Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Carter Vaughn

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Accidents, Angst with a Happy Ending

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-30 Words: 4,376 Chapters: 1/1

Empty Net

Summary

When Scott’s parents died, it had been like being struck by lightning. A disaster out of the blue. This, waiting for the hammer to fall, was worse. It had been four days. People didn’t just disappear for four days for no reason.

Or: When Scott can’t get in touch with Kip for several days, he realizes the pitfalls of how isolated they are.

Scott glanced at his watch and opened his phone to text Kip: Are you still coming for dinner? He’d expected Kip an hour ago but maybe he’d needed to run errands after his shift or something.

Next week would be their two month anniversary. If that was a thing. It probably wasn’t, but Scott had never had a relationship last two months before so he wanted to make it feel at least a little special. He had proper catering coming and he’d bought candles at a boutique two doors down from the smoothie shop. There was an old Etta James CD that Kip had mentioned liking queued up on his phone so Scott could dance with him and pretend they were out at one of the endless fundraisers Scott attended and he was steering Kip around the floor. He could keep this going, Scott thought. Three months. Four months. Forever, hopefully.

Tonight was just going to be takeout from the Vietnamese place down the street. It was okay if Kip had to miss it, if something had come up with a friend or he wanted to stop home and see his father. That was fine.

Scott pulled the heavy clay plates that his decorator had picked for him and Kip liked to make fun of out of the cupboard and started setting up the table. Kip was probably still coming so he put out two place settings before going to look through the wine rack.

Scott checked his phone. No response. He hit the call button and listened as the line rang out and went to Kip’s voicemail. Hi, this is Kip. Leave a message.

“Hi,” Scott said. “Just checking in. I’m going to call our order in but let me know if something came up tonight. Okay, I love you.”

It had taken Scott a minute to feel okay with leaving an ‘I love you’ in a voicemail or a text, something that someone else could hear or see if Kip left his phone unlocked and unattended. He’d asked Kip to update his settings to require a longer, more secure password and Kip had looked at him in a way that made Scott’s stomach drop, but he’d done it.

He’d said it in person too fast, Scott knew. Two weeks wasn’t supposed to be enough time to fall in love, was certainly too early to tell someone you loved them and not expect them to run for the hills, but it had been true and Kip had been rolling with the punches when it came to Scott being too intense since their first night together. When Scott had kissed him at the door and said, “Have a good day. I love you,” Kip had stared at him for a second and then he’d smiled, like he was surprised at himself, but in a good way, and said, “I love you too.”

Scott called to put their order in, enough for two, and turned on the TV to watch the Montreal-Dallas game. Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door and Scott smiled and swung it open, ready to see Kip struggling with shopping bags as he tried to fish his key out of his pocket.

“Order for Scott Hunter,” the delivery guy said, holding out a bag.

Scott fumbled out his wallet, overpaid by double, and shut the door, his heart sinking back down. He called Kip again. Voicemail.

Maybe he’d lost or broken his phone, Scott thought. Scott had broken his own phone a few months ago, getting off the bus to the arena in Chicago, and it had taken him two days to get to a shop and get it replaced.

Even if Kip wasn’t able to make it over tonight, wasn’t able to call to communicate that, it was fine. Scott could check in with him at work tomorrow when he went to get his usual smoothie.

Scott stayed up until midnight, just in case, and then he went to bed, tugging Kip’s pillow into his empty arms.

-

Kip wasn’t at the smoothie counter. Instead, there was some blond guy whose name tag said Troy.

“Hi,” Scott said, feeling thrown. “Is, um, is Kip here?” Maybe he was doing ingredient prep work in the back.

“He’s not on shift today,” Troy said, popping a bubble in the gum he was chewing.

Fuck. Scott had really meant to figure out some kind of calendar for them. They both had crazy schedules, with Kip picking up whatever shifts he could and Scott playing every day or two and spending half his time on the road. Usually they talked about the upcoming week’s plans every Monday but that had been yesterday and Kip hadn’t come home.

“Do you know if he’s in tomorrow?” Scott asked.

Troy gave him the flat look of tired customer service workers everywhere and said, “We don’t give out staff schedules to customers. Can I get you something?”

Scott glanced at the menu. He didn’t want to just walk out like a weird stalker after confirming Kip wasn’t here but he also didn’t want Troy to make him his Blue Moon Over Brooklyn. That was Scott and Kip’s drink. “Strawberry Ice Swirl,” Scott said, at random. He was just going to throw it into the trash can outside anyway. His stomach felt unsettled.

Troy started up the blenders and Scott pulled out his credit card so he could end this encounter as soon as possible. “Is Maria here today?” he asked, feeling desperate. She might know what was going on with Kip.

“No,” Troy said and pushed Scott’s smoothie across the counter. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Scott said, dully, and walked out the door.

You’re being insane, Scott told himself. Too intense. Too overbearing, like always. He checked his last message from Kip. See you tonight ♥️. It hadn’t even been twenty four hours since he’d sent it. There were other things going on in Kip’s life than just Scott. Yes, he was usually really good about communicating that because he was kind and he knew Scott had attachment issues, but Scott needed to be able to keep his shit together better.

He went to practice and skated his fucking heart out to try to keep his mind quiet.

“Damn, man, save some for the game tonight,” Carter laughed but by puck drop Scott had called Kip twice more with no response and he was a jittery mess. He whiffed a perfect set up shot and almost scored an own goal off his skate to top it off.

Huff patted him on the shoulder after and said, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Scott lied because what could he say? I haven’t heard from my boyfriend that I’ve never told you about for a day and a half and it’s making me anxious as fuck? “Yeah, just a bad game, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Huff said. “We all have them.”

It’s okay, Scott repeated to himself. Everything’s okay.

-

Scott woke up to an empty bed again, his arm stretched out across the mattress where Kip belonged, and immediately grabbed for his phone. Nothing from Kip.

He called again. Voicemail. “Sorry for being annoying, I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Scott said. “Call me back please. I love you.”

He put on his running gear and jogged down to the smoothie shop. He could see through the window that it was Troy at the counter again so he jogged past, heart pounding. Why the fuck didn’t he have the number of any of Kip’s friends? Why didn’t he know where he lived, more specifically than Brooklyn, when he wasn’t living with Scott? Scott had been so worried about keeping his relationship with Kip a secret he’d never considered all the downsides of them being so isolated.

The bar, Scott thought. The Kingfisher. Kip talked about going there all the time. People knew him there; they might know where he was, what was going on. Scott Googled the address. It wouldn’t be open until five but maybe Kip would get in contact before then anyway.

He jogged home, showered, and opened a new James Patterson novel. Scott closed it after ten pages, feeling sick. He didn’t want to read about murder right now. The chances of Kip having been murdered were vanishingly low but he could have been mugged, stabbed, hit by a car. The possibilities for disaster were endless.

Scott remembered a few years ago, Huff’s wife Laura had gotten kidnapping threats. They’d found the guy, some fixated old co-worker, but Huff had been incredibly worked up about it. Scott could imagine what that felt like now.

He wasted some time doing sit ups, push ups, called Kip again. By the time the clock inched close to five, Scott felt ready to jump out of his skin. He called a car and gave the address for the burger place right next to The Kingfisher.

The bar looked a little run-down from the outside, in need of a new coat of paint. There was nothing about it that particularly marked it as a gay bar and Scott didn’t even really care at this point. If Kip was in there, Scott would hug him in front of everyone. He pushed open the door and looked around.

It was just opening time, so it was quiet, only a few tables populated by patrons. None of them were Kip. Scott walked up to the bar counter where a lanky young man with brown hair was cleaning beer glasses. When he saw Scott approaching he set down the glass and said, “Hi, I’m Kyle. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Scott said, trying not to sound manic. “I’m just looking for someone. Kip Grady?”

Kyle nodded. “Sure, he’s not here now but he’s in a lot.”

“Has he been here in the past couple days? I’ve been trying to get a hold of him.”

“I think Saturday was when I saw him last,” Kyle said. Scott had talked to Kip on Saturday too, and Sunday, and Monday afternoon before he disappeared off the face of the Earth. “You could try whenever the next hockey game is. He likes to watch those here.”

Scott’s heart gave a painful thump. “Could you give him my number if he comes in? In case he lost it.” If Kip had lost his phone, he’d probably lost all his numbers with it. Scott had written down Kip’s number and stuck it in his wall safe as soon as he’d realized that if he ever lost his own phone he didn’t remember Kip’s actual number without it.

“Missed connection?” Kyle asked, sympathetically, handing Scott a napkin and a felt tipped marker. “Join the club. I was this close to finally asking him out and then he started up his weird situationship that he refuses to talk about. Maybe they’ll break it off and one of us will have a chance.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, choked, as he scribbled down his number and handed the napkin back to Kyle. “Thanks, man.”

Kip’s weird situationship. Is that what Scott was? That wasn’t how Scott thought of them. Kip was his boyfriend. Sure it was a secret, but it was committed, exclusive.

Maybe someone had said something like that to Kip, poked a sore spot, and Kip was upset. Scott hadn’t really considered the idea that Kip was upset with him as an option. It wasn’t like they’d fought and Kip wasn’t the kind of person to ice him out. Still…

Scott left The Kingfisher and walked around to the alley in the back. Kip’s phone went to voicemail. “Hi,” Scott said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Hi, Kip, this is Scott again. If I did something wrong, I’m sorry and I’ll try to do better. Can we talk about it? Please call me back. I love you.”

Scott hailed a cab and went home. Kip liked to talk about important things in person. Maybe he’d get Scott’s message and come over and they could figure whatever this was out.

At the penthouse, Scott poured himself a scotch and drank it slowly, controlled. By midnight, he’d emptied half the bottle. Kip still hadn’t called.

-

He might have been okay if they hadn’t been playing Boston, Scott thought.

Fucking Boston and fucking Ilya Rosanov who couldn’t play hockey without his mouth open. Scott couldn’t even remember what Rosanov had said, but he’d been holding on by a thread all night, his hands so tight on his stick he felt like it might snap.

Instead, it had been Scott’s patience that snapped. He’d dropped his gloves and swung for Rosanov’s face. Scott could remember the expression that flashed through Rosanov’s eyes—surprise, like he hadn’t expected Scott to even glance at him let alone throw a punch—but not much else until Carter and Virtanen had dragged him off.

There was blood on Scott’s hands. His ears echoed with the frenzied cheering of the crowd and then the ref announced a five minute major for fighting and tacked on game misconduct which ejected Scott off the ice. He walked to the dressing room with his head down, trying to pull it together.

The dressing room was the worst possible place to have a breakdown. Scott was the captain; he was supposed to give pep talks here, be the team’s calm touchstone. But it was empty, everyone still out on the ice, and Scott couldn’t fucking take this anymore. Scott sat down on the bench in front of his locker and put his face in his hands.

“Scott,” someone said, tentatively, and Scott looked up in surprise.

“Carter,” he said, scrubbing the tears off his cheeks hurriedly. Coach must have sent him back to check in. There had only been ten minutes left in the game and they were already down two goals and now, thanks to Scott, trying to penalty kill a five minute power play. Everyone was probably chalking it up as a loss.

“Are you…what’s wrong?” Carter asked.

What could Scott even say? I’m gay and my boyfriend is fucking missing? That was a huge bomb to drop and everyone else would be coming in off the ice in a few minutes.

Carter looked at him and said, “Let’s get you out of here.” He grabbed Scott’s post-practice clothes out of his locker, tossed them into his lap, and started stripping out of his uniform. Scott followed suit, ripping off his skates. Contractually, Scott was required to stay and do post-game media interviews, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck at this precise moment.

They snuck out the side door and got into Carter’s Porsche. Scott’s hands were shaking in his lap and he clenched them together while Carter steered them down Madison Avenue and into the parking garage for his sleek downtown apartment.

“Okay,” Carter said, when he’d put Scott down on his couch with a glass of water in front of him. “What the fuck is going on? Talk to me.”

“Can I borrow your phone?” Scott asked.

Wordlessly, Carter handed over his phone and Scott typed in Kip’s number. He had it memorized now. He didn’t think Kip had really blocked his number or was ignoring his calls but it was a better alternative than the other scenarios running through Scott’s mind.

Hi, this is Kip. Leave a message.

Fuck, Scott thought. Fuck. He hung up the phone and put his face back into his hands.

“It’s okay,” Carter said, sounding like he was freaking out but trying to be comforting through it. “Scott, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Scott said, choked, because he’d been checking the fucking obituaries that morning and even though Kip’s name hadn’t been there today, it could be tomorrow.

When Scott’s parents died, it had been like being struck by lightning. A disaster out of the blue. This, waiting for the hammer to fall, was worse. It had been four days. People didn’t just disappear for four days for no reason.

“I can’t find Kip,” Scott said, like that would mean anything to Carter. He chugged half his glass of water and looked at the sidetable, cluttered with framed pictures of Carter’s family. There was a new photo there since Scott had been here last—Carter and his girlfriend Gloria. They were somewhere sunny, outside. Scott only had one picture of Kip in his phone. It was of him, smiling, at the counter of the smoothie shop, for plausible deniability. Just someone Scott saw occasionally as part of his game day superstitions. “Kip’s my boyfriend,” Scott said.

Carter blinked at him. “Oh,” he said. “Oh. Okay.” He sat down next to Scott and patted him on the shoulder. “What do you mean you can’t find him? You guys are having issues and he won’t call you back?”

“I don’t know why he won’t call me back,” Scott said. “We weren’t fighting. Something’s wrong.”

“Maybe he just needs some space for a bit?” Carter said.

“He would have told me that,” Scott insisted. “He wouldn’t have just ghosted me. I checked at his job, the bar he hangs out at, I don’t know where he is.”

Carter bit his lip. “I guess you probably haven’t met his family or friends? You don’t have anyone else’s number to check in?”

Scott shook his head. “I asked him not to tell anyone about us.”

“We’ll find him, Scott,” Carter said. “Stay over tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Scott fell asleep on the couch not long after, exhausted and wrung out. When he woke up, the sun was shining in his eyes and Carter was at the stove, burning eggs.

“Hey, man,” he said when he heard Scott groan awake, “I talked to Gloria—discreetly, no names—and she gave me the number of a friend who’s a private investigator. He said the main reasons people drop out of contact unexpectedly are accidents or family emergencies. Do you want me to have him run a search for Kip?”

Accidents or family emergencies. Fuck. “Yeah,” Scott said. “Yeah. Thanks, Carter.”

-

When Scott got home, it took him a minute to notice that the lights were on. He hadn’t exactly been thinking straight for the last few days, but he hadn’t left them like that had he?

He turned the corner of the bookcase and looked down at the couch. Kip was asleep across it, long-ways, wearing Scott’s red Admirals hoodie.

“Kip,” Scott said, his knees feeling like they might collapse under him from the relief. Kip had a boot cast on his right foot and there were a pair of crutches leaning neatly against the arm of the couch.

Kip’s brow furrowed and he blinked awake. “Scott?” he said, and then, waking fully, “Scott! I’m so sorry, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you but my phone’s broken.” He held up the old model iPhone that Scott had been trying to get Kip to let him replace. The screen was cracked like the Y-incision of an autopsy.

Scott launched himself over the couch, his hands reaching for Kip. He wanted to hug him and never let go but there was a darkening bruise on his cheek and who knew what injuries beneath his shirt. Scott reached up to touch his face. The skin beside Kip’s eye was red and raw.

Kip’s arms went around Scott’s neck. “Please hold me,” he said, thickly. “This has been the worst fucking week.”

Scott could agree with that. He put his arms around Kip’s back, gentle but secure. “I was so worried about you. What happened?”

Kip rested his cheek against Scott’s shoulder. “I got swiped by a car on my way home from work. Broke my foot. Broke my phone. I was in the hospital for a couple days getting fixed up and then my dad refused to leave the house yesterday. I finally managed to escape and get a cab this morning.”

“God,” Scott said. He could feel the adrenaline draining away, leaving him shaky. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was freaking the fuck out when I couldn’t reach you.” He leaned back so he could see Kip’s face again—perfect, beautiful—and moved forward to kiss him, tenderly.

Kip sighed against his mouth. “I’ve been horizontal for like four days but I’m still so tired. Can we go to bed for a few hours? Do you have practice today?”

Scott did have practice in about two hours but he was absolutely not going. He kissed Kip’s drooping eyelids. “I’ve got you,” he said, scooping Kip up in a bridal carry and taking him into the bedroom. “Can the boot come off to sleep?”

“I’m supposed to leave it on,” Kip said, drowsy.

Scott stripped off his own shoes and his shirt and got them settled, Kip’s head over his heart. “I love you,” Scott said. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I love you too,” Kip said, and then he was out like a light and Scott could let himself gasp in unsteady breaths, his hand stroking through Kip’s hair.

Fuck. If Scott had been in an accident, had gotten hurt in some way, it would have been on the local news, the subject of a dozen articles on Sportsnet. The fact that he’d had no way to know this happened to Kip was an untenable way to continue living. As much as Scott didn’t want to lose the secrecy, they were going to have to expand the circle of trust for who knew about their relationship at least a little. To Kip’s dad certainly. And on Scott’s side, he’d already told Carter. Which, shit, he should let Carter know Kip was home.

Scott fumbled his phone out of his pocket and hit call.

“Hey Scott, nothing new yet,” Carter said when he answered.

“Kip’s home,” Scott said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake him. “He’s okay. I mean, he was hit by a fucking car so he’s not really but he’s going to be.”

“Oh, shit,” Carter said. “That’s great, Scott. Not the car thing obviously but that he’s home now.” He paused for a second and added, “Are you okay now?”

Scott released a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he said. He did kind of feel like going to cry in the shower but he wasn’t going to get up and leave Kip. “I—yeah, I think I’m okay now.”

“Good.”

“Do you—do you want to meet him sometime?” Scott asked. They’d kind of skimmed over the whole ‘Scott’s gay’ revelation in the midst of the crisis of Kip being missing but Carter seemed to have taken it in stride.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I’d love to. Kip,” Carter said, popping the p, “that’s cute as hell by the way.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, stroking over Kip’s cheekbone with his thumb, “he’s really beautiful.”

“I’m sure Huff and Benny would love to meet him too,” Carter said, a little hesitant. “You know, if you wanted.”

“Yeah, I—maybe,” Scott said. Maybe he could tell Huff and Eric at least. “Hey, can you tell Coach and everyone that I’m not going to be at practice today? Tell them I have a personal thing.” Scott had never had a personal thing before but pretty much everyone else had; sick kids, picking their partner up at the airport. It was likely to get some interest but he trusted Carter to deflect.

“Of course,” Carter said. “I’ve got your back. Take care of your man.”

“I will,” Scott said.

-

“Got you something,” Scott said, passing a bag into Kip’s hands as he kissed him.

“Scott…,” Kip said, opening the box with the new iPhone.

Kip had rejected Scott’s previous attempts to upgrade his phone, but under the circumstances, Scott thought he could get him to accept it now. “It’s really important to me that you have this,” Scott said sincerely. He’d gone to practice that afternoon, enduring the curious glances from his teammates about missing the previous day and his public, on ice meltdown, but he’d still been on edge about not being able to text or call Kip, just to check in.

“I was going to get a refurbished model,” Kip said.

“But now you don’t need to,” Scott said. “Please, Kip.”

Kip looked at him and Scott could tell the anxiety on his face was barely concealed when Kip said, “Okay. Thank you,” and kissed him.

The two month anniversary dinner Scott had planned went off without a hitch. He hadn’t gotten to dance with Kip like he wanted because of the crutches situation but he could tell that Kip was charmed by the extra effort Scott had put into the menu and the mood lighting, the music on soft behind them. He let Scott fuck him after, slow and careful, and didn’t even protest that he was fine, that he wasn’t fragile just because he had a broken metatarsal.

So it was a surprise when Scott woke up in the morning to find Kip with tears in his eyes. “Kip,” he said, anxiety ratcheting up, “are you okay?”

Kip had his new phone up to his ear, the packaging strewn over the bedcovers.

Oh shit, Scott thought. The million fucking voicemails he’d left.

“I would never punish you by not responding to you,” Kip said, his voice hoarse. “Even if we were fighting about something. Please tell me you know that, Scott.”

“I didn’t really think that,” Scott promised. “I just wanted to cover all the bases.”

Kip put the phone down and moved into Scott’s open arms. “I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to Scott’s neck.

“I love you too,” Scott said. “I’m excited to meet your dad today.” Actually Scott was scared shitless despite how many times Kip had said his dad would love Scott, but he was going to dig something nice out of his closet to wear and be brave. And Kip was going to meet Carter next week. They deserved this, a better kind of safety net than complete secrecy had been.

“Come on,” Scott said. He cupped Kip’s face and used his thumbs to swipe the tears off his cheeks. “I’ll make you breakfast.”