s next.”
They had a nice dinner. They drank wine and ate ornate plates of weird food that tasted fantastic. They talked and planned for the future. The wine made everything pleasantly fuzzy, and made Kip seem to glow in the romantic lighting of the restaurant.
Between their main courses and dessert, Scott leaned in and said, “I love being here with you.”
That slow, sexy smile that Scott loved unfurled across Kip’s face. “Me too, sweetheart.”
“I want to take you everywhere. What you said about going dancing. At a club...”
“We will. Anytime you want.”
“Bet you look real good when you’re dancing.”
Kip leaned closer. Scott could smell his aftershave. He wanted to bury his face in Kip’s neck.
“I’d put on a real good show,” Kip drawled. “Everyone would be watching us. But it would all be for you. No one else.”
Scott shifted in his seat. He felt warm. “Damn right,” he growled.
Kip’s eyes widened. Scott had the dim thought that anyone who might be watching them would have no doubt that they were two men who were sexually interested in each other.
Sexually obsessed with each other, really.
Did he care anymore? God, he wanted to kiss Kip.
“What are you thinking about right now?” Kip asked.
Scott took the dare. “Kinda want to blow you under the table.”
Kip smiled and bit his lip. It was the sexiest thing Scott had ever seen.
“Well, that should get everyone’s attention,” he said, his eyes glittering with mischief.
Where the fuck was that stupid dessert they’d ordered?
“You’re a bad influence, Grady.”
“Mm. Corrupting New York’s perfect boy.”
“I was so sweet and innocent before I met you,” Scott smirked.
“If they only knew what kind of filth falls from those pretty lips when you’re—”
The server arrived with their desserts. Scott blushed and sat straight up, thanking him a little too forcefully when he set the plate down.
After the server left, Kip smiled and Scott shook his head and let out a shaky laugh.
“This is the problem with taking you anywhere,” Scott said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about how you have exactly three minutes to eat that dessert because I am getting you back to my place as soon as fucking possible.”
“What, no coffee?”
“I’ll make you coffee in the goddamn morning.”