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Of course, after everything, it's Ilya's goddamn teenage plant expert that finds out about them first. Shane has been so careful for so many years, scheduling his housekeeper and his prepped meal deliveries and his laundry service and everything else around Boston games. Around any possible visit from Ilya. Ilya has been careful too, but apparently not as careful as Shane. Shane has vetted every agency either of them uses, on the off chance that somehow a pair of boxers with "Shane Hollander" written in the waistband gets mixed in with Ilya's stuff (not that he writes his name in his underwear, this isn't a junior hockey billet, but whatever), to make sure they have protections for client privacy. He has checked every single thing.
He didn't realize, until their hookups became a regular thing, how much of his life is managed by other people. He doesn't cook or clean for himself, mostly. Between his daily commitments, his endorsements, and his travel with the team, he doesn't have time. Other people plan his workouts, his diet, his schedule, most of his wardrobe. He even gets his bagels delivered these days. It's like living in a hotel, practically. He didn't really think about that when he was in juniors. But then, he didn't have anything he wanted as much as he wanted to play hockey. There was nothing in his life that he wanted to keep all to himself.
Sometimes it feels like the only time that's really his is when he's at the cottage, or with Ilya. If he thinks about it, it's felt that way for a long time. And he loves what he does, what they do. He doesn't want to give it up. It's worth it, not just in terms of the money but in terms of how much he enjoys the life he's built. He's literally living his dream. But it's hard to hold all of it sometimes: the access he's given to everyone else in exchange for the privilege of playing hockey at the highest level. He doesn't mind not having to clean his shower, obviously, but sometimes it's strange to think about the fact that he's not even sure where the cleaning supplies are stored or what brand his housekeeper uses.
But right now, none of that matters. Right now, he's with Ilya. They're in the kitchen of Ilya's house, the place he bought when he moved to Ottawa. Shane is wearing a t-shirt he picked up off Ilya's floor, because it smells like Ilya and he likes the boxy way it fits. He was running on Ilya's treadmill in just his shorts, because he can't run outside in Ilya's neighborhood. No matter how early he's out, there's always somebody around, and it's a risk they can't take. His hair is damp with sweat and he needs a shower. Ilya is wearing boxers and a silky red robe that he didn't bother to tie because he knows the way his chest looks distracts Shane. Shane isn't complaining as he sits at the kitchen island, pretending to check his email on his phone. Ilya's blending up smoothies for them, because it's part of Shane's routine and Ilya is actually really good about accommodating Shane's routines, even when he pokes fun. Because Ilya is actually really good, and Shane is so lucky.
The thing is that Shane's not supposed to be here. He would have left by now, on a normal game day morning. He would have left last night. But his coach canceled morning skate for some reason, probably because this is the end of ten days on the road, so he stayed. They flew in yesterday from Texas and they'll take a bus back to Montreal tonight. Shane's tired. The whole team is tired. But he wasn't going to miss an opportunity to see Ilya.
The benefit of having a reputation for being No-Fun Hollander is that when he's not at the hotel, everyone will assume he's still at his parents' house instead of starting rumors about anything more scandalous. It's Ottawa. Everyone knows this is his hometown. Ilya has to go in for all of the gameday stuff, but they have time for breakfast. Maybe some other things, if they're quick. It's easier to see each other now, but that doesn't mean it's actually easy. These moments are still precious.
The blender whirs. Ilya takes his finger off the button. And then Shane hears it: the click of the door that leads into the garage.
"Hey, Mister Roz," says a voice, almost immediately followed by a person: a young teenager, shapeless in jeans and a big sweatshirt, headphones slung around their neck. Their hair is cut ambiguously short. They're carrying a caddy with a watering can, a squirt bottle, some scissors, and a few other things in it. "I thought you would be leaving already." They stop short. "Oh. Uh. Hey. Um, Mister Hollander."
"Hello, Ash," Ilya says calmly, pulling his robe closed and tying it. Shane's heart is fucking pounding in his chest. He doesn't understand how Ilya's voice is so steady. "Are you here to do the plants?"
"Yeah," Ash says. "Um, you didn't cancel on our calendar, so. Yeah. I'm here. To check the plants. I thought you'd be at practice by now?" Their voice quavers up into a question.
"I am running a little behind today," Ilya says. "Maybe you could come back around 10?"
Ash stares at the floor and darts little glances at Shane and Ilya. "Okay. Um, I'll be back later, then."
The door clicks shut behind them and Shane can't hold back anymore. "Ilya, what the fuck. Who even was that?"
"Their name is Ash," Ilya says. "They live a few houses down. They water my plants. And other stuff, whatever plants need. Feed them. Clip them." He makes scissors of his fingers.
"Okay, well, first of all, I didn't know you had a plant kid," Shane says. "And second of all, how did this happen? Your housekeeper doesn't do your plants?"
"I think the blender was too loud," Ilya says, pushing Shane's smoothie across the counter, like Shane can think about breakfast right now. "I didn't hear the other door. And yes, sometimes the housekeepers do the plants, but mostly Ash. They brought me a plant when I moved in. I said I liked it, so they brought me another one every day for a week, little pieces of their plants, I think. They are, ah, very interested in plants. Especially interested. They were so excited to tell me all about them. So I talked to their moms about letting them take care of mine. We all went to the garden center together. Now I have a lot of plants." He gestures around the kitchen and living room where, yeah, Shane notices now, there are more plants than he realized. "You see."
Shane groans and puts his head down on the cool stone of the kitchen island. "This is a fucking disaster."
"I think it will be okay," Ilya says carefully. "They didn't take any pictures."
"Yeah, well, what's going to stop them from texting everyone they know?" Shane demands. "I can't believe you didn't cancel. How are you scheduling this kid? Calendar invites?"
"I was a little bit busy last night," Ilya says. "I think you remember. Shane. It will be okay. They will not tell anyone."
"You don't fucking know that," Shane says. He clenches his hands into fists and relaxes them, trying to relieve some of his stress. His whole body feels tight. He's going to play like shit today, and Hayden will probably be snide about it. He's the only one who really knows where Shane is, and what Shane is doing, and he's never really approved, not that that matters what Hayden thinks. But it doesn't make their line work better, when Hayden is in a mood like that, and Ilya will see it immediately, and Shane will have fucked over his team without trying to, even if there's almost no chance that the Centaurs will manage to do much with that chance.
Ilya sighs. "No. But I trust Ash. They are a good kid. Very responsible. They have not made any problems for me yet."
"If you have a plant kid, you have to tell me," Shane says. "You can't just fucking blindside me with a plant kid. I can't make sure a plant kid isn't going to the tabloids or whatever. Do you think they're old enough to sign an NDA? Maybe one of their parents is home to sign it?"
"I think that will make it worse," Ilya says. "More obvious that there is something to hide."
Shane groans again. He knows Ilya is probably right. It's not like he wants to make a — high school? probably? middle school? — kid sign an NDA. But he also doesn't want his entire fucking life, both of their lives, to implode because Ilya gave some teenager the codes to his house and forgot to cancel a calendar invite.
This time they do hear the garage. Then there's a knock on the door.
Ilya looks at Shane. Shane can feel his mouth tighten, but he nods, just a little. "Come in," Ilya calls.
Ash shuffles around the edge of the half-open door, like if they don't open it all the way, it doesn't count. "Uh. Hi. Again. I just wanted to say, um, I won't tell anyone. Like. I don't know why you're here, Mister Hollander, but, um, it's none of my business. And I don't, um, have a lot of friends to tell. And I wouldn't tell them anyway. I mean, they don't really care about hockey, and I only kind of do, but...yeah. I won't tell them. I won't even tell my moms. Because it's none of my business. I just...I just wanna check the plants. Later. Not right now."
"Thank you, Ash," Ilya says.
There are a hundred things Shane wants to say, questions he wants to ask, demands he wants to make, but instead he says, "Yeah, thank you."
"It's not the money," Ash says quickly. Of course Ilya is paying this kid to take care of his plants. Probably generously. "I just like the plants. You got different ones than we have. And my moms said it's good to be responsible. So." They take a big, big breath. "Also, um, if it is that you're...friends, I think that's really cool. I mean, I know you have that foundation together. That's cool too."
Shane briefly considers if he can tell this kid they were having a foundation meeting over breakfast together at 7 a.m. in Ilya's kitchen. At least he's wearing clothes. Not business attire, but better than Ilya. "Thanks. Mental health is important to both of us."
Ash nods. "Yeah. It's...yeah. Um, my moms said maybe I can go to your camp next summer. If I practice skating a little more."
"That would be nice," Ilya says. "I would be happy to see you there. Hollander can give you all the advice on how to skate very fast." He looks at Shane and back at Ash. "Ash, it is good that you understand that it's important to Hollander and me that you don't talk about this."
"I know," Ash says. "I promise. Pinky promise."
"That's very serious," Ilya says. He comes around the island and stands not too far from Shane, holding out his hand, pinky extended. Ash squeezes through the half-open door and links pinkies with Ilya. Ilya raises one eyebrow at Shane, and Shane holds out his pinky for shaking. Ash shakes on it, looking a little bit terrified.
"So I'll come back later," Ash says, their voice quavering into a question. "For the plants."
"Yes, 10 is good," Ilya says. "We will both be with our teams then."
"Okay," Ash says. "Bye. Um, nice to meet you, Mister Hollander." They retreat. The door closes again. Shane and Ilya are alone with the plants.
For a moment, neither of them says anything. They just stare at each other. Finally, Shane opens his mouth. "Maybe it's not a complete disaster, but it's not great."
Ilya steps closer to the door and turns the deadbolt so that the door won't open again. He comes back and takes Shane's face in both hands. "You're shaking."
"I'm still fucking furious," Shane says. "This is our careers on the line, Ilya. Everything we've worked for. You want to go down in history as the two idiots who had their playing years cut short because some kid walked in on them?"
"It was a mistake," Ilya says. "I will be more careful next time."
"I know it was," Shane says. "I'm not mad at you. Okay, well, I'm a little mad at you. Like one-third mad at you and two-thirds mad at the situation. I mean, when you think about it, it's pretty fucking ridiculous that one kid catching us drinking smoothies together could derail our whole lives."
Ilya nods. "That is fair."
"I know you're careful," Shane says, settling his hands on Ilya's hips. "Just...be extra careful, I guess. We have so much more left to do. We have records to break. We're going to the fucking Hall of Fame together, baby." He's getting hard thinking about it, which is a little embarrassing, except that Ilya's getting hard too.
"I know this," Ilya says, his voice low and passionate.
"You and me," Shane insists. He's mad and he's scared and he's horny and he can tell Ilya feels the same and it's intoxicating. "Together."
"Together," Ilya swears. He leans in and kisses Shane. Shane opens his mouth, inviting Ilya deeper, but he nips at Ilya's lip when Ilya pulls away.
"I'm going to take it out on you tonight," Shane says. "You owe me, Rozanov."
"Oh yes?" Ilya smirks. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"
"On the ice," Shane clarifies. "Maybe a bruise or two will remind you to check your goddamn calendar."
"I accept my punishment," Ilya says seriously. He leans in again. "And maybe you will call me when you get home after the game."
"Maybe," Shane says.
"If I score, you will call me," Ilya suggests.
Shane snorts. "And if I score?"
"I will call you," Ilya says, kissing the corner of Shane's mouth. His lips slide to Shane's neck. "And I will do whatever you want."
"Hmm," Shane says. "I still need to shower before I go to the rink." Just because there's no official skate doesn't mean he doesn't want to get some time on the ice. Besides, Ilya has to leave, and they can't go together.
"Maybe I can pay some of my debts now," Ilya suggests. He licks his lips, glancing at Shane's shorts.
"Fine," Shane says, like he's doing Ilya a favor. He picks up his smoothie. "But you better be quick. You don't want to be late. The captain's supposed to set an example."
"Please tell me more about being a good captain," Ilya says as Shane gulps down his smoothie. He slides his hands around Shane's waist and picks Shane up as Shane locks his legs around Ilya's hips. The fabric of Ilya's robe is slippery, but Shane holds on tight with his thighs and Ilya grins. "It's so generous to share your wisdom."
"I'll share more than that," Shane says, half a promise and half a sexy threat, and Ilya laughs, his happiness rumbling through both of them.
"I'll share my calendar," Ilya says.
"That might be the most romantic thing you've ever said to me," Shane tells him, and Ilya laughs again. And fuck, all of this is so hard and so frustrating sometimes, but Shane's grateful to be handling it together. He pushes his hands into Ilya's hair and kisses Ilya hard even though Ilya's still carrying him. Ilya won't drop him. Shane knows that, the same way he knows the sun will come up tomorrow and the puck will go into the net.