Chapter Text
The rain hammered down on his windshield, as the wipers battled valiantly through their mechanised dance. He tried to name five things he could see, tried to use the tools he’d been given, but the low lights in the parking lot didn’t illuminate much.
The only sound that Luca Haas could hear was his frantic breaths. Everything else was muted, muffled. He switched on his headlights. Switched them off. Turned the car off.
The steering wheel was a life raft that he gripped frantically, trying to force his awareness to the familiar divots and lumps in the thread that he knew so well. Had traced over and over. He fought to breathe more slowly as the telltale dizziness grew stronger.
The opening of the passenger door and the appearance of Shane Hollander, rained-on and panting, happened in quick succession. Luca couldn’t look at him. Shane couldn’t find out about this because he’d try and help and nothing would work and if Shane knew Ilya would know and if Ilya knew Bood would know and soon the whole team would talk sotto voce about how fragile and pathetic he was and—
The hand Shane pressed to the back of Luca’s neck was ice cold. It was an extremely effective interruption to his spiral as he flinched. Shane called calmly,
“Haasy, look at me.”
Luca shook his head. The same instruction was repeated, with a glint of Shane Hollander voice this time. That was the voice that had won three Stanley Cups and had gone toe to toe with Roger Crowell. It was a voice that demanded compliance. Who was he, Luca Haas Disappointment Extraordinaire, to refuse?
He met the eyes of his Assistant Captain, who was smilingly sadly.
“I get it.”
Luca felt a flash of anger which he closed his mouth tightly to avoid expelling.
‘Get what? You’re fucking Hockey Jesus. You’ve never had to fail in front of everyone, without the padding of prodigy status. I’m a has-been at 22. A fucking never-was.’
As the harsh words his anxiety fed him ripped through him, he tamped them down with a reminder he was talking to one of his heroes and forced a smile.
“Yeah, I…yeah.”
Shane inclined his head.
“I know there’s more, man. It’s all good. Hard to accept that anyone understands what you’re going through when you don’t really get it yourself. Anyway. Switch seats with me?”
“Why?”
“Ilya and I have dinner at Bood and Cassie’s planned. I already asked and it’s chill if you come. You shouldn’t be alone. They all know to be cool.”
What could he say to that? To demur would be rude, ungrateful, awkward. To go meant exposure, vulnerability and burdenhood. Luca sat staring as he processed and deliberated. Shane clicked his tongue and squeezed the hand that was still on his player’s neck, grounding him.
“Haas. Get out of the car. And come take my seat. Now.”
Luca followed the steps, entering rain that hit his nervous system like an defibrillator. It was baptismal, heralding his first attempt at letting others in. Was it really an attempt if he hadn’t chosen it? He hadn’t run off screaming into the night, so arguably he’d had a modicum of agency.
Shane was a careful driver, even more so in rain. Bood opened the door to a warmly lit hallway, dressed cozily in a Cens sweatshirt that was impressively baggy on his tall frame. Luca cleared his throat for a polite greeting. He got as far as opening his mouth before the other man pulled him into a tight hug. Bood smelled like cinammon.
The embracing men were blocking the door. Shane was shielded from the rain under his enormous umbrella, but he was getting progressively chillier.
“Could you two move back like a centimetre?”
Bood grinned over the top of Luca’s head and walked backwards, tugging Luca with him, so Shane could slide inside. He released the other man, who looked a little dazed, and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Come on, Haasy. Time for dinner.”