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Instagram: [@ilyarozanov81 has posted a new story]
lilies are better
Hayden sees the post, just a black background with white text, and thinks, huh. Ilya Rozanov, flower enthusiast. Who would've thought? and moves on with his life.
At three AM that night he jerks into an upright position in a cold sweat. Jackie, startled out of sleep, is immediately worried.
"What is it? What's happening? Is the house on fire?"
"No, worse. I think my best friend is gay."
"Shane?" Jackie mumbles, still drowsy with sleep and drops back onto her pillow. "Yeah... I guess that makes sense. Why is that a bad thing?"
"That's not the bad part. I think he's also in love with Ilya Rozanov."
She blinks sleepily for a moment then her mouth falls open in realization. "Ohhh, Boston Lily. Huh. Good for Shane." She locks eyes with Hayden intently. "Scare me out of sleep like that again and I am kicking you out of this bed."
He doesn't know how his wife, half-asleep, with only a fraction of the puzzle pieces, manages to solve it. And so quickly, too. He's also amazed at how quickly she sinks back into sleep, with the practiced ease of a mom of two toddlers and a baby.
Hayden kisses her forehead then spends hours staring unseeingly up at the dark ceiling, hoping to scramble the knowledge he's gained today until it doesn't make any sense again.
Fuck.
∞
Honestly, now that he's seen it he can't unsee it. Things suddenly slot into place and every uneven bump in the surface that is his best friend is magically smoothed over.
Unanswered questions have unwanted answers now, and wow is it true what people say, ignorance really is bliss. Conversations come back to haunt him while he's in the middle of something. Mostly his own words coming back to bite him in the ass. Okay, go get laid, weirdo. Or don't. I don't care. Actually I hope you do, you always play better after. Hayden wants to wash his brain with bleach. Ugh, after. After visiting, and oh god, having sex with Ilya Rozanov. Having sex with Ilya Rozanov made Shane Hollander a better player. The press would have a field day with that one. He groans and puts down the sandwich he was eating, appetite gone.
While it was true, unfortunate as it may be, Hayden remembers that day. He remembers Shane coming back to their room early and looking ashen and dispirited. He recalls Shane refusing to talk about it, how, most worryingly, he had broken his routine that night without a care as he'd just gotten into bed. Hayden had figured something bad had happened with Lily. He hadn't played well the next day.
He hadn't thought much of it when Shane started dating Rose (fucking!) Landry. Shane wasn't more reserved about Rose than other things in his life, maybe a bit more bashful at the teasing and pestering by the team, but about as open as he was with most things. Which is to say not very. Still, as unobservant as Hayden was, it was easy to see, even before he knew all that he knows now, that he wasn't as excited about Rose as he had been Lily. Maybe he was just still hurting over whatever happened with her last time they were in Boston, Hayden had rationalized. Maybe he just needed some time. Every once in a while, Shane's phone would buzz with an incoming message and his eyes would light up with anticipation, only to dim immediately after as if remembering something. Shane should be over the moon, on paper, but...he's been miserable, and Hayden can't deny that glaringly obvious fact anymore.
He watches Shane closely that night. His best friend is nervous. It wafts off him in gross, suffocating waves that have the rookies looking a little sickly. Of course, Hayden knows that Shane isn't worried about the game against the Raiders. No, he's worried about seeing Rozanov.
Before the game started, Hayden had been convinced he had some kind of idea of what had happened between them, or at least who played what role. Obviously Rozanov was the bad guy in all of this, right? That was his whole thing. Right? Asshole, doucheface, dickhead. The holy trinity of Rozanov's defining traits. Except...Rozanov is almost absent tonight. He doesn't chirp anyone, not one mention of anyone's mother, and he isn't as antagonistic on the ice as he usually is. He seems sad, if Hayden is being honest. And isn't that a fucking kicker?
Now that Hayden knows to look for it, it seems so obvious. Shane isn't being exactly subtle, the way he is making cow-eyes at Rozanov, looking like a kicked puppy the longer Rozanov doesn't turn his way. Hayden would be disgusted by it if Shane didn't look so genuinely upset about it.
They both play terribly. Somehow, Hayden manages to outdo them both, even scoring a goal where neither of them do. Hayden is a good fucking player - no matter what Rozanov may have to say about it - but he is not so full of himself that he can't acknowledge that Shane and Rozanov are in a league of their own. There's a reason why the league and the broader hockey world has such a vested interest in them, both individually, but also as the faces of the decade-long rivalry between Boston and Montreal. And they both suck tonight. That's more confirmation than anything else.
In the locker room no one comments on it. They won. The details don't matter. Shane's sour mood isn't unusual after games where he deems he hasn't played well enough, despite their victory, always a self-critic, but Hayden thinks, for once, Shane might not actually care about the end-result. That it is other things plaguing his mind, drooping his shoulders and forcing that unhappy frown onto his face.
Without a clear plan in mind, Hayden hurries in the showers, gets ready faster than he may ever have and dodges out of there before anyone can ask him any questions about his haste.
He waits by the service entrance near the visiting team's locker room, not knowing if Rozanov is even going to show up. A Montreal December was never gentle, but she was especially cruel in the night hours. He shudders against the cold wind and tugs the collar of his jacket higher. He sends Jackie a text saying he might be a bit late tonight, and waits. He waits, and waits, staring at his cold breath in the low-lamp light of a the single bulb that hangs above him. Finally, just as he is about to give up and go home, the door opens and Rozanov exits, cigarette already between his lips, hand lifting to light it until he spots Hayden. His hand falters, hangs suspended in the air, as his face goes through a series of expression, ranging from pure surprise to irritation to put-upon arrogance that doesn't settle as easily on his sharp features as it usually does.
"Pike, you get lost?"
It isn't the most inventive insult Rozanov has ever hurled his way. In fact, it might just be the mildest. Another fucking jigsaw piece. Hayden is finishing this puzzle tonight.
"Are you in love with Shane?" Hayden asks without any preamble. He watches as Rozanov's lips part in shock, the cigarette hanging on feebly. It doesn't last long; Rozanov's expression hardens, his jaw clenching. He grabs the smoke in a quick, frustrated move.
"This is joke, yes?" he asks. He doesn't have the same control of his voice that he does of his face. It shakes, faintly. Barely noticeable, but Hayden is on a mission. He's paying attention.
He doesn't allow Rozanov to distract him. "Are you?"
The tension seeps out of Rozanov in an instant. The fight in him gone. He looks young under the dim light, in the cold darkness, huddled up in his clothing for warmth. Hayden remembers suddenly how young Rozanov actually still is.
"He has told you?"
"No."
"So how do you know?"
"I am not as dumb as you think."
Rozanov bops his head and his lips thin exaggeratedly. "Agree to disagree."
"Fuck you, Rozanov," Hayden fires back, quick, automatic. "Are you?"
"Why are you asking this?"
Hayden hesitates, wonders if he is crossing some unspoken rule of friendship by divulging this. He sighs and decides to deal with the consequences at a later point. "Because I think he is in love with you. As hard as that is to believe."
Rozanov fights to appear unaffected by his words, but slowly, his face cracks open, and then there's just frozen devastation left on it. "It doesn't matter."
"He isn't happy."
Rozanov's gaze flicks across Hayden's face as if looking for any signs that he might be lying. He looks even more miserable to hear this.
"He was happier before. Before that day last month."
A shaky hand rubs across Rozanov's face and it stays there to pinch the bridge of his nose as he replies. "Me too."
"Whatever it is, fix it."
"Is not for me to fix."
"You love him, right? Who cares who should be the one to fix it as long as it gets fixed."
"He has girlfriend. I'm sure you know. Rose Landry."
"He isn't happy." Having done what he came to do, Hayden turns to leave. "Fix it," he says over his shoulder and goes home to his family.
∞
Hayden watches the all-star game from the comfort of his own home. When Rozanov plants a - quite frankly disgustingly wet - kiss on the side of Shane's helmet in front of everyone and their mother, and Shane's only reaction is to be bashful and smitten, Hayden may be a little proud of himself.
"Why are you so smug?" Jackie asks looking between the screen and her husband, suspiciously.
"Guess lilies might really be better. At least for Shane."
"You did something, didn't you?"
"...maybe."
She looks at the TV for a long moment then settles against Hayden, snuggling into him. "Good job."