Chapter Text
The late-February air was bitterly cold outside Madison Square Garden. Scott’s driver loaded both overnight bags into the trunk. Scott climbed into the back seat first, with Shane following a moment later. The car pulled away into Manhattan traffic. For the first couple of minutes, neither of them spoke. Snow drifted beneath the streetlights outside.
Finally, Scott broke the silence. “So.”
Shane groned. “I still can’t believe I tried to fight you.”
“You did try.”
“I know.”
“You shoved me pretty hard.”
“I know.”
“You owe me dinner now.”
Shane looked over. “I owe you dinner?”
Scott grinned. “I’m feeding you. The least you can do is admit I won that negotiation.”
A reluctant smile appeared on Shane’s face. “I guess.”
The driver glanced at them in the mirror before turning his attention back to the road.
Scott lowered his voice. “So. How long?”
Shane looked out the window. “Since rookie season.”
Scott nodded. “I figured it wasn’t new -” Scott paused “Wait, what?”
“We’re careful.”
“I’d imagine.”
“We have to be.”
Scott understood immediately. “Sochi.”
Shane nodded. “And everything after.”
Neither spoke for a moment. Absorbing the news they both shared tonight.
Scott finally broke the silence. “You’re carrying a lot by yourself.”
Shane let out a slow breath. “I know.”
“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”
“I know.”
“But if you ever need someone who’s been through it…” Scott smiled. “… I’ve got a pretty good idea what you’re dealing with.”
Shane looked at him, then the driver up front before turning back to Scott. “You really have a boyfriend?” he whispered.
Scott laughed. “I do, he lives with me. And he’s also your biggest fan.”
“My what?”
Scott nodded. “He thinks you're the best forward in hockey.”
Shane snorted. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. He’ll probably ask for a selfie.”
Shane shook his head, laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
For the first time since the final whistle, the knot in Shane’s chest finally loosened. Maybe the night hadn't ended the way he’d feared. Maybe, somehow, it had just introduced him to the one person in the league who truly understood.
The car stopped outside Scott’s apartment building on the Upper West Side. Scott said goodnight to the driver before climbing out into the cold. Shane followed, overnight bag slung over one shoulder as he looked up at the brick building.
“You really live here?” Shane adjusted the strap on his bag.
Scott shrugged. “Perks of signing a long contract.” He held the front door open.
They rode the elevator to the ninth floor in comfortable silence. As soon as Scott unlocked the apartment door, warmth and the unmistakable smell of garlic, rosemary and fresh bread spilled into the hallway.
A voice called from the kitchen. “You’re late!”
Scott smiled to himself. “Sorry!”
Shane heard footsteps as a man rounded the corner from the kitchen carrying a wooden spoon. He was taller than Scott by an inch or two, broad-shouldered and muscular. Dressed in faded jeans and a navy hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Brown hair fell messily across his forehead, and warm brown eyes landed on Scott first.
“Hi.” Without a second thought, he leaned in and kissed Scott. It was quick and comfortable. Neither of them seemed to think twice about it. Then the man noticed Scott wasn't alone.
“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh.”
Scott grinned. “Kip. I’d like you to meet Shane Hollander.”
Kip froze completely. For a full three seconds he simply stared. Then he looked at Scott, then back at Shane, then back to Scott again. “You’re kidding.”
Scott laughed. “Nope.”
Kip pointed the spoon at Shane. “No.”
Scott nodded. “Yes.”
“The Shane Hollander?”
“The very one.” Scott couldn't stop smiling at his partner. He turned to Shane and said. “I told you he was a fan.”
Kip slowly lowered the spoon. He looked positively horrified. “I’ve got sauce on my hoodie.”
Scott burst out laughing. “Oh, Kip.”
“I wasn't expecting company!”
“I noticed.” Scott shrugged. “Plans changed.”
Kip looked back at Shane. “I’m so sorry. I promise I usually look slightly more presentable.”
Shane couldn't help smiling. “I think you look fine.”
Kip blinked. “You are… incredibly nice.”
Scott snorted. “He’s had a weird evening.”
“You have no idea,” Shane muttered.
Kip finally held out his hand. “Christopher Grady. But everyone calls me Kip.”
Shane shook it. “Shane.”
“I know.” Kip smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been watching you play since your draft year.”
Scott folded his arms. “I told you.”
“You weren't exaggerating.”
“No.”
“I’m studying history at Columbia part-time, while working at the Kingfisher at night. I refuse to be a sugar baby. No thank you. Dinner’s in the dining room, I grab another plate.”
They move deeper into the apartment, having taken off their shoes and coats. Kip nodded towards the hallway off the kitchen. The entryway opened into a wide living room that felt even larger than the hallway had suggested. One wall was lined with bookshelves crowded with history texts, paperbacks and a few framed photographs. A low sofa sat beneath the windows, a throw blanket folded over one arm. Beyond that, through a wide archway, Shane could see the dining table already set with the candles and a bowl of bread cooling under a tea towel.
Shane smiled despite himself as they moved farther into the apartment, away from the front door and the awkwardness of first introductions, towards the warm light and the smell of dinner waiting in the next room.
Shane laughed despite himself. Scott caught it immediately. “There he is.”
Kip looked between the two captains. “Okay.” He pointed between them with the wooden spoon. “One of you punched the other tonight.”
“Well,” Scott corrected, “he shoved me.”
“I shoved you.”
“You tried to fight me.”
“I did.”
Kip frowned. “And now you’re both standing in my kitchen.”
“Also yes,” Shane said.
“…I’m missing several chapters.”
Scott looked at Shane. “You mind?”
Shane hesitated before shaking his head. “No.”
Scott leaned against the kitchen counter. “At the end of the game, I told him he was starting to sound like one of our rookie defenseman.”
Kip waited. “And?”
“And Shane thought I meant someone else.”
Kip looked at Shane. “… Someone important?”
Shane stared at the floor. “Yeah.”
Scott picked up the story. “After the game he found me outside the room and begged me not to tell anyone.”
Kip’s expression changed immediately. “Oh.”
“He thought I knew.”
Kip looked at Shane with a little more understanding now. “And you didn't?”
Scott laughed. “I hadn't got the faintest idea. I genuinely thought he’d suffered some kind of breakdown.”
“I nearly did,” Shane muttered.
Scott nodded. “Eventually he mentioned Russia.”
“And then…”
Scott snapped his fingers. “It all clicked.”
Silence settled over the kitchen. Kip set the spoon down and started dishing up the food onto three plates.
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
Kip looked at Shane. “That must’ve been terrifying.”
Shane gave a humourless laugh. “I thought everything I’d worked for was over.”
“No,” Scott said quietly. “You thought someone was about to decide your life for you.”
Shane looked up. “Yeah.”
Kip folded his arms, the food forgotten entirely. “So, this guy.” He chose his words carefully. “The one you thought Scott meant.”
Shane was quiet for a long time. “Ilya.”
Scott nodded once. “I figured.”
Kip didn't ask for a surname. He didn't need to. “The Russian.” Kip leaned back against the counter. “Are you together?”
Shane let out a long breath. “I….” he stopped himself. “I don't know.”
Scott frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don't know. We haven't spoken in…” he counted backwards. “…Five weeks at this point.”
Kip blinked. “Five weeks?”
“Just over.”
Scott frowned. “Because of the Olympics?”
Shane nodded. “It was his idea. He said no calls, no texts. Nothing. Until after.”
Kip understood immediately. “If anyone looked…”
“Exactly.”
Shane rubbed a hand over his face. “I agreed. I thought it’d only be a couple of weeks. But then Russia lost.”
Scott nodded slowly. “They got hammered.”
“Yeah. And then he went straight back to Boston.”
“I’ve seen. Him on TV and in game tape. He looks like a man possessed. He can't stop scoring.”
Scott smiled faintly. “I noticed. He had what, eleven points in seven games?”
“Twelve,” Shane said automatically.
Scott exchanged an amused look with Kip. “You’ve been counting.”
“I play against him.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “Mhm.”
Shane sighed. “Fine. I’ve been counting.”
Kip smiled. “You miss him.”
Shane didn’t answer, not at first, eventually, he nodded. “I don’t even know what we were.”
Scott looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Shane laughed quietly. “We never called it anything. It was…” he shrugged helplessly. “We’d find each other whenever our schedules lined up. When I played in Boston, when he was in Montreal. All-stars.” Another shrug. “So I don’t know. Were we dating? Were we just sleeping together because it was convenient? Were we friends who occasionally made terrible decisions? I genuinely couldn’t tell you.”
Kip frowned. “And now?”
Shane looked at the food lying out on the counter. “Now I don’t even know if we’re…” he stopped. “Still anything.”
The room fell quiet. Were they celebrating another gay couple or seeing the end of what should be a power couple before they can truly become a couple?
Scott finally spoke. “When was the last time you actually heard his voice?”
Shane swallowed “January. Before he left for camp. You remember the figure skating, I saw him up in the stadium. I went to him. But he didn’t want to be seen with me, he was so angry.”
Scott winced. “That’s rough.”
“I keep thinking, maybe he realised it wasn’t worth it.” Shane looked embarrassed at the thought.
Kip shook his head immediately. “Or maybe he promised himself he wouldn’t break the agreement.”
Shane looked over “What?”
“If he was the one who insisted on no contact…” Kip shrugged. “...Maybe he’s stubborn enough to stick to it.”
Scott nodded. “That sounds more likely.”
“I’ve messaged him since, but he didn’t reply. You don’t know him.” Shane muttered.
“No.” Scott smiled. “But I know athletes, and I know men. We’re remarkably good at turning one bad idea into three.”
Despite everything, Shane smiled.
Kip picked up the surviving spoon again. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think someone avoids contacting you for five weeks because they don’t care. I think they do it because they think it’s keeping you safe.”
Shane stared at the counter. He wanted to believe that. He just wasn’t sure he could.
More than anything, Shane realised that was what scared him. Not whether Ilya missed him, or whether they’d ever end up in the same bed again. It was the future, ot the complete lack of one. Scott and Kip had built something ordinary together, an apartment that smelled of dinner, university textbooks spilling across shelves. Shane wanted that more than he’d ever admitted, even to himself. He wanted someone to come home to, someone he didn’t have to pretend was just a teammate or a friend. He just wasn’t sure a future like that was ever going to be possible for him. Or for Ilya.