Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Carter Vaughan, Eric Bennett, Greg Huff, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Gloria Grey, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Svetlana Vetrova, Original Characters, David Hollander, Yuna Hollander

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Relationship Reveal, Forced Outing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Weddings, Scott Hunter/Kip Grady - Freeform, in that Scott is in love and Kip is haunting the narrative, don't worry he's fine he's just not here, Coming Out, Road Trip, Rating for Language

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of handing over all the olive trees

Collections:

*Heated rivalry melts my heart*, Favourite Heated Rivalry Fanfics, girl help i can't stop crying

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-12 Words: 6,606 Chapters: 1/1

Scott Hunter's Life-Changing Road Trip

Summary

“Holy shit,” Carter says from the stall next to Scott, also staring at his phone. “Did you all see about Rozanov and Hollander?” The way Vaughan says it, it doesn’t sound like good news. Carter thrusts his phone in Scott’s face, and he takes it, pulls it back so the headline will focus. HOCKEY STARS CAUGHT IN STEAMY AFFAIR, the headline proclaims, and Scott skims through it quickly. Rozanov and Hollander, years—years?!—worth of videos and photos leaked. Scott is in an NHL locker room, watching his worst nightmare happen to someone else. Holy shit.

Notes

So the timeline goes like this. I read this fic on Sunday on my way to work. I am possessed by one throwaway line about Scott Hunter. I write the first draft of this in a notebook, mostly at work. I buy Game Changer and Heated Rivalry and read them to make sure I’m characterising Scott Hunter right and solidify the timeline of this fic. I’ve reread Worst Proposal Ever like three times for details. I feel like I’ve been possessed. It’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about. I feel insane. It is Thursday and I am publishing this.

Some notes! Per WPE, Shane and Ilya are 24, so I’ve put this in March of 2015. I’ve bumped the entire Game Changer plot into 2015 instead of 2017, because I was so, absolutely certain that Scott Hunter was in that fight/break with Kip during his cameo in the fic. I made Scott and Kip meet a little earlier, to add more weight to that break. I have given Scott Hunter social media because I wanted to. I have also picked and chosen details from the books and the shows and also what was in WPE to suit my whims, and I’ve been having SO MUCH FUN. Please enjoy!

• Inspired by Worst Proposal Ever by RayByAnotherName

The Admirals are in the locker room, suiting up for a game against Denver—their last stop on the roadie, then a travel day, a rest day, and a stretch of home games. Scott Hunter cracks his neck as he stands in front of his locker, pulling on his gear. He’s still wearing the damn banana socks, just under his regular socks so none of the guys can chirp him about them. He hasn’t spoken to Kip in almost a week. He’s not even sure if they’re still something. 

Several of the guys start hollering, and Scott looks over to see them clustered around one of the rookies’ phones. It isn’t until he hears a long, drawn out moan that he snaps into focus. “Hey, knock it off, no porn in the locker room.” They startle and look up—guilty, uncomfortable, and Gillis locks his phone.

“Holy shit,” Carter says from the stall next to Scott, also staring at his phone. “Did you all see about Rozanov and Hollander?” The way Vaughan says it, it doesn’t sound like good news.

“What happened?” Scott asks sharply. Carter thrusts his phone in Scott’s face, and he takes it, pulls it back so the headline will focus. HOCKEY STARS CAUGHT IN STEAMY AFFAIR, the headline proclaims, and Scott skims through it quickly. Rozanov and Hollander, years—years?!—worth of videos and photos leaked. Scott is in an NHL locker room, watching his worst nightmare happen to someone else. Holy shit.

He is suddenly deeply grateful that when Castagnetti had been traded onto their team three seasons ago, he’d started shutting down homophobic shit in the locker room on his first day. Someone had called someone else a cocksucker and easy as anything, Castagnetti had said, “Hey, lay off that shit.” He was a mountain of a man with a crooked nose, an enforcer. It was hard not to take him seriously. 

“Why do you care?” Someone had shot back, snidely. "You gay?" It had probably been Zullo. God, Scott was glad he wasn’t on their team anymore.

“No,” Casty had shrugged, “But my best friend is.” And he turned back to his gear. After that, Scott had always backed him up, and Huff and Vaughan and started too, and by now, no one who played for the Admirals was openly shitty about queer people, at least anywhere their captains could hear it. Scott had never let racism or misogyny slide, as Captain, so the Admirals had one of the friendliest locker rooms Scott had ever been in.

But still—“Were you all watching that?”

The group around Gillis nods, sheepishly.

“Fuck off, that’s none of our business.” Scott doesn’t sound as scared as he feels, thank God.

“Not our fault they were dumb enough to keep that shit,” Lower laughs. 

“Be cause none of you have something on your phone or your girl’s phone?” Carter shoots back, and Scott loves his friend. The guys look even more embarrassed.

Scott takes a deep breath, then calls, “Hey,” to the room at large, and everyone looks at him. “So, we’ve all seen the news that Rozanov and Hollander are involved. It’s none of our business, and it’s shitty this happened to them.”

Casty looks up, grateful. Scott can see Huff nodding along. “No one says anything to the media about this. No comment, we play hockey.” Scott looks around until everyone nods, then lets a grin take over his face. “Alright, back at it, fellas. Let’s get our game faces on.” A few people shout their agreement, Carter claps twice, and Scott turns back to his stall.

He wants to shove himself into the back corner and hide under his gear. He wants to call Kip. He wants everything to be okay for Hollander and Rozanov. He pulls out his phone to double-check schedules. With any luck, they’re not playing tonight, or their games are further east and this isn’t breaking before they play. Despite himself, he laughs when he sees that Boston is at Montreal tonight, and they’re midway through the second period. 

“What’s funny?” Carter asks, and this time it’s Scott who turns his phone.

“Boston is at Montreal tonight,” Scott answers. “It’s either the best or worst possible thing.”

Carter lets out a strangled chuckle. “Still though… Rozanov and Hollander. Who would ever have imagined?”

Scott  chooses not to tell Carter he’s had a suspicion rotating in the back of his mind since their rookie year All -Star game. 

“Yeah, wild.” Scott agrees.

“I mean, Rozy is always out with chicks,” Carter keeps going.

Eric Bennett interrupts from where he’s stretching on the ground, “Bisexual people exist, dude.” Carter and Scott both laugh again and the topic drops as they get ready. They have a game to win.

The interviews during their two intermissions are fine, but once the game ends (Admirals 3, Blizzard 2), Scott knows he’s going to be asked about it. He strips off his gear, unlocks his phone, wonders if he has either of their numbers, if he should text them. He might, in a few days. 

He pulls up his text thread with Kip, because he hates himself, and still sees the last message he sent, sitting at the bottom: I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. Kip has never replied. Scott lets his head thud against the wood of the stall, just once, then rolls his shoulders back.

He turns to the team, says something about the game to congratulate them, then Coach pulls him for media. In between his team winning a hockey game, Scott has had over two hours to think about what to say about the Hollander/Rozanov fiasco and he hopes his words don’t get tangled up. 

The first few questions are the usual, compliments and gameplay questions, and then it happens.

Denver is pretty queer friendly; NHL media is not. “Mr. Hunter,” a reedy man starts, “Any comment on Hollander and Rozanov’s salacious behaviour?"

“I’m sorry this happened to them,” Scott shrugs. “Their private lives aren’t anyone’s business.”

“But surely,” the man presses, “There’s no place in the locker room for—”

“For what? For two of the greatest hockey players of all time?” Scott Hunter, America’s perfect son, interrupts a journalist for possibly the first time in his career. “Rozanov and Hollander make us all better players, and it is a privilege to play against them. They have elevated the sport and will continue to do so.” The man doesn’t look as chagrined as Scott would like, but he’s said his piece. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then says, “That’s all I’ll say on that. Any more questions about the Admirals?”

He answers a few more questions, then it’s back to the locker room. He just has to get through the team bus ride back to the hotel, then Brizebois will probably go out with some of the other younger guys and Scott can have his breakdown in peace.

Would it be a terrible idea to call Kip?

They’re almost at the hotel when Gillis calls out, “Cap, you legend, you’re going viral!” He hits play on a clip of Scott’s short interaction about Rozanov and Hollander. When Scott on the screen  interrupts the journalist, the bus rattles with hoots and hollers. “Never seen you talk over a guy like that,” Lower calls out.

“You sure shut that guy up,” Huff laughs. Eric claps Scott on the shoulder from the seat next to him, and Scott breathes a little easier. Carter pops up behind them, leaning over the seats to show Scott that there’s a trending hashtag #twoofthegreatest. Carter has retweeted the clip of Scott, adding his own words, “Always happy to play with or against Rozy and Holzy #twoofthegreatest ”. Scott is probably going to spend a while tonight looking through that hashtag.

Depending on how this goes over the next little while, what the league says, mabye—and a bolt of guilt shoots through him for even thinking it, but—maybe, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel for Scott. Maybe he could come out, and it wouldn't ruin everything—even if he never gets another chance with Kip, and honestly, he doesn't think he deserves one. 

The guys start making plans and Carter jokes that they should go to a gay bar and see if they get free drinks since Scott is trending.

“I’m not going out tonight, Vaughany,” Scott laughs, “So you’ll have to rely on your pretty face instead.”

“Better be my pretty face then,” Casty pipes up, with his fresh, massive shiner, and the whole bus laughs.

Finally in his hotel room, Scott spends almost an hour poking through #twoofthegreatest. People are retweeting the clip of Scott with words of support, and just posting highlight reels of Hollander or Rozanov with the hashtag. It’s an oasis amidst so much vitriol that Scott thinks he might have nightmares, and no one even knows he’s gay. He feels fiercely protective of Hollander and Rozanov—he wouldn’t have been able to withstand something like this, he thinks. But at least they have each other. God, he hopes this doesn’t ruin them.

He watches a compilation someone made of all of Hollander and Rozanov’s greatest moments with and against each other, starting from the world junior championships before they were even drafted. He sees another hashtag appearing alongside #twoofthegreatest with increasing frequencies, but he decides whatever is happening under #hollanov is not his business. He retweets the clip of himself with only a hockey stick emoji and #twoofthegreatest.

He’s about to close Twitter when one last thing catches his eye. “I’ve run the numbers and it’s official:” @hockeystatsqueen declares, “Hollander and Rozanov play their best hockey against each other. #twofothegreatest” The initial tweet has thousands of retweets and a thread spools out where the user compares Hollander and Rozanov’s statistical averages per season against just the games when their two teams played each other. Scott’s not a numbers guy, so it feels impossible to him,and yet, with cited sources, here is numerical proof that they are both at their best when they’re facing off. More points per game, whether goals or assists, higher plus/minuses, less penalty minutes from Rozanov, more aggressive plays from Hollander. Scott retweets the start of the thread, then puts his phone down. He wants to take a long hot shower and hopefully relax enough to fall asleep.

The travel day is uneventful—no one on the team says anything untoward that Scott catches, and he keeps an eye on their social media, but nobody says anything bad there either. He is ferociously glad that Zullo isn’t haunting their locker room anymore. Jalo has been very chill about this whole situation. Scott doesn’t want Casty getting in more fights with linemates. He notices which guys post in support, and he’s not surprised by the ones that don’t.

A good handful of the team retweeted the stats thread, Greg included. Casty posted a grinning selfie with Rozanov, from Scott doesn’t even know when, accompanied by a nice personal message. Separately, he’s also posted a more sedate group photo where he’s standing next to Hollander, cropped close, with another nice message.  Both posts say #twoofthegreatest, and Scott wonders if Casty’s best friend knows Nico has been changing NHL lockers rooms in his honour, one team at a time, at least for as long as he’s there, or if this public show of support is the first he’ll hear of it. Eric retweeted the clip of Scott at the press conference, saying, “Always room for #twoofthegreatest.” God, Scott loves this team.

That afternoon, Scott is home in his too large penthouse when he gets a call from Cliff Marlow. He stares at the caller ID for a moment stupidly, before he answers, “Marly.”

“Hey Hunts,” Cliff’s voice rumbles over the line. “Thanks for what you said at the presser last night.”

Scott leans against the armrest of his couch. “Sure, man.”

“You, uh, wanna take that support a step further?”

Scott wonders what Marlow means, but he bites. “Sure, if I can. How are they doing?”

Marlow laughs sort of manically, then says, “Hang on a sec—” his voice muffles, but Scott can hear, “Can’t be red velvet, Rozy hates it,” and then he’s back. “No, um, they’re better than expected. Hanging in there. Yuna Hollander and Shane’s manager are terrifyingly competent. Listen, uh, what are the odds you could be in Montreal by like, 8 tomorrow morning?”

Scott glances at the clock on his wall.  It’s already 3 pm. “For what?”

Marlow laughs again, “Ilya and Shane went and got a license this morning, but there’s a 24 hour waiting period, so they’re getting married tomorrow.”

Scott can’t breathe. Inanely he says, “Don’t you have a game tomorrow night in Boston?"

“Yep,” Marlow is indomitable, “So the wedding is at 9 am sharp.” His voice muffles again, “Yeah, Jackie, any flowers are fine, as long as they look nice. Sorry,” he continues at regular volume, “Putting a wedding together on this short notice is hectic. They were just gonna do a courthouse but Pike and I wouldn’t let that stand.”

Scott is living a world where Pike and Marlow are planning a last minute big gay wedding for Hollander and Rozanov and Scott is on the guest list. “Holy shit,” Scott says, “They’re getting married? This wasn’t just like, hookups?”

“Nope,” Marly says, and he sounds pleased as punch, “This is big stupid love.”

“And you’re inviting the whole league?” Scott can't believe he’s still talking.

“Just the ones we think would come and mean it. I want my boy to have the day he deserves, and Yuna Hollander wants photo evidence that at least some of the league supports her baby. Me and Boiziau have been making calls all day.”

“I’ll be there,” Scott says, with bone deep certainty. He’s going to have to see if there’s a late flight, or maybe drive? Carter would love to drive, the freak. “Can I invite some of the other Admirals?”

“Which ones?" 

“Vaughan, Huff, Bennett, Castagnetti. They’re the most likely yesses.”

Marlow agrees, then says, “Let me know who and get me an ETA and we’lll have a hotel for you.”

“I can book—”

“Nawh,” Marlow’s voice is gleeful, “I got it, brother. Rozy is gonna owe me forever for this.”

Scott calls Carter, Greg, Eric, and Nico. Eric elects to stay home with his wife, and Greg, likewise, wants to spend time with his wife and kids, and his one daughter has a school thing tomorrow. So an hour later, Scott is piling into the back seat of Carter’s Range Rover next to Nico, while Carter and his girlfriend Gloria are in the front, and they’re on the way to Montreal. 

They stop for dinner in a cute little town about halfway through the seven hour drive. Gloria takes over driving after dinner, and it’s going as smoothly as they could hope. Still, it’s been such a long day, Scott can’t wait to be on a bed.

They had been in Denver this morning, then New York for a few hours, and are going to end the night in Montreal. The conversation ebbs and flows around the music Nico is playing, but they all keep circling back to, “I just can’t believe Hollander and Rozanov have been, like, in love this whole time,” Carter says again. He’s craned around in his seat to look at Nico and Scott in the back.

“I don’t know if it was love the whole time,” Scott says drily, picturing their baby faces at the draft.

“But still, marriage,” Carter enthuses. “That’s like, huge, man, it’s so exciting!”

“It really is,” Nico agrees. “I just hope the distance won’t be too bad on them.”

Scott huffs a laugh. “They’re already doing it, and now they won’t have to hide. It’ll be easier.”

“Oh shit,” Carter gasps. “Rozy is Russian. Is he gonna be, like, in trouble?”

Silences reigns for a few moments before Gloria offers, “I’m sure the marriage will help his status… But he might not go back to Russia again.”

“Damn,” Carter says.

“Yeah, “ Nico agrees.

The silence is heavy and Scott doesn’t want to be more miserable than he already is. “So what wedding present do you get for two guys who got forcibly outed and are getting shotgun married on the shortest timeline ever?”

“They both make way more than me,” Nico starts,” They’re just lucky I'm coming.”

“Maybe a blender?” Gloria jokes, and they then spend the next interminable stretch of road joking about the perfect gift for the Rozanov-Hollander wedding (perhaps a car?) and when to give it to them (perhaps during a presser after the Admirals beat one of their teams). It’s almost midnight when they pull into the hotel Marlow had booked them. Carter and Gloria get a room, and Casty and Scott have another.

The next morning, they are at the Pike residence by 8 am. The wedding is scheduled for 9, but Carter and Gloria are convinced they will be helpful this early. Jackie Pike opens the door with her hair already in a complex updo and a child in her arms. “Admirals are here!” She shouts back into the house as she ushers them in. A chorus of cheers break out.

“So,” Carter says, flashing his most charming smile, “Put us to work.” Nico grins too, but the effect is rather terrifying, given the shiner and the missing teeth.

“Madeleine,” Jackie calls, and a woman in a sharp pantsuit appears. “The Admirals want to help.”

In a matter of minutes, Laura and Nico are unfolding and arranging rows of chairs in the backyard with Carmichael and Hammersmith, while Carter is helping St-Simon assist the florist. Scott finds himself with nothing to do other than admire the decorations and drifts over to the open bar. It’s barely 8:30  in the morning, but he doesn’t feel steady enough for this. He orders Kip’s favourite cocktail and takes a long slow pull. God, he needs to see him.

J.J. Boiziau is flitting around the slowly growing crowd, asking questions, joking, making sure people have drinks and aren’t sneaking food. Scott is surprised to count almost 40 NHL players—only a few Voyageurs, but almost half the Bears, and an array from other teams, a few plus ones. He takes a picture of the crowd to send to Eric and Greg, along with, “What the hell”. Everyone seems in good spirits.

Scott has drained his drink and gotten another, and a third, before the ceremony starts. This many people showed up with almost no notice for Hollander and Rozanov—how many of them might show for Scott and—he flinches at his own thought. For Scott and someone, someday.

Hollander and Roazanov arrive and seem completely floored by the show of support. After that, everyone takes their seats and the officiant takes her place. The chairs have been set up with a double aisle in a v-shape, so Rozanov and Hollander walk in at the same time, meeting in the middle in front of the crowd. Shane is escorted by his mother, Ilya by a woman Scott remembers seeing on his Instagram. A friend, he thinks. As Shane and Ilya take each others’ hands in front of the officiant, they are both smiling more broadly than Scott has ever seen.

Pike stands up with Hollander and Marlow with Rozanov, and the ceremony is standard, but still sweet. Scott is pretty sure both of Shane’s parents are crying in the front row, a few seats down from him. And how did he end up front row to the Rozanov-Hollander wedding anyway? The officiant pronounces the husbands and cues their first married kiss, and they kiss, and kiss, until Scott says something stupid (and maybe a little bitter) about them getting a room away from his this time. That opens the floodgates and suddenly dozens of NHL hockey players are hollering and chirping and the Hollanders are standing up to hug Shane and Ilya and people are crying, and fuck, Scott is one of them. Nico puts a hand on Scott’s shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. Hollander and Rozanov have not stopped smiling the whole time, absolutely radiant, and Scott’s stomach is all in knots with envy.

A photographer appears and wrangles everyone into a few photos of the whole group, then several with only the NHL players. The guests at large are set free with strict instructions to all sign the guest book, enjoy the food, and take pictures with the disposable cameras prepped at the end of the buffet table. The Voyageurs, Bears, Pike and Hollander families, along with the woman who walked Ilya down the aisle, are all held back for more photos.

Scott and Nico head for the food. The buffet is an almost comical mix of breakfast items and cute desserts, piled high to serve the crowd of jocks here. At one end, there is a large array of cupcakes. They look like they might be given to children at the close of a hockey camp, with silly little plastic pucks and hockey sticks perched in the frosting. Scott loves them. They load up their plates and sit back down in the last row of chairs to eat. Carter reappears with Gloria at his side and a disposable camera. “Smile,” he calls out as he snaps a few selfies of their little group. Then he gently pushes Gloria into a chair, saying, “enjoy your food babe,” and swans off with the camera. Scott sees him take a picture of Toronto's backup goalie, Wyatt Hayes, and then he stops watching.

A few minutes later, Boiziau appears next to their group. “Scott Hunter,” he declares jovially. “What was that you heckled about a room?”

Scott wonders if he should air Hollander and Rozanov’s business like that, an instinct to shield them—and then he remembers why they’re all at this wedding anyway, and decides it can’t hurt. Boiziau is Hollander’s friend, anyhow. Scott glances back over to the wedding arch to see only the two grooms posing, holding each other with their foreheads tipped together and soft smiles on their faces. 

“Yeah,” Casty joins in, “I also want to know.”

Scott cracks a grin at the other two men, then pops a grape into his mouth. “C’mon, man,” J.J. says, and Scott laughs.

“So at All-Stars a few years ago, I’m next to Hollander on the bench and Rozanov is chirping at him from the other bench. Roz gets onto the ice, skates in front of us, and just, says a room number.”

J.J. starts cackling and Nico whoops. “But the thing is,” Scott goes on, “it’s the room right next to mine, so if what I thought was happening”—“And it was, apparently!” J.J. crows—”I did not want to know,” Scott says. “So I ask Hollzy about it and he says Roz was just chirping, so I say something about him being the worst and that his room is next to mine.” He drops it there.

It’s Gloria who asks, “And...?”

Scott tips his glass to her. “I’ll never tell.”

“Wait,” J.J. asks again, “Which All-Stars?”

And the story is funny, but Scott is not going to say it was the grooms’ rookie season. He just takes a long sip of his drink. Gloria asks Boiziau something about their game from the other night, and the conversation moves on.

They make sure to sign the guest book. It’s set up on a tall round table next to a beautiful placard that says, “In lieu of gifts, Shane & Ilya request that you show your support.” A list of charitable organisations follows, and a stack of index cards on the table has the info for each one. Scott takes two. Maybe he’ll post one in the locker room. Charitable donations are a lovely, suitable gift, he supposes, for the first husbands of the NHL. Holy shit, husbands. He still can’t believe it’s real.

The Admirals regroup again to go congratulate the groom together, and Carter drags the six of them into another selfie with the disposable camera. Carter and Gloria dart off again, Nico just behind, and for a moment, it’s just Scott and the first out players in the league. He wants to tell them, but the words get stuck as they crawl up his throat.

“Congratulations, guys, really,” he says again, and they beam at him. “Really hope everything goes well for you. You’ve got friends in New York,” he says.

“Thanks again for coming, Scott,” Shane replies earnestly, and Scott figures he was too subtle, until Ilya finally tears his eyes from Shane to quirk a brow at Scott.

“And are these friends,” he leans on the word even harder than Scott had, “going to join us in the spotlight?”

Scott’s stomach is like ice, but hope has been creeping in all day like the first warm breeze before spring. “When I win the Cup, sure,” Scott says, and he sees recognition hit Shane like a puck to the gut.

Ilys just laughs, “No, no, it will be the Bears this year!” And Shane elbows him and says something about the Voyageurs and Scott is laughing too.

“Thanks for telling us,” Ilya says, “I know it is not easy for dinosaurs to be brave.”

“Shut up, Roz,” Scott says. This fucker is barely three years younger than him. “You better win tonight.”

Ilya’s grin gets sharp and he pulls Shane tighter to his side, saying, “My beautiful husband will be there to support me, of course I will!” Shane smiles up at him, all fond, and Scott feels the empty air next to him where Kip should be, and excuses himself.

The Pikes’ backyard slowly empties, and by noon, almost everyone has cleared out, as players have games and practices and lives to get back to, all across the continent. The Bears pile into a pair of vans that will take them to the airport, pulling Hollander along with them. Scott wants to put off getting back in a car for as long as he possibly can; why had he let Carter convince them to road trip this?

The Admirals have a late practice tomorrow, and end up lingering to help the Pikes, Hollanders, and Boiziau with the clean up. Carter comes from a big family and has that midwest ease about him that makes him want to help. Nico doesn’t mind, and he’s tall, which is always useful. And Scott… Scott feels like, maybe, if he can put his hands on something from this day, the hope growing in him will thrive. The teams of people that Jackie Pike and the wedding planner Medeline hired for catering take care of most of it, but all the chairs need to be loaded up into a trailer that David Hollander has rented for the day. The flowers can all be kept, and Jackie and Gloria discuss preservation options, while Nico, with all his height, helps Hayden and J.J. dismantle the archway. Scott helps David and Yuna load all the chairs, dodging around the Pikes’ toddler girls in their poofy dresses as they try to help. They are so enthusiastic, it’s really adorable, and they keep talking about Uncle Shane and his husband.

Scott finds himself in the corner of the yard, rolling a lily from one of the floral arrangements over in his hands, watching as the catering team dismantles the bar. There must be something on his face, because David Hollander claps a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, son?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott says, running a hand over his face. “This was—” He doesn’t know what to say. No words seem right. What happened to Hollander and Rozanov is awful, but this wedding was pure joy, and Scott’s own heart is still matching the rhythm of someone else’s heartbeat. “Really nice,” he finishes somewhat stupidly.

David nods, standing next to Scott and looking out at the yard. “Means a lot that you all came. When Hayden and J.J. said they were gonna invite some of the guys from the league, we didn’t know what to expect.”

“I’m glad Cliff called me,” Scott manages, uncertain in the face of a father’s gratitude.

“He saved you to call last, you know?” David says, and Scott blinks, then shakes his head. David continues, “He said he knew it would be a good one.”

“Were there a lot of bad ones?” Scott needs to relax before he crushes the flower he is holding. 

“Some,” David says, “Some.”

“What happened to them wasn’t right,” Scott offers into the heavy silence.

“No,” David shrugs, then rolls his neck the same way Shane does. “We’ll be dealing with the fallout for a while, I expect.”

Scott nods.

“Well,” David says, “thanks again for coming. And for what you said to the press the other night. The greatest response in the league.” He claps Scott on the shoulder again and walks off before Scott can reply.

When there’s nothing else left to do, the Admirals change out of their formalwear and then make a farewell round. Yuna Hollander presses a baggie of flower petals into each of their hands. “We didn’t have time to get together proper favours,” she says, and they try to wave off her apologies. “But you can press these, or go scatter them somewhere, or...” She trails off; Scott has never seen her so hesitant. “It meant a lot for Shane and Ilya, for all of us, that you came, and you helped.”

“We were glad to be here for them, Mrs. Hollander,” Nico says, which is good, because Scott can’t speak around the lump in his throat.

They pile back into Carter’s Range Rover, Carter driving again for the first leg of the trip. Scott spends the first half hour of the road trip poking around the internet until he can find an Etsy shop that has what he’s looking for, and he places an order. With luck, it’ll be here by their next home games, but certainly before this homestand is over. Despite what he said to Rozanov about winning the Cup, Scott is going to start making moves now.

They chat about the wedding, trade the gossip they caught from other players, Nico complains about someone as nice as Wyatt Hayes being stuck with a team as shitty as Toronto. Almost fifteen hours in a car across two days is batshit insane behaviour, but still not as much as Rozanov and Hollander getting married with less than two days’ notice. It’s good company anyway, and the time passes quickly.

About an hour outside of New York City, the car is settled into a comfortable quiet, with Nico’s soft indie rock playing in the background. And Scott is about to do something that will change his life forever. “Hey, um,” he starts, and Gloria turns the music down a little more. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Carter says, easy.

Nico laughs, “I think I’d’ve been offended if I missed the invite.”

“Of course,” Gloria adds. “We all know Hollander and Rozanov need all the support they can get right now.”

“Right,” Scott agrees, and fixes his gaze out the window at the dark shadows of the trees whizzing past. “And um, you guys being so great about this whole thing also means a lot, because, well,” he takes a deep breath. No going back now. “I’m gay.”

There’s a beat, a pause just long enough for Scott’s breath to freeze, then Carter says, “Hell yeah,” and Gloria says, “Thank you for telling us,” and Nico says, “We’ve got your back, Cap.”

Scott’s eyes well up and his throat is tight but he manages to say, “I know.”

“Wait!” Carter exclaims. “That means lately—do you have a boyfriend? Can we meet him?”

Scott laughs a little bitterly. “No, I—it’s complicated.” He knows he sounds miserable.

NIco gasps, “The lucky socks! They were from him, right?”

Scott nods.

“Okay, so do we need to fight this guy for fucking up our friend?” Carter doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“No,” Scott groans, “You need to kick my ass for fucking up with him.”

“Do you wanna tell us what happened?” Nico asks.

It all spills out. The last six months, meeting Kip, knowing what it means to want, inviting him to stay, falling in love, how happy and how scared Scott has been and how it slowly made Kip miserable. “And I didn’t go to his birthday party, not even as his friend, and we haven't spoken since. I basically forced him back in the closet to be with me.”

“Damn,” Carter says, “That sucks. It sounds like you really love him.” He and Gloria are holding hands across the center console.

“Yeah,” Scott says, “Today was agonising. Like, obviously, getting outed has been my nightmare for so long, but I was so jealous today I thought I might be sick.”

“Do you want to win him back?” Gloria asks gently.

“So, so much,” Scott’s voice cracks.

“Do you want us to help you plan?” she asks, and Scott agrees.

Over the rest of the drive, a plan comes together. He’ll come out to the team, he’ll do something publicly legible, to show how serious he is, he’ll apologise to Kip. If all goes well, Scott will have a partner at his side before the next team and families dinner. And even if he never gets Kip back, it will be good for Scott, for the other queer men in the NHL, for all the queer kids coming up now. He’s still so scared, but it’s going to be worth it.

They’re almost to the city when Carter remembers the museum pictures and freaks out all over again. If he wasn’t driving, Scott thinks he might have vaulted into the back seat. Nico just laughs and laughs and Scott is just so glad they know, that he can tell them how excited Kip had been at the museum, how smart he is. They listen, and Gloria tells him he better get Kip back. Scott agrees, wholeheartedly.

He gets home, and checks social media. If there’s already something from the wedding up, he wants to repost it. He finds the same tweet on both Hollander and Rozanov’s twitter accounts, and assumes he’ll find it on Instagram as well. It’s two pictures, one of the two of them grinning broadly at each other, and one of them with all the guests. “Today was everything we could have hoped #twoofthegreatest”. There’s a tweet underneath sharing their wedding gift charities. Scott like Rozanov’s tweet and retweet’s Shane’s, adding “Proud to support #twoofthegreatest”. He can’t believe they’ve put that stupid hashtag on their wedding post, but he’s going to follow suit for them. He shares the group photo and the charity links in a post on his Instagram as well.

The next day he wakes up to find a text from Carter that says, “Just realised I mansplained Russian homophobia to you and Hollzy in Sochi” with a string of terrified emojis.

Scott laughs out loud and sends back, “Yeah, alarm bells were ringing in my brain”

He takes the index card, with its cute little, “Thanks from Shane & Ilya” and all the charities listed, to practice and puts it up in the locker room where everyone can see it. There’s a few queer organisations, one based out of Russia, a few youth sports organisations, and a dog rescue. All of the guys should have something they feel okay donating to.

“How was the wedding, Cap?” Eric asks cheerfully as they’re suiting up for practice.

“Really nice,” Scott says, and Carter and Nico agree.

“I saw you put up the charities,” Nico says, “I’ve just gotta pick which to donate to.”

“Don’t be a cheapskate, Casty,” Jensen pipes up, “Donate to all of them.”

“Like you’re going to?” Greg shoots back, and the guys laugh.

“It’s the dog rescue for me,” Jensen says, which shouldn’t surprise anyone, with him and his wife having three dogs themselves. 

No one says anything rude about the charities or Hollander and Rozanov, and Scott figures he’ll give it a week or so and then tell his team. First, he goes to lunch with Eric and Greg and their wives and tells them. Other than Carter, they’re his best friends on the team, and he wants them to know first.

He doesn’t want to make it a whole thing when he tells the rest of the team, so he waits for an opportunity to present itself. Before a game, one of the guys is showing off a picture of his new girl. “Don’t you think she’s hot?” He asks the room at large to good natured chirping and hollering.

Scott winks at Carter, then says, “Not really my type, but if she’s got an older brother, let me know.”

“You got it, Cap,” Gillis says, and Scott can practically see the wheels turning as he realises what he just agreed to.

“Hunter, holy shit,” Bennett says, and Scott laughs, happy his friend is helping him along, saying what everyone is thinking.

He feels six inches taller than usual. “Yeah, so I guess the Hollander-Rozanov wedding made me a little brave,” he pauses, grins. “Never tell them,” he threatens, and another wave of laughter spills around the room. Scott notices a few of the guys who look distinctly awkward, but they’ll get over it. Casty grins at him from across the locker room, Huff shoots him a thumbs up, and Scott thinks he could win this game himself, he feels so good right now.

The public gesture ends up taking a while. He’s nervous, he wants to do it right, and then they’re on their next roadie, and he doesn’t want to do it while thousands of miles and several days separate him from Kip. It’s been too long since they’ve spoken, but Scott needed to get his shit together.

So, it’s the end of the roadie. Just this game tonight, and then they’ll be back in New York tomorrow morning. Scott is dressing up to head to the arena, maybe a little more than what he’d usually do, but not too extreme. Usually he saves suits for important games. This one is, but just to Scott, really. He carefully takes out the items he had ordered the day of the wedding and puts them on. His plan is not as obvious as wearing a rainbow, but it’s more specific, and it will be plenty evident to the right people. Carter helps him take the photo, and then Scott looks at it. “Does this look too much like a, a thirst trap or something?” He asks, hesitating.

“Yeah man, that’s the point,” Carter grins. “Want me to text Gloria and ask if it’s hot?”

Scott waves him off, double-checks that Instagram and Twitter notifications are turned off, then posts the photo to both sites, with the same simple caption. There’s no going back now.

ScottHunterOfficial
[image ID: Scott Hunter from chin to elbow, fastening a button on his shirt. Clearly visible are his cuff links: the green, white, and blue gay pride flag. He has a silver wristwatch on.]
Game day.
Kippp and 36,783 other people have liked this post
@shanehollanderhockeyplayer Let’s go! 🏒🌈
@ilyarozanov81 this is not cup, Hunter
@Carter_Vaughan proud of you, man ❤️
@GloriaGloriaGrey looking good!
@YunaHollander24 Good luck tonight! 🏒🌈
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