Chapter Text
Shane knows it’s not a good time to have this conversation. He should wait until they’re not both tired from a stretch of tough games, until he’s not exhausted from having all the Centaurs over for the day. He should wait until he can’t feel anger simmering inside him and his shoulders aren’t tense. That’s probably why he doesn’t wait.
“Stop trying to make me be friends with Troy Barrett.”
Maybe Ilya’s noticed enough that he doesn’t treat it like a joke or try to placate Shane by saying that it’ll just take time for him to get to know Barrett and that they’ll be friends eventually. He gives Shane his whole attention. They’re looking at each other like they’re on opposite sides of a face-off circle.
Ilya crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you talking to your captain or your husband?”
“Both.”
Ilya goes on the attack - he’s always favoured offence, on and off the ice. “Barrett is part of your team now. We’re professionals - we play with everyone on our team, not just the guys we like.”
Shane knows better than to get pinned against the boards. “And I’ve been perfectly professional to Barrett. Perfectly polite too.”
“You’re so cold with him. The rink is warmer than you are.”
“Yeah, because I don’t like the guy. I play on a team with him, just like I did with fucking Gil Comeau and Patrice Drapeau. Won three Cups with them too. But I wasn’t their friend and I’m not Barrett’s friend either.”
“Why not?” Ilya demands. “He’s a good guy.”
“Maybe. Now.”
Ilya shifts, looking for another angle of attack. “I know he was an asshole. Troy said stuff to me too when he was on the Guardians.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s hockey. Players chirp. I chirp. Is not nice but is part of the game.”
Shane makes sure he has Ilya’s full attention, that he’s staring him in the eye, before he speaks again. “If you ever said to me any one of the million things that your new best buddy Troy did, I would never have laid a fucking finger on you off the ice - not unless I was punching you in the face.”
That check lands. Ilya’s eyes widen and he takes a half-step back. “Shane-”
Shane knows how fast momentum shifts on the ice. It wins games, wins Cups. “Did he ever shit talk about your mom?”
“No.”
“No? He talked plenty about mine.”
Ilya’s voice is quiet when he replies. “Like what?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Called her a geisha whore who fucked my dad and had me for Canadian citizenship - nevermind that she was born in Ottawa and they tried for ten fucking years after getting married to have me. My parents buried children before they had me, Ilya. And Troy Barrett asked me if she sucked off my coaches to get me onto teams. Asked if her cunt was as slitted as her eyes were. Your buddy Troy loved talking about my mom fucking.”
“Shane-”
“You know, my mom? The woman who calls you her second son - her favourite son? The woman who tells you that she loves you every single day?” He pauses for a beat, gives Ilya space to make a play but there’s nothing. Shane keeps going. He has control of the puck now. “Your buddy Troy mostly talked about my mom but he’d throw stuff in about my dad too, just to keep things fresh. Mostly that my dad loved whores, especially Asian ones, and that he was fucking around on my mom with them. He ever chirp you about your dad doing that?”
“No.”
“Good for you.”
“I’m sorry, Shane. I didn’t know Troy said these things to you and about Yuna and David.”
“Well, he did. And I’m glad he hasn’t been a total fucking asshole to you but it’s what I think about every time I have to look at his face or hear his voice. When I have to pass him the ketchup at the grill or top up his wine glass or just act like I give a fuck about whether that piece of shit is having a good time in my fucking house.”
Shane should stop there, he’s through the defence and lining up to shoot but coaches have drilled into him for years that the goal doesn’t count until the puck’s in the net and on the scoreboard. So he keeps going. He’s too fucking angry by now to stop.
“How would you fucking like it if I decided Alexei was my best friend, hm? Talked about what a great guy he was, how he’s changed, how you should give him a chance and go on double dates with him. Welcomed him into our home and expected you to suck it up, put on a smile and a show for him. Well, that’s how I feel about your buddy Troy.”
“Okay,” Ilya says softly. “I’m sorry. And I’ll stop trying to make you be friends with Troy.” He hesitates.
“What?” Shane’s too tired to dance around this bullshit anymore, would rather get it out into the open.
“I’m captain. I can’t invite everyone on the team to our house except Troy.”
Shane’s laugh has no humour or warmth in it at all. “Of course not. This fucking team.”
“You don’t like the team?” It’s the first time Shane’s seen Ilya scared. Even when he’s beaten on the ice, Ilya looks angry or determined. But he looks scared now. Shane doesn’t like seeing it on Ilya’s face but he also wants to get the words out because it feels like he’s fucking choking on them.
“They’re fine. Better than the Metros,” Shane says, with a shrug. That’s fair and true - Shane gives the Centaurs credit for that, at least.
“But you don’t like them.”
“I don’t like how easy they forgave Troy. Turns out he likes sucking cock so all the other shit he said and did was fine? How good and nice are they really if they’ll forgive that kind of behaviour after a few social media posts? Sounds a lot like how all the other teams in the league sweep this shit under the rug.”
“People can change.”
“Maybe. But I don’t know how Boodram puts up with having him on his team.”
“You think Troy said . . . those kinds of things to Bood when he was on the Guardians?”
“You think if Troy said that shit to me and JJ that he wouldn’t do the same to Boodram? You don’t believe me, ask JJ.”
“I believe you.”
“I hate that Harris is Senior Director of Communications and he’s dating Troy. Is he going to do his fucking job if something happens or is he going to protect his boyfriend?” Just the thought of it makes Shane feel like there are ants crawling around under his skin.
“That isn’t fair,” Ilya says, frowning. “That’s like the shit people said about you and me when they found out - they thought we threw games for each other.”
“And they were wrong because we know each other and we trust each other. I don’t know Harris Drover and I don’t know if I can trust him. I do know that I don’t want him in control of my social media accounts.”
Ilya tenses suddenly. “That’s why you still have your own PR team managing your accounts.”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to leave the Centaurs?”
“No, I told you - I’m a fucking professional. I’ve played on teams I don’t like with people I don’t like before. The Centaurs signed me - signed us - to bring them a Cup and I’m going to do my job. And you get to be friends with people I fucking hate - I’m friends with Hayden.”
“I don’t hate Hayden. I like Jackie and the kids.”
“I like Chiron. It’ll be fine, Ilya. I shared a locker room with Comeau and Drapeau for years. I can do this.”
The atmosphere is awkward and uncomfortable as they load the dishwasher together, wipe down the counters, pack the leftovers away in the fridge. Shane wonders if Ilya’s pissed enough that he’ll sleep on the couch or in one of the spare bedrooms, but they climb into bed together the same way they do every night.
Ilya’s phone buzzes with a text message. He answers it because he always does - people know better than to text Shane after 8PM unless it’s an emergency. Shane hopes it’s not Troy fucking Barrett because he’s had enough of that guy intruding on his marriage and his life for one night.
“Is Yuna,” Ilya says. “She wants to know if we want to come over for lunch on Saturday. David has new pasta recipe.”
“Yes, that would be great.” Shane knows Ilya likes to hang out with the guys on his days off, bring Anya to play with Chiron at Troy and Harris’ place. He doesn’t know if Ilya had plans with them already but Shane can go to his parents’ place solo if Ilya doesn’t want to go.
“Okay, I’ll tell her we’ll come. Will bring flowers and good wine and new puzzle.”