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It takes about a week for Shane to make the call. He’s been considering it since Rose came out on his own behalf, but a restaurant wasn’t the place for this discussion.
He’s not even sure if he wants to have the discussion he probably, definitely needs to have.
So it takes a week, a few too many cardio workouts, and about an hour spent staring at the lineups for the upcoming All-Star game before he cracks.
Shane
Did you mean it?
About being friends?
Rose
YES
You’re too cute to not keep around just because you don’t want to sleep with me
I need a gay best friend in my life. Want to apply for the job?
Shane
Pretty sure I’ll be shit at it, but sign me up
I need a sanity check
About things and stuff
The phone is ringing with an incoming call a matter of seconds after he sends the last text. He leans back against the couch and accepts the call.
“Hey.”
“Hello Bestie.” Rose pipes up and Shane snorts.
“You know I don’t come close to fulfilling any sort of stereotype here?” He deadpans. “I’m not the guy who’ll happily go shopping with you.”
“But I am the girl who’ll drag you kicking and screaming into a decent wardrobe even if it gets us in the gossip rags. That’s non-negotiable by the way. You’re way too good looking, and too hot to keep wearing nothing but gymwear. Don’t get me wrong, you wear it well, but I know what’s under those clothes, and I think hiding it all could qualify as a crime.”
“Rose.”
“What? I mean it!”
Shane sighs. “Let me think about it?”
Rose cheers.
“I’m not saying yes yet. I’ve been considering hiring a stylist but I hate that shit. As long as it keeps me covered and warm, I don’t care about my clothing.”
She hums in answer, before changing the subject, and Shane feels a shiver of fear run down his spine.
“So a sanity check.”
And just like that, Shane is back to second guessing himself.
Proving that she already knows him well enough to follow his train of thought, she speaks up again.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. The car I just ordered should be at my hotel any minute now. Tomorrow’s a late afternoon call, so I don’t have anywhere to be. I know you don’t have an early practice tomorrow either so we have time. I’m coming straight to your place before you chicken out.”
Shane chokes a little. “What?”
“You need to talk, I need to listen. I’m not even packing a bag in case you start panicking, so while you wait for me to get there, you need to find me some pjs, and probably something alcoholic. Depending on how serious this is, we might need to order some emergency supplies, but I know that’ll require some convincing.”
“But-”
Rose interrupts him. “Nope. You don’t have a choice, I’m about to get into the car so I’ll see you in a few.”
She hangs up and Shane spends a few long seconds staring at his blackened phone screen.
He sighs, and pushes himself to his feet, heading toward the guestroom. Finding clothing for Rose won’t be an issue, because his cousin keeps a drawer full of stuff she’s stolen from him in order to have things to wear whenever she crashes at his place.
He rummages through the contents, an eyebrow raising every few items he discovers.
Apparently, Cat is even more of a thief than he thought she was. It makes him wonder what else she’s taken possession of that lives in her own apartment instead of his. He finally settles on what he thinks are the smallest items, a pair of plaid pants that have gone through an unplanned drying cycle and shrank consequently, and an old Team Canada long-sleeve. The irony isn’t lost on him. He’s pretty sure that’s from the 2008 World Junior Championship in Regina, the very same one where he met the man he’s going to be discussing. He’s about to put a shirt that reminds him of the boy he’d met so long ago on the ex-girlfriend who confronted him about his sexuality.
A sexuality that has been far more defined by Ilya than Shane is entirely comfortable admitting. He shakes his head, and heads back into the living room, dropping the clothes on the coffee table before wandering to the kitchen.
He opens the fridge, and smiles when he discovers he was right. There’s a bottle of wine chilling in there, waiting for Rose’s next visit. There’d been vague plans to hang out at his place before the breakup, and he forgot to take the bottle back out.
By the time he opens the door to let Rose in, there’s a large glass of wine waiting for her, and a bag of popcorn (butter free) ready to be popped whenever she wants it.
She walks right in, and before he can blink, she has her arms solidly wrapped around him. He sighs, letting himself lean into her a little. “Hey.” He says, at a loss for anything else.
Rose steps back, and looks at his face for a long moment, before wincing. “That bad, is it?”
Shane gestures her deeper into the apartment. “You don’t usually need a sanity check when everything’s unicorn and rainbows.” He answers, before pointing to the coffee table and its contents.
Rose cheers and starts stripping off right there.
“Rose!”
She glances over her shoulder at him, dropping her jeans on the floor before reaching up to whip off her top. “What?”
“You’re really going to strip in my living room?”
She stares him down, dressed in nothing but boyshorts. “One, you’ve already seen everything there is to see. Two, you’re gay, and three, it’s nothing I’m not showing off on screen anyway.”
“Exactly, I’m gay! That should mean not having to see naked women!”
Rose snorts. “Not how it works.”
“It should.” Shane grumbles, but looks on as she puts on his clothing. Most men would undoubtedly react strongly to a woman, especially one that looks like Rose Landry in their clothing, but he’s only musing that despite being the smallest he could find, and despite his own stature, she’s still swimming in too large garments.
It’s cute though. Not that he’s planning on telling her that.
Dressed, Rose puts her hair up in a messy bun and looks pointedly at him while she folds her own clothes, setting them aside almost primly.
Shane shakes his head and drops down onto the couch, reaching for his can of ginger ale.
As tempted as he is to grab some of that wine she’s already sipping, he needs a clear head to get through the discussion he’s about to have.
Rose slumps down on the couch, twisting herself so she can face him. “C’mon, hit me with it.”
He hesitates. He has no clue how to start, or how to finish, the conversation she’s here for.
“At the restaurant, you asked if I’d ever been with a man.” He finally settles on.
“Honestly, given the look on your face, I didn’t need the verbal confirmation.” Rose deadpans.
He sends her a look. “I’ve been- seeing- someone casually for a few years.” He starts, but she interrupts him again.
“Is that a euphemism for hooking up?”
He sighs and gives up on keeping any sort of control on the discussion. “Yes.”
“I already have questions, but go on.” She prods him and he rolls his eyes.
“I would, but I keep getting interrupted.”
Rose mimes zipping her lips shut and Shane snorts. He has no confidence in that lasting long. “The last time we were together, things got a little intense, and I might have left in a hurry.”
“You ran away.”
Exasperated, Shane blurts the next part out. “I ran and I haven’t spoken to him since but we’ll be attending the same event soon and I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you want to do?” She questions him gently.
“Pretend nothing happened? Climb him like a tree? Drop to my knees? Call in sick?” Shane answers.
“Can I ask questions?”
He nods.
“You said you’ve been seeing him casually for a few years. What are we talking about exactly? How many years? How often? From that whole discussion about round holes and square pegs, I’m guessing we’re not talking about a handjob here and there.”
Shane looks up to the ceiling. He so doesn’t want to answer any of those questions.
“With a few longer breaks here and there, every few months for over six years. And yes, that talk about pegs and holes does apply here.”
She hums and Shane swallows hard in answer.
“When you say things got intense, are we talking violent? Kinky?”
“Sort of the opposite.”
“Shane.”
“Look, we meet every few months, fuck mostly in hotel rooms, shower, leave. We use our last names except for our phones, which use girl names.” He closes his eyes against the memory. “Last time, we met at his place, and he asked me to stay. He cooked for me, and then he used my name.” It had been so perfect. And then he’d fucked everything up.
“Meaning?”
“I quote ‘fuck, Shane’”.
She snorts. “I really want more details on what exactly you were doing to get that answer, but can you tell me about the hookups?”
His eyes popping open, he stares at her, incredulous. “What? You want to know positions, and blowjobs versus handjobs or some shit?”
“Of course I do, but that’s not what I’m asking.”
“Rose.”
Something of his state of mind must slip through because she sobers up, and reaches for his hand.
“Tell me about the logistics. Who arranges the hookups, how you know where and when to meet. How much planning do you put into it?”
Shane mulls it over. “He started it. Would ask my room number when we were in the same place, or offer his own. After the first few times, we exchanged phone numbers, and we’ve been using texting for the most part. A couple years ago, we moved things to his apartment when I was in town, and I have a place in Montreal where we meet when he’s here. We still do hotel rooms if we’re somewhere else. It’s been working.” He shrugs, but there’s something uncomfortable under his skin, an itch he doesn’t quite want to acknowledge.
“Is he a good kisser?” She asks.
“Fantastic actually.” He answers, probably too honestly.
“The sex is good?”
He blushes. “Phenomenal.”
“Do you have anything to compare it to?”
“He’s not the only man I’ve been with if that’s what you’re asking. I do have more than just one sample for reference.”
“Remember how you asked me to be your sanity check?”
Shane winces.
“You’re bullshitting yourself if you really think it’s casual.” Rose says bluntly.
“Fuck.”
“Casual implies convenience. There’s nothing convenient about spending over six years arranging hookups.” She holds a hand up.
“I’m not asking for a name, but it’s pretty clear the guy is another player. That’s the opposite of being convenient. In fact, it’s probably dangerous given how terrified you were last week. You’ve both been putting yourself through a whole mess of complications for this. It’s not easy, it’s not simple, and it’s sure as shit not casual.”
“Fuck.” Shane repeats.
Rose scooches a little closer. “I think that’s why you ran. You know there’s too much involved in this thing.”
Shane slumps into his seat and sighs. “It’s such a bad fucking idea, Rose.”
“Why? She asks, so gently that Shane has to blink back tears.
How to put what has been churning in his head and his heart for so long? “He’s not gay. He’s probably bisexual, and I’m not exaggerating when I say he fucks dozens of women all over the country. He’s not out, and he probably won’t ever be able to be, no matter what he wants.” He swallows. He’s been painfully aware of the risks to Ilya if his sexuality leaks out since Sochi.
He’d known in an abstract way before that, but something in the very atmosphere of the country, along with Carter Vaughan’s assertion of how brave queer athletes were for even coming to the games, had shaken up the last of the willful blindness he’d been indulging in. There was a time, during that six-month period that had followed Sochi, when Ilya had been ghosting him where Shane had done a huge amount of research, only to find himself terrified on Ilya’s behalf.
It probably should have been a sign that what they were doing wasn’t casual, but the ghosting had put things in a different perspective.
Hindsight is a bitch.
“The League might put up a big front of inclusion, but it’s bullshit. The sort of language I hear almost every fucking day in the locker room proves it.”
“Is it that bad?”
He chuckles wetly. “It’s not everyone, but it’s probably worse than what you’re thinking. It’s homophobia mixed in with toxic masculinity and a very healthy dash of group thinking. It’s both management and players.” He shrugs. “I guess maybe not every team is the same level of bad, but the baseline isn’t exactly inclusive.”
“What about your team?”
He hesitates. “It’s not good. Hayden would probably be fine, maybe J.J. There’s a handful of other guys who don’t generally use slurs but it’s a minority. I don’t know how things would go in a peer pressure scenario. I’ve been bullied since I was a kid, and you only need a single mouthy asshole in a room for it to spread. It’s fucking contagious.” Not that unlike an STD.
“And your partner?” Rose asks, and Shane feels his breath catch.
Partner. He wants that word to be true with the sort of ferocity he didn’t know he was capable of outside the ice. It aches as the idea borrows in his brain.
He swallows the need down, because he doesn’t want to start sobbing. “We’ve never talked about it, but we’ve both spent our lives in that environment. Given his background, he’s probably heard worse than I have in fact.”
He’s pretty sure Russian locker rooms were probably far worse than North American ones.
“Do you think it could turn violent?”
A chill runs down his spine, and something clicks in his mind, a sudden understanding of his own actions and motivations that he desperately needs to examine as soon as he’s alone.
“Rose, I’ve been physically bullied for being half Asian. What do you think could happen if it gets out?”
She looks at him. “Bad?”
He nods.
Rose clears her throat before she changes the subject. “Any other reasons against a relationship?”
A memory of Ilya at the club a few weeks earlier, wrapped around a complete stranger, his hands all over her and his lips on her skin flash across his mind.
“He fucks any woman who looks his way. Probably other men too, but that’s never been a rumor. I’m just very familiar with his preferences so it’s a safe guess. We also live in separate cities,” he snorts, “Hell, separate countries and we’re supposed to demolish each other any time our teams meet.” Shane stops because once you strip it down to the bare truth, there are two main reasons for anything to be impossible. Them being two men is bad enough, but the fact that they are Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov would be the nail on their coffins.
“If it were possible and you could be something-”
“It’s not.” Shane cuts Rose off.
“Humor me. Tell me about him and why you would want more than what you had.”
For the first time, he lets himself think about the man he’s been involved with one way or another since they were seventeen.
“He’s an asshole and he’s proud of it. Insanely competitive and often a sore winner. On the ice-” he shakes his head “on the ice, he can be incredibly brutal but he’s also the most fascinating player I’ve ever watched. His team adores him. Off the ice, he puts on a big front, but he can be so fucking gentle when he wants to be. He’s funny and stubborn, he doesn’t tolerate laziness and he’s so hot he should be illegal. He knows me in a way no one else does, that no one else can.” He closes his eyes. “He’s generous in bed, and he drives me absolutely batshit insane most of the time. He pushes me to be better on the ice, and to get out of my comfort zone away from it. He sexts me at the worst possible moments. He’s kind despite what people might think.”
“How long have you been in love with him?” Rose asks, so softly that Shane barely hears her.
Except he does hear her, and the truth slams into him like a well-executed slapshot.
He can’t remember a time where he didn’t feel like this. Even that very first meeting in an alley had been charged with a lot more than it should have been. Looking back at it, teenaged Shane had been borderline obsessed with his Russian counterpart. He’d lost count of the number of hours he spent watching whatever game tape he’d been able to get his hands on. He’d been fascinated.
It had been mostly about hockey back then. Rozanov had the kind of raw talent that left Shane breathless. He’d stared, spellbound, at that footage over and over again.
And then, he’d actually met the kid.
Ilya had been an asshole, but in retrospect, Shane isn’t sure how comfortable he’d been with understanding English. He’d also been gorgeous. The hazel eyes staring him down, the perfect cupid bow of that lush mouth, the sheer fucking physicality of the man had left an impression, one only reinforced six months later. Shane remembers being sprawled on the floor, sharing a water bottle, and trying to avoid staring at the sweat making its way down Ilya’s neck. He remembers the hunger and the feeling of hundreds of ants crawling under his skin.
The heat in those hazel eyes had nearly undone him.
The strength and the depth of his feelings had changed over time, but he suddenly realizes that a kernel of it has always been there. Waiting to catch fire.
It’s enough to make his breath catch, make his pulse speed up. Wide-eyed, he stares at Rose. “I can’t-” He starts, before shaking his head almost violently.
“Baby.” Rose whispers, and tugs him close until she can wrap her arms around him.
She holds him while the storm rages. The impossibility of the situation wars with the finality of his feelings for this man who’s been such a huge presence in his life for so long.
Finally, he leans back and wipes his eyes on his sleeves. Shane keeps his eyes averted when he whispers. “He’s the worst possible choice.”
“Except it doesn’t look like you ever really had a choice to fall in love with him.” The words are gentle.
He groans. “Not helping.”
Rose chuckles and reaches for her wine glasses, taking a very healthy gulp from it.
She continues. “What you can do is what you choose to do next.” She cuts him off before he has time to answer. “I have a question for you. You don’t need to give me an answer, but I think you need to think about it seriously.”
Shane hums, a little scared at what she might have come up with.
“Can you walk away from him? Can you see a future where he’s not an active part of your life? Can you look at him at All-Star and not go to him?”
Shane jolts and Rose raises a hand. “I don’t need confirmation because I would never ask you to out anyone without their consent, but I can think of only one man who could cause that sort of reaction and who fits your description.”
Yeah, Shane supposes that some of what he said was more than likely a little too specific.
“What’s his alias on your phone? That way we don’t have to work around his identity?” Rose suggests.
He snorts. “He’s Lily. I’m Jane.”
Rose bursts out laughing. “I don’t know if it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard or if it’s genius.”
“He came up with it, so I’m pretty sure it’s both.” Shane deadpans before adding. “Hayden’s been calling him Boston Lily for years. He’d probably have an aneurysm if he knew who he’s really talking about.” He sobers up. “I’ve been trying to walk away, to stop this trainwreck for fucking years. I don’t think I can do it.”
He’s not even sure he wants to. Apart from being on the ice, Shane never feels as himself, as real as when he’s with Ilya. The mere idea of never getting to spend time alone with him hurts. He doesn’t want his life to be barren of that wildfire of a man. He wants to spend his life being touched by Ilya, being teased by him and being challenged for everything. He wants more than the handful of hours they’ve gotten so far, more than empty hotel rooms and quick showers to wash away any signs of what they do, of who they are.
“Do you know how he feels?”
Shane sighs. Isn’t that the million-dollar question?
“I don’t know. Last time we were together was different, like he was trying to change things, but then I ran.” He glances at her. “He was at Ultraviolet a couple of weeks ago. The night I went out with you and Miles?”
“Ooh.”
“He very pointedly stared me down and made out with some girl. I’ve got no clue what’s going on in his head.”
Rose hums thoughtfully. “Any chance he was jealous?”
“Fuck if I know. He’s mentioned some of his other regulars before.”
“There’s a difference between having several partners ourselves and seeing someone we care about with someone else.” She points out.
“It’s a moot point anyway. Between Russia and the League, a relationship is not a possibility.”
“I don’t agree.” The statement surprises him, as much for the tone as for the sentiment.
“What?”
“I think those are excuses. It wouldn’t be easy, but I think you could find solutions if you wanted to.”
He gapes at her. “Like what?”
Rose rolls her eyes. “He’s been in the States for years, yes? He could apply for citizenship there. He could move to Canada and try here. You could get married. He could request asylum because his life could be in danger if he went back to Russia.” She presses on. “I come from a world that’s not quite as closeted as professional sports, but it’s not that far from it. I know a lot of people who have discrete, fulfilling long-term relationships with a same sex partner. Even doing it long-distance is possible if you’re both willing to put in the work. Let’s also be honest. You’ve got maybe a decade left before retirement? A little more if you’re both lucky? What stops you from coming out then? It doesn’t have to be a lifetime sentence, Shane. With enough compromise, communication, and work, it would be possible.”
It feels like his brain is glitching. “We’re archrivals-” He stammers.
“Change the narrative. You’ve said it. You’ve known each other since you were seventeen. You’ve had the same trajectory, the League has been pushing you in each other’s faces since you were drafted. Use that!”
“Wait.” Shane begs, panting a little, trying to settle his mind enough to comprehend what Rose is telling him.
He takes a deep breath, and holds it for a few seconds, willing his heart to calm the fuck down.
Her voice softens, but Rose doesn’t stop, as though sensing his vulnerable spots and understanding that she has to get at those spots while his defenses are still down. “You and Lily are playing the same team for the All-Star game, right?”
“Yeah.” His voice is a rasp, and his throat feels like a desert. Some ginger ale barely helps matters.
“You’re always getting questions about your rivalry, and I can guarantee that weekend won’t be different. Change your story. I wouldn’t suggest going from enemies to best friends, but use the truth. You’re both competitive, but since you’re the only ones who understand each other, and the only ones who are an actual challenge on the ice, you’ve developed a friendship of sorts. Your names are forever going to be linked anyway, might as well learn to tolerate each other.”
That could actually work. He’s a crap actor and liar, but he’s been doing press for so long that he’s grown very comfortable manipulating it. As long as Ilya’s willing-
“Maybe.” He murmurs.
“We can find you beards if it comes to it. I’d do it without hesitating, and I know other women who would be happy for the publicity boost.”
He makes a face.
“Or not, but keep the idea in your back pocket.” She corrects herself wryly. “The point is, you need to talk to him. See what he wants. You can’t make that sort of decision alone.” Something of his quickly incoming overload must show through, because she changes the subject. “I’m not giving you a choice. You definitely need a better wardrobe before Tampa. We’ll start slow, but you’re going to blow his mind off.”
Shane pouts.