Chapter Text
Hollander and Roz walk carefully towards what Cliff has to believe is the – their?-- bedroom and Cliff is still reeling.
Hollander promises they’ll be quick, but somehow, Cliff doubts it.
Cliff drinks his coffee and lets his confused energy carry him to pace around Ilya’s modern and stylish home.
He’s been here a couple of times, and each time has wondered where the Roz is. The dude’s clothes are usually ostentatious, and his personality is larger than life. It seems odd that his house would be so… simple. Minimalist. Luxurious, sure, and definitely expensive. But it’s missing some character, Cliff thinks.
His pacing takes him around to the kitchen. He’s seen the way Roz eats on roadies, and has the sudden thought that his fridge is probably bare as hell. It’d be a good chirp to break the ice when they come back, he thinks, so he goes towards the fridge.
The otherwise impersonal appliance has a paper on the right side, about eye-level. It’s been laminated, and at first, the glare from the overhead light makes it hard to read.
But then Cliff can see exactly what it is. A marriage certificate, issued by the state of Nevada, to Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander.
There’s Roz’s chicken-scratch signature (complete with #81) and then Hollander’s slighty-wobbly but very legible signature right next to it.
Fucking hell, Cliff thinks. They really did this. They’re fucking idiots.
Then, Cliff wonders why, if it’s supposed to be so damn secret, Roz would have this displayed on his fucking fridge where any guest could see it.
Has Roz been bringing girls here? Hell, he can’t remember the last time he saw Roz pick up. Not that he knows every time, but they’re friends, and they usually go out together.
If he’s still picking up, despite being married… Cliff feels conflicted.
On the one hand, it was a drunken wedding. A mistake – Hollander said so himself.
But on the other, he just saw the two of them together, and they’ve been saying their “quick” goodbye for at least eight or nine minutes now.
Maybe Roz really has been domesticated?
Cliff shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought. It doesn’t matter, and it’s not for him to speculate.
He glances towards the bedroom door, but it’s still closed. At least he doesn’t hear any weird sounds.
To distract himself, he opens up the team’s group chat and gives an update. He carefully omits the part where he was not the one to pick up Roz from the hospital as discussed, and just says that Roz is home and settling in well.
He asks the boys to help with babysitting their captain over the next few days. Luckily, their next away game is four days out, so outside of games or practice, the team can cover most of it. One of the WAGs offers to come by with food during tomorrow’s game, and to hang out with Roz until Cliff is back from playing.
It’s going to be a strange couple of days, Cliff thinks. First, without Roz on the active roster, the team will be a little different; they’ll have to adjust some lines and plays to cover their star center’s absence. And then Cliff will also have to find a way to get more details on the whole Hollander situation, while also setting aside whatever weird feelings he has about it all.
He’s surprised, for sure, that Roz is with a man. Cliff has never really considered that for Roz, of all people. But really, the bigger surprise is that he’s with Hollander. Married to him, intentionally or not. (Though given their delay on annulling, Cliff thinks it’s sounding more and more intentional by the minute.)
It doesn’t take a genius to realize what an absolute clusterfuck it would be if the league, the media, the public found out.
As long as Roz is still playing hockey like the bad-ass motherfucking captain of Boston should, Cliff figures he has to just do his best to roll with the punches.
And if keeping his mouth shut about Roz’s husband is what his captain needs, then that’s what Cliff will do.
Finally, the door opens, and Cliff jumps away from the fridge like he’s guilty of something. He didn’t even snoop in the fridge!
Roz’s shirt collar is all stretched out, and there’s a large, reddish-purple mark on his exposed collarbone.
Cliff raises his eyebrows, and Hollander blushes and suddenly becomes very interested in a piece of lint on the hem of his own shirt.
Cliff will keep his mouth shut to their teammates and the world at large, of course.
But oh, there will be chirping.