Chapter Text
He’s at JJ’s apartment when it happens, surrounded by a number of the more tolerable Voyageurs and seated right next to Jackie on the couch. They’re hate-watching, of course; after two back-to-back Stanley Cup wins, not even making it to the playoffs fucking stings. And it stings even more that they were fucked the moment that Shane’s collarbone had snapped, because it shouldn’t be Shane’s job alone to secure them a decent run.
But Hayden’s been saying since before All Stars break that this is Scott Hunter’s year— sometimes, the alchemy of hockey just brews conviction into a player and their team— so seeing him and the other Admirals lift the Cup only makes Hayden a little bitter. Somebody had to win after all, and the Admirals winning is at least better than the fucking LA Kings.
Hayden listens to Miity bitch about how Hunter’s game-winning goal— “not even pretty, if only the goalie had been an inch more left”— made him a shoo-in for the Conn Smythe with half an ear as he remembers last year when he’d lifted the Cup, Shane having handed it to him with a huge fucking grin on his face, elation and hurt thrumming through his body as they screamed and Hayden got to take it and hand it right to Drapeau, who’d been a brick wall the entire playoff run against shot after shot.
He’d really been hoping they’d go three for three. Fucking Admirals. But whatever, they’d be back in contention next year.
The camera zooms out, showing the WAGs and kids and families flooding the ice, the announcers going back over the stats of the game again, one of them enthusing about Hunter’s career and supposed dominance in the league, this Cup win combined with the Conn Smythe “effectively cementing his legacy” in New York.
“Fifty bucks they retire his jersey within a year of his retirement,” JJ says, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not taking that bet for shit,” Wilson shoots down. “New York has always had a hard-on for Hunter, and if the way they’re sucking his dick on live television is any indication, it’s only gonna get worse.”
Hayden can’t say he disagrees, though he does take issue with the homophobic phrasing. It’s something he’s been taking issue with more lately and, finally, actually saying something to make his teammates stop being so casually homophobic all the time. He looks over, making eye contact with Jackie for a moment and rolling his eyes— he’s been complaining about this shit for months— before opening his mouth, only to get cut off by JJ before he can get a reprimand out.
“God, you’re so right. Over/under on him winning the Hart too, then?”
Wilson snorts. “He’s not God’s gift to hockey. If they give Hunter the Hart, then that shit’s fucking rigged.”
“Imagine,” Miity laughs. “What do you even say at the NHL Awards? I would just stay up on stage and ask them to present both at once so I only have to give one speech.”
Great. Now the moment’s passed and Hayden will look like a douche if he tells them off. He sighs and reclines back into the couch, crossing his arms. At least Shane isn’t here to hear this shit.
When Hayden focuses back on the TV, his brows furrow. The camera’s all focused on Scott Hunter still, who is opening the gate to the rink and letting some guy Hayden’s never seen before onto the ice.
“Wait, who’s that?” He asks, trying to cut off his teammates’ bullshit. Scott Hunter notoriously has a dead mother, a deadbeat father, and no siblings. His best friend, according to everything Hayden’s seen and heard, is his teammate Carter Vaughan, who is already on the ice.
Nobody is paying attention to Hayden, though, as JJ makes a case for Hunter to win every conceivable award, currently contriving a reason for him to win the King Clancy.
Hayden instead turns to Jackie. “Jacks, look,” he prods. “What’s he doing? I’ve never seen that guy before in my life.”
Jackie shrugs at him. “Maybe they’re friends.”
Hayden bugs his eyes out at her. “You don’t bring random friends onto the ice after winning the Stanley Cup,” he protests, fixing his eyes back on Hunter as he grabs the guy’s hand, pulling him into the celebration.
His heart starts to beat louder in his chest. Something is happening here. Hayden doesn’t know what, but something is about to happen.
Hunter reaches out his free hand on the TV as he swirls around to face the guy, cupping it around the outside of the guy’s jean jacket shoulder. It’s so not-bros that the sight of it makes Hayden’s breath catch. He reaches out his own hand and puts it on Jackie’s thigh, clutching.
“Jackie—” he starts, then corrects, louder, as the camera angle changes to show Hunter looking down into the guy’s face, still panting and still holding the guy’s hand, “Guys! Shut up! Look!”
Finally, they’re listening. The chatter ceases just in time for Scott Hunter— Scott Motherfucking Hunter— to lean in and. Well. Right there on the big screen, Scott Hunter kisses a man on the ice.
Hayden squeezes Jackie’s thigh even harder, letting out a breathless little laugh. Holy shit, he thinks, which is a fair reaction. It’s immediately followed by a less rational, Oh thank fuck, Shane doesn’t have to be the first, then.
Immediate chaos breaks out. JJ starts yelling, Wilson drops his beer, Miity’s jaw drops. Jackie’s hand flies over his own, tangling their fingers together. Somebody grabs the remote and cranks the volume, and Hayden can hear a few of the other WAGs clustered behind them chittering. The announcers are expressing their disbelief and tentative support while Hunter and his boyfriend still have their lips locked, hands in hair and arms wrapped around each other.
Hayden’s entire body relaxes in relief. Fuck Scott Hunter so much for winning the Cup, but for this? Hunter could not have come out at a more convenient time. Hayden’s mind begins to whir with alternate plans, additional ways to show up. God. This is perfect.
“Hunter’s a fucking fag?” Wilson gapes.
“Shut the fuck up, Wilson,” Hayden snaps. He’s getting that fucking word in, this time. “Don’t call him that. And, so what if he is? He just won the Stanley Cup and the Conn Smythe, and you guys were joking they’re going to give him more awards this year. If he wants to kiss his… uh— boyfriend? Partner? Whoever that guy is to him— about that, I think he’s allowed.”
Wilson holds up both of his hands. “Sheesh, dude. Chill. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just surprised.”
Yeah right. Hayden’s so sure Wilson’s comment is completely harmless.
“I think all of us are fucking surprised,” JJ says, Miity nodding along in agreement. “I mean… Scott Hunter? Gay?”
Hayden turns to glare at him too, but he’s kind of upset, now. He thought JJ would be better about this.
JJ winces when their eyes meet, then hastily corrects, “I don’t have a problem with it, of course. It’s just unexpected.”
Oh. Well, that’s okay then. It’s not like Hayden was expecting this either. But holy shit! Scott Hunter is gay! Or bisexual. Or whatever label he uses, not like Hayden would know.
Hunter’s hugging his guy still, and honestly it’s pretty cute. He’s gotta be in love with the dude for sure, to have gone to the trouble to make this happen.
“Good for him! Good for Scott Hunter,” the announcer says, and Hayden can’t help but agree.
Okay, look, Hayden isn’t fucking stupid. He’s been best friends with Shane Hollander for almost ten years. He knows the guy better than practically anyone on the planet, besides his parents. Hell, they’ve been road roomies since they were both on their ELCs and never gave it up, and sometimes when Hayden is sleeping at home on the offseason he gets a little spooked when he can’t hear Shane’s white noise machine in the room with him and Jackie. So what he means to say is that he knows Shane. And, as such, he knows that Shane is gay.
Because of course Shane is gay. It might have taken Hayden all the way up until Shane broke up with Rose Landry to figure it out (because what straight guy breaks up with Rose Landry and cites “being incompatible” as the cause), but he had. And when he realized, a lot of things from the past fell into place, like how Shane never looked at Jackie’s pregnancy tits even when they went on vacation together and she was wearing this tiny fucking bikini that Hayden had drooled over. Or how he never flirted with women nor ever went home with anyone on the rare occasions that he actually went out drinking with the team. Or how Shane always got ready for games facing his locker instead of looking out into the room. Or, of course, the existence of one Boston Lily— who Hayden had thought Shane was weirdly cagey about until, late at night in one of his gossip sessions with Jackie, she’d asked him if maybe he ever considered that Lily was actually a guy, which simultaneously was crazy and made way, way too much sense.
And Hayden doesn’t care that Shane’s gay. He really doesn’t. But, since his revelation about Shane’s sexuality, Hayden’s been a fucking ally. When the guys use slurs, he tells them to knock it off. He’s mentioned Jackie’s friend and her wife around Shane so he knows that Haden’s chill with gay people. He brought pride tape for the whole fucking team on Pride Night and made a show of using it. He’s told his kids when Shane was standing right next to them that he doesn’t care who they love as long as whoever they choose is good to them. For four fucking months— around Shane’s concussion— he’s done everything he can to show Shane he’s a safe person and he can tell Hayden his secret… and Shane just. Hasn’t.
Which is fine.
And Hayden knows that Shane coming out isn’t like, about him or whatever. That would, in fact, be pretty shitty of him to say. But he wants Shane to be happy, dammit, and even before he got injured, Shane’s been pretty fucking miserable this season. He even came back from Boston Lily’s that one time looking like he’d just had a panic attack and wearing men’s clothes that were most definitely not the ones he’d left in. It’s been hard for Hayden to watch, truthfully, and he wants to help.
He just doesn’t know what to do.
But now, there’s somebody who isn’t Shane in the league who also isn’t straight. Who might have some insight. Who might be able to help Hayden help Shane.
So it might be a little fucking tacky or whatever, but Hayden has zero shame about this. As soon as he and Jackie get home— the kids, of course, dead asleep since the babysitter put them to bed hours ago— Hayden takes out his phone and drafts a text to Scott Motherfucking Hunter.