Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter, Eric Bennett/Kyle Swift, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Kip Grady, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Eric Bennett, Kyle Swift, Maria Villanueva, Original Characters, Carter Vaughn, Megan Grady

Additional Tags:

Kip POV, Overeducated Millennial Angst, Age gap relationship, Divorce, Customer Service, Trying to Figure Out What Kip's Masters is On, social media nonsense, Shane and Ilya Sexting in the Background, Slurs, Problematic Twinks, Class Traitor Kyle Swift, Sad Sack Scott Hunter, Voyageurs Fanboy Kip, Suicide, Cancer, Voyageurs Group Chat

Language:

English

Series:

Part 14 of Hope You're Not Waiting For Me to Wait For You

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-01 Completed: 2026-07-13 Words: 20,585 Chapters: 4/4

Things No One Expected

Summary

The New York couples during the years of peak Hollanov toxicity in this verse.

Notes

I'm trying to make up names for the different sport teams, but there's a lot sports teams. Let's pretend there's a pro American football team in NYC called the Titans and that they're a big deal.

Also I suck at tagging but I tried.

ETA: I deleted the duplicate convo in the middle. Thanks to people who pointed it out, not sure how it happened.

Chapter 1

Straw+Berry had turned into some strange sports smoothie bar/restaurant. Though it looked like it'd happened suddenly, Kip bet it had all started with Scott Hunter occasionally posting a selfie with one of his purple smoothies and tagging the place. He'd been doing well this season--better than he'd had since his rookie year, according to Kip's dad--and he'd mentioned his lucky smoothies as a factor in more than one interview. People took pro athletes very seriously, so random sports fans started coming to Straw+Berry to ask for Hunter's lucky smoothie.

Sometimes, random pro athletes showed up to try his lucky smoothie. And post about it. It wasn't just hockey players either. Kip had served the quarterback of the New York Titans a "Hunter smoothie" once, without knowing who he was. That had caused a minor internet viral explosion that almost shut down the block.

The owner of Straw+Berry quickly capitalized on this. He'd asked for a picture of Hunter and hung it on the wall, right next to his hockey jersey. The smoothie had been renamed the Hunter's Lucky Puck, though it technically had nothing to do with hockey. Or pucks.

One day, right after Scott Hunter came in for said smoothie, the owner showed up and announced that he'd bought the two neighboring storefronts. There would be more space for additional customer sitting, an expansion of the kitchen, and additions to the menu. Oh, and a couple more waiters. There would not be a raise for the current staff, of course. Why would there be, Kip? It wasn't like the act of making smoothies or waiting tables would get more complex.

Kip had bitten back an angry retort that Straw+Berry had only gone semi-viral because Scott Hunter had decided to post about it, and he kept circling the joint because he might have a crush on Kip. Luckily, his good sense had prevailed and he'd forced a thin smile until the old bastard owner turned his back, then he rolled his eyes.

He didn't know for sure that Scott Hunter had a crush on him, anyway. In fact, he probably didn't. That was just something Maria teased him about during movie nights since Hunter had awkwardly asked for Kip's phone number several weeks ago.

"For smoothie advice when I'm on the road," he'd rushed to add, after Kip gave him a confused look. "I don't know if you know, but hockey players can be a superstitious bunch and I feel like I play better after drinking one of your smoothies. I mean, a smoothie from this shop. And you're the smoothie expert."

"It's okay; I get it," Kip had assured him, suspecting that he was witnessing a straight guy freak out about maybe accidentally hitting on a gay guy. "But I'm not really a smoothie expert, you know? I didn't go to school for smoothies or anything."

"Oh, I kn-know."

"You can just get something with blueberries for luck."

"Yeah, of course," Hunter had said, then fled the shop without ordering anything.

It wasn't until later that Kip had noticed that not only had he not given Hunter his number, he'd probably been a little rude and dismissive about it. The guy had just caught Kip on a bad day, after hours getting treated like he was invisible (or stupid) by impatient people who thought they could take out their frustrations out on a cashier. And after Kip had skipped yet another student loan payment and opened another batch of rejection emails from assorted jobs he'd applied to.

None of which was Scott Hunter's fault, obviously. Kip had been relieved the next time he'd shown up at Straw+Berry. Phone numbers had not been mentioned again.

Which did not stop Maria from teasing him about Hunter's supposed secret crush.

"You know," she told him that shift, after a bunch of rowdy bros from a nearby high school football team left the newly expanded Straw+Berry, "the Voyageurs' social media managers had me convinced athletes are all cute boys with funny personalities."

Kip chuckled and nudged her to the smoothie stand. "I'll clean up after them."

The boys left spilled sauces and condiments on their table and no tip to compensate for it. Kip sighed as he cleaned, gazing at the new decorations on the walls. Instead of watercolors of assorted fresh fruits, now there were portraits of sports gear--helmets, a bat, a football, nets, a goal post, more nets. Of course, there were two stylized hockey players at face off. One of them had blond curls and the other straight black hair.

Kip had heard a few customers wondering if they were supposed to be Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander. They fit the mold if someone squinted, but of course the owner would not want to pay them for the rights to their likenesses. Kip thought one of them probably ought to be Hunter. He was the one who originally made the place go viral, after all. Not that Hunter was hurting for endorsements or fame, but Kip supposed he was feeling a little raw about people getting things they didn't work for.

Not that Hollander and Rozanov had not worked for their fame. There were multiple screens around the new Straw+Berry, always tuned into some sports-related channel or a replay of some sport match. One of them was always about hockey and Hollander and Rozanov were mentioned a lot. A lot. Kip got the feeling that those two were basically hockey for casual fans. If the MLH could manage it, they'd slap those two dudes and their rivalry over anything hockey related.

What the hell was Kip even thinking about? He sighed and went back to the smoothie counter.

The shift continued, okay enough as far shifts went, but the added waiters hadn't been hired yet. Maria suspected they wouldn't materialize until someone quit, which might force management to give them enough shifts to make them full time workers, potentially triggering some arcane regulatory mechanism that would force the owner to make them full time employees.

"Then they might have to give us benefits," she said.

"No chance of that," said Kip.

Hours later, after lunch rush hour had died down, Kip leaned against the counter and sighed. His feet were aching already, and he had an additional gig for the evening. The student loan payment could be ignored, but his dad had been working less this year so Kip was trying to put some money away in savings. Just in case. Though his dad swore that nothing was wrong, Kip had a bit of a bad feeling. Even if nothing came of it, it would be good to have an emergency fund.

The door opened and none other than Eric Bennett walked in. Kip perked up, expecting to see Hunter trailing behind him, but no. Bennett walked towards the counter alone. The smile he sent Kip's way was a little strained.

"Hi, how can I help you?" asked Kip.

"Uh. . . a Kale Power Storm with vegan protein please," said Bennett, sitting at the counter.

"Coming right up!"

This was one of the grosser of their "health" drinks. Kip hid a grimaced as he prepared it, privately admitting that he liked the new milkshakes that had been added to the menu. As it turned out, a good number of athletes, even pro athletes, occasionally downed liquid sugar post games. Kip had himself on a one-a-week budget since he didn't burn thousands of extra calories a day like they did. Not even now that there were more tables to wait on.

"Here you go," he said, putting the green monstrosity in front of Bennett.

"Thanks." His smile was dimmer than usual.

Everything about Bennett seemed dimmer, actually. He was one of the first hockey players Hunter had brought to Straw+Berry and he always acted like the model costumer: patient, polite, respectful, and prone to leaving huge tips. He was also gorgeous--giving off an air of a gentle, but broad-shouldered brooding professor with a full head of wavy light brown hair, a meticulously groomed full beard, and kind dark eyes.

"Is everything okay?" asked Bennett.

"Yes, sorry," said Kip, blushing as he realized he'd been staring. "It's just. . . sorry if this is out of line, but you seem a little down?"

"No, you're right." Bennett took a sip of his smoothie and grimaced. That could be the taste. "I'm getting a divorce."

"Oh." Not the smoothie, then.

"Sorry, that's probably a lot to drop on my smoothie guy," said Bennett.

"No, um. . . I asked."

"I just finished agreeing to it with my wife." Bennett frowned again, nervously twisting the rubber marriage band on his finger. "Ex-wife?"

"I think when the papers are signed," said Kip. Which was probably not the most useful thing to say, under the circumstances. "Hey, it's slow going right now. Would you like to talk about it?"

"Maybe?" Bennett frowned again. "It's not much of a surprise. We'd been having some. . . issues for a bit. Not the usual stuff in hockey marriages. I mean, she's not a hockey player, but. . ." He waved at himself vaguely.

"You're Eric Bennett," said Kip. Like an idiot.

"Yeah," said Bennett. "What I mean is I didn't cheat. And she didn't cheat. It was as amicable as these things can be. Sorry, I'm usually a lot more eloquent than this."

"It's okay," Kip said. "I've never agreed to divorce anyone, but I imagine it's a destabilizing experience."

"Exactly!" Bennett seemed relieved to be offered the word. "I don't blame her at all, but a part of me can't help but wonder why she waited before I have a game against the Bears to break the news to me."

Kip considered the situation, glancing around a bit. Maria seemed to be on top of things for now, but the last thing Kip wanted was to be deep into a meaningful conversation after leaving her to fend for herself. "Give me sec," he told Bennett, pulling out his phone.

Customer is in a bit of a minor crisis, he texted. Will take him to the break room for a bit. Text if we get a huge crowd.

Maria glanced his way when she got the message, then responded with a thumbs up. When Kip gently asked Bennett if he would like to talk in the back, he dazedly agreed. So he was even more affected than he looked.

The Straw+Berry break room was smaller than the bathrooms and smelled of fish because their shittiest coworker insisted on microwaving tuna-based meals for lunch. Bennett took up a lot of space and had to squeeze himself into a ratty old couch, but he didn't seem concerned with his surroundings.

"Feel free to tell me as much as you'd like," said Kip.

Bennett sighed heavily before he started. "We are. . . were high school sweethearts. She's actually the only person I've ever been with." He blushed and Kip got butterflies in his stomach even though this was a very straight man and he should know better. "I bet that sounds silly this day and age."

"I think it's sweet," said Kip.

"The sad thing is, I think we still love each other," said Bennett. "But she wants to have kids and I. . . don't. We started talking about it a couple of years ago."

Kip nodded to encourage him when he went quiet for a few moments.

"I guess I was hoping I would change my mind, or she would. It looks like we didn't," said Bennett. "We tried--she tried. To be fulfilled with our objectively pretty awesome life, but she says motherhood is what she really wants. With that in mind, it's only fair that we part ways."

"I think that sounds reasonable," said Kip. "Doesn't mean it can't feel shitty."

"I keep thinking maybe I should try," said Bennett. "Parenthood is natural. I'm an educated and wealthy person, and the coaches always say I'm really good with the rooks. The rookies, I mean. I think I could be a good father if I tried."

"Can I share my opinion?" asked Kip.

"Of course!" Bennett straightened up. "I'm the one unloading on you."

"I think becoming a parent is an irreversible decision," Kip said carefully. "It's responsible, mature, and decent of you to be honest with yourself and your w--partner. You should not do it unless you're sure it's what you want."

Bennett sagged back on the lumpy couch, looking relieved. Kip's little bit of wisdom was pretty obvious, close to what he was likely telling himself, but it never hurt to hear it from an outside source.

"The stuff about waiting before a game to tell me," he said, smiling at his feet, "that's silly, I know. I always have a game coming up."

"But the Bears, though," said Kip. "I hear they're a big deal."

"Yeah, but. . ." He sighed. "We're thirty-six, you know? Not that it's exceedingly old, but I hear it's the time women really need to get serious if they have plans to become pregnant. It would be selfish of me to expect her to wait another season in a dead end relationship."

"I understand," said Kip, thinking that Mrs. Bennett must be in mourning. Ironically enough, this man would be an excellent father. "Do you have a lucky smoothie I could make you?"

"Smoothies is not where my hockey superstitions landed," said Bennett. "But thank you. Getting this off my chest has helped a lot. Scott's right on the money--you're a really good listener."

"Thank you," said Kip, a little bemused. "Glad to have served you well, Mr. Bennett."

"Eric, please," he said, smiling. "After this conversation, I feel like we're friends."

Kip nodded, then replayed what Eric had last said. Scott Hunter told him Kip was a good listener. It was a nice sentiment, but somewhat odd, coming from him. Scott Hunter was not much of a talker, at least not at Straw+Berry. Kip couldn't listen to him much even if he wanted to. He wouldn't mind listening to Hunter, who seemed pretty nice. And nice to look at.

Kip barely had time to change into his plain tuxedo for the evening gig. His feet ached from the earlier Straw+Berry shift and he was a little bloated after finishing some Chinese takeout that had been in the fridge a little too lung. What he got for eating it after a quick sniff test. He looked at himself in the mirror and dabbed at his exhausted eye bags with chilled tap water while praying that some hidden magical properties would reveal themselves and make him feel a little less like shit. No such luck. He squared his shoulders. With a last mental pep talk, he stepped out into the kitchen and picked up a tray of wine glasses.

He had only the vaguest idea of what event he was at. Some charity thing were rich New Yorkers pranced around humble-bragging to each other. Kip only hoped that whatever organization they'd picked to throw money at was a worthy one.

It wasn't a bad job, all things considered. The pay was not impressive, but as long as he walked around and let rich people mindlessly grab wine off his tray, he could space out. He might as well be an organic robot, a featureless piece of furniture, to his current patrons. They probably wouldn't notice if his placid, empty smile faltered a bit.

While he mused, someone bumped into his back with a surprising amount of force. Kip yelped, louder when his full tray buckled, and began to fall. There were guests right in front of him. He pivoted, realizing with some horror that he would not be agile enough to prevent some of the wine from hitting rather expensive looking clothes.

The clatter of the glass hitting the floor drew more people's attention. Kip swallowed a curse and began to pick up the larger pieces of glass. To his horror, he felt tears filling his eyes. Everyone was looking at him fuck up walking around with a tray. Fuck. He was an Ivy League fucking graduate.

"Hey," someone said. A voice that Kip recognized.

He looked up and found none other than Scott Hunter looking down at him.

Things were a bit of a blur after that. The lady who crashed into him tried to be an asshole, but the sight of Scott Hunter drew out her manners. Kip waited until Hunter nodded at him before escaping back to the kitchen, wishing he couldn't hear the lady complain about the low quality of the help these days.

The help. Fuck her. He bet all these waiters and cooks contributed more to society in one night than she did in a year.

God, what the fuck did he know about that lady? For all Kip knew, she was a brain surgeon or an astronaut. Or something.

Get the fuck back to work, he told himself.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. A few times, he caught Scott Hunter giving him a sad look, which he tried to cover with an encouraging smile. Kip tried to smile back. Mostly, he wanted to go home.

Much to his surprise, he ran into Hunter at the end of his crappy shift when he walked out into the cold winter air. The man was objectively hot, certainly worthy of all those sponsorships that might pay more than his actual MLH salary, which was already insane. Unlike Kip, who'd thrown an everyday coat over his cheap suit, he wore a formal jacket with lines designed to show off his broad shoulders and trim waist.

"Hi," he said to Kip. "I was hoping to run into you. Uh, are you okay?"

"Yes, yes," said Kip. "Thanks for stepping in, by the way. It's always easier to handle rowdy customers when other customers step in."

"Yeah, of course." Hunter looked at him for a few moments. "Um, if you want, I could drive you home?"

"Yes, please," said Kip, before his pride got the better of him. His feet were killing him and he had another shift at Straw+Berry tomorrow. Which he ought to be grateful for.

He wasn't.

"Okay," said Hunter, looking a little surprised.

Well, he shouldn't have offered if he didn't actually mean it.

"Uh, let me call my driver," he added.

Of course Scott Hunter had a driver.

And some kind of fancy, sleek black car, model unrecognizable to Kip because he wasn't into cars. Anyone could recognize wealth, though. Hunter opened the passenger door for him, then walked around to politely relieve the bored looking driver. Kip hoped the man would appreciate the night off, that he would be wondering around NYC cursing his rich ass employer dumping him in the middle of the night.

The seats were comfy, with plenty of leg room, and trimmed with a burgundy finish. There was a large touch screen where the usual knobs and buttons ought to be, fancy but somewhat distracting, which Hunter began to fiddle with the moment he sat down at the driver's seat.

"Your address?" Hunter asked.

"Right," said Kip, blinking. He gave his father's address.

They were both quiet as Hunter drove through the NYC streets. Traffic was relatively light at this time of night, even close to the Lincoln tunnel, much to Kip's relief. It was awkward in the car. Every once in a while, it looked like Hunter wanted to say something. Every time, he swallowed it back. Kip remembered his conversation with Eric earlier. Good listener? Kip snorted.

"Everything okay?" asked Hunter.

"Yeah," said Kip. "No."

"Oh."

"Sorry, that's a weird thing to say." Kip sighed. "Listen, do you mind if I bring up something potentially weird?"

"No, go ahead," said Hunter.

"Okay; feel free to punt me out of your awesome car if this is too creepy."

"I wouldn't!" said Hunter, big brown eyes wide.

Kip grinned. "You remember a while back, when you asked for my number?"

Hunter went very red and looked out to the near-empty street ahead.

"I think I reacted a little. . . aggressively when you called me a smoothie expert, or something like that," Kip pushed through. "You didn't mean anything by it, but I took it a little personally anyway. That was on me."

"Um." Hunter stole a glance his way. "What do you mean?"

"I've been feeling down because I have a Masters degree." Kip hesitated but figured if he wanted to unload, he might as well go for it. "A Masters degree from Columbia University, and I'm making smoothies for a living. I'm almost thirty, drowning in debt, living with my dad, single. . . It's a little demoralizing, but it's not fair to take it out on others."

"Uh, I really do like your smoothies, though," said Hunter.

"A high school student could do what I do after school."

"Right; sorry."

"No, I'm doing it again," said Kip, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I should be grateful I even have a job, not projecting my inadequacies onto other people. It's not like being an over-educated Millennial drowning in student debt and stuck in a dead end minimum wage job is a rare ordeal these days."

"A teenager couldn't do what your do," said Hunter.

"Hm?"

"They couldn't," insisted Hunter. "It's not just making smoothies. You're a really good barista, Kip. You're welcoming and warm, and you make people feel. . . special. Even if all you're doing is asking them what berries they want for their smoothie. Or how their day was. It means something."

"Thanks," said Kip, touched even if he didn't know what the hell Hunter was talking about. Of course people made him feel special. He was special. But Kip could tell the poor guy was genuinely trying to be kind. "I could give you my number now, if you want. No need to gatekeep my smoothie wisdom."

"Yes, of course," said Hunter. "I can give you my number too." He recited the digits when Kip got his phone and signaled that he was ready.

"Guess I better start calling you Scott in my head," said Kip.

"You haven't been?"

"No." Kip chuckled. "Sometimes it's 'Scott Hunter', like it's a title."

"I've been thinking of you as 'Kip'," Hunter admitted. Scott admitted.

"Really? You haven't been thinking of a random barista as 'Mr. Grady'?"

"You're not random."

Kip laughed, feeling lighter than he had in a while. "You're so serious. It's great. I'd say it's a star athlete thing, but I've met enough of you now to know it's not exactly the norm."

"I do have a reputation," said Hunter. Scott. "I'm boring."

"No way; you're Scott Hunter," said Kip as the car came to a stop in front of his dad's building. "Thanks for the ride. And for listening to me yammer at you."

"It was great," said Scott. Then, he blushed. "I mean, not the whole . . . situation. It was great to be of some help, I mean."

Kip grinned, wondering how someone so hot and successful could exude such high levels of awkwardness. "I'll be seeing you around," he told Scott, nodding before going inside.

All in all, it was a good way to end an otherwise shitty evening.

Bears

Ilya Rozanov
bros we should try Hunter's special smoothie place tomorrow

Kalle Wynn
why?

Ilya Rozanov
to fuck with his head pre game

Kalle Wynn
why would he care?

Cliff Marlow
he totally would
Hunter is a pussy

Mitch Denk
looking at menu now
I thought this was a health place?
they got a triple chocolate brownie milkshake

Damian Cook
that sounds awesome

Cliff Marlow
kale power storm looks disgusting
I dare anyone to drink that shit

Kalle Wynn
there is an option to make your own smoothie

Vincent St. Simon
I have to beg you assholes not to give yourself diarrhea before this game

Ilya Rozanov
seconding Vinny
we are getting close to playoffs
cannot be fucking around

Lance Ginan
according to internet Hunter's drink is some boring blueberry shit
we could probably all drink this and not die

Cliff Marlow
yeah this just a basic ass smoothie
Hunter is so boring

Ilya Rozanov
good plan
maps shows smoothie place close enough to rink
some of us can go and maybe grandpa Hunter will be there

Kalle Wynn
I want to go too
I already designed the smoothie I want

Every time there was an Admirals home game, Straw+Berry got a rush after the it ended because Scott stopped by, usually with some of his players accompanying him. It was one of the few times the owners bothered to have the place appropriately staffed, meaning that Kip and Maria were both at the smoothie counter while a couple of waiters handled seated customers. There weren't many yet, but that would change after the game was over.

"I think I'm going insane," said Kyle Swift from his spot at the counter.

He was looking up at the screen over the fresh fruit containers, a sour expression on his pretty face. Thank god he'd grown out the awful bleached hair from earlier in the year. Some looks were just impossible to pull off, even by twinks who'd tried modeling for a couple years before college and then given up out of boredom. After landing several ads for face sunscreen, sunglasses, and preppy clothes.

"What do you mean?" said Maria, giving Kip a look.

"This is fucking everywhere," said Kyle, gesturing at the screen.

Kip looked up. The TV was set to some random stream by Sienna, the flashy French Canadian pop star currently taking the world by storm. Allegedly. Kip was too old to be following the same artists as The Youth these days. Kyle pretended to be too mature for pop music, but Kip had caught him bopping along to Sienna's latest single more than once.

"You mean Sienna?" asked Maria.

"No, Xie!" said Kyle, gesturing at the screen again. Dylan Xie was indeed next to Sienna, looking kind of bored. Another girl was at Sienna's other side speaking in rapid French, while Xie looked off into space. Maybe he was bored. "Everyone is obsessed with him! Why is he even there?"

"He's dating Sienna," Kip reminded Kyle.

The door opened to Straw+Berry opened and Eric Bennett walked in. He smiled warmly at Kip walked over to take a seat near Kyle.

"Am I racist, maybe?" Kyle wondered.

Eric gave him a startled look. Which Kyle did not notice.

"I hope not, but why do you ask?" said Maria.

"I don't know why I hate him so much," Kyle admitted. "Xie's not even close to the grossest of the hockey Neanderthals."

Eric gave him an amused look and shared a smile with Kip.

"Your usual?" Kip asked, getting ready to make a Kale Power Storm with vegan protein powder.

Eric nodded.

"I'm going to gently suggest maybe you're jealous of him?" Maria said to Kip.

"I'm gay," said Kyle. "I don't care he's dating Sienna."

"Not because of who he's dating," said Maria. "Just because of his whole. . ." She waved at the screen and then waved at Kyle.

"I don't get it," said Kyle.

Kip got it. Kyle Swift was actually pretty similar to Dylan Xie. They were both very pretty--gorgeous actually, though Kip felt a little odd acknowledging it. Especially in regards to Xie, who wasn't even twenty yet. At least Kyle was almost twenty-one, as he liked to say, even though he'd just turned twenty in the beginning of the month.

They were also both avid readers, confident, and very eager to share their ideas. They had nice vocabularies to go with some genuine intelligence, so they sounded like worldly philosophers. Xie more so since he was usually paired with other boys who could barely string a full sentence together if they weren't talking about hockey. Kyle, on the other, often had to compete with equally well-read Columbia undergrads, most of whom were jockeying for the title of smartest person in the room.

"Are you guys talking about determinism?" Xie was saying up on the screen. He'd switched out his red hair extensions for bright blue ones that matched the Voyageurs' uniform.

"Yeah," said Sienna, turning to him with a bright smile. She continued in her breathy French accent. "It's like, so deep. I want to incorporate the idea into my next song."

"Cool," said Xie. "How so?"

"Like struggling with not being able to choose," said Sienna.

"Yeah this determinism shit is scary," said the Black boy with neat corn rows sitting next to Xie. Another Voyageur rookie. Kip didn't know all of them when they weren't wearing their work t-shirts with their names and numbers. Was that Passey? "Why do anything if you're not even choosing?"

"I wouldn't conflate choice with free will in this context," said Xie.

"What do you mean?" asked Sienna.

"Well, I'm not an expert or anything so this is gonna be a gross over-simplification," started Xie.

"Ugh, he's about to go off on a fucking speech," said Kyle, with a dramatic sigh.

"The idea is that everything you think of as a 'choice' is a response to factors that are both completely beyond your control, and also already happened and literally can't be changed even if they were under your control," said Xie. "I'm talking things like what country you were born, what year, what gender or race you are, how many resources your parents had. . . whether you had a good night's sleep or not. Again, this is all over-simplified. It can be something as simple and mundane as how nice or rude a stranger was to you on your commute. All of this affects your mood, which is a result of the chemistry of your brain, which is the organ you use to make these so-called 'decisions' with your so-called 'free will'."

"Oh my God," groaned Kyle.

Kip turned on the blender, cutting off some of Xie's spontaneous lecture.

"This is staged," Kyle was complaining as Kip put the smoothie in front of Eric. "He knew they were going to talk about this, so he read up on it before hand."

"But if everything you do was already decided by stuff in the past, then why bother with anything?" asked maybe-Passey without looking up from his phone. "Might as well just stay in your room scrolling."

"I agree," said the girl sitting next to Sienna, also in accented English. "This is a very discouraging concept, though it does make sense."

"This is what my song will about!" said Sienna. "Nothing matters. You have no choice. Just relax and let the past continue happening."

"Gonna stop training," added maybe-Passey. "Let's see what Shane does when I tell him the past already decided if I'm good at hockey or not."

"Come on, guys!" said Xie, rolling his eyes. "That's a bad faith interpretation of the concept. It's not 'nothing I do matters and I have no control', it's more like 'my environment has a greater effect on my actions than my willpower or my decisions." As usual, he was very animated, moving his hands about and changing his tone of voice when he wanted to emphasize a word.

Like Kyle did. Maria shared and amused glance with Kip.

"Yeah?" the girl next to Sienna leaned closer to Xie.

"Yeah!" said Xie, smiling. "It's more about knowing yourself and your psyche--the thing that generates the 'decisions' you make--and how you respond to your own environment. Then see what you can change about your environment so your desired actions become a matter of routine, or at least require less effort. . . or willpower, I guess. Some people also say you can change your psyche, or your cognition, but that's a little more controversial. Like if it's even possible to do at all. . ." He turned to maybe-Passey. "Where's Nik? I thought he was coming."

"Check the group chat," said maybe-Passey. "He ran into a Timbits team at the pizza place he stopped at. Bro is not getting out of there until those babies all pass out from excitement."

"Xie talks in paragraphs," Kyle said, with derision. "Hasn't he heard that brevity is the soul of wit?"

"I thought it was a fairly concise summary of a complicated topic," Eric said, mildly.

Kyle whirled on him, but the scowl melted off his face when he took in Eric's whole. . . everything. The beard, shoulders, understated long sleeve shirt. The wedding band he was still wearing. The amused smile on his lips.

"Hi," said Kyle. "And who are you?"

"I'm Eric, one of the hockey Neanderthals," said Eric.

"Oh." Kyle looked unperturbed. "You know, some anthropologists believe that Neanderthals were actually very empathetic and intelligent beings."

Maria bit back a laugh and reached up to turn down the stream volume. Knowing her, she was dying to see Kyle flirt with staid and serious Eric Bennett, so Kip nodded and headed over to a table with newly seated customers.

Shane Hollander - Ilya Rozanov

Shane Hollander
you better not lose to the Admirals

Ilya Rozanov
I'm not intending to

Shane Hollander
both our teams are on winning streaks right now
and we go against each other next
so we can
I mean you know

Ilya Rozanov
yes of course
many convenient places in Montreal
your real state empire
as I tell my Jane all the time

Shane Hollander
more importantly
I want to break the Bears winning streak
so get your head in the game

Ilya Rozanov
you get *your* head in game
Voygaurs play the Kings next and rumors are Valenti doesn't want to get ass handed to him by his lost rook
embarrassing whenever it happens

Shane Hollander
and you know this probably
but Wynn's birthday is on the same day as our game
I hate to beat him on his birthday but it is what it is

Ilya Rozanov
don't worry
you will not

Shane Hollander
I was saying
I'm not going to post game hang out because Wynn and I will be going to breakfast for his birthday
so
I will have less time that night

Ilya Rozanov
don't worry I'm getting message from my Montreal chick right now
she is busy that day so it I won't make it to post game hang out either

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

This was actually going to be a lot longer, but then I decided in the middle of editing that the last part needed to be from Kip's POV because idk that's just my feeling on it. So that means starting the conclusion almost from scratch so I'll drop this here before I talk myself into even more extensive rewrites.

Also ignore me remembering Carter Vaughn exists like 200k words into this fic lmao. Game Changers is the book I've reread the least in this series.

"Time to get those fags!" hissed Anderson under his breath, but loud enough that the Bears seated at the other bench could hear.

"Cut that out," said Scott, firmly.

"Bitch!" Cliff Marlow called out from the opposing bench. "If you guys didn't have Bennett, you'd be begging the Centaurs for pointers from loserville."

As was often then case, the chirp hurt Scott because it felt true. The current game stood at zero-to-zero as it approached the end of second period, but no one could deny that the Bears were playing better. The puck had been stuck in the Admirals' end zone most of the game. Luckily, Eric had blocked every single shot they Bears had taken, but they'd taken many. The home crowd's nerves were pressurized, full of fans waiting for a goal they could celebrate.

The Bears boasted two of the Eastern conference's best forwards: generational talent Ilya Rozanov, now backed by the extremely speedy and focused Kalle Wynn. Their rookie linemate Damian Cook was keeping up too. More than fucking Anderson was keeping up with Scott and their linemate, Blair Lange. Three times this game, Anderson had missed what should have been an easy pass.

Something had to be going on with him. Scott frowned. A lot was going on with him.

Max Anderson was an experienced forward: tall, graceful on the ice, and very resilient. He had been drafted by the Admirals on the same year as Scott, from the AHL, and he was good enough that he'd never been traded. Though he'd never been at the top of the rankings, he'd always been more reliable than Scott. Credit where credit was due, no matter how much Scott hated to give it. He wished he and Max were friendlier, but they'd grown apart over the years.

In many ways, they'd practically grown up together. Or rather, Scott had watched Max transform from the corner of his eyes. The man had just finalized his second divorce, which Scott knew about because he'd heard Max complain about having to set up visitations for three kids with two separate mothers. A few days ago, Scott heard one of the rookies teasing him about his receding hairline. He'd actually had to step in for that one; Max had taken it a little too personally.

With five seconds left on second period, Rozanov took a shot. Eric successfully blocked it. The home crowd exploded into triumphant cheers. They would enter third period at zero-to-zero.

"Glad we don't have to see those two homos making out," muttered Max.

Scott swallowed back a reprimand. Not the time to start an intra-team argument. He didn't want to lose, certainly not to fucking Rozanov.

Really. He watched as the jumbotron focused on Rozanov out on the ice as he happily threw one arm around Kalle Wynn and the other around Damian Cook, obviously trying to encourage his annoyed wingers.

Rozanov hadn't come out as queer yet, and he might never since he was a Russian national. He might not be queer to begin with. Lots of people thought that Rozanov was just an attention whore who didn't like that hockey's new queer fanbase was entirely focused on the Voyageurs. Scott didn't buy that--first of all, the "new" queer fanbase wasn't all that new. Queer people liked sports too; Dylan Xie and Jeremy McAllister had just inspired some of them to be more open and enthusiastic about their interest in hockey specifically.

Besides, Rozanov had already been a superstar with some popularity outside the world of sports world thanks to his good looks and his rock star attitude on social media, where he gloated about taking a different model to bed every weekend. A different female model. He had a long term relationship with Svetlana Vetrova, a gorgeous woman who was in the entertainment industry and introduced him to actresses, Rose Landry most famously.

Why would a straight man in those circumstances play at having a crush on his male teammate to get "clicks"? Scott didn't know what his kiss gimmick with Wynn was about, but it was absurd to assume it was a cheap ploy for attention.

In any case, if Rozanov was queer, he was showing more courage than Scott by refusing to change his behavior no matter how relentless the rumors about him became.

"Hunter," Rozanov said as he skated by Scott, wearing the usual obnoxious smirk. "I pass by Straw+Berry and met Kip. He made Hunter's Lucky Puck for us."

"We stole your mojo," Damian Cook added, snorting.

"Not enough to score," said Scott.

"Yes; takes lots to wear down Bennett," said Rozanov. "But we still have time."

"And now we also get a break," said Wynn.

Scott let the guys handle the back chirping. He had to focus. Eric was good, but he couldn't score for them. Besides, the Bears would get past him eventually. It was the forwards' job--Scott's job--to get past the Bears' defense.

They retreated to the locker room to refresh and rehydrate while the ice was freshened up for third period. Scott scanned the room, nose twitching at the stink of sweat. The guys adjusted their gear and grumbled miserably. Scott walked over to where Eric was taking deep breaths.

"You okay?" asked Scott.

"Yeah," said Eric, without opening his eyes. "Just taking a chance to meditate a bit. Center myself."

"We'll keep them off you," said Scott.

"Of course."

Scott told himself he didn't detect any doubt in Eric's tone and moved on to check on Carter, the Admirals' second line center. "Your line's doing better than mine tonight."

"But not good enough," said Carter, after gulping down some Gatorade. He wiped sweat from broad chest and frowned as he pushed on a fresh bruise on his clavicle left behind by a clumsy check from a D-man in late first period. They'd gotten a two minute power play out of that and still had not been able to score. "I swear the Bears were not this fast the last time we played them. Did they all snort coke pre-game or something?"

"They went to Straw+Berry," said Gus, one of their rookie D-man, waving his phone screen at them.

Against his better judgment, Scott walked over to see the post he was on. He thought he saw Kip's face--yeah, there was Kip, smiling and blushing as he handed Rozanov purple smoothie. Scott remembered the first time he and Kip had said anything to each other beyond generic customer-barista stuff. He'd been talking to his friend Maria about hot hockey players. How had Kip described Rozanov again? The hot Russian one from Boston.

Right. Scott shook his head.

Kip had also listed Scott himself as one of the MLH players he found hot. And he'd actually known Scott's name.

"Hunter, we got three minutes for the press," one of the assistant coaches called out, giving Scott the perfect excuse to push such childish thoughts out of his mind.

Scott had to field some annoying questions while talking to the usual reporters. Yes, he could see that the Admirals were taking less shots and yes, he was confident that they would be able to turn things around before the game ended. He was taken aback a little when he was asked about some idiotic SportsBet pool about him punching Rozanov. His eyes narrowed, but managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes.

"I'd rather not give more attention to that site and the relentless gambling it's promoting," said Scott.

"Legally, it's not considered gambling," said a reporter.

"Good thing I'm not a lawyer then," said Scott, "and in my opinion, a site called SportsBet sure looks like gambling. I hope fans who use it are careful with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to my team."

Answers like that one were the reason Scott had a reputation as the most boring, by-the-books MLH player, but he didn't care about looking cool. Or about the team's PR people berating him about not pissing off league sponsors later. He hated SportsBet and as far as he was concerned, it was shameful that the league put up their stupid "prediction market data", or whatever they were calling betting pools, in screens all over the stadium.

Third period started with Scott facing off against Rozanov. "Kip says hi!" the obnoxious asshole said to him, barely intelligible past his accent and mouth guard.

Scott ignored him; he was just throwing shit at the wall, like usual. No way Rozanov knew of his feelings for--Scott won the face off.

The remainder of the game was grueling, but the Admirals finally started turning things around and advancing on the Bears. Ten minutes and multiple line switches later, Scott saw the perfect opening--a line between himself and the net. He took his shot and seconds later, the deafening roar of the home crowd reached his ears. Scott raised his arms over his head and roared in response, grinning as Blair, whose assist he'd scored off, hugged him.

Neither team scored after that. Scott would have liked a more decisive victory, but still. He got to smirk back at Rozanov as the guys filed off the ice.

Jane - Lily

Jane (Montreal)
embarrassing to lose to the Admirals
isn't someone always calling Hunter a dinosaur?
not sure I'm horny enough for this

Lily (Boston)
please Jane pretty sure I could get you off at gunpoint
and I don't accept a loss to Hunter
it was all Bennett

Jane (Montreal)
Hunter wasn't the one who scored???
oh Bennett is not an Admiral now?
is it not a forward's jobs to get past a goalie???

Lily (Boston)
it is hot to lose to 5th best looking player in Eastern conference
you should've seen his super focused face

Jane (Montreal)
someone I know scores against Bennett all the time
wait 5th?
Bennett?
who is 1-4?

Lily (Boston)
Rozanov is 1 of course

Jane (Montreal)
ugh

Lily (Boston)
then Kalle Wynn
Dylan Xie

Jane (Montreal)
Dylan???
doubt you can get him to stop talking long enough to fuck him

Lily (Boston)
Jane please
all his ramblings is sexy
imagine how fun to tire him out enough he finally quiets down
suck him while he tries to explain outer space or something
sky is limit
are you touching yourself yet?

Jane (Montreal)
no!
so who is 4?

Lily (Boston)
Jake Merrell of course

Jane (Montreal)
now you're fucking with me

Lily (Boston)
finally Bennett
then Shane Hollander and Troy Barrett tied for #6

Jane (Montreal)
you're tying me with Troy fucking Barrett
I mean

Lily (Boston)
delete message all you want Jane we both saw that lol

Since Rozanov had tried to fuck with them by going to Straw+Berry pre-game, the team decided to head there for their post-victory celebration rather than a club. They could at least start there, Carter had proposed, then move on to more exciting venues. Their next game would be in three days, so they could indulge a little.

"A little," Scott told the guys as they filed out of the locker room. "We fly to Denver next and their team is no joke."

The truth was, Scott was pretty excited, and not just because he would get to see Kip. He didn't like going to clubs with the guys at all since they often "encouraged" him to pick up women. Earlier on in his career, Scott had even forced himself to take a few girls to hotels. He shuddered at the stray memories. The less said about those miserable hook ups the better.

By now, his team had mostly given up badgering him about women. There was still speculation, of course. Maybe the captain was one of those weird people who wasn't into sex? Maybe there was some chick he was in love with who, for some incomprehensible reason, didn't want him back? Was he secretly super religious and saving himself for marriage? Did his dick not work? Was he really into semen retention during the season? Scott had looked that one up the first time he'd heard a rookie talking about it and it was so stupid that he'd considered taking the kid aside and telling him to please, jerk off if he needed it.

As far as Scott knew, no one had ever breathed a suggestion that he might be gay. That had been a source of pride for him early on, proof that he'd never slipped up during training, hanging out, games, the locker rooms. . . everywhere, Scott had managed to fit in without passing around puck bunny nudes or otherwise compromising his integrity. It was part of the reason he'd stopped forcing himself to pick up the occasional woman around them. Mostly, he'd grown tired of putting himself through that.

More recently though, Scott's stomach twisted whenever one of his teammates joked that he was lucky to be some kind of monk who didn't need to waste time with bitches and their bullshit. Well, Max had said that after getting off the phone with one of his ex-wives. Scott had only managed a grunt and a frown in response.

He couldn't help but be resentful that Max got to have relationships, even if they flamed out horribly, while he had to hold himself over with the occasional summer hook up in South America. Scott was pushing thirty-one, and he'd never had anything close to a serious romantic relationship. If he did muster the courage to come out and didn't lose hockey, then he would have to endure the awkwardness of learning to date properly as a grown man.

Such thoughts were swirling in his mind as he joined Carter in front of Straw+Berry. His friend gave him a bit of a worried look, but he'd given up prying about what was bothering Scott.

Logical, since Scott only ever mumbled denials or platitudes about generic stress over the teams' prospects.

"You think they have anything here with fake milk?" asked Carter as a waiter led them to one of Straw+Berry's tables.

"We have our famous fruit smoothies, of course," the waiter told them. "And the option to substitute oat, soy, or almond milk in any of our milkshakes."

Scott let Carter flirt with the girl and scanned the room. Kip waved at him from the counter and Scott almost blushed. Luckily, Carter seemed entertained enough as they walked deeper into the shop. A lot of their teammates were already there, including Eric, who waved at them when he spotted them. Carter asked the waiter if it would be possible to sit with him and minutes later, they'd pushed two tables together. It was necessary since Eric had their rooks clustered around him like ducklings. The rookies and. . . Kyle Swift?

"The man of the hour!" said Carter, fist-bumping Eric. "Beautiful work today, Benny. A shutout against the Bears. This alone should get you into the All Stars."

"Thank you," said Eric, grinning. He gestured at Scott. "But it was Cap here who secured the win."

Scott grinned and parked himself at the opposite end of the makeshift long table. His gaze passed over Kyle. The boy had squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans and paired them with plain white V-neck t-shirt. A fat blue pendant laid on his hairless chest and a few wristbands adorned his left arm, including a rainbow one. He was lanky and thin, but well-toned. Cardio bunny, he thought. Or maybe imagined some of the guys describing him as such.

Something about Kyle's mannerism made him look older than he was, at least for people who weren't close enough to see his still-perfect face, completely unspoiled by even laugh lines. Still, Scott couldn't believe that he'd mistaken Kyle for Kip's boyfriend even from afar. From what he'd gathered from the occasional conversation he'd overheard between Maria and Kip at the Straw+Berry counter, Kyle was a Columbia undergrad who occasionally showed up at study hall looking for someone to bounce ideas off of.

There, he'd run into Kip, who'd been completing a free seminar on. . . God, Scott didn't remember. Something to do with art restoration or other. But Kyle had joined the seminar, then stayed behind and hit it off with Kip, who'd invited him to Straw+Berry for the first time.

"He reminds you of your undergrad glory days?" Maria had teased.

"Oh yeah, my glory days of being a rich boy coming off a semi-successful modeling career," Kip had quipped back. "I just got the feeling that he's a little. . . I don't know. He doesn't act like it, but he's still a queer kid from a small town who just made it to NYC. I guess I just want to be an adult he can call if he's in a bind."

"Kip, he'd been out in the big city for like two years now," Maria had reminded him. "He's funny and cute, and probably the one who's gonna land other people in a bind."

"How do you stay focused for so long?" Kyle was asking Eric now, as he played with a thick straw. "That's really impressive. I'm sure if I was a goalie, I would space out constantly."

"That's not really the challenge," said Eric. "Not for me, anyway. It's difficult to space out when you find the task at hand engaging, and few things in life are as exhilarating as keeping track of the puck during a hockey game."

"I can think of a few," said Kyle, with a sly smile.

"Yeah, like what?" demanded Blair, from Eric's other side.

"Oh, skiing!" said Kyle, grinning at Eric. "It's very different from goaltending, I bet. Except maybe the very beginning, when you're at the top of a mountain, looking down. I hear hockey players like skiing in the off season. Have you ever tried, Eric?"

"A couple of times," said Eric. "It wasn't for me. Turns out I like to be still and watch fast things. And catch them, I guess."

Carter chuckled and leaned over, speaking in a low enough that only Scott would be able to hear him. "Do you think Eric realizes that boy is flirting with him?"

Scott made what he hoped was a noncommittal expression, looking over at his friend out the corner of his eyes. Eric was a legend in the making, possibly the best goalie in the league. The fact that he'd been loyal to the Admirals despite their Cup drought of more than a decade added to his immaculate reputation. It wasn't unusual to see him surrounded by the younger players, just like he was now. Eric didn't take himself too seriously and seemed to genuinely enjoy guiding the rookies.

Hero worship didn't begin to describe what some of the rooks must feel towards Eric, and Scott didn't blame them. Eric paid attention to them, to their juvenile and repetitive problems. He offered advise without making them feel judged and even encouraged them not to go overboard with alcohol. Somehow, he gently admonished them into toning down their more toxic language, at least in front of him.

Eric got these boys to think veganism was cool. A few of them had apologized for saying 'bitch' or 'fag' in his presence. And they still thought he was amazing. It was like he had a superpower.

Now, the rookies stared at Kyle with confusion. Did they realize that Kyle was hitting on Eric? They were looking at Kyle like he was a strange bird that had landed at their table to steal Eric's attention.

"I love skiing," said Gus. "It's pretty common back home. My brother almost went pro."

"Oh," said Kyle. "Eric, what other sports do you like?"

"I hate to be cliched, but I spend some time golfing in the off season," said Eric.

"Cliched?" said Kyle.

"Lots of hockey players golf," said Drew Hudson, another of their rookie forwards. "Eric's great at it. He's been teaching us."

"That's so interesting," said Kyle, looking mostly at Eric. "I'm a bit of a golfer myself."

Once again, Carter chuckled. Scott didn't detect any malice in the sound, just genuine amusement. He couldn't help but wonder if Carter would find it as funny if Kyle was a young woman.

"I'm gonna take a walk around," Scott told Carter, feeling a little off-center. "See how the rest of the guys are doing."

"Sure, man," said Carter.

Scott actually went out to the street to pace around for a bit. He hated to feel this way--suspicious and resentful of his own teammates. Carter was a decent man. He'd never given Scott reason to think he would be a virulent homophobe. Maybe Carter had thrown around a couple of slurs in anger, but what hockey player hadn't? Scott himself had occasionally used homophobic slurs when he was younger and desperate to fit in.

To distract himself, he checked his phone. The Voyageurs had just won their match against the Kings. Six-to-two, with Jamie Wagner scoring the first hat trick of his career. Hollander had scored another two goals, with assists from Xie and Merrell. Hayden Pike gotten a sixth one near the end. As he scrolled, Scott saw a picture multiple times: Craig Valenti scowling, cropped next to Jamie Wagner grinning as a couple of Voyageurs hugged him. Humiliating defeat for Kings, screamed the headline.

Ilya Rozanov - Shane Hollander

Shane Hollander
that's what I'm fucking talking about

Ilya Rozanov
congratulations on beating Hunter's great grandfather Hollander

Shane Hollander
thank you
winning streak at a solid 5 now
it'll take a natural disaster to keep us from the playoffs

Ilya Rozanov
enjoy it while it lasts
you know how much I love my Montreal dick tricks

Shane Hollander
what the ones you've scored in your head
you've never pulled off a dick trick in Montreal

Ilya Rozanov
really?
that's not what my Jane says

Shane Hollander
ok fine
I walked into that one

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

More of me not getting to the freaking point lol now it's 4 chapters

Kip picked up a Straw+Berry shift for Thanksgiving. His stomach sank as he did it, but he'd been noticing for months now that his dad was going to quite a few doctors' appointments and that his mother seemed worried sick about something. Kip had tried asking if anything was wrong, but George and Margaret Grady hated worrying their kids. And Kip found that it was difficult to tell them that he wasn't a kid anymore since still slept in his old bedroom. They didn't even charge him rent.

George Grady was taught history at a public high school in Queens and Margaret worked at the principal's office at a neighboring elementary school. They'd met in freshman year of high school and married right after graduation. By the time George started teaching, Kip was learning his ABC's.

He'd had somewhat of an idyllic childhood in one of the world's most famous cities, visiting wonderful museums every weekend with his loving parents and making friends with people from all over the world. One of Kip's great life regrets was that he hadn't learned Spanish while playing with Latino kids in Central Park back when his brain was absorbing languages was a sponge.

Though Kip was a little ashamed to admit it, he'd been a little demanding as a kid, especially when it came to summer activities at those museums. He just hadn't known how expensive New York City was since his parents had never let their kids know how much they'd penny-pinched to stay afloat. Barely. They were lucky to still live in one of NYC's few rent-controlled apartment buildings, but it was still touch and go.

They weren't the type of family that openly discussed money, but Kip suspected that neither of his parents could afford to stop working. That wouldn't be so bad since both had jobs with benefits that weren't physically demanding, but. . . What if one of them was sick? Kip didn't want to consider it too much.

He looked around Straw+Berry, almost hoping for an annoying costumer to distract him.

Of course, there was a never a customer when a barista wanted one. It was nine-thirty in the morning, right in the middle of the post-breakfast crowd lull. There were a few single tables occupied by laptop-wielding students, but all were sipping their drinks calmly. By the main entrance, Maria was playing with her phone, waiting for anyone who wanted to be seated. No one was at the smoothie counter. Outside, the New Yorkers walked by in their usual brisk pace, trying to stay out of each other's way.

Kip caught himself wishing that Scott would walk through the door, which wouldn't be happening until later. The Admirals had a home game today, against the Voyageurs, and Scott usually passed by for his lucky smoothie on the way to the stadium. For his Hunter Lucky Puck. Kip smiled again, remembering how Scott blushed every time he ordered the drink.

"I'm losing my mind," Kip mumbled to himself.

"What?" said Kyle.

Kip suppressed a startled yelp. Almost.

He turned to look at Kyle, who had somehow come in, put on his apron, and took a spot beside Kip behind the smoothie counter. All without revealing his presence. Had Kip being standing there staring into space like a moron?

"How do you move so quietly?" Kip demanded.

"One of my many gifts," said Kyle. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," said Kip. "Your shift doesn't start until eleven."

"Don't worry, I won't clock in a second earlier," said Kyle. "Admirals have a home game today. Figured you could use the help."

"You don't have to do that, Kyle." Kip didn't point out that Straw+Berry was practically deserted because that wasn't the point.

"I know," said Kyle, shrugging. "I want to."

"Don't you have schoolwork?"

"Finished it all early this week," said Kyle. "Am I really that annoying to have around?"

"No, no," said Kip. "Don't listen to me; just want to make sure you don't fall behind on your studies, is all."

"Don't worry about that," said Kyle. "My classes aren't difficult."

A group of customers came in and made their way to the smoothie counter. Kip left Kyle to chat take orders and started making smoothies.

He and Maria had both been a little skeptical when Kyle decided he wanted to work at Straw+Berry, both certain that Kyle had only wanted an excuse to run into Eric Bennett, who he had decided to "seduce". Potential sexual harassment aside, Kyle was--to use Maria's words--a quintessential rich kid. Full offense. On the section of his application asking why he wanted the job, he'd written that he'd "missed out on the traditional American teenager experience of working at a fast food restaurant".

"I'm judging myself for liking him right now," Maria had said.

It was Kip who'd argued in favor of hiring him. Kyle could use some perspective about what it was like to not be rich. Or "comfortable", as he described his family. With any luck, he would learn to be a not-entirely malignant executive at his dad's. . . whatever kind of business his father owned. Something to do with real estate?

In any case, Kyle had surprised them both by being an excellent coworker. Not only did he always show up on time for his shifts (or early, as he had today), he was was clean, organized, and excellent with customers. Maybe it was because he had a face/smile convo that could sell sunscreen, but he had a way to handle even the most obnoxious complaints about smoothies. And he didn't balk when it was his turn to clean tables after gross customers had taken it upon themselves to spill sauces and condiments everywhere.

Even his flirting with Eric wasn't too bad. Eric seemed to take in stride, much to Kip's relief. Mostly, the man smiled indulgently and answered Kyle's questions about hockey, golfing, veganism, his childhood, politics, whatever, earnestly. Whenever Kyle touched patted his shoulder or made a very blatant comment about how attractive he was, Eric looked startled and quickly changed the subject. Or fled Straw+Berry altogether.

This had been going on for at least three weeks now. Kip didn't know why Kyle seemed to have a thing for married straight guys, but Kip hoped he grew out of it before he ran into a psycho.

Had Eric made up with his wife? He still wore his wedding band, so had he decided to go ahead with fatherhood after all? Kip didn't dare ask and since he obviously hadn't shared the conversation he'd had with Eric about his looming divorce with anyone, he couldn't even gossip about it.

To pass the time, Kip went to his phone a looked for somewhere to scroll. He spent a few minutes torturing himself by checking what his old Columbia classmates were up to. Ugh; another engagement announcement after someone reported yet another promotion at their job. Kip gave up and went to the Voyageurs' feed. He landed on a reel of McAllister taking his gorgeous Maine coon to the gym he shared with his bros.

"What's that?" Shane Hollander said on the screen, after a brief touch to the large tabby cat, which someone had deposited on his lap. "It vibrated."

"She's purring, bro," said McAllister, from somewhere off screen. "That means she's happy!"

"You sure?"

"Yeah!" Someone's hand--presumably McAllister's--appeared on the screen and scratched behind the cat's ear. The burring got loud enough to be picked up by the camera, or maybe someone edited in the sound for effect. Whoever ran the Voyageurs' socials knew what they were doing. "There's my princess," murmured McAllister.

The cat stretched her legs and her fluffy tail waved in and out of the screen. Shane Hollander's large fingers went to her other ear.

"You go under her chin," said McAllister.

Kip checked the comments. Imagine being that pussy.

Internet perverts, Kip thought, smirking to himself. Although. . . wait, how old was McAllister? Still a rookie, right? But some of them went in after a few years in the AHL or CHL.

Whatever. What were the chances that Kip would ever get to perv on Jeremy McAllister in person?

As if to answer Kip's question, an unexpected group of customers arrived at Straw+Berry: Voyageurs. Kip recognized Dylan Xie first thanks to his distinctive blue hair extensions. And also because he was piggy-back riding Nikolai Babikov, who was huge. Kip watched, excited despite himself, as Xie talked to Maria at the entrance and then steered Babikov to the smoothie counter.

"No way," said Kyle.

Four more guys who must be Voyageurs trailed behind Xie and Babikov--a Black kid playing with his phone, an older man with a buzz cut, a white guy with a preppy polo shirt, and another white boy with dark blond hair looking around with undisguised interest.

"That's enough, Nikki," the guy with the buzz cut was saying when they reached the smoothie counter. Jake Merrell. Kip couldn't believe he knew so many hockey players by name. "Put him down," Merrell continued, "we have a game in two hours."

"I'm fine," mumbled Babikov, as Xie jumped off him. "He doesn't weigh much."

"Shut up, I do too!" said Xie, leaning most of his weight on Babikov's side. He did not look that small in person. . . except when compared to Babikov, who towered over most people. "I'm heavier than I look."

Babikov's response was to put his arm around Xie's waist and lift him of his feet with a placid expression, making Xie snort and kick at his calf lightly. Kip didn't like to speculate about people's private lives, but that was more transparent than the shameless compliments Kyle kept throwing at Eric. He looked past them and confirmed that Maria was indeed watching this unfold. They hadn't had such good material for a gossip session in a while.

"Boys," said Merrell.

Xie and Babikov straightened up. The guy in the polo shirt rolled his eyes.

"Welcome to Straw+Berry," said Kyle, pasting on his brightest smile. "Voyageurs, right?"

"Yes," said Jake Merrell, offering them a generic smile. "We've been told this place is a fountain of good luck."

"We're here to try Hunter's Lucky Puck," said the one who'd been looking around. Up close, Kip could tell it was Jeremy McAllister, and that he looked too young to be perved over. He even had a big zit on his left cheekbone.

"I'd like to try the Kale Power Storm," said the one in the polo shirt. That had to be Jonas Carmichael.

"Gross, Jonas," said the Black kid. Passey. He was too young to be J. J. Boiziau. "Something with chocolate, please." He looked up at Kyle. "What do you recommend?"

"I want the Tres Leches milkshake with extra condensed milk drizzle," interjected Dylan Xie, before Kyle could answer.

"Dylan," said Merrell.

"What?" said Xie. "I have the pancreas of a true blooded American. I can drink my weight in sugar."

"And he fucking tried last season," said Carmichael. "Remember the ice cream debacle?"

"Ice cream debacle?" said Kyle.

"I was efficiently consuming some Ben&Jerry's last season," said Xie.

"What?" asked Passey, frowning.

"He was leaving pints out to melt and then drinking them," said Carmichael.

"That's basically a milkshake," said Xie, giving them a satisfied smile. "Right?"

"Ah. . . sure," said Kip.

Currently, Xie wore a fluffy coat that mostly hid his figure, but Kip knew from the Under Armor ads that he was fit, bordering on slender, especially for a professional athlete. Kip sighed mentally. One day, he would not be a teenager and his metabolism would abandon him.

"Guys, let's just get Hunter's blueberry thing," said Merrell. He looked at Kyle. "Would it be two much trouble if we each get four to go?"

"I'll get right on it," said Kip, starting to gather the ingredients.

"Guys, look at this," said McAllister, gesturing at the wall with the stylized painting of two hockey players at face off. "This totally looks like Shane and Rozanov."

"That's true," said Babikov, beginning to walk in that direction. "Come on, let's take pics next to it."

Kip smiled as he glanced at the younger guys playing around in front of the wall. He didn't even care if they went pseudo-viral and gave his shitty boss more free publicity. They were so sweet. Kyle slid next to him and started portioning blueberries and protein powder for the smoothies, pouting the entire time. What offense had Xie committed, Kip wondered, smiling to himself.

He felt like a kid meeting his favorite boyband. Which made no sense since he was used to the Admirals coming and going whenever they were playing home games. These were Voyageurs, though. The hockey team with two openly queer players. Kip was sure there were other queer pro athletes in men's sports, but these were the only ones he knew of and thus, the only ones he followed. His dad occasionally made fun of him because it took some hot gay guys to get him to finally care about sports.

The truth was Kip wasn't all that into the sport itself, fun as it looked. He was very much one of those new fake hockey fans real hockey fans kept complaining about that was in it to follow the Voyageurs' antics. Last week, the reel where McAllister brought up his stick collection had wrestled a smile out of Kip after a particularly shitty shift.

"You mean hockey sticks?" someone off screen had asked.

"No, he means sticks," the other player with him had said. "Like, from the ground."

"Yeah, from my hikes," McAllister had confirmed, beaming. "If you find a cool stick while hiking you have to keep it. My mom made me throw lots out, but now I bought myself a big house with an extra room just for my sticks."

The other MLH teams couldn't compete with that. Even the Admirals, who Kip followed out of loyalty to Scott and Eric, flailed about awkwardly, unable to talk about much besides hockey and how badly they wanted to win the Stanley Cup. Like most other teams, they gloated about their new sports cars and mansions while the champions went off about their pets, determinism, and stick collections. When that got old, someone sat Shane Hollander and Jake Merrell down and forced them to compliment each other.

Scott Hunter - Kip Grady

Kip Grady
sorry about today
you guys made a good effort though

Scott Hunter
not sure 4-1 is a good effort
but thanks for the nice thought

Kip Grady
they're the champions
my dad says they have equivalent 1st and 2nd lines now

Scott Hunter
do you know what that means?

Kip Grady
well
not really
but it sounds not good for anyone going up against them

Scott Hunter
can I tell you a secret?

Kip Grady
I love secrets

Scott Hunter
I don't mind losing to the Voyageurs
I should but
I don't

Kip Grady
that's it?

Scott Hunter
sorry guess that doesn't sound like much to regular people
but it's like I'm betraying my team
maybe I'm not playing as well as I should
giving off weak vibes or something

Kip Grady
I don't think that makes sense
you scored a goal for your team tonight

Scott Hunter
I know but I'm supposed to score more than the other team

Kip Grady
I know how a team wins a hockey game Scott

Scott Hunter
sorry I didn't mean to sound so condescending

Kip Grady
that's okay I know texting comes off weird sometimes
can I tell you a secret too?

Scott Hunter
yes of course

Kip Grady
I like it when the Voyageurs kick ass too

Scott Hunter
yeah?

Kip Grady
yeah
because lots of assholes keep saying they're not real athletes
and the MLH keeps promoting them for clicks or whatever

Scott Hunter
you mean the homophobes

Kip Grady
yeah and racists too
they have four POC players so they're even more "political"
but they have to eat their words every time that team wipes the floor with another macho straight team

Scott Hunter
you're not wrong

Kip Grady
sorry I know you're a decent guy
and Eric too
and Carter and I'm sure a bunch of other Admirals too

Scott Hunter
no I get what you mean
hey
when I get back from this next roadie
is it ok if we meet in person somewhere
there's something I'd like to tell you face to face

Kip Grady
yes of course
you know where I'll be

Kip checked the Admirals scheduled for the season. Their next home game would be in three weeks, then there would be a short break for Christmas. Would Scott stay in New York City for Christmas? His parents had died when he was young, Kip knew that much, but surely Scott had other close friends or family.

In between following the Voyageurs, Kip had indulged his curiosity about Scott and scoured the internet for details about his personal life. His dad was surprisingly useless about this--he knew all about Scott's point production, slumps, highlights, etc., and about his extensive charity work (which focused on funding educational opportunities for disadvantaged kids), but nothing about the man's love life.

"Son, do you have a crush?" asked George at breakfast one day. "Because I don't think Hunter is gay."

"Maybe our Kip can turn him," said Margaret.

"Oh my God, Mom!"

Horrendous jokes aside, was Scott straight? Because he hadn't had a serious girlfriend Kip could find. Nor had he been out wscrewing so-called puck bunnies in years, which hockey bros online occasionally commented on. Whenever Scott was asked about his love life during a boring interview, he demured that he was entirely focused on leading the Admirals to a Stanley Cup victory.

Maybe he needs to get his saintly dick wet, some obnoxious hockey bro was always happy to comment.

Maybe he was. Just not with puck bunnies. Maybe one of the many headless, mouth-wateringly muscular torsos on Grindr belonged to Scott Hunter.

"I'm losing my mind. . ." Kip sing-songed to himself at Straw+Berry's smoothie counter. Slow time again, so he had little to do besides ruminate.

"You say that a lot," said Kyle, his partner for the shift.

"And you have the hearing range of a bat," said Kip, bumping his shoulder.

"Really, what's up?" asked Kyle.

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about," said Kip.

Kip and Maria had both expected Kyle to quit the moment he got tired of chasing after Eric, or right after the Admirals went on the road, whichever came first. Kyle had surprised them, though. He'd been working at Straw+Berry for almost two months now, happy as a clam and still punctual and helpful. Occasionally, he mentioned the allowance his parents sent him (in addition to paying his rent), so he sure as hell wasn't sticking around for the minimum wage or nonexistent benefits.

"I really like this job!" he'd told Maria when she broke and asked him what the hell he was doing. "It's useful and meaningful to feed people. I mean that. A good barista is worth twenty finance bros. We should unionize."

"Girl, not in front of the cameras!" Maria had admonished.

"I am entitled by law to discuss unionization," said Kyle. "I'm an American citizen. I have rights."

"Oh my God," said Kip, biting back cackles. It had been the first time in his life that a fellow American had babbled about their rights without sounding like a consummate asshole.

That being said, they couldn't have Kyle talking about unions where the owner's cameras could catch them, never mind what the law said. Kyle might be discovering his love for customer service, but Kip and Maria both needed this job. With every passing month--Kip didn't like to think of them as years, though that was exactly what they were--the chances that Kip would every get a job in the field he studied grew slimmer.

At first, Kip had tried to keep his CV lively. He'd written free lance for the odd history magazine, tried to keep submitting to academic journals, and gone to as many conferences as possible. Even those with hefty registration fees. He'd told himself that they were necessary networking expenses. He hadn't bothered to attend one in months and hadn't published anything since. . . shit. It was going on a year. That dreaded gap in his CV was growing larger and larger.

Even his mom had stopped mentioning HR and secretarial openings at her school.

Not that Kip was in a slump or anything. Or a dry spell. He was thirty, not dead. In fact, he decided that he would go to the Kingfisher that very weekend. Maybe if he found a nice guy to at least fool around and hook up with, he would stop deluding himself with daydreams of a closeted Scott Hunter.

The next day, the Straw+Berry hockey screen alternated between Voyageurs and Bears games. The Voyageurs were down in Florida, currently beating the Miami Sharks, and the Bears were up in Toronto trouncing the Knights. In two days, they would be facing each other in Montreal. Hockey bros were losing their minds, as was usual, and SportsBet had a pool going on whether or not Rozanov would get that Montreal dick trick he'd been promising his entire career.

"Do they even play hockey out in the Western conference I keep hearing about?" asked Kyle, once again at the smoothie counter.

"I'm sure they do," said Kip. "I haven't seen as many hot players on that side, though."

"Oh." Kyle made a face and shrugged. "Maybe they'll get some hot ones next season."

"We can only hope," mumbled Kip as he checked the MLH website for the updates on Scott's game.

The Admirals were beating the Dallas Diamonds, two-to-one, and they were near the end of the third period. Kip sent Scott an encouraging text before remembering that, of course, Scott wouldn't be checking his phone until long after the game was over. Oh, well. Win or lose, Kip bet Scott would like seeing it.

Scott Hunter - Kip Grady

Scott Hunter
thanks
it was a bit of a close call

Kip Grady
really?
I wish I'd seen it
but the straw berry owner plays Montreal and Boston games

Scott Hunter
makes sense
they're the most popular teams

Kip Grady
yeah but you're the one who made the stupid smoothie shop go viral

Scott Hunter
didn't mean to

Kip Grady
you should sue the owner for your
idk likeness or whatever

Scott Hunter
pretty sure he's using the standard Hollander-Rozanov face off shot
maybe they should sue

Kip Grady
they won their games today too

Scott Hunter
they sure win a lot
if you want I could get you a subscription for the official MLH streaming site
so you and your dad can watch all the games you want

Kip Grady
really?
you can get like a special pass or something

Scott Hunter
i don't know
probably easier if I just pay for a subscription though
just make a dummy email account and send me the password

Kip Grady
Scott I can't accept that

Scott Hunter
why not?

Kip Grady
I know how much a season pass for MLH official streams cost
my dad's been wanting that for a while and it's too much

Scott Hunter
not for me
I wouldn't even notice the expense

Kip Grady
yeah I get that
but not all of us are pro athletes

Scott Hunter
here you go
[email] [password]
remainder of this season and all of next season paid
you can share with your dad

Scott Hunter - Kip Grady

Scott Hunter
we played well today
won against the Wolves and they're a decent team
not sure if you follow them

Scott Hunter
not so good today against the freaking Bears
Rozanov was as obnoxious as ever
he mentioned you during face off
your name I mean
I guess you made an impression

Scott Hunter
game delayed today because something's going on with the zamboni
like all of them
not sure what is going on out here in Tennessee

Scott Hunter
I'm sorry about the season streaming pass
I didn't mean to offend you

Scott Hunter
am I blocked?
would the phone even tell me?

Scott Hunter
I won't bother you anymore
Maybe when I come back home we can
never mind
just let me know if you'd rather I didn't show up at Straw+Berry anymore

Chapter End Notes

I am latigrat over at tumblr where I've been whining about work all week lol

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

I'm actually happy with how this turned out despite struggling quite a bit with the beginning and idk how it turned out. Eager to start the new weeks with plans to switch gears for another arc!

CONTENT NOTES at the end for this one

Kip did use the MLH Streaming account, indirectly. He gave it to his dad after making up a story about one of the Admirals gifting him an account, which wasn't even a lie, come to think of it. When George asked which Admiral, Kip pretended it'd been low tier player whose name he didn't remember.

"He got you an MLH streaming account and you don't even know his name?" asked George.

Kip shrugged. "They all got it in their heads I make lucky smoothies. You know how superstitious hockey players are, and how much money they make."

That seemed to satisfy his dad. It felt scummy to do, but if Kip told the truth--that Scott Hunter himself had bought him the membership--then George might get the idea that Kip was Scott Hunter's friend.

Which he had been, more or less. A bad friend who ghosted him for fairly stupid reasons.

No, they weren't stupid. Playing friends with a freaking millionaire was stupid. Pseudo-pining over a straight bro was stupid, and Kip had been dangerously close to doing that with Scott. The last time he'd forced himself to go to the Kingfisher, he'd spent all evening scanning the room for dark hair, a manly stubble, and shy dark eyes.

Man who looked like Scott Hunter were rarely shy.

Anyway, Scott was polite, so Kip didn't even feel the need to block him. Though he should. Every time his phone alerted him about a new message, he felt a tug on his heart, though Scott had never texted so much that Kip should wonder if any random alert was from him. God, he was so glad he hadn't shared his short-lived "friendship" with Maria.

"Did you hear the news?" Kyle asked one day, after bursting into Straw+Berry's narrow break room.

"I don't think so," said Kip, taking in the glint in Kyle's eyes.

"Me neither," said Kyle, sliding next to Kip on the couch and pulling out his phone, "but my friends are saying that the MLH is trending again."

"Your friends are into hockey?"

"No," said Kyle. "They just know the love of my life is an MLH player."

"Okay," said Kip, choosing to ignore that rather alarming escalation in Kyle's description of Eric.

He slid close to the boy to get a better look at his phone screen. A video of one of the ESPN talking heads started playing.

Breaking news from the MLH: eighteen year old Daniel Flannigan, rookie forward for the LA Kings, has been hospitalized after a fall from the balcony of his seventh floor condo. Details are currently sparse, but witness recordings appear to show Flannigan climbing over the railings of his balcony and choosing to jump. We will not play the video due to its graphic nature, but all four of our reporters who watched it concur that the jump appeared intentional.

"I bet that's online still," said Kyle.

"Don't watch it," said Kip. There was nothing to be gained from gawking at such a morbid spectacle.

"Wasn't planning to," mumbled Kyle.

The MLH and Flannigan's family have asked for courtesy and privacy during this time.

A headshot of a boy with light brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and hazel-green eyes filled the screen. Kip didn't follow the Western conference players, so he didn't know anything about Daniel Flannigan. Still, he couldn't help but imagine how happy this boy must have been to be drafted to the MLH at all, and then to have made it through training camp. Scott had told him a bit about what that had been like for him, how he'd felt like he could have moved mountains his entire first season in the MLH. What could have driven Flannigan to try and take his own life?

The internet was happy to speculate on it and Kyle was happy to scroll on and on in between serving customers. Kip listened with nothing more than a perfunctory reproachful look. It seemed like Flannigan hadn't been particularly noteworthy. He'd been drafted in the later rounds and had playing for the third line at an acceptable but unspectacular level. Hockey bros had speculated that he might improve, but he wouldn't be making it to the record books. There had been no scandals, minor or otherwise, in his personal life. Before or after he'd made it to the MLH.

"He wasn't as good as Wagner," said Kyle. "You know him?"

Before Kip could answer, a cluster of costumers arrived at the smoothie counter.

Kyle slipped his phone into the pocket of his olive-green Straw+Berry apron. He plastered on his pleasant costumer service smile. "Hi, how can we help you?"

Kip figured he knew which Wagner. He mused on it as he started gathering the ingredients for a Lucky Puck, trying to recall what Wagner looked like. Generic images of blondish boys in hockey gear passed his mind. Jamie Wagner, the LA rookie who'd been traded to the Voyageurs, did not particularly stand out to Kip since he didn't follow the actual sport too seriously. He knew that the kid was good, though, to the point that even Kip's dad had marveled at the decision to trade him the first place. For while, there had been furious speculation about what must have gone on in the Kings' locker room.

Was the kid some kind of diva? Had he been lording his background over other players? Kip hadn't gotten that one until learning that the Wagner clan had had people in the MLH, either as players or in management/coaching, for at least three generations. Currently, Jamie's two older brothers played for top tier teams and his mother had some kind of high level administrative position.

But maybe that didn't have anything to do with Jamie's trade. Maybe he'd been caught doping. Maybe he was hiding some illness or injury. Maybe it was some obscure beef between the coaches. Who knew which ones. Maybe someone was trying to fuck over Terrent, the Bears' coach, by sending yet another top forward to the Voyageurs.

Most of the furor had died down once the season started and Jamie Wagner kept playing just like he had his first season. Which was excellently, according to Kip's dad and hockey bros at large. There had been furious searching for hints of Voyageurs locker room drama and unofficial rivalries, mostly between Jamie Wagner and Xie, but that had fizzled out too. Jamie Wagner appeared often enough with the other Voyageur rookies, not just in the promotional reels, but in Sienna's streams. And Passey and McAllisters' occasional personal posts too. From all angles, it looked like he had smoothly integrated with his new team.

He was a quiet boy, from what Kip had gathered. Often, he stuck close to Babikov and tried to hide behind his bulk.

That night, Kip was huddled in his bed, alternating between his usual miserable social media apps instead of reading, exercising, reviewing his CV and sending it out to long shot job openings, or doing literally anything else that might be productive.

He paused on a recent post from his old friend Elena, who had moved out shortly after marrying a fellow software engineer a couple of years back. She and Kip had promised to stay in touch, but that was easier said than done. For a while now, their interactions had been limited to liking each other's posts. Or Kip liking her posts, since he didn't have exciting life updates to share. No new jobs, no new relationships, and no traveling.

Certainly, he didn't have a pic of a cute, big-eyed one month old to share.

Shit, Kip couldn't believe he'd forgotten that Elena had given birth after leaving and impersonal 'Congratulations!' on the post announcing the little girl's birth. Elena had been one of his closest friends and he hadn't bothered to so much as offer to call her and catch up. Now, he hesitated to even like the baby's one-month social media pic.

He did so and then, to distract himself, switched to another app. Streaming. What was going on there? Ah, Sienna had invited Xie to her house and he'd brought some teammates, like usual. By now, Kip recognized the more popular Voyageurs. McAllister, Passey, and Wagner. Kip recalled the news of he other boy from the LA Team.

"Why isn't Wagner a first liner anymore?" Sienna was reading, focused on her chat. "It's for publicity and to get Asian clicks. . . what are they talking about?"

"Oh my God, neither of us can decide what line we're on," Xie groaned.

"Publicity with who?" added Passey. "There's like ten Asian ice hockey fans."

"Hey, there's more than ten!" said Xie.

"What lines?" insisted Sienna.

"It's not about any of that," Wagner said, looking at his hands. "If you look at our roster logically, first line left wing is the most logical spot for Xie."

"You really think so?" Xie said.

"This chatter is asking if you think Xie is a better player than you, Jamie," one of Sienna's girlfriend asked, voice full of glee.

"No, he's not," said Wagner.

"Thanks," said Xie, as Passey snorted.

"I said it's logical to put him on the first line," said Wagner, gaze still on his restless fingers. "There are obvious gaps in his development and he lacks on-ice discipline--"

"--Dude!" said Xie.

"--but ultimately, he's a shooter. He's too fast for third and fourth lines; our third and fourth liners would struggle to keep up with him and he doesn't have the build for defensive play anyway. And his best features is his unpredictability; it's hard for our opponents to guess when he'll pass or take a shot. . . which is also his weakness because it's hard for us to know too, sometimes. This is why our PK unit, with me and him, is only ever deployed against weaker teams."

"Oh my God," said Passey, shooting Wagner a panicked look.

"Hollander and Merrell are good enough to compensate every time he messes up," Wagner went on, "but I'm not sure Pike would be able to. McAllister definitely wouldn't--"

"--Bro!" said McAllister.

"--but they work well with me," continued Jamie. "They're not as fast as I would like, but I can deal. I've been dealing. My point production speaks for itself."

"Jamie," said Xie.

"Pike and McAllister are agile and well above average at passing. We are obviously, to anyone who understands hockey, a top tier line. This isn't junior hockey or your dumb fantasy league; this is the MLH. All the lines serve a purpose and all lines need to be excellent at that purpose."

It was a bit gibberish to Kip, but it sounded like Wagner was gloating while putting his teammates down in a somewhat passive-aggressive way. The explosion of shocked faced, tea, and laughing emojis on the stream's chat all but confirmed Kip's impression.

"The chatters are asking why you got traded, Jamie," said Sienna's friend.

"Come on, guys," said Xie. "Doesn't anyone want to talk about Sienna's new music video?"

"I think hockey bros are swarming this chat," said McAllister.

"Who's Flannigan?" asked Sienna. "The chatters are saying he's dead."

"Excuse me," said Wagner, abruptly standing up. He walked off the screen while the other Voyageurs avoided looking at him.

A few seconds passed before Xie stood up and followed him.

The stream grew awkward after that. Hockey bro chatters kept asking obnoxious questions about LA, Xie and Wagner, and the Voyageurs lines in general, which McAllister and Passey refused to answer. Kip moved on the ESPN homepage.

Daniel Flannigan, 18, passes away due to head trauma, announced the headline.

Kip put the phone down. He didn't want to spend the rest of the evening consuming frantic gossip about a dead boy. The algorithms would march on, of course, but he didn't want to be a part of it. Enough was a enough. Tomorrow, he would spend the evening working on his CV.

Daniel Flannigan's death didn't dominate the sports news cycle for long since the Kings were not giving the press much to chew on. Flannigan had been the lone rookie they'd kept from their development camp, which was not uncommon for them, according to Kip's dad. The Kings' coach, Albert Walden, preferred to fill his ranks with free agents and a handful of loyal veterans. He traded out most of his rookies after one season often. The ones that weren't bounced down to the AHL or CHL, at least.

"Then why was the Wagner trade such a big deal?" asked Kip.

"Because Wagner's so good," said George. "Hollander-Rozanov good, maybe. Everyone assumed he'd be groomed to take over after Valenti retires in the next couple of years."

"Who?"

"Captain of the L. A. Kings," said George. "You wouldn't know him. He's not hot."

Kip made at face at his dad, but didn't argue. He was still trying to figure out the difference between an offensive defenseman and a defensive forward. And by "trying", Kip meant not thinking about it that hard and just watching the dudes flying around on the ice checking each other.

He kissed his mom on the cheek and patted his dad on the shoulder before grabbing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to nibble at on the subway. A miserable, frigid drizzle greeted him outside, which Kip welcomed because they tended to have less customers when the weather was bad. With any luck, he'd get to fiddle with his CV during down time. He knew just the spot where the cameras wouldn't catch him idling.

Kyle did not care enough to hide his textbooks, which he still carried around for "the aesthetic". He swore he retained more info when he could touch the pages of a book and physically wrote out his thoughts on the margins.

"There's some research on this," he told Kyle, as he flipped the pages of his copy of The Origins of the Greek Pantheon. They were in the break room, waiting for morning team to finish up before they took over. "Writing and highlighting seems to engage the motor circuitry of the brain and enhance integration into long term memory."

"Right," mumbled Kip. Should he check for any freelance work as a research assistant for any local business or small publication? People usually went to the local universities to chat with eager grad students for that kind of stuff so listings were slim and often paid with 'exposure'.

Like Kip was a freaking actor, or something.

Maria joined them, looking less put together than usual. Instead of the usual colorful eye shadow framing her dark eyes, she wore a pair of glasses that did little to mask the fact that she'd been crying.

"Everything okay?" asked Kip.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "Not really. It will be, though."

"Wanna tell us about it?" asked Kyle, closing his textbook.

"It's not too big a deal," said Maria.

Then, she went on to describe something that sounded like a pretty big deal to Kip. Her mother's diabetes looked like it was getting worse, so the family had decided to send her to NYC to get evaluated by some specialists. Though Mrs. Villanueva was old enough to qualify for Medicare, after some finagling about what exactly her home address was, it would still put some financial stress on the family. Maria would have to go move back home so she could help with what would have been her rent money.

"I don't want to be selfish and my sis and I get along," she said, her lip trembling. "But fuck." She squeeze her eyes shut. "We'll have to go back to sharing a room."

"Why don't you just come stay at my guest room?" said Kyle.

"What?" said Maria.

"You have a guest room?" asked Kip.

"Of course," Kyle told Kip. Then, he looked at Maria. "It's spacious and comfortable, and you can stay as long as you want as long as you use headphones. We would have to share a bathroom, unfortunately."

"Have to share a bathroom?" repeated Kip. He didn't remember the last time he'd been in a NYC apartment with more than one bathroom. He shared one with his parents. When he was growing up, his sister had also used that same bathroom.

"Yes, my parents aren't exactly happy with my major, so the place they got me is a little small," said Kyle, blushing a little, "but I don't think we'll have an issue. We can share this tiny break room without--"

Maria walked up and enveloped him in a tight hug. "Thank you, you adorable, oblivious rich brat!"

"Hey!"

Maria took a step back. "I think, somehow, we will figure out how to share a bathroom. It will be difficult, but we'll manage."

"I'm just saying my brothers and I would have killed each other if we'd ever been forced to share a bathroom," said Kyle.

"We're built different," said Maria, with mock-serious expression that quickly shifted into something more earnest. "We'll need to come up with a plan for guests. I'm not really looking for anyone right now, but if you're bringing people over, I promise to make myself scarce."

"I'm not," said Kyle. "I've been focusing on my classes, work, and. . . you know."

Eric Bennett, the thirty-six year old goalie for the Admirals, who probably wasn't thinking of the gay barista fixated on him. But he was a nice enough. Kyle could be starting dumb, one-sided situationships with way worse men.

"And if I can do anything help," Kip said to Maria, "let me know."

"You'll have to let the gossiping queen in you out to distract me from this stress," said Maria, giving him a loose side hug. "I'm gonna work on getting as obsessed with those Montreal hockey dudes as you."

Voyageurs

Patrice Drapeau
bros
are you all seeing this?
.link

Hayden Pike
gay American football player
nice

Greg Cornick
nice?

Hayden Pike
yeah
like he doesn't have to hide and stuff

Gilbert Comeau
takes some heat off of us
tired of being the only gay pro sports team

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
literally two of our guys are gay

Dylan Xie
one of our guys
I have a girlfriend

Gilbert Comeau
yeah we know
why did you have to do this gay shit if you were gonna go and pull a pop star?

Jonas Raphael Carmichael III
was it all actually for attention?

Dylan Xie
don't be a dipshit Jonas
you might be the only other dude on here that knows what the word bisexual means

Jeremy McAllister
hey I know what it means too
remember I was an ally

Gilbert Comeau
so you're not anymore?

Soren Miitka
is this football player a big deal?

Shane Hollander
Samuel Hoffman, mid-tier quaterback
this is his second season
might have some potential but nothing earth shattering

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
wait we're actually trending too
do we know this guy?
Dylan?

Dylan Xie
guys I don't even like football

Jeremy McAllister
he said we inspired him to be out and proud
and our team gave him hope that his team would also be supportive

David Taylor
yes we're cool
more people should be like us

Cole Passey
agreed we are the best team in all of sports
other teams wish they were us

Greg Cornick
bros he's calling us gay

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
he is not
can't you read moron

Patrice Drapeau
better to go viral over this then yet another suicide

Jake Merrell
that was only two
we also have positive viral moments

Nikolai Babikov
there was the time everyone thought you and Shane were gonna fuck each other up right on the ice

David Taylor
not positive bro!

Hayden Pike
and the thing with Flannigan literally had nothing to do with us
anything ever happens in sports now and the internet asks what the Montreal hockey dudes have to do with it
it's not fair

Gilbert Comeau
tbf during the second suicide there was also Jamie going off about how much Dylan sucks on Sienna's stream

James Wagner
I didn't say he sucks

Patrice Drapeau
Hoffman's boyfriend looks like Nikki

Dylan Xie
what?

Patrice Drapeau
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Greg Cornick
this is a tall blondish buff dude with a beard

Patrice Drapeau
@Nikolai_Babikov do you remember this pic?
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Nikolai Babikov
I don't
who is that?
why is he holding my hand?

Cole Passey
lmao

Shane Hollander
back to the point
we are in fact an excellent team and our professionalism is unmatched
and we focus on success rather than each other's love lives

Jake Merrell
and we have a game against Toronto in less than 24 hours
lock in

Shane Hollander
yes
I refuse to lose to Dallas Kent

The Admirals won their final game before they were due to return home, where they would host one last match against the Toronto Knights. Straw+Berry still played mostly Voyageurs and Bears games, but Kip had caught a few Admiral games at home with his dad. And his dad's hockey bro friends, elder Gen X edition. The Grady apartment had become a bit of a hub for George's friend group since he now had access to all MLH games live.

The company kept George in high spirits. All of them were in better moods, Kip included. Watching the games with a bunch of friends was exciting in a way that keeping track of the scores by scrolling a website and checking out highlight reels was not. The thrill of watching a favored team score, the sympathetic winces when a player was checked, the disappointment of when the opposite happened. . . all of it was a communal experience when there were other invested fans keeping track with you.

Kip was even learning a bit of the lingo. When the bros said that Scott was a "two-way forward that sometimes acted as a finisher", Kip kind of understood what they meant in theory. Even if he didn't quite grasp that when watching the games. The truth was, he still kind of spaced out in between goals.

During his next shift at Straw+Berry, he saw Eric talking with Kyle at the counter as he sipped on a Kale Power Storm and smiled to himself, wondering when he'd run into Scott again. He hadn't messaged in a while, probably because Kip had muted him in a huff after getting that MLH streaming account. He'd set the mute for two weeks, or maybe a month, intending to unmute once he cooled off. Which he had, but then he'd just forgotten the unmuting.

Or he'd been too embarrassed. Whatever. Life had gone on and Kip figured that if after the mute period was over Scott was still trying to text him, then maybe. . . well, Kip didn't really know. Since it seemed that Scott had assumed himself permanently ghosted and moved on. . . Nothing, really. Kip got back to work.

"Looks like Shane Hollander's dad is trending," he heard one of the customers snicker as he walked around delivering orders to tables.

Kip was curious, but he also had work to do. With how busy things were, it was like the Admirals were playing a game today.

He didn't remember the comment about Shane Hollander's dad until after his shift was done and he was walking back to the subway, admiring all the Christmas decorations all over the city. While the train was moving, he checked the internet and found that David Hollander was taking a virtual baking class up in Canada and during his introduction, he'd blithely commented that his wife was a lawyer and his son was "a hockey player".

Kip watched the short video with a smile on his face. David Hollander's demeanor was pleasant and his face handsome. The earnest way he described his love of cooking was sweet. "I credit my lasagna with helping me win over my lovely wife back when we were dating."

"You have a family?" another student asked.

"Yes," said Mr. Hollander, beaming. "My wife is a lawyer and my son is a hockey player."

His son is *the* hockey player, one of the top comments pointed out. If I'd fathered Shane Hollander I would find a way to say so twice per conversation lol

Soon enough, the comments devolved into speculation about whether or not the Hollanders even liked each other, and maybe Shane Hollander and his dad were estranged, and maybe this guy was an asshole. God, what was it about the internet that attracted people who took sweetness and joy as a personal insult?

Next shift was also monstrously busy, but this time, Kip was manning the smoothie counter with Kyle. They were both excited, wondering if some wayward Knights would stop by Straw+Berry. Kip hoped Troy Barrett would visit. He was supposedly a very good forward but, more importantly for Kip, ridiculously hot. Too bad he was friends with Dallas Kent, the messiest and most publicly douchey of all MLH players.

As it turned out, Eric was the only hockey player who showed up before the game. Still wearing his wedding band, Kip noted as Kyle tried to chat him up as usual. And, also as usual, Eric blushed and pretended he didn't notice. The man had the patience of a saint.

"We did really well this roadie," Eric agreed when Kyle congratulated him. "It's been our best season in years, actually. I have a really good feeling about the Cup."

"I totally put some money on you on the SportsBet pool," said Kyle.

"Please don't waste resources on that website. . . is what I'm supposed to say." Eric shrugged. "But I admit, some of the pools are really funny."

"The Hollander-Merrell fist fight?" said Kyle. "Or the one about whether or not Sienna and Emma Blighton will make out at the next Streamies?"

"Who?" said Eric, clearly oblivious about the current It Girls of pop music. "The what?"

Kyle laughed and batted his eyelashes. "You're so adorable."

Eric looked down at his feet and Kip struggled not to roll his eyes.

"Uh, so a Kale Power Storm, please," said Eric, with an awkward little cough. "And a Hunter Lucky Puck."

"A lucky puck?" asked Kip, before Kyle could launch another compliment.

"Yes, for Scott," said Eric. "He asked me to pick one up for him."

Huh.

Well, that could mean anything. It was stupid for Kip to be disappointed, and even more stupid to jump to the conclusion that Scott would avoid Straw+Berry going forward. As though a pro athlete would be chased out of his favorite smoothie place by an awkward conversation with a random barista.

The Admirals lost the home game, two-to-zero, breaking a winning streak of four games. During his last break for the shift, Kip checked the highlights, which included Scott messing up a couple of passes and Troy Barrett's two goals. There was one particularly stupid moment where Max Anderson, one of Scott's linemates, picked a fight with the Knight's enormous enforcer, Ryan Price. He should thank his lucky stars that Price had pushed him and skated away.

The truth is Hunter couldn't pull himself together on the ice tonight, the sports commentator narrated, or get his team to behave in a professional manner.

The clip ended with a shot of Scott's miserable face as the players skated off the rink.

Kip's dad would be pretty bummed about this so Kip decided to make him one of those sugary Tres Leches smoothies. His doctor warned him that he was pre-diabetic during his last physical, but one delicious smoothie every once in a while couldn't hurt.

But Kip's dad wasn't home. Neither was his mom.

Kip told himself to relax. His parents were adults. Maybe they'd been invited to a friend's house. Maybe they'd decided to go on an impromptu date.

They would have messaged Kip not to worry, though, once they realized he would beat them home for once.

Maybe they were having too much fun and lost track of time. Kip sipped on the Tres Leches smoothie, savored it, then dumped it down the drain. The last time he'd indulged, he'd ended up paying for it in the bathroom. His thirty year old intestines could not handle the kind of shit they used to tackle during his wild twenties.

His phone vibrated while he mournfully watched the creamy sugar circle the kitchen drain. It was a message from his sister.

Don't panic but Dad's at the hospital and he'll have to spend the night.

Kip's sister Megan looked haggard from crying when Kip met her outside their father's hospital room at Mt. Sinai. She knows what's going on, Kip thought bitterly, as he pulled her into a comforting hug. Their parents had trusted her. And not him.

"They don't know I called you," she said, confirming his suspicions. "But I. . ." A small sob escaped her. "Kip, I don't know if I can do this on my own."

"Okay," said Kip, taking a short break. "Could we--is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

They ended up at Mt. Sinai's cafeteria. Megan gave him the gist of the situation over a couple of soggy chicken salad sandwiches: their father had been diagnosed with bladder cancer earlier in the year.

"High grade papillary urothelial carcinoma extending to the lamina propria and with focal lymphovascular invasion," Megan said, lower lip quivering, not meeting Kip's eyes. She must have memorized that sentence. No way she knew what half of those words meant.

No offense to her. Kip didn't know half of them himself, but he knew enough. High grade; that probably wasn't good. Vascular invasion. Invasion. That was definitely not good.

"Why didn't they tell me?" asked Kip. He supposed it didn't matter, not right now, but he wanted to know.

Megan's ran her hand through her dark hair, drawing Kip's attention to the scattered gray strands that had appeared on her temple. God, she wasn't that much older than him. Had those been there the last time they'd met? When was the last time they'd met?

"They said they didn't want to worry both of us," said Megan, sighing softly. "I think it's because I don't live with them anymore."

Kip grunted.

"I don't mean it like that," said Megan. "Just. . . they don't have to see me agonize about this daily."

"Okay," said Kip, swallowing back whatever he was feeling. He'd unpack that later. Maybe. There were more important things to consider right now. "So, he has cancer. But he's getting treated and--" Kip swallowed. The treatment landed him in the hospital unexpectedly. "Do you know how it's going?"

She did. Kind of. Megan was clever and way more down to earth than Kip. But she wasn't a doctor, or even good at science and biology. Neither was Kip. They were a liberal arts family. But she was organized, so she had reams of pdf files from the hospital detailing George's diagnosis and treatment. They were trying to some kind of chemotherapy before considering a "radical cystectomy".

Kip checked online. That would be surgically removing his dad's bladder and prostate in an attempt to cut out the cancer before it spread to other body parts. Jesus.

"Jesus," said Kip, swallowing back tears. How had he not noticed his dad--his parents--dealing with this for months? "Let's go see them."

"No," said Megan, reaching out to hold his forearm. "Kip, they don't know I called you."

"So?" Kip didn't realized he'd yelled until other people turned to look at them. He took a deep breath and tried to lower his voice. "So? They'll get over it. I have to talk to them. Meg, I still live with them. Am I supposed to pretend I don't know?"

"Yes," said Megan. Her grip on his arm tightened when he tried to stand up. "Kip, the chemo did something to Dad's kidneys. I think we should wait to tell them I told you until this rough patch is over."

"This rough patch?" said Kip.

"Yes, this one," said Megan. "The doctors are optimistic about his kidneys. I don't think there's a reason to stress Dad out right now."

Then why did you call me? Kip wanted to scream. Which would not be helpful right now. "Okay." Kip sighed. "What can I do to help you?"

They looked at each other and realized that there wasn't much either of them could do.

"Uh, I'm gonna stay here tonight," said Megan. "I'm not sure when Dad will be discharged--at some point tomorrow, the doctors said. Later today, I guess. If it's after nine, can I call you to go relieve my babysitter?"

"Yes, of course," said Kip, glad that there was something he could contribute. Meg had divorced her husband right after her youngest was born about three years ago. The best that could be said about the father was that he paid child support on time.

Kip left the hospital shortly after that with vague plans to research bladder cancer. He was good at research, or he had been, once. Not at scientific research--biology, math, science and all the other fields that actually made money failed to grab him. His parents never tried to push him towards them. They'd wanted both of their children to follow their passion.

Maybe if Kip had gone to med school, he'd know what the fuck the words "novel non-invasive biomarker" meant. He closed the PubMed article he was trying to read and tried not to cry on the subway.

In his addled state, he ended up at Straw+Berry, which was closed by this hour. Fuck, he was losing his mind. It was the middle of the fucking night and all cutesy quips aside, NYC did eventually go to sleep. Kip turned around, intending to shamble back to the subway.

And yelped when he found himself face-to-face with Scott Hunter, of all people.

"Sorry, sorry!" said Scott, raising his gloved hands in the universal sign of surrender. "Um, I didn't know you'd be here."

"Who did you think would be here?" yelled Kip. "It's like three in the morning!"

"Nobody!" said Scott. "I swear. I couldn't sleep, so I went for walk."

"To Straw+Berry?" demanded Kip.

"My apartment is close by," said Scott, shrugging. "Hey. . . are you okay?"

"No, I'm not," said Kip. "People who are okay don't take a walk to a smoothie shop at three in the morning in the middle of winter."

"Right, I'm not having a great time either," said Scott. "My team just got humiliated on home ice by the freaking Knights."

"Tragic," said Kip, vaguely aware that he was being an asshole. "I just found out my father has cancer."

"Oh," said Scott, eyes going very wide. "Um. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," said Kip, grateful for the cold because it might be helping him hold back tears. "Me too."

"Would you like to talk about it?" said Scott. "We could go somewhere?"

"At this time?" Kip chuckled, or tried to. It came out sounding like a wretched moan.

"My apartment really is close by," said Scott. "Just if you want to talk!"

"It's okay," said Kip. "Relax, please. I'm not one of those girls you sweet talk. What is it you guys call them? Puck bunnies?"

"I don't. . . I mean." Scott fidgeted and looked at his feet.

Which maybe Kip would have found sweet and awkward a move on such a large man, if his life wasn't falling apart. "I get it," he said. "Lead the way. I don't really want to go home right now." It was his parents' home. The same parents who didn't trust him with their medical issues.

Kip followed Scott in a daze, unable to keep track of anything, barely noticing that his feet were aching after walking everywhere post-shift. Did he have work tomorrow? He hoped not. He'd promised Megan to be available to help with her kids. He should call Maria and ask if she would be able to cover for him. But it was too early for that.

"We're here," said Scott, standing in front of a building that Kip could not afford to take a piss in. "My place is in the top floor."

"Of course," said Kip. Was that a penthouse? He actually didn't know what a penthouse technically was.

Not only was Scott's apartment spacious, but the view of the city was spectacular, the glittering lights from the skyscrapers resembling something out of Star Trek. Kip had lived in NYC his whole life and still, he felt like some Midwestern plebe from a "city" of eighty thousand people who just landed at JFK for the first time.

"So, could I get you something to drink?" asked Scott. "Beer, wine, water, warm tea?"

Kip turned to look at him and sighed. He really was an obnoxiously good looking man. The stubble looked like it would feel deliciously rough on his inner thighs. He could cut glass with that jawline, and other annoying cliches about excellent bone structure.

"Hot chocolate?" Scott continued, hands wringing nervously.

Kip decided that he didn't care about getting the shit beaten out of him and took deliberate steps towards him. Scott's eyed widened but he didn't slide away when Kip laid hands on his broad, warm shoulders. He let Kip pull him down for a kiss.

He knew how to kiss. More importantly, he wasn't freaking out about kissing a man. Kip let his hands wander and sighed as the hard muscle under his palms quivered. He pulled at Scott's sweater.

"Are you s-sure?" Scott breathed, pulling back a little. "Your dad--"

"--don't wanna think about that," said Kip, slipping a hand under Scott's shirt. "Bed?" Maybe he didn't want a barista hook up in his actual bedroom. "Couch?"

"Okay," said Scott, gently leading him in some direction. "Bed."

"Take off your clothes," Kip ordered.

Immediately, Scott started peeling off his expensive layers. He was as hot as Kip hadn't wanted to let himself imagine, all endless muscle and smooth skin. His ass was round and firm, gorgeous over a pair of strong thighs. Kip was grateful that he was too messed up to worry about his own comparatively average build.

"You have lube and condoms?" asked Kip.

"Yes," said Scott, reaching for his bedside table. "Um, how do you want to do this?"

"Can I fuck you?" asked Kip, trying not to get too hopeful. He had a feeling a big strong captain of a manly hockey team would have Opinions about bottoming.

"Yes, please," said Scott.

Kip grinned and reached for the lube. Fancy and smooth, just what this high class ass deserved. Scott laid back and spread his legs obediently, writhing decadently on his pricey sheets as Kip massaged his hole. He threw his head back when Kip slipped the first finger inside. Kip reached for his hard, lovely cock to help him past any discomfort.

"No, please," said Scott, slapping his hand away. "I'll come too soon."

"Okay, baby," soothed Kip. "Don't worry."

Kip tried to take his time, but Scott was too much of a filthy dream, too responsive and clearly eager. It wasn't long before he was begging for Kip's cock and how could Kip resist? His hands trembled as he slipped on the condom.

"Can I suck it?" asked Scott.

"Not if you want to get fucked in the next hour," said Kip. "Face to face or doggy style?"

"Face to face, please."

Kip told himself to focus and guided his thighs apart. His belly clenched at the sight before him and he lined his cock against Scott's hole. The noise Scott made as Kip breached him was indecent, decadent, almost better than the blissed out look that took over his face. Kip grabbed at him so they could kiss while they got a rhythm going.

Fuck, it was working too well. Kip's thoughts kept crashing against each other, swirling with the pleasure Scott was giving him. He tightened every time Kip brushed his prostate, whinec every time Kip released his lips to suckle on his neck. Kip felt his orgasm coming at him like a freight train, so he reached for Scott's dick, ignoring his weak protests.

"I don't have your st-stamina," Kip stuttered.

Scott moaned, eyes glassy, clearly beyond comprehension. With a few deliberate tugs on his cock, his whole body seized and he spilled all over his gorgeous abs. His ass got tight as a vice, dragging a powerful orgasm out of Kip.

After, Kip fell on Scott, determined to savor the glow for as long as possible.

It might've been longer if the night hadn't been, quite possibly, the worst of Kip's life to date. His father had cancer.

"You okay?" asked Scott.

To his horror, Kip realized that the tears he'd been holding back for hours were flowing. While his face was buried in Scott Hunter's neck and his dick still inside Scott Hunter's ass.

"Sorry," Kip sniffled.

"No, I'm sorry if that was. . . bad," said Scott. "It's been a while."

"You were great," Kip said, honestly. He gently straightened up and slowly pulled out, wiping his face clean. "I feel better, tears aside. Thank you." He stopped himself from adding that he hoped it had been good for Scott too. If he was disappointed, Kip didn't want to risk hearing it.

"Um, you probably guessed, but I'm pretty closeted," said Scott.

"Yeah," said Kip, tying off the used condom. "Don't worry; I won't breathe a word of this. You can bring out the NDA if you got it."

"I don't have one of those," said Scott. "Ah, if you still want to talk. . ."

"No, thank you," said Kip. "I'm still kind of trying to. . . process." Had his parents forgotten about him? Were there frantic messages from his mom asking where he was? Or did they assume Megan had made something up. Kip didn't even want to check.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" asked Scott.

"Do you mind if I stay here tonight?" said Kip, too tired to second guess himself. "Sorry, I know this is your bed--"

"--I don't mind!" said Scott. "The bed is more than big enough for two."

"Okay," said Kip. "Thank you."

He laid down and endured his messed up, swirling thoughts. The sounds of Scott walking around to look for fresh blankets seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. When Scott slid closer to him and slipped an arm around his waist, Kip was startled, but grateful for the warmth.

Chapter End Notes

TW:

1) Suicide - background character commits suicide off screen by jumping off a building. Not a previously named character but reactions to it are briefly described.

2) Cancer - Kip learns that his father is undergoing treatment for bladder cancer.

Finally, I am latigrat over at tumblr