Epilogue
Scott felt Kip’s hand squeeze his own. He returned the gesture, reassuring him.
I’m fine. I’ve got this.
They sat together in the audience of the NHL Awards in Las Vegas. The nominees for the final award of the night, the league MVP, were being read from the stage, Scott’s name among them. Winning would be nice, but he wasn’t concerned about that as much as he was hoping for an opportunity to speak.
“And the Hart Trophy goes to,” said the presenter, “Scott Hunter!”
Scott exhaled and stood. Here we go. Kip released his hand and smiled at him, and Scott found strength in that smile.
He ignored the fluttering in his stomach as he turned and made his way to the stage.
He took the trophy from the presenter and held it up for a moment before setting it carefully on the floor next to the podium.
“Hi,” he said when the applause had died down. There was scattered laughter.
“First of all, thank you for this. All of my fellow nominees are just as deserving. Even Rozanov.” There was more laughter.
He looked down for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He probably should have written something out, but that sort of planning was never really his style.
“A few weeks ago,” he started, “I achieved my lifelong dream of winning the Stanley Cup. Those of you who have done that know how it feels. I really can’t describe it.
But…something else happened that night. Something that, you’ve probably noticed, got a lot more attention than the Admirals winning the Cup. ”
The audience was very quiet now. He could feel the tension in the room. Is he really going to talk about this? Here?
“It’s been an interesting month,” he continued.
“In case you somehow missed it, I came out as gay in a ridiculously public way. I don’t regret that, and I never will.
I know it was a shock to most people. And, sadly, it’s been a disappointment to some.
I know people have been burning their Scott Hunter jerseys, which, by the way, is not a good idea.
Those are polyester, and are full of chemicals. ”
The crowd laughed. They sounded relieved.
“I, uh, I got a Twitter account a couple of weeks ago,” Scott said.
“I’ve always been a very private person.
Or, as private as I can be, considering.
I love meeting fans, but I never shared my life in any public way.
What I’ve seen, these past few weeks, is that maybe it’s important that I do, a bit.
Fans have been sending me messages, a lot of young fans, telling me how much it meant to them for me to come out. ”
Scott didn’t mention that he had also received emails and phone calls from a few fellow NHL players, saying similar things. He wasn’t here to start rumors or speculation.
“I love hockey. I love being able to do this for a living. But,” he said, “I know what it feels like to not fit in.
“When I was a teenager, when it started to look like a career in hockey was a real possibility, two things happened. One was that my mother died. The other was that I began to realize that I might be that thing that every hockey player liked to throw around as an insult. The kind of language I heard on the ice, and in the locker room, every day was a constant reminder that I was different. Maybe it made me a better player. Maybe it gave me another reason to prove myself. But it also made me terrified that someone would find out my secret.”
The room was silent.
“When you have a secret that you work as hard to protect as I did,” Scott said, “it’s exhausting. It’s a nonstop effort, trying to keep it hidden, and the fear of people finding out consumes you. It also makes you lonely.”
He paused a moment. He was probably overstaying his welcome, but he wasn’t done.
“I’ve been extremely fortunate. I have a lot, and I’m grateful. But I was always missing something very important in my life. And this year, I found it.”
Scott’s eyes landed on Kip, and he could see that his lips were pressed together and his eyes were wet.
“I’ve attended a lot of my teammates’ weddings over the years, and I listened to a lot of speeches about love, or finding that person who changes everything for them.
I never really got it, though. I’d assumed that I never would get it.
It wasn’t for me. But this year… I met someone.
I met that person. The person who changes everything.
And he gave me the confidence, and the strength, and the need, to be honest about who I am.
Fear is a powerful thing, but this year I found the thing that is more powerful. ”
People were turning to look at Kip now. There was probably a camera on him too, for the live broadcast.
“So I share this honor with my teammates, and my coaches,” Scott said, needing to wrap it up, “but I also share it with you, Kip. You have made me better, in every way. I love you.”
Kip mouthed I love you too back at him.
“And, uh, one of the gay clubs here in Vegas is having a Scott Hunter night tonight, so that’s where I’ll be later, if any of you wanna come dance.”
There was scattered laughter, and a distinct “whoop” that Scott was sure was Carter. He smiled.
“Thank you,” he said. Then he picked up his trophy and left the stage to wild applause.
* * *
Scott drummed his fingers against his knee, possibly to the thumping beat of the club music. More likely to the internal rhythm of his racing heart.
He was in a club. A gay nightclub. Which was packed with people who were ostensibly celebrating him.
He could be cool about this. Absolutely.
It helped that he was surrounded by friends. More than helped. He didn’t have words to describe how much it meant to him to have the people who meant the most to him here with him tonight.
Carter and Gloria sat on the couch across from him in the cozy VIP section. Beside them sat Huff, with Bennett relaxing in a chair by himself. Matti Jalo stood at the railing, watching the dance floor below them.
Scott’s invitation had been sincere; he would have loved to have seen anyone from the audience of the NHL Awards here at the club tonight. He hadn’t honestly been expecting anyone to actually show up, beyond Carter, Huff, and Bennett. Even Jalo was a surprise.
“Elena said she loved the speech and wishes she could be here,” Kip said as he set his phone down on the table in front of them. He shifted a little closer to Scott, pressing their bodies together on the couch and giving him a reassuring pat on the knee. “How are you doing?”
“Good,” Scott said. “Really. I’m happy.”
And he was. It was weird, being famous for a whole new reason. For just being who he was. He had fans now who didn’t even watch hockey.
It was going to be an interesting summer.
Scott was going to be doing a lot of press that summer, including a Sports Illustrated feature. This time the focus would be almost entirely on his sexuality and private life. It was nerve-racking, but he understood why it was important.
Kip had argued against a European vacation; he was determined to work as many shifts at the Kingfisher as he could before school started.
Scott knew better than to fight him on that, but Kip had been getting better about letting Scott pay for things.
Things like this trip to Las Vegas, which had been Kip’s first time on an airplane.
Scott was happy he was there for that, and he looked forward to experiencing many more firsts with Kip.
He also really enjoyed visiting Kip at work. The Kingfisher now had named a drink after Scott. Only Kip and Scott knew why it had blueberry juice in it.
“You look incredible tonight,” Scott said in a low voice, his lips brushing Kip’s ear. “Have I told you that yet?”
He did look incredible. He always looked perfect to Scott, but this was the first time he had seen him done up to go out.
He looked effortlessly sexy—sensual—in a way that Scott was sure he could never achieve himself.
He was wearing a deep V-neck black T-shirt and charcoal jeans that were so tight Scott wondered how he had managed to put them on and, with some concern, how they might be removed later.
His hair was messily arranged to create a look that appeared both careless and meticulous.
But the thing that was really distracting Scott tonight was the touch of eyeliner that Kip was wearing.
There was something about it that excited Scott, like he was leveling up.
He was officially, boldly, staring down the homophobic stereotypes that got thrown around locker rooms and saying, yes, Scott Hunter—captain of the New York Admirals and model of rugged masculinity—was going to a gay nightclub with his pretty, painted boyfriend.
Scott tangled their fingers together and held tight. Let the world make no mistake: Kip Grady was his.
“This is fun, yes?” Jalo’s voice boomed, even over the pounding music. “Scott Hunter night!”
“I was expecting more,” Carter complained. “Where’s the theming?”
Kip laughed. “What were you expecting?”
Carter shrugged. “Go-go dancers in jocks, maybe? With hockey sticks? Maybe an ice sculpture in the shape of Hunter?”
It was true that Scott Hunter Night seemed to mostly consist of Scott being in the building, but still. It was nice.
“I’m going to hit the bathroom,” Scott said to Kip. “Be right back.”
A few minutes later, as he was making his way back to his friends through the throngs of people, he glanced to his left and noticed a tall, fit man leaning elegantly against a pillar, just outside the VIP area. It took Scott a moment to recognize him, and when he did, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Rozanov?” he asked. Ilya Rozanov grinned lazily as Scott headed toward him.
“What are you doing here?” Scott shouted over the music.
Rozanov shrugged. “Wanted to see what Scott Hunter Night was. Is not as bad as it sounds.”
Scott snorted and shook his head. “Did you really come to a gay bar in Vegas just to make fun of me?”