Chapter Twelve
“That shot must have been a hundred miles an hour!” Kip’s father said.
“Fuck, Scott, come on. Get up.”
Scott lay crumpled on the ice in the fetal position, one leg slowly moving in and out. Kip felt sick. He wanted to run down and jump over the glass.
“Did it get him in the face?” someone behind him asked loudly.
No… Kip mouthed.
“Nah. Maybe the ribs,” someone else said.
God.
Scott rolled, and Kip could see his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open and gasping.
“He can’t breathe!” Kip said to no one and anyone. “He can’t breathe! He needs…”
Scott put a gloved hand down on the ice, bracing himself before he slowly pushed himself up to his knees.
He was wincing, with his eyes squeezed shut, but he seemed to be breathing.
He wrapped an arm around himself, holding his side.
One of his teammates hooked their arm under his and helped him up. Another picked up his stick for him.
Scott skated slowly off the ice, supported by his teammate, while the crowd applauded.
Kip slumped back into his seat with relief. He’s all right. He’s all right.
Dad put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “He’s a tough one.”
“Yeah.” Kip exhaled. He watched as Scott was escorted by the team doctor down the hall behind the bench.
The game continued, but Kip was no longer paying attention. He kept his eyes on the bench, watching for any sign of Scott’s return.
The final seconds ticked down, and the match ended 3–2 for the Admirals. Scott never came back from the dressing room. Kip wasn’t sure what he could do. He was supposed to go to Scott’s tonight, but…
As he and his father were leaving the arena, Kip sent Scott a text: Just tell me you’re ok.
There was no reply, which Kip had expected. Scott probably wasn’t anywhere near his phone right now.
On the subway, his father said, “Hunter’s got heart, that’s for sure. That act of self-sacrifice may have won them the game.”
Kip chewed his lip. “Yeah…”
They trudged along the slushy sidewalks from the subway station to their house. He felt bad that he couldn’t enjoy his dad’s company right now. He’d been having a great afternoon, but now he was completely preoccupied with worry.
They had been home for almost an hour before Kip got a reply from Scott. I’m ok. Nasty bruise, but ok. Heading home now.
Kip sat on his bed, hard, and wrote back, Good. You scared me.
Scott: Sorry. Looked worse than it was, probably.
Kip frowned. You still want me to come over?
His phone rang a second later.
“Yes,” Scott said.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I mean… I don’t know if I’ll be able to…do much.”
“I knew it! You are hurt!”
“It’s not that bad. It’s just a bruise. I put ice on it, and I’ll put more ice on it when I get home. No fractures. No bruised ribs.”
“You got an X-ray?”
“Yes, of course. They gave me an X-ray right in the arena. No fractures. Please come over.”
“All right. You’d better have an ice pack on that when I get there.”
“I will,” Scott said. “And I like that you’re so worried about me. It’s really…sweet.”
Kip blushed, because what was he doing? Telling an NHL superstar how to care for his injuries? “I just—I’m glad you’re all right. I’ll be right over. And I’m serious about the ice pack.”
Scott chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
“All right, let’s see it,” Kip said. Scott had been unable to keep himself from grimacing as he walked Kip back up to his apartment. Kip, of course, had noticed.
Now Scott was laid out on the couch, and Kip was carefully lifting his shirt up.
“It looks worse than it is,” Scott said. “Really.”
“Oh my god!”
Scott glanced down and saw the massive black-and-purple welt that covered most of his right side. The puck had hit him just under his rib cage, just above the thick padding at the top of his hockey pants.
“It’s not that bad.” It had hurt like hell, and had completely knocked the wind out of him, but there were no internal injuries.
“Bullshit it’s not! You’re staying right there. I hope you have an ice pack ready to go on that,” Kip said as he walked to the kitchen.
“I have several,” Scott said, “always. I barely keep food in that freezer. It’s all injury treatment stuff.”
Kip returned with a fresh ice pack and pressed it gently to Scott’s skin. Scott sucked in a breath at the initial contact, then relaxed and placed his hand over Kip’s, helping him hold the pack in place.
“It’s been a long time since anyone’s fussed over me like this,” he said. “It’s nice.”
Kip gave him a smile that was a little sad, and Scott squeezed his hand.
“Sorry I scared you,” he said. “Hazard of dating me, I guess.”
“Acceptable hazard.” Kip slipped his hand out from under Scott’s and stood. “I’m gonna make you some dinner. You have any food?”
“I have the stuff I bought to make you breakfast the other day. Bacon and eggs. It’s still in there. Here, let me help—”
“No way. You’re benched, Hunter. Stay there.”
Scott rolled his eyes and stood up, slowly. “I’m at least going to move over to the kitchen so I can see you.”
He made his way (with some discomfort) to the stools that lined the high counter separating the kitchen from the living/dining area. He sat and offered Kip helpful instructions about where to find things, and how to use his fancy gas range.
It was nice, having Kip here in his kitchen. Watching him prepare food for the two of them, and hearing him talk about his day.
“Over easy? Sunny-side up?” Kip asked. “I’m an egg expert.”
“Over easy. It’s okay if you fuck them up, though. I drown them in hot sauce anyway.”
“I will not fuck them up!” Kip said as he carefully flipped the eggs. “You know, I used to do this professionally and… Aw, dammit! I broke a yolk!”
Scott laughed. “It’s fine. I’ll eat it, believe me. I’ll eat just about anything.”
Kip raised an eyebrow and pressed his lips together.
They sat next to each other at the kitchen counter and ate their bacon, eggs, and toast. Kip looked so happy and cute, and Scott lamented that he wouldn’t be able to do much more than kiss him tonight.
Which reminded him of another annoyance.
“I should warn you,” Scott said, “I’m going to be stressed out and distracted this week.”
“Why’s that?”
“The trade deadline is next Monday. Probably the most stressful day of the year for every player.”
“But you’re not…you’re not gonna be traded, right?” Kip looked horrified at the thought.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, there’s always a chance, but we’re making a run for the cup this year, so I doubt they’ll get rid of me. I’d be worried if the team needed to cut some costs.”
“So why are you nervous?”
“Because someone will be leaving. With Zullo gone, we have a hole to fill in our defense, and to fill it we’re going to have to lose a guy or two. We’re like family, so it’s hard.”
“Right, yeah. I guess it would be like that.”
They talked and ate, and Scott tried, but failed, to keep himself from visibly leaning on the counter for support.
“Come on,” Kip said, after Scott wasn’t able to conceal a wince. “You must be hurting. Let’s go back to the couch.”
Scott didn’t argue. Kip helped Scott lower himself onto the couch, letting him stretch out on his back. Kip sat at one end so Scott could rest his head in his lap. They watched an action movie on television, and Kip brushed his fingers through Scott’s hair.
And soon, Scott forgot all about trade deadlines and Zullo and nasty bruises.
* * *
Kip watched the credits roll on Scott’s massive television screen. “Man, how much do you think it cost to make that dumb movie?”
Scott didn’t answer. Upon closer inspection, Scott Hunter was, in fact, asleep in his lap.
Kip smiled to himself, and admired Scott’s profile. He looked so peaceful and young. His long eyelashes brushed his cheekbones, and his full, pink lips were parted slightly. All of the tension Scott usually carried with him had left his face.
Kip reached and took Scott’s hand in his. He didn’t want to wake him, but his legs were asleep. “Hey,” he whispered. “Come on, Scott. Time for bed.”
“Mrmff,” Scott said. Then his eyes fluttered open, and he gazed up at Kip and smiled shyly. “Sorry,” he said. “Always pretty exhausted after games.”
“S’okay. We should go to bed. I have to get up early.” Kip helped him up, and kissed him. “I had a nice time tonight.”
Scott lit up. “Me too.”
They stripped down to their underwear and then crawled into bed. Scott needed to lie on his back because of his injury, and Kip lay beside him with a hand on his chest.
“G’night,” Kip said.
Scott placed a hand over Kip’s. “Will you come here tomorrow night?”
“You want me to?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I’ll have to go home after work first. Get some clothes and stuff.”
“You should keep stuff here,” Scott murmured sleepily.
“Seriously?”
Scott seemed to wake up a bit, obviously realizing what he had just suggested. “Well…yeah. I mean…it would make sense, right? I live close to your work and—” he smiled shyly “—I like having you here.”
Kip raised himself up so he could kiss Scott.
“I feel bad,” Scott said. “Couldn’t do much with you tonight. Want to make it up to you.”
“You’re not going to be healed by tomorrow night!”
“I know…but maybe—”
“Tomorrow night,” Kip said, “we’ll see. I’m not letting you do anything that might hurt you.”
Scott sighed but smiled affectionately at him.
“Besides,” Kip said, “I like talking to you.”
Scott lifted Kip’s palm to his mouth and kissed it. “Me too.”
* * *
It was still dark when Kip’s alarm went off. Scott was confused at first, then remembered that Kip had to go to work. Kip shifted next to him, slowly sitting up and grumbling quietly.
“Morning,” Scott mumbled.
“Fuck, yeah. I guess so.”
Kip got out of the bed and went into the bathroom, while Scott rubbed his eyes and tried to wake up. He was by no means a late sleeper, but it wasn’t even five o’clock yet.
He finally forced himself to sit up, wincing when the pain reminded him of his injury. After a few minutes, Kip came out of the bathroom and started putting on his clothes.