Chapter Text
“Everyone’s thinking what I’m thinking, right?” Dyks grunts as he throws himself into the chair across from Zane, jostling the whole table hard enough to have everyone complain loudly and make desperate grabs for their sloshing drinks. He expertly ignores the flat look Zane pins him with, and dodges the balled-up cocktail napkin Nicky lobs at his head with a level of dexterity he really should be bringing onto the ice instead. “Like, this can’t be their normal, no fucking way.”
Dills, when it becomes obvious that no one else is going to entertain whatever Dyks is going on about, sighs deeply and takes pity on him by asking, “The fuck are you talking about, buddy?”
“Roz and Hollzy!” Dyks exclaims, at a volume that has several people lean forward to shush him in fear of getting thrown out of the very nice and accommodating hotel bar that’s already staying open later than it should to host a bunch of dejected hockey players fresh off their second pre-season loss in a row. Batting away Pointy’s slapping hands, Dyks continues, “No, but seriously, I thought having Cap’s husband on the roster would actually make a difference?”
Loath as he is to admit it, Zane has to give it to Dyks; the man’s got a point.
Having Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander on the same team should be a shortcut to total success and absolute domination, but so far, all that the addition of Hollzy has brought to their dynamic is tension and awkwardness. There’s no issue with their play, of course, because they’re Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander, undoubtedly the best of their generation, but Dyks definitely isn’t the only one who expected more of that famous chemistry from having the two of them on their first line.
And sure, it’s only September, games don’t count for shit right now, and there have been the usual upheavals that tend to shake everything up; rookies who are still trying to figure out their place on the team and in the league, changes in staff, trades no one saw coming, Rozy playing wing, now, to Hollzy’s center. But the one thing everyone on the team, hell, everyone in Ottawa had been counting on ever since they announced Hollzy’s trade was for Roz and Hollzy to create magic together.
But, unfortunately, that’s the opposite of what they’re doing so far.
Yeah, they outskate everyone, on the Cens and on pretty much every other team they’ve faced so far, their passes connect perfectly ninety-nine out of a hundred times, and they’ve got the almost uncanny ability to always know exactly where the other one is on the ice at any given moment without having to check. They’re aware of each other in a way that makes them an unstoppable, downright terrifying force to be reckoned with, but somehow, even all of that just doesn’t seem to be enough to put up a win.
Because while the two of them are performing at a level even most professional athletes can only dream of, there’s definitely something off about Roz and Hollzy off the ice. Zane can’t put his finger on it, because there is nothing to point out, they’re not doing anything worthy of critique or concern, but still, something’s just really fucking off.
If Zane didn’t know better, if he hadn’t seen the dozens of pictures and videos floating around online of the two of them practically radiating love at their wedding just a few weeks ago, he’d honestly think they didn’t even particularly like each other. And while neither Roz nor Hollzy allow whatever’s going on to affect their performance, the same can’t be said for the rest of them, unfortunately. Being in a room with the two of them is awkward as shit, there’s this tension no one really has a solid explanation for, and it’s keeping the team from becoming the tight-knit unit they need to be in order to win.
“Not to be a nosy bitch,” says Conner, leaning forward, elbows propped up on the edge of the table like the nosy bitch he is, “but are we sure Cap and Hollzy are okay? Like, personally, in their private lives and shit?”
“They just need to fuck it out,” Pointy says, though he sounds less than confident, eyes flickering over the other people at the table in search of support. “Right? It’s their first roadie together on the same team, everything’s new and different. They’re probably not used to spending most of the season together, it’s gotta be kinda weird, no? Going from only seeing each other every couple of weeks to literally spending every single day together, at home and at work.”
“And,” Bergy jumps in, “there wasn’t really time to get down and dirty—”
Boyle grimaces. “Dude, c’mon—”
“—last night,” Bergy continues, unperturbed, gathering steam, “between the plane’s delay and the rooming chaos yesterday, so they’re probably just really pent up.”
Conner, because he’s Conner, seems to seriously consider that for a moment. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“I don’t think we should be talking about them like this,” Hazy cuts in, their one true voice of reason, “it feels disrespectful.”
Boyle nods. “Agreed,” he says, downs the last of his beer, and slaps his thighs as he heaves himself up from his chair. “And on that note, that’s it for me.”
Conner and Pointy both start booing, then turn to grin at each other and share a sloppy, uncoordinated high-five.
Which is as clear a sign as any to call it a night, Zane figures. “All right, boys,” he says, to more good-natured booing and ribbing, “curfew was,” he checks his phone, then grimaces at the time, “nearly two hours ago.”
“Not sure if we can get in trouble for breaking curfew if Coach’s right here breaking it with us,” Conner grumbles, but gets up along with the rest of them.
Hazy steadies him when he stumbles, with a gentle patience Zane’s sure only goalies and literal saints possess. “I feel like there might be a difference between talking strategy with Cap, and getting drunk until one in the morning because we’re feeling sorry for ourselves.”
As one—and where’s that damn cohesion when they actually need it, for crying out loud—most of the guys turn to glance at Roz and Wiebe, who are still huddled together on one of the couches in the lobby, tablets and papers scattered across the table in front of them. Zane gets asked, every now and again, if there isn’t any resentment towards Roz, for swooping in and taking the C, when Zane had been the next logical choice before they’d acquired The Ilya Rozanov. And Zane would be lying if he claimed that it hadn’t taken some adjusting to come to terms with the realization that he probably never would be Captain, not of the Cens, at least, not unless Roz requested an incredibly unlikely trade for himself. Roz is an amazing Captain, though, exactly what the Cens had needed when he came along, and Zane’s made the decision years ago that he’ll keep the A and help Roz get this team to the level they both know it can reach, rather than make a fuss or leave for the sake of his own ego.
And he especially doesn’t envy Roz his responsibilities on nights like tonight, when he’s talking to Coach with heavy shoulders and dark bags under his eyes well after midnight, both of them looking weary and exhausted before the season’s even started properly.
Most of the guys mumble their goodnights while Zane and Hazy start collecting empties, because they’re hockey players and manners are mostly optional. Unless you’re Swiss, apparently, because it’s their brand new twin rookies who stay behind to help, nudging each other and whispering in what, at least to Zane, sounds like rushed, worried French.
“Hey,” Zane says, and slings an arm around who he’s at least 70% sure is Noé’s shoulders after he’s deposited his glasses on the bar, “don’t worry, kiddo, Roz and Hollzy are going to be fine, okay?”
He’s got absolutely no business claiming as much, but what else is he supposed to do? Tell two teenagers who’ve just moved continents to play hockey with the two best players in the league that yes, he’s scared shitless, too; scared that the pressure and the vitriol and all the bullshit thrown at them from the Commissioner has become too much for Roz and Hollzy, scared that they’re going to break up and leave the Cens scrambling to pick up the pieces?
Yeah, no.
“We’ve got an off day tomorrow,” Hazy adds, sounding almost like he believes what he’s saying, “Roz is going to finish his strategy talk with Coach, go spend some quality time with his husband, and everyone’s going to be rested and happy for the game against Pittsburgh on Thursday.”
Noé and Léo share a look Zane tries very hard not to find creepy, but damn, identical twins will never cease to freak him out just the tiniest little bit.
“Capitaine is not in one room with husband,” says probably Léo, worrying the inside of his cheek. “I am rooming with Hollzy.”
Noé nods along. “Yes, and I am in room with Cap.”
Zane’s brain blanks out for a good thirty seconds.
Thankfully, he can always count on Hazy to have his back. Even though he looks equally as dumbfounded by that revelation. “Uhm, well. There’s still tomorrow, though?”
Léo shakes his head. “Hollzy is taking us to see sights tomorrow.”
“And I hear Cap making plans with Conner to go to the hotel pool after breakfast,” Noé goes on seamlessly. Zane’s starting to feel dizzy from the way his head’s snapping back and forth between the two of them. “And, uh,” here Noé hesitates, and glances at his brother, who only shrugs helplessly, “we were supposed to be together. In one room. Léo and I.”
“But then Cap came and told us to switch first day of the trip,” Léo finishes, both of them now staring at Zane imploringly. “So, we think that, maybe, Hollzy and Roz are fighting, yes?”
Well, so does Zane, now, actually.
“They’re both adults,” Hazy says, after a stretch of uncomfortable silence, and puts a reassuring hand on Léo’s back to steer him towards the elevators, “they’ll figure it out. It’s not your job to worry about them, all right?”
“Right,” Zane agrees, shaking off his own discomfort, and follows along with Noé still under his harm, giving him a gentle little shake, “what he said. Always listen to your goalies, rooks.”
Hazy cranes his neck to roll his eyes back at Zane, which does make the twins huff out the tiniest laughs, at least. “So, where’s Hollzy taking you tomorrow?” he asks, smoothly switching the subject, which Zane’s incredibly grateful for when both Léo and Noé perk up right away.
“A museum of medical history,” Noé starts gushing, and Léo’s right there with him, excitedly adding, “He says it shows medical mysteries and oddities,” before Noé continues with, “The website says there is a wall of skulls.”
Zane wrinkles his nose.
Better them than him.
They deposit Léo in his room, where, Zane can see through the gap in the door when he slips inside, Hollzy is indeed sprawled out on the second bed, fast asleep already. Noé waves at them as he heads to his and Roz’s room a couple doors down, which leaves Zane and Hazy standing in the hall and staring at each other, neither of them really sure what to say.
“Man, what the fuck?” is what Zane settles on eventually, because that sums the situation up pretty well, as far as he’s concerned.
“You know how Roz is with the rookies,” Hazy reasons as they continue walking, although the frown he’s sporting doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in Zane, if he’s being honest, here, “they all get adopted sooner or later.”
“Sure, yeah,” Zane allows, because that is true, but also, “but switching room assignments? Kicking out his husband? Dude, I’d be so fucking thrilled to have Cassie with me on roadies, shit. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love having Lisa around, especially when we’re getting our asses kicked left and right.”
“We’ve been gone two days and I miss her like crazy already,” Hazy sighs wistfully, which only goes to prove Zane’s point. He stops in front of their shared room to glance back at Zane, all the worry he’d perfectly hidden away for everyone else’s sake now on clear display all over his face. “Do you think we should do something? About Roz and Hollzy?”
“What can we do?” Zane counters, because as Hazy himself has said just a few minutes ago, they’re both adults. “And anyway, this team’s got a shit track record when it comes to meddling in—”
“Please, don’t remind me,” Hazy pulls a face as he pushes open the door, “we all agreed to never, ever talk about that again. Roz made us swear a blood oath.”
“Dramatic fucker,” Zane snorts, letting himself fall back onto his bed with a tired groan. He kicks off his sneakers as he fumbles for the remote on the bedside table between their beds, flicking on the TV. “Hey, you wanna check out that movie you were talking about on the flight? The one with the magicians?”
“Sorcerers,” Hazy corrects automatically, then flips Zane off when Zane laughs at him, “yeah, laugh it up, asshole.” He does plop down on the edge of Zane’s bed, however, and takes the remote from him to queue up the movie. “You know, you only ever agree to watch my ‘nerdy shit’ with me when you think I’m upset.”
“That’s absolutely not true at all,” Zane lies shamelessly, which earns him a pillow straight to the face.
Deservedly so, he figures, because he is lying, after all.
And upset.
And worried.
Really fucking worried, honestly.