Chapter Text
The first thing Shane Hollander noticed about Ottawa was the cold.
The second thing he noticed was Ilya Rozanov.
Not because he was loud.
Not because he was the captain.
Not even because half the team seemed to orbit around him like planets around a sun.
It was the scent.
Shane stepped into the Centaurs locker room carrying his gear bag, nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin as he tried to remember names, faces, expectations, systems, plays, everything that came with being traded halfway across the league.
Then somebody laughed.
A deep, warm laugh.
And suddenly the air smelled like dark chocolate.
Dark chocolate and musk and something rich and expensive that reminded Shane of old libraries and leather-bound books.
His omega immediately lifted its head.
Interested.
Alert.
Shane froze.
What?
That didn't happen.
Ever.
His entire life, alpha scents had mostly been background noise. Noticeable, sure, but never overwhelming. Never distracting.
Never this.
His gaze lifted.
A tall man was walking toward him.
Light brown curls. Blue eyes. Crooked grin.
The kind of confidence that should have been irritating but somehow wasn't.
"New guy." the man announced.
Shane blinked.
"Uh."
The grin widened.
"Ilya Rozanov."
The captain extended a hand.
"Shane Hollander."
The moment their palms met, something strange happened.
The scent intensified.
Chocolate. Leather. Warmth.
Shane's pulse skipped. His omega practically purred.
Oh no.
"Oh." Rozanov said.
His blue eyes narrowed slightly. Just slightly.
As if he'd noticed something too. Then he smiled.
And somehow it felt different.
More focused. More interested.
"Pretty."
Shane stared.
"What?"
Rozanov pointed directly at his face.
"Freckles."
Heat exploded across Shane's cheeks.
The captain laughed.
"See? They get darker when you blush."
"Oh my God."
The laughter got louder.
"Very pretty."
Shane immediately wanted the floor to swallow him.
Across the room somebody wolf-whistled.
"Roz already bothering the new guy?"
"Shut up, Bood."
"No."
The entire locker room erupted in laughter.
Shane wished for death.
And yet.
Despite the embarrassment.
Despite being completely overwhelmed.
His omega felt strangely happy.
He noticed.
The thought appeared before Shane could stop it.
He noticed me.
Which was ridiculous.
Because Ilya Rozanov looked like he belonged on magazine covers.
And Shane looked like Shane.
Quiet. Awkward.
Too observant. Too shy.
Never quite comfortable in his own skin.
Yet somehow Ilya kept looking at him.
Over practice. Over meetings. Over meals.
Every time Shane glanced up, those blue eyes seemed to find him.
"You're staring." Luca Haas informed him one afternoon.
Shane nearly inhaled his drink.
"What?"
"You are."
Luca looked delighted.
The other omega had become Shane's friend almost immediately.
Probably because they were the only two omegas on the roster.
Probably because Luca possessed absolutely no concept of personal boundaries.
"You've been staring at Roz for like ten minutes."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
Shane groaned. Luca grinned.
"He likes you."
"He doesn't."
"He does."
"He flirts with everyone."
"He flirts with you more."
Shane opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
Because unfortunately Luca was right.
Ilya flirted constantly.
With reporters. With teammates. With fans. With old ladies. With random strangers.
But there was something different about the attention Shane received.
At least it felt different.
"Shane."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Both omegas turned.
Ilya was standing nearby. Smirking. Always smirking.
"You coming?"
"Coming where?"
"Dinner."
"Oh."
"You need food."
"I eat food."
"You forget."
"I don't."
"You do."
Luca immediately stood.
"I'm leaving."
"What?"
"I refuse to witness whatever this is."
"It's not anything."
Luca walked away laughing.
Traitor.
Shane glared after him.
Ilya sat down across from him and suddenly Shane became painfully aware of everything.
His hair. His scent.
The way his omega reacted whenever Ilya got close.
"You smell nice."
Shane nearly choked.
There was a pause.
Then Ilya smiled.
Slowly. Dangerously.
"You do this every time."
"Do what?"
"Become red."
"I don't become red."
"You become very red."
Shane wanted to launch himself into the sun. Instead he stared at his ginger ale.
Ilya's smile softened. Just a little.
And something warm settled in Shane's chest.
Because for one brief moment the captain wasn't teasing.
He was looking. Really looking.
As if Shane mattered.
As if he was interesting.
As if he was worth paying attention to.
And that was somehow worse.
Weeks passed. The attraction didn't fade. It grew.
Shane hated that. Loved it.
Hated that he loved it.
Every morning he walked into the facility and found himself searching for a particular scent.
Chocolate. Leather. Musk.
Every time he heard Ilya laughing down a hallway, his stomach performed embarrassing gymnastics.
Every time those blue eyes found him after a goal or a good play, something inside him lit up.
Pathetic. Completely pathetic.
"You're smiling."
Shane looked up. Luca was staring.
"What?"
"You got a text."
"So?"
"You smiled at it."
Shane looked down.
Ilya: Good practice. You are less terrible today.
Shane: Thanks.
Ilya: Maybe by Christmas you become acceptable.
Shane: Maybe by Christmas you learn English.
Ilya: Cruel.
Shane's smile returned.
Luca pointed aggressively.
"There!"
"What?"
"That smile!"
Shane shoved him. Luca laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench.
Everything changed on a Saturday night.
The Centaurs were playing at home.
The building was packed. The atmosphere electric.
Shane scored early in the second period.
The crowd exploded.
And when he skated toward the bench, he caught sight of Ilya cheering louder than anyone.
Blue eyes bright. Proud. Focused entirely on him.
Warmth spread through Shane's chest.
The feeling lasted exactly twelve minutes, because then he heard a woman's voice.
"ROZ!"
The scream cut through the arena.
Loud. Excited. Unmistakably affectionate.
Shane looked toward the glass.
And saw her.
Beautiful. Brown curls. Bright smile.
The kind of woman people noticed immediately.
The kind of woman who looked effortless.
She waved enthusiastically.
"Roz!"
Ilya looked up and immediately grinned. A genuine grin.
Not the teasing one. Not the captain one.
Something softer.
"Sveta!"
The name meant nothing to Shane, but apparently it meant something to everyone else.
Because the entire bench reacted.
"Roz's girl is here."
"Lucky bastard."
"Look at her."
"Life isn't fair."
Shane felt something drop inside his stomach.
Hard. Painful. Cold.
His omega went silent.
"Oh." he said quietly.
Luca looked over. Immediately understanding.
"Oh no."
Shane forced a smile.
"It's fine."
"It doesn't sound fine."
"It's fine."
It wasn't.
Because suddenly everything made sense.
The flirting. The attention. The teasing.
It had all been harmless.
A joke. Friendly. Meaningless.
Because of course someone like Ilya Rozanov already had someone.
And of course she was beautiful. And confident. And perfect.
The game blurred afterward.
Shane still played. Still scored. Still smiled for cameras.
But everything felt distant.
Muted. Wrong.
After the final buzzer, the team gathered near the tunnel.
And there she was. Waiting.
The moment Ilya approached, she threw her arms around him.
He hugged her back.
Comfortably. Naturally.
Like they'd done it a thousand times.
Shane looked away immediately. The sight hurt far more than it should.
Why does this hurt?
Because he already knew the answer.
Because somewhere along the way, without permission or common sense, he'd fallen.
Hard.
And now he was watching evidence that he never had a chance.
"Shane."
He looked up. Ilya and Svetlana were smiling at him.
"Oh."
Ilya pulled her forward.
"Sveta. This Shane."
"Hi."
She offered her hand.
Warm. Friendly. Beautiful.
Everything Shane had expected.
"Nice to meet you."
"You too."
Svetlana beamed.
"I've heard so much about you."
His heart stopped. Of course she had.
Why wouldn't she?
They were together.
They probably talked every day.
She probably knew everything. Meanwhile Shane knew nothing.
Nothing at all.
"Good things, I hope."
"The best things."
Ilya looked suspiciously pleased. Shane hated how much that hurt.
The following week became torture.
Not because Ilya changed, because he didn't.
The captain continued seeking him out.
Continued sitting beside him. Continued texting. Continued smiling whenever Shane entered a room.
If anything, he seemed even more attentive.
But now every interaction felt impossible.
Because all Shane could think about was Svetlana.
Beautiful Svetlana. Perfect Svetlana.
The omega who apparently already belonged in Ilya's life.
"You've been weird."
Shane looked up from tying his skates.
Ilya stood nearby. Concern replacing his usual amusement.
"I'm fine."
"You are not."
"I'm fine."
"You avoid me."
The directness stole Shane's breath. Because he had.
Subtly. Carefully.
But apparently not carefully enough.
"I've just been busy."
Ilya stared. Shane stared back.
The silence stretched.
Then the alpha sighed.
"Did I do something?"
The question sounded genuinely worried which somehow made everything worse.
"No."
"Shane."
"No."
Blue eyes searched his face. Looking for answers.
Looking for something Shane couldn't give him.
Because what was he supposed to say?
Sorry, I developed feelings for you and now I can't stop thinking about your beautiful omega.
Embarrassing. Humiliating. Impossible.
So he smiled.
Small. Fake. Professional.
And watched disappointment flash across Ilya's face.
That night Shane couldn't sleep.
His apartment felt too quiet. Too empty.
His thoughts wouldn't stop.
Every memory replayed.
Every smile. Every text. Every moment.
You are idiot.
Maybe Luca was right.
Maybe Ilya had liked him. At least a little.
Maybe there had been something real there, but it didn't matter.
Because there was already someone else.
Someone beautiful. Someone who belonged beside him.
Not Shane. Never Shane.
The realization sat heavily in his chest.
And for the first time since arriving in Ottawa, he considered asking for a trade.
The thought hurt. Almost as much as staying.
The next morning he arrived early. Practice began and teammates started arriving.
Throughout the entire training session Shane felt blue eyes following him.
Watching. Waiting. Trying to understand.
And despite everything, despite the hurt and confusion and longing tangled inside his chest, one thought refused to leave him alone.
I wish he wasn't already taken.
Unfortunately for Shane Hollander, the universe had neglected to inform him that Svetlana Vetrova was not Ilya Rozanov's omega at all.
And that misunderstanding was only the beginning of his problems.