Chapter Eight
“Three nines,” Greg Huff announced, fanning his cards out on the table. “What you got, Hunter?”
“Fuck all,” Scott said, tossing his useless cards down.
“Knew it,” Huff said. “You’re a terrible fucking liar, Scotty.”
He gleefully swept up the small pile of twenties toward himself. Carter laughed and handed Scott a fresh bottle of beer. Scott took it gratefully.
“Your deal, Bennett,” Carter said.
The four of them were gathered in Huff’s hotel room in Philadelphia. Huff had kicked his young roommate out for a couple of hours so the four of them could enjoy an “old timers” poker game.
“So, Carter,” Huff said, “how’s it going with Gloria Grey?”
“It’s nice. She’s coming to New York this weekend. Gonna be at the game on Saturday…and at my apartment later that night and all day Sunday.”
“Congratulations, man,” Eric Bennett said, “that’s great.”
“Lucky bastard.” Huff smirked. “How about you, Hunter? You been seein’ anyone?”
“Why would I tell you assholes?” Scott deflected.
“Come on,” Bennett said. “We’re old and married. Give us something.”
“Sorry to disappoint you guys.”
“Scott here is saving himself for marriage,” Carter said, placing a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “And he’s saving marriage for after he dies.”
The others laughed.
“I’m just busy,” Scott argued. “You guys know that.”
“Yeah, and we’ve got nothing but time,” Huff said. “Come on. Is there really no one? All those good looks going to waste?”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“He’s seeing your sister, Huff,” Bennett joked.
“You know I only have a brother,” Huff said, “and I don’t think Howie’s his type.”
They all laughed. Scott did too, though it was forced. It wasn’t untrue, what Huff said. Scott had met his brother before and, no, he was not Scott’s type. But that’s not why his friends were laughing. It wasn’t the idea of Scott dating Howie. It was of Scott dating any man.
“Fuck all of you,” Scott said. Not in a serious tone. He loved these guys, really. They were just…guys.
They went back to playing poker and Scott’s love life wasn’t mentioned again.
Scott envied his teammates. He could only imagine what it would be like to not be burdened by his…
otherness. He wished he could just magically be what people expected hockey players to be.
But he considered the three men who were playing cards with him—NHL stars, all of them—and none of them quite fit the mold.
Carter, most obviously, with his dark skin.
Scott knew he had dealt with racist comments from players and fans his whole life.
Huff was short. He was listed as five-eight, but Scott sometimes wondered if he had been measured while wearing skates.
And Bennett seemed more like a kindergarten teacher than a superstar goaltender.
He never drank or partied, and he had an English degree.
So maybe there was no “normal” way to be a hockey player. But that didn’t change the fact that the favored insults thrown around the ice were homophobic slurs. In the world of hockey, being gay was considered, at best, a joke, and at worst, disgusting.
As long as Scott was careful—and he was—no one need ever know that he was different.
Scott went back to his own room before eleven. Evenings ended early when they had a game the next day. His roommate was in bed, reading.
Scott stretched out on his own bed and pulled out his phone. He sent Kip a message:
I miss you.
The reply was almost immediate.
Kip: Already? ;)
Scott grinned and blushed. Had it really only been that morning that he and Kip had woken up together in Scott’s apartment? The rest of the day had been a happy blur, as Scott had floated his way through a practice before boarding a plane to Philadelphia.
Scott: Already.
The next reply came a little slower.
Kip: Me too.
Scott rolled so his back was to his roommate. He knew the kid, a rookie named Gillis, wouldn’t have the nerve to ask what his captain was smiling stupidly about, but still…
Scott wrote back. Was thinking about Friday.
Kip: Friday?
Scott: It’s Valentine’s Day.
Kip: Oh!
Scott: Will you come over that night? I want to cook you dinner.
Kip: I’ll check my schedule.
Scott: Oh. Ok.
Kip: I’m free. I was kidding.
Scott rolled his eyes. He felt like an idiot.
Scott: Can I call you?
Kip: Yes.
Scott sat up and said to his roommate, “I’m going to make a phone call. Be back in a bit.”
He walked out of the room and took the elevator to the lobby. He ducked into the little business center room, which was empty, and called Kip. He sat in one of the desk chairs and swiveled from side to side while he waited for him to answer.
“Hi,” Kip said, after two rings.
“Hey.”
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” he teased. “Big game tomorrow.”
“I will be soon. I just…wanted to hear your voice.” Scott cringed at how hokey that was. He wasn’t good at this.
“I miss you.”
Scott smiled at his phone. “I miss you too. Did you find a tailor? I would offer to pay for it, but I have a feeling you’ll turn me down.”
“You’re right. I would,” Kip said. “I was going to ask Elena if she knew a good one, but then I thought…”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to… I mean, she kinda…”
“She knows?”
“No! No. She doesn’t. I mean, I didn’t tell her about us. I just… She’s gonna figure it out, y’know? She’s smart. And…she knows I like you. But, yeah. If she learns I somehow scored a free Hugo Boss tuxedo, she’s gonna have questions.”
Scott frowned. “Right.”
“Maybe…maybe I should rent a tux. Just to be…safe.”
“No, that’s… No. You should…” Scott sighed, and hoped he wouldn’t regret this. “You should tell her. If you want. You said she’s your best friend?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell her. I don’t want us to come between you and your best friend.”
“Thanks.” Kip sounded relieved. “I really want to tell her. And she can keep a secret better than anyone. She’s the best. You’d like her.”
“I’d love to meet her.”
“Save her a dance at the gala.”
“Deal. I’m a terrible dancer, though.”
“She’s an amazing dancer. She’ll make you look good. Promise.”
“Okay,” Scott said absently. Kip sounded like a weight had been lifted, but Scott felt like it had been placed directly onto him. He chewed his thumb.
“So, Valentine’s Day, huh?” Kip said cheerfully, changing the subject.
“Hm?”
“You wanna cook for me?”
“Right…yeah.” Scott shook his head. Get your head in the game, Hunter. “Yes,” he said, more convincingly, “I do.”
“Didn’t know you cooked.”
“I can cook,” Scott said. “I was a latchkey kid. I made a lot of the meals for Mom and me when she was working late at the grocery store. And later…when she got sick.”
“Sorry,” Kip said. He seemed genuinely embarrassed. “I should have figured.”
“No! I wasn’t saying that to make you feel bad. I just…like telling you things about me.”
“I want to know everything about you,” Kip said quietly.
Scott thought his heart might burst. He was so touched by Kip’s words that he didn’t notice that he hadn’t replied, until Kip said, “Oh god. That was a bit intense. Sorry.”
“Not at all,” Scott said. “You can ask me anything.”
“Anything, huh? How about…what are you gonna cook for me?” Kip’s tone was relaxed and playful again.
“Not telling. It’s a surprise.” Scott grinned. “Oh, shit. Unless… Do you have any allergies?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Then it’s a surprise.”
Scott picked up a pen that was sitting on the desk in front of him and started absentmindedly doodling on a hotel notepad. “How was your day?”
“Fine. Not too exciting. Except, y’know, you.”
“Tell me everything that happened. I just want to hear your voice.”
Kip talked about the podcast he’d listened to on the way home from Scott’s that morning, and about the woman he saw with an iguana in a baby carrier, while Scott listened and drew little swirls on the notepad.
“So, yeah,” Kip said, when Scott’s swirls had reached the edge of the page. “That’s about it. Not a very exciting day.”
Kip yawned, which made Scott aware of the time. “Oh god, I’m keeping you up. You have to work early tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I should go to bed.”
“Okay. Me too.”
“But Scott? I’m glad you called.”
Scott smiled into the phone. “I’m glad I did too.”
“I’ll watch the game tomorrow night.”
“I’ll score a goal for you.”
“Fuck off.”
“I will! First goal is yours. Remember that.”
“All right. It’ll be our secret.”
“Yeah,” Scott said quietly.
After they said goodbye, and after Scott pocketed the notepad he’d been doodling in, he exited the business room and walked back through the lobby. He was met by Frank Zullo. He had a young woman on his arm, and they both seemed pretty drunk.
“Evening, Hunter,” Zullo said, with more than a little sneer in his tone.
“Zullo.” Scott nodded. “Just getting in?”
“Sure. Just, ah, heading to bed, y’know?”
“Pretty sure you already have a roommate,” Scott said, glancing at the young woman.
“Hey! Shit! You’re that big superstar guy!” she slurred.
“Come on, darlin’,” Zullo said, giving Scott a hard look as he guided the woman past him.
“Video meeting tomorrow morning at nine sharp,” Scott called after him.
Zullo ignored him and got into an elevator.
Scott sighed. This was going to be a pain in the ass for Zullo’s roommate.
The team had a policy of placing older players with younger ones in hotel rooms on the road.
Scott, as captain, usually roomed with rookies and new additions to the team.
It was a system that typically worked well, and kept a lot of the younger players out of trouble.
But sometimes the older players were the problems.
Scott took the next elevator up to the team’s floor. He didn’t know what room Zullo was in, so he walked the hall a bit until he heard a door open. Sure enough, Zullo’s young roommate, a French-Canadian kid named Brisebois, wandered into the hall. He looked like he had been asleep.
If Scott knocked on the door and tried to talk to Zullo, it would just turn into a fight that would wake everyone on the floor up. He’d talk to him tomorrow.