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Scott pulled at his collar, longing to take off his tie. He should’ve been used to wearing suits by now, with all the events he attended. Could anyone really ever get used to the feeling of starched fabric digging into their neck? He checked his too-expensive watch. It was nearly midnight. That was an acceptable time to sneak away, right? He’d made his presence known and there were other players for the press to corner and interview. He looked across the ballroom where the after-party for whatever NHL charity event was still going strong. Carter was hanging off Eric Bennet, speaking so loud in his ear that Eric winced. Several rookies were crowded around the bar, begging the bartender for a drink. Scott shook his head. He decided to turn a blind eye to the Admirals’ rookie who was begging right alongside them.
Midnight was late enough, Scott decided. He made his way through the crowd of dancing people and found his teammates. “I’m going to head out,” he said over the music, thumbing at the entrance. Carter looked at him like he’d just killed his dog.
“What?” Carter asked, dragging the word out. He unlooped himself from Eric and grabbed Scott instead. “Don’t leave. We’re just getting started.”
“Good luck with your airport hangover tomorrow,” Scott told him, stepping back. Carter was one sloppy drunk. He glanced at Eric. “Don’t let him have anything else.”
“You’re cutting me off?” Carter slurred. He pointed angrily, nearly losing his balance in the process. “Low blow, man.”
“Enjoy your night, boys.” Scott nodded at them before turning around.
“Buzzkill,” Carter called after him.
“Alright, buddy,” Eric said. “Let’s get some water in you.”
Scott smiled and weaved his way past all the players, officials, and WAGs on the dance floor. His ears rang once he stepped out of the ballroom from the sudden quiet. Hockey events had been fun back when he was a teenager but now, they definitely weren’t his scene. Kip had once brought up going to a gay club. Scott wondered how different it would be from this. At least he’d be able to ditch the suit. The thought of Kip made him eager to get back to his hotel room. He didn’t have a roommate for once and he knew Kip would still be awake.
He walked to the elevator and hit the button for floor nine. The mirrored wall reflected his excited grin. It had been too long since he’d seen his boyfriend’s face.
He’d have to wait even longer it seemed because someone stuck their hand in between the closing elevator doors. They opened and Shane Hollander of all people stepped inside.
His eyes widened once he noticed Scott. “Sorry,” he said. Scott didn’t know what for.
“It’s ok.” He gestured at the buttons. “What floor?”
“Uh seven.” Hollander seemed nervous. He usually looked tense and uncomfortable, especially at social events, but Scott had never seen him so… frazzled. He kept adjusting his sleeves and brushing off his pants, all while very pointedly avoiding eye contact. Scott decided not to question it. He had a phone call to make.
They made it to floor two before the elevator stopped and another familiar face stepped inside: Ilya Rozanov. Rozanov grinned at the sight of Scott and his smile widened when he saw Hollander.
“Good evening,” Rozanov said, sounding like he was barely holding back a laugh.
“What floor are you headed to?” Scott asked politely. Rozanov got under his skin way too easily. Instead of answering, the Russian leaned over and pressed the already lit seven button. His eyes stayed on Hollander the entire time.
“Going to bed already, Hunter?” he asked, standing between Scott and Hollander. “What time is your bedtime in your nursing home? Eight?”
“I’ll punch you again,” Scott warned. There wasn’t any real heat behind it, not tonight. In fact, he’d wanted to forget the unfortunate game where Rozanov had managed to rile him up enough to cause a physical fight.
“Save it for the ice,” Rozanov said. “I can score more goals if you are in penalty box.”
“Oh, so you need me out of the way to score a goal?”
Rozanov didn’t reply. He looked at the floor number slowly ticking up instead. He glanced at Hollander. There was a strange look on his face. “Where are you going, Hollander?”
Shane looked pale and flushed at the same time. More than anything, he looked like he wanted to die on the spot. “Bed,” he said through gritted teeth. He exchanged a look with Rozanov that was hard to decipher but there was something familiar about it.
Scott didn’t get to ponder it too much because a second later, the elevator shuttered to an abrupt stop. The lights overhead flickered briefly and metal creaked all around them. That didn’t seem like a good sign. He waited patiently for the doors to open but they never did. He tried pressing the button but nothing happened. He pressed it another five times before giving up. Great. All he wanted to do was call his man. Was that so hard?
“What’s wrong?” Hollander asked.
“I think we’re stuck,” Scott replied gravely.
“What?” Hollander yelped, looking around the elevator like the walls were going to start closing in. Rozanov scoffed.
“Let me see.” He shouldered past Scott to the buttons and did exactly what Scott had done with the same result. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Scott sighed. What a mess. Hollander looked like he was ready to jump down the elevator shaft and Rozanov looked like, well, his usual self: an asshole. Scott pressed the emergency call button and it crackled for a few seconds before someone answered.
“Hello?” a young woman asked in a bored voice.
“Hi,” Scott replied. “We’re uh-“ He glanced at the two hockey players behind him. “-Stuck.” He waited for a beat. “In the elevator.”
The woman sighed. “Ok,” she said. “Just hold tight. I’ll get the fire department on the line.”
“Thank-“ Click. “-You.” He watched the call light turn off. Great.
“Wow, Hunter,” Rozanov drawled. “You have a way with women.”
“Shut up.” Scott loosened his tie and leaned against the wall. “Get comfortable, boys. We’re going to be here for a while.”
Hollander closed his eyes like it was the worst news in the world. He was so tense, Scott’s own shoulders twinged in sympathy. Rozanov, on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. He kept looking at Hollander, like he was waiting for a certain response. It never came and the Russian lost some of his energy. He quickly regained it.
“You are going to floor seven?”
“Yes.” Hollander’s tone was clipped.
“What a coincidence. So am I.” Rozanov nudged Hollander, who jerked away.
“Sure.”
“I bet I can guess your room number.”
Hollander finally reacted. He looked up, eye flashing. Scott held his breath. The tension was thick enough to suffocate him.
Rozanov tapped on his chin cartoonishly. “Hmm.” His eyes had an evil glint in them. He looked identical to when he was chirping on the ice. “It will start with a seven.”
“You’re genius knows no bounds,” Scott quipped. Rozanov smiled at that. Despite all the shit he talked, he was actually a good guy. He chirped for the fun of it, not because he meant it. He could take what he dished out too.
“714?” Rozanov wiggled his eyebrows . Scott stepped back in case Hollander wanted to punch him. Instead, Hollander looked away, his face like thunder.
“Yes.”
Rozanov cheered in Russian. “I am—how you say—psychic.”
“Lucky guess,” Hollander spat.
“I am very lucky,” Rozanov agreed, his voice dripping with double meaning. Oh. Oh fuck. Scott quickly looked at the ground so they didn’t see his face. Were they flirting? In front of him too? Wow these kids were bold.
He knew to some degree that whatever was going on between them wasn’t a good old fashioned platonic rivalry. Even if he hadn’t roomed next door to Rozanov years back and heard very male moaning, he would’ve clocked the guy as queer from his vibe alone. Hollander, on the other hand, was a bit more subtle. It took an unusual amount of stammering after an innocuous comment for Scott to realize Hollander wasn’t straight, at least not for Rozanov. But them openly flirting in front of him was still a shock. Didn’t they want to keep this hidden? This was career-ruining stuff they were getting into. Was it even worth it? They seemed so different from one another. Maybe opposites really did attract.
Scott wondered if he should say something. He didn’t want to make things more awkward but he also wasn’t sure that was possible. He was trapped in an elevator with two rival hockey players that were very likely secretly hooking up. They didn’t know he knew and it felt dishonest to continue acting oblivious.
Hollander spoke first. “I never got the chance to apologize for the way I acted on the ice,” he said seriously. The guy never lightened up. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that over a chirp.”
“I didn’t take it to heart,” Scott said truthfully. It had been a shock, truth be told, that Hollander had it in him. Scott almost felt bad about pissing him off so much. “Don’t worry about it.”
Rozanov looked between the two of them. “You are talking about the fight?”
Hollander scratched the back of his neck. He was on edge again. “Yeah.”
“You never told me what it was about;” Rozanov said, arching an eyebrow. “It must have been bad.” He grinned evilly. “You’re so tame, Hollander.”
The amount of sexual undertones in his voice made Scott want to sink through the floor. Hollander’s jaw worked. “Why would I tell you?” he asked coldly. “It’s not like we’re friends.”
Rozanov’s face fell and Scott decided it was time to intervene. “I said he sounded like you.” He watched the gears in Rozanov’s head turn.
“Really?” Rozanov asked. He sounded genuinely shocked. He quickly smoothed his features. “You’re right, Hollander. Such a little chirp and it made you so mad.”
“You’re one to talk,” Hollander shot back.
“I am never the first to drop my gloves,” Rozanov argued. “You though-”
“Alright guys. Cut it out,” Scott interrupted. He was going to get a migraine if they kept going around in circles. Did they argue like this in private too? He glanced at the elevator speaker. He had no idea how long it would be before their rescue. He might as well come clean. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me.”
“Pretend what?” Hollander asked nervously. Rozanov’s relaxed posture shifted so that it was more like a person instead of a sprawled out cat.
“Come on.” Scott raised his eyebrows. They didn’t catch the hint. He sighed. He was really going to have to spell it out to them. “I made that comment at the game because I know.” They didn’t budge. “You guys are pretty obvious when you know what to look for.”
Hollander looked at Rozanov desperately, who was staring down Scott. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hollander insisted.
Scott rolled his eyes. His phone buzzed. It could only be Kip, which made him feel more impatient and cagey. “So you two aren’t hooking up?” he asked irritably.
Hollander’s jaw dropped. “Who told you this?” Rozanov asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Nobody,” Scott said, exasperated. “Like I said, you’re obvious.”
“No, we’re not.” Hollander blushed. “Not that we’re-“ He swallowed and looked at the floor.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Rozanov said, looking every bit of the Russian he was.
“Ilya,” Hollander hissed. Ilya? Jesus Christ.
“What?” Rozanov spread his hands. “He says he knows.”
Hollander shook his head and mouthed unbelievable. Rozanov continued staring Scott down. Scott shook his head. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” he promised. He really didn’t want to have Ilya fucking Rozanov as an enemy. So for good measure, he added: “I’m gay.”
If it was safe to tell anyone, it was these two. Call it insurance. Now they couldn’t tell anyone outside of the people in the elevator anything without worrying about some serious consequences. Hollander did a double take and Rozanov, being Rozanov, smiled.
“Very good,” he said cheerfully. “I am bisexual. Shane is gay.”
“Oh my God,” Hollander groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
“Cool.” Scott cleared his throat. “Now that the air is cleared, can the two of you stop whatever this-” He gestured vaguely at them. “-is.”
“Here’s a better idea,” Hollander said. “What if we all just stop talking?”
Scott nodded. “Great. Yeah.”
The elevator was mercifully silent. Scott glanced at his watch. If they weren’t saved in the next ten minutes, he was going to become claustrophobic. He tried to distract himself from his unfortunate situation by thinking of other, less uncomfortable things. How was Carter doing? Scott had tried to keep him away from the tequila but for as loud as Vaughn was, he knew how to sneak around. Hopefully Eric could get him back to his room in one piece. If push came to shove, Eric could carry Carter like a rag doll if he wanted.
The distraction didn’t last long. Scott’s mind eventually wandered back to the two guys he’d known since they were rookies. They were really hooking up. It was a hard pill to swallow. Scott has always assumed it was just an innocent crush. These two couldn’t do anything half-assed, could they?
“How does it work?” he found himself asking. “You two being a… thing.”
“We are in the same hotels a lot,” Rozanov said, gesturing at the elevator. “Is not hard.”
“But you guys live in different countries most of the time,” Scott argued. “How do you make that work?” Truthfully, he had ulterior motives for his questions. Long distance was a nightmare for him and Kip. Sometimes Scott found himself fantasizing about ways to get Kip hired on the team so that they could travel together. Kip would never allow him to get him a job but it was still nice to think about.
“We are very creative,” Rozanov said cryptically. What could that possibly mean?
“Can we stop talking about this?” Hollander asked, sounding desperate.
“Come on, Hollander,” Rozanov drawled. “Hunter is curious. Is only natural.” He smirked. “He is probably jealous.”
“Jealous?” Scott rolled his eyes. “Of your incredibly high-stakes secret hookups? Definitely not.” He frowned. “You’ve seriously never been caught?”
“Only by you,” Hollander muttered under his breath. Everyone in the hockey world swore up and down that he was the calmest guy in the league but he had a temper, that was for sure.
“Sorry, I just can’t wrap my mind around it.” Scott shook his head. “What do you two even have in common?”
Rozanov shrugged. “We like men.”
That got a laugh out of Scott. Rozanov joined in and eventually even Hollander cracked a smile. They were interrupted by crackling emitting from the elevator speaker.
“The fire department is here,” the same woman from before said in a bored tone. “You’re stuck between floors or something. Sit tight.”
“Thank God.” Scott breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he would still have time for that phone call. “Look,” he said to his fellow hockey players. “I’m happy for you two.”
Hollander’s eyes went wide. “We’re not like-” He trailed off, struggling to find the words. “This isn’t a thing.”
“Casual,” Rozanov supplied. “Just a bit of fun.”
Scott eyed them suspiciously. They were full of shit. There was clearly something going on between them that wasn’t in friends with benefits territory. Scott hadn’t noticed it at first. It was only after talking to them both at the same time that he realized they might actually like each other. No, not like. They might be in love. Oh, these poor kids. “Ok,” he said, knowing he sounded unconvinced. There were footsteps nearby, loud, heavy firefighter boots. Their rescue was imminent.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Hollander asked, going a bit pale. Scott felt a twinge of sympathy.
“Of course not.” He frowned slightly. “I’m the last person who would out you.”
Hollander’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
“Yeah, awesome,” Rozanov chimed in. He was staring at Hollander with something unreadable in his face. Yikes. The bickering wasn’t just their hockey rivalry, it seemed. Scott felt sorry for their neighbors for more reasons than one.
Their rescue was short and sweet. The elevator had indeed been caught between floors so the firefighters simply pried the doors open and helped the three out. It was kind of embarrassing though, crawling through the gap while hotel guests gawked. Scott just hoped there wasn’t any press. He didn’t want to become tomorrow’s story over on ESPN.
“You should stay in case Hunter falls in the shower,” Rozanov called to the firefighters as they packed up their gear.
“Very funny.” Scott glanced at the stairwell. He had a very long climb to floor nine. He nodded at Rozanov and Hollander. He suddenly felt awkward, realizing they were heading to the same room for a not-so-subtle reason. He cleared his throat. “Well, I guess this is where we part ways.” He nodded at them. “Night, fellas.”
“Night, Hunter,” Hollander replied, managing a tight-lipped smile.
“See you on the ice,” Rozanov called as Scott let the stairwell door close behind him. He exhaled slowly, trying to process everything that had happened in what was supposed to be a short elevator ride. Hollander and Rozanov were in love. The NHL’s most talked about rivals were secretly infatuated with each other. What a mess.
Scott trudged up the stairs and had Kip’s contact pulled up before he’d even closed the hotel room door behind him. Kip answered on the second ring.
“Hey, handsome,” he said cheerfully. He squinted to get a better look at Scott. “Why the long face?”
Scott shook his head. “You’ll never guess what just happened?”