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If you ever asked him he would deny it, but Harris almost liked when Shane Hollander was injured. Obviously he liked it more when he was on the ice. Winning is a good thing. Shane Hollander on the ice is good for winning. The data says so. Anyone with eyes could say so. But broadly available, terminally bored, highly media-trained All Star? A communications director’s dream. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world that Shane Hollander’s left wrist was trapped in a brace for the next week and a half.
Sitting in this conference, though, he wondered if the media had gotten too comfortable with Shane Hollander. The questions had been getting more personal. Maybe too personal. Harris straightened, getting ready to stop the questions if they crossed the line. It was good he did. The next question couldn’t even see the line anymore it was so far on the wrong side of it.
“Shane, do you think you’re dating Ilya Rozanov because of your low self-esteem?” The reporter was new to the Centaurs’ pressroom. It would be his first and last conference. Harris immediately pushes off the wall he’d been leaning on to try to get to the front of the room.
“What kind of fucking question is that?” Hollander says before Harris can kill all the mics, the lights, possibly several reporters, and any eyewitnesses.
“That’s all for today, folks. No more questions. Those of you who can behave, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harris called out, moving toward Shane the whole time.
“No.” Shane used his captain voice, and all chaos in the room ceased. “I want to answer this one. You can ban him after this though.” He said the last sentence with a shrug, back to sheepish, casual Shane for a moment.
“There is absolutely nothing low about my self-esteem. Have you met me? You think because I’m quiet or awkward I hate myself? Seriously? I’m a three time Stanley Cup champion, and not to jinx us, but this season’s looking pretty good too. I was number two in the draft, I won rookie of the year, I’ve been in contention for most goals every year I’ve been in the NHL and won that once, won most points twice, season MVP once and playoffs MVP twice. And that’s just on the ice.” No one in the room breathed. They were waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve been chosen NHL’s sexiest player five times. Five. I have more luxury brand deals than I know what to do with. Yesterday, Balenciaga called to ask me to walk in their Milan Fashion Week show. Not because I’m a hockey player. They couldn’t care less. Because I’m amazing to look at.
“And I’m a good fucking person too. I’ve personally donated over a million dollars to charity and raised several million more. The Irina Foundation has fully funded five Canadian and two American mental health organizations each of the last three years.
“What do you think I have to be ashamed of? My sexuality? I’m not ashamed of liking men. I never have been. It may have taken me a while to get here, but that wasn’t shame. Comp het maybe? Worries about vultures like you? The blatant homophobia I heard every single day on top of the racism already being hurled my way? Yeah. It wasn’t my self-esteem.”
Shane Hollander paused for breath. The reporter looked like he might start to talk again, but Shane stilled him with a look.
“I’m not done. That question didn’t just insult me—it insulted my husband. I can’t let the implication that I would only be with him because I hate myself stand.
“Ilya Rozanov is the best person I know. We can start with hockey again because why not, we are here for a hockey presser. I said I was number two in the draft. He was number one. I won most goals in the league once, he’s won three times. He consistently gives me a run for my money on most points. It’s true, I have more cups, but quite honestly, that might just be because he’s romantic and selfless—I might not have gotten the third if he had still been in Boston, then we’d be tied at two. And his backhand? God it’s a work of art.
“Speaking of works of art, he’s beaten me for sexiest player twice. He also was Boston’s most eligible bachelor four years running. Did you know that Calvin Klein sales rose 35% when his ads were running? We once had an artist stop us on the street. Guy knew nothing about hockey; he just wanted to sculpt Ilya.
“Most importantly, he is a good human being. All of that stuff about the Irina Foundation? He did that too. He’s way better with the kids than I am. Everyone loves him. He makes friends so easily, even when he’s pretending to be a asshole. He’s fucking brilliant too. And he is so sweet to me. Romantic. Loving. Protective. God how did I get so lucky?
“So what makes you think I’d only fuck him if I hated myself, huh? His body count? He is an adult. I am an adult. We are both entitled to make decisions about our sex lives, and if anything, I am the beneficiary of Ilya’s past. There’s a reason people love a reformed rake. His chirping? I like his teasing, and if you’d ask him this question, which you won’t because I would kill you, he would say I give as good as I get.” Harris thought that might be a lie, but he wasn’t going to stop Shane when he was on a roll.
“So I don’t know where you get off on suggesting there’s something wrong with my relationship. We’ve ignored the gossip. We have better things to do. But you come into our house and ask questions like that? Write this down: the only problem in my relationship is you.”
Shane closed his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose. He looked like he did on the bench after a too long shift in the offensive zone that ends in a goal but with plenty of time left to play. Tired, determined, and deeply satisfied.
Harris realized that he was supposed to be doing something. He had been caught in some kind of trance, maybe a fugue state, while Shane spoke. On one hand, this was maybe the hottest and/or the most romantic thing he had ever seen. On the other hand, he didn’t think he’d be seeing his boyfriend at a reasonable hour tonight. Possibly not for the rest of the week. Shane was supposed to be a nice, safe way to let the press get their fill. But that was neither here nor there. He had work to do.
“Thank you all for coming, no further questions.” He made his way to Shane’s side and put his body between Shane and the press as Shane left the room. It didn’t do much—Shane was taller and broader than he was, but he did it all the same. He followed him into the hall and shut the door tightly behind them.
The moment the door closed and the cavernous hall went quiet, Shane leaned against the painted gray wall as if it was the only thing holding him up. Harris could see the determination sliding off his face, replaced by panic.
“I think I blacked out. I don’t even know what I said. I think it was all true and good but what did I say to the press? Harris, I am so sorry I think I just fucked your week. Fuck. Wow. Fuck. Fuck.”
Harris was about to interrupt Shane’s spiral but a sprinting figure beat him to it. Ilya Rozanov pulled his husband into a deep, deep kiss. Maybe too deep for a public hallway.
Ilya pulled away and looked his husband in the eye, but kept him in his arms.
“That was the most romantic thing you have ever done. Fuck almost burning the house down, can you burn the press down twice a week?”
“I didn’t almost burn the house down. You have to stop saying that, asshole. They were electric candles.” Shane started to rehash the well worn argument. Harris was impressed at how well Ilya knew how to get his husband out of his head. “Wait. You thought it was romantic? I’m pretty sure I sounded like a conceited fucking jerk and also a little like I had lost it.”
“Shane. I love it when you lose it. Your confidence? Hot. And you are Shane. Fucking. Hollander. If anyone gets to be a conceited jerk, it is you.”
Harris decided to chime in.
“I’m with Ilya on this one. You didn’t say anything too out there, and everything you said was true. Except maybe the thing about Ilya’s sexual history. But that’s fine I can spin that.” Harris thought it was best not to mention that Shane had also threatened to kill the reporter. It was conditional on him asking Ilya the question, and Harris was never going to let that happen.
“Ilya’s sexual history?” Shane looked a little nauseous.
“It’s fine. I promise. You love your husband.” Harris tried to look reassuring. “That’s allowed. You may want to apologize to my boyfriend for the hours I’ll be working this week, but it’s okay. I like my job, and nothing you said will ruin my day.”
The twisted look softened a bit, but Shane did not seem entirely comforted.
“I, for one, am fine with ruining Harris’s day,” Ilya said. Harris was well aware of this. “But I will send him and Barrett flowers and a nice bottle of wine. Shane, is that enough for you to stop panic about ruining Harris’s week and start being happy that you made mine?”
“I made your week?” Shane asked the question as if it wasn’t clear to anyone who ever met them that it was always true.
“You made my life.”
Harris quietly slipped back into the pressroom to start damage control. They wouldn’t miss him.