Chapter Text
"Uh-huh," J.J. said. "You want to tell me the truth now?"
Shane frowned at the shirt he'd just folded, then shook it out and began folding it again. Part of him wanted to tell J.J. everything. Part of him needed to tell him. Needed to tell the whole world because having to hide suddenly felt so fucking unfair. Shane wasn't sure he could tell him, but he could tell him something. "It's nothing. I got some texts from...from Ilya. Rozanov."
"I know which Ilya," J.J. said with amusement.
"He sent them when the plane was...when he thought they were going to crash."
A heavy silence filled the room, giving Shane a moment to realize how weird that must have sounded to J.J. Ilya thought he was about to die, so he'd texted Shane.
"He, um—" Shane started, but how on earth could he explain without admitting everything? "He's—"
Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He was so fucking tired of lying. He could be grieving right now. If that plane had crashed, J.J. would be sitting in Shane's hotel room right now watching him fall apart completely. There would have been no way Shane could have hidden his agony.
-from The Long Game, chapter 25
"He's what?" J.J. asked, after about thirty seconds of silence. He took the shirt out of Shane's hands and put it in his suitcase.
It wasn't in the right place. Shane moved it. "He's. Ilya. Um." He took a breath. Another. "My boyfriend. Ilya is my boyfriend."
"Sorry," J.J. said in French. He put his coffee cup down, very carefully, like he didn't trust himself to keep holding it. "I think my English is bad right now. Because it sounded like you said Ilya Rozanov is your boyfriend."
"That is what I said." Boyfriend was an inadequate word for what Ilya was to him, but if he said more, he worried it would all spill out, the whole ugly mess of feelings he was barely keeping in. So he pressed his lips together and he sat on the bed and looked down at his lap and waited.
He didn't have to wait long before J.J. sat down next to him. "Well, this is embarrassing," J.J. said. "For me, I mean. Also for you, because your taste in men is horrible, but mostly for me. I knew you had a crush on him, but—"
"You what?" Shane was glad he hadn't had any of the coffee. His heart was going to explode even without caffeine. "Oh, god. Does everyone—?"
"Hey, no." J.J. bumped him, shoulder to shoulder. "I don't think anybody else noticed. Seriously, I was so proud of myself for like, figuring it out. What a fucking dumbass, huh? Boyfriends, really? Fuck, man, I was all heartbroken for you and everything."
Shane surprised himself laughing. "Heartbroken, really?"
"I thought you had a crush on a straight man! Why do you think I kept trying to set you up?" J.J. laughed too, and then abruptly stopped. "Shit. Is Rozanov going to murder me?"
Shane rolled his eyes. "He's a hockey player, not a hitman."
"My friend, I am aware that your professional nemesis is a hockey player." J.J. leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "Buddy. Buddy. I can't believe you're dating Ilya Rozanov. Like, the scandal—couldn't you have gone for someone like Hunter's guy?"
Of course Shane had thought about it. There was an alternate universe where he could have fallen in love with a nice man from Montreal, but whenever he did he felt so sorry for that other Shane, who didn't have Ilya and all the ways he was the only person who could possibly be right for Shane. Ilya was gentle when Shane needed him to be and forceful when Shane needed that and sexy basically always. Ilya was an asshole in a way that was funny and gave Shane freedom to be an asshole too. Ilya was the only person in the entire world who could handle the way Shane was too much, too intense, felt too hard, and still wanted all of him, gave it all back just as hard. And Shane could have lost him.
"No," Shane said. "He's it for me."
"Are you sure?" J.J. held his hands up in response to Shane's glare. "Okay, man, it's just that I was going to introduce you to Jonathan Bailey after the playoffs and you do not understand the favors I had to call in to get that guy's number. We had a great talk! Dude thinks you're a smokeshow."
"Jonathan Bailey?"
"Shane, buddy, surely even you—"
"No, I know who Jonathan Bailey is, I'm just wondering what made you think—"
"Well, after you turned down that very handsome personal trainer I found you, I remembered the only person you ever dated was Rose Landry. I thought, 'Ah, J.J., perhaps you are stupid: he's Shane fucking Hollander after all, so maybe only famous gorgeous actors meet his ridiculously high standards.'"
"Huh," Shane said. "I guess my standards are pretty strict. Must be Ilya Rozanov."
J.J. tilted his head, then huffed out an almost-laugh, more air than sound, and finally grinned a huge, shit-eating grin. "Oh, I just got it! He's about as close as you can come to straight-up dating hockey, isn't he?"
Shane shoved him, feeling like he could finally breathe again. Grateful and a little dizzy with the sudden rush of oxygen after the lack of it. "Fuck off, man."
"No actors! No personal trainers! Only Stanley Cup winners for you!" J.J. cackled, flopping backwards onto the bed. "Poor guys don't have an MVP between them. Not even a measly Art Ross! Not a single Rocket Richard!"
Shane reached out and snagged a pillow and whacked J.J. with it. "Dude, shut up," he said, but he found that he was smiling. Ilya was the only guy in the entire league with a trophy cabinet to rival his, and he was Shane's.
And he could have died.
Shane stood up, walked back over to his suitcase, and opened up his toiletry bag. Toothpaste, check. Toothbrush, check. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, face wash—
"Hey," J.J. said, soft and concerned. "He's okay."
"He almost wasn't," Shane said. He zipped the toiletry bag shut again, surprised his hands weren't shaking. "The plane was on fucking fire, J.J."
J.J. crossed the room and put a hand on Shane's shoulder. "I know, and that's scary, but they landed safely and—"
"He could have died, and nobody would have known I love him! He could have died, and I would have had to pretend that he was just—barely even a friend and not—he's the love of my fucking life, and nobody fucking knows."
"Hey," J.J. said again. "I know now. And you must have told somebody else, right?" J.J. looked horribly sad at the idea that Shane might have been carrying this alone, and he didn't even know how long Shane had been doing it for.
"My parents know. Rose—she basically told me I was gay. Hayden and Jackie. Oh, and Ryan Price walked in on us at camp." It was such a tiny handful of people. It wasn't enough. If Ilya had died— "It's not enough."
There was a flash of something on J.J.'s face—hurt, maybe?—before he clapped his hands together and asked, "Okay, what's the plan, then?"
"The plan? What?" Shane blinked at the abrupt turn the conversation had taken.
"I know you, man. You have a plan."
Shane realized a plan had in fact been brewing this entire time in the back of his mind, or at least a goal was. "I'm going to ask him to marry me."
"Shit, really? That's huge, dude!"
Shane smiled. It was, but so was how necessary Ilya was to Shane's life. It seemed stupid and wrong to keep pretending he was anything less. "Yeah. So I need to figure that out."
"I'll help," J.J. offered, and then seemed to stall out. "Sooo…I have no experience proposing. But you know who does?"
Obviously Shane knew who J.J. meant, but Hayden wasn't on the road trip because he was down with the flu. Shane reminded J.J. of this.
"He still has a phone and is probably bored. If you think about it, we're saving him from that," J.J. said, and immediately called Hayden, because he was a monster and refused to text like a reasonable person.
Shane had three rings to fantasize about escaping whatever this was before Hayden let him down horribly by picking up.
"Whaaa—'sHaydenwhooosit?"
"Hayd, wake up, man, you're on speaker."
"Huh? 'm up. Yeah. Wha's goinon?"
"I've got two pieces of bad news for you," J.J. said gleefully. "First, Ilya Rozanov is still alive."
"Ugh," Hayden said. (Hayden had actually called to check on Shane once he'd found out about the emergency landing, and had even sent some very sweet texts to Ilya, though it was obvious he'd been loopy on cold medicine. Ilya had texted Shane the screenshots and claimed he was saving them forever as blackmail. Shane knew he was actually touched.)
Still, Hayden was keeping up appearances and Shane could too. "Man, fuck you both."
J.J. brought the phone closer to his mouth, and in a low, movie-announcer voice, said, "Brace yourself, my friend."
"Braced!"
"I hate you," Shane said.
J.J. just smiled and continued as if Shane hadn't said anything at all. "Our buddy here is going to make an honest man out of him."
"Really?"
"Really," Shane said.
"Oh, wow." Hayden sounded choked up, but maybe that was just the illness. "I'm so happy for you. That's—wow. I'm so fucking happy for you." There was loud sniffle. "I mean, when I pictured this day I imagined you with some really sweet guy who works for a charity or something—"
"We literally started a charity together—"
"—who really loves animals—"
"You have met his dog. The abandoned dog he adopted. The abandoned dog he adopted that he takes to the spa—"
"—but this is better. You're good for each other. I mean that."
"Thanks, man," Shane said. "That means a lot."
Hayden sniffled and blew his nose loudly. "If Rozanov asks, I said you were too good for him."
Shane laughed. "He would be completely unbearable if I told him you cried." It came out embarrassingly fond, but he found he didn't mind. How could he? He'd get Ilya, obnoxious and beautiful, for the rest of his life, and J.J. was still here, still grinning conspiratorially at Shane, while Hayden cried with happiness for him over the phone.
"Okay," Hayden said, after a last loud sniffle. "What's your proposal plan?"
"Ilya told me he wanted to propose on the dock at the cottage with like, a ton of candles, so maybe something like that?" Shane asked, thinking it through out loud. "It's obviously too cold to do it outside like that, but I could probably set something up in his house."
"Dude," J.J. said, "you're stealing your man's thunder and his proposal?"
"I'm not stealing his proposal! I'm taking his idea and doing it better."
"You know I'm on your side," Hayden said, "but I'm not sure you can beat a thousand candles under a starry sky."
Shane crossed his arms. "The candles will be electric which means they are not a fire hazard and the proposal will be indoors which means nobody is getting bitten on the ass by a mosquito."
"I have questions about that, and I want answers to none of them," J.J. said. "Though actually I do want an answer to this one: are you sure stealing his idea is the way to go? Like, you want him to say yes, right, not piss him off? He would be an idiot to say no either way, of course. He's never doing better than you."
Shane decided to ignore how that loyalty made him feel. He was not losing the high ground to tease Hayden for crying during this conversation by crying too. "Nah, he'll think it's sweet that I remembered. Then later, he'll be all, 'Hollander, you are a thief,' and we get to argue about it for the next fifty years."
"…and that's a good thing?"
Shane rolled his eyes. "Obviously."
"Hayden," J.J. whispered, not even a little bit quietly, "is this how they are together?"
"You get used to it," Hayden said, with the long-suffering tones he used when talking about his children's recent tantrums. Offensive. Shane and Ilya were a delight. His parents said so. "Sort of."
After that, they talked logistics: how many candles, where Shane would buy them, who would help Shane set them up, what Shane was going to wear, where Shane would buy the ring—
"Wait," Hayden said, "if Rozanov was going to propose, do you even know his ring size? Like, I assume he hasn't been sending you links to rings or writing his ring size on a post-it and sticking it on your wallet."
Shane resisted the urge to pull his wallet out and check, just in case, but of course Ilya hadn't done that. As far as Ilya knew, Shane still wanted to wait for retirement to get married. As far as Ilya knew, Shane still wanted to wait for retirement to let anybody know about them at all. Well, Shane was going to fix that. Except: "Fuck. No, I don't."
"Some gay guys propose with watches," J.J. said. "You've got that Rolex hookup. I bet you could get him something really amazing."
"That's not a thing," Hayden said. "Is it?"
"No, man, it's like gay culture," J.J. insisted. "You know how many gay dudes I talked to trying to find a guy for Shane? I have so many gay friends now. I've been learning shit."
"It doesn't matter anyway," Shane said. "I'm getting him a ring." There was something about it, the idea of Ilya wearing Shane's ring, the thought that anybody would only need to look at those gorgeous hands of his to know that someone had locked him down. That Shane had. Yeah, Shane was getting him a ring.
"Well, you definitely need his ring size for that, buddy," Hayden said.
Shane sighed. "I could just guess?"
"Definitely do not do that," J.J. said.
Hayden blew his nose again, and said, "I don't know why you can't just ask him for his ring size. It's a normal thing to talk about if you know you're getting married eventually."
"Hayden, where is your sense of romance?" J.J. heckled. "Poor Jackie."
"Yeah, Hayden, where's your sense of romance?"
"Man, I don't want to hear it from either of you," Hayden said. "But whatever! Don't take my very good advice! Figure out some other way to get his ring size."
"You could measure it in his sleep," J.J. suggested. "I know some guys who've done that."
Shane shook his head. That wouldn't work. "I need to have this ready before he gets home. I need to be engaged to him as soon as I can. I don't want to wait a second more."
"Well, shit," Hayden said. "That is romantic."
J.J.'s joyful laugh boomed through the room. "Of course it is! Shane has to be the best at everything, makes sense he'd be the best at romance, too."
"Ugh," Shane said, "I'm barely even a decent boyfriend. How do I not know his ring size?"
"Hey," Hayden said, "don't say that about my best friend. Why would you know? You thought he was going to propose. It was going to be his job to figure out your ring size, not yours to figure out his."
"And anyway I have a solution," J.J. said. "We just need one of the Centaurs to sneak his ring size for you. Wyatt's a great guy, he would probably do it."
Shane frowned. "What explanation can I give Wyatt Hayes for why I want Ilya Rozanov's ring size?"
J.J. clearly had no answer, and it was silent until Hayden's voice came from the phone, tentatively, saying, "Friendship rings?"
"Friendship rings," Shane repeated.
"Man, you don't need to sound so judgy," Hayden said, "my brain is literally cooking right now. Is there anybody you'd trust with the real reason?"
Shane thought about it, and then sighed. "Ugh. Troy Barrett, I guess."
"I'm sorry, did you say Troy fucking Barrett? I get that he's turned over a new leaf or whatever, but on the list of Centaurs most likely to call your man a slur, he's at the top." J.J. paused, clearly working his way through what he knew about Ilya's team, which given the way he socialized was probably a lot. "He's the only guy on the fucking list! Noted homophobe Troy Barrett. That's your pick?"
Shane sighed again. "Ilya said he's not a bad guy."
J.J. opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again to say, "I would like credit for the restraint I am showing in this moment."
"Me too," Hayden said. "Credit for me also!"
"You guys are the worst," Shane said. "But yes. Troy Barrett. Who is an okay person, apparently."
J.J. laughed. "Do you want to try saying that again without sounding like you want to stab someone?"
"I don't want to stab— He and Ilya are friends or whatever."
"Oh my god," J.J. said, sounding way too amused, "are you jealous?"
Maybe Shane still was, a little bit, even with Ilya's delighted updates about the Troy-and-Harris situation. He was jealous of every single Centaur, honestly, for getting to see Ilya nearly every day. But he wasn't going to admit that. "No! Fuck off."
"Good," Hayden said, "because that would be stupid. The man moved to Ottawa for you."
"Holy shit," J.J. said. "Holy fucking shit. You're the hottie who locked Fuckboy Rozanov down. You have no idea how much talk there's been about what kind of absolute sex demon could make him stop hooking up, and then the move to fucking Ottawa…this is amazing. My buddy. My friend. You're the Canadian sex freak!"
Shane covered his face with his hands. "Kill me now," he said, though secretly he did feel a bit smug. Take that, Troy Barrett.
"Kill me," Hayden groaned. "I don't want to be thinking about that."
J.J.'s smile softened into something more sincere. "Ilya Rozanov is playing on the Centaurs for you, man. He really loves you, huh?"
"He does," Shane said. Ilya had chosen him over hockey, over a city and team he knew, over everything. "I just hope I'm worth it."
"Buddy," J.J. said, looking incredulous. "Obviously you are! You're Shane Motherfucking Hollander."
Shane smiled. "Ilya says that too."
"Fuck, I'm going to have to like that guy, aren't I?"
"Welcome to the club," Hayden said. "It sucks!" He then descended into a bout of coughing that sounded really gross.
"Okay, I think we've got the plan sorted," Shane said. "Get some rest, Hayden."
"Yes, Captain," Hayden teased. "Good luck."
After Hayden hung up, J.J. asked, "Do you want me to stick around while you ask Barrett? Just in case you need me to punch him through the phone for you?"
"That would be nice," Shane said, though he doubted Troy would say anything awful. Still, it was just so amazing that J.J. knew and wanted to hang around that Shane couldn't help wanting to bask in it a little. He'd let the deepest truth of himself out and his friends were still his friends. "Thanks."
He sat back down on the bed and J.J. sat next to him in silent support. Shane pulled up Wyatt Hayes's contact and sent, Hey Wyatt. I heard about the plane and hope you and the rest of the guys are ok. Sorry if this is weird but I was wondering if I could get Troy Barrett's number. I'd ask Roz but it's for a surprise for him.
Wyatt replied almost immediately, thanking Shane for checking in and saying that things had been pretty scary but everyone was good. He sent Shane a contact card for Barrett and asked, Do I get to find out what the surprise is?
Thanks, Shane texted back. And eventually. Then, feeling daring, he added a :) to which Wyatt responded with a thumbs up.
"Okay," Shane said. "I have Troy's number."
J.J. held his hand out for a fist bump. "You've got this."
Shane opened up the contact and changed the name to Troy Barrett (Centaurs #17).
Hey, Shane sent, it's Shane Hollander. I got your number from Wyatt. Sorry for texting you out of nowhere. If it's not too weird I have a favour to ask.
Like Wyatt, Troy replied immediately, but Shane supposed that after what they'd been through it made sense for the Centaurs to be attached to their phones. Hi. What's the favour?
It wasn't until after he'd gotten Troy's agreement and sworn him to secrecy and somehow given his permission for Harris to assist that Shane realized he hadn't asked how Troy was doing.
I worry I'm getting less polite, Shane sent to Ilya.
Oh, no, Ilya replied. They will kick you out of Canada?
Here I thought you'd want to know you were rubbing off on me, Shane sent, and then added, DON'T, fully aware that Ilya would take it as an invitation. Sure enough, Shane's phone buzzed again and again and again as Ilya's texts rolled in.
"That Barrett?" J.J. asked, clearly wondering why Shane was ignoring his phone. "Is he being an asshole?"
Shane smiled. "No, it's Ilya. Sometimes it's fun to wind him up and watch him go."
"I'm enjoying these hidden depths of yours," J.J. said, sounding impressed. "And if you took the time to do that, I'm guessing it went well with Barrett?"
Shane unlocked his phone to check if he had anything from Troy yet, but all he saw were dozens of texts from Ilya. "Yeah, he said he'd try his best." Actually, Troy had said, I won't let you down, but it felt almost braggy to share now that J.J. knew about Ilya, the loyalty Ilya inspired that was implied in that one line. Or maybe it was a totally normal thing to say. Shane was not a good judge of normal when it came to Ilya Rozanov.
"That's good," J.J. said. He was still sitting next to Shane, but now he was fiddling with his own phone, clicking the screen on and off, awkward in a way Shane had never really seen him before.
Shane took his chance to be the emotionally supportive friend for once. "Everything okay?"
"Feel free to tell me to fuck off," J.J. said, uncharacteristically hesitant. And he'd switched to French, so Shane knew he was serious. "Really. I know it's not about me. But can I ask what I did that made you feel you could tell Hayden before me?"
Oh. Shane hadn't even considered J.J. would think that, but of course he had.
"Nothing," Shane said. "I mean, I didn't tell him before you. He figured it out on his own."
J.J. exhaled a huge relieved sigh, and then said, "Hayden figured it out. Hayden figured it out and I did not. This is a dark day for J.J."
"I'm sorry, this is a dark day for you? I almost—Ilya almost—"
J.J. saved him from having to say it, leaning into his dramatics, and Shane, gratefully, let himself be distracted. "Ah, but he did not! Meanwhile, what did happen is me learning Hayden figured out you and Rozanov were together when I thought you were in doomed love with a straight man—"
"Fuck you, dude, doomed love? What happened to crush? No dignity for hypothetical Shane, huh?"
"Buddy, your type is ragebait on skates, actual Shane has no dignity."
Shane knew J.J. was only joking, that he wouldn't have agreed to help Shane with his proposal if he really thought Ilya was bad for him, but Shane felt the need to defend his choice anyway. Maybe because he actually could. Saying anything about how good Ilya was to him or how he made Shane feel safe to be himself was too much right now, when he was still barely holding it together, but he could still say something that was true. "He's good at hockey."
"Ilya Rozanov is good at—whatever, man. You know, Scott Hunter is also good at hockey."
"Ehh," Shane said, before he could stop himself.
J.J. laughed so hard he bent over, clutching at his stomach. "That's your first objection? Not that he's married? It's that Scott Hunter, Stanley Cup-winning captain, MVP, is not good at hockey?"
"Obviously he's fine," Shane said, crossing his arms, "but he's not Ilya or me."
J.J. studied him for a while, and then said, "Why do I get the feeling you would homewreck the hell out of Rozanov's marriage? Whoa, stop trying to kill me with your eyes, dude, this is clearly a hypothetical universe!"
"I'm the one who's locking him down," Shane said. "In this and every universe."
"You already locked him down, buddy," J.J. reminded him. "You're just making it official." Then he grinned. "I still can't believe it. My best bro Shane Hollander, the legendary Canadian sex freak."
"Fuck off," Shane said. "I don't know why I'm even friends with you."
J.J. smirked. It probably said something horrible about Shane that he surrounded himself with so many smirky people. "Eh, maybe because without me you would have bought a ring without knowing your man's ring size?"
"Fuck you, I would not!" Shane was sure of it.
"Sure, buddy," J.J. said, and then stood up. "I'm gonna go call Wyatt and check in on him. You're good here?"
"Yeah," Shane said, and found that it was mostly true. "Thanks."
J.J. opened his arms for a hug, and Shane stood and stepped into it. It was a really good hug.
Then J.J. walked out the door and Shane opened his phone to go through Ilya's messages.
I remember the last time you rubbed off on me, Shane read as he settled back onto the bed. You always look so good when…