Kip bounced his way back to Scott’s (their?) apartment after his final shift at Straw+Berry. He tossed his strawberry baseball cap into a garbage can on the way.
It would be a quick stop at home to change because he was heading out to meet Maria and Elena for a celebratory drink. But he wanted to see Scott first because tonight was game six of the finals, and there was every chance that the playoffs would end tonight with the Admirals winning the Cup. Kip would be at the game later, of course, but he was hoping to steal a quiet moment with Scott before what was sure to be a hectic and exciting evening.
Scott had had a team meeting that morning, but he said he’d be home in the afternoon for a nap and to generally try to relax before the big game. The long flights and time zone differences between New York and Los Angeles had been adding to the stress of the series.
In the apartment, Kip found Scott in bed.
“Hey,” Scott said, hoisting himself up on an elbow. Messy hair, thick beard, muscles everywhere—Kip still couldn’t believe this was his boyfriend. “How was the last shift?”
“Uneventful,” Kip said. “But I brought you something. For luck.”
He held out a blue smoothie. The last one he would ever have to make.
“Aww,” Scott said, reaching for it. “I hope the new staff can make them this good.”
Kip feigned horror. “You would let another guy make you a smoothie?”
Scott smiled around the straw. “I’d be thinking of you the whole time. I promise.”
Kip kissed his hair. “I gotta head out in a minute. Maria and Elena are meeting me in, like, half an hour.” He pulled his grubby T-shirt off.
“I guess I have to head to the rink soon anyway,” Scott sighed. “Are you guys gonna be talking about me?”
“Definitely,” Kip said, as he pulled a fresh pair of jeans out of the dresser. “Maria has been calling this the Secret Meeting of the Society of People Who Know about Scott and Kip. I expect at least a hundred questions from her.”
Scott chuckled and shook his head. “Not gonna be a secret much longer, I guess.”
Kip pulled a clean T-shirt on, and walked over to the bed. He tilted Scott’s face up, and gave him a slow, adoring kiss that tasted like blueberries. “When you’re ready,” he said gently. “Even just having my parents and some of my friends knowing about us makes me feel a lot better. No rush for the rest of the world.”
He turned to walk to the bathroom, but Scott grabbed his wrist. Kip turned back.
“Thank you,” Scott said. His face and his tone were very serious. His eyes looked like they were trying to say more, and Kip wished they would because he had no idea why Scott was thanking him.
“For what?”
“Everything. I don’t know what will happen tonight—if we’ll win, or if I’ll be getting on a plane to L.A. right after the game—but I want you to know that I wouldn’t even be playing tonight if it wasn’t for you.”
Kip’s brow furrowed. “Of course you would be. What do I have to do with—?”
Scott shook his head. “I was miserable, Kip. I know my life seems pretty great—and it is, in a lot of ways—but I was so lonely. And it got harder every year. This season, before I met you, it was like...” He seemed to struggle for words. Kip took his hand and squeezed it.
“It was like,” Scott continued, “I had lost my love of hockey. Like...the fire went out, y’know?”
Kip sat on the bed beside him. “And you think you found it again...because of me?”
“Yeah. I do. I hated myself for feeling so miserable because I had achieved my dreams and I have all this success and money and I live in this great city, but... I mean, nine seasons of coming home from road trips to no one. Of summers with no boyfriend to travel with, and no family to visit. Nine seasons of not having a date to team functions, or to the NHL Awards. Of not having someone I love in the crowd at games. It was weighing on me.”
Kip’s heart broke a little. He hated thinking about Scott during those years.
“I wish we had met nine years ago,” he said with a sad smile.
Scott laughed softly. “Yeah, well... I probably wouldn’t have been ready, back then.”
“If you want to play twenty more seasons,” Kip said, “I’ll greet you at home after every road trip. I’ll be in the crowd at as many games as I can get to. And I’ll be your date for anything you want to bring me to.”
Scott smiled. “And the traveling in the summers?”
“As long as I can help pay for it.”
Scott rolled his eyes. “You know, you could work on your stubbornness about letting me pay for things.”
Kip kissed him. “I know. I’ll try to relax about it. I promise. I’ve agreed to live with you, haven’t I? That’s progress!”
Scott kissed his nose. “It is. Now go meet your friends.”
“Okay. Go win the Stanley Cup.”
“Deal.”
* * *
“So,” Maria said, as soon as their server had delivered their micheladas, “what should we talk about? Oh! I know! How about we talk about how your boyfriend is playing in the Stanley Cup finals tonight!”
Kip shook his head, but he couldn’t keep himself from grinning. “I guess that’s interesting,” he said mildly.
“It’s going good with him, right? You’re still totally in love with each other? You can’t screw this up, Kip!”
“It’s going good! We are totally in love. I won’t screw it up. Again.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she pointed a tortilla chip at him menacingly. “You’d better not. I’m living vicariously through you.”
“Oh god. Don’t say that.”
Kip glanced at his phone. Elena had texted twenty minutes ago to say she’d be a little late. He had no choice but to sit there and face the onslaught of Maria’s questions.
“What’s his house like? Is it enormous? Does it have, like, twelve bathrooms?”
“It’s a penthouse, and it has three bathrooms.”
She groaned. “You’re so lucky. When are you moving in?”
“Well, now, I guess. I mean, I still have a couple of boxes of random things at my parents’ house to move over, but I live with Scott full-time now.”
She shook her head, looking bewildered. “You say Scott and I can’t believe you mean...” She glanced around, and whispered, “Scott Hunter. Like, you just call him Scott, as if he’s a normal person!”
“He is a normal person. He just happens to be very good at playing hockey.”
“And he just happens to be a gorgeous babe.”
“Is he a good kisser? Just tell me that he’s a good kisser.”
Kip rolled his eyes. “Oh my god. Where is Elena?”
“Does anyone else know?” Maria asked. “Have you told Shawn?”
“No.” He stirred the salsa absently with a tortilla chip. He felt bad about lying to Shawn, but, “Shawn is a gossip and having to keep this secret might actually kill him. It’s kinder not to tell him.”
At least, that was what Kip told himself. He hoped Shawn wouldn’t hate him once he found out.
“Okay, so, scale of one to ten...”
“No.”
“One being the worst kisser in the world, aka my prom date—”
“No.”
“And ten being, like, that Brokeback Mountain kiss where Heath Ledger broke Jack Gyllenhaal’s nose by kissing him so hard...”
“What? Is that a good kiss?”
“Yes. So where does your boy land on that scale?”
“Um, better than a kiss where my nose gets broken?”
“So an eleven? Fuck, I knew it.”
Kip laughed. “He’s a good kisser, all right? Stop being weird.”
“Who’s a good kisser?” Elena had finally decided to show up.
“Kip’s perfect boyfriend,” Maria grumbled.
“Oh, he’s not perfect,” Elena said cheerfully, taking the empty seat. “His jaw is too chiseled.”
“Mm,” Kip said. “And he’s way too tall.”
“And broad,” Elena added.
“And his thighs are way too thick,” Kip pointed out.
“Just terrible,” she agreed.
“You guys are assholes,” Maria said. “Let me know if any of his teammates are looking for an adorable Latina to take care of.”
Kip snorted. “Adorable?”
“Tell them adorable. By the time they realize I’m a total grouch they will already be in love with me and it will be too late.”
They all laughed.
The three of them spent a few hours eating Mexican food and drinking (but not too much because Kip didn’t want to be drunk for the game). They talked about Elena moving to California, and Maria’s new job, and about Kip’s new job, and about Kip going back to school. He felt good. For the first time in years, he felt confident about his future. His life was more or less on track, even without the perfect dream boyfriend.
But he did have the perfect dream boyfriend. And more than that, he was in love, and no matter how he imagined his future now, it always included Scott.
“We should go,” Elena said, tapping him on the arm. “We need to go see the man you’re obviously daydreaming about play hockey.”
“I wasn’t—Okay. Yes, I was.” He turned to Maria. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get a third ticket, but this game is super sold out.”
“Yeah, no shit. The tickets are going for, like, five thousand dollars online,” Maria said.
“I’ll text you a selfie from the game, all right?”
“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!”
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.
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.
“I’m really fucking proud of you,” Kip said. “For everything tonight.”
Scott kissed him and it was exactly what he had been craving all night. Even while celebrating winning the goddamn Stanley Cup with his teammates, he’d been consumed with the need to kiss his boyfriend.
“Kinda jumped off the cliff there,” he said, after they broke apart. “Sorry. I should have talked to you first, maybe.”
“It’s fine,” Kip said. “Scott, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting it, but... I mean, that was romantic as hell!”
Scott laughed and buried his face in Kip’s neck, kissing just under his chin.
“I love you so much,” he said. His voice had gotten very raspy over the course of the night. He’d done a lot of yelling.
“Love you too, sweetheart. Now come on. Always wanted to take a Stanley Cup champion to bed.”