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January 2011, Nashville TN - The All-Star Weekend
Scott Hunter was honoured. He had been chosen, by the people, to be the captain of the North American team at the MLH All-Star Game, and it was bound to be a fun weekend. Of course the press has made it all about Hollander vs Rozanov this year though. Those two rookies had really become the darlings of the MLH since the moment they were drafted. The press had called it ”a rivalry for the ages”, and he was looking forward to see some of it unfold in person.
“Captain!” Liam Casey greeted him with a slap on the back. He had played with Scott for a season a few years back, but ended up being traded to Pittsburgh, where he’d been a solid part of their defence since.
“Casey, great to see you man. How you been?”
“Not bad, not bad. Will be fun this weekend! Nice to play together again.”
“For sure. But wow, they could’ve picked a better hotel for us.” Casey rolled his eyes. There had been widespread grumblings about the hotel everyone had been put up in for this weekend. Not a bad hotel per se, but it had its particular faults.
“Tell me about it. I’m kinda glad I didn’t bring my wife.” Oh right yeah, Casey was married. Scott had forgotten about that, but it made sense. Scott of course never brought anyone, to anything. He couldn’t.
“Those walls don’t do much do they?” he said, thinking about the last time he had stayed in this hotel and heard pretty much everything his neighbours got up to.
“Nope!” Casey shrugged, and then he waved to someone behind Scott. “Alright man. I’ll see you on the ice!”
“Have a good one Casey.”
The big game wouldn’t be held until the next day, with the first day instead having players compete in different skill events. Scott had been chosen for the shot accuracy competition again, together with… yup, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. Scott had done decently and hit his targets in 8.03 seconds, which was nothing near the league record of 7 seconds flat, which as it happened was also Scott’s score. But from two years prior. He watched that cocky Russian kid skate up to the blue line… and fucking break his record. 6.9 seconds. Only a fraction, but still — it stung. Oh well, that was the nature of the game. Now all he could hope was for Hollander to be even better.
And turned out, he was — 6.7 seconds, a truly beautiful record. And if Scott was honest with himself, records were made to be broken and this was just a silly competition for players to show off their skills. It was time for someone else to break it, and he was happy it was someone on his own team. So when Hollander came back to the bench Scott gave him a fist bump, a quick “nice”, and a helmet jostle. The kid had done good. Scott chatted a bit with a Detroit player next to him who he hadn’t had the pleasure of talking to yet, and then turned his attention back to the ice, just in time for Rozanov to skate up to Hollander.
“One two two one,” he said and skated off. What the hell? Was that a room number? Sounded an awful lot like one at least. Well, Scott thought he better check in with Hollander anyway. Give him some well deserved attention.
“Nice shooting rook.”
“Thanks.”
“Glad to see Rozanov didn’t hold my record for more than a minute.” He smiled. “What did he want by the way?”
“Ah, nothing. Just shit talking,” Hollander said. And Scott thought that was some weird shit talking. But he guessed they must’ve talked a bit over the divide earlier too.
“He’s an asshole right?”
“I mean yeah, basically.” That didn’t sound quite convincing if he was honest. But Hollander also seemed a bit nervous to be talking to him in general.
“Lucky me. I’m in the room next door to him at the hotel.” Because when he thought about it, that really had to be a room number. His room number was fucking 1223. If these two were going to duke it out in private he really didn’t want to have to listen to whatever they would yell about. And if it was Rozanov just trying to rattle Hollander by… flirting? Who knew what other people he might end up inviting up to his room.
It was around midnight that Scott thought he heard Rozanov’s door open and close, but with no footsteps in the corridor. So someone had clearly been let in. There was no shouting so he assumed it wasn’t Hollander, or if it was he wasn’t there to argue with Rozanov at least. Thank goodness for that. He mainly heard murmuring, but he was pretty sure he could make out a “fuck, Rozanov!” by… a man’s voice? Well that was interesting. But he didn’t hear much else until they both went into the bathroom, as that was even closer to Scott’s room. Yeah something was definitely going on cause he could hear someone, or something, being shoved against the shower door that rattled in its metal frame. Then a muffled laugh before the shower was turned on. Luckily that drowned out any more sounds of what he was sure was a very fun shower for whoever had joined the Russian in his hotel room. At one point someone even banged on what he assumed must be the tiled shower wall, and even the running water couldn’t completely cover the loud moan that followed. Scott had never regretted forgotten headphones this much in his life.
He definitely never heard a woman’s voice coming from that room, which was an interesting development. Ilya Rozanov, it seemed, was not a straight man. No one in the MLH had ever come out in any way, and he didn’t think that would happen for many years. He definitely wasn’t ready at least. Not that he felt any need too. Scott had known he was gay since he was a teenager, but he never really had any serious relationships. Of course he would like to one day, but dating as a gay major league hockey player was basically impossible. He’d have to make due with the occasional vacation hookups for now. Apparently Ilya Rozanov went for it at an MLH event, which was bold. Scott couldn’t help but wonder who was in there with him. He had given his room number to Shane Hollander but that was an insane thought. If the two biggest rivals in the leagues were found to be hooking up during the All-Star Weekend it would create a huge scandal, and he highly doubted that sweet golden boy Hollander would risk something that stupid. If he even was into guys, which Scott had absolutely no idea about. He wouldn’t say he had a great gaydar, but it hadn’t pinged for Hollander at least. Not that it had for Rozanov either but…
June 2011, Las Vegas NV - The MLH Awards
Scott was not a fan of the MLH Awards. Boring speeches, stuffy after party, too many asses to kiss (and not in a way he might’ve preferred)… He had been up for MVP of the Year but lost to Oscar Lundholm from Vancouver. And fairly so to be honest. That man had been a beast this season. Scott had also been pleased to see Shane Hollander win Rookie. Truly such a talented young player. He was looking forward to following his trajectory, which he was sure would be great and exciting. And he could say the same about Rozanov who had lost out on that same award. The two of them were always pitted against each other, and heralded as the future of the MLH. He thought maybe the rivalry was a bit overblown though — mainly a PR thing by the league. So maybe it would be fun to get some of the rookies together with him and his friends for some shots. See what they were made of, off the ice.
He quickly found Shane Hollander by the bar, looking a little bit lost while holding a glass of something fizzy. For Hollander’s sake he hoped it was a cocktail, but as was the time honoured tradition with rookies, he thought he would mess with the guy just a little bit while getting a refill of his own drink.
“That better just be ginger ale, rook.”
“Uh, it is mr. Hunter. I wouldn’t indulge in front of you.” Oh the guy was so sweet and earnest, and clearly nervous.
“Congrats man,” Scott said with a smile and shook his hand.
“Thank you.”
Scott turned around, drink in hand, and leaned against the bar.
“What would you say if uh, me and some of the other old fucks—” He nodded in the direction of a table where his teammate and good friend Carter Vaughn was chatting with Lundholm “—wanted to do some shots with the three rooks? You’d be into that?”
“Fuck yes I would,” Hollander said with a smile. He was adorable.
“Okay! Then where’s your boy Rozanov?”
“My what?” Hollander immediately seemed uncomfortable. Scott had truly not meant anything by it. He wanted to get all three rookie nominees a little bit drunk, and while he had seen Lemaire on his way to the bar he hadn’t seen Rozanov for a good while.
“No I mean… not your boy.” He tried to smooth it out and make Hollander comfortable again. He clearly hit something. “Just like, it’s always ‘Hollander and Rozanov’ right? I just thought…”
To be honest Scott didn’t know what he thought. Well for one he did kind of assume Hollander kept some track of Rozanov, if just due to how much both the league and the press probably wanted them together as much as possible at these events.
“I— I don’t know where he is. We’re not like, friends or anything.”
“No worries man. No worries. I’m sure someone else grabbed him.” He took a sip of his drink.
Yeah Rozanov seemed like a bit of an iffy subject with Hollander, and Scott couldn’t quite put his finger on why. It could just be general nervousness from Hollander, but he didn’t think so. Maybe he was simply uncomfortable with the kind of pressure the league was putting on this supposed rivalry between them. Or maybe there was something else. Scott remembered the moment by the ice during the shot accuracy competition at All-Stars, and his later brief notion that it actually could have been Hollander in Rozanov’s room that night, clearly not being angry at each other. If something like that had happened between them five months ago… no wonder Hollander would feel uncomfortable about him now. But obviously Scott wouldn’t ask him anything even remotely related to that, so instead he motioned for Hollander to follow him to the end of the bar while also giving Vaughn a little wave and a nod towards Lemaire so that Vaughny would get him. It was time to get these rookies drunk!
November 2013, Montreal ON - The Admirals vs Metros Game
Scott was exhausted. He was frustrated and he was angry. And if he really thought about it, he was angry with himself. He was better than this. He knew that he was better than this. But he had played like shit the past few games. Last night Rozanov’s Raiders had beaten his Admirals 4 to 2, and the bastard had had the audacity to basically flirt with him as a chirp as they got off the ice.
And now the Metros had beat them 5 to 1 — another soul crushing defeat for Scott. And he hadn’t even scored, that was all Vaughn. While his personal life was looking up, he was now keen to blame his absolute shit playing on the lack of game day morning smoothies made by the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. He was desperately looking forward to getting out of his sweat drenched uniform, shower, and heading home to New York. And maybe tomorrow he could go flirt some more with that barista… But of course, as he was trying to catch his breath, Shane Hollander skated up to him, looking like he’d barely been working tonight. And Scott knew he had. Hollander had been on fire this game. Sometimes Scott hated that guy, and he knew it was jealousy and absolutely uncalled for. But now he fucking chirped, and that was the last straw.
Had Scott been in a good mood he probably would’ve thought it was cute. Hollander was probably trying to… bond? Chirping was absolutely part of hockey, and when he had been in Hollander’s shoes, or skates as it were, he’d looked up to people in the position Scott was in now and wanted to attempt to be equals. But he had suffered back to back defeats by the two young golden boys of the MLH. And he was done. So Hollander insinuating that Scott hadn’t even bothered to show up to the game that now had him doubled over from exertion… no. Just no.
“You’re starting to sound like him,” he bit back.
“I’m sorry what?”
He straightened back up. “You fucking heard me Hollander.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what that means.” But if he was honest, he didn’t even know exactly what it meant. Just that it absolutely infuriated Hollander. Sure on surface level, he simply meant that Hollander was starting to sound like Rozanov - his supposed biggest rival. Why had he said it? Rozanov was still on his mind since yesterday, and the two of them pretty much came as a package deal in the eyes of the MLH. He guessed he thought sounding like the guy you’re supposed to hate would tick Hollander off a bit, but he hadn’t expected this. Hollander was furious. Scott had definitely hit some kind of nerve he wasn’t aware of.
He barely even registered the insults Hollander hurled at him, or what he threw back himself. As Hollander started shoving him teammates from both their sides, as well as a couple refs, had to hold them back. By the way the guy had reacted, you’d assume Scott had told him to take Rozanov’s dick out of his mouth before he talked to him. Not just that he was just starting to sound like him. Oh shit wait. Was that it? Was that actually what Hollander had heard in his head? Scott would never actually use that as chirp fuel but damn. That was a thought he had to sit with for a bit…
February 2014, Sochi, Russia - The Olympics
“I want some ice cream. Bad, man,” Vaughn said as they were walking down the street in Sochi.
“Do you not find it weird that we’re in a beach town in Russia in February, talking about getting ice cream?” Scott countered as they got close to a place called Kafe Myod, which did indeed advertise ice cream out front.
“Winter Olympics, baby! Just as it should be right?” They stopped by the big window of the café. Vaughn looked inside and pointed. “Hey, isn’t that…”
“Oh yeah!” Cause there he was, Team Canada’s star center — Shane Hollander. They had met twice since their screaming match on the ice in November. Once at a game in New York, and once at an MLH event. And everything was great between them now, absolutely no hard feelings. So Scott didn’t protest when Vaughny went for the door.
“Hollander! What’s up motherfucker?” Vaughn tapped him on the arm.
“Boys!” Hollander smiled. A bit startled by their appearance, but seemingly happy to see them.
“Hey,” Scott said. Honestly happy to see him.
They talked a bit about the debacle that had been the Russia-Latvia game, and bantered about each other’s chances at the gold. And Scott couldn’t help but notice the awkward way Hollander said Rozanov hadn’t told him anything about the game when Vaughny asked. Still, all these years later he was awkward about the idea of them being in contact. But Scott ignored it and instead went and got them all ice cream on Vaughny’s insistence. He chose blueberry, of course. The thought of Kip hurt still. He just couldn’t let him go, not even here. Maybe especially here. He wished he could just text him about the insane thing that was the Olympics. But, he had promised himself to stay away if that was what Kip wanted. The cute socks he had been so lovingly gifted would still take him through every game though, and hopefully get him and his team that gold.
He was chatting with Hollander about the probable black mold that was just permeating the Olympic village, when Vaughn looked up from his phone suggesting they’d go to the men’s short form figure skating together.
“My buddy Joe is in that program,” Hollander said. “We trained together. Would you guys be cool to do that? I’d love to show up for him.”
“Hell yeah man,” Vaughn said while Scott nodded. “I’ll show up for any dude who’s that brave.”
“What do you mean?” Hollander asked.
“Well, I’m assuming your buddy might be gay?
“I mean…” Oh Scott definitely noticed that. Hollander looked very uncomfortable as he swallowed his ice cream. Eyes darting to the table, to the side, anywhere that meant he didn’t have to meet Vaughny’s gaze.
“Fucking brave for a dude to show up to a place like this and be like ‘Hey, here’s me.’ Russia is not safe for folk like that. Fucking balls of steel, man.” And Scott knew Vaughn truly meant it with the highest compliments. Carter Vaughn was an ally through and through, and with a lesbian sister to boot. Whenever Scott was ready to come out to anyone in the MLH, Vaughny would be the first and Scott was sure he’d be accepted with open arms. He just wasn’t there yet.
Vaughn clearly didn’t pick up on the waves of uneasiness radiating from Hollander, but it was something Scott felt echo inside himself. This wasn’t unease at a hockey player like Vaughny talking about gay people this openly, which he was sure a lot of other guys in the league would feel. No, this was about them. They both didn’t feel quite comfortable being unknowingly included in Vaughn’s description. Yeah, Scott’s less than stellar gaydar hadn’t gone off back in Nashville in 2011, but it sure was pinging now. He was sitting in a café in Sochi, Russia, having ice cream with Shane Hollander and realising that yeah, the kid might actually be gay too.
The figure skating was a great time and Hollander’s buddy had just absolutely killed his routine when Scott noticed Hollander turning his head away from the ice to look toward the concourse at the top of the arena. He followed his gaze and noticed, yep of course, Ilya Rozanov standing up there. Hollander excused himself and Scott kept an eye on him. Sure enough, after a bit he ended up next Rozanov… who did not seem happy to see him. But then again, if there was something going on there, Russia was not the place. And that really had to suck for Rozanov, being whatever flavour of not straight (Scott assumed bisexual, as he had by now been made well aware of Rozanov’s reputation as a womaniser) in this country. Of course he wasn’t out, but just as with Scott himself, and he assumed Hollander too, it couldn’t be nice having that weight on you being here. And for Rozanov it would be so much worse, being his actual home country. Then with the catastrophic defeat by Latvia, he was sure to have people berating him left and right. No wonder if he was grumpy and pushing Hollander away.
“You good?” he asked when Hollander returned.
“Sure. Let’s just watch the rest of this, and then go get some food, yeah?” He resolutely looked down at the ice where a skater from France was taking his starting position.
“Damn right! This is great!” Vaughn agreed, having noticed nothing of what had been going on upstairs.
As per usual Scott said nothing, just locked it away in his little vault of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov info nuggets. Maybe they had been something once, maybe they still were but not here — either way he wouldn’t know. All he knew was that if something was going on between them it wouldn’t be easy. He knew first hand how heavy these kinds of secrets could get.
January 2017, Tampa Bay FL - The All-Star Game
Scott wasn’t even that bummed to not have been invited to the All-Star Weekend this year. He needed some time off to recharge and to be honest, deal with his heart. The first half of the season had definitely been rocky but they had scored decently well, it just hadn’t been Scott’s strongest effort maybe. So he got it, no hard feelings. And Vaughny was there to defend the honour of the Admirals anyway. As for Scott’s heart, no one could fight for that but himself. And he meant to. His relationship with Kip had been on and off the past few years. Kip deserved better than being a dirty secret and Scott knew that. But they kept being drawn back together, like magnets. Scott was never able to shake him, and thought he never would. They were currently not seeing each other, but his heart ached so much from not having Kip around. And Scott finally felt that he might be ready to give everything up for this man, throw caution to the wind, maybe even quit the MLH if that was what it would take. He hoped it wouldn’t take quite that but still. He knew things had to change and he was ready to make those changes, he just needed to convince Kip to give him yet another chance. This time he swore he would let go a bit, not be as skittish about being seen in public with another man. Not kissing obviously, but going to a museum or having lunch. Friends did that all the time anyway. He just didn’t want to hide everything anymore. Yeah he’d send Kip a text, maybe actually invite him out for dinner as a show of intent for the future.
He had the ESPN broadcast of the first day of All-Stars running in the background as he went about his business at home. He’d check the scores later for the events he didn’t quite catch. In the late afternoon his phone rang with a video call from Vaughn.
“Scotty! So glad I caught you. Missing you down here man.” Vaughny was wearing an unbuttoned striped linen shirt and clearly enjoying himself.
“Hey bud, how’s it going in the heat?”
“It’s fucking awesome! And Hollzy is doing great as captain so far. I thought he and Roz would be like cats and dogs being put on the same team, but nope! They had a beer together and everything. And of course they put both of them on the MLH Shootout team for East.”
“Oh I missed that one. Must’ve been when I went for a run. How did you guys do?”
“We won. Of course.” He scoffed.
“Of course.” Scott laughed.
“How are you doing? You should’ve been here but, I guess that’s how it goes.”
“It’s absolutely fine. And I’m good.”
“How’s the heart? Heard from Kip any?”
Scott smiled. He had come out to Vaughn and a couple other guys on his team last year. They had all been great about it, and Vaughny had become deeply invested in his relationship.
“As a matter of fact we’re going out for lunch tomorrow.”
Vaughn gasped. “That’s fucking amazing! Sink your claws in real deep this time alright Scotty? Don’t let him go again.”
“I won’t.”
“Good. Alright man, I gotta run. I’ll text you after the game tomorrow. And you text me after your date. Deal?”
“Deal.” He laughed. “Knock ‘em dead tomorrow Vaughny!”
“Aye aye Cap’n!” Vaughn ended the phone call with a sloppy salute.
The lunch date with Kip had gone really well. It was just so easy between them when they could just focus on each other for a while. When they could ignore the world around them and just talk and eat and enjoy each other’s company. Of course they had ended up back at Scott’s place after, to make up for lost time. Twice over. God, Scott really loved the man napping next to him, and he would do everything in his power to keep him. For obvious reasons Scott had missed the All-Star Game, and hadn’t looked at his phone all afternoon. So he scooted up to rest his back against the headboard and grabbed his phone. Kip stirred a bit in his sleep and threw an arm over Scott’s leg. He smiled. This is what he wanted for the rest of his life.
He checked the result of the game first: 3-2 to the Eastern Conference, excellent. And he had a few texts from Vaughn.
We won baby! Fuck yeah!
Hollzy and Roz are insane together on the ice. That chemistry. Off the charts! Fucking beautiful. It’s like they can read each other’s minds! I hope you didn’t watch the game, if you know what I mean 😜 But you should when you have the chance.
Alright I see you’re leaving my messages unread so I assume you’re getting some. Good for you man! Say hi to Kip for me.
Scott smiled at his phone. Vaughny was such a good friend, and he had made Scott curious. So he pulled up a highlight reel from the game, making sure the sound was off. Kip was too cute when he was sleeping to disturb him with hockey commentary. He could immediately see what Vaughn had meant. The way Hollander and Rozanov played off each other really was beautiful to watch, and they seemed to be having fun. Rozanov wasn’t even playing his usual position, but still he was brilliant. If they ever ended up on the same team in the league they would be lethal. He watched Hollander score a goal with an assist from Rozanov, and in celebration receive a big kiss on the side of his helmet. They both beamed with happiness. Oh yeah, they were good now, and maybe not just on the ice? Scott thought he could see something there. Whatever he had picked up on through the years seemed to be blossoming, or at least was ready to. There was an ease between them he hoped meant what he thought it meant.
When Hollander had very publicly started dating Rose Landry, Scott had questioned himself and the vibes he thought he had gotten from Hollander. Actually, wasn’t he still dating her? While Scott wasn’t exactly one for gossip, curiosity won and he typed in “shane hollander rose landry” in the search bar. Immediately he was assaulted by paparazzi images, links to Twitter threads, and gossip sites. And from what he could tell, they were last seen together just a few days ago. Huh. Okay. Scott didn’t think he was wrong about Hollander, and it wouldn’t be the first time societal pressure forced a gay man to date a woman. He was young and famous so it made sense. Did Rose know? He hoped so. He hoped Hollander wouldn’t unwittingly break that girl’s heart. But he absolutely understood the pressure the guy was under. He’d been there. Scott looked at Kip next to him. Fuck he was so happy to have found him, and that he had been given a second (fifth?) chance. At this point he felt that he could do something really stupid to keep this forever.
June 2017, Las Vegas NV - The MLH Awards
Holy shit, that had been a wild few weeks. Scott felt like he had won… well, everything. He finally got the Admirals to a Cup win, he won MVP at the MLH Awards, and above all — he won the love of his life. He hadn’t planned on doing that. Far from it. He and Kip had come to an understanding. Scott couldn’t just be as out and proud as either of them wished, but he would also stop cowering in his apartment. They went out together, did things. Of course they had kept the PDA to a minimum, but Scott didn’t flinch anymore when Kip put a hand on his arm to call his attention to a statue in the museum. And he didn’t feel like bolting out the door when some sweet shop attendant off handedly referred to Kip as his partner when they went shopping for clothes. At the same time Kip had settled in to a less outward facing relationship, saying he would be happy with the small steps they’d taken until Scott retired. It had been a nice few months like that. Comfortable. But then Scott had stood on that ice, his teammates’ families surrounding them, and he had felt lonely. Empty. Like something was still missing. Elena had told him he deserved sunshine, and even at this grand victory, with his boyfriend supporting him from the stands, Scott had felt like he was still in shadow. So he had done it. He had said to himself, fuck everyone — especially the MLH. And he had brought Kip down to the ice. And he had kissed him right then and there, in front of the whole arena and millions of people all over the world. He had told Kip how much he loved him, clung to him, kissed him over and over again — and that was that. Scott Hunter had officially become the first out gay man in Major League Hockey. It hadn’t really hit him until he was lying in Kip’s arms that night, coming down from the high of the after party, and their personal celebration. The world as he knew it could absolutely come crumbling down the next day. But he didn’t care. He had what he wanted. And if he was honest, that went for his professional life too. He got the Cup. He got the Olympic gold. If he was forced to retire for love, he’d be totally okay with that. But as it turned out, he didn’t have to. Instead he now stood on a stage, having accepted the MVP Award and been allowed to hold a passionate speech about acceptance and change. He just had his thanks left.
“I share this honour with my teammates, and my coaches. But I also share it with you Kip. You have made me better in every conceivable way. I love you… Thank you!”
And that was that. He may have shown his love in a very public way, but he had never said it out loud like this. Part of him really wished Kip could’ve been there with him, kissing him in the wings as he got off stage, but he knew he was having a great time watching at home at the Kingfisher with Elena and everyone else.
Scott never liked these parties much, and this time his incentive to fly back to New York was oh so much greater. He just wanted to be home with Kip and shut the world out for a little while. But, he was pretty much the star of the night. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and talk to him about this brave thing that he had done. Some seem more genuine than others, that was for sure. And he did catch a few dirty glances from league people who clearly didn’t appreciate this shake up. Well, fuck them. He was nursing a drink at the bar during a rare moment of quiet, when a certain Russian sidled up to him. This was actually someone Scott didn’t mind talking to for once.
“Hey Hunter! Congrats.” Rozanov shook his hand. “Great speech.”
“Thanks man.”
He hadn’t really talked to Rozanov before. Just brief greetings really, and lots of chirping of course. But they never really said anything to each other. Vaughn seemed to be on friendlier terms with the guy, but then again, Vaughny instantly became friends with everyone. Scott had made sure to talk more with Hollander though through the years though, whenever they met up. They had even had drinks once. Well there had been a lot of people, but still. Actually now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Hollander around tonight.
“Where’s your boy Hollander?” he asked Rozanov as the man accepted a glass from the bartender.
“He stayed home in Montreal to finish healing.” Oh shit right. How could Scott have forgotten that Shane had gotten his bell rung pretty bad? Well, play offs and Cup win and big gay coming out did push everything else to the back, so he guessed it wasn’t that surprising. He should really text Shane and check in later though. Unless he had changed numbers, Scott should still have it since the Olympics.
“So where’s your boy…friend then?” He asked, and Scott sure didn’t miss that. Well then, interesting.
“Home in New York. He had a big presentation this morning.” Scott shrugged. “And let’s be real, these awards are boring as hell. He’s having way more fun sitting in a bar with his friends watching.”
“So true. I want to meet him next time we play you at your home ice, okay?” Rozanov looked at him with a big smile and eyes filled with excitement.
“You do?” Scott was taken aback by this. Ilya Rozanov wanted to hang out with him and Kip in New York? Now that was a surprise.
“Yes!” His voice grew more serious. “What you did. It really changed things for me you know. And for other people too.”
Oh…
“Thank you.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Rozanov’s eyes get misty.
Oh damn. Yeah, Rozanov was pretty much telling him his secret right then and there. A secret Scott had been suspecting the truth of for about six years, but of course never brought up. And he was pretty sure the other people things had changed for included Shane Hollander, and that Scott kissing the love of his life right there on the ice in front of millions, had changed something for those two together.
“Alright man. You go get him. You two deserve each other,” he said with warmth and a smile.
“I’m sorry, what?” He was pretty sure the Russian was… blushing?
“You heard me Rozanov.” He clapped a hand on his shoulder and winked, leaving Ilya to his vodka and his thoughts.
Scott could already see the ripples his big romantic gesture had caused, and he couldn’t wait to experience the wave that would hopefully form and wash over the MLH. For now he would shake a few more hands and then retire to his hotel room and call his boyfriend to tell him, once again, how much he loved him.