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There was always that one game that broke the team out of a mid-season slump. Brokovich kept pointing out that they were nowhere near mid-season, but that wasn’t the point. The point was the “emotional stability needed to play more than eighty games a year without feeling crushed by the demands on their bodies and on their lives”.
Coach could get weirdly formal when he drank wine.
Walking back to their hotel - “Who needs an Uber, it’s right there?” - Shane smiled to himself as his teammates shouted and hollered and jumped around like kids on a secondary school field trip. Careful to stay away from the street lest one of them get hit by a car, but that was about it. Andropov hanging off Berkes like a coat on a coatrack, Wilson and Olsson playing their game of finishing each other’s sentences just to freak Beaulier out, Roy giggling to himself as he trailed after the not-twins.
Being the guy who usually brought up the rear these days, it gave Shane a perfect view of the guys he’d almost come to think of as family. And the perfect view of anyone who forgot and swayed too close to the street.
It almost meant nobody saw him jump when Hayden reached over and took his hand.
Exhausted to the point of his eyes crossing, Hayden had slept on Shane’s shoulder the entire flight. All three of his kids had managed to get sick, but not quite at once, and then Jackie the Immune had gone down, too. Snotty and coughy and breathing through her mouth as the youngest of the hoard started to get their energy back. So chugging orange juice like it was the antidote in a zombie movie, Shane’s best friend had held family life together while still ducking out to make practice, and it meant that come game day, Hayden had been dead on his feet.
A fact Vegas had taken advantage of all fucking night.
Pride dictated a deflection about how tough hockey players were, and Hayden had pounded enough energy drinks to make it through, even locking in two assists, but he’d struggled to unlace his skates after the game ended and really, Shane probably should have insisted he go back to their room instead of going drinking with the guys.
But Hayden had laughed, made a crack about being Shane’s excuse to go back to the room, and led the way down to the crowd that was headed out to celebrate their victory. Even though Hayden made it through about two beers before he started laying his head down on the table between rounds.
So maybe it wasn’t so surprising that his drunk, exhausted, possibly sick friend had reached the point of mental overwhelm where holding someone’s hand became instinct.
Keeping one eye on the guys ahead of them, Shane glanced at Hayden, squeezing his hand. “You doing OK?”
Hayden nodded, or maybe he was bobbing his head along to a song only he could hear, distracted blue eyes tracking the occasional passing pedestrian on the other side of the street. He squeezed Shane’s hand in return, swaying just enough to make those passing pedestrians think he’d been the partier of the evening. “Yeah.”
Shane accepted it, turning his attention back to the idiots he called teammates, three of whom were currently attempting some kind of three-legged-race walking method and bickering about the name, when he felt Hayden stumble.
Stopping to make sure his friend was OK, this time Shane froze. Unsure what in this moment he was supposed to, because he was very very sure Hayden Pike had just kissed his cheek.
Hayden, for his part, blew out a breath and dropped his head on to Shane’s shoulder. “I love you, man.”
Shane felt his pulse start to slow, but only a little. “I, uh…I love you, too.”
“I’m so glad we’re friends.” They’d stopped walking, so the chances of them being overheard went down the farther their teammates got ahead of them. Not that Hayden was paying any attention. “I’m so glad we’re on the same team.”
Fear had locked his spine, but this was Hayden. Shane felt the tension slithering away, shielded by the knowledge that the whole team already knew they were best friends. And that Andropov could hardly accuse anyone of anything while he was hanging off Berkes’ back like a lunatic monkey. “Me, too.”
“I’m sorry we’re not playing in Boston.” Hayden hiccuped, frowned because absolutely nobody liked having hiccups, and then went on. “Or maybe not. Then you’d have to choose between us.”
And just like that, Shane’s pulse was back in his ears. “Us?”
“Me and Boston Lily.” Hayden hiccuped again. “Fuck.”
Keeping his voice casual, Shane asked, “Why would I be choosing between you?”
“Because I’m a hot mess right now. And she’s hot.”
Shane thought about the last pic Ilya had sent him and something roiled in his gut.
Hayden, who had been holding his breath to try and beat the hiccups, failed and swore again. Then something seemed to catch his attention and he bumped his shoulder almost gently against Shane’s. “Fuck, I forgot. You’re dating Rose now.”
He was. And he was happy about it. Almost as happy as Rose was.
“Sorry,” Hayden mumbled. Trying again to hold his breath, he started after their teammates, still holding Shane’s hand. Shane followed, distracted by his own thoughts, and they might have kept going that way all the way back to the hotel except that Hayden - still tired, still drunk, still distracted by his hiccups - stopped again and turned, blocking Shane’s path forward. “Hey, you know, if this thing with Rose doesn’t work out and Boston won’t take you back, I still think you should marry me.”
This time, Shane just stared. “What?”
“A nice guy like you shouldn’t be alone,” Hayden insisted. “And we’re best friends.”
“Hayden,” Shane started, speaking slowly, “you’re already married.”
“Jackie wouldn’t mind. I asked.”
A voice that sounded suspiciously like Ilya’s cackled in the ignored part of Shane’s mind. “Really?”
But Hayden was squinting now. “Wait…does Canada allow three way marriages?” He looked down, his nose scrunching up as he tried to concentrate. “Maybe that was Croatia.”
“I don’t think Jackie really wants to be married to two hockey players,” Shane said, but he smiled as Hayden’s attention came back up from their shoes. “That’s…really thoughtful of you, though.”
And then he had his arms full of an emotional best friend who desperately needed to go to sleep. “I just want you to be happy and know you’re loved, bro.”
“Hey!” Olsson was waving to get their attention. “Hurry the fuck up!”
“You’re falling behind!” Wilson added as Roy tripped and fell over into a potted plant. “Shit, man. You OK?”
“I am happy,” Shane said. He waved at Olsson, then awkwardly patted Hayden’s back. “And I know I’m loved.”
“Your parents are great, Hollander, but that’s not what I meant.”
And because they’d been friends almost as long as they’d been teammates, the words popped out when they’d usually never make it past Shane’s throat. “What, if Boston Lily won’t fuck me, you’ll do the job?”
Hayden sighed. “I dunno. Probably.”
Pausing mid-rescue of Roy from the plant, Wilson looked back at where Shane Hollander was laughing in the middle of a Vegas sidewalk.
“I could learn,” Hayden insisted, pouting at the perceived insult. “I’m sure you could figure it out, too.”
His tone was so sincere, Shane almost didn’t feel the twinge at the reminder that Hayden didn’t know. That even though Shane had considered it, had decided he thought Hayden would be cool about it if he did, Shane was still keeping this secret from his friend.
Pulling back and studying Hayden as his friend swayed slowly on the spot, Shane considered his options. There was a chance Hayden wouldn’t remember this conversation, in which case it didn’t matter what Shane said. There was also a chance Hayden would remember parts of it, but he was still Hayden and Shane trusted him almost as much as his own mother.
Maybe more. His mom didn’t know about Boston Lily.
Having dropped Shane’s hand so he could hug him, Hayden took it in both of his this time. “Look, I…am deeply fucked up right now.” He laughed, and Shane finally noticed how slow Hayden’s blinks had become. “And I am saying everything wrong. Which I do sometimes. You know.”
Shane nodded. He did know.
Hayden Pike was a good guy, but sometimes he had a real dumb mouth.
“I’m sorry I said we should get married,” Hayden said, even though Shane wasn’t. It was thoughtful, even if Hayden wasn’t really thinking right now. “And maybe please don’t tell Rose Landry that I kissed her boyfriend.”
“On the cheek,” Shane said.
Hayden considered, thinking slowly and out loud. “Do…you…think……that matters?”
Shane thought of Miles and smiled. “Yeah. I don’t think Rose will care that you kissed my cheek.”
Hayden nodded, appeased. “Jackie won’t care. Jackie would kiss the dog if we had one.”
“Kids wearing you down?” Shane asked, his smile turning into a grin as Hayden scowled.
“No.”
“Hollander! Pike!”
“We should go back to the hotel,” Shane said. “You need to sleep.”
“Alone,” Hayden said, pressing their combined hands to Shane’s chest. “I promise.”
His friend looked so sincere, and was clearly not thinking about anything he said, and Shane found himself laughing again. “You can sleep with me if you want to.” He patted their hands with his free one as Hayden frowned. “Just no sex. ‘Cause we’re both seeing other people.”
Hayden mumbled as he tried to work through Shane’s response as Shane steered his friend back along the sidewalk, wrapping his free arm around Hayden’s shoulder to keep his friend moving and in the correct direction. Olsson and Wilson had liberated Roy from his floral captor, Wilson now picking leaves out of Roy’s hair as the man grumbled in French. All three of them waved as Shane and Hayden passed them, Shane raising a hand in return as Hayden focused on walking like a human being, one less coordinated foot than usual in front of the other.
Shane got them back to the hotel, and up to their room, and tumbled Hayden onto his bed where his friend immediately passed out, brand shoes and team jacket still on. Sitting on his own bed, Shane untied his own branded shoes, setting them aside before standing back up and stripping down the rest of the way. Jacket and shirt hung up, pants folded, watch back in its case.
Tugging Hayden’s shoes off and lining them up next to his friend’s bag, Shane pulled a spare blanket out of the closet and draped it over his lightly snoring friend. A quick text fired off to Jackie to confirm that they’d both made it back to the room in one piece - Shane could still remember the glare that had accompanied the “request” their rookie year - before crawling under his own covers and turning out the lights. Focusing not on the girlfriend he’d forgotten to text, or the whatever-they-were that no longer was, but the sleep-deprived, slightly-intoxicated, well-meaning moron that was his best friend. Who had apparently asked his wife if it was OK before accidentally sort of proposing to his teammate, but even mentally fucked, refused to get a dog.