Chapter Text
Hayden
Shane was drunk. Not wasted but definitely the right side of tipsy. They were celebrating their win in Boston. It was the last match-up with the Bears in the regular season and it’d been a good fucking game. Back and forth, hard-fought, bruised ribs, blood on the ice kind of game. Hayden scored in the third putting them ahead and Shane shut down all Rozanov’s attempts to equalize. It felt good.
Shane and Hayden stood apart from the rest of the team, leaning against a high-top table. Shane was here! Celebrating! Drinking alcohol! Instead of running off to meet up with fucking Rozanov. And that felt like a win too. Because Hayden’s best friend, his secretly gay captain, he was just the fucking best. And he derserved better than fucking Rozanov. Okay, Hayden was also pretty drunk.
“I’m glad you came out with us, man! Usually you’ve scurried off by now…”
“Mmm, but we gotta celebrate. You got the game-winner!” Shane clinked his drink against Hayden’s.
“Fucking A!” Hayden threw the rest of his back. “Okay, you know I have to ask it…”
“Hayds, just leave it, man.” Shane’s voice wasn’t sharp or angry, just dismissive. Over it. They had talked about it a lot.
“I just don’t get it! I know you have to be like, secret about it, but there have got to be other guys. Guys who live in Montreal, even! I know, I know, you guys are serious now but it wasn’t for a long time right? Like, did you ever try for something else? Try to make it work with another guy?”
Shane just tapped on his glass and smiled. “I don’t think you want those kinds of details, man.”
“Okay, fair enough. But, Jackie’s brother-in-law, his best friend would literally be perfect for you. No bullshit, here, look!” Hayden pulled up his phone and shoved a picture toward Shane.
Mark’s friend Gil was handsome. He was! He had a distinguished quality about him. George Clooney-esque, even. But Shane wrinkled his nose and looked offended.
“Ew! Hayden, that guy is fifty fucking years old. His face looks like a catcher’s mitt. What? People born in the 1940s never heard of sunscreen?”
Hayden looked at the picture. Okay, actually the guy was a little older, not fifty though. And, okay, his skin was sort of leathery. Like he tanned too much. He laughed too.
“Okay, fine, what about this guy? He’s single! He does yoga and I think he like, wind surfs or something.” Hayden pulled up the profile for one of the instructors at Jackie’s yoga studio. A nice gay guy named Evan. He was hot, Hayden was pretty sure. Good body, long hair, laid back vibes. His profile showed him in various yoga poses
Shane looked deeply unimpressed. “Hayden, why in God’s name are you showing me a picture of a white man with dreadlocks? You have to know I’d rather cut off my pinky toes than touch a guy that uses patchouli oil instead of deodorant. And, also: I have a fucking boyfriend!”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, okay. You have a boyfriend right now. But if you didn’t, like if that doesn’t work out or whatever, what is your type?”
Hayden started glancing around the club. “What about him?” Tall guy, broad shoulders, curly hair. Shane liked that in Rozanov.
“Oh man, Hayds.” Shane shook his head like he was disappointed. “You’re confusing tall for hot. His face looks like a fucking backroad. And his hair line is receding. Fucking nasty.”
Hayden laughed. He loved when Shane got mean and petty. It was a rare treat. “Okay, fine. What about him?” Hayden pointed to a guy who was pretty obviously gay (probably).He was willowy and wore a sheer shirt. Plus he was dancing with a group of women but in a gay-way (was it okay for him to say that?). The guy was small though, smaller than Shane. Rozanov was closer to Shane’s own size, an inch, maybe two, taller.
“Oh Mr. Twinkitron2000? Good pull, Hayds, very observant of you to notice the raging homosexual on the dance floor. Not my type, though. Hunks or better, for the record.”
Hunks or better? Hayden would have to check Tumblr or something for that to make sense.
Shane finished the last of his drink. “And, just one more time here: I have a fucking boyfriend! A fucking hot boyfriend. With an insane body. Not that I’m planning to find someone else, but pretty sure I’m ruined for anyone other than a professional athlete with ungodly stamina who ranks in Cosmo’s annual hottest players list.”
“Fine, point taken.”
Hayden would back off for now, but he couldn’t help glancing around the club one more time. He saw a guy that looked about the right size and shape for Shane. Similar height and build to Rozanov. Similar curls. He was facing away from them though, so Hayden couldn’t tell if his face was like a “fucking backroad” (great chirp, by the way, Hayden logged it away for later).
Shane checked his phone. “Okay, I’m switching to ginger ale. Gonna sober up a bit and then I’m outta here.” Shane so rarely stepped over the line into tipsy that he was usually sober again by the time he finished his ginger ale. He moved away toward the bar and Hayden joined the rest of the Metros at the table.
Hayden sighed. He had maybe 30-45 minutes to see if anyone else here could catch Shane’s eye before he slipped off to meet up with fucking Rozanov. It wasn’t like Hayden expected Shane to hookup with some rando tonight, he just wanted to prove there were options out there.
“Holy shit,” Gagnon said, “is that fucking Rozanov?!”
Hayden turned his head so fast he felt it in his neck. The Rozanov-shaped guy on the dancefloor fucking was Rozanov. And he was dancing with a woman. But dancing was putting it mildly. He was…well…Hayden was fucking married and he wouldn’t put his hands on his wife like that outside their own bedroom. What the fuck was this asshole doing?
Hayden was steaming.
“It’s fine, relax,” Shane said through the side of his mouth as he slid in next to Hayden with his ginger ale. “Drop it, okay?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Shane? What the fuck is he doing?” Hayden hissed.
“Seriously, it’s okay. He’s just dancing. It’s not what you think.” Shane sipped his ginger ale as the rest of the team chirped and commented about Rozanov.
“Think he saw us? Like, does he realize half the Metros can see him feeling her up?” Wilson asked.
And like a nightmare that gets conjured when you speak its name, Rozanov’s eye snapped to the table of Metro players. He gave a slight smirk of acknowledgement, then angled himself back toward the woman pressed against his body.
“Yep,” Mitty said lightly. “Fucker has insane awareness on the ice, too. He probably clocked us as soon as he walked in. He either just doesn’t care or is weird enough that this counts as showing off.”
Hayden saw fucking red.
Cliff
Cliff’s phone was ringing. Who was calling in middle of the fucking night? He picked up his phone and saw Hollander - Metros as the contact on his screen. Cliff sat straight up.
What the fuck?
The Metros beat them by one fucking goal in their last regular-season match up just a few hours before. They must have hit a club or something to celebrate. Was fucking Shane Hollander drunk dialing him to gloat about a win?
“Hollander?” Cliff’s voice was rough with sleep.
“Yeah, hi, Marleau. Sorry, I had your number from the concussion thing last year,” Hollander said, sharp, alert. Definitely not a drunk dial.
The fuck? Was Hollander calling about a year-old injury? “Okay. What’s, uh, what’s up, man?”
“You and Rozanov are close, right? I don’t wanna, like, pull you into something if not.” Hollander’s voice was level but that did nothing to alleviate the panic that suddenly gripped through Cliff’s chest.
Shane fucking Hollander is calling me about Rozanov at 2am after a Bears loss? What the fuck did Roz do?
“I mean, I can go through team management if you’re not comfortable,” Hollander continued, “but, if you can be discreet–”
"What? No, fuck management! Is Roz okay?” Cliff jumped up out of bed and pulled some pants on. “What happened?”
Hollander let out an annoyed sigh. “It’s fine. Rozanov’s fine. Drunk, gonna have a black eye and some bruised knuckles, but he’s fine. He and Hayden Pike ran into each other outside a club. And started trading punches. In front of a patrol car. I’m at the 8th precinct now, trying to clean their shit up.”
“Oh, fuck…” Cliff actually laughed. Roz was fucking insane, sometimes. Cliff pulled on a sweatshirt and dug around his drawer for some socks.
“It’s fine,” Hollander repeated. He sounded exhausted. “There won’t be any charges. Boston cops are big hockey fans, I guess. They’re doing some bullshit paperwork to explain why they’re at the station in case that gets leaked.”
Cliff couldn’t help it, he laughed again. “What even happened? How’d they get themselves fucking arrested?”
"Stupid assholes couldn’t stop chirping each other, even when the cops were pulling them apart. Hayden was talking shit and Rozanov tried to break his jaw while a cop, a fucking cop, had him by the arm already! Fucking shitshow, man. So, the cops took them in to cool off a bit.”
Cliff let out a low whistle. “I know you and Roz have the whole rivalry thing but this season your boy has been on him. I mean, remember that first game? He nailed Roz with a dirty jab, I thought Roz was gonna lay him out. Maybe he should have, because Pike pushed it the rest of the season. I dunno why. I know they never liked each other but it got pretty crazy this year.” Cliff pulled on his shoes.
“I know, they’re fucking toddlers. Hayden especially. Honestly I appreciate Rozanov’s restraint. And sorry to pull you into the mess. It’s just…I mean, we wanna keep it quiet, right?”
“Fuck yes. Keep it quiet. Can you imagine the headlines?”
“Yes,” Hollander’s voice was dry, clipped. “But I really don’t want to.”
Cliff laughed. Hollander was actually kinda funny. Had Cliff known that about him?
“Right, so,” Hollander went on. “The cops will cut them loose but since they’re both still failing a sobriety check, they need someone to come pick them up. I got Hayden but they want someone not from the Metros for Rozanov. Fucking media circus around the rivalry,” Hollander spat out, all acid. “I’ll wait here for you, we’ll get them out together.”
Wow, Hollander really was a good guy. He could have dipped with Pike by now, left Roz alone. And it was Boston, it was a friendlier room for the star Bears player than for Hollander. But Hollander was going to stick it out and make sure Roz was okay too.
“Alright, I’m on my way.” Cliff let out a low laugh. “It’s kind of funny, you know? I’ve been waiting for the ‘I need bail’ call for years from Roz, didn’t expect it would be because fucking Pike got under Roz’s skin, ya know?”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. Tons of reasons why Rozanov might end a night of clubbing with being handcuffed to a bench.”
Now Cliff let out a barking laugh, Hollzy was fucking funny. Who knew?
“Just get here soon, Marleau. Cops put them in a conference room together but left cuffs on, which is fucking dirty, if you ask me. Hayden doesn’t stand a chance.”
Cliff grabbed his keys as he walked out his front door. “Oooph, yeah, on my way.”
Hollzy was right, Pike could throw a pretty good punch but an angry Roz allowed to rant at you? That shit can crush your spirit.
Hayden
Hayden glared at Rozanov and felt his lip pull up into half a snarl. The lip that was split at the corner from Rozanov.
Rozanov just smiled back. The smile was a leer, really. Practically indecent.
“Fuck off, Rozanov.”
“I was trying, very hard, to do just that when you showed up, Pike.” Rozanov said Hayden’s name like it was an insult. Fuck him.
Hayden tugged against the cuffs. The cops had been decent. They were letting Hayden and Rozanov sit in a conference room for privacy until someone came to pick them up. But they also handcuffed them to a fucking bench and left them alone.
Boston fans.
It was actually probably a good thing they left the cuffs on because Hayden was itching to give Rozanov another black eye.
“A year now, I’ve kept this shit under wraps for a fucking year,” Hayden grumbled.
Rozanov raised an eyebrow looking unimpressed. “And in that year you so blessedly kept your thoughts to yourself, yes?”
Okay, sure, Hayden had shared his thoughts with Shane. The phone call blowjob had solidified Rozanov as a terrible choice for Shane in Hayden’s mind. And, while he’d never actually spoken to Rozanov about it, he’d made his stance pretty clear during every game they played this season.
Right now, Hayden was still drunk. And the anger and resentment that had been simmering for most of the last year was turned up to eleven. He had shit to say to Rozanov, and maybe when they were handcuffed to opposite corners of the room was the best time for that. Hayden looked around again. It wasn’t an interview room, there was no mirror, or camera. The door was ajar but there was movement in the hallway, no one was listening. He lowered his voice anyway.
“You and Shane both say that what you have is real, that it’s worth something, so I’m taking it seriously. I’m trying to look out for my best friend, okay?”
“You do a terrible job looking out for your friend, then.” Rozanov looked bored. Bored! He had the audacity to look bored while they were handcuffed in a fucking Boston police station!
“And you do a terrible fucking job treating him right!”
Rozanov leveled a look at Hayden. “He told you this? He said I’m a bad boyfriend?”
“He didn’t fucking have to! I saw you tonight. Your hands were all over some chick in a club while your boyfriend sits there and has to pretend it’s nothing. Like, what the fuck is that?” It was gross. Rozanov was feeling some redhead up on the dance floor. Everyone saw. It was fucking obscene.
“Oh, so tonight, Shane told you he was upset I was dancing with a woman?” Rozanov’s tone was flat, dry, gave nothing away. It pissed Hayden the fuck off.
“No, Rozanov, I was fucking upset. Shane said you do that, it’s fine, don’t worry about it, it’s just dancing. But it’s not fucking fine! I know he’s got like, limited options or whatever, but he deserves better. You’re a real piece of shit.”
Hayden was angry all over again. He’d watched Rozanov feel up that woman for a half hour and all the while Shane just said ignore it. And when Shane started to say his goodbyes, Hayden noticed that Rozanov was already gone. It wasn’t his best moment, he could admit, but while Shane settled up his tab, Hayden slipped out the side door. And there was Rozanov. Waiting in the alley. For Shane. After that fucking display.
And yeah, sure, Hayden picked the fight. He yelled first. Got in Rozanov’s face. Pushed him. And when Rozanov yelled back, pushed back, Hayden threw the first punch. But Rozanov had punched him back. Hayden hadn’t noticed the patrol car parked at the end of the alley. Obviously. But he’d definitely noticed Shane’s face when he came out the side door to find a cop holding Rozanov by the arm while Hayden kept talking some shit.
Hayden was pretty drunk, admittedly. He didn’t mean to imply anything, not in front of the cops, at least, but he kept talking, kept running his mouth, he started to say something to Shane about why he’d bother with Rozanov. And that was when Roz yanked away from the cop and split Hayden’s lip. Then they were both in handcuffs, in the back seat of a cruiser, separated by thick plastic.
Hayden had never seen Shane look angrier. It was pretty fucking scary, actually. He felt a new level of respect for the teams they played against. So Hayden just sat in the cruiser while Shane chatted with the cops for a few minutes, all while Rozanov threw a litany of Russian insults and curses Hayden’s way. Hayden didn’t even have the wherewithal to worry about how pissed Jackie and his coach would be.
Eventually, Shane spoke through the cracked window. “They’re gonna bring you both to the precinct to cool off, but they’re fudging the paperwork about why you’re going in. Courtesy for their star player.”
Rozanov’s smile was fucking electric. Hayden hated him.
“You’re welcome,” Rozanov had chirped. Hayden wanted to fucking hit him again.
“Knock it off, both of you. I’ll meet you there. Hayden, store your shit, okay? We’ll talk later. Ilya, we talked about this. Can you try with Hayden? Please?”
“Of course, lyubmiyy,” Rozanov had said. And then he didn’t say a fucking word until Hayden started needling at him again.
But now, well, now Rozanov was smiling, like it was a fucking joke. Like it was funny that Hayden was pissed he’d half-fuck a woman on the dance floor in front of half the Metros, and then take Shane back to his apartment and do–whatever the fuck it was these two did with each other.
“Okay,” Rozanov said. “You made your big speech. You gave me a black eye. You got us arrested in my own fucking city. Because you tell yourself a story about something you don’t bother to understand. You feel better now, yes? Get it all out? Can we all move on with our lives now that Hayden Pike has proved something to himself?”
“Fuck off! Everyone knows you’re like, a sex addict or whatever,” Hayden huffed.
“Mmm,” Rozanov hummed, hummed! Like he was considering the weight of what Hayden said. “No, never an addict, I don’t think. I used sex, yes, but it was easy enough to set aside when I needed to. Other things in my life never really suffered, like with real addiction.”
“What?” Hayden shook his head, confused.
“Then again, for many years there was not so much else in my life to compete with sex. Might look like sex addiction from outside, I could see that.” Rozanov nodded.
What? Hayden blinked a few times. “What? Shut up, I’m not, like, trying to medically diagnose you. I’m just saying you’re like, this sleazy guy who fucks around.”
“Oh no, Hayden Pike, with his keen insight into human mind and sexuality, he withholds official diagnosis! How will I ever come to terms with the fact that meaningless sex was unfulfilling when compared to a real relationship?”
“I–no, shut up!” Hayden took a breath. What the fuck? “Look, I’m not judging, okay? Well I guess I kind of am, but you’re an adult. You don’t have to justify to me why you fucked your way across North America for the last decade, to each their own, or whatever. I’m just saying it’s a lot of fucking baggage and he’s deserves better.”
“You’re concerned.” Rozanov nodded and didn’t look quite so glib. It was weird, actually. “Yes, I probably had an unhealthy relationship with sex for years. Many, many partners, this part is true. But that is no longer the case. Why are you still concerned?”
“Umm...” What the fuck?
“Take your time, Pike. Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Hey, fuck you. It’s just the whole casual sex, multiple partners thing–” Hayden looked around and lowered his voice again, “--that’s not Shane. He deserves someone who, like, respects him. And, like, I worry maybe he’s with you because his options are more limited, or something, so he’ll just put up with it. But he's better than that.”
“Yes, Shane is a lovely person. Deserves a good relationship. We agree on this.” Rozanov was nodding slowly at Hayden. It was the look you use when a kid was so close to figuring something out and they just need a little encouragement. Fuck Rozanov, actually, he was such a dick.
“I’m saying, like,” Hayden stalled out. What was he trying to say? “You know. Don’t do that shit anymore. Stop sleeping around, stop fucking with Shane.”
Rozanov continued his slow nod. “I don’t like you very much, Pike.”
Okay, this was familiar ground. Hayden could get behind this part of the conversation. “Well, the feeling’s fucking mutual, Rozanov.”
“You are an okay hockey player but very forgettable. Shane makes you better, you ride his coattails. You say he is with me because of lack of options, but I think this is a, um, pot-kettle-reflection? You had a locker next to him, yes? Friendship is convenient for you. Shane and I took hard work. Making choices again and again. Was never simple matter of locker location.”
And if that wasn’t a fucking sucker-punch.
“What the fu– Shane is my best friend! And yes, I met him through hockey but it’s not like…that part was chance, okay? But like it’s a real friendship!” How was Hayden on the backfoot here? Rozanov was the fuckboy who had some explaining to do. Hayden was Shane’s best friend.
Rozanov nodded again. “I’m glad Shane has a friend. You are loyal to him and mostly kind even if you are stupid. I am, uh, conflicted about how stupid you are, Pike. You are stupid enough to be very wrong but too stupid to manipulate Shane. So, is okay I think, a good middle ground.”
“Manipulate Shane?! You think I’m the one manipulating Shane here?”
“You try to set him up with other men even though you know we are exclusive, yes? You accuse me of cheating, of sex addiction? You say these things to my face, which I respect, but you say more to Shane, no? For months now?”
Hayden’s cheeks burned. He had asked, often, if Shane was interested in meeting with other people. As recently as tonight, even. And even before tonight, he had asked Shane about Rozanov’s other…partners…from time to time. He just wanted Shane to know he deserved someone who cared about him!
“You, you said yourself you have too much meaningless sex!” Hayden was pointing now, sort of. The cuffs didn’t have much give. But he was desperate to regain the high ground he absolutely knew he had. Right?
“Da, yes, meaningless, unfulfilling sex. Hundreds of partners. Nice way to kill time, enjoy myself, but emotionally mostly pointless.” Rozanov nodded, a look of–not contrition at all, just a plain fact. Man, Hayden really did feel fucking stupid right now.
“See? How can I, you want me to just like, trust that you’re this reformed playboy and you’re gonna settle down for Shane but you know, a tiger can’t change its stripes.” Hayden smiled, he absolutely had the upper hand here.
“Oh! I don’t know this expression. What is the meaning? Something about changing one’s nature?”
“Yeah, like, you can’t change who you are, or whatever.”
“Yes, okay.” Rozanov nodded again. “This I agree with, we cannot change our nature, but we can change how we, uh, search to meet our needs, yes?”
“What? I just–you’ve needed to fuck half of New England for a decade, what’s changed there?”
“But sex is not always just sex, no? It is physical, sure, but it is also about feeling desired, feeling useful. Is common with people who have many partners but is problem even with exclusive couples. I, um, I have not read the English translations but Simone de Beauvoir talks about tyranny of devotion, no? It can be a trap to feel so needed?”
“I–what?” What the actual fuck was Ilya Rozanov, the Russian Menace, talking about? Was he being for real right now?
“After my mother died–”
Oh shit, that was pretty real…
“My father, he was…” Rozanov shook his head and didn’t finish his thought. “It was a year and half, maybe two, after she died that I started having sex. I think sex was the first time I felt um, physical and emotional intimacy, yes? After mama, I mean. Different way, of course, but there is really nothing else like a mother. But it’s hard, when you are fourteen, and with a mother’s suicide, it’s um…too overwhelming, I think, to try to put many hopes into a single person, or a few people. So, you fuck half the country, as you say.”
“Rozanov,” Hayden blinked and felt stupid. “I, um…”
“So stripes are not changed, Pike. I still want what I have always wanted but I just trust one place for it now. I trust Shane and he trusts me for the same. It’s better, I think. More healthy, stronger. And there are, um, pitfalls, yes? A complicated relationship, intense and secret, there are many places where it can be hard. But Shane and I still try. Together.”
Fucking what?!
“I–what? Why are you like...what is happening in this conversation right now? I have no idea what’s going on!”
“Well, yes. Typical situation for you, no?”
“Fuck you, what the actual fuck are you talking about?! Like I’m sorry about your mom and your trauma and your emotional sex, or whatever, but why are we talking about that right now?!”
“Shane asks me to be honest with you. Be sincere. I tell him, No, my love, Pike is too stupid, he will not understand, he is jealous, he needs to justify his relationship with you, he cannot see that you have chosen something he would not. He is too zaputannyy in heterosexual dinamika he cannot understand queer relationships like this. But I talk to you anyway, always. For my Shane.”
Hayden opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then opened it again and kept it that way while waiting for some thought, any thought, to come to his mind.
“Any time now, Pike.”
Hayden’s brain was empty. He knew he lost any ground he’d had and, more than that, he had no fucking clue what Rozanov was even talking about. Pitfalls and emotional intimacy and queer relationships? The fuck?! He searched around for something to respond to, and settled on the tyranny thing. “What was the thing about tyranny of love? Simone de whatever? Who is that?”
“Bisexual writer. Philosopher. Feminist. You never read The Second Sex?”
What the fuck? “Umm, no?”
“So you lean to, what? Classic concept of soulmates? Plato? You married young, have children already, makes sense, I guess.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rozanov.”
“Shane says you are smart. You went to university before you were drafted, yes?” Rozanov’s eyes were twinkling again. He wasn’t Shane’s boyfriend right now, he was the Russian Menace.
“Yeah, I mean, I did two years. You didn’t go to college, did you?”
“No, so I have to do my own readings, my own studies. You must have done philosophy courses?”
Was Rozanov mining for chirping material? What the fuck? “I, no I took like…a writing seminar. And um, a civics course. Plus, like, math.”
Rozanov blinks at him, again. “Math.”
“Yeah, math.”
“So you are a mathematician? You study calculus? Linear algebra? Discrete mathematics?”
What in the fuck is discrete mathematics? “I dunno, no. It was like, y equals mxb squared, or whatever. You know, algebra.”
“Algebra.” Rozanov’s eyebrows shot up his face. “Like for a child? American university gives you primary school lessons?”
“I–fuck off!”
“You attend university and take a child’s math class. You are not curious about things like what love is and why we seek it out? You have no thoughts on it other than thinking I fuck too many people to love someone sincerely? I worry for you, Pike. You may have missed a, um, foundational stage, I think.”
Hayden’s face was red. No, he’d never been fucking curious about the nature of love. Why would he? He loved Jackie, he loved his kids, he even loved Shane. Who cares what Playdough or Simon de Bisexual had to say about it?
“I, look I was there to play hockey not, like, learn about bisexual feminism or whatever!”
“Bisexual feminism?” Shane’s voice rang out. A cop stood behind him. Shane’s mouth turned up at the corners.
“I–we were talking about college courses,” Hayden mumbled, looking to Rozanov for backup.
Rozanov had heart-eyes for Shane. He needed to chill the fuck out if he didn’t want to out them to Boston police. “Ahh, Hollander, you are here to save us? Nice Canadian player, here to help out his old buddy? My hero!”
The wolfish grin was fucking obscene. Shane’s smile went even higher. “Sorry, Rozanov, just here for my liney.”
Hayden flashed a smile, mean, possessive, taunting, in Rozanov’s direction. Rozanov blanked his face for a minute and Hayden…felt sort of bad. Didn’t Rozanov just say he never really experienced love after his mother’s death? And that he and Shane were trying to build something?
To be fair, he’d said a lot of really loaded shit in a really confusing and aggressive way.
“Rozy!” Cliff Marleau came up from behind the cop.
“Marly! You are here to help me, yes?” Rozanov’s voice was full of warmth again.
“Brother, what in the ever-loving fuck?” Marleau said with a laugh. “Fist fights in front of cops? Come on, man.”
The cop moved forward and uncuffed Rozanov first.
“Yes, not my best. I do apologize,” Rozanov took the cop’s hand. “Truly, it was terrible of me, Officer Braxton. And I don’t want this to be, um, bad appearance?” Rozanov smiled apologetically, like he couldn’t find the word. Hayden fucking doubted Roz didn’t know the phrase look like a bribe when he’d just talking about philosophical concepts of love and the soul. “But we’ve been at the girl’s juniors state championship the last few years. Half of the Bears, at least! Already planned to go again, right, Marly?”
“Every year! Our trainer’s niece made it three years ago and a bunch of us went, said a quick hi to some of the teams. It’s a lot of fun and we’ve been going back ever since.”
“We would be very happy to say hi to your daughter this year, meet her team!” Rozanov beamed.
Hayden had been with Rozanov almost every second since their arrest, except for the two sobriety checks they both failed. There were maybe seven total minutes where they were separated. Rozanov had made a fucking friend in that time, the fuck? Why was this asshole so charming?
“Thank you, Rozanov! I really appreciate that. I’m sure the girls will be thrilled. They’re killers on the ice, too. They try to keep the fighting there, though,” the cop joked.
Rozanov let out a hearty laugh. “A good example then!”
The cop thanked Rozanov and shook his (and Marleau’s) hands. Then turned to uncuff Hayden.
“Thank you for everything, we really appreciate it,” Shane said as Officer Braxton took his hand too. “Just emotions from the game, bleeding over. They’re good, we promise.”
“Um, yes, thank you, Officer,” Hayden mumbled. Shane looked at him expectantly. “And, um, I’m sorry, Rozanov.”
Rozanov turned back to look at Pike. Shane cleared his throat, which Hayden took to mean he should continue.
“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Hayden said. “It was shitty of me to antagonize like that.”
Rozanov did a full-body jump, like he was shocked. “Antagonize? Pike, you did not tell me American university gives hockey players vocabulary lessons too!”
Marleau, Shane, even fucking Officer Braxton laughed.
“They don’t, asshole, Hayden learned that word from you,” Shane said, as he took Hayden’s shoulder and led him through the door. “Okay, Marleau, Rozanov, see you in the playoffs, maybe.”
“Looking forward to it, Hollzy!” Marleau shouted after them.
Shane just marched Hayden straight out of the police station and into a waiting Uber.
Hayden opened his mouth to say something but Shane cut him off.
"Fucking don't," was all he said.