Chapter Text
POV Shane
Shane woke up slowly, blinking, confused at the unfamiliar surroundings. The sunlight was painful and he immediately closed his eyes again. His head felt like it was going to explode. He was starting to panic when he heard the door open slightly. But the voice was familiar.
“Rook. You alive?” pause. “There’s coffee in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.” The door closed again.
Scott Hunter.
That’s right. He was in Scott Hunter’s guest room. Slowly the night before drifted back in pieces. Kingfisher. Shots - too many shots especially since really a single shot was usually his limit but last night he stopped counting after the 5th round. He vaguely remembered Scott and Eric Bennett helping him into a dark SUV and practically carrying him up to Scott’s apartment. After that, it’s all pretty hazy.
He could smell the coffee now, so he opened his eyes and sat up only for the room to start spinning. He fell back onto the bed so that he didn’t fall onto the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut again and took a few deep breaths. Then he tried again.
This time he was able to sit up and then stand. He realized suddenly that he was only wearing his boxer briefs and an unfamiliar t-shirt. New York Admirals, Stanley Cup Champions. Fuck. He had no memory of taking his clothes off or putting this on. He definitely would not have agreed to that. Thankfully there was a pair of sweats on the end of the bed and he pulled those on before heading into the kitchen, keeping one hand on the wall for balance.
"Morning Rook.” Hunter greeting him, sliding a large mug of black coffee across the kitchen island to one of the stools. Shane sat slowly, gingerly, and wrapped his hands around the mug. He took a deep breath, inhaling the welcome scent of coffee before taking a sip. Then another. He was thankful Scott didn’t push to talk. And even though it probably should, the silence didn’t feel awkward. Or maybe the throbbing of his head was overruling everything else. He should probably be red-faced with shame, but when he looked up into Scott’s face he didn’t see judgement or pity. He only saw concern. But still Scott didn’t ask any questions. He paused for a minute before turning to the fridge and pulling something out.
Sliding a smoothie across the island he said, “Kip made this for you before he left. Said it’s the best one for hangovers.”
“Thanks.” Shane mumbled. He took a sip. It was good. Not his normal smoothie, but still good. He was thankful for the familiar breakfast. Ilya or Hayden & Jackie or even Rose all swore that hangovers required eggs and bacon and toast but all that ever did was make Shane feel worse. The food sat heavy and greasy in his stomach. A smoothie was familiar, comforting, normal. He took another breath and looked back up at Scott.
“Um, thanks for the shirt too, I guess. Not really my style,” he started, trying to joke though the smile probably looked more like a grimace. “I have to admit, I don’t really remember much after leaving the Kingfisher though.”
“Not surprising. You were pretty out of it. Eric helped me get you back up here. I was going to just let you fall into bed, but drinks had gotten spilled on your clothes and I figured you’d hate sleeping in them. Kip suggested we help you change and grabbed the shirt before you fully passed out.”
“You’re right. My skin would have been crawling this morning if I had been in those clothes. So thanks.” Then, “I’m sorry for the trouble this probably caused. This really isn’t like me. Let me finish this smoothie and I’ll get out of your way” Shane started, the embarrassment and shame starting to come in, though as he started to stand, he sat back down instead. He didn’t know where he was going to go.
The team had flown out late last night after the game. He had stayed around for a brand meeting with sponsors this morning but looking at the clock on the microwave, he was already over an hour late for that. His shoulders slumped as he put his face in his hands and sighed, trying not to cry. Slowly the reasons for the shots were coming back. The reality of the messages and missed calls that were likely waiting on his phone started to sink in and with them, the panic. His breaths got shorter.
“Hey, rook. Shane. Breathe” Scott said slowly, calmly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not in my way. We have an off day and I was going to use it as a recovery day anyway. You’re good here. You’re safe here.”
It took a minute for Scott’s words to sink through Shane’s panic, but when they finally did, he managed to slow his breathing. Eventually he looked up, holding back tears.
“I really hope you mean that because I’m not sure where to go or what to do next.”
Scott kept his eyes on Shane across the island. “You’re safe here. And you can stay as long as you need.” He paused a moment before continuing, “though you might want to check your phone. The notifications started a few hours ago. I eventually turned it off just to silence and plugged it in to charge since the battery was almost dead.”
Shane dropped his head back into his hands and tried to keep his breathing even. “Yeah. I was due at a meeting with sponsors over an hour ago. My mom is probably trying to figure out where I am and why I'm ruining my Golden Boy image.” Still, Shane made no move to get his phone. Instead he went back to sipping on his smoothie.
“That doesn't sound right. I'm sure she's just worried about you.”
“Doubtful. She has a better model now.”
Scott's confusion showed on his face. “You know you can talk to me, Shane,” he said softly.
Shane chuckled though it sounded more exhausted than happy. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
After a moment, Hunter tried again, “I was surprised to see you at Kingfisher last night. You’re always welcome, but I didn’t think you usually went out after games.”
“I don’t. But I knew if I went to the hotel I would spiral after the game and everything after. Since the team knows I’m gay now, I figured, why not?”
Whatever Scott was expecting, that clearly wasn’t it. The surprise showed on his face before he tried to school back into a neutral expression. It didn’t work.
“You’re gay?”
“Oh. yeah. Surprise.”
“Thanks for trusting me with that Rook. You said your team knows?” Pause. “Wait, is that why they were ignoring you on the ice last night and for the last few weeks? How long have they known?” Scott asked, anger lacing into his voice.
“Since two days before the losing streak started. We haven’t won a game since.” Shane said slowly, his eyes dropping. “I thought they needed time. I thought if I skated harder they would come around. But now I know that’s not going to happen. Coach was furious last night. He said since I lost control of the locker room, I was no longer fit to be Captain. They should be announcing the switch and naming a new captain sometime today.”
“What?!” Scott yelled and Shane jumped at the anger in his voice. “What the fuck, rook. They can’t do that.”
“Pretty sure they already did.” Shane said, resignation in his voice.
Scott had many more thoughts on the topic, but closed his mouth as he looked at the hunched over figure at his kitchen island. Instead he said, “No wonder you had a few drinks last night.” Scott said hesitantly. He would have expected anger or outrage. But the man in front seemed despondent.
“That’s part of it. Really, maybe the team is better off without me. We were first in the standings before I told them, and now we’ve lost 8 straight games. Our longest losing streak in years. And I mean, my parents have found a better son, so I’m sure the Voyageurs will be better off with a different captain too.” Shane said softly, shaking his head.
It took Scott a minute to process the words. “Wait, what? A better son. I don’t understand. Yuna Hollander would fight the entire world for you - and probably win. The whole of the hockey knows how much of a mama bear she is for you. And they're all terrified of her.”
Shane grimaced. “Well, yeah. She’s an excellent manager and has always looked out for me. But now that she has Ilya as a son. It feels like all she has time for is to manage me. For months, the only things we’ve talked about are brand deals and contracts. Or about how poorly the Voyageurs are doing. But with Ilya, it’s hugs and smiles and …” suddenly Shane stopped and his face froze in horror as his mind caught up with his words. “Fuck.”
“Ilya Rozanov?” Scott asked slowly. “What does he have to do with…”
But before he could finish the question, Shane was scrambling off the chair and towards the door, grabbing his phone and wallet off the coffee table on the way. “Fuck. I don’t.. I didn’t… Please. I can’t. We can’t. No one can know. I’m sorry. I have to go.” And before Scott could say another word or stop him, Shane was running out the door, still wearing the Admirals t-shirt and leaving Scott Hunter frozen in shock behind.