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Really, when Hayden thought about it, this was all Yuna’s fault. 

Shane’s mother had told them the photoshoot would only take a couple of hours. Shane would leave the cottage at some unholy hour of the morning, spend a couple of hours posing for some esoteric men’s health magazine and maybe shoot a commercial or two, then drive back to the cottage, pick up Rozanov, and then all three of them would be back in civilization by the evening. Shane and Rozanov at their charity gala, and Hayden on the way to his wife and kids in Montreal; in his own, comfortable car, alone. 

He groaned and leaned his head on the steering wheel. The horn blared across the gravel driveway, scaring a few birds from where they’d been roosting in a tree. Hayden didn’t care. 

This is why you don’t make your mother your manager, he thought bitterly. You can’t say no to them. 

“Are you trying to scare away all the animals? Have to assert dominance over bears, yes?” Rozanov’s grating voice sounded from behind the car, shouting over the blast of the horn. 

Hayden sighed and looked up. Rozanov was glaring at him in the side mirror, in a stupid backwards hat and sunglasses, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Hayden refused to help him bring his stuff out. He was a grown man, and a professional athlete, and unlike Shane, Hayden was not a valet service. 

“Just get in the car, Rozanov,” Hayden grumbled. 

Rozanov threw his bag into the back seat and slammed the door shut with a bang. He sat down heavily in the passenger seat beside Hayden, aggressively clicking the seatbelt over him. As aggressively as one could fasten a seatbelt. “You have tinted windows, correct?” 

Hayden didn’t respond. 

“Just want to make sure nobody recognizes me in this…” 

“It’s a Honda CRV,” Hayden snapped. “It’s a good, reliable car, great for families. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.” 

Rozanov grunted, but didn’t bite back. Hayden wanted to eat sand. 

He stared at the long, empty driveway, and didn’t start the car. Damn it, Shane. “Did you lock the door?” 

“Yes, I locked door.” 

“And checked that the blinds were down and everything?” 

“Yes.” 

“And made sure to bring the trash with us? Shane said he didn’t want animals getting into-” 

“Yes, Pike, I am not stupid, I own multiple homes. Can we go now? I have places to be, and I am not the one who spent twenty minutes arguing on the phone.” 

Hayden sent him a withering look, but started the car anyway. Shane was going to owe him big for this. Maybe he’d overreacted a little on the phone, but that was fine. It wasn’t like he was joining their team or anything, but still, it felt a little like consorting with the enemy. What if somebody recognized them in a car together? Would they ask questions about why the hell Hayden Pike was driving around Muskoka with Ilya Rozanov? Oh god, what if someone thought they were in some kind of doping scandal? Or what if they pieced together their location, and found out about Shane? Hayden didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he was the reason their secret got out. He loved Shane too much for that, even if his taste in men was questionable at best. Okay, it was downright deplorable. Hayden could have taken it if Lily was, like, a stripper or something. Shane would be the type to fall in love with a stripper. He would have been kind, understanding, he would have talked to Shane about it, helped him understand. He would have understood if Lily had been another famous actress or singer, where it made sense to hide their relationship. Or an actor. Hayden genuinely couldn’t give less of a fuck that Shane was gay.

It was the Ilya Rozanov part that he couldn’t wrap his head around. The same Ilya Rozanov that was now in his passenger seat making fun of Hayden for using his turn signal to turn out of the driveway onto an empty road without another car in sight. Sue Hayden for practicing safe driving habits. 

This was going to be the longest drive of his life.

***

“I’m telling you one more time, it’s only, like, two and a half hours,” Shane had argued on the phone earlier, while Hayden was shoving his overnight bag back together. 

“Isn’t there anybody else who can drive him?” Hayden had pleaded. 

“My Dad’s in Montreal, and my Mom’s here with me, and you’re the only other one who knows. Besides, you’re right there, Hayden. They don’t know how long they’re gonna keep me here, it would be suspicious if I said no, and we’ve gotta be back by six tonight. I’m asking as a friend.” 

“I am also here, you know,” Rozanov chimed in. “Hello Shane. Pike does not want to drive me in his car because he knows I am better driver than him, and he will be very embarrassed that he cannot, how do you say it, park between two cars?” 

“Of course I can fucking parallel park,” Hayden grumbled. “I don’t want to drive him because he takes every opportunity to fling insults at me like a five year old. I have enough children, Shane.” 

“Good, you should be used to it, then,” said Shane curtly from the phone, and Rozanov grinned. 

Hayden put his face in his hands. He made a show of dragging them down dramatically. “Ugh, fine. But you owe me. You owe me, so, so hard. And Rozanov is paying for the extra gas to get to Ottawa.” 

“What, they don’t pay you in Montreal to play hockey? Makes sense, you are probably losing them money. They spend all their budget on beautiful star centre. Then they have to hire cheap, slow players for everyone else.” 

“Like Ottawa pays you any better,” Hayden withered, glaring at Rozanov. “Remind me which one of us plays for the third worst team in the league?” 

Rozanov shrugged. “Third is not last.” 

“Enough, both of you,” Shane snapped. “I’ve got to get back to this, I swear, Mom’s gonna kill me. Hayden, I promise I’ll babysit for you and Jackie all next week. Hell, all season. I’ll even buy you guys a fancy date night dinner or something.” 

“No date night dinner for me?” Rozanov gasped mockingly. 

“Just go with him, Ilya,” Shane groaned. “He’s not going to kill you. He’s fine with us, remember? Just - you know what, whatever. I’ll see you tonight. I love you. Don’t be an asshole.” 

Rozanov grinned widely, and replied with something in Russian. 

I love you. Hayden was never going to get used to hearing those words out of Shane’s mouth, directed at Ilya Rozanov. He had no idea if Rozanov had said it back. Shane was in over his head, he decided, far too in over his head. The poor guy had, like, no experience, other than a high school girlfriend and Rose Fucking Landry. He was going to get his heart broken, and Hayden was going to be the one coming over with ice cream and movie, having to keep every I-told-you-so behind his tongue. He could just see it, now. He’d like to think Rozanov wasn’t so much of a dick as to expose Shane’s sexuality when they inevitably broke up, especially since it compromised him in the process, but he knew what other players said about him in the locker rooms. Visions of cheating scandals flashed before his face. And to do that to Shane, the guy who organized his closet by shades of grey, darkest to lightest. Hayden shook his head. 

 “We’d better get going then,” Hayden had managed to mumble, hanging up the phone and rooting around his pockets for his car keys. Fuck, he was probably going to forget so much shit in this massive cottage. It was nice of Shane to finally invite him over, but he wished it could have been at a time where it wasn’t also occupied by their biggest career rival. It was, Hayden imagined, how the deputy PM felt having dinner with the President. Except the Prime Minister and the President were secretly dating. Fuck, were Justin Trudeau and Donald Trump secretly dating? Now there were images in Hayden’s head that he really didn’t want there. Worse than all the ones he’d already had of Shane and Ilya doing it on every surface in this enormous house.

“I think I am going to teach your kids how to drive my car,” Rozanov called from the other room, ripping Hayden from his thoughts. “They should have a teacher who knows what he is doing. Ruby will be great driver. She knows how to not get caught.” 

Hayden groaned. 

***

“Jesus Pike, and I thought you skate fucking slowly. I will tell Shane we will be there by Tuesday.” 

“I’m going the speed limit!” Hayden exclaimed. They were still on the secondary highway coming out of the little town near Shane’s cottage. Hayden cursed him for choosing such a random, remote location, even though he knew it made sense. 

“So there are no cars on the road, we can drive faster,” Rozanov pushed. He was staring at his phone. “Google is saying I will be in Ottawa at eighteen twenty-two. I have to be there at eighteen. Shane will murder me if I am late to charity gala.” 

Hayden bit back a retort about Rozanov being the type of person to be late to anything. He was trying his very best to be the bigger person here. Besides, he did feel a little guilty for wasting so much time arguing with Shane on the phone, and wallowing in misery in the driveway. He knew Jackie would think he was being dramatic. 

As if by magic, his phone buzzed to life in the center console. Before Hayden could take his eyes off the road to grab it, Rozanov snatched it up, his face lighting up when he put it to his ear. “Hello, Jackie, Lily is here. I have left your husband in the lake, he is better swimmer than he is hockey player.” 

“Give me that, asshole,” Hayden snapped, waving his hand toward Rozanov and trying not to take his other hand off the steering wheel. 

“Yes, Shane is good, yes, cottage was good. Yes, I am sure he did miss you. I am very grateful for ride, I will buy you flowers for the trouble.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Hayden shouted. He winced as he went around a curve particularly fast. “Give me the phone, Rozanov.” 

“Oh really?” Rozanov put his finger to his other ear. “Oh, give her my greetings, tell her I cannot wait to play mermaids with her. Yes, I am sure she can come up next summer.” There was a pause, and then Rozanov made a tutting sound with his mouth. “Oh no, this is not good. Ok, yes, I will tell him. Don’t worry, I was also thinking this. Ok, goodbye.” 

“You fucking-” Hayden sighed when Rozanov put down the phone. “Hey- don’t talk to my wife like that.” 

“Like what?” Rozanov shrugged. “She told me to tell you to come home as soon as you can, because your kid is feeling sick. Leaving your nice wife at home with ten kids, Pike, is not so good. You should hire some help for her.” 

“It’s not ten- hey, don’t tell me what to do.” Hayden shot daggers at him, anger bubbling in his stomach. Rozanov didn’t have kids, was probably never going to, what the fuck did he know about raising them? “Listen- just- which kid?” 

“Arthur.” 

Great. Hayden steaded the car from where he’d been swerving a little, but kept his higher speed. It would be nice to end this as soon as possible. “Make yourself useful and look at the traffic on the highway,” he muttered. “Maybe we can find a faster route or something.” 

He could see Rozanov making fun of his Canadian accent next to him, but at least he shut up and started looking through his phone. Hayden forced himself to listen to the bad country song warbling through the car radio. 

For all of ten seconds, before Rozanov let out a loud, irritating, theatrical moan. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“There is accident on Highway One. Some stupid driver, probably in stupid car like yours. Oh, Shane is going to murder me. I am going to be dead, Pike. You are going to be witness. He will probably frame it on you. You will go to jail. I will be dead and you will be in–” 

“What, and I’d probably make babies with all my inmates, right?” Hayden rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, you would find a way. You should tell me how you do it one day, I have been trying with Shane but is not working.” 

“Didn’t ask. I know you’re familiar with how babies are made.” 

“Yes, very. Could have taken this corner faster. You are not going to hit moose going 40.” Rozanov craned his neck forward to the windshield, obsessively checking the phone. “Oh, this is not good,” he moaned. “Your wife will not allow you to drive car again. I will be late. Shane said he is getting good French wine for gala. I know you have taste buds of teenage fraternity student, Pike, but–”

“Would you shut up!” Hayden resisted the urge to pull the car to a stop and kick Rozanov out into the wilderness. “I didn’t ask for you to be here! I’m sorry my slow fucking driving is stopping you from getting hammered in a club after your damn gala. I’m doing a favour! For Shane, not you.” He snatched his phone back from Rozanov’s hand, and fumbled open the maps app. “Look, it looks like Google is saying there’s another way, if we take this road…” 

He expected Rozanov to protest, but he didn’t, he only looked mildly annoyed before looking in his phone further. “Is a forest road,” he said, frowning. “It is OK?” 

“Yes, it’s fine, that’s why I have this car,” Hayden said. “Just tell me where to turn.” He sped up a little. 

Ilya was right, though, it was a forestry road. Hayden regretted it almost immediately when they turned onto the gravel and his car shook violently, but thought he’d rather die then back out of something in front of Rozanov. Besides, he did feel guilty for leaving Jackie alone, and he was already later than he was originally going to be, and he’d feel terrible (for Shane) if Rozanov missed his event, so. They were doing this. He tried to keep up speed as they flew along the gravel, branches and leaves smacking the sides and windshield of his car. He didn’t want to think about the scratches. 

Mercifully, Rozanov was silent for a while after that. Hayden did his best to focus on the radio, and driving as fast as he possibly could without sending his car into the ditch. 

He tried to count all the things he knew about Rozanov in his head. He was known for wild parties – he’d heard some of the guy’s stories about nights out after all star games that they’d talked about for years. He’d slept with every woman in the city; the rooks used to praise him for it, like he was the Messiah of fame and hookups, or something. He owned a lot of expensive cars. There was a rumour about the Russian Mafia, but Hayden didn’t think that one was substantial. And he was Shane Hollander’s boyfriend. 

That one was impossible to wrap his head around. 

“You think I am going to a club after the gala?” said Rozanov after a while, when Hayden had to swerve to dodge a massive rock. 

Hayden struggled to recall the last thing he’d said. “Sure, you’re a party guy, right? If you can get Shane to go with you, then you’re at least better than I am.” 

Rozanov seemed to consider this, humming for a moment. Then, he looked at Hayden and said, “you think there are clubs in Ottawa?” 

Hayden almost laughed, but stopped himself. There was no way he was going to give Rozanov that satisfaction. 

“Look, I wouldn’t know. I’ve got a wife and kids to take care of. Something you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Your kids love me.” 

“They’ve met you twice!” Hayden had to choke down irritation at the thought of Rozanov with his kids. “They don’t even know who you are. They just think you’re like Santa or something, a guy who brings them presents. That they don’t need.” 

“You don’t give them enough credit. They know who I am. They watch hockey.” 

“If they watched hockey, they wouldn’t want you anywhere near their house.” Hayden was surprised by how venomous it came out. He didn’t mean it like that. It wasn’t that he thought Ilya was that bad of a guy. It was just…he was Ilya. Rozanov. Captain of the Boston Raiders, now the Ottawa Centaurs, though that didn’t make it much better. He was the guy that had knocked Hayden’s front tooth out when he was twenty-four, who had given him a black eye a week before his wedding, who had flung insult after insult at him on the ice to the point where he wondered if Shane was seriously, actually, clinically insane for dating him. He didn’t have to like the guy. 

“Is OK, I know what you think of me,” Rozanov muttered. He stared out the window. “That I am just doing this to get insider information, right? That I am using Shane to throw games? I am that kind of guy.” 

“That’s not what I said!” Hayden threw his hands up off the steering wheel for a moment. “I’m trying to be supportive of Shane, and you’re making it really hard.” He sped up a little, enjoying the crunch of the gravel underneath his tires. 

“Because moving to Ottawa was such a strategic move,” Rozanov went on. “Really I am doing this all for Boston, because I am so dedicated to them even now. Dating this boring hockey player who does not drink or go out, starting charity with him, being–” 

“Honestly, do you even like the guy?” Hayden cast Rozanov a withering look. “‘Cause really, with the way you talk to him sometimes, it seems like–” 

“Do not talk about things you do not understand, Pike,” Rozanov growled. 

“Don’t understand? He’s my best friend. I’ve played with him on the same team since we were rookies. We sleep in the same hotel room all the time. I’ve seen him completely, utterly torn up over this mystery girl – guy – in his phone, for years, I had to deal with it when I can only assume you were being an asshole, I was there for him when his Grandma died, I don’t know where the fuck you were, because–” 

A loud bang cut off Hayden from his ranting, followed by a huge lurch in the car that sent both of them forward and then slammed them back into the seats. He instinctively punched on the break, the car careening to the side of the road a little, before coming to a complete stop, a high pitched hissing slowly fading into silence. 

Hayden stared into the dusty windshield, reeling. 

Rozanov, momentarily, miraculously, seemed lost for words. Then, as if on cue, he exclaimed, “What the fuck was that, Pike?” 

They got out of the car, which was leaning to the right at an awkward angle. Dust from behind them was still settling on the dirt road. Hayden clenched his stomach, catching a whiff of burnt rubber, before turning around the hood to the passenger side, where Rozanov stood staring at the ground, his face white as a ghost. 

The front tire was completely blown apart, pieces of it scattered around the ditch. The car rested on the wheel, the passenger door hanging open. 

Hayden bit his fist and tried not to scream. 

“Is OK,” said Rozanov slowly after a minute or two of silent staring. He didn’t take his eyes off the broken tire. “You have spare one, right?” 

“Yes,” said Hayden. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Yes. It’s just in the back, just let me…” He scrambled around to the back of his car, lifting the trunk and rooting through bags and empty cardboard boxes for the groceries he’d brought to the cottage. “It’s under this part, I think, if I just lift this.” 

The spare tire stared back up at him from under the cover. There was a selection of tools next to it, and Hayden tried with all his might to recall being seventeen and in his father’s garage, where this had been explained to him. All that came to mind was the memory of being picked for the draft, and the girl he’d been seeing at the time with terrible extensions. 

He pulled out his phone, hoping Rozanov didn’t see him open the browser. It paused, and then paused again, stuck on the blank loading screen after his search. “Come on,” Hayden whispered, noting the empty bars of service in the top corner. Fucking goddamn Canada. No cell service anywhere. 

He picked up the tools anyway. This was a jack, right? 

Rozanov appeared behind him. “Oh, good,” he said, looking relieved when he saw the spare. 

“Yeah. Good. So, do you wanna, uhh…” Hayden trailed off, not sure where to go from here. “We just have to, uh, lift the car. With this. And then we can put the other tire on.” 

“Lift car, yes,” Rozanov nodded swiftly. He took the spare out of the trunk awkwardly, bouncing it down onto the uneven ground below them. 

“Yeah, I’ve done this loads of times,” said Hayden, as confidently as he could muster. “Only, I’ve never had it explode like that before, um, I must have hit a rock or something weird.” 

“You are bad driver, Pike, we have been over this.” 

Hayden ignored him. “If you take that wrench, then maybe you can start.” He desperately wished Rozanov would give him something to go off of. 

They were back to staring at the wheel. Two long scrapes ran along the side of the red car, making Hayden cringe internally. “So, um, we find the bolts in the tire. Then we, uh…” 

Rozanov was looking at the wrench like he’d never seen one in his life. Hayden watched him pull out his phone, then go through the same cycle of emotions he had when he discovered their lack of cell coverage, then tuck it back into his pocket and straighten his shirt, before turning to look Hayden dead in the eye. “You don’t know how to change a tire, do you.” 

“No, I do, I just- and you don’t?” Hayden desperately threw up his hands. 

“Oh my God Pike, no, I am rich and famous, I just call someone and they come and help me. You are the family man, you are always talking about road safety-” 

“Alright, just, look, just- shut up. It’ll be fine.” Hayden was already going through the millions of reasons this was not going to be fine. He dropped the big black metal thing and marched off down the road. He just needed a minute away from Rozanov, was all, and it would be fine. A minute to fucking think. 

So he wasn’t good with cars. Big deal. It was like Rozanov said, if he ever needed help, he called someone, and he was on the road with his team’s bus most of the time anyway. And he always bought the newer models, made sure to keep them in good condition. He cringed at the thought of what Jackie would say if she could see their situation. 

Hayden took a deep breath, steadying himself with his hands on his hips. He looked around – he’d been too focused on driving quickly and not setting off Rozanov before to properly appreciate their surroundings. They were in the middle of the forest, big maple trees towering up on the left side of the road where a hill sloped up, and to the right was a small lake, water glistening and reflective in the afternoon sun. Summer was just beginning to turn, and the tips of the leaves were tinted with orange and red, autumn threatening to creep in and turn everything to blazing colour. Hayden did like Ontario autumns. 

He listened, hoping to hear the telltale rumble of another car coming down the dirt road. Nothing, only the breeze in the trees and the occasional chirp of a bird. He could admit, the silence was nice, away from the constant roar of city traffic and chaos of a house full of kids. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and closed his eyes. The air tasted like pine trees. 

No. No, there was no way Hayden was going to enjoy this even for a second. This was his worst fucking nightmare, next to being separated from his kids, next to losing the cup to the Raiders. He took out his phone and waved it in the air desperately, as if some cell signal alien was going to come down from the sky and beam him with internet. When it didn’t work, he jogged up the road a ways, turning to a full on sprint at the end before stopping to catch his breath. He let out a loud scream that echoed out “FUCK” into the silence. Nothing. 

“This is good,” said Rozanov, who had somehow appeared behind Hayden in the moments he’d stood still, spiraling. 

“How could this possibly be good, Rozanov.” Hayden shoved his phone back into his pocket with the groan. 

“Shane will not have to murder us. Canadian wildlife will do it for him.” 

“You are supposed to be from Russia!” Hayden balked. “I thought they had, like, bears there too. You guys are supposed to fight them!” 

“Yes, bear I think I could fight. Maybe not moose, or wolf. We can hear wolves from the cottage.” 

Hayden dragged his dirty hands over his face. He couldn’t believe Rozanov was thinking about wildlife right now. “I am going to murder you,” he muttered. “Shane be damned. He should get better taste in men.” He turned back toward the car, kicking up dirt on purpose behind him. “Anyone. Anyone! He could have picked anyone in Montreal and he picks you!” 

“I really do not think you are taking this seriously, Pike. Do you keep gun in your car like Americans? I have seen movies. Crazy people live out here. In cabins. Car breaks down, stupid people wander into forest for help, they meet man with an axe-” 

Hayden stopped. He looked at Rozanov, puzzled. It seemed like a joke, but the man actually looked a little on edge, and was following Hayden closely, jumping nervously at the chatter of a nearby red squirrel. It was weird, to see some six foot solid wall of muscle look utterly uneasy and uncomfortable. Rozanov was such a menace on the ice, violent and cocky, that Hayden could only assume the same hubris followed him everywhere. 

“It’ll be fine,” Hayden stated, reassuring himself. “We just have to wait for someone to come along and help, I’m sure they will eventually. In the meantime we can figure this out. We’re two grown, professional athletes. We can change a stupid tire.” 

The squirrel chirped again, and Hayden didn’t speak animal, but it didn’t sound convincing. 

***

Changing a tire, Hayden discovered, was not as easy as it looked – which was not easy at all. 

An hour passed, in which he attempted to pull the remaining bits of blown rubber off the wheel as Rozanov tried to lift the car with his bare hands. The road remained completely empty, which Hayden had been afraid of. This was a logging road, and there weren’t really any cottages around here that he could see, and seeing as it was a Saturday the loggers probably weren’t working. After twenty minutes of hopeless fiddling, Hayden sat back down on his heels and sighed. The sun shone into his eyes, and he increased the brightness on his phone, staring at the small patch of Google Maps that he’d loaded before they’d lost service. 

Rozanov was tossing rocks into the lake, finding increasingly large ones to pile beside him.

“I could walk down the road a ways,” announced Hayden. “Try and find some service. Go back the way we came, maybe. It’s a long way to the start of the road, but if I run…you can stay with the car in case anybody comes.” 

“No!” said Rozanov suddenly, dropping the boulder he was hauling up the hill. “I mean, we shouldn’t split up. You’re not supposed to do that. In these situations.” 

“I don’t want to just leave the car here,” argued Hayden. “Ugh, this is the worst. Do you think location services still work if your phone is out of service?”

“This is why Shane keeps, how do you call it, er, special phone in his car. For emergencies.” 

“A satellite phone?” 

“Yes. I am making fun of it all of the time, I say Shane, you are not a tree planter. You are not biologist. You do not need this. He is never going to let me say this again.” 

Hayden smiled, because of course Shane kept a fucking satellite phone in his car. Unfortunately, it didn’t do them much good in the parking lot of a studio in Kingston. Fuck, he was probably halfway to Ottawa by now. Hayden kept nervously checking the time, like that was going to do anything to help their situation. 

Again, there was silence. A raven croaked in the distance, and the bushes rustled in the wind.

Splash. Another stone plunked into the water. “Soo… when is Jackie going to have your next child? You are raising army of small Pikes for Metros, yes?” 

“What?” Hayden looked up to where Rozanov was making a pile of rocks. 

“I just assumed you are having more for hockey reasons,” Rozanov shrugged. “You are testing them all once they can skate, waiting to get one who is good.” 

“That’s not- fuck you- I’m not having any more kids,” Hayden grunted. “And Jade and Ruby are great hockey players. Fuck off.” 

“Hmm, yes, is not hard to be better than their dad.” 

“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “Don’t talk about breeding kids for sports, doesn’t Russia do that stuff all the time? They’re obsessed with making perfect athletes or whatever.” 

Rozanov frowned. “I am not fond of Russia.” 

Hayden scoffed. “That makes two of us.” 

Rozanov seemed to recover from his momentary pause, jumping right back into that smug grin that Hayden wanted to wipe right off his face, permanently. “So Jackie has finally convinced you to wrap it, or…” 

“Oh come on, at least I haven’t fucked half the population of Boston. And probably every other city you play in regularly. Shane tells me you like both, apparently, so that leaves everyone on the damn table. You’ve probably got some kids out there you don’t know about.” The last part was cheap, but Hayden was irritated and hot and just wanted some indication that he was pissing Ilya off. 

“Hmm, no, I am very responsible,” Rozanov replied, and Hayden glowered. “Plus I am rich. If I had secret kid I think they would be asking me for money, no?” 

“If I had your secret kid, I would never want to speak to you again,” Hayden grumbled. “I’d give up child support for not having to deal with you.” 

“Are you saying you want to have my children, Pike?” 

“What part of what I just said gives you that impression?” 

“I don’t know, you seem to love having children, and I am hot, and very good at hockey, so it seems–” 

“No, shut up, no. I’m done having kids. And you’re making it harder and harder for you guys to have Thanksgiving invites.” 

“Jackie will invite me. She is very nice woman, I don’t know why she married you. She invited me to WAG group chat.” 

“She doesn’t– she what?” Hayden dropped the metal thing and looked up at Rozanov from where he sat on the road. 

“I said no, of course,” Ilya shrugged. “We are still a secret. But it was nice invitation. Nice to know I am one of the girls.” 

“That’s not…” Hayden trailed off. In no universe was Ilya Rozanov ‘one of the girls’. It felt wrong even hearing the word WAG come out of his mouth. The WAGs were, well, at least most of them were serious. They showed up to meetings, they watched games together, they had this whole secret little club that Jackie refused to tell Hayden about. They did some voodoo shit sometimes to make the Metros win. Some of them even did press, when they had a big win and the media was desperate for fuel. Most of them were married at this point, besides the rookie’s girlfriends which tended to come and go. The thought of Ilya Rozanov at home with a bucket of popcorn, cheering on his boyfriend in a game…it was so foreign that it made Hayden slightly sick to think about. The word boyfriend. Ilya Rozanov wasn’t anybody’s boyfriend. He was the captain of the enemy team, the playboy, the smug, charming asshole with a million cars and a mansion in Boston, the guy they used to burn models of before a game. Some of the things Hayden had heard about Ilya were downright vile. The man didn’t give a shit about anything but cars and winning the cup. He was, and always had been, the enemy. 

Except he wasn’t – now he was Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, standing in a stupid backwards hat and one of Shane’s tshirts, next to Hayden on an empty road. And he was afraid of moose and wolves, apparently. 

Hayden sighed. He got to his feet, brushing dust off his pants. “Look, you’re not really…” he resisted the urge to say trustworthy. “WAGs are pretty…serious. I think it’s good we keep it hidden, at least for now. I don’t think some of the girls would really like having someone so…supportive of another team,” he finished on. 

Rozanov chewed on his lip, looking back at the lake. “You think is not serious?” He said after a moment. 

“What? No, that’s not what I meant.” God, Hayden was fucking this up. If he was being honest, though, he often wondered just how serious Rozanov was about this whole thing. If everything Hayden had been told about him was true. 

“I left Boston for Ottawa, Hayden.” 

Don’t call me Hayden, he wanted to say, but he held back. “Okay. That’s– okay. Yeah. That’s a lot. I’m just saying, maybe you guys haven’t really thought about all the implications of all of this. Is all. What people might think about it.” 

“Trust me Pike, I have thought about it,” Rozanov replied bitterly. “I have been inside a locker room. I have been called faggot, cocksucker, dickrider, what have you,” 

“That’s– okay, that’s fucked up, but that’s not what I meant.” Hayden stared at the ground. “I meant like, people could take it the wrong way. Say you’re using each other to cheat. Or make some big doping scandal, or something. Or that the rivalry was never real.” 

“Mm. It wasn’t.” 

“Okay.” Hayden wanted to chew his own hand off. He wanted to drive this goddamn car into the lake. No, he wanted to drive this goddamn car to Ottawa, get rid of this guy, and then get home to his house in Montreal, make Arthur some chicken noodle soup and give Jackie a kiss. 

“This is why it is a secret,” Rozanov continued. “People would say things. I do not want to lose career, Shane does not want to lose career. We have worked very hard for this. To not fuck it up.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Hayden couldn’t stifle his laugh. He felt guilty for it immediately. “I think it’s a little late for that,” he admitted. 

Rozanov glared at him, though Hayden felt a little more heat in his gaze than before. “Yes, I know you do not know what this feels like, to be good hockey player with reputation. Now we should try again. I do not want to miss the gala.” 

***

“Do the Metros really keep bets on who gets to host Shane for parties most? You are the biggest suck-up, no?” 

Hayden sighed. It had almost been an hour of silence from Rozanov. He was stretched out on the hood of the car, face buried in the car manual. Clearly, he hadn’t made much progress. 

Hayden stood up from where he was still attempting to figure out the tire. “I don’t know, did Shane tell you that himself?” he shot back. “He’s definitely the type of guy to talk about how obsessed everyone is with him. The ego on that guy.” He tried to lace as much sarcasm as possible into his voice, hoping Rozanov might take the fucking hint. 

“Ughh, no, Shane is so boring.” Rozanov dropped the manual into his lap. “He did say this about you once, though.” 

“Well, it’s true, some of the guys kind of idolized him at the start. But now he’s just another teammate. We’re a normal team.” 

Rozanov hummed. He didn’t look at Hayden, instead choosing to stare up at the clouds floating lazily above them. “And they know he is gay, correct?” 

Hayden looked up as well. The light was starting to turn golden, and longer shadows were cast over the road. “Um, yeah. He, uh, he told us before you…well, that’s how I figured out about you, anyways.” 

“None of the others have figured it out?” There was an edge of concern in Rozanov’s voice. 

“No, I don’t think so. Shane’s a pretty private guy, anyways. I was the only one who knew about his Boston mystery man, so.” Hayden abandoned the tire, leaning instead against the door of the car to look out over the lake. It was beautiful, the water rippling slightly and sparkling in the sinking sun. There was a nice rock out there, and the water looked deep, and on any other day he would have thought it would be perfect for swimming. He tried not to think about every passing second. “What, you think we’re all assholes or something? I mean, I can’t say anyone’s gonna be happy to learn about you.” 

Rozanov shot him an annoyed glare. “This is not what I meant. I do not care what fifth-best team in league thinks of me.” 

Hayden laughed humorlessly. “We’re a hell of a lot better than Ottawa, man. Those jokes don’t work out so well for you anymore.” 

“Well, I am still best player, so,” Rozanov shrugged. 

Hayden waited for him to ask again. Rozanov was so obsessed with secrecy. He’d expected this, honestly, an onslaught of questions about the Metros. He’d have to imagine it would be shitty for Rozanov to be found out. He didn’t know much about Russia, but he knew they weren't kind to gay people. It made sense he was worried. Except he looked…despondant, a little, with his arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses still on and body angled away from Hayden. He wondered if there was anyone in the world who could get to Rozanov’s real thoughts, behind his massively inflated ego and irritating snark. It doesn’t have to be me, he thought bitterly. He didn’t want it to be him. 

“Shane kind of freaked out after he told us,” Hayden admitted, not sure why he was still talking. “I mean, yeah, the league sucks. For people like him, I guess. But I told him to talk to Scott Hunter.” 

“Hah!” Rozanov laughed. “Yes, is what everybody says. Talk to Scott Hunter, he is the Jesus of gay hockey. He knows everything. Scott Hunter is good man, but he is practically a dinosaur. He does not know what it is like to be Shane.” 

Hayden snorted. “And you do?” 

“Scott Hunter does not know about me.” 

“Yeah, probably ‘cause you’re such a dick to him. You know you really don’t make it easy to have friends in the league, Rozanov. Everyone thinks you’re a fucking asshole.” 

Rozanov sniffed. He didn’t seem to react in any particular way to Hayden’s jibe. “But not you?” 

“Yes, me!” Hayden kicked the dirt. “You knocked my fucking tooth out after a game. You told me to go fuck myself when I offered my condolenses. You insult every single thing I fucking do, Roz. You drag my name on twitter, you make fun of me any time I do anything nice for Shane, you act like you’re the greatest player to have ever lived. You make it really hard to fucking like you.” 

“Maybe you should stop calling me asshole, then.” 

Hayden rolled his eyes. There was no way Rozanov was going to act like this was his fault. Like he was the victim here, like he was only a dick because everyone hated him. 

Except, Hayden was kind of being the dick right now. In his defense, he really missed Arthur and Jackie. She was probably getting really worried by now, that she hadn’t heard from him in at least a few hours. He was irritated and tired and starting to get really, genuinely afraid that someone wasn’t going to come down the road. He thought about extending an olive branch to Rozanov, to at least commiserate that they were stuck in the same situation, but when he turned to the other man, he was just met with a middle finger. 

Hayden sighed. “You can’t be something you’re not, Roz. You can’t act like it isn’t deserved.” 

Rozanov was silent for a moment. Hayden worried for a second that he’d crossed a line, actually offended the man, but he quickly thought again that he wouldn’t mind it, for once. For one thing he said to Rozanov to actually mean something. 

A flock of geese passed overhead, honking incessantly. Hayden shook his head, checking the time on his phone again. It was five o-clock. Ottawa was at least 2 hours from here. “Give me the manual,” he said curtly, holding out his hand. 

“Too many weird English words,” muttered Rozanov, handing it over. “No pictures.” 

Hayden grimaced. He flipped through to the pages on changing a tire and skimmed through it, trying to wrap his head around the instructions. It was what he’d been trying to do for an hour now. Two hours, probably. It was complicated and Hayden didn’t understand anything about cars and Rozanov was right, there were no pictures. He wanted to make a jibe about Rozanov being too dumb to understand, but realized there would be no point if he couldn’t make sense of it either. 

“Someone will come by soon,” Hayden repeated for the fourth or fifth time. “They have to.” 

Rozanov bit his nails, looking nervous. “Shane was so nervous about the gala,” he muttered. “He wanted to thank some big donor.” 

“He’ll have to figure it out, then,” Hayden grumbled. He thought about Arthur, at home and sick and missing his dad. He felt a little bit nauseous. 

“He will,” Rozanov said. “He is good at these things.” 

Hayden studied him. The sun had dipped low enough that it was shining over his face, and it reflected off his sunglasses and the hood of the car. He’d lost his smug grin from earlier, and it almost looked wrong, seeing Rozanov without his usual facial expression. He looked smaller, younger like this. Like he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, rubbing his fingers together and trying to think of something to say. He seemed to notice Hayden was staring at him, and straightened up.

Hayden wrinkled his eyebrows. “Are you oka–” he started. 

“No,” Rozanov snapped. “I am fine. We are stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere. Probably going to have to sleep here. I am not sleeping next to you, Pike, you probably snore. Shane says you sleep like an old man.” He got up off the car, and pushed his way into the front seat, pulling his hat over his eyes. “I am going to wallow in misery now. Thank you for being bad fucking driver.” 

“Fine,” Hayden grunted. He tried to ask one nice question, and Rozanov immediately went back to being a defensive bitch. Whatever. He wasn’t worth it, anyways. Visions of a friendly lumberjack bumping down the road in an old chevvy filled Hayden’s head, and he tried to think about what Jackie would be making for dinner. “I’m going down to the lake,” he called, pushing his way into the ditch and through branches. “Get me if anyone comes. And watch for wolves, or whatever.” 

“No promises,” Rozanov shot back angrily, but his voice wasn’t entirely level. 

***

Really, Hayden should have been expecting it. 

He was asking for it. Sitting on a rock, at the edge of the water, staring at the rapidly sinking sun with a growing worry forming in his gut. Purple twilight was starting to creep into the edges of the forest. He was starting to think about what would happen if they did actually have to sleep here. If no one came. If the road was discontinued, and no one was supposed to drive on it. Maybe that’s why his tire had blown. He was never taking a Google Maps shortcut again, highway traffic be damned. 

They’d eaten the last of the chips in the car and Hayden was considering his fire-building skills. He’d been a scout for about six months when he was eleven, was there anything he could remember? What if they had to hunt for food? Hayden didn’t know if he had the heart to kill an animal. If he could even manage to make a weapon. He was just going over his recollection of ninth-grade diagrams of Iroqois longhouses when he felt a heavy shove on his back and everything was suddenly very, very, cold, and very, very wet. 

Hayden gasped, sputtering, as water filled every orifice in his body and he was temporarily plunged into darkness. He came up for air, heart racing, freezing cold stinging his eyes and the murky taste of fish flooding his mouth. “Fucking, fuck,” he managed through spits of water as he flailed his arms. “Fuck, ohmygod, what the fuck is wrong with you–” 

Rozanov cackled. The motherfucker. 

Hayden pulled himself together immediately, dragging himself out of the water. He didn’t even hesitate to throw his entire body at Rozanov, toppling him over awkwardly. The taller man squeaked, his laughter cutting short as they both lost balance and tumbled back into the lake. 

It was better the second time. Hayden kicked and spat at Rozanov, splashing water over him and dragging him under for a few seconds. His body raced with sudden adrenaline and he shouted, choking out water and tousling with his fellow athlete like he was trying to drown him. 

“Okay, okay,” Rozanov gasped in the second his head came up again, slapping Hayden away. 

Hayden dragged himself back up to the rock, dripping. He held out his arms and his clothes hung to his body, completely soaked. Cold water ran down the back of his neck. “What the fuck?” he hissed. “I– I could have had my phone in my pocket, we need that, it’s getting fucking dark and it’s freezing, we’re both going to get hypothermia, do you think this is fucking funny?” 

Rozanov panted, getting to his feet and wading out of the water. He was equally soaked. “Was a little bit funny.” 

“You fucking asshole. We’re going to freeze.” 

Rozanov smirked at him. “We have more clothes in the car, remember? Your phone is there next to them. Relax, will be fine.” 

Hayden paused to catch his breath. He steadied his vision on the trees in the background, which were becoming dark shapes in the dusk. His heart still felt like it was going to fucking explode. Oh god, they were going to have to live out here. They were going to be stuck at this fucking lake forever. Hayden was going to kill Rozanov, eat him, and then Shane was going to kill Hayden when he found him eventually. The Metros weren’t even going to make the playoffs. They were going to be eaten by wolves, just like Rozanov said, and it was all Hayden’s fault for taking this stupid route, and– why the fuck was Rozanov laughing? 

Hayden said as much. 

Rozanov was flushed, his hair dripping and sticking to his face, his cheeks red and cold. “Sorry,” he chuckled between breaths. “Is just. You look like Shane when you are angry. Like a mad kitten.” 

Hayden sputtered. There was no way, this was too much for him, he was at a loss now– except, he realized as images flooded his mind involuntarily, Rozanov was right. Shane kind of did look like an angry kitten when he got mad. And now he was cold, wet, and it was getting dark, and goddamnit, Hayden was laughing. 

“I can’t believe– fuck you–” he managed between breaths. “Oh my god. Shane is so going to kill both of us.” 

Rozanov nodded feverishly. “Yes. And he will look so cute while doing it, like he is trying so hard to be scary. He will be like moose.” 

Hayden giggled. “Yeah, he’s gonna be like– I can’t believe you guys don’t know how to change a tire, and put his hands on his hips like–” he mimicked the gesture. “I am going to tell your mom about this.” 

Rozanov’s eyes flickered, but he kept his wide smile. “He will tell your father. He never taught you how to change a tire?” 

“Oh my god, my dad totally did, I just completely forgot. Rookie year, probably.” Hayden ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Dude, I crashed my first car, too. Totalled it behind a Harvey’s. It was so embarrassing.” 

Rozanov cackled even harder. “I am never letting you near my garage.” 

“What, you don’t know how to change a tire either!” Hayden shot him an accusatory look. “Your dad never gave you lessons?” He remembered too late that Rozanov’s father was dead, but his face betrayed no injury. 

“Bah, like that man knew himself.” Rozanov waved his hand in the air. “I do not think my father knew how to drive.” 

Hayden shook his head. “Oh my god,” he repeated again, to nothing in particular. “What is happening.” 

“We are lost in Canadian wilderness, Pike.” 

He laughed again. Technically, they weren’t lost. They were still about ten meters from a road. And there were probably a million cottages within a fifty kilometre radius of here. This was Muskoka. Right here, though, they could really be anywhere; they could be a hundred clicks North of Thunder Bay, they could be the lone survivors of a plane crash over wild Quebec. Insects buzzed in the late summer evening, and the air was cold and smelled of pine and lake-water that was dripping into Hayden’s eyes, and holy shit, not a single one of these ducks gave a shit that he was Hayden Pike, NHL player, laughing with his lifelong enemy, Ilya Rozanov. Nature was beautiful. 

Rozanov shook himself off like a dog, then turned to run a few steps out along the shore, putting his hands up to his face. “Do you hear me, wolf-birds!” he shouted, his voice echoing across the black water. “SEND. RESCUE. I AM STUCK IN FOREST WITH HAYDEN PIKE, FIFTEENTH-BEST PLAYER IN-” 

Hayden tackled him. 

By the time they made it back to the car and shed their lake-soaked clothing, pulling on hoodies and sweatpants from their respective bags, the sun had all but completely set and Hayden turned the car accessory on for light. The world was mostly a blanket of sleepy darkness, with only a fleck of red in the inky sky, and the spare tire still sat leaning against the side of the car, hopelessly abandoned. 

Hayden sighed, pulling himself up onto the back of the open tailgate beside Rozanov, who had materialized a cigarette from somewhere and was now lighting it. 

“Shane told me he made you quit smoking,” Hayden commented, throwing Ilya a sideways glance. 

“Da. He did. I keep few for emergencies. Do not tell him this.” His tone was light, but not resentful. 

“Alright, I guess this counts as one. We should probably figure out what the hell we’re actually gonna do.” 

Rozanov shrugged. “I was serious about you sleeping outside. I will keep watch inside car.” 

“I can’t believe no one has come by.” 

“Is Canada. They are all probably at their boring campfires, or at boring charity galas.” 

Hayden shook his head. “Forgive me for thinking you at least did give a shit about the charity. I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

Rozanov flicked the cigarette. “I care about charity. I do not much like evening event, talking to other people who pretend to care.” He waved his hand. “Well, most of them care. Some do not. Some are just there to get to Shane, or me. To ask us questions about hockey, about personal life. They think that just because they pay, means they deserve to know.” 

Hayden blinked. He rested his arm on his knee, tucking his other hand into his pocket in the chilly air. Insects were starting to buzz above them around the yellow car lights. “Shane doesn’t talk about that stuff,” he said after a minute of overthinking a response. 

“Mm, no, he does not, but he notices. And it bothers him,” Rozanov replied. “People that think they know him. And he has to act thankful, because is our charity. And is good cause. Maybe it is worth it.” 

Hayden looked at him. His face was lined, even though he still looked impossibly young, and his eyes flickered back and forth, as if he couldn’t pick something to focus on in front of him. He took a long drag from the cigarette, and it seemed to calm him slightly. He didn’t look like the Ilya Rozanov Hayden was used to seeing on the cover of magazines and television commercials. He looked…worried. Tired. Sad.

“Why did you start it?” Hayden asked softly, curiosity nagging at him. Shane had told him, of course; they’d started the charity together to change the public’s opinion on the two of them, so that if they someday tried to go public, it wouldn’t be as much of a shock. Hayden, of course, had been skeptical of something like this even lasting that long. That Ilya Rozanov was capable of so long a commitment, especially to something as complicated as this. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore, though. He wanted to hear it from Ilya himself.

“I don’t know, maybe…” Ilya trailed off, quieting a little. “Maybe things can be different. Maybe so league thinks we are friends. Maybe so we can maybe help some people. Maybe so it just does not seem so impossible.” He looked away from Hayden, over his shoulder at the side of the car. 

“It’s a good cause,” Hayden agreed. “Do people really think you guys are friends, though? You still, like, bicker at him on ice all the time. And you’re always slamming into the boards like you fucking hate each other.” 

Rozanov sighed. “I love slamming Shane into walls,” he said wistfully. 

Hayden grimaced. 

“I should be there with him,” continued Rozanov. “Tonight. It was big deal. He was so worried. That he would say the wrong thing, that someone would notice something, that they would not like him. There is big company there. I told him it would all be OK, because I would be there with him.” He choked on the last bit a little, just subtle enough for Hayden to notice, and clenched his jaw. 

Shit. Yeah, Shane had been nervous, thought Hayden, now that he remembered. He’d been antsy all day yesterday, going over the schedule a million times, much to Hayden’s annoyance. He’d been too busy bickering and firing insults back at Rozanov to really care. Hayden remembered how Shane used to get before press conferences, sometimes, pacing back and forth in the hotel and going over lines. Only the really big ones; he was used to being interviewed in every available breath after games. “I’m really sorry, man,” Hayden admitted, putting his face in his hands. “I feel like this is all my fault.” 

“Is both our faults,” Rozanov shrugged. “For not knowing how to change tire.” 

Hayden could chuckle a little at that. They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the crickets and the rustling leaves. 

“So, like,” Hayden started, figuring this was as good a time to ask as ever. “Are you gonna, like, tell people? One day?” 

Rozanov sniffed, and tensed a little, but he didn’t immediately shut him down. “Yes,” he said after a beat. “Yes, I want to. Tell people.” 

“Does your family know?” Hayden asked. “Just, cause Shane’s parents know. Y’know.” 

Rozanov laughed curtly. He fiddled for a moment with something on his chest. “My mother is dead. My brother is…no, my family does not know. I am not going to tell them.” 

“Oh.” Hayden looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry about that. It must suck. At least Shane’s folks are cool about it. And, yknow, me.” 

“Yes, Pike, you are so, so cool about it,” Rozanov deadpanned.

“Fuck off, you know what I mean.” 

“You and Shane are actually similar.” Ilya took in a breath of air. “You know, at first, I thought, how does Shane even befriend guy like this, who is so painfully heterosexual and bad at hockey. But now I know. You are talking the same.” 

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Thanks, man,” he drawled sarcastically, although he found he kind of meant it. 

“When we get married, you can be flower girl.” 

Hayden laughed, but he tried to hide his hint of surprise. When we get married. When. Not if. Hayden thought back to all the times Shane had come back from a meeting in Boston acting like he was ready for murder. He wondered just how long Ilya had been stringing him along in this. 

Or, perhaps, with the way Rozanov had said the words Yes, and I want to, it had been Shane that had done some of the stringing. 

God, Hayden felt like his entire world was imploding right now. He wasn’t good with these things. He always had Jackie to talk through it with him, make sense of everything. Oh, he was going to have so much to tell her when he got back. 

Rozanov said, “What, Pike, were you hoping to be one to marry Shane yourself?”, and Hayden realized he still hadn’t said anything. 

“What?” he piped. “Oh, um, no. I mean yes, I love Shane, but not like that.” He felt his cheeks heat up, and Rozanov raised an eyebrow. “I just didn’t realize it was so. Serious.” 

He could hear Rozanov sniff again. “Is serious. At least, I am serious. I know people do not think so. But I am.” 

Hayden felt his eyes sting a little bit at Rozanov’s confession. Shit. Jackie was going to…he had no idea what Jackie was going to do. Act all like she was right all along again? Probably. “Shit, man,” he breathed. “OK.” He couldn’t think of what to say. Rozanov had a tone of voice he’d never heard before, one that felt foreign and out of place on him, like he was struggling to come up with words. It was the way Shane sounded, when he talked to Hayden about this stuff. 

One big, horrifying realization hit him all at once. 

He tossed Rozanov a Look, trying to put as much understanding into it as he could. As if he could possibly convey everything he was thinking right now. Pleading, a little, that Ilya would get him, that he would understand. Hayden would never, ever do anything to hurt Shane on purpose. They’d been best friends since before Jade and Ruby were born. 

And as long as Hayden could remember, Shane had been texting a Boston Lily. 

“Pike, are you having stroke? Did I concuss you on rock in lake?” Rozanov incriminated, when Hayden realized he’d been staring. 

“Sorry, man. Yeah, you probably did. Dick.” 

Ilya chuckled, but didn’t press further. 

“And just so you know,” Hayden added, “Shane is like, totally, hopelessly in love. Like, he is head over heels. His whole heart is in it, man. And if you break it, I don’t think I’m ever gonna forgive you.” 

“Is OK,” Ilya admitted. “If I do that, I will not forgive myself.” 

A loon called into the darkness of the night, and Ilya jumped, bumping the side of the car a little. 

Hayden chuckled. As if on cue, his stomach growled obscenely loudly. 

“Fuck, I really wish I had Mcdonald’s right now,” whined Rozanov. 

“Don’t tell Shane,” Hayden replied with a grin, “but me too.” 

They were both laying down in the back, Rozanov playing some offline game on his phone and Hayden dozing in and out of reality flicking mosquitos from his face, when he heard it.

The impossible sound of tires rolling down gravel.

Hayden sat bolt upright, flinging a hand up to cover his eyes from blindingly bright headlights. 

Rozanov made a gasping sound, scrambling out of the back of the car and waving his hands in the air. He cast a long shadow over Hayden, and he squinted in the bright light. 

There, louder than any sound Hayden had ever heard, louder than the scream of a crowd at a home game, louder than the sound of four children crying at once, was the sound of a black Land Rover pulling up and parking, and a door opening and slamming shut. 

They were saved. Hayden was not going to have to eat Rozanov. He was going to go home, finally. There was a man getting out of the car, and Hayden squinted, it was– no. There was no way.

Hayden stared, dumbfounded, as Shane, wrapped in a thick hoodie and jacket, ran down the dirty path towards them. 

“Ilya, oh my fucking god-” Shane’s cry of relief was cut off as Rozanov threw himself onto him, pulling him into the tightest hug Hayden had ever seen. 

“Dude,” said Hayden. When the two men stayed silent and continued to squeeze each other, Ilya picking Shane up off the ground slightly, he added another one. “Dude.” 

Rozanov finally released his grip, and Shane cradled his face in his hands, staring at him with the widest smile on his face. “You’re OK.”

“Yes. I am OK.” Rozanov’s eyes darted all over Shane’s face, worried expression on his lips. “Shane, moya lyubov, what are you doing here? What about gala?” 

“Fuck the fucking gala,” Shane sputtered. “You’re OK. You’re here. You’re alive. That’s…oh my god, Ilya.” He choked up, and shoved his face back into the crook of Ilya’s neck. 

“I am also here too,” Hayden added helpfully. 

Rozanov looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He kept rubbing circles into Shane’s back, murmuring in Russian. “Is OK. Pike was very slow driver, and tried to take short cut. He is also very bad driver, and likes to explode his tires.” 

Shane sniffled, and then pulled back, glaring at him. “Don’t even joke right now. Jesus Christ. I’m so glad you’re OK.” 

“How did you even find us?” exclaimed Hayden, his mouth still hanging open. 

Shane finally turned to look at him, smiling slightly. He looked a little embarrassed. “I, uh. I called you like a million times. I was kind of panicking when I got to Ottawa. I didn’t even go to the gala, I just drove back here. I looked at the last location you had on your phone, and when you weren’t there I just kind of…drove around every road I could find.” 

“Oh my god,” Hayden said. Then repeated. “Oh my God. So you’ve just been driving down random roads since…?” 

“A while,” Shane admitted, blinking and wiping at his eyes. “Fuck. Shit. Ilya, never do that again, I was so worried, I thought…” 

“Hey.” Rozanov held him tighter, planting a kiss to his forehead. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to make you worry.” 

“Yeah, well you did,” Shane grumbled. “A lot. My dad’s out here too.” 

“So you didn’t even go to the gala?” Hayden asked again, still trying to keep up with this conversation. 

Shane shook his head. “My mom’s taking care of it. Oh God, Hayden, I thought you like, drove him off a cliff or something, I thought…” he laughed a little, though his eyes were still wet. He pulled Ilya into a kiss that was far too deep and graphic for Hayden’s to want to look at, then pushed him back a little. “Wait, Ilya, have you been smoking?” 

Rozanov laughed, although Hayden noticed he sounded choked up. “Was emergency. I was going to be killed by wolf. Pike was not defending me.” 

Shane’s glare looked like it was shooting daggers, although Hayden had to stifle a snort. Shane did look cute when he was mad. 

“I’m amazed you two didn’t kill each other,” said Shane, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought at first. I was so worried you were actually in trouble, but then I kept thinking that it was all my fault, for putting you in the same car.” 

Rozanov croaked. “Meh, I did try to drown Pike, but he put up good fight. I live to remove him another day.” 

Hayden glowered at him, though it didn’t hold nearly as much resentment as it had at the beginning of the day. “In your dreams, Rozanov,” he chided, warmly. 

“Okaay.” Shane took a step back. “Now I am convinced I am seeing things.” 

Rozanov peppered him with kisses, pawing his hands at his back. “My knight in shining armour,” he murmured. “My spasitel'. My Canadian moose.” 

“Ok, that’s enough,” Shane batted at Rozanov, but he was still laughing. He walked over to Hayden, giving him a brief hug that made Hayden cringe a little, and then feel a flush of guilt for making Shane worry. 

Shane walked around the car, peering at it with interest. “We should get out of here and back to service, we need to tell my dad I found you guys. And maybe get some help, Hayd. What even happened here, anyways?” 

Oh, god. Hayden suddenly went very red, even though he was already bathed in red taillights. 

Shane stood by the empty wheel and the pieces of the broken tire, and put his hands on his hips, scrunching his face in confusion in exactly the way Hayden had mocked up earlier. 

“Like I said,” Ilya remarked nonchalantly. “Pike is bad driver.” 

Shane looked at Ilya, then Hayden, then back at the car, then at the spare still leaning against the passenger door. 

There was a beat of silence.

“Wait, you guys don’t know how to change a tire?”

fin.