Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hayden Pike is fucking terrified.

He’s been sitting at the emergency room’s waiting room for what feels like hours now—but he knows it’s only been a little over one; he’s been checking the time on his phone very anxiously, as if the display of the slow-ticking numbers will somehow change what’s happening. The bone-deep tiredness that wracks him after every game isn’t helping Hayden’s nerves, only exacerbating the mess of emotions going on inside of him. 

The game ended up being a shit show. Obviously, with their captain and star player removed because of Cliff-motherfucking-Marleau, Montreal wasn’t playing as good as they should have been. As soon as Shane went down, the buzz of adrenaline that accompanies a match, especially one against Boston, immediately turned sour and unwanted. The rest of the game was played with everyone on edge. 

Boston got a power play advantage after Hayden took a swing at Marleau, the hardest he has ever thrown a punch on ice, which prompted his teammates to join in the fray. As if a proverbial switch was made, gloves started dropping and everyone turned on the nearest opponent in their proximity, the cold rink turning into a heated fighting ground. The first right hook Hayden managed to get in was gratifying, and so was the second, so sue him—he doesn’t consider himself a fighter, but no one fucks with Shane like that and gets away clean. 

And so, they ended up down an embarrassing 3-0 in the first period alone, on home ice of all places, but it was hard for Hayden to feel upset about the outcome when his best friend’s absence was more palpable than the state of their game. Being in a contact sport had its risks, obviously, but no one in the Metros had a serious injury like this in a long time. 

The Raiders, on the other hand, celebrated their win shamelessly. Playoffs season was starting in a few weeks, and they were slowly creeping up behind the Metros in points to claim that Wild Card spot. For those assholes, they would probably crown Marleau as their Player of the Game for helping them get there. Fuck that.

Everyone was celebrating… except for Ilya Rozanov.

Suddenly, Hayden remembered how Rozanov just… stood there, when it happened. Sure, the entire stadium was rendered still from the shock when Shane’s body just—fucking—crumpled helplessy on the ice after the hit. But still, Hayden had to admit Rozanov looked almost helpless at that moment. It was uncharacteristic of him, the near-violent maniac and number one douchebag in the league, who had bodychecked Shane himself probably a hundred times before, and sent home other players with severe injuries of their own, to be dumbfounded at the incident.

A little while ago, Hayden was neurotically playing the footage of what happened to see if he could glean something, anything, from the hit. Unfortunately, the faraway angle of the broadcasts’ cameras weren’t that helpful. Some fans uploaded their own videos  online, but it didn’t offer any new information to Hayden. It was a clean hit, like what the referees and Coach Theriault said. And it was devastating: Shane just wasn’t looking straight ahead, his body turned towards Rozanov behind him, which—Shane should’ve known better than to be looking anywhere but the puck. Hayden is just hoping that whatever he sustained, it’s nothing untreatable. It can’t be.

What Hayden could see up close, with him there on the ice, was Rozanov’s face etched with equal amounts of terror and concern. He was frantically trying to get the medics to talk to him as they scooped up Shane’s limp body onto the spinal board, but the referees were already clearing the area while simultaneously trying to break off the fights between the rest of the players. Now that Hayden thinks of it, Rozanov was the only one not engaged in some tussle during that period, when usually he’s the first one to start something. Once again, uncharacteristic.  

Montreal may have played badly, but Rozanov was playing badly too after that.

Hayden didn’t—still doesn’t really know what to make of it. Maybe he just caught Rozanov feeling remorse for once in his fucking life, deciding that Shane Hollander in that terrible moment was worth his worry.

Hayden’s thoughts are interrupted when his phone vibrates in his lap, a new notification from Yuna floating on the screen.

Yuna and David were out of town when they got the call, and immediately dropped everything to start packing so they could fly home. This is, after all, Shane’s first major injury. 

Being a father himself, Hayden can somewhat understand how they’re feeling; Ruby got chickenpox last year, and Hayden nearly had a conniption in the hotel room while on call with Jackie. He promptly reacted afterwards in what was, Hayden’s opinion, a reasonable manner, while an exasperated Shane tried to give him reassurance.

(“Should I fly home?” “Hayd, don’t be stupid—” “Oh my god, I left my family alone. I’m a fucking deadbeat!” “Hayden!”) 

While he loves getting to play hockey for a living, and traveling has always been a perk of the job, being on the road and away from family isn’t easy. He could barely handle that. He can’t imagine what it’s like to be miles away from your only child when he— 

But once again, Hayden is saved from spiraling into his thoughts as the door to the CT Scan room opens. An exhausted looking nurse steps out. 

“He’s alright, Mr. Pike.”

Hayden exhales the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shoulders slumping at hearing those words.

“The doctors were able to detect a concussion, as well as a fractured collarbone—by far not the worst case we’ve seen. He’ll have to be scheduled for surgery, but for now he just needs a lot of rest,” the nurse continues, offering Hayden a small smile for reassurance. “Will you be joining Mr. Hollander when we move him to his room?”

Hayden nods in confirmation, feeling quiet relief for the first time in hours.

It was way too early for Hayden to be up, but he couldn’t sleep well on the spare couch in Shane’s room. He’s staring hard at his drink options in the vending machine that’s down the hall when someone next to him clears their throat. He ignores them. 

Is an energy drink better than bottled coffee? 

The same person coughs. 

“Um…”

When Hayden turns to look, he’s standing face to face with Ilya Rozanov, and he has to blink bleary-eyed at him a few times just to make sure he’s actually there. Except Hayden’s pretty sure that sleep deprivation isn’t capable of conjuring up the guy, here in Montreal General, looking like… well, like shit. Hayden feels the same way.

Rozanov stammers, “Hi.”

Not his best moment, but all Hayden does is gawk at Rozanov, which earns a snort from the Russian man.

“What, you have never seen me outside of ice rink before?” His chirp lacks the sharpness they usually carry, and Hayden feels like there should be an accompanying self-satisfied smirk there, but there’s none.

“…What are you doing here, Rozanov?”

He rolls his eyes in response, giving a shrug as if saying Isn’t it obvious?, which Hayden supposes it is, unless Rozanov knows another person in Montreal who got their ass kicked recently. Hayden is kind of hoping that’s the case, but he’s never really been lucky. 

“I want to see Hollander. He is here, yes?” 

Hayden stifles, eyes narrowing as he instinctively assesses the other man and his intentions. He’s opening his mouth to say something in retaliation, but Rozanov cuts him off with a deep sigh, already jumping the gun and addressing Hayden’s thoughts like a mind reader. 

“I am not here to do anything bad, Pike. I just want to make sure he’s okay. He… took a bad hit, and I want to know how he is.” Rozanov even looks mildly sheepish saying this, his brows furrowed together in distraught.

It’s very strangely sincere. Very strange. Did Hayden mention how fucking very strange this has all been? He says as much, his voice laced with suspicion: “Okay, but why? That’s nice of you, I guess, but don’t you two hate each other? And I highly doubt you visited Matthews in the hospital in Toronto when you sent him there.“

If Rozanov felt any guilt about that, though, his face doesn’t show it, which doesn’t help his case. He just stares blankly at Hayden, eyes darting rapidly across Hayden’s face for a moment as if he himself is also assessing something in his head. Rozanov frowns slightly after a beat passes.

“No, I do not hate him,” and he turns his head to hide his eyes before continuing, “I have never hated him.” 

Hayden goes silent again, unsure of what to say. For the past eight years, absolutely nothing has happened to convince him that the famous Hollander and Rozanov rivalry was anything but true. From his perspective at least, Shane never alluded to a friendship or hidden relationship with Rozanov. All the on-ice skirmishes, interviews, and locker room talk suggested genuine hatred between the two; at the very least, the fierce competition of the pair was always deadly serious.

But here Rozanov is, in the hallway leading to Shane’s hospital room at 9AM, looking deadly serious as he stands in front of Hayden asking silent permission to see his rival. And Hayden thinks, again, about him on the rink. How Rozanov went close to Shane and stubbornly tried to stay by his side while everyone else was busy throwing jabs and yelling at each other. Maybe it’s just like what one of the commentators was saying last night, that “Not even Rozanov wants to see someone hurt like that.” Maybe Rozanov is just here on account of good sportsmanship, but when has he ever been a fair player? 

Hayden lets out a long breath and says “Okay,” and that word gets Rozanov to look at him again, his eyes slightly glassy. It makes Hayden’s stomach drop a little. 

Still, Hayden continues: “But I want to know what your business is with Shane.” He crosses his arms over his chest in what he hopes looks like a protective stance trying to defend his best friend, and not like a lame, pathetic bodyguard who actually can’t stop the imposing hockey player from just stalking past him if he wanted to. Rozanov raises an eyebrow at the movement. Hayden awkwardly uncrosses his arms.

Rozanov starts, “I have said, I want to make sure he is okay—” 

“That doesn’t actually explain why you’re here. Sorry man, but I can’t fully believe you two are friends enough for you to come and see him like this. For all I know, you’re trying to sabotage us and—” 

“You think I came here to fuck with you? Pike, you have already lost best Metros player, I do not need to do anything more.”

Hayden rolls his eyes. “Whatever, asshole. Shane is fragile, and I’m not letting you mess with him even more. You were probably the reason why he was distracted anyway.”

Stupefaction flits across Rozanov’s features before it turns into rage, but he reels it back in quickly. “Oh? What the fuck does that mean?” 

“You were probably yelling bullshit at him, which is why he was looking at you, and Marleau got the opportunity to check him. Probably planned that shit.”

Rozanov takes two steps towards Hayden—it’s fast, and it makes him push back against the vending machine in surprise.

“You do not know what you are talking about.” His voice quivers slightly, either from anger or something else.

“I’m saying that I don’t! So why the fuck are you here?” 

Rozanov groans in frustration, his hands raking through his hair.

“Because it is important to me, so what? к черту это, Pike, I cannot fucking tell you!” 

Hayden snaps his mouth shut, frowning in confusion as Rozanov mumbles unintelligible strings of Russian under his breath. Unconsciously, Rozanov brushes a thumb against his nose, a nervous tic that, in a weird way, humanizes him to Hayden in that moment.

“Tell me what, Rozanov?”

“No, I… promised Hollander I would not say. You will have to trust me.” He presses his lips together in a thin line, looking away from Hayden, eyes fixed at the end of the hall where Shane’s room is. “You have to trust him.”

The allusion to some big lie that Hayden doesn’t know about makes him scowl. Because what secret could Shane possibly be hiding that’s too personal for Hayden to know, but obviously not sensitive enough that Rozanov can be in on it? 

“I didn’t know you two were friends,” says Hayden, a little heartbroken at the admission. Wouldn’t someone know this information about their best friend? That the man who’s the subject of their team’s loathsome and jeering remarks is actually, what, close to Shane? 

Rozanov shoots Hayden an apologetic look, clearly sensing his hurt. “Is complicated.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but his gaze is torn away from Hayden to track the movement of a doctor passing by them in the hallway. Rozanov’s posture straightens, his features immediately schooling into something carefully neutral. He blinks once, and his attention is back on Hayden. 

“I cannot be here for long. I must go to his room now. I do not care what you think of it.” 

With a sense of finality, Rozanov briskly walks past Hayden, leaving the latter to catch up behind him.

Shane is staying in a corner room, which allows for light to stream in through these big open windows on the right wall, coating the place in warm early morning sunshine. It’s diffused slightly by a thin sheet of curtains, since Shane insisted on wanting to bring some light in, but Hayden insisted that he should be getting more sleep. The now-subtly orange room glows a little, and Hayden would even say it’s dreamlike—if it weren’t for the fact that Shane Hollander was lying in a bed in the center with a massive sling holding his arm, and hooked up to a beeping heart monitor.

Rozanov walks into the room, cautiously entering as if he’s stepping into uncharted territory for the first time. Hayden hangs back a little, partly curious to see what a Shane-and-Rozanov interaction looks like off the ice. He waits by the doorway. 

Rozanov casts a furtive glance back at Hayden before moving closer to Shane, who not for the first time today, slowly blinks awake. Hayden can’t help but notice how Rozanov’s whole body freezes at the minute movement. His face scrunches, and he lets out a soft “Hollander,” eyes scanning Shane’s fragile frame.

Shane’s eyes are open now, but half-lidded, and he locks onto Rozanov hovering over him. An easy albeit lopsided grin breaks out on his face in recognition.

“Ilyaaaaa, you’re here!”

He wasn’t even that happy to see me, what the hell, Hayden thinks as he purses his lips. 

Shane slowly reaches for Rozanov’s hand, making tiny “grabby” motions that reminds Hayden of his kids when they get impatient for something; the latter dons a nervous expression and stays in place, opening his mouth to say something. Shane beats him to it, and effectively silences any sound that might be coming from Rozanov and Hayden—like the space wasn’t quiet and tense enough already. For better or worse, it breaks the tension.

“I’ve missed you." Shane fully smiles, teeth showing. "Please, kiss me?”

… Right. Okay.

Hayden takes that as his cue to leave.

Now, Hayden is sitting with his head in his hands, thoughts running a thousand miles per hour. He’s going to throw up. No, that’s being dramatic—he thinks, but his stomach is curling on the inside anyway. 

So far, he has compiled a mental checklist of what he knows in an attempt to make sense of everything. It’s a short list, but, whatever. He might lose his mind if he can’t ground himself with something, anything.

1. Shane Hollander is seeing Ilya Rozanov.
2. Shane Hollander is seeing Ilya Rozanov???
3. Shane Hollander is gay (wow, way to fucking go dumbass, that’s what dating another guy means).
4. Hayden really doesn’t care if Shane is gay. 
5. Ilya Rozanov is also gay, even though he probably has a body count equivalent to the female population of Boston (stop that, you sound stupid!)
6. Hayden does care, a little, that of all people, the man Shane chose is fucking Rozanov.
7. Oh jesus christ ShaneisFUCKINGIlyaRozanov.

Hayden lets out a loud groan, which unbeknownst to him slightly startles a visitor that’s passing by. 

He suddenly has a vision of a scene he caught a few years ago, like a cruel version of divine intervention imparting unhelpful images in his mind, when he took a peek at Shane’s phone screen right before one of their matches. It was harmless, obviously, and it’s not like he was expecting to see such raunchy and explicit texts coming from shy-and-reserved Shane Hollander: the guy who’s quick to dismiss most innuendos from his teammates, and grimaces at the idea of a one night stand.

Shane had been preoccupied with his phone, thumbs flying rapidly across the screen as he types away messages to someone that makes him both smile and huff in annoyance. Hayden was curious. He was putting on his gear while Shane sat next to him, and it was easy to catch a glance at the texts: 

It was kind of amusing to see how easily flustered he got, honestly, and Hayden was genuinely happy that Shane had someone with that effect on him, despite how hard he tried to hide it. Later that night, Hayden teased him about it just to rile him up, spitting a slew of suggestive comments when Shane inevitably snuck out of their shared hotel room to go see his Boston Lily.

…Ohhhh. Wait.

  8. Boston Lily is Ilya Rozanov.

Ohhhh. 

Hayden immediately feels regret for encouraging Shane to be more promiscuous now that he has a face to put on the no-longer mysterious girl. The thought of him and Rozanov doing—Oh god, yeah okay, maybe he’s actually going to throw up now.

But—hold the fuck up. Shane has been messaging Boston Lily for years now! Way, way longer before Shane even met Rose. And that’s… an awfully long time to be hiding a relationship. Hayden always presumed that Shane never told anyone who Boston Lily really was for what could have been a variety of reasons: maybe she was old as fuck, and it would have looked weird. Not that Hayden would have minded that, he supposes, but it depends on if she were granny-age or not. Maybe Boston Lily was married? Though Shane would never be a homewrecker! Hayden came to the conclusion that the relationship couldn’t have been anything bad, and while it sucked that Shane refused to be honest to Hayden about this one thing (and believe him, Hayden has tried prodding this information out of Shane), his best friend was steadfast in keeping this thing a secret.

The thing is, as hurt as Hayden was earlier about Shane keeping secrets from him, the logical part of his brain knows that it couldn’t be helped. Putting two and two together… It makes the picture a lot more clear, now. If Shane didn’t trust Hayden enough to tell him that he’s gay, Hayden can’t take it personally. Or maybe Hayden did something to suggest that he wouldn’t be supportive of homosexuality? He has literally watched an episode of Drag Race with Jackie before!

“Try not to have heart attack, Pike. Or do. You are at hospital anyway.”

Hayden looks up to see Rozanov staring at him, again with that blank expression. He just nearly bites back a sweet and concise fuck off at the goading, knowing it’s really not the time and place to be so antagonistic. On the other hand, Rozanov takes the silence as a challenge, raising a questioning eyebrow. He’s likely waiting for Hayden to say something daring in response to his relationship with Shane: the elephant in the visitor’s lounge room.

Hayden shakes his head, both to shake off the nerves and to let Rozanov know that he’s not going to give him what he expects. For the first time in his life, Hayden makes the deliberate choice to be nice to Rozanov. 

“No—um, for what it’s worth, I’m happy you have each other.”

Rozanov frowns, much to Hayden’s surprise. He speaks with confusion in his voice, “You are not upset?”

“Upset? No, geez, I…” Hayden says his next words bashfully, “I was, kind of. But I’m not anymore. Obviously, I don’t fully understand what’s going on, but I was thinking about what you said earlier…”

“About having a heart attack?”

Against his will, an amused smile escapes from Hayden at that. “I mean when you told me to trust Shane. I do. He’s been my best friend for so many years now, and I know he has his reasons for not telling me about this,” and he gestures vaguely at Rozanov, “whole thing.” 

A thought crosses Hayden’s mind, and he winces. “He’s not gonna be mad that I accidentally caught you two, will he?” 

Rozanov replies quickly, maybe half expecting that worry to occur. “No, he won’t. We have talked about it, and he will tell you everything when he is feeling better,” he pauses, “He also trusts you, though I cannot imagine why.” There’s no real animosity when he says it, and Rozanov is smiling for the first time that day, so Hayden counts it as a small win. He smiles back, deliberate this time, feeling better now with the confirmation that Shane is open to talking to him about this.

Hayden motions to the empty space beside him, offering for Rozanov to sit down, but he politely declines. “My flight leaves soon. I would stay, but…” 

“I can message you updates, if that helps? Shane’s parents won’t arrive for a few more hours, so I’ll be here until then.” 

They quickly exchange numbers, and Hayden shouldn’t, but he can’t help it, so he says “Do you expect me to call you Lily, too?”

Rozanov pauses for a beat before his expression sours, and it turns into a genuine scowl. It’s the face Hayden knows Rozanov by, and he lets out a laugh at the familiar sight.

“Do not push it, Pike.” 

When Hayden parts with Rozanov, a strange stillness overcomes him. He has held nothing but bittersweet feelings for Shane’s Lily in all the time he has known her—er, him. He knows that, from now on, he’s sure to see Rozanov a lot more. But despite how bizarre that adjustment period may be for Hayden, it’s nothing compared to the effort Shane and Rozanov have been going through to conceal everything.

Hayden doesn’t know everything. He likely never will, and he has a hundred questions he’s going to ask Shane about. Nevertheless, he’s determined to make this whole shit easier for Shane if he can help it. Apparently, he has Ilya Rozanov to think of too; there’s surely a lot of people in the league that would react to this news much more differently, so Hayden vows to be as supportive as he can. His phone buzzes, and he sees an incoming iMessage notification. 

Hayden quirks his head in confusion, both at the contact name he’s just now realizing Rozanov set for himself, and at the vague message.

     Best NHL Player: sorry in advance 

Oh. Well.

Be supportive. He can definitely do that.