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Luca Haas was still wrapping his brain around the fact that Ilya Rozanov was bisexual, let alone in a relationship, let alone in a relationship with his long time rival Shane Hollander, let alone that they had been outed by accident via a Fanmail video taken by Shane Hollander's best friend and teammate Hayden Pike.
It was a lot to process. Just like, factually.
Luca had grown up idolizing the two men. Rozanov and Hollander, rising through the ranks, always paralell, in each other's orbit. It made…sense. A lot of the guys said it didn't, citing either Rozanov's reputation or Hollander's. They said they had a hard time believing Hollander was gay, that Rozanov would ever commit, that they could have kept it a secret for any amount of time.
Luca disagreed. Maybe he'd just studied their game play too closely. Maybe he'd listened to their joint interviews too many times. Hard to say. They just…worked. He'd been thrilled when the MLH announced an East vs West game for All-Stars 2017 because he'd known they couldn't resist putting Hollander and Rozanov on the same line. He remembered some of his teammates saying it would be a shit show. That the two rivals would never get along, that they'd tank each other's play or clash on the ice. Who would center who? It didn't work!
But then Rozanov played wing.
Hollander passed to Rozanov like he knew where he'd be. They operated on the ice like a single unit following a script. Perfectly in sync. Rozanov scored off Hollander's assist. Hollander scored twice, once off Roz's assist using the backhand he was famous for that Rozanov notoriously heckled him about. Rozanov kissing Hollander's helmet after had stunned Luca.
The hockey world had called it a novelty, a nice change of pace, a spectacle that faded when the regular season started up again. The internet, however, exploded. There had already been fan speculation about gay players, about secret relationships, and just general fan-shipping discourse. It wasn't taken seriously for the most part. The denizens of the internet did not generally believe Shane Hollander was gay (Ilya Rozanov was another story, though). There was no way he was secretly fucking Hayden Pike or his rival, it was all nonsense. In theory.
Quietly and to himself, Luca had always thought that no one could fake chemistry like that. Not during a game, for sure. And he didn't just mean All-Stars 2017 either. All of their games. There was a reason people liked watching them play. Yes, they were good. Yes, they were competitive. But they also anticipated each other. Mocked each other. Hollander would copy Rozanov's moves from previous games against other teams (meaning he had watched those games closely). Rozanov would demonstrate the skills sports anchors praised Hollander for; agility, his edge work, his controlled precision, his backhand.
They didn't do things like that to other opponents. Not even the ones who called them out or were stronger contenders. They were showing off for each other in a language only devoted hockey enthusiasts could understand. And, honestly, maybe only they two could truly understand. The kind of skill you'd need to watch another player's film and replicate those moves and skill sets, supposedly opposite to your own, was unrivaled.
It meant a comprehension and compatibility that went beyond the ice. It meant years of diligent study. Focus and attention. And to deploy that information, those skills, so readily, so casually, as a gag, a call out, a conversation…that meant intimacy. A kind of intimacy you didn't develop with someone you didn't respect. A kind of intimacy you would never develop with someone you hated. So, if nothing else, Rozanov and Hollander were very good friends.
But Luca understood. He could see it. What he didn't understand is how no one else seemed to.
The Centaurs speculated wildly on what it would be like to have Hollander on the team. Specifically having him on the team with Rozanov. Luca listened attentively, hummed ambivalently at the louder suggestions. Barrett thought it was going to be a shit show at practice. That they would argue and battle for first line center, that they wouldn't get along sharing the spotlight. Chouinard and Hayes thought their game strategy was too different to "gel" properly. Lapointe and Holmberg were worried they'd fight for the C and make everyone miserable. A few more were a little concerned about the gay thing, mostly about adjusting to a couple in the locker room, nothing too deep beyond what to expect from them as a couple. Rozy wasn't exactly shy or a prude. All in all, a lot of the same chatter he remembered hearing from the All-Stars game in 2017.
Bood nudged him, a sign that he had been too quiet and he had to participate now. Bood was good like that.
"What'ya think, Haasy?" he asked gently, smiling in encouragement. Luca didn't share his thoughts outside of hockey very much. North American English still confused him sometimes.
He grinned at his team.
"I think we are going to win the Cup."
The whole team grinned back.
*
Troy Barrett had fallen into a grudging mutually respectful friendship with Ilya Rozanov. He was a good guy, a great captain, a phenomenal hockey player. Still an asshole, never missed a chance to chap your ass about any fucking minute detail he might notice. And he noticed a lot. And okay, it wasn't "grudging," Troy was kind of obsessed with Roz…as a concept. He was just very different from what he expected and what he was used to dealing with. He had a gentleness to him that the public (and really, just the press) didn't see. He'd deny it, but how many guys actually enjoyed playing with kids and mentored rookies like they were little brothers instead of pests? The answer was: not many!
Troy had been introduced to Shane Hollander in passing. When he stopped by for a Foundation thing, or when Troy was blackmailed into attending a Foundation thing. On the ice when the Metros viciously beat them down. His impression was: hockey royalty, a bit aloof, maybe gay. That was all he could figure out about him. He was also hot as fuck, so he'd nearly asked Roz for his number.
Thank all that was fucking holy that he did not do that.
He'd called Roz when Hayden Pike's Fanmail video was posted. When his friend and captain was forcibly outed online as being bisexual and in a committed relationship with his so-called hockey nemesis. Roz had given him a courtesy call back, promising to check in with the team soon. He'd sounded…off but not terrible. Better than expected. Stressed, for sure.
Then he'd texted the team group chat that everything was true, he and Shane were together, engaged, getting married in the summer. He would be out for several days while everything got sorted with management. Please do not speak about it to press or other teams. They would set a day when he could answer questions.
It was all shockingly serious and mature for their captain, who was usually only serious about hockey. And he was never that serious unless he was talking about winning. Even then.
The first time Troy Barrett met Shane Hollander, his friend's boyfriend, was at Roz's house. This was after the Finals but before the wedding. Hollander was already confirmed to be signing with the Centaurs, the ink on his contract barely dry because it was still being contested and debated. Roz told them he wanted to introduce Hollander to them slowly over the summer, definitely not all at once, so he could attend team events later without stressing.
If anyone understood the reasoning of a slow approach with a new team after the fall out of a negative, shitty previous team culture, it was Troy Barrett. No one had said anything specifically, but Dallas Kent had a lot of buddies in tbe Montreal locker room. He was on board for whatever Roz had planned.
The first group of them was small: him, Bood, Haas, and Harris. Troy was a little irritated about Harris being there, knew that it was Roz's way of keeping the upperhand, but he played it cool. He didn't want the whole team knowing there was…something going on with them. Whatever. Roz was an asshole.
"What do you think he's like?" Harris asked him quietly as they all walked up to the door. He had a bottle of wine in his hand. Troy had brought vegan cookies because he'd heard Hollander was a health freak and he wasn't above bribery.
"I've met him before," he grumbled back. "And we've seen him in press…"
"No like, off the ice. Do you think he's nice?"
Troy shrugged. "Everybody says he's chill. A little weird. Reserved."
Harris frowned. "Yeah. Hockey players."
Troy stopped short, cocking his head.
"Yeah…hockey players that he plays with. Against. So..?"
Harris' expression morphed into something snarky and condescending, like Troy was being slow.
"Hockey players, Troy. Hockey players are saying a gay man they share a locker room with is weird and reserved?"
It took a second for it to click. He nodded.
"Right. So we have no fucking clue."
Harris slid an arm through his, smiling. Troy let him. Shortened his stride to match his.
"Right," Harris confirmed.
"Then I guess we're about to find out."
Shane Hollander was a little weird and reserved.
And very cute.
He greeted them all at the door like any WAG would, promising Ilya would be down soon. He had them take off their shoes (and offered slides which he had in a cubby near the door?), offered a really long list of drinks, got excited about the vegan cookies and talked about a bakery nearby, thanked Harris for the wine, then directed them to the living room and set out coasters while they all got comfortable. He, Bood, and Haas all shared a look, trying to figure out if they were making him uncomfortable or if this was just his normal.
"Shane," Harris interrupted politely, "why don't I help you with drinks? Ilya doesn't let these dummies just wander around…and I am just now realizing why that is the case. Okay, okay."
Shane laughed, cheeks flushing. He rubbed at his neck.
"Yeah, my fault. I was always paranoid I'd leave something behind. But I wasn't going to tell him not to have his own team over, so—" He looked around at them, landing on Troy for a long moment, and cleared his throat. "Right. Drinks."
He and Bood asked for beers, a Coke for Haas. Harris turned and winked at them, grabbing Troy's cookies before following Shane into the kitchen.
"This is so weird," Bood whispered the second they were out of earshot.
"Bood—"
"No, no, not that. It's…I almost hooked that guy for stealing the puck from me last game."
"He does that a lot."
"Yeah, but…now he's in Roz's house. That is Roz's sweatshirt, I know that for a fact!"
Troy rubbed his forehead while Luca just stared at Bood. He was trying not to tell Bood that it was entirely possible that the sweatshirt was Hollander's and that Ilya had been the one to steal it. Troy shook it off.
"You're the one being weird. Get a grip."
"You're not struggling to wrap your brain around the fact that two of the greatest hockey players of our generation are in a relationship and engaged to be married?"
"No," he and Haas answered simultaneously. They both looked at each other in surprise. Troy was surprised but he didn't know why Haas was suprised, he was objectively the closest to Roz on the team.
"Why the fuck else would he tank his career to move to Ottawa and then suddenly become a prudish hermit after a decade of being a fuckboy in Boston if not for the best, and quite frankly hottest, player in the damn league?"
Bood bobbled his head. "Okay, fair. Haasy?"
The kid shrugged. "I've watched them play."
It was his and Bood's turn to stare in confused disbelief.
"They only played together once, Haas," Bood pointed out gently. Bood was always gentle with Haas. But the kid shook his head.
"No. Well, yes, but no. I've watched them play against each other. Play against other people. There is a difference. With other people, it's…like a play on stage. Everyone does their part, shows up, says their lines. It's dialogue we expect, right? Sometimes, if we're lucky, something incredible happens. But when the captain faces off against Hollander, challenges him, it's not a script, it's—"
"A conversation," the man himself finished. Hollander and Harris had walked back into the room as Haas finished talking. He snapped his mouth shut immediately, flushing bright red head to toe. Even Harris looked chagrined.
"No," Hollander shook his head and passed him a Coke, "it's fine, trust me. People have said…much worse things." He grinned and took a seat on one of the armchairs Ilya never allowed other people to sit in…Oh. Harris gave Bood his beer and sat next to Troy, handing him a bottle too.
"You must know your hockey," Hollander continued, addressing Haas. "I didn't think anyone was paying that close attention to our game play."
Haas nodded and cleared his throat.
"I grew up studying…you. Both of you. Your techniques, your moves. It was…obvious to me when you changed things. You only do that when you play each other."
"We only do what when we play each other?" Roz asked brightly, trotting into the room with Anya in his wake. He plopped down onto the armrest of Hollander's chair, his arm sliding over his shoulders. Troy did not miss the subtle elbow Hollander shoved into his thigh. Anya bolted right to Harris, sitting on his feet and begging for pets. Troy side-eyed the dog stealing his boyfriend's attention.
"Your rookie clocked your in-game flirting," Hollander supplied.
"Well Haasy is a hockey genius." The kid flushed again. "We should be grateful he didn't out us first for you blatant plagiarism."
"Bullshit, you started it."
Ilya snorted. "Anchors thought it was funny when I copied you."
"Uh huh, and when I do it, you call it disrespectful."
"No I said it was hot."
Hollander whacked him and he wheezed dramatically.
"Abuse in my own house!"
"You have guests!"
"We have guests, moya lyubov," he corrected. "And you are being very rude, you haven't even fed them your terrible snacks."
At that they were both up and out of the seat, bickering about Shane's hosting skills and the food he'd prepared. Literally like most of the guys and their wives or girlfriends did. It was so…normal. That was the only word Troy could come up with despite the absolutely not normal context of the situation.
He, Haas, and Bood all looked around at each other for a moment, and then promptly burst into unrepentant laughter.
"What is so funny?" Harris demanded. Troy put a hand to his back as he was still leaning forward to pet Anya. Winked at him.
"Haasy was right. We're winning the Cup."
*
Zane Boodram felt like he was in a fever dream. He had spent the last year trying to puzzle out and predict Ilya Rozanov. All of it was for nothing because he'd been dead wrong.
He was a good guy, a good captain, Zane had no complaints on that front. He respected the hell out of his ability to motivate and bring people together. But like he'd told Cassie, he thought Roz had been holding back…something. Not on the ice, just in general.
"He is your colleague, Z, not your actual brother," she reminded him over and over. They were not owed every piece and secret of their teammates, no matter how often they called each other family. But it bothered him. Like a hangnail or phantom itch.
Watching him kiss Shane Hollander in that Fanmail video had unlocked that final piece.
Watching him sit in Shane Hollander's lap with the man's arms wrapped around him while they talked and drank cemented it.
Zane contemplated what was different about him while reaching for some of the snacks and finger food they'd put out. He had no clue what half of it was, but food was food. He quickly changed his mind about that when he ate a little wrap thing, realized it wasn't seasoned and had…interesting textures. But Roz was watching him like a hawk, smirking. Okay not that much was different. Challenge accepted. Zane got another one and ate it in one bite. No complaints. Or gagging. Motherfucker. Roz cackled and wrapped an arm around Hollander's neck, whose brows pinched but it didn't interrupt the flow of conversation with him and Barrett about the worst parts of Toronto.
It was just…Roz couldn't stop smiling. And laughing. And flirting. Jesus Christ, Zane thought the jokey flirting with the team was unbearable, this with Hollander was next level. He didn't separate from Hollander for more than seconds at a time and still tried to keep physical contact when he did. He looked giddy and in love, and Zane was absolutely fascinated. So fascinated that he missed it when Barrett turned the conversation to hockey.
"…be crazy to waste either one of you as a center!" Barrett insisted.
"No!" Roz interrupted, slapping a hand over Hollander's mouth and another behind his head to clutch him in place. "No hockey talk! We will be here all night trapped in boring debate, no!"
Barrett tossed a hand wildly. "I would like to hear his thoughts! He's got to have some opinions about our lines!"
"No!"
Zane chuckled as Hollander bit Roz's hand to get it off, smirking when he had to shake it out because there was definitely a short-lived mark. Hollander grabbed it back and kissed the palm, holding it between them.
"I do. I have a lot of thoughts."
"Nobody wants to see your beautiful mind notebooks, Hollander," Roz groused petulantly. Hollander was grinning up at him though.
"Notebooks?" Zane probed. Hollander's grin dimmed a little as he looked over. Roz stubbornly tugged his arm back around his waist and Hollander let it happen, shrugging.
"Long distance is hard."
"You're obsessed with me," Roz teased. Hollander bobbed his head.
"A little," he admitted easily. "I'd watch his games. Map out the plays. Missed opportunities. What could have been improved."
"Our games?"
He opened his mouth to answer, and then seemed to think better of it, just nodding.
"Uh huh."
"And like I told him, my team does not need his help with hockey—"
"Our team," Hollander corrected, nudging him. Roz's eyes whipped back to Hollander so fast Zane almost missed the blush. He twisted his lips to ineffectually hide a grin. Hollander raised his brows at him.
"Okay, fine. But not tonight."
"Okay."
He, Barrett, and Luca exchanged confused, bemused looks. Shane Hollander was going to stop talking about hockey? The guy who notoriously only talked about hockey? They watched him squeeze their captain one more time, and then he disentangled to stand up. Started collecting bottles and trash.
"No shop talk. But you have to figure out what five hockey players and a hockey player's boyfriend are gonna talk about, then."
Hollander didn't realize the bomb he'd just dropped.
Zane's head whipped to Barrett and Harris, cracking his neck. Harris had a fist in front of his mouth to cover his giggling while Barrett dragged fingers over his eyes, looking ready to kill himself. Luca was practically vibrating in excitement and Roz had his face and both hands, shaking from restrained laughter.
Hollander straightened like a deer alerting to a predator.
"Oh shit," Hollander intoned miserably. "Did people not know? Fuck. Ilya said you were—"
"I'm sorry!" Roz tried, but failed to be sincere, given the laughing. Hollander kicked sharply at his shin, sending Roz rolling back further into his chair, face still covered.
"He made it sound like you'd worked things out and you're sitting together! I just assumed—!"
"You wouldn't last a day in the closet if Hollander clocked you," Roz rasped, still laughing. Without missing a beat, Hollander chucked an empty bottle at his head. Thankfully Roz caught it, laughing harder.
"I'm so sorry, you can't tell him things you don't want me to know. He's worse than a teenage girl."
Barrett didn't emerge from his hand, but Harris was still giggling and waved him off.
"We didn't even tell him!" Harris wheezed, not taking it seriously at all. Zane bit his lip when Shane glared daggers at Roz who sat up red-faced with a helpless shrug.
"You're a goddamn shark," Hollander snapped. Roz just snorted.
"It's not my fault!"
"You could have told me people didn't know!"
"They're going to figure it out the first day of camp anyway! You did! Look at them!"
Which was…true. They were sitting pretty close together and Barrett had been handsy most of the night. Zane had just been focused on Roz and Hollander the whole time, didn't even think about it. Roz tried to grab for Hollander's waist, but he swatted him away with a free hand.
"You're such an asshole."
"Lyubimyy!" he whined as Shane walked off to the kitchen.
"Fuck you," was the answer. Instead of getting upset or annoyed, Roz just laughed to himself and tossed his head back into his chair.
"I am in trouble."
"Fuck you Roz, you deserve it," Barrett snapped. Roz pulled a mocking face that clearly indicated he did not care that Barrett was mad.
"It's really not that serious," Harris insisted, grabbing Barrett's hand from his face and letting the poor guy lean into him. "We were getting ready to tell management and HR next week anyway."
"Woulda been nice to have the summer without the freaking chirping though," Barrett complained.
"Oh fuck off Barry," Bood scowled. "We'll keep it to ourselves. Quit being such a baby!"
"You try being outed by your own captain in front of Shane Friggin' Hollander!" he argued, sitting up and tossing a hand in the direction of the kitchen.
"Pretty sure he's gay, hon, I don't think he cares," Harris teased. Barrett looked absolutely betrayed, which was hilarious.
Roz's head was tipped in the direction of the kitchen. Zane couldn't see or hear anything specific, but maybe Roz had a secret Shane Hollander sense.
"Will he be that upset?" Haas asked quietly, also looking in that direction. They all turned their attention to Roz, who turned back to them, giving up his attempt to snoop on his boyfriend.
"He's fine. Embarrassed, probably. He was nervous about meeting you."
They all froze, incredulous, and once again, confused. Even Barrett was stumped. Haas looked like someone had just dropped a calculus problem in his lap and demanded an answer. He gaped at their captain, who just shrugged.
"Shane Hollander, The Shane Hollander," Zane amended, "was nervous to meet us?"
Harris scoffed and stage whispered, "Guys, he's not a hockey legend meeting other hockey players. He's a man meeting his boyfriend's co-workers. Of course he is nervous. Why are you all like this?"
"Because he's Shane Hollander!" Barrett protested adamantly, which had Haas nodding. Even Zane bobbed his head. Because yeah, what could he possibly be nervous about? That they wouldn't like him? That they wouldn't think he was good enough for Roz? All of it sounded absurd.
Roz sat forward and brushed at his nose, eyebrows up.
"It's…his team, and his friends, were not so good about it."
Silence again dropped as they ran right into the confusion wall.
"Because he's gay?" Haas asked.
Roz shook his head, "Some of them, yeah. But no, it's because it's me."
"What, because of the rivalry?" Zane asked. "You guys have been publicly friendly for awhile…do other teams actually buy into that crap?"
"Good teams do," Roz smirked.
"Fuck you—"
"But no, it's me. At least with Pike. And Boiziau. But who fucking counts Boiziau anyway?"
Haas was staring at the floor like that calculus problem had just called him a bitch and fucked his mom.
"No, that makes sense," Harris said, nodding and drinking the wine he'd brought. They all glared at him and he shrugged. "Be so fucking serious right now. Before you met him, got to know him, just based on his public reputation, would you have let him near one of your friends or sisters?"
Zane answered on reflex. "No."
Roz snorted.
"Like, I get it. If that's the information you're working with, yeah, I would be yapping Shane's ear off about what the hell he thought he was doing."
Zane hesitantly looked back to Roz, to gauge how he was taking this. He seemed fine. He made eye contact with Zane and shrugged.
"I had fun, I don't care. But…it's always been Shane. Pike will come around."
"What about Boiziau?" Barrett asked hotly, clearly irritated by this whole conversation. Roz cleared his throat and wiped at his mouth. He looked quickly over his shoulder, probably checking for Shane. He'd been gone awhile.
"Boiziau said he tripped on purpose."
Again with the fucking wall of confusion.
"What?" they demanded in tandem.
Roz's brows bounced. "Our last game, when he tripped and I scored, Boiziau was the one who said he did it on purpose. Most of the team still believes it, I guess."
"Why the fuck—?"
"To let me win," Roz answered tiredly. "I guess? Apparently we have been taking turns, if you ask the Metros."
"How does that make any sense?"
"It doesn't," Harris snapped. "It doesn't make any goddamn sense."
"They are just angry, I think. He had them fooled, they don't like it."
"It's slander!" Harris blurted out, heated now. Zane watched Troy put a hand to Harris' thigh, nudge into him. "No, the League could investigate something like that. Revoke awards and points, that could ruin his career. Tank his sponsorships, provoke lawsuits. Not to mention, it could ruin Ilya's career, too!"
Roz's answering smile was tight and thin and resigned, and seeing it made Zane unreasonably pissed off. Who the fuck did those fucking Metros think they were? What the hell?
"No, fuck that," Harris kept going. "I don't know how, but they're gonna answer for that. Throwing a playoff run? Are you fucking kidding me? Their PR team is never gonna sleep again," he was already pulling out his phone.
"Harris—" Roz started. But the man waved him off.
"No, no, I'll keep the reasons to myself, but we're going at this hard. I do not give a fuck, we are leaning into the rivalry angle and I'm gonna bury the goddamn Metros."
Zane exchanged concerned and impressed looks with his teammates. Barrett had a hand over his mouth.
"It's hot when you're riled up, Harris—"
"Shut the fuck up, Roz," Barrett snapped.
That's when Hollander decided to walk back in, more beers and a tray of snacks in hand.
"Sorry about that," he looked around at them all, hesitating. "Dad called," he told Ilya. "Bear's back at the cottage."
"Aww!" Roz whined. "We're missing Darya?"
"You named a bear?" Zane scoffed. Hollander rolled his eyes, making Roz stand up so he could sit down and pull him into his lap.
"He named the bear. I have to clean up her trash from the property, so I don't like the bear." He frowned a little. "Harris, are you okay?"
Harris put his phone down and straightened, his face fixed in a tight, obviously fake but serene smile.
"I am perfect. I will be even better after my meeting tomorrow."
"About…?" Hollander looked between him and Barrett.
"Nope! New game plan for next season. New star player means a whole new angle, right?"
He sounded a little hysterical, but Hollander just nodded helplessly. Roz certainly didn't help him, just shrugged and asked Haas when he was heading home to visit his family. That got Hollander asking a dozen questions about Switzerland. He'd played with a few Swiss guys and he wanted to take his parents there sometime. It opened the floodgates for travel talk. Zane and Cassie always took a trip to Trinidad over the holidays, spent a few weeks on different beaches every summer. Barrett road tripped across the US, and was planning to do more Canadian trips. Roz had spent all his free time in Russia or Florida or Vegas, so apparently Hollander was introducing him to real vacations that didn't include kids on spring break and bachelorette parties.
It was…good. Really good. That last piece slotted into the puzzle so smoothly that by the time Zane pulled into his driveway, he'd forgotten he never knew about Roz loving Shane Hollander.
They were getting that Cup. For Ottawa, sure, but mostly for Hollander. For him and for Roz.
(And Roz totally owed him for eating whatever it was Hollander designated as food, what the fuck.)
*
Wyatt Hayes was a goalie. A die-hard, born and bred goalie. Did it make him weird? Maybe. Did it mean that he saw everything, everywhere, all the time? No. Just most of the time. And sometimes unwillingly.
But this? This he wanted to see.
Roz brought Hollander to the rink early to warm up before their first practice. He had asked Wyatt to come a little early too, just to tend goal. He lingered by the gate, watching the two men on the ice.
They were both dressed, in Ottawa gear, and seemed to be running drills. It was just that they were doing those drills at an insane speed, in synchronization, and didn't seem to be trying to pull ahead or beat each other like most of the guys did. Wyatt stayed put, watching them go, thinking.
The drills themselves were nothing special. Warm ups for footwork, dot drills, agilities, line hops. Passing drills, down and backs, wide and narrows. Kids used it as warm ups, honestly. And here were two hockey legends controlling their speed, their strides, their passing to do it all in tandem.
They were playing.
Not like, professional playing the game kind of playing, but like…play. Two kids playing together. Grinning like lunatics, enjoying themselves.
"They've been here thirty minutes already," Coach Weibe said, coming to lean against the boards next to him. "Crazy, isn't it?"
"Crazy is the most neutral word for it, coach."
He arched a brow at Wyatt, tipped his head in their direction.
"You see what I'm seeing out there?"
"I see two Stanley Cup champions running kiddie drills."
Weibe snorted and clasped his hands together.
"I see a system aligning itself. Parts of the whole harmonizing. Synergy." Weibe nodded. "What do you see, Hayes?"
He let out a slow breath through his nose. Watched them do a bounce drill from center ice, the 1, 2, 3 swish, coming at regular, consistent intervals. Like clockwork. Twenty pucks, ten each. Barks of laughter, some swearing.
"I see a decade of unutilized chemistry. Two racehorses finally allowed to go at full speed in an open field. I see two men who were boys together." He grinned. "I see the fucking Cup."
Weibe grinned back. "Me too." He clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. "Get out there, give em a wall."
"Yes sir."
"Hazey!" Roz called out, catching his eye and backhanding a pass to Hollander who slapped it into the net. "Come make Hollander work for it!"
A puck went flying just past Roz's hip and smacked the boards beyond him. Roz kept grinning.
"Open net is too easy for him, makes him grumpy!"
"I am not grumpy!" Hollander snapped back.
"You sound grumpy!" he called back without looking. He stretched a hand out to Wyatt as he skated over and they knocked helmets.
"Drills?" Wyatt asked wryly. "Before practice?"
He shrugged. "Have to wear him out or he'll overthink himself into a spiral and scare the shit out of you all."
"Scare us?" he asked, putting his helmet on the ice and re-wrapping his glove straps compulsively. Roz grunted.
"Right. You guys all know Cool Guy Hollzy. So chill, not a hockey obsessed freak of nature."
"Nice way to talk about your husband," Shane grumbled, coming to a stop next to them. "You're welcome for gathering up the pucks, by the way."
"Well why else are you here but to field my pucks, Hollander?"
Wyatt winced, probably expecting what they all were used to hearing and seeing between the two of them on the ice. Irritation, a flat one liner, the professional rivalry. Wyatt hadn't really seen them interact much on the ice since they were outed.
"I wouldn't have to field your pucks if you got them in the net," Hollander teased back, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Oh he's funny now."
"Funnier than you. Hey Hayes. Thanks for coming early."
"No problem," he bent to pick up his helmet. "Nervous about the first day?"
"No. Why?"
Wyatt caught Roz's scowl behind Hollander's back, the way he sliced a hand in front of his face and raised his brows.
"Oh you know. New team or whatever. I almost puked before my first practice, you know?" Shane frowned and Roz tipped his head back in frustration.
"Let's do drills!" Roz suggested too loudly. "Hollander loves drills, they make him horny."
"Fuck off, Ilya," Hollander complained, skating away to get into position. Roz shoved at Wyatt, who held up his hand in defeat.
Wyatt made his way over to the net, slow and steady as he watched Roz go circle Hollander. He couldn't hear them exactly, but Hollander was smiling, eyes tracking Roz, and shaking his head instead of bitching. A good sign, maybe.
Then Roz circled closer, slinging an arm around Hollander's waist and bringing their bodies together. He moved to hug Hollander from behind, hooking his chin on his shoulder and tipping his head to look at him. Hollander covered Roz's arms, secured their locked position. Wyatt had seen hundreds of guys take a similar position during scrums over the years, buddying up while the fight died down. It was crazy to think he'd never seen Roz and Hollander do it. Not once. But he absolutely understood why they hadn't.
Anybody seeing them standing together now would have no doubt they were in love. Not a single ounce. They talked quietly for a moment, drifting together at center ice. Then Hollander nodded sharply once, twice, and Roz kissed his helmet and pulled away to swat his ass.
"Make him work, Hazey!" Roz shouted.
-
By the time practice actually started, Shane was feeling much calmer. More centered. He'd been skeptical when Ilya had suggested going in early to run drills. He didn't want the team to think he was trying to do too much or that he was nervous.
"Solnyshko," Ilya had crooned at him, "you always feel better on the ice, moving. And you can spend the whole hour correcting my form, you love doing that."
He'd been teasing, sure, but he wasn't wrong. And Shane didn't correct anything. Skating alongside Ilya had always been like sex to Shane. The matching and mirroring, feeling how they could move together, anticipate each other, how they synchronized for the best outcome. That's what the drills had been, sex and meditation and catharsis all intermingled. It was fun. Hockey was always so much fucking fun with Ilya.
They were so winning the Cup this season.