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Shane had gotten used to the attention through the years – from both men and women. You didn’t spend over 10 years in a sport and not get hit on or propositioned almost every time you left the house and got recognized.
He was also used to fans making their opinions known about everything.
It was why he had a love/hate relationship with these larger season ticket holders events. Most of the fans were amazing. So sweet and encouraging. Excited to meet the team and for the new season. And then, there were the outliers. The ones who were convinced they could play better than him and his teammates, coach more effectively than the people behind the bench, and diagnose ailments that their own team doctors hadn’t thought of.
It was definitely a love/hate relationship.
It was his first such fan meet and greet with his new team, the Ottawa Centaurs. He and Ilya had walked around and taken pictures with more children than he could count – including their neighbours who were in attendance – and been told by so many fans that they couldn’t wait to see them play together this season. Shane had loved the enthusiasm of people excited for what the team had accomplished last year, and how he would no doubt help them get one step further.
All around, it had been a pretty decent day. Montreal fans were a bit more… vocal. Enthusiastically invested and not afraid to share it, Hayden had once said. People in Ottawa just seemed happy that their team was doing better than… ever, really. It had helped make Shane more at ease with the whole “being on a new team for the first time in a decade” thing.
It had also helped set his mind at ease after Ilya had woken up in a bit of a funk. Shane had offered to go to the event solo, knowing their team would understand. But Ilya had insisted on going. To anyone there, Ilya looked like himself. The event was outside, and he wore his sunglasses and one of the ridiculously tacky Hawaiian shirts with Centaurs logos Shane had seen in the team store before. He looked the part of Ilya Rozanov – fun-loving, silly, easy going team captain. He put on an easy smile and concentrated on the kids, which was always much easier than dealing with the adults. Ilya hadn’t necessarily felt great from the whole situation – Shane knew better just from the way Ilya was holding himself – but he was faring well. Shane still kept him close while they walked about in the crowd.
“We can still leave, you know,” Shane told him. They were headed towards the autograph signing area, the last stop for them that day.
“Nah. Just tired. Will be nice to sit.” Ilya led Shane to the area reserved for the players and their families. They grabbed some water bottles and a quick snack, catching up with Harris about what was left for them that day.
Shane squeezed Ilya’s wrist, rubbing his thumb in soothing lines against his palm. “Couple of hours and we can cuddle on the couch and watch movies. Maybe order pizza?”
That finally pulled a more genuine smile from Ilya, though still small and tired. “Sounds perfect.”
Shane kissed his husband, a chaste but lingering kiss. He wanted to pull him into his arms and give him a longer hug, but he didn’t have time. Harris was calling their names to join the rest of their teammates at the autograph table.
They walked out to thunderous applause and deafening cheers given the size of the crowd. Shane knew the Centaurs had sold far more seats already this season than in previous ones, but the crowd still didn’t come close to matching what he’d experienced in Montreal. They took their spots in the middle of the line of Centaurs, thankfully sitting beside each other. And after a few more instructions from Harris, fans were filing by them with jerseys, hats, and posters for autographs.
Again, Shane marvelled at how genuinely nice the Ottawa fans were. Montreal fans would not have let him live down the loss in the second round. Not everyone was so harsh, but they truly were passionate. Instead, he got gentle teasing for tripping as he had chased Ilya (true teasing, not the cruel accusations he’d gotten from Montreal), sympathetic words, and then everyone told Ilya how absolutely excited they were for the upcoming season, and how great it was to have watched the team go as far as they did the previous one. Shane couldn’t help but wonder if it was only because they had been so used to their team losing that any win was a good one. He hoped not. He didn’t miss the pressure, the crushing weight of expectation from Montreal. He knew he would give it his all this season with his new team, but it was nice to have that pressure come mostly from himself, not every person he crossed on his way to work. Or to the grocery store. Or just ever.
Then, one person had to ruin his good mood.
A Voyageurs jersey got placed in front of him, and Shane must have frowned visibly, because that got him some teasing. The man in front of him was wearing a Centaurs hat at least, but he was obviously a Voyageurs one at some point. Shane signed the jersey, while listening to everything he’d done wrong the previous season, how his coach should have never put their goalie in as their first, and how beating Ottawa of all teams should have been a sweep.
That got glares from Ilya and Zane Boodram sitting on Shane’s right. And the Centaurs fans within earshot.
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Shane articulated with his perfectly practiced press smile, not feeling sorry one bit. “But the better team clearly won. That’s why I’m here now.”
Shane could feel Ilya tensing beside him. All the kind words he’d gotten for the past 45 minutes had all been washed away thanks to one asshole fan. Shane quickly squeezed Ilya’s knee under the table.
“It is about time this team got actual talent. Never mind the league’s best eye-candy on top of it.” The guy winked at him and Shane couldn’t even feel remotely flattered. Then, he passed his business card across the table.
“I’m married,” Shane exclaimed before the guy could give him a cheesy line.
“Like that’s ever stopped hockey players before.”
Harris had appeared and was asking if there was a problem. Bood had thankfully taken over explaining, while Shane leaned in close to Ilya, choosing to focus on his husband instead of some asshole.
“I’m so sorry, “ he whispered to him. “That was so out of line.”
“It is fine. I’ve heard worse before.”
“We can go, if you want.”
Ilya shook his head. “We are almost done.”
Harris squeezed Shane’s shoulder. “If anyone else bothers you, or wants you to sign Montreal gear, let me know. And I took his business card.” Shane quirked a brow at him. “I’ll look him up in our database, put a note on his file. That’s all.”
Harris squeezed Ilya’s shoulder when he passed behind him and went to talk to one of the security guys on site.
“Hey,” Shane said, moving his hand to Ilya’s back. “Love you.” He drew a heart on the small of Ilya’s back.
Ilya smiled tiredly and kissed his nose. “Love you too.”
The rest of the event went off without a hitch. By the time they left, Ilya seemed in a slightly better mood than when the incident had happened, which Shane counted as a win. He knew his husband wasn’t fully himself when he didn’t protest handing over the keys to his precious Porsche so Shane could drive them home.
“Alright, pizza is on the way. Just pick a movie when you’re ready,” Shane told Ilya after they’d arrived home, and Ilya had crashed on the couch, snuggling with Anya.
Shane placed two cans of soda on the table and plopped down at the end of the couch, sliding himself under Ilya’s legs. He rubbed Ilya’s legs, not in a rush for anything else to happen.
“I am worried they think I am not good enough,” Ilya whispered.
Shane looked at him a beat. “Who said that?”
“No one.” Ilya took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Just in my head, you know. I had been thinking of today all week. Think I made it worse that way. I expected everyone to be like that asshole that was talking to you. Everyone was so nice… feels like I messed it up for myself, you know?”
Shane managed to squeeze himself between Ilya and the back of the couch, and wrapped his husband in his arms, Anya included. “I’m so sorry,” Shane whispered against his skin, kissing Ilya’s forehead.
After much discussion, Ilya had decided to talk about his journey dealing with depression. He hadn’t shared every single detail, but had posted a few times on his Instagram about it. The response had been positive and supportive, even if they’d gotten more shitty comments on that post than any that even touched on their sexuality. Between the league holding all these events preaching inclusivity and diversity, and ending mental health stigma, and the charities they supported themselves through the Irina foundation, Ilya had felt it was important to share his experience. He and Shane had heard from so many fans since then thanking Ilya for sharing, as they’d felt similarly and couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. The resources he’d shared had helped, it had made a difference.
Of all his accomplishments, that might be what Shane was most proud of: how strong and brave Ilya was for sharing his story. He had told him often.
“I know you already know this,” Shane told Ilya, “but no one thinks that. Not me, not the team, and not fans either. Not real ones, at least. That guy was just an asshole, had nothing to do with you. I’m sorry you’re having a bad brain day. Wish I could make it go away.”
“Me too.” Ilya leaned his head against Shane’s chest. “Wish I’d said something to him.”
“While I do love when you defend my honour, I don’t mind taking one for the team from time to time.”
“I do not deserve you.”
“I’d argue you deserve way more, actually. But, we’re already married, and divorce sounds way too complicated, so you’re stuck with me.”
Shane grinned when Ilya chuckled. If he could make Ilya smile even for a second, he felt like he’d accomplished something good that day. His phone pinged on the table and he quickly checked the notification.
“Pizza’s here.” He extricated himself from the couch with the least amount of grace ever known. He kissed Ilya’s lips before standing. “We can wait to eat if you just want to cuddle some more?”
“No, food is good. I’ll find something to watch.” Ilya reached for Shane’s hand. “Thank you.”
Shane smiled and crouched down, once more kissing Ilya. “I’m not going anywhere,” he reminded Ilya of the words he’d first told him when this topic came had first come up. He’d remind him as many times as necessary. “We’re a team. We stick together. Even on bad brain days.”