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Hayden had, kind of, always been scared of Rozanov.
Sure, he badmouthed him behind his back, but everyone who played against him did—except Shane, maybe. He was just that good at annoying everyone, but also scarily accurate with his chirps; always aiming well before shooting a chirp that destabilized the poor player he was targeting.
It was why he had been nicknamed The Russian Terror, with capital letters and a shudder each time it was said. The bastard had many nicknames across the league, going from Shane Hollander’s Rival, around the Metros, to Russia’s Greatest Fuck Machine, in Boston, and an echoed Rasputin from everyone. Hayden didn’t even remember the man’s real name at this point.
Not until—
“Yeah, Ilya is Boston Lily.” Shane admitted, his eyes uncertain as he stared at Hayden with something akin to fear.
Holy fucking shit. (Swear jar, fuck, so many swear jars, but fuck, god, motherfucker.)
And suddenly, as if the world was punishing him personally, he had to nod his head and accept dinner invitation after dinner invitation with the spawn of the Devil—capital letters, again—and his unsuspecting best friend, who surely didn’t know where he was getting himself to, didn’t understand that Rozanov must be messing with his head, married him, so Hayden had to intervene somehow. He’ll push through it, hum and ah in all the appropriate times, and then he’ll take Shane out of there someday, maybe push him towards a nice guy in Montréal, to get him back, with a soft smile and who does yoga in the mornings, maybe someone who bakes homemade bread, someone closer, who truly loved Shane, and—
“This is delicious, Ilya. Thank you so much for having us.” Jackie, ever pleasant, smiled at the Sleep Paralysis Demon of Half the League, who smiled softly back at her. What the fuck. This was a trick. Abortabortabort. “I didn’t even know that Shane’s food could be this delicious!”
Rozanov—he refused to call him Ilya, thank you very much—snorted into his glass of Coke, and that was also something that made Hayden sneer; who the fuck drank Coke with dinner? What was wrong with this guy? How can Shane, with the strictest diet known to man, want this guy as his husband?
No, Hayden will find him someone better. Someone with a garden, maybe, fresh produce that Shane can enjoy, and who adheres to his crazy diet. Someone who is not Ilya fucking Rozanov. He’ll find a way to break them up, maybe point out how Rozanov being bisexual could hinder their marriage, and that he must miss sleeping with women, too. Weren’t bisexual people known as cheaters? He could go that route, yeah—
“Ilya is such a good cook, Jacks, it’s crazy.” Shane gushed, there was no other word for it, a proud look on his freckled face, flush with the one beer he had agreed to. “He makes me these quinoa salads with freshly cut salmon, radishes, and arugula. It’s to die for!”
Jackie, his dear wife, stared at Shane with a soft smile as he kept babbling about Rozanov, who had another soft expression on his usually stoic face. Hayden felt as if he were in enemy territory, and not in his best friend’s Ottawa house. Ugh. It had Rozanov everywhere, from the obnoxiously expensive patterned blankets—some brand called Hermés?—to the row of Coke Zero perfectly put on the fridge, to the cute dog that was lying at Rozanov’s feet, completely at ease.
“It’s no problem. You like it, I make it. Simple as that.” Rozanov nodded to himself, as if he had made all the sense in the world. And from Shane’s reaction, maybe he did; his face slackened, a misty look on his eyes as he stared at Rozanov with something akin to devotion. “I learned recipes for his diet, because I kept getting pictures of his meals and thinking to myself that he needed more vkus, more flavor. We keep finding new things to add to the recipes, and cooking together is… domestic? Is that the word, moya lyubov'?”
Shane nodded, his eyes tracking every movement Rozanov made, as if he were to disappear if he didn’t keep his eyes on him. Hayden felt a jealousy build in his stomach, a voice in the back of his head telling him that Shane had never been that attentive to anyone else like that. Shane had never, ever put that much love and precision into anyone but fucking Rozanov.
What a waste.
Shane was peculiar; everyone knew that about him. He was an excellent Captain, but he was too good at hockey to truly connect to some of the guys when they struggled; hockey seemed to come naturally to Shane, as easy as breathing, yet social interaction didn’t. Hayden knew that Shane struggled with eye contact sometimes, especially after a loss, and that his attention was almost always put on hockey and hockey alone.
Hayden had accepted that. Had told himself that it was like that with everyone else. Had assumed that he didn’t want to be touched by anyone, didn’t want to let anyone too close. Yet, seeing him now, almost on top of his husband, relishing in the contact each time, grasping at Rozanov’s hands as if he was scared to let go, he realized he was wrong. Again.
Shane’s attention only seemed to register two things: Ilya Rozanov and hockey. And fuck, it was like watching a car crash happen in slow-mo, as he realized how unstoppable this was; Shane stared at his husband with the same shrewd eyes he catalogued every flaw in an opponent’s team, seeing the cracks before anyone else did, and with the same determination he had to win every cup, to win and win and win. The light in Shane’s eyes as he stared at fucking Rozanov reminded Hayden of their first Cup.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” Jackie asked, her curiosity getting the best of her and cutting the staring battle the two were having. “If you wanna tell us, of course!”
“Ilya, you don’t have to—”
“It’s fine, malysh,” Rozanov whispered to Shane, soft yet still heard by everyone around the table. “My mama taught me when I was a kid. I came home from school an hour and half before practice, so I stayed with her; she taught me how to cut veggies, boil pasta, make bread, and much more.”
Hayden faintly remembered hearing that Rozanov’s mother died when he was young, way back when Hayden truly didn’t give a shit what happened to the Russian Menace—which was still pretty much the same—so he didn’t pay attention. Now, with this knowledge, he racked his brain for that piece of information, yet couldn’t find it anywhere. He knew that their foundation had been named after her, Irina, but had blanked out everything else. Had been too preoccupied to truly care about Rozanov like that.
“I also came to the US when I was seventeen, had to know how to meal prep. Had no one to make meals for me, and I like cooking. It’s… therapeutic?”
Hayden snorted out loud, and both Jackie and Shane looked at him like he had kicked a puppy. God, he was just laughing at the idea of Rozanov, known instigator of fights—even though he never started one—sleep paralysis demon of half the League, knowing the word therapeutic. Was that a crime?
Jackie elbowed him with a stern look, trying to force him to apologize, but Hayden didn’t feel like he had done anything wrong. In fact, it was way tamer than any chirp Rozanov had ever thrown to Hayden’s face.
“What’s so funny, Hayden?” Shane’s usually calm tone turned cold, an icy look matching it as he went from sickeningly sweet for Rozanov to murderous. “Tell us, go on.”
Rozanov, for what was worth, wasn’t even looking at Hayden. He looked unimpressed, as if Hayden had made a mid pass to someone who wasn’t even there anymore. As if it were typical for Hayden to fuck up.
“Dude, it’s just funny that he even knows what therapeutic is! C’mon, it’s Rozanov.” He rolled his eyes, settling his fork down beside his almost-empty plate. He was waiting for Shane to shrug, to nod and agree, but Shane merely shook his head and stared silently at Rozanov, seemingly communicating without words. “Shane?”
“We had a bet.” Rozanov’s chilling voice, complete with his stereotypical villain accent, made Hayden jump. A bet? What the fuck? Jackie looked defeated, staring down at her napkin-covered lap. “Shane wanted to believe in you, said that it was only fair we gave you another chance. So we agreed on a bet.”
Hayden was sweating, little beads of condensation licking at his hairline. Fuck. He had thought Shane would laugh. Jackie, even. Surely not Rozanov, because who laughed when they were the butt of the joke? But of course, in Shane’s house, he had to abide by Shane’s laughter, and he would submit, and Hayden would love taking Rozanov down a peg or two—
“Ilya said that no matter if he chirped at you or not, you would jump at any little thing to try and make a joke about him. I didn’t think you would do that, not when Ilya has been behaving all fucking night, but now?”
Shane shook his head, a breathless laugh escaping him. He looked completely disgusted with Hayden. He felt his stomach drop as he looked around the room, to Jackie, who looked completely disappointed in him, and was staring at him like she didn’t even know him anymore.
“Fuck, Hayden, you laughing because my husband said therapeutic as if it’s a new thing for him to be smart, or remotely interested in mental health, when you know we have our charity, is the cherry on top of your disrespect. Especially when Ilya was opening up about something important, being vulnerable in front of someone like you, and you had to make it about you, again.”
Hayden spluttered at the accusation, shaking his head before he processed what was happening. What? He didn’t make it about himself! He was just making a silly joke to lighten the mood!
“Shane, I was just trying to lighten up the mood! It was a joke! C’mon, dude. We’ve always done this.” Hayden defended himself, puffing his chest as he tried to explain. “Dude, you’ve changed since you went to Ottawa, you also agreed—”
“You can’t be this dumb.” Rozanov snapped, his face turned into a snarl. “You seriously can’t be this fucking dumb, Pike.”
“Huh?”
“Of course, Shane went along with your bullshit while he was with the Metros; you were the closest thing he had to a friend there. He didn’t want to disturb the peace he had made with that.” Rozanov waved his hand in front of Hayden’s face, as if checking if Hayden was even awake. “And of course he has changed, Pike. We had our entire lives changed with a mistake you made, and had to react accordingly. Did you think Shane wasn’t in therapy after that? Did you think we aren’t still feeling the aftermath of that?”
Hayden was speechless. To be completely honest, he had not even thought about it. He had felt awful during the leak and had apologized profusely, but he had not checked after being forgiven. Had not stopped and thought about what happened with his best friend’s life after, not more than the obvious transfer out of Montréal and into Ottawa.
“Shane has had to go through a lot after what happened; of course that changed him. But Pike, have you even thought about how much happier he is now?”
And no. Selfishly, he had refused to admit that, even to himself. He had felt abandoned after Shane left Montréal, like a black hole had sucked everything good out of that team, and had not seen Shane the same way since. He felt left behind, especially when Shane and Rozanov started racking up wins and breaking records together, Hayden not even a footnote on the page of what was Shane Hollander.
“Well, I don’t think he’s that much happier around you—”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Hayden?” Shane snapped, teeth biting onto his lower lip until it turned white. “Don’t even say that this is another joke. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you say this to my husband?”
The way Shane’s voice turned possessive around my husband almost made Hayden gag, vitriol building everywhere in his body at the sight of Rozanov melting at it. Fuck.
“At first, I thought you needed time. Time to get used to Ilya and me, as a couple, because maybe the rivalry had fooled you too, but it’s been three years. Three fucking years where I’ve let a lot of things go, because Ilya told me it didn’t matter, but it does. I’m sick and tired of your behavior.”There were angry tears in Shane’s amber eyes, and Hayden felt sick to his stomach at being the cause of them. “You act like a jealous ex-boyfriend, and it wasn’t even Ilya who pointed it out, but my own mom. You go around talking about my life choices as if you had any right to question me; as if you had some kind of say on what I did or didn’t do. I’m neither your kid nor your significant other. To be honest, I don’t even know if you are my best friend anymore. Not with how you treat the love of my life, which kind of reflects on how little you respect me and my choices, again.”
“I don’t care about your opinion, Pike,” Rozanov spoke, letting Shane regulate his emotions momentarily. “I don’t even like you as a person, to be honest. But I tried. I tried because I love Shane, and he wanted us to get along, and I’m a simple man; if Shane asks for something, I try my best to make it happen. But you didn’t.”
“And I’ve seen it, year after year, how Ilya tried, and you were a fucking asshole to him. After that, I couldn’t defend you anymore. And now? I don’t even expect you to be decent to me.” Shane admitted, blowing Hayden’s mind. “Sometimes, you don’t realize that when you say something bad about my husband, it also reflects on me. We are not separate; we got married, and we have a life together; we’re a fucking pack, Hayden, like Jackie and you, but you don’t treat us like that. You disrespect Ilya, and you disrespect me.”
“I never wanted to make you feel like that, Shane. I respect you, I promise, it’s just that—”
“Bozhe moy, Pike. You cannot be for real. Holy shit.”
“So you don’t respect Ilya, even after all these years. Huh. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. I let a lot of things slide. But I talked with J.J. last week, and it was… enlightening.”
Hayden’s skin was prickling, and his eyes widened as he realized how much of this was a waiting game for Rozanov to see him fall in his ways. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What did J.J. say?”
“Oh, nothing, really.” Rozanov drawled, completely at ease in his chair beside Shane, as if he were a king on a throne, ready to deliver the finishing blow. Hayden took a sharp breath of relief. Good, J.J. was still loyal, at least. “Just how you kept trying to set Shane up with whoever would take him, as long as it wasn’t me.”
Hayden spluttered back, his face red with nerves. Jackie stared at him with wide eyes, shock written all over her face. Fuck. Fuck, no.
“And how you kept saying that after our wedding, how I wasn’t good enough for my husband, even though he chose me before he even met you. He chose me, while he was saddled by your presence and existence by a binding contract.” Rozanov’s smirk was lethal, a superior look covering his metal-like eyes. “You see, Shane and I, it was inevitable. Our names were joined together before you even met Jackie; we were two of the greats, in the same generation. We were made for each other.”
He didn’t even sound smarmy while saying it, a fond look covering his cold expression briefly. Briefly, before it was back in full force.
“Have you ever considered, Hayden Pike, that you are the one who’s not good enough for Shane? Not a good enough teammate, not even a good enough friend, seemingly, and yet you keep pointing your below-average fingers, as if your existence can change anything between Shane and me.” Rozanov shook his head, seemingly dumbfounded. “You’re either dumber than I thought—which, to be fucking honest, is a crazy statement—or you truly think that you are more important than his husband for Shane.”
Shane was staring at Ilya lovingly, a proud look all over his flushed face. Hayden felt his body go cold at the sight and how hard Rozanov’s words landed. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he important enough to have his opinion heard?
“It’s just my opinion, Rozanov. If my opinion triggers you that much, maybe it’s a you problem.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it as soon as he said it, because Shane whirled towards him with a fire in his eyes he had only seen during Shane’s far and in between ice fights.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Pike. Every word Ilya has said is true. You seem to overstate your place in my life, because it’s truly laughable to think you are more important than Ilya to me. I’ve known Ilya since we were teenagers, with the entire weight of the hockey world on top of us, and we knew we were it for each other even back then. Before we even said it, we knew it.”
Rozanov placed his hand on top of Shane’s, their fingers intertwined in a way that made Hayden want to snarl. How in the fuck had Rozanov won Shane? How had he gotten so fucking lucky with his reputation? He will never understand what Shane saw in him, not when he had every pick in the world, and yet seemed to always pick Rozanov, each and every time, without fucking fail.
Hayden just wanted him out, and he had tried every way possible to do so. But looking at Shane now, hard stare focused and emotionless on Hayden, he realized that he had lost him.
“We spent years running from it, walking a line that you, someone who is as straight as they come, and white, won’t ever understand. You will never understand the sacrifices we have made for each other, Hayden. You got married within 6 months. In our first 6 months, we battled against ourselves to fight what we felt. We are not the same, and the fact that you can’t seem to get it makes me want to puke.”
Hayden wanted to argue, to debate Shane’s points, yet found himself speechless; the barrage of information and points was making his head swim, as he realized that there was nothing he could do to salvage their friendship, not when Shane’s eyes stared at him as if he didn’t even know him. All the warmth in Shane’s house was sucked by Shane’s stern face, and it made Hayden dizzy.
“Back off. Back off my husband, Hayden, or there will be consequences. I don’t even want to be your friend anymore, haven’t in a long time, because of your behavior, and because you always seem to act as if you know best, despite not having lived anything similar to us in your entire life. Back off, because between him and you… I know who’s my pick. And it’s not fucking you.”