Chapter Text
Shane stood in his gear by the side of the rink, shuffling his feet awkwardly and watching his new teammates playing and joking around. It was his first practice as a member of the Boston Bears, and he was trying and failing to not let his anxiety get the best of him. They were a raucous and energetic bunch of young men - yelling and laughing loudly, pushing each other around and dishing out friendly insults. Shane had spent enough time at various hockey camps and clubs as a kid that this was no unfamiliar territory to him, he was more than used to the rough and tumble attitude of hockey players. Still, this was his first time playing hockey in a professional capacity, and he wasn't quite sure how to act.
He should join them, right? Go make a good first impression? Not that he hadn't already been introduced to the team - the rookies had been shown around the rink when they got signed, and had gotten the chance to exchange pleasantries with their new teammates. Shane knew all their names already, even before he was officially signed. Hockey had been his passion as long as he could remember, and he was confident he could name every player on each team of the NHL, along with their numbers and positions. Even as a kid, he kept meticulous spreadsheets and charts, logging whenever a player transferred to another team and keeping notes displaying each team's progression through the playoffs. He still had all his binders of notes somewhere, probably buried deep in the attic of his parents house.
He was also confident that everyone on the team was acutely aware of who he was. The number two ranked rookie of the year. Second only to the young Russian, Ilya Rozanov. Both boys said to be prodigies, expected to advance the sport to new heights.
Shane felt the pressure weighing on him, a heavy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Barely 18 years old, and already everyone was expecting so much from him. Was he going to disappoint them? He knew he wasn't what people expected of a hockey player - a young, polite, quiet Asian kid who didn't have an ounce of the bold, rambunctious energy normally seen in NHL players. Maybe his teammates were already disappointed that he had ended up on their team, would have rather had someone fun and less boring, despite Shane’s skills making him a supposedly valuable asset.
He looked out onto the rink where a scuffle was breaking out, spotting Rozanov's (#81) blond curls bouncing as he was playfully grabbed by another player (Marlow. #7.), both men grinning and laughing. He had already managed to ingratiate himself with the team, forming an easy chemistry with them almost instantly. He was just the type of player loved by both hockey fans and the NHL alike - boisterous, charming and cheeky, and not to mention good looking as well. Of course he would turn out to be the number one favourite from the get go. And he seemed like the type of person who would take it all in his stride, unlike Shane, who still hadn't learnt how to stand in front of a camera without immediately getting a wave of nausea in his stomach. What was he meant to do with his hands? How did he smile normally? None of it came naturally to him.
"They're a lot, aren't they?"
Shane jumped, startled out of his thoughts. He looked over to his left to see a young man with light brown hair approaching on skates, friendly smile on his face. Hayden Pike. #35.
"Err, yeah. Yeah, they are." Shane chuckled uncertainly before extending a hand, "I'm Shane. Hollander."
Handshakes were a normal greeting when introducing yourself to colleagues right? This was technically Shane's workplace, and Pike his colleague.
Hayden looked down at his outstretched hand, amused expression on his face, before he grasped it in his own.
"Hayden Pike. Looking forward to playing with you."
"So, how's the team? Has everyone been friendly? There's been no problems?" The voice of Yuna Hollander rang out from the phone perched on top of Shane's bedside table, where he had placed it so he could continue to talk to his mother while he finished unpacking his belongings into his new apartment.
"Everyone's fine mom. They've been nice. It's only the first day you know, I'm still settling in."
"Hmm," Yuna didn't sound convinced, "Well, you let me know if anyone's giving you a rough time. I have your coach's number, I can give him a call if any issues arise."
"Oh my god, mom, please don't ring my coach. I'm not a kid anymore, remember? Everything's been fine, I promise!" What he didn't add was that if there ever was a problem, he would deal with it himself, like an adult, and not call on his mom to sort it out for him.
Shane loved his mom, but she could be a lot. His parents had been over the moon when he got signed with Boston, equal parts proud of him and thrilled of his high ranking in the draft, and disappointed that he couldn't have played for a Canadian team to be closer to them. He wasn't used to being this far away from home, and Yuna had become even more overprotective than usual, fretting over the long distance and the fact that she couldn't come over and visit him at the drop of a hat. She had settled for calling him at all hours of the day, while he attempted to dissuade her from calling anyone and everyone to make sure her little boy was ok, and being looked after properly. Jesus. It wasn't like he was a fully grown adult or anything.
He let her fuss over him a little though. He knew both her and his father were feeling guilty that they couldn't make the trip down to help him get settled into his new place.
"I know sweetie. You've got this. You'll be great. Go out and socialise with your teammates tonight, alright? I love you."
"I will. Love you too, mom."
He hung up the phone, and flopped down on to his bed, looking around his sparsely decorated room. It was looking a bit more homely now - still very bare, but at least it had some of Shane's belongings filling it now - mostly books about hockey, and trophies from competitions he'd won as a kid, which always brought back fond memories when he looked at them. He liked having a tidy place anyway; everything being organised and being put away where it was supposed to be.
As he lay on his bed, contemplating the unfamiliar white ceiling he was yet to grow accustomed to, his phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw it was a text from Hayden.
Hayden: Fancy going out tonight? There's a bar nearby I wanted to check out
Shane chewed on his hoodie string as he typed out a response. He had been planning on having a night in to himself, exhausted from a busy day of meeting new people and settling into an unfamiliar place. But his mom was probably right about him needing to go out and socialise. She usually was.
Shane: Sure man, sounds good.
After watching Hayden gulp down a gigantic greasy pizza in a busy diner, Shane picking his way through a sad-looking salad (he was scrupulous with his diet, and there had been nothing else on the menu that had passed his strict requirements), he allowed himself to get dragged along to a nearby club.
Shane had swallowed down his words of protest that threatened to spill out of his mouth at this suggestion. He knew he needed to bond with his teammates, and Hayden, out of all of them, seemed like the one he would get along with best. He wasn't going to make friends by sitting alone at home, watching TV shows of hockey commentary. It just sucked that the average hockey player's idea of a good time usually involved booze, dancing and girls. None of which were Shane's cup of tea in the slightest.
And that was how he found himself leaning against a dingy wall in a nightclub in downtown Boston, trying to avoid making accidental eye contact with any of his fellow club-goers, a pounding headache already coming on from the thumping music, and hating every single one of his life decisions that led him here.
"How are you settling in?" Hayden half yelled, struggling to make himself heard over the noise of the club.
"Yeah, good!" Shane replied, "It's a nice place, I think I'll like it here."
Hayden nodded. He had arrived a few days prior to Shane, and had already been checking out the local spots of interest, informing Shane of his findings, commiserating that Shane hadn't arrived a couple of days earlier, so they could have gone together. Not that Shane would have cared to do that, even if he had arrived earlier. It was nice of Hayden to say, though.
Hayden seemed distracted, repeatedly looking over at a pretty girl serving drinks at the bar. She caught his eye and smiled, and he blushed.
"I think she likes you," Shane nodded in the girl's direction.
"You think so?" Hayden's eyes lit up, "Maybe I'll go ask her out. Not right now though, of course. We're hanging out. I wouldn't abandon you here to go talk to some girl."
That surprised Shane. Most guys he'd hung out with in the past wouldn't have spared a second thought about ditching him for a chance to get laid. Hayden seemed like a good guy.
Shane also took this moment as his chance to escape, "You should. I was planning on heading home soon anyway."
Hayden seemed to notice the strained expression on his face, "Not really one for clubs? They can get a bit much, with the lights and music and everything."
Shane's eyes widened. He had noticed his discomfort?
"Not really. I find them...a lot, sometimes."
"No, that's cool man! You should have said! We can do something else next time."
Shane's heart warmed at the thoughtful gesture. It may not be a big deal for Hayden, to make different plans on the behalf of Shane's comfort, but Shane was touched. He nodded, gratefully.
Hayden grinned, and clapped him on the shoulder, "Well, thanks for coming out with me tonight, Shaney. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" He bounded off in the direction of the bar.
Shane made his way to the exit, looking back over his shoulder at where Hayden was half leaning over the bar talking to the brunette, who was beaming back at him, twirling her long dark hair around her fingers.
He smiled to himself. He had had a surprisingly pleasant evening, all things considered. Hayden seemed like a genuinely nice, thoughtful guy, and one Shane was excited to get to know better. Of course his mom had been right about going out. Maybe things were going to work out here after all.
At practice the next day, they were doing drills, Hayden and Shane passing the pack back and forth as they skated, weaving around the ice. As they played, Shane found his eyes drifting over to where Rozanov was practicing with Marlow. Watching intently, he got to see first-hand why this guy had been ranked the number one rookie in the league. He skated fast, aggressively, like he had something to prove. What he lacked in elegance, he made up for in stamina and force. Shane watched as his muscles twitched as he skated.
"Buddy?"
Shane glanced up at Hayden just in time to see the puck he had just hit in his direction him sail past. He shook his head clear. Rozanov was good, that's for sure, but that didn't explain why he was feeling so entranced when he watched him skate.
He took a deep breath, and focused on his own skating. He was fast, and he knew it. He'd never met another skater who could keep up with him when he was going all out. He glided across the ice, his feet moving expertly beneath him. If there was one thing Shane was known for - the thing that bagged him his number two ranking, other than his speed - it was his footwork. Skating immediately relaxed him, the familiar motions, his movements as easy as breathing. He felt like a dancer on the ice, as he twisted and turned like a ballerina. When he came to a halt, he noticed Rozanov's eyes on him, an intense and unreadable expression on his face.
Shane looked away quickly, ignoring the strange butterfly-like feelings that emerged in his stomach. He explained them away as nerves - the pressure he was feeling to perform well and impress his coach.
Later, Rozanov approached him in the changing room.
"You are good skater. Very fast."
Shane looked around the room apprehensively. Most of the other guys had already left. He felt both a sense of uneasiness at being left alone with Rozanov, who he still hadn't quite managed to figure out (and the consensus in the hockey world was that he had quite an attitude problem, which didn't help Shane's nerves), and another odd feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite name.
"Err, thanks. You too."
"I know." He smirked, before walking off.
Wow, that guy was really full of himself. What kind of response was that? Hang on a minute...had he been making fun of him? Rubbing it in his face that he had scored the number two spot?
Shane felt a third emotion rise up in him, and this one he was able to name. Anger. This guy was an asshole.
"I’m telling you, Jackie’s amazing. She works at the bar part time, but she's also currently studying at the university..."
Shane zoned out as Hayden rambled on about his new girlfriend. He was happy for him, sure, but there's only so much he can hear about how great this girl is before getting bored.
"Seriously, I'm on cloud nine. How lucky am I? She's literally a goddess."
Shane nodded, half listening, as he sat at a table at a coffee shop with his friend.
"But what about you man? You met any cute Boston girls yet?"
That shook Shane out of his daydream.
"Um, not yet." He hoped that was enough to end the conversation. No such luck.
"Aw, shame. We gotta find you someone! I'm sure Jackie has some single friends who would love to date a hockey player. Don't you worry bud, we'll get you a girl in no time."
Shane smiled at his friend, half-heartedly. There was no way that this was going to end well.
Playoffs were soon approaching, and Shane could feel the nervous anticipation radiating off of his teammates. Practices were gruelling - hours of nonstop drills and practice games, testing out new formations and new moves. He ended up paired on a line with Rozanov for most of it, their coach keen to make the most of the skills that had made them the top two picks of the season. Slowly, they had started to get used to each other's playing styles, and as much as Shane hated to admit it, they worked well together. Somehow, they seemed to be on the same wavelength, able to predict each other's movements a split second before they happened. They had an easy chemistry with each other when they were on the ice, obvious to anyone who would watch them. Shame that chemistry didn't carry to off the ice.
"You were too late to pass there Hollander. You hesitate."
Shane grimaced. Here we go again. Rozanov here to lecture him on his play, as if he was the coach and not his fellow rookie. The nerve of this guy! Did he think that just because he was ranked first, Shane had to listen to whatever he said?
"You hesitate too long," he repeated, "You do not think I will be there."
"Well you weren't there when I looked." Shane huffed, "I'm not passing the puck into an empty space just for you to miss it."
"I will not miss. I am very talented. Best player in league. Pass to me." He left with a wink.
Fucking Rozanov.