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The NHL had been turned upside down recently. It wasn't unusual for players to make headlines, even for scandals instead of playoff reasons. Sometimes, they cheat on their wives or get caught doping in the locker rooms. On a particularly bad day, there would be accusations of entire teams cheating. Not that there had been one for at least a decade, but it had happened in the past. It hadn’t been any of those things, though; that got Florida Panthers on the news. It was a picture.
Well, a rumor attached to one, really. Of a player who was at a restaurant, seemingly alone and had his head tilted up at the waiter with a small smile. Maybe Hayden was just blind, but he didn’t really see what the big deal was when he first saw it. Just some guy being nice to staff, in his opinion. Others didn’t seem to share his sentiment, though. It was quickly presumed that he was flirting with the waiter, given how many pictures were taken in such a short amount of time.
There also might have been some sort of overlap in their hands when he set the bill down, too. Hayden wasn’t really sure, to be honest. He sort of threw it into the back of his mind when he saw it, too busy thinking about the next game he had. But it stayed in rotation for a while. Longer than he expected. News channels speculated, the players following took a pretty big hit, and the official teams' social media was flooded with a mix of homophobic comments about the picture and supportive ones. Mostly from women, he noticed. No big shocker there.
“Why is this even news?” Hayden muttered, scrolling through his feed two or three weeks after the rumor started. The last thing he needed was to be distracted by ridiculous headlines when they were literally twenty minutes away from facing Boston for the third time this season. “I barely think about the Panthers unless we’re playing them.” They weren’t that great of competition, frankly.
“Guess no one has been playing well enough to make the news any other way,” Shane remarked, already in his jersey. He was always ready to play before anyone else, especially in Boston.
He tucked on his laces with his spare hand, trying to pull his sneakers off. “Not every guy who smiles at another man is gay,” he retorted. “It’s called being friendly.” He knew they played a sport that thrived off toxic masculinity, where slurs got hurled around and being feminine or kind was used as an insult. But not everything had to make someone homosexual. Some people were just nice.
Shane huffed beside him, shrugging slightly. “It’s Florida, man,” he replied like that could answer everything.
He supposed in some ways, it kind of did. They were pretty conservative down there, always trying to pass laws against anything that seemed like it would be beneficial to the majority of people. No wonder the thought of a gay man representing their states team would be received with hostility. But he wasn’t gay. Not officially, anyway. No statements had been made; no additional information was posted. It was all just speculation.
“I don’t think I’ve really talked to him, but he seems like a decent guy,” he added, trying to recall an instance. There were always ‘good lucks’ and ‘good games’ thrown around before and after games. But that was the same with every team in the league. “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”
Shane watched him toss his phone into his cubby as he finished unlacing his shoes. “I- that’s kind of tough to tell from one photo,” he replied as casually as possible. “It’s not really our business, either. And what’s it even matter, anyway? Even if he was gay, that wouldn’t change things.” It shouldn’t anyway.
If he was being honest, though, he did think so. Something about the man’s eyes, how he stared up with such intent that it couldn’t be a normal conversation he was having with someone meant to bring him a check. It was the kind of look he always reminded himself to school when he was around Ilya. In public, anyway.
“Well, a gay hockey player would be kind of a big deal,” Hayden responded as he slid his jacket off his shoulders and hung it up. “I don’t have a problem with it or anything but think of the impact it could have.” Hell, it was already having an impact, and nothing had even been confirmed yet.
“I am,” his friend mumbled, glancing away. “Imagine if it was you, though, and someone was speculating something private about your life. That’d suck.”
Shane pulled his phone out as Hayden pulled his shirt off and grabbed his jersey. “Yeah, guess I’d be pretty pissed,” he admitted, tugging it over his head. “Still, I think it’s about time in a way. I mean, one-hundred years and there’s not a single guy who's even hooked up with another man once or twice? I don’t believe it. There’s gotta be a few.”
“Sure, but do you honestly think they’d risk throwing their entire career away for it?” he noted, eyes still glued to his phone as he stared at a text from Ilya. Well, Lily, technically. "No one is stupid enough to give up everything they’ve worked their whole lives for and risk everyone they care about turning against them.”
Hayden furrowed his eyebrows slightly. “Guess I didn’t think about it like that,” he confessed. “Shitty world we live in, huh?” he murmured, reaching for his skates at long last when there were only a few minutes left before they had to leave the locker rooms.
It never seemed fair to him how hard they had to fight just for simple, foolish things to get accepted. For women to marry each other and interracial couples to have families. There were about a thousand more important things they could have been focusing on for the past few decades.
Shane nodded slightly. “Tell me about it,” he mumbled, fingers swiping across his phone as he responded to Ilya’s text with something slightly less clever. He liked to think he was decent at banter, when it was with the right person. A few teammates, maybe. Rarely other teams, though. It was just a bit harder to act that way. It didn’t seem to make him feel comfortable the way it did other guys.
Hayden tried to peek over his shoulder. “Boston Lily?” he mused curiously. “I thought you broke that off like two years ago.” That’s when Shane had stopped mentioning her, anyway.
Most nights they were in Boston; he said he was meeting someone named Ellie or Lucy or something like that. It was still one of the only cities he ever had hooked up in. Shane claimed it was because he liked the accents around here and he wasn’t quite sure if he fully believed it, but hey, if that was his cup of tea, far be it for Hayden to judge. He was just glad it unwound his friend for a bit.
Secretly, though, he still hoped he would bring one of those girls back to Canada with him. Shane deserved a family; even if he never admitted that he wanted one, Hayden knew he did.
“No, not that one,” Shane muttered, shaking his head. “It’s a different Lily.”
Hayden let out a whistle. “A second Lily?” he wondered. “Who are you and what have you done with Shane?”
He rolled his eyes, shielding his phone a bit more in case he got any bright ideas to try to read from it again. “Shut it,” he grumbled. “I’m talking about it with you.”
He knew it made no sense, but in his mind, it had been a different version for a while. There was Boston Lily, who he hooked up with a left sometimes feeling worse than when he showed up. And this was just...his Lily, who he was always looking forward to seeing. That’s how he thought it of ever since Ilya spent the summer with him. The first summer, at least. They had two more since then, each better than the last.
Hayden raised his hands in surrender, stepping back for emphasis. “Alright, no pressure,” he replied. “If you’re happy, I’m happy, right?” He knocked him in the arm playfully. “Hey, you could bring her back to the hotel if you wanted. I’m gonna be out pretty much all night.”
Shane grimaced at the thought, already shaking his head. “I think I’ll pass,” he replied immediately. Ilya’s sheets were more comfortable than hotel ones, anyway. “Where are you going, anyway? Finding a mistress or something?”
“Bite your tongue,” he retorted sharply with a glare. “I’m just going to the bar down the street.” He saw the blank expression on his friends’ face and elaborated, “Jackie’s sick, remember? She can never sleep so I always stay up with her and I’m still gonna do that, even if I’m in Boston.”
He just couldn’t stay on the phone with her in his hotel or else he’d accidentally fall asleep in bed. Then, he’d probably wake up to digital divorce papers. He figured a bar would be open late enough so that he could order some club sodas and sit in the corner with her on the phone until he managed to pass out. He could head back after she was asleep, though.
Shane’s lips tugged down in something akin to a small smile. “That’s adorable,” he whispered.
“Fuck off,” he replied, shoving him away. “I was just letting you know, in case you’re too tired to meet Lily 2.0 at her place. Don’t mock me for loving my wife.” It was bad enough he had to travel when she was sick, but getting called whipped by his teammates would add a bit more stress than he could handle on top of playing Boston.
“Again, I’ll pass,” he repeated, sliding his phone into his bag and grabbing his helmet. “But enjoy the bar. Tell Jackie I hope she feels better soon.”
“The kids are with her parents, so that’s helping a bit,” Hayden replied with a shrug. There wasn’t much he could do for her from here. Except win, that was. If he was gone and he lost, she’d kill him for sure. But beating Boston would probably help perk her up a little bit. Maybe a lot, if he could make it a good win instead of one of those shitty games where they barely won by a single goal. “Just gotta get through tonight and I’ll get to see her tomorrow night.” After a long ass flight, that was.
“Let’s make it an entertaining game for her, then,” Shane suggested, tapping his arm. He knew she would be watching. She was always watching. Sick or not, that wouldn’t change.
And for the most part, it was a pretty fun game. To watch, at least. Even without hearing the spectators, Hayden felt like he would know exactly what they were saying. Goals were close and if the score wasn’t enough to keep the crowd excited, then Rozanov getting slammed into the glass so hard he actually lost his balance and hit the ice was.
The game seemed to stop before the refs even called it and Shane was skating over immediately as his teammate hovered over Ilya, unsure whether helping him would be better or worse than leaving him on the ground. Hayden pulled Shane back before he could try to intervene and probably keep the peace he liked to maintain on ice, not wanting to crowd Rozanov too much. With how hard JJ hit him, there was a decent chance he’d need a medic.
Trying to help him up, JJ leaned his stick against the wall and reached for him. Ilya only accepted for a moment though, long enough to get to his feet before shoving him away. “Get away,” he insisted, reaching to grab his own stick off the ice where he’d dropped it. “I’m fine.”
“I was just trying to help you, man,” JJ retorted, scoffing as he rolled his eyes.
“Oh yes, you try to push me through the glass. That’s real helpful,” he grumbled, lips snarling upwards. “You can’t win without cheating, huh?”
His eyes flitted to the side, to Shane and Hayden and his own teammates who were starting to skate over as the game remained paused and the medics made their way onto the ice. Slowly. Very slowly. Good thing he wasn’t actually that hurt or else he’d probably die before they got there.
“Woah! Watch it, Rozanov, or I’ll put you through the glass for real,” he snapped back.
“Like you could, even if you tried,” Ilya huffed, shaking his head. It hurt when he did. A lot. But he ignored it. “You couldn’t even lift one of those teacup poodles if you had a purse to carry it in.”
Hayden didn’t quite remember what happened next. He knew he wasn’t the one to instigate the fight; he would never be cruel enough to attack a guy who probably had a mild concussion. Even if Rozanov was a jerk. But he also knew that standing there when one broke out was the fastest way to get labeled as the guy who didn’t stick up for his team. So, when things got heated, he went after the nearest Raider like everyone else did.
The fight migrated into the center of the rink as the benches cleared, and the rest of both teams filled the ice.
The whistles blew, like they always did when the refs were trying to get them to break it up. Their teams were torn apart, and Ilya, ever the instigator, looked worse than he did when he first stood up. For a guy who was remarkably good on his blades, he looked sort of like he didn’t know how to keep his balance, reaching for the first thing nearby to steady himself as he panted from fatigue of the rough housing.
The medic finally got there, pulling him even further away from both teams and moving back towards the sideline. He argued, of course. Loudly. But they managed to get him back off the ice and shoved him onto the bench to check his eyes. They were a bit out of it, too. Like he wasn’t able to focus as well, squinting back at the others. Ilya hung his head for a moment, shoulders slouching as he blinked dizzily and tried to keep arguing with the medic.
The teams split up, still glaring at each other as their coaches tried to get them to come back towards their side of the rink. Hayden had to shove Shane to get him to follow, too caught up in watching Rozanov curse out the medic and make some comment about an injury he had while playing in Russia once. Skating too far to hear much else of the conversation, he could only assume the man kept the badgering up since the medic stayed longer than she usually had to.
At the end of a few minutes, though, Rozanov unlaced his skates like it was a sign of defeat. He had officially been pulled from the rest of the game.
The medic squeezed his shoulder, and he brushed her off, yanking them off and leaning back on the bench like he intended to get comfortable if he was going to be stuck on it. There was only one period left, but he stared daggers at JJ for the entirety of it. Hayden was pretty sure that if Rozanov had a hit list, JJ was now at the top of it. Over everyone. Including him, Shane, and every other player he seemed to despise.
Hell, JJ might have actually been the only person on it, actually, since his injury took Boston from a 2-1 lead to a 2-3 loss in just the twenty minutes remaining.
Hayden might have felt a bit bad about it if he wasn’t too busy being happy. A horrible thing, really, but he couldn’t help it. Rozanov was so damn arrogant that he needed to lose every once in a while, to remember what it felt like. Besides, it wasn’t like his injury was that bad. It wasn’t like when Marleau broke Shane's collarbone and took him out of the entire season. This was just a bump on the head. He’d be fine by the next game they had in...where were they even playing? California, he was pretty sure.
“They’re gonna lock up with you in here, if you don’t move your ass,” Hayden muttered, back in the locker room as Shane was once again on his phone. Probably texting Lily again. The second one, that was.
He chewed on his bottom lip, glancing up. “I’m almost ready, I swear,” he replied. “Just go, I’ll meet you at the hotel later.”
“No, you won’t,” Hayden reminded him with a slight sing-songy tone, giving him a quizzical look. “Jackie, remember?” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to call her as soon as we’re out of here.”
A flicker of realization crossed his eyes as he recalled that part of their conversation. It felt like it was a lot longer than eighty or ninety minutes ago, though. “Oh, yeah, right,” he mumbled. “Uh- call her now,” he suggested. “Seriously, I’m just gonna grab my blades and be out of here right behind you.”
He nodded skeptically but turned around anyway, even though he knew there was no way he was right behind him. He still had his jersey on, for God’s sake. But it was none of his business if Shane was the slowest person alive when it came to getting his gear together after a game. He was just glad the game was over and that it ended in his favor. Even if things had gotten a bit rocky towards the end.
Pressing his phone to his ear, Hayden called his wife. She sounded worse than when he left her, congested and coughing like she’d caught the plague itself. He grimaced to himself, apologizing yet again for not being there with soup or blankets or whatever else she probably had to get herself right now. If anything, he sometimes wished she was a little less understanding. He was pretty sure she only stayed so sweet as a way to secretly make him feel worse than he already did for leaving her. Regardless, the apology slipped off his tongue and the reminder that it was fine left hers.
“You sound exhausted,” she muttered as she sniffled. “Must have been the brawl.”
Hayden huffed as he walked down the street, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Saw that, huh?” he replied fondly. “I tried not to get too involved, I swear. But Ilya and JJ got in each other's faces and, eh, you know what happened.”
She hummed, yawning softly as he shifted in bed. Rolling onto the other side wasn’t much of a change, but it felt different after she had laid on her side all day without moving. “The hit looked pretty bad, is he alright?”
“Who Rozanov? He’s got the thickest skull of anyone I know,” he retorted, hearing her yawn again as she fluffed the pillow. His pillow, if the crinkly case was any indication. “You sound pretty tired, too,” he noted. “That’s different.”
She practically always stayed up late when she got sick. Not until one or two in the morning, but sunrise. She couldn’t sleep when she was congested and even after a pound of vapor rub and a hot shower, she still claimed it was impossible to fall asleep. Not unless he rubbed her back and stayed up with her mumbling about nothing until she closed her eyes.
“Guess I am,” Jackie murmured, only just realizing it herself. “I can stay up, though.”
His forehead creased immediately. “No, no, no,” he interjected firmly. “If you’re tired, go to sleep. I’m glad you’re resting for once.” He glanced around, wondering what that left him to do. “I’m nearly back at the hotel, anyway,” he lied. “Just call me if you wake up or if your fever gets worse or if—”
“I will,” she interrupted. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Hayden heard the line go dead and let out a small breath. For once, she might actually fall asleep before the sun came up while sick. And as a bonus, he got to go back to his hotel and fall asleep early. This was shaping up to be a pretty decent night, all things considered.
Slipping the keycard into the slot, it beeped and he pushed the door of his room open. He flipped the lights on and Shane was, as expected, not there. He was probably halfway to Lily 2.0’s house by now. Heading towards the bathroom, he dropped his bag next to the sink and began peeling his shirt off. The rink had showers, sure. But he didn’t like them very much. Not as much as he enjoyed stealing as much free shampoo from the hotel as possible, at least.
He had it halfway over his ears when he heard the door open and froze in confusion. Maybe Shane hadn’t gone to see Lily 2.0 after all. Dragging his shirt back down, he glanced over his shoulder at the closed bathroom door like staring at it would help him hear better somehow.
“Wait, wait, wait. Let me check he’s not here,” Shane stated, looking around the hotel room for a moment. The beds were still made from when the maids came, there was no bag on the floor to signify anyone else had come in. They must have just left the lights on when they were leaving and he forgot about it. “Alright, c’mon. He said he’d been gone for most of the night, so you can rest here for a bit.”
Hayden grimaced, remembering his offer. In his defense, he really did think he would be out. Maybe he should have called Shane to let him know his plans had changed, but he fully believed he’d be in some uber on the way to a girl's house. There was no reason to call for that, he figured.
He contemplated making some noise in the bathroom or just walking out of it altogether. Anything that might have made sure they both knew he was, in fact, not gone. But before he could, he heard the response. It was muffled by the door, spoken softer than Shane’s words were. But he could still hear, rather distinctly, the sound of a man’s voice.
“Don’t need rest,” he murmured, sounding annoyed.
Yeah, that was definitely not Lily 2.0. That was, what, another teammate whose voice Hayden couldn’t remember through the door? Or some friend he had in the city?
“You’ve got a concussion,” Shane retorted, his voice sounding closer than it had before.
Hayden didn’t know what possessed him to be such an idiot, but before he could think it through, he grabbed his bag off the floor and jumped into the shower. God, that was stupid. Why didn’t he just admit he was here? Why was he hiding behind a curtain and holding his breath? Because it was Shane. Shane who practically never shares about his personal life or brings the people he’s friends with around unless they’re also hockey players. He literally couldn’t name a single friend Shane had outside of the sport.
The door opened and Hayden pressed himself further against the wall and tried his best not to accidentally rustle the shower curtain. His bag was on top of his feet as he stayed still, hearing the faucet of the sink turn on. The water ran for a moment, and he figured Shane was splashing his face, the way he did when he got back from a game. Even after he already showered at the rink. He was a bit neurotic about his routines like that.
“Is a small concussion,” he retorted, following Shane into the small space. “Could have played it off if medics weren’t such fear mongers.”
Hayden’s eyes widened as he heard the voice more clearly. Of course, he recognized it now that it was louder and closer. It was Rozanov. How could he not know that voice? He had heard him spew insults and chirps left and right for nearly a decade now. But that didn’t explain what he was doing in their hotel room or why Shane would ever willingly bring him here.
The closest they had ever gotten to being in the same place alone was the All-Star game several years back, and even then, Shane gave him several updates about how difficult it was to coordinate things with him, let alone actually play on the same side. Nearly every single time they were together it was for press or because they were playing on the ice. That was pretty much the extent of it.
He supposed it was because of Rozanov's injury, though. He probably couldn’t drive himself home and rather than getting an Uber, Shane was nice enough to let him crash her for a bit. Even if that went against their intuition to purposely make life harder for him at every turn, Hayden could admit it was nice of him to put their rivalry aside and help him out.
“Fear mongering?” Shane repeated with a scoff, wondering where he even learned the term. “They’re trying to make sure you don’t lose consciousness on the ice or make things worse by getting hit again.” He turned the faucet off, grabbing the towel and wiping his face down as he leaned against the sink.
“Trying to keep me from winning, you mean?” Ilya retorted with frustration. “We would have won if JJ hadn’t hit me. I swear he did it on purpose.”
Hayden nearly huffed at such a stupid accusation but quickly stifled the urge before he could give himself away. Inviting him over to let him rest was one thing, but was Shane seriously going to let him insult his own teammates in his own hotel room too?
“He did not hit you on purpose,” he defended. “And you attacked him after he helped you up, remember? If the medic didn’t bench you, starting a fight would have. You probably got the better end of the deal.”
Good, Hayden thought to himself. At least he wasn’t going to throw JJ under the bus for what was clearly an accident.
Ilya tsk’d in annoyance. “Don’t act like he didn’t take the opportunity to throw a punch,” he replied. “I saw you go after Marleau, too.”
“Well, I had to go after someone. I couldn’t just stand there why everyone was fighting and look like an idiot,” Shane responded with a shrug. “Besides, it was mild payback for him sending me to the hospital.” Not that he held any real resentment over it. It had been pretty upsetting at the time and looking back on it he was still disappointed on how the season ended. But he forgave Marleau for it. It was just how the game happened to play out, sometimes.
“He said you fight like Pomeranian,” Ilya retorted with a straight face. “Puppy mitts that barely hurt.”
“Don’t make me hit you after you’ve already gotten your skull bruised,” he stated, pushing him towards the door. “Just try to rest here for a bit, alright? I could even get room service, if you’re hungry.”
Now that was being overly nice, in Haydens opinion. Just because he felt bad over an injury didn’t mean Shane had to start being friendly with Rozanov. It was a mild concussion, after all, not a brain bleed. They left the bathroom and he let out a small sigh of relief, cautiously sticking his head out from behind the curtain. The door was most closed, just left slightly ajar.
Creeping out of the shower, he stepped towards the door to...what? What was his plan here? Honestly, he didn’t really have one. He should have told them he was here about five minutes ago, but since he hadn’t, he figured he might be stuck in here until Rozanov felt well enough to leave or until he said something bad enough that Shane’s pity wore off, and he kicked him out. Whichever came first.
He peeked out of the small slit in the door, squinting at them as Rozanov finally took his shoes off. He still looked pretty peeved about the game. Really peeved, actually.
“I don’t want room service,” Ilya grumbled, shaking his head. “I want to go home and sleep in my comfortable bed, with the nice sheets.”
Shane huffed again, rolling his eyes. “I don’t care what you want, Ilya. We’re staying here until you can track my finger without moving your entire head,” he clarified. “And for the record, my mom agrees. She saw the hit, said she hoped you take it easy.”
Hayden saw Rozanov’s eyes flit up a bit as they turned a bit gentle. Shane’s mom cared about his injuries? Now that was strange, because he was actually pretty close to her after being invited over for dinner a few times. He knew firsthand how competitive she was and how much she disliked the raiders in general. But especially Ilya.
“She did?” he wondered, softening slightly. “Yuna is sweet to worry.”
He shrugged, stepping a bit closer to Ilya. “My folks love you, you know that,” he muttered softly. “They don’t want to see you get hurt anymore than I do.” He raked his eyes over his form again, double checking for injuries. “You’re really alright?”
Ilya nodded his head, the remaining frustration at losing draining from his face. “Fine, truly,” he insisted, trying to quell his concerns. “I can prove it.”
Before Hayden knew what was happening, he saw Ilya lean in, pressing his lips to Shane. And somehow, his best friend wasn’t trying to escape it. He was actually leaning in too. His eyes widened, watching Shane rest his hand on Ilya’s chest while Ilya cupped his face.
“This proves nothing,” Shane mumbled against his lips.
“Proves I have head on straight,” he retorted, his hand sliding to the back of his head to tangle in his dark hair and keep him close. “Proves I am well enough to engage in strenuous activity despite what the stupid medics say.”
Huffing, Shane turned his head away a bit, smiling out of breath. “Nu uh,” he replied, pressing a kiss on his jaw. “It would be taking advantage of a sick man,” he teased.
“Then take advantage of me,” Ilya practically pleaded, his hands settling on Shane’s hips and squeezing them. “I give you permission to.”
Hayden was torn. Actually, he felt like his brain was being shredded into pieces as shock and disgust warred within him. He couldn’t decide how to feel or what to think. Not really. On one hand, he wanted to look away, throw up, and pretend he never saw this. On the other hand, he wanted know how far Shane would let things get and for that matter, why the fuck he hadn’t pushed him away already.
And then, of course, there was a sliver of him that also wanted to knock Rozanov’s teeth out. He couldn’t really explain the reason for it, though. It was just kind of a persistent thought that always lingered.
Shane chuckled and it...sounded genuinely happy Hayden for some reason. “I’d say we could keep kissing, but I know you Rozy,” he jested, shaking his head. “In two minutes, you’d be trying to get in my pants.”
He furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at him. He slid his thumb through the belt loop, fingers grazing the material gently. “They’re nice pants,” he retorted. “Look better when they’re on the floor, though.”
Hayden grimaced, his mind still reeling. Was he insane or was Shane kind of into this right now? Ilya Rozanov, the infamous ladies' man was holding him so close their chests were touching and he seemed totally content with it. Was he...no, Shane couldn’t be. He would know if his best friend liked guys. Wouldn’t he? That seemed like the type of thing that would come up at some point, even if he wanted to keep it low-key.
“Yeah, they should look nice, they’re like $200 or something,” Shane joked, reaching to run his hand through Ilya’s hair. “And if you didn’t look so bleary-eyed, I’d already have you in bed. But you look like you need rest, not sex.”
Okay, so that sounded like intimacy was something that was on the table for him. Or...maybe had already happened. Hayden had never heard him speak with such conviction about something sexual before, casually implying he’d gladly hop into bed with Rozanov. Hell, he acted like the injury was almost an inconvenience to it, like that had been their plan.
“What do you know about rest Mr. Tried to go jogging with broken collarbone?” he retorted with a reminder of his own behavior. “Am fine, I told you that three times before we even left the stadium.”
Shane let out another huff, leaning up to press another kiss to his lips. This one was quicker. Chaste, even. Ilya tried to chase it, stepping forward as he pulled back like he wanted another one, but Shane broke apart fully and sat down on the edge of the bed. “How many fingers?” he questioned, raising three of them.
Ilya scrunched his face with annoyance, staring at them for a moment before looking away. “Is not relevant,” he insisted, glancing back at him with defeat. “You’re really not to going to let me kiss you tonight?” he muttered with a pout that no one else could ever pull from him. “Is that punishment for not being careful on ice?”
Hayden had certainly never seen it. He looked almost like a puppy who just had his favorite toy taken away. Like he wasn’t just trying to seduce him but actually wanted him to want to make out or, heaven forbid, do more than that.
“I never said that,” he clarified, scooting to the back of the bed. “Just need you to take care of yourself better when I’m not here to do it for you.” He rested against the headboard and patted his leg like it was a silent invitation. “I don’t know what I’d do if you...if I ever saw you really hurt.”
Hayden found his legs, once stiff even if they were losing feeling, wobbling under him. He sank down to the floor, sitting on the tile as he watched Ilya laid down on of top of Shane between his legs. He rested his head on his stomach, drawing circles on the side of Shane’s leg.
Ilya hummed, face hardening at the comment. “It is hard,” he admitted. “Seeing you in the hospital was...ad dlya menya.”
The Russian caught Hayden off guard, but what was even worse was the implication that Ilya had visited Shane in the hospital. That had been years ago. Three of them. So, just how long had they been...not enemies? Since the accident? Longer?
“Ad dlya menya,” Shane mumbled, his pronunciation fairly good. “Hell for you?” he wondered as his hand found his way into Ilya’s hair, fussing with the curls lightly.
He raised his head a bit, nodding. “Your Russian is getting better,” he praised earnestly, enjoying it a little too much.
“Not really, you just swear a lot,” Shane retorted with a playful smile. Ilya huffed and laid his head back down, nuzzling it against his shirt. “But one day, I’m going to learn enough to understand that call you made when your father passed away.”
Ilya inhaled sharply at the thought. At one point, he had been terrified of that exact scenario. Worried that he’d run his words through some app and hear him confess things he would have never told anyone else. But that was a long time ago and now, well, the thought almost seemed comforting. “You could just ask,” he replied, smoothing his hand up and down his thigh. “I would tell you anything.”
Something about how quiet he said it or perhaps just how simply the words feel off his lips made Hayden believe him. That he actually would tell Shane things he’d tell no one else. He was already doing that, wasn’t he? Just by being in this room with him, by holding him like that, by telling him that it hurt to see him injured. That wasn’t the kind of stuff that happened if this was just some weird hookup. It was the sort of thing that occurred between people who really cared about each other. Maybe, even loved each other.
Shane’s lips quirked into a smile. “I know, but I- I kind of want to figure you out on my own,” he confessed. He always felt this strange sort of pride each time he was able to peel back another layer of Ilya’s harsh exterior. Each time he learned something, he knew no one else did.
“You’ve been figuring me out since before we were rookies,” he retorted, tone filled with fondness and nostalgia. “Don’t you think that’s long enough?”
Rookies? The word stole the very little sanity Hayden had left and ran off with it before he could even try to get a grip. They were fucking rookies when whatever this was had started. Before Hayden had even met Shane. That was nearly a decade of yelling at each other the ice, of hearing his team talk shit about the Radiers, and...God, they really did throw around some slurs in the locker rooms, didn’t they? They used this—being attracted to another man—as an insult. But looking at them, Haydens stomach lurched with a feeling of guilt and something remarkably close to appreciation. They looked comfortable with each other, something he could honestly never say he had seen from Shane.
He shook his head. “I wanna figure you out forever. In English and in Russian.” Maybe even French, too, if Ilya ever actually spoke it. He tried once and when Shane let out a chuckle, he swore he’d never do it again. Still, he knew there was still a language app on his phone that he spent time on whenever he had a long flight. “Eto i yest' lyubov', ne tak li?”
Ilya hummed softly. “Da, eto,” he responded. “Your pronunciation is much better than you think,” he assured him.
“I wish I could see where you grew up,” Shane admitted. “Not just for the Olympics, but actually see it, you know? Where you first started skating, where you’d go after school. I wish I could bring flowers to your mom and tell her...tell her that she did a great job of raising you and I’m trying to take care of you for her.”
“I wish we could, too,” he confessed, feeling like it was a bit of an oxymoron. “Is horrible place in some ways but...also home, you know? It can be beautiful, especially under blankets snow. Mama always said that when things got quieter, she could hear her thoughts better. Hear...peace.”
Shane hummed, his hand stilling in Ilya’s hair. “Do you really think you can leave it permanently one day?” he wondered quietly, sounding hesitant.
There was silence for a moment, and Hayden nearly fell through the small slit in the door as he tried to lean forward to hear better. He knew Russia could be harsh in its laws, that they weren’t in any rush to legalize gay marriage and still actively tried to discourage this kind of behavior. As awful as he knew it was, he kind of assumed Ilya was the same way. Maybe because he talked shit about everything so often or because he always tried to act proud of his home country, but he couldn’t imagine a world in which Ilya Rozanov was attracted to men.
And now, Ilya was seriously contemplating leaving Russia? For Shane of all reasons? That wasn’t just love, that was a level of devotion he didn’t know the man had for anything other than hockey.
“I could leave, yes,” Ilya admitted, rolling over to look up at Shane from where he laid in his lap. “For you.”
He would miss a lot of things, admittedly. But home never felt much like home for him, anymore. Not since he admitted to being in love with Shane. Since then, it just felt like where he lived. It was haunted with memories of his mother and father. His brother, too. And as much as it hurt to think he might never see her grave again, never visit or bring flowers that would wilt from the cold, he believed she would accept this decision. She would probably encourage it.
Shane blew out a small breath of relief, bending over to kiss Ilya upside-down. “I’d make it worth it,” he promised.
“I know you would,” he replied, pushing himself up and turning to kiss him properly. “And I think...home has shifted for me. Home is you. So, leaving Russia won’t hurt as bad as it would have years ago.” Back then, he wouldn’t have had anywhere to go. But now, he had someone to fall back on. And he had Yuna and David, too. They would take care of him as they had since they first learned about their relationship. “Not that we have to worry about it, yet. Whole world still loses its mind over a player smiling at a waiter.”
He grimaced a bit, remembering the poor Panther goalie who was getting backlash over a stupid picture that didn’t even confirm anything. “Yeah, we’d probably stay in headlines for months,” he mumbled, shaking his head at the thought.
Hayden thought back to the photo, to the number of comments from news channels and magazine companies. If that was how the public responded to the rumors of someone liking a man, he couldn’t imagine how horrible the backlash would be for two top players to actually be in a relationship with each other. No wonder Shane was always so tight lipped, never talking about his love life and pretending to hook up with girls to make it seem like he was straight.
“Longer than months,” Ilya assumed, settling back down against him. He wasn’t usually the one to be doted on, preferring to hold Shane instead of vice versa, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice. That he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy the way he was fussing his hair and kissing the top of his head. “Probably have to hide at cottage until they forgot about us.”
Shane chuckled slightly. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he admitted. “A full year with you instead of hotel rooms and half the night visits when we play near each other. It’d be nice.” He loved the few weeks he got after the season ended, but it never felt long enough anymore. Maybe it never did in the first place, if he was being honest.
“Tell me again,” he suddenly insisted rather firmly. “About our hypothetical future. I like hearing it.”
They shifted and Shane reached for one of the blankets, draping it over them. “Well, we’d play for the same team, obviously,” he replied. “Travel together, win together. No more commentators talking about which one of us is better because we’re a package deal.” Ilya hummed in agreement, closing his eyes. “And after we win a few more cups, we’d retire. We’d focus on helping other kids who feel like no one sees them, the way we felt.”
“Mama would love it,” Ilya murmured sleepily, pulling the blanket up a bit higher.
“And you’d propose, because if I got down on one knee before you did you would be insulted,” he went on. “My mom would want to walk with you, down the aisle. She told me so. I think that’d be...exactly how it should happen...”
Hayden swallowed harshly, picturing it himself. Shane sounded so sure of it, like they’d discussed it before. Frequently. That this was the way they wanted their future to work out if they could have everything they ever wished for. A future where they were able to be seen in public without having to bite each other's heads off, where they could teach other kids to skate, where they could change the NHL to be more inclusive. It was picturesque.
And Hayden, he wanted that too. For them and for every other player who might secretly not feel like they fit.
Gently shifting, he turned and rested his back on the wall in the bathroom. He knew he’d have to stay camped out in in for a while. At least a few more hours, maybe longer. That was his fault for not being honest enough to just tell Shane he had changed his plans. But oddly enough, he wasn't as annoyed by the thought as he had been a few minutes ago.
He leaned his head back, listening to Shane describe their dreams with an almost wistful tone in his voice.
He listened to the soft hums of agreement Ilya gave every once in a while and the click of the lamp as the lights went out. He listened to the murmuring getting softer and softer, until it was barely a whisper. He listened to them fall asleep as his brain finally made sense of what his heart and intuition had already come to terms with—that Ilya loved Shane and Shane loved Ilya back. And more importantly, he was totally alright with it.