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Brad Lacefield really hates his birthday. It has been that way since he was a child being promised a Mulan watch party, only to be dragged to go go-karting. “We can watch Mulan anytime, this is an experience!” his mom told him, excitement mixed with a plea.
The plea part is what scares him. It’s still there, all these years later - popping up at random moments. It’s not hateful. It’s hopeful - I hope I’m wrong about you, is all he can see in his mothers’ eyes. The eyes so tired of always fighting adversity, from the paycheck to paycheck life of a single mom balancing checkbooks when she should have been running companies, the tired eyes of the choice to have a child fulfil those dreams when she knew they were too big for her.
Brad was very wanted, don’t get him wrong. You aren’t born out of a tube and your mothers’s life savings, concocted somewhere behind the border, if you are not very much wanted.
But it’s like, a lot of pressure. A lot of pressure to be the kind of a generational promise that success comes easier to.
He did a lot of it right - born white, looking a hella lot white than he was by upbringing or maternal genetics. Born male, which tends to make things easy in itself. Born with a talent for sport as well as the ability to solve complex math problems.
Some things, on the other hand, he struggles with.
The straight thing is an ongoing investigation done only in the dark. If he’s honest, he doesn’t know where he lands on the attraction spectrum, other than landing somewhere between “the Metros have some very pretty hockey players” and “sex in itself sounds kind of confusing and who wants to do that, anyway”.
So he really, really tries. He doesn’t just go go-karting. He uses his birthday the way he has since he can remember - to fulfil the dreams of other people.
And then, he gets the video.
–
It’s a blessing that his best friend Martha, a bubbly but chaotic daughter of his junior league coach named, really doesn’t care about hockey.
If she did, she probably would have watched the video herself, first. But she doesn’t care who Hayden Pike is - he’s honestly a little surprised she was even able to connect the dots from his favourite team to the FanMail service, which is mostly used by B-list celebrities and makeup influencers.
She sends it to him late in the evening, the day before he actually turns 16.
Martha: we party had tomorrow but this is something to get you in the mood first (attachment)
He chuckles when he sees the outline. Puts his airpods in, just in case it’s embarrassing.
“Hi, Brad!” the smiling face in the video is saying. “Um, so your friend wanted to wish you a happy birthday! And I guess you like hockey, too! That’s um, great. So I play for the Metros, you probably know that. Sixteen, huh? That’s a cool age. Probably discovering all kinds of - adventures!”
He’s babbling. Brad halfway considers that he’s about to get a sex talk from a player who, if he’s not wrong, has like 4 kids at age 29.
Fun times.
And then, he sees it.
He gasps.
What in the holy hell..?
In the corner of the video, he can see them. Two figures, kissing.
Not two figures - men.
Not men - Shane Hollander and - wait, that couldn’t be right.
Is that…
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?
Brad drops his phone.
Fumbles to retrieve it. Starts the video again, deaf to the sounds.
He goes to text Martha, to ask if she’s kidding, and then stops at the last second.
He realises three things very quickly.
First, the two men, passionately embracing each other on his iphone screen, do not know they’re being filmed.
Second, the man in the front, babbling about milestones and locker rooms, doesn’t know he filmed then.
And, third, if this video ever gets out, it will rewrite hockey history forever.
Because no, that kiss is not fake. It’s clearly not a first kiss, either. It’s kind of hot, if he’s being honest, not that he has the mental capacity to be turned on.
Brad tries to think.
Brad: hahaha amazing! thank you! can’t wait to see you tomorrow!
There. That is the type of generic response that will draw any attention.
He needs to research.
He types the names of the two megastars into google. Research is key - information is power. Thinking quickly is the name of the game.
He chuckles. Clearly, his brain on adrenaline is a great motivational speaker.
He pulls up articles detailing their rivalry, hockey stats, records broken - the type of grandeur attached to their respective names that he could never even dream of. But also, as he keeps opening up new tabs, there is more. Fansites dedicated to anonymous theories claiming that Shane Hollander is gay. Blogs writing RPF about him with various team members, Hayden Pike hilariously taking up quite a large chunk of them.
Articles about the Irina Foundation. Brad is aware of this, but when he rewatches the video of the announcement now, he sees tenderness in the looks Hollander and Rozanov give each other that he missed before. It’s careful, but it’s there.
He goes deeper, eventually discovering a site that makes his eyes bulge out. Hollanov truthers, they are calling themselves. It’s a tiny community, but they have it all.
Timelines of their careers overlapping. Copying each other’s movements on the ice. Looks immortalised in gifs. Shrines built to an all-star helmet kiss, in-depth analyses devoted to the way Rozanov circles a hurt Hollander on the ice, refusing to move.
For every entry, there are people calling the fans lunatics.
And yet, Brad has a bomb in his phone that would prove these lunatics very much right.
Looking at the website of Irina, he doesn’t want to. He sees the LGBT lineup of the hockey camps. He sees the types of organisations they partner with. Hell, they seem to partner with the community center in Montreal that Brad went to once, secretly, hoping to sort out some of his own confused inner turmoil.
He’s also aware that on his phone, there is a lot of money to be earned. It’s a fleeting thought. But his mom - she works so hard. Is always, always so tired.
If he sold this video, she would be okay for a while. Wouldn’t feel so much pressure to save up for Brad’s education.
There’s a gif of Rozanov looking at Hollander from 2012. Focused, angry, on the ice - and then, he catches Hollander’s eye, and something shifts.
There is triumph, a flirtation - and something deeper, almost like fear.
Maybe Brad is reaching. 2012 is so long ago. But he can’t perceive it differently now, and makes almost an instant decision to protect this secret. He knows that fear all too well, after all.
He has his own secrets, ones that he might be even keeping from himself. The thought of them being out there on the internet before he can even fully verbalize them is terrifying.
He has, instead of a birthday, some damage control to do.
Brad: can you meet me in the morning? secret birthday mission!
Martha: you betcha! waffle place?
–
He doesn’t sleep much.
He’s at the waffle place, a tiny cosy café where they meet up after practice sometimes, way too early, on his third cup of coffee before Martha even shows up.
She hugs him hello.
“I have something to tell you,” is Brad’s way of greeting.
“Are you pregnant?” she jokes, clearly sensing the way-too-serious-for-waffles vibe.
“Sit down, would you?”
“Okay,” Martha pauses, miraculously morphing her energy into attention. “Listening.”
“I think - I think…” he pauses. This will be difficult.
I think I’m like, not straight, so that’s why we care about this, and I need to get to Hayden Pike’s house like, today.
Also, do you know someone who can hack FanMail and delete something off of their server?
“I need you to watch something,” he settles on.
He pulls up the video.
“Awww, you liked it?” she says, missing the point very entirely.
“You didn’t watch it, right?” Brad asks.
“Ehm,” Martha says. “Does he say something mean? It was just meant to be a greeting, and I also kind of asked him to tell you that 16 is the time to, you know, have some fun finally! You never have fun! But it wasn’t meant to be like, creepy!”
“Just watch this corner right here, will you?” he says, pointing to the screen.
“Okay,” she settles on, taking his phone from him. And then -
“Oh! What?” she sputters. “Isn’t that..? But who’s the other guy -” The men in the video move a little bit, and the curly man’s famous jawline is suddenly visible, and Martha is still from a hockey family, so she does the math quickly. “Oh! Oh fuck.”
“Yep,” Brad says when the video is paused. “Fuck.”
Several “what the fuck” and “but like really, what the actual fuck’s?” later, they settle down finally. Well, settle down as much as they were ever going to, considering the circumstances.
“So I am worried for a few reasons,” Brad says.
“Obviously, we need to delete it,” Martha says. Brad kind of loves her.
“I don’t want to share it,” Brad nods. “It’s like - I did some research, right?”
“Research?” Martha looks quizzical. “This doesn’t seem like public information territory.”
“No, but…” he doesn’t know how to explain this quickly without sounding like a stalker. “There are some things, like, online,” he says. “Like, let’s say that if this leaks, there will be a small rabbit group of hockey fans who will be like, Fucking finally! I knew it!”
“Are you for real?”
“It’s not a lot of fans. And it’s this whole Hollander mystery, right? High profile people who don’t date publicly of whatever fascinate people, mysteries fascinate people, and he has only ever really gone on four super random 4 dates with that actress Rose Landry -”
“Love her!” Martha interjects.
“Right,” Brad says. “Super pretty,” he adds, an afterthought. If Martha gives him a look, he pretends he doesn’t see it. “But anyway, people are curious, right? And these guys are such a bad idea, it’s fascinating to some people. And it got me to believe it’s not super new or casual. There are like, theories Rozanov moved to Ottawa to be closer to Hollander, even.”
“People are crazy,” Martha shakes her head. “But that trade never did sit right with the people who care, I suppose,” she adds, wanting to make it absolutely clear that she is not one of those people.
“Right,” Brad says. “Super crazy, except like, maybe right?”
“Maybe,” she nods. “So what now? You seemed to not be super into my delete and move on idea.”
“That’s the other research I did,” Brad continues. “FanMail is like, a weird service. They’re not the best when it comes to data protection. Which is usually not a big deal, because it’s birthday wishes and graduation congratulations and anniversaries and stuff for the most part, but there were also like, pornstars doing questionable things, semi-famous actors saying the N-word, that type of stuff. I don’t know if they got hacked, or if there are some busy-body interns watching randomly and selling this shit. But it’s not - it doesn’t feel safe,” he explains, hoping Martha catches on.
“So you want to go into a white-knight mode?” she seems surprised.
“I guess I can’t just like, go on, knowing this is out there somewhere,” Brad says, and tries to think of making himself out to be just a regular nice guy, no personal maybe queer skin in the game. “Nevermind that I don’t want to be attached to the leak if it happens, right?” he adds, proud of the speed at which this additional reason comes to him. “It says - happy 16th, Brad from the Junior division of the Montreal Wizards, I hear you’re one hell of a left wing! Not super subtle,” he says quickly, and Martha looks almost abashed. “Not that you shouldn’t have said that! But if there is a leak, I don’t want to be hated on the internet for all of eternity for outing Canada’s sweetheart.”
“And his evil Russian monster of a boyfriend,” Martha laughs, but seems to understand. “Okay. What can I do?”
There is a world in which Brad loves Martha and it’s so fucking comfortable and easy and Brad sometimes longs for it.
–
They talk for about 45 minutes before they have an actual plan. Luckily, if you’re a hockey family in Montreal, chances are, you are maximum of about two phone calls away from someone connected to the Metros. Martha makes four calls, so in the end, they have the phone number and home address of JJ Dagenais, the first line defenceman of the Montreal Metros as well as, according to their research, a close friend of both Hayden Pike and Shane Hollander.
It’s the best they’re going to do. Brad feels uncomfortable about bringing another player into this, but both Hollander (not surprisingly) and Pike (a little surprisingly, but it might be the kid thing) are surprisingly careful about sharing their information, at least with the people Martha can reach on short notice.
They are also able to find out, thanks to the fact that every team in the MHL now has a social media manager all too eager to be sharing the day-to-day boring stuff about players and their schedules, that the Metros have most of the day off before going into an evening practice.
It’s the best they’re going to be able to do. Martha drives. It’s quite the drive, over an hour, and fuck, why is this not a small town when they need it to be? When they get there, they have something of a plan.
It’s a bold-faced lie.
It’s, possibly, a little bit immoral.
It’s the best they can do.
They park in front of the fancy apartment building, and Martha dials the phone.
It rings. It keeps ringing.
Finally, a sleepy voice answers with a heavy French accent. Bingo.
“Yeah?”
“Mr. Dagenais!” Martha exclaims, faking the confidence in her voice quite impressively. “We’re here for your make-a-wish day with Brad and the Metros!”
“What?” he grumbles.
“I want to once again thank you for making this happen for my brother,” she barrels on, hopefully not giving him the time to think. “He thinks of you guys as heroes, and to to get so many of you together to wish him luck before his surgery, it means the world,” Martha says. “We’re just outside, your agent told us we better call before knocking,” Martha finishes. “Can we come in then? We know you guys only have an hour or so, and we don’t want to waste a second. We’re parked right outside.”
“Angie set this up?” JJ asks, giving them the name they were missing - not everything can be found online as quickly.
“Yes!” Martha confirms, nodding encouragingly at Brad. “Your agent, Angie, of course. Angie the agent,” she says, and Brad shakes his head, a silent plea to tone it the fuck down. Martha giggles. “I’m sorry! I’m nervous.”
“Okay,” JJ says. “So you want…”
“Yes, we can come in now!” Martha nods. “Will you buzz us up?”
“Ehm - “ JJ sounds confused and a little bit terrified. Brad feels horrible for him. He thinks he has a dying kid he forgot about at his front door. No wonder.
“We won’t even take the hour,” Martha says. “I know you’re busy, it’s just the encouragement Brad needs before the surgery, you know, it really makes wonders, there’s actually research that says how the mindset you have going into surgery can be a real game-changer,” she lies boldly.
“Right. Okay,” JJ seems to be overwhelmed enough that he’s not calling his agent yet. Good. Plan A, working.
–
The make it upstairs quickly. Giving the defenseman time to think is now their biggest enemy. When they get into his apartment, a meticulously normal 3 bedroom, Martha introduces Brad as her dying half brother, about to go into a complicated open heart surgery they googled on the way.
Brad had suggested cancer, but Martha pointed out that he was simply too hair for that.
“So,” Martha says. “The organisation wasn’t clear, it was awfully last minute,” she says masterfully, and JJ nods. That checks out to JJ, clearly. Smart thinking, Brad should be afraid of this girl. “Are the other players coming or are we calling them together? They said you were able to get Hayden Pike and Shane Hollander. Incredible! Not that just meeting you wouldn’t be enough, but all of you guys are Brad’s heroes, so you know - as much positive vibes as we can get!”
“Um,” JJ says. “Calling - videocalling! I don’t know if both of them can make it,” JJ says. “Um, they had some issues last minute. Said so last night. So let me check, I will call them now,” he says, lying his teeth off.
A room full of liars. That’s what they are.
But for like, a good cause, Brad thinks. Karma points in the positive for sure, right?
JJ makes his excuses. Goes in the other room, and wow, robbing this guy would be easy. Brad barely contains his ridiculous need to start laughing.
“You are - wow,” he says to Martha.
“I know,” she nods. “Give me an Oscar, now.”
JJ is gone for almost 10 minutes. Brad prays that he doesn’t actually call Angie, that they freaked him out enough that he’s in pure solution mode now.
The good thing about being 16 is that at least, they must hardly seem intimidating to the large French man who fights other large hockey players on the ice for a living.
“Okay!” he comes back into the room. “Sorry, the guys, um, wrote the date down wrong. They will connect to the call in a few minutes, I will set up,” he says.
“Perfect!” Martha says. “Can we get some water, please?”
Liquids were a part of their brilliant plan, after all.
“Of course!” JJ says, with the fear in his eyes indicating that he now fears he’s put Brad’s life in danger by not hydrating him on time.
Thank god people are so awkward about illness, he thinks.
The call connects in a short time, and there they are. Hayden Pike and, most importantly, one Shane Hollander - dressed in a hoodie, his background blurred by the zoom call while Pike has a proud background of his uncleaned breakfast table and some random kid toys.
Right. Shane Hollander is big on privacy. Brad cringes inwardly about the conversation he is about to have.
Martha did her part. This would have to be all him.
“Hi, Brad, was it?” Hayden starts. “I hear you like hockey!”
Shane joins in, asking him about the match a few days ago - has he seen it? What did he think?
Luckily, they seem to have this thing down. They probably talk to sick kids often, actually sick kids.
Karma, hold out, Brad thinks.
As he’s describing the upcoming surgery, JJ chiming in with the info he learned from Brad and Martha a few minutes ago as if to show up to his captain that he, for one, is prepared for this, Martha goes to grab her drink - and dumps it all over her lap, torso and JJ’s couch.
“Oh fuck!” she exclaims theatrically.
“Martha!” Brad joins in. “Oh no!”
He’s not the best actor, sue him.
JJ, luckily, springs to his feet, seemingly happy to have a task.
“No worries,” he says. “It’s just water, right?”
“I’m so, so sorry,” Martha says.
“She spilled some water on herself, she is - wet,” Brad tells a confused Shane and Hayden, who don’t have Martha in the direct view now.
“JJ, give her a jersey!” Hayden exclaims. “For luck and stuff!”
“That would be nice, actually,” Shane adds. “We can send something to you, too, Brad, I’m sorry not to be there in person. My agent must have forgotten to put this on my schedule,” he explains, and god, he’s not even lying. So earnest. Both of his friends just jumped the lie wagon, but not their captain, obviously.
“Wait, that’s funny -” Hayden starts, but Martha jumps in.
“Thanks for that jersey! Or anything, really, a rag. Water going to all sorts of places,” she grimaces, and JJ hops up.
“Okay, come with me - I will let you pick something and then leave you, right?” he says, very concerned about highlighting that he will be spending as little time alone with a moist 16 year old girl as possible. That is, Brad thinks, kind of sweet.
Martha follows JJ, and is smart enough to close the door behind them. Brad knows he has maybe a minute, two if Martha can get extra chatty.
“Listen, guys,” Brad says. “I’m Brad,” he starts, hoping they get it.
Shane, in the camera, has a concerned look on his face.
“We know! Are you feeling okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” he says quickly. “I mean, I’m Brad,” he emphasises. “Mr. Pike - Hayden,” he nods to the blonde man on the screen. “Filmed a FanMail video for me yesterday.”
“Oh wow!” Hayden laughs. “What are the chances, it’s your birthday? Happy birthday, man!”
“No,” Brad says quickly. “I mean it is, today, thanks. But that’s not - I’m not sick, right?” he says, and suddenly, the two men start protesting.
Shane says something about security. Hayden just exclaims a bunch of profanities.
“I just really - needed to speak to you after that video,” Brad says quickly, fearing the two men will disconnect any second and call the police. “Just watch it, please?” he begs. “It shows something it - uh, shouldn’t,” Brad says.
“What are you talking about?” Shane pushes. He seems outraged in a surprisingly scary way. Professional hockey player, right.
“It shows,” Brad takes a deep breath. No going back. “It shows you kissing Ilya Rozanov, Mr. Hollander,” he finishes, the last name hopefully a sign of respect.
“What?!” Shane exclaims.
“Fuck,” Hayden comments. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he’s saying, fishing a phone out of his pocket quickly.
“I just..” Brad says. “I was worried. There are leaks of FanMail videos all the time, you see? And Martha knows hockey people. I’m not going to say! To anyone!” he rushes to assure. “But - it’s somewhere on a server, right?”
“Hayden?!” Shane seems too broken for sentences now.
“Nobody will know from me. I just had to get to you, somehow,” Brad says. “You know.”
Hayden Pike is very pale.
“I’m so sorry, Shane,” he says, putting his phone on the screen, miserably. It’s visible even this way - the video paused, the two men in a passionate embrace. Shane is still gaping.
“But nobody knows!” Brad says again. “Not from me, not ever. Just like - take care of it? I guess there are NDAs and stuff,” he’s babbling.
“You’ve filmed me kissing Ilya and sent it to this poor kid, Hayden?” Shane sounds horrified, but finally has his words back. And yells.
Loudly.
In the same moment, Brad notices the door to the hallways is open again, and in it, a tall man is standing, mouth gaping.
“You did what, Shane?!”
Shane is back to gaping wordlessly, realising what has happened.
“It’s - a joke!” Brad says, trying to be helpful. “Nice jersey, Martha!” he tries to distract, with Martha nowhere near sight.
“A joke?” JJ frowns. “What kind of a joke is that to make to a sick kid, Shane? He has a bad heart!”
Well, this is a shitshow.
“Come to the camera, JJ,” Shane says, his voice resigned, but much calmer now. “I so did not want to have this conversation on fucking zoom,” he says. “But Brad here is a very nice young man. Would you - fuck it,” Shane brings a hand through his hair, making it messy. “Do you guys want to come over?”
–
“ILYA! COME DOWNSTAIRS, NOW, PLEASE?” Shane yells for his fiancé. Very, very loudly.
He’s spiralling.
Here’s what he knows: 1) there is a teenage kid out there that has a video of him making out with Ilya. 2) Hayden sent this video 3) he’s like, beyond fucked 4) this kid is now coming over with JJ, another random teenager, and he has to somehow get him to what - take his money and burry this secret? 5) he might kill Hayden 6) oh god, Ilya might actually kill Hayden.
Shane takes a breath.
So not the quiet day they had planned. It started out well enough. It started out fucking fantastic, actually, with a slow morning of couch blowjobs, actually taking the time to cook breakfast together, and then - while considering a nap and then maybe another round - a phone call from JJ, which sent everything spiralling.
JJ was extremely panicked, saying something about make-a-wish kid in his apartment, promised facetime with Hayden, Shane and himself before going into some serious surgery.
It wasn’t like Farrah to forget to brief him on this, but it was very much like Angie, JJ’s 25 year-old agent that JJ had a very inappropriate work crush on, to set it up without letting Farrah know.
He wasn’t about to reject the kid, he had the time, and it was heart surgery.
Ilya had laughed, called him mother Theresa and went to take a nap, but Shane knew his fiancé spent more time with sick kids than most the MHL combined, which is why he knew that selfishly rejecting this Brad would hardly get him many husband-to-be points, even if that’s what Shane had wanted to do.
And then, hell broke loose.
“Why are you screaming bloomy murder?” Ilya was asking, even as he rushed down the stairs.
“Bloody,” Shane said, automatically.
“What is bloody?” Ilya asked. “Did you hurt yourself, sweetheart?” his voice had gone soft, inspecting Shane with his eyes quickly.
“No - listen,” Shane shook his head. “Nevermind that. I’m gonna say a bunch of stuff now, okay? I need you to focus - and let me finish.”
“You are nervous.” It wasn’t a question. “Come here, first?” Ilya offered his hands, extended them for Shane to slip into. He sinked into the warm hug gratefully, taking a second to center himself.
Everything would be okay, as long as he had this.
“Now, you tell me what happened,” Ilya says, calm but clearly nervous.
“Hayden - he does these FanMail videos, right?” Shane says. “So he was doing one yesterday, and in the corner, you can see us - kissing. I guess. And he sent this to a fan, so. Yeah,” he finishes, somewhat lamely.
“Can you tell it’s us?” Ilya asks. “And - how much did it spread already? Do wer have time to call Farrah?”
“No, I mean - yes,” Shane shakes his head. “Yes to the first part, very obviously us. But the fan didn’t share it. He, I guess, faked having a heart condition and conned JJ into getting me and Hayden on a zoom, and told me. To like, warn us? And now - I invited them over. Is that okay?” Shane asks. It sounds crazy to his own ears. “I didn’t know what to do!”
Ilya is quiet for a moment.
And then, he shakes his head.
“Okay. When will they be here?” he wonders.
“Um. 40 minutes?” Shane guesses.
“Then I say we bake cookies,” Ilya says.
What. The. Hell.
–
The cookies were, as it turns out, a fantastic idea.
While waiting for the bell to ring, they busied themselves. Ilya fed Shane some chocolate chips, and he honestly didn’t have it in him to protest. Being off sugar for months, this proved such a sensory experience that Shane even momentarily forgot to be nervous.
They were just laying them out to cool when the bell rang.
“It’s Hayden,” Shane says, guessing. “Too early for JJ, I think.”
It wasn’t. It was JJ. With two teenagers, who looked awestruck by the sight of the hockey players greeting them at the door.
Ilya was still wearing his Kiss the chef apron.
JJ was almost blue in the face.
“Come in? We made cookies,” Shane said, pointing to the counter. The visitors, quiet as mice, hadn’t even taken their shoes off when the bell rang again.
“Pike,” Ilya said. “I get the door.”
“What the hell is happening, Shane?” JJ turned to his friend, his face unreadable. “Why is Rozanov here? Why are we here? Who are these kids?” he gestured to the guests that he had brought to Shane’s home.
“I can explain everything,” Shane says. “Hi, by the way,” he extended his hand to the two new faces. “I’m Shane.”
They shake hands. It’s weirdly formal. But, fuck, the kids look scared, the boy moreso than the girl. “Do your parents know you’re…” Shane doesn’t finish the sentence. No, he supposes, the parents do not know that these teenagers are in Shane Hollander’s house, currently helping him navigate the possibility of having his relationship with Ilya Rozanov revealed.
Fuck.
“They know we’re okay,” the girl says. “Birthday adventure! They don’t worry too much about us. I’m Martha, by the way. Youn know Brad,” she says, seemingly more cool than any of the actual professional athletes in the room. “No, he’s not dying, no, we’re not siblings, yes, it’s his sweet sixteen today and yes, he’s a big fan.”
“Happy birthday, Brad!” Ilya says from behind. “What a story, right?” he laughs. “How about we sit, the illegal kids have cookies and milk, and the legal adults have some nice Russian vodka?”
“Can the almost-legal kids try the vodka, too?” Martha asks. “They would totally not tell their parents and have some experience with mild-altering substances, so no worries there!” she adds.
“No way,” Shane pipes up. “Milk and cookies. And no vodka for you, either, Ilya, it’s noon! What kind of an example are you trying to set?”
“I did not realise we are parents now, Shane,” Ilya says, mocking. “I think adoption is the right move for us at some point, but I was hoping to get them a bit younger. Maybe lady Pike can let one go, right? Hayden is too busy, overwhelmed, does not even look at where he points camera,” Ilya says, but there is no malice to it.
“Fuck,” Hayden says. “I am like, really fucking sorry.”
“Can someone - tell me what is happening?” That’s JJ piping up. “The kids didn’t say a word on the way.”
“Oh,” Shane says. “You are really nice kids,” he says to Brad and Martha.
“Not kids,” Martha says.
“Young adults!” Ilya confirms. “So, JJ,” he turns to JJ. “I sum up, Shane would make it boring. Pike looks like he might throw up,” he says. “So, basically - me and Shane, in love for many years. Stupid Pike accidentally films us kissing yesterday, sends video on silly FanMail to Brad here. Brad fakes having sick heart, convinces JJ to get Shane on zoom to warn him. JJ falls for it and drives Brad to us. Me and Shane will have nice summer wedding. So, cookies?”
“Ilya…” Shane breathes out, laughing nervously.
“In love for many years?” JJ exclaims.
“Wedding? Wow!” Martha says. “So romantic.”
“I am so, so sorry, Shane,” Hayden repeats.
“I -” JJ sputters.
“Now how about I take Pike and young adults to living room, and Shane talks to his friend. Okay, sweetheart?” Ilya turns to Shane then for reassurance, zoning out the entire room in a blink, going very tender. Wow, that’s kind of amazing, Brad thinks. This guy is not the same as on TV.
A summer wedding.
Shane just nods.
Ilya shoves them towards the living room, grabbing the tray of cookies. He seems very proud of those. Brad thinks to his morning waffles - he actually is starving.
–
“In love for many years?” JJ asks again as Shane guides him to the kitchen counter.
“Do you want something to drink?” Shane asks. “I have ginger ale, coke, water is -”
“No, I would actually like some fucking answers if you don’t mind,” JJ hisses out.
Shane takes a deep breath.
“Okay. We’re doing this,” he says, more to himself. “I didn’t actually want you to find out this way, but I was going to tell you really soon.”
“Tell me what, exactly?”
“It’s - well it’s all true. I love Ilya. Have for years, longer than I was probably even willing to tell myself, but, yeah. We’re getting married this summer.”
“And…” JJ thinks. “Pike knows?”
“He figured it out,” Shane shrugs. “If you ask me, I think Jackie helped him get there, but he won’t admit that. He figured it out when, I guess, I stopped disappearing in Boston and started to in Ottawa, just as Ilya got traded, you know? I didn’t mean to like, exclude you. I need you to know that,” Shane says. “I know it’s a lot,” he adds.
“It really fucking is!” JJ says. “I comforted you, man. Thought you had this stupid unrequited crush. And you just stood there.”
“I had a lot to figure out,” Shane says. “I knew I loved him, but I don’t know how to - love him in front of people, you know? It’s hard to explain,” he says. “I also like, hate having to explain. I don’t want to justify it, it’s just - the best thing, you know? My best thing.”
“Ilya Rozanov.”
“Yeah,” Shane nods.
“So - okay. I need a minute,” JJ says. “Can I just - fuck, I wish I didn’t stop smoking,” he says, miserably. He starts walking in a circle, seemingly unable to contain the nervous energy gathering in his limbs.
“Ilya hides a pack above the sink in the guest bathroom,” Shane shrugs. “He thinks I don’t know. Have at it, considering the circumstances.”
“Shane Hollander, fucking Ilya Rozanov, condoning smoking,” JJ says. “I…
“Hey,” Shane stops him. “It’s not fucking. I am marrying him, okay?”
“Oh, so you’re saving it for marriage? Didn’t think the MHL slut had that much patience,” JJ spits back.
Shane takes a breath. “Have your cigarette. Please, come back and let’s actually talk - if you want to hear about the relationship that makes me happier than even fucking hockey,” Shane pauses for emphasis. “And which I would keep up even if there was no sex ever again, no matter how great,” he continues, because fuck being ashamed in this moment.
“Okay! No details!” JJ raises his hands in defeat.
“And,” Shane refuses to be interrupted. His posture changes now. “It’s the most precious thing I have, JJ,” he half-whispers. “Please, no matter how you’re feeling, keep it to yourself. I need you to promise that.”
“I will,” JJ nods. He doesn’t get it - maybe he never will. But there is honor amongst hockey players that will not, at the very least, be outperformed by teenagers faking heart diseases. “I won’t tell anyone. But I might need a few days to digest this, okay? We - we have played him so many times, he would say the most horrible things on the ice to me, too, you know? And I just - I wish you would have told me, man.”
–
JJ leaves soon after that. He doesn’t pick up cigarettes. He doesn’t pick up the kids, either. Shane can hear the car starting, and is at least feeling like for now, they have this thing contained.
Except, he guesses, he has some kids - well, teenagers to deliver. He stays in the kitchen for a beat, his mind racing with what might have been. If he woke up and that video was out there already, how violating it would be to be unable to control the narrative. How invasive would it be. How he would be scared for Ilya, scared about the guilt Hayden would feel.
And then something else, too. A tinge of something he can’t categorise at first, but it might be - regret?
It could have been done. Like a plaster, ripped off and exposing everything. No more strategising instead of living, no more talks of when, how, to whom to say.
He can finish the season. Go for a cup - maybe even face Ilya eventually in the play-offs, because the Centaurs have been doing shockingly well since the plane scare.
He can, for the last time, show the fans and his teammates that he’s a pro. He will get the Metros big, flashy wins, all while engaged to his once-rival.
More hiding. More work. More waiting.
Or, maybe… Not?
He shakes his head. It’s a choice he and Ilya have to make together, and won’t be making today, because they got today back.
Today is something that he will treasure.
He almost forgets he has to deliver the kids back home, first, when he hears laughter from the living room area. Delighted, young laughter that he wants to experience in public, too, because he’s tired of moving through the world in silence.
Shane left them alone for maybe 15 minutes. By the time he gets back, these generational Metro fans are now Ilya Rozanov stans through and through.
Shane can’t really blame them.
His fiancé is someone to brag about to the whole world.
Soon.