Chapter Text
When she first approached Shane, he was surprised. Really surprised.
Truth be told, Shane had been looking for Rose Landry that night. What can he say? He was a fan. It may be pretty bad that he met his girlfriend at a bar looking for a different girl, but she didn’t have to know that.
She had slid into the counter space signaling the bartender for another drink when she noticed him. Her lips curved into an upward smirk, and she moved closer.
“Come around here often?” She purred, her arm was so close to Shane’s that they were nearly touching.
“Nah,” Shane shook his head subtly, “My friends invited me out, but I don’t have time for partying much with hockey.”
“Ah.” She responded, eyes raking over his body. “Hockey player. Hot.”
Shane laughed nervously. Was she flirting?
“I think I’ve seen you on the cover of a magazine before. You’re a model, right?”
She rolled her eyes in amusement, green eyes flashing with pride. She evidently liked being recognized.
“Do I not look like a model?” She teased, prompting Shane to look at her like she wished. She was beautiful. Tall. Her nails were perfectly painted to match the wine colored dress hugging her slim figure. Her brown hair was straight besides the curled edges. She was objectively extremely attractive, although he supposed that was her job.
“You definitely look like one.” He assured her, smiling slightly.
As if he passed a test, she downed her drink and beckoned him over to a table in the back. He slid into the seat opposite to her, unsure of what to do next.
“No way, Shane Hollander?”
Rose Landry stood up from the table behind him where she had evidently been sitting, her expression warm and friendly. He opened his mouth to respond with an equal amount of enthusiasm at being recognized by the Rose Landry, but Kyla cut him off.
“He’s busy, Landry.” She said politely, but there was tension there Shane wasn’t expecting. She was mad. At what?
Rose looked like she wanted to respond but she eventually settled on smiling back thinly, nodding her head at Shane like a nonverbal introduction.
Shane wanted to question the model next to him but as quick as her anger had appeared, it had disappeared again like nothing even happened.
“It’s nice to meet you, Shane Hollander.” She tried his name out on her lips like it was difficult to pronounce. She evidently hadn't heard of him before Rose said his name.
“I’m Kyla Sterling.”
Things are different with Kyla. He’s never been in a relationship with someone so high profile. He actually hadn’t dated since he’d become a figure of the public eye. Cameras swarm them wherever they go, even more than Shane’s used to. Kyla takes it in stride, always smiling at the right time, holding his arm. The media has said on multiple occasions that they are the paragon of a perfect couple.
And she was sweet, in her own way. She bought Shane expensive suits and told him he could wear them out. It was less of a suggestion and more of a demand but Shane didn’t mind, he liked how she looked at him with approval when he did things right.
The problem was, he didn’t do most things right.
It started with flowers. She said she wanted Shane to get her more flowers, and he had obliged. He bought her a giant bouquet of lilies and instead of mirroring his smile she’d glared up at him.
“Are you being purposely obtuse? You know what I like.”
And well. No, he didn’t know. It took five more tries of disapproval to locate her apparent favorite of peonies.
Kyla had grinned so widely though, when Shane brought them. She jumped up and hugged him and murmured that he was the best, that she loved him.
She had a nice smile.
He didn’t mind the flowers honestly, or the restaurants he had to guess if she liked, or the incessant texts before and after the game. He thought dating a model would mean she would understand the long hours of work, but she always had time to text, to ask if he's free, and can he call? And what is he doing so often that he can't text her back within minutes?
Hockey, obviously.
Shane knows she isn’t interested in hockey though, she doesn’t watch his games and similarly he doesn’t watch her runway walks or whatever she does. She brought it up, once, that he really should be more interested in her. Who doesn’t want to watch their girlfriend walk around being sexy? He tried to watch a couple times, but felt too busy and uninterested to keep it up.
Shane finds himself wishing he dated Rose Landry instead. He could talk about her movies with her.
The first time they had sex, Kyla had traced his abs with her slim fingers. She chuckled slightly,
“I thought hockey players were leaner.” She’d said, offhandedly.
When they finished, she had been the most angry he’d ever seen her. Her face was flushed with rage and she aggressively started putting her clothes back on, not even looking at him.
“Kyla-” He tried but she cut him off angrily.
“I don’t know who you’ve been fucking that’s so much better than me, but you need to get it together.” Her voice was filled with vitriol.
Shane had paused at that, perhaps too long.
“Fuck you.” Kyla snapped, and then, even more terrifyingly she started sobbing and sunk onto the bed. Shane had hugged her, trying and failing to find the words to comfort her.
Sorry, Shane wanted to say, it’s not you, I swear. I guess I’m used to having sex with Russian hockey players.
Of course, Shane did not say that, and he spent the remainder of the night reassuring Kyla that she was beautiful (which she was), and that this was a fluke (it was not).
He thinks that maybe that is when their relationship started failing. It was his fault, his inability to perform where their relationship needed it the most.
Kyla started testing him after that in subtle ways. She pointed out various celebrities, actresses. She pointed out Rose Landry more than once. She asked if Shane thought they were hot and Shane responded no one was prettier than her, because it seemed like something he was supposed to say. She only looked at him icily at his assurance, still distrustful.
Kyla lives in Boston. This is convenient for Shane because he doesn’t have to share hotels with his team anymore when they play the Raiders. Embarrassingly, he finds himself missing Hayden when he goes to settle in for the night and Kyla looks at him like she wants more. Hayden always understood his routine of meditation the night before the game. He didn’t want people to even talk to him that much, let alone what Kyla wants. He tells her later, and drifts off in her disappointment
Shane wakes up with another body on him. He jerks awake, instinctively defending himself from the intruder when he realizes it's Kyla. She’s touching him everywhere and moaning and Shane freaks out a little.
“Get off Kyla. What’re you doing?” He whispers, voice still full of sleep, brain still catching up to whatever the fuck is going on.
She gives him a sultry, vaguely dismissive look.
“Just relax, Shane.”
Shane feels sick,
“Please stop Kyla,” He hears himself begging, but his words feel so far away.
“God, you can’t give me anything.” Kyla sounds sad now, but she doesn’t take her hands away.
“I can. Just, later, okay? I don’t want to be tired playing Boston tomorrow.” He tries to reason, but she moves closer to him, moving her lips down to suck hickeys into his chest.
“You’ve gotten fitter,” She murmurs, “So hot.”
He's gotten stricter on his diet since the first time she’d seen him naked. It’s honestly less about her and more about the way it makes his mind go quiet in a way he craves now. It doesn’t stop the praise from feeling nice, though. Her quiet words start to feel different, an opportunity to prove that he can still listen. He can still make her happy.
He’s not being fair to her, he tells himself, forcing his body to relax marginally. He can do this for her if he can’t do anything else right.
“Thank you,” She whispers. “You’re amazing.”
Shane stares at the shadows at the ceiling and tries to imagine he’s anywhere besides in his body.
Shane plays badly against Boston. Ilya doesn’t even look at him and he tells himself it’s a good thing.
For the first time in years he can’t pack everything in his mind into a neat little box in the back of his head. He’s distracted, tired from the night before. Worse, the subtle tinge of apathy bleeds its way into his game. In a brief moment before the game, he reminds himself that Kyla will be there when he’s done, win or lose. So why does it even matter?
The half-formed thought shocks him, and he pushes it away as quickly as he can, disgusted. He didn’t think he was capable thinking such a thing. That’s not who he was. That’s not who he is.
The game is close, but not because of Shane. His teammate pick up his slack and it’s still not enough to hold them over.
2-1. Not the worst loss, but they could have won if Shane could get it together.
“...We’ll get them next time.” He ends his locker room post debrief. Most of his teammates refuse to meet his eyes, they seem vaguely ashamed of him. They could have gotten them tonight, if Shane played better. The elephant in the room sits and stays there until people start filtering out and Shane is left feeling nauseated with guilt.
“Everyone has off days, man.” Hayden helpfully tells him with a pat on the shoulder, it’s just them two in the room now. Hayden lingers by the doorway.
“You coming back to the hotel tonight?”
I wish, Shane thinks so loudly that he wonders if Hayden heard it, but Hayden stays at the door expectantly.
“Kyla has a house here, remember?” He responds instead. A flicker of something comes across Hayden’s face but it disappears just as quickly.
“Right.” Hayden chuckles hesitantly, “You and Boston girls.”
His stomach jerks with a familiar jolt of fear, instinctive whenever anyone gets close to the truth, but it’s muted now. There’s no “Lily” anymore, only Kyla.
“Yeah.” Shane responds a beat too late. It’s stilted and Hayden must pick up on it but he just looks at Shane for a second longer,
“See you tomorrow, Shane.” Hayden nods, giving him a half sort of smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. With that, Hayden leaves.
Shane stays there, staring at the lockers for at least thirty more minutes before even starting to change.
Kyla is ready for him when he gets home. She seems happy, if the wide grin that breaks out on her face upon his arrival is any indicator.
“Hey,” He greets her with a smile, trying to muster up all the enthusiasm he has left. The game has sucked all the life out of him and he couldn’t go back to sleep last night.
She kisses him immediately, it’s harder than the quick pecks he usually opts for, deep as she slips her tongue into his mouth. She’s testing him again. He almost pushes her away again, always jumpy, but tries to lean and reciprocate to the same extent.
She breaks the kiss, hopefully satisfied enough with Shane’s abilities because she’s still smiling a little bit.
“Not gonna mention my outfit?” Kyla teases, and for the first time that night he looks at her body and notices the classic skin tight dress that adorns her figure.
“You look great.” Shane nods seriously. Kyla is absolutely obsessed with fashion and it does pay off in times like these. She knows how to style.
Kyla’s expression narrows slightly like he said something wrong. Shane turns over his words in his mind and tries to think about what could have possibly offended her.
“Change. I’ll send you the address of the club.” Kyla says flippantly. Shane feels his heart sink. He can’t go out tonight, he just wants to lie in bed—with no one on top of him—and sleep for the rest of the night, and maybe most of tomorrow.
“I’m really tired tonight, the game was rough.” Shane scratches the back of his neck, trying to soften his rejection.
He sees the instant Kyla’s reaction snaps, any amicable feature disappearing from her face immediately.
“You think I’m not tired?” Kyla snaps back quickly, “I’m exhausted from dating someone who doesn’t care about me. You don’t even think I’m hot enough to have sex with. Fuck you.”
“Kyl-” Shane starts, about to reassure her of her beauty. He does care about her. He likes when she’s happy, she’s just not happy often. He also likes how much the internet loves them, it makes a small part of himself whole again. It demands the attention of others, Shane Hollander finally with a girl. Finally normal.
“You don’t love me.”
Shane’s heart beats wildly in his ribcage. He feels cornered and not only because Kyla is forcing him against the kitchen counter with her rage, stepping closer.
That is harder to refute.
Shane opens his mouth to say he loves her, but no sound comes out.
Pathetically, he stands there. Mouth open but any words he could say die in his throat. She waits, too. That’s the worst part. Kyla, who is impatient when it comes to flowers and restaurants and sex, waits for him.
Something knocks his jaw sideways with force. He blinks back at Kyla to realize she slapped him, her hand is still up. She looks as mad as ever, like this was nothing.
He pushes her back gently, trying to create space, but she takes it as even more of an insult. She grabs a wine glass from the counter and throws it at him. He doesn’t even dodge, though logically he should, hockey reflexes and all. The glass hits his cheek and shatters all over her apartment's perfect floor.
Shane stares back up at Kyla, shocked. She kind of looks like she’s going to cry, but her fury remains.
“Get out.” She says quietly.
“Kyla-” Shane tries for the second time that night.
“I told you to get the FUCK out,” Kyla all but screeches, she picks up another glass and Shane barely moves out of the way quick enough to avoid the rain of glass hitting him again. He can take a message, heading for the door finally. His hands are almost shaking too much to tie the laces of his sneakers.
And then he’s outside. He stands outside the door trying to think about what happened until his fingers turn red from the cold. The second the adrenaline wears off, the mid-December air hits him harder than he thought.
You grew up in Canada, Shane tells himself. You were built in the ice, shitty Boston weather is nothing. It doesn’t stop teeth from chattering.
He walks until he finds a bar. He’s cold but he also feels somehow numb to most feelings right now, like he’s not even in his body anymore. When he enters he feels like he’s burning up all of a sudden, the change in temperature overwhelming.
It’s nice though, once he gets settled. Warmth floods his body and he kind of wants to stay here forever. Where is he going to sleep tonight? He already told the coaches he doesn’t need a room since Kyla is so close by. Most places near the rink would be bought up by fans, Boston vs. Montreal is always a well attended game.
“You good, man?”
The bartender questions as soon as Shane finds a seat at the bar. Shane frowns at the inquiry,
“What do you mean?”
The bartender makes a very obvious gesture to his face and Shane freezes for a second. He didn’t realize any visible damage was done. His fingers drum on the counter,
“Right. Yeah, I’m good, this is nothing.” His words feel clunky when they make their way out of his mouth, but the bartender shrugs and asks him what he wants to drink.
Shane ponders for a minute, then asks for vodka. It has the least calories.
Shane doesn’t get drunk, maybe hasn’t been since winning rookie of the year. He has too much at stake to be seen getting fucked up at a bar, but he can’t find it within himself to care right now. He keeps ordering shots.
Eventually his brain goes a little fuzzy. It’s nice, being drunk. Maybe he should do this more often. The events of the night lose their sharp edge and turn into distant problems for a faraway version of Shane. He asks the bartender for another shot.
“No, dude. I’m cutting you off.”
Shane makes a noise of protest. He’s a paying customer, he’ll tip very well, he promises, but the bartender stands his ground, shaking his head.
“I should’ve a while ago to be honest. Do you want me to call you a cab?”
It’s a nice gesture, but Shane has nowhere to go. He checks the time, the minute and the hour hand are perfectly overlapped to signal it’s 12:00. Maybe Kyla’s cooled off by now. Probably not, though. Shane should respect her space.
He’s been at this bar for far too long at this point. He wouldn’t be surprised if he saw himself on a headline tomorrow, Golden Boy Shane Hollander plays a terrible game of hockey then gets drunk at random bar. He should pick a direction and walk until he can find a hotel that’ll take him.
He waves off the bartender's offer and moves awkwardly off the stool, swaying on his feet and not looking up until he crashes head first into a woman.
The drink that she was holding spills all over her sparkly dress. She looks up, mouth open as if to chastise, but she closes it again when she looks up at him.
“I am so sorry.” Shane apologizes as contrite as he can manage while still feeling unsteady on his feet. The girl has the kind of beauty that's made him nervous ever since he started dating Kyla, slim body and perfectly tightly curled hair.
Shane being within the proximity of an attractive woman makes Kyla fly off the handle sometimes.
“It’s alright.” The girl’s mouth twitches slightly, like she’s holding back a laugh.
“Have a seat with me?”
Shane looks back at the door, the biting cold that probably has only gotten colder since he’s been in here. The bar is warm at least, and the promise of human company isn’t entirely uninviting. He doesn’t even hang out with his team that much anymore. All his free time is spent with Kyla, and she always wants more. It’s not like Kyla isn’t human, but she’s not a friend.
Relationships aren’t supposed to be a friendship, Shane realized recently. They’re transactional in nature. He doesn’t know how it took him this long to figure that out, but then again, Kyla is kind of his first real relationship.
“I’m sorry about your drink,” Shane says again as he slides into the closest booth. The girl brushes the apology off,
“I was about to head home anyway,” She shrugs, elegant in her motion. She has an accent, Shane realizes, something foreign and familiar.
“Are you Russian?” He asks before he can second guess himself. Drunk Shane evidently has less of a filter. The girl doesn’t seem offended though, laughing slightly.
“My English is not good enough?”
“No. No, your English is great, sorry-”
She cuts him off, still smiling.
“Relax, I’m just making fun.”
Shane’s leg has started bouncing from under the table, nervous habit. The girl looks at him longer, head tilted slightly like she’s puzzling something together.
“Do you always come to bars beat up to get drunk and look sad?” The girl's accent curls around the words in a satisfying way. It reminds him of Ilya. He feels weirdly nostalgic all of a sudden, with this girl he’s never met before.
“My girlfriend lives here. We got into an argument and she told me to leave her house. I don’t drink like this often, I swear…” Shane trails off, feeling all at once that the admission is too personal to tell a stranger,
“...I don’t know. I don’t know where I’m going to stay tonight. I’ll find a place, obviously, but that’s why I got so…” Shane motions to his face, trying to explain his drunkenness, his sloppiness in knocking his girl’s drink over. He still feels bad.
“Your girlfriend would leave you in a city you don’t know, in the night, when it is this cold out?”
The girl’s voice is tinged with something like judgement and Shane responds quickly, defensive.
“It’s not like that. She has a really good reason to be mad.”
The girl raises her eyebrows at him,
“Did she have a good reason to make those marks on your face?”
Shane’s heart jolts in his chest and leaves behind a faint ache.
“She didn’t do that, that just happened after.”
It’s a blatant lie, and he’s not sure if the girl believes it. He can’t tell the actual truth. She wouldn’t understand.
“Why is she angry?” She questions, sounding genuinely curious.
Shane sighs. There are a multitude of reasons of course, but there’s also the one reason. One that he will definitely not be telling a stranger at a bar.
“I don’t do things properly a lot of the time. Or ever, I guess.” He settles for, face burning. He should never get drunk again. It’s hard to think straight.
“Ah.” The girl nods slightly, somehow understanding even though Shane is pretty sure he didn’t make much sense. Maybe it’s just an act of kindness to his pathetic, drunk self.
“Well, I have a place here. If you need somewhere to stay.” She says casually, taking out her phone to do something.
Shane’s eyes widen minutely in hope. Did he really manage to find a place, just from knocking into a girl at a bar. He should refuse the offer, be polite. But does he have any other option?
“Do you let any sad, random guys into your house?” Shane jokes half heartedly. He’s trying to give her an out. He knows most girls would probably not feel safe inviting a practical stranger of a man into their house.
“No.” Her eyes flick up to him from her phone, “But not every guy is Shane Hollander.”
Shane’s heart really stops with that. She’s probably planning on going to the press immediately after this, spilling the juicy details of the hottest couple’s relationship drama. Shane closes his eyes, trying to figure out damage control. Did he say anything too bad? What will the media spin this into?
“I won’t tell anyone,” the girl says confused, looking at him quizzically. She's evidently taken aback by his reaction, “You just looked like you needed company and I didn’t want to scare you off immediately.”
Shane opens his eyes, slowing the spiral of his thoughts at her words, her expression seems truthful but he’s never been good at reading people.
Maybe under normal circumstances he wouldn’t trust her, but this has been the weirdest day ever and he can’t find it in him to turn down a place to sleep.
“My girlfriend will kill me if anyone spots me going to another girl's house,” He tells her seriously.
The girl brushes off his concern in the same cool manner she’s carried herself with the whole night,
“We’ll be discreet.”
When they step out of the bar Shane sees a sleek black car is already parked, ready to pick both of them up.
In the cab, Shane starts considering something. What if this girl is expecting something from him? He’s definitely not just allowed to sleep in her house, right? He realizes with a sickening dread that this is probably another sex thing, another transaction. It’s like everything in his life revolves around sex nowadays.
Shane steals another glance at her but she’s looking at her phone, seemingly unconcerned with his presence. He doesn’t even know who she is, he realizes, and he’s literally going to his house.
“What’s your name?” He asks awkwardly as the sounds of the road hum around them.
“Svetlana,” she answers coolly, not even looking up from her phone.
His brain does a weird mental double take, recognizing the name in a faint faraway way. It’s so unique, and yet Shane is certain he’s heard it before. If he wasn’t drunk, he’s sure he would place it instantly. He huffs quietly in frustration to himself.
Shane takes small solace, however, in the fact that Svetlana doesn’t attempt to close the space between them in the cab. She doesn’t even look at him for most of the ride. Shane feels something in his chest loosen slightly.
Svetlana has a nice house, especially for Boston. It must be pretty expensive, smaller and less modern than Ilya’s but appealing all the same, mostly cobblestone with a wooden arched doorway that Shane appreciates. It blends nature and luxury seamlessly, with plants clinging perfectly to certain walls in what seems to be accidental, but Shane knows better.
“You have a very nice house.” Shane says, it’s important she knows her taste is refined.
Svetlana laughs,
“I’m very glad you appreciate it.”
She unlocks the door with her key, and allows Shane to step inside before. He takes off his shoes.
“I’ll show you around,” she says.
The whole house is so silent. She turns the corner to another section of the house engulfed in the dark of the night, flicks on the light switch, and…
“Сюрприз!”
Svetlana and Shane both jump at the noise, and at the person who just jumped out in front of them, smirking at first before his face also twists into surprise.
Oh.
My.
God.
Shane’s mind fills in the pieces too late as he dawns on the horrifying revelation.
I have a girl that I like very much here. Svetlana.
Shane is in Boston, and just went to the house of a Russian girl named Svetlana.
As in…
“Ilya, what are you doing here?” Svetlana rolls her striking grey eyes in mock annoyance, but there’s an edge of a smile there.
…Ilya’s Svetlana.