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Cliff Marlow’s phone had not stopped buzzing since he stepped off the elevator. So it begun. Once he saw Vaughny on his All-Stars team, he knew a group chat was inevitable. Vaughny planned killer nights out with an intensity otherwise reserved for playoffs. Cliff respected it. Most people cared more about the downtime than the games anyways.
He shot off a text with his name and spammed emojis as he walked to his room. He had about half his All-Star teammate’s numbers. He so far failed at playing it cool and checked the group chat every 30 seconds for one specific response. All his years attending All-Stars and this was his first time playing alongside the hockey beast otherwise known as Shane Hollander. The downside was Roz played on the opposing team. The league couldn’t have the top players join forces two years in a row. Years of scrimmaging against Roz built up immunity, but also gave Roz more chirp material and familiarity of his habits to ruthlessly manipulate. Cliff wished Roz had more exploitable habits than going feral around Hollander. However, Cliff would go against a lot worse if it meant playing on the same line as Shane Fucking Hollander.
Shane Hollander. Cliff felt giddy. He’d have to swallow that shit down. It was easy during normal games—focus on the puck, egg on the crowds, watch Hollander and Roz pull the most insane shit in their endless competition to outdo each other—but All-Stars wore down his restraint solely with the temptation of hanging out with Hollander without extra scrutiny. Even if Hollander went out during the normal season, Boston and Montreal players didn’t associate off the ice. It worked out from the angle Cliff’s ego wouldn’t survive Roz sniffing out how much he admired Hollander. It sucked from the angle of Cliff wanting to fawn over Hollander in a professional, manly way. Because he was Shane Fucking Hollander.
Buzz.
Damn, still not Hollander.
Cliff kicked his suitcase near the wall and rifled through the minifridge, which had a decent beer selection. Roz hadn’t responded to his texts yet. For once, they didn’t share a flight to All-Stars. Roz spent basically none of his free time in Boston this year. He gaslit everyone as to why, but Cliff caught Montreal Jane’s name enough times to know Roz’s great ass, better mouth but nothing serious, Marly. Stop obsessing was finally official. Crazy that Roz fell into a committed relationship before him.
It’d be ironic if Roz shared a plane with Hollander instead. He imagined them sitting across the aisle and smirked. Roz needled Hollander like no other. People who claimed Hollander was a robot clearly never saw him rip into Roz.
Buzz.
Shane Hollander greeted him. Fuck yes.
His entire world slowed. The simple Shane Hollander text was attached to an existing contact. Cliff closed his messages as if his phone glitched. He didn’t have Hollander’s number, but if he did it couldn’t possibly be… He reopened his messages.
Yep. Montreal Jane’s text still read Shane Hollander.
Not all evenings were filled with clubs and gorgeous women. Some evenings involved the guys hanging out at someone’s place and playing video games. It was one of those mellow nights that devolved to just Cliff and Roz. They talked trash until it escalated into a truly obscene wager. Then they calmed down and struck a more reasonable wager. Possibly a sign of maturity, which Cliff now regretted since he sat pretty as the winner. However, Roz’s trudge to his bar to pour Cliff a glass of his favorite vodka—Cliff had only ever seen Roz or Sveta drink it—was almost more satisfying than getting his dream car.
And sitting on the couch was Roz’s phone. Roz’s unlocked phone.
Cliff valued his life, but he didn’t get where he was by ignoring golden opportunities. Nothing was more golden than snagging the elusive Montreal Jane’s number. Possibilities were endless. He could pass her info to the WAGs, trade blackmail material, or just bro out because she had to be a cool chick to keep Roz’s interest all these years.
“Only a small glass, Marly,” Roz called. “You won’t appreciate it.”
Scheme later. Grab her number now. Cliff swiped open Jane’s contact, vainly ignoring the messages, but one of Roz’s sexts seared into his brain. “Bet’s a bet! Pour as if it was yours.”
He added Jane’s number to his phone and locked Roz’s phone. Roz returned never the wiser.
His plan to reach out to Jane crashed and burned when Roz stormed into the locker room a week later. Cliff’s innocent question about if his hookup fell through—which was a Montreal Jane hookup based on all the signs—resulted in a look of pure venom. Then bag skates. An ungodly amount of bag skates.
Roz’s warpath was the longest two month of his hockey career. The only time he was tempted to text Jane was for mercy after Cliff tried to watch mindless TMZ, discovered celebrity gossip also offended his temperamental captain, and couldn’t feel his legs after practice.
Ultimately, he pretended he never heard of Jane, let alone had her number. Again, he valued his life.
Cliff downed two beers and paced.
He could’ve inputted Jane’s number wrong. Jane and Hollander were notoriously from Montreal. Same area code. Maybe he flipped a digit and Jane’s number was similar to Shane Hollander’s. Weirder shit has happened. It couldn’t be that statistically improbable for Roz’s career-long fling to be phone number neighbors with the Prince of Hockey.
Shane Hollander and Montreal Jane are two separate people. Obviously. Jane made Roz giggle like a schoolgirl. Hollander had the highest hockey IQ in the league and wasn’t a cocky asshole despite the obscene amount of trophies. He could’ve been one too even without Roz’s sheer charisma because he was Shane Fucking Hollander. They both had the skill to back up any trash talk.
Shane Hollander.
Montreal Jane.
Shane.
Jane.
Shane, Jane. Jane, Shane.
Motherfucker. He chugged another beer.
Roz sexted Hollander and Hollander liked it. Responded to it. Apparently had a great ass (he did) and a better mouth (never to be confirmed by Cliff). Roz was in a committed relationship with a guy. Roz was in a committed relationship with Hollander.
Cliff wasn’t blind. Most of the time, people approached Roz, but when he hunted for hook ups, he didn’t so much scope the room as he did target people with the precision of a Terminator. He only hooked up with women, but men have been on the receiving end of Roz’s target system on several occasions. Cliff never mentioned it because it wasn’t his business and forcing someone to out themselves or lie was shitty. He was a kickass ally, even before his sister realized she was a lesbian.
Gay jokes were common in the locker room, and Roz shut the nasty shit down even before he was captain. Cliff backed him and enforced it when Roz was away, but was that enough? Did that translate to Roz that Cliff supported him like a brother, and Roz could fuck whoever he wanted? Ignoring the fact that Roz’s actual brother was a parasite from the little Cliff gleaned. Maybe Cliff should have tweeted more supportive gay shit. He could’ve hyped up how hot some of the guys Roz looked at were too. Or fight more homophobes on the ice, even if punching all homophobes in the NHL was a tall order.
Scott Hunter dramatically coming out at least made them easier to spot. Classic Roz though. Always wanting to be the undisputed best. As far as boyfriends went, Roz outdid everyone by bagging Shane Fucking Hollander.
He could see how they kept this a secret. Hollander was notoriously private and Roz was a master deflector. Neither would hint at anything out of the ordinary if pressed, and who the fuck would ask about a secret love affair?
Though it felt like someone should’ve discovered two of the biggest names in hockey snuck off together. Hollander was pasted across billboards most of the year. Cliff supposed they had enough money to cover shit up. They had obscene contracts even before Hollander’s Rolex money. Maybe Hollander bought a private military stealth jet specifically for their rendezvouses. Ooh or they hired body doubles. That’d be cool. Shame he couldn’t ambush Roz because he really wanted to know the details.
Like who made the first move? When? Was every hockey game foreplay? Based on the brutal checks Roz and Hollander tossed out, Hollander liked it a lot rougher than Cliff ever wanted to contemplate. Maybe ignorance was bliss on that one.
His phone hadn’t stopped buzzing during his meltdown. Vaughn proposed a bar meetup, which Montreal Jane thumbed up. Hollander, Roz’s secret gay boyfriend, was attending a team meetup that included Dallas Kent.
Like fuck he’d let Roz’s partner down like that. Hollander was basically his step-captain. He’d be a buffer at minimum. Maybe get to know the Shane Fucking Hollander, hockey legend and his best bro’s most serious partner.
Okay, he could do this. Just act casual, and pretend he didn’t even know something that’d knock the league off its ass. Easy.
Kent hadn’t responded in the group chat so it was possible Cliff’s overreacted with his hustle downstairs. Maybe Cliff should detour so he wasn’t actively sweating when he met Hollander. There was already pressure before he realized Hollander was Roz’s partner. He needed to make an extra good impression now. Otherwise—
“Whoa.”
Cliff pivoted, narrowly avoiding shoulder checking Scott Hunter, which oof would’ve looked passive aggressive as fuck. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s fine.” Hunter frowned at his sweaty forehead. Then clearly thought better of asking, nodded, and wrapped an arm around a man standing beside him. The man who changed hockey history by kissing Hunter in the middle of the rink. Holy shit, Hunter’s boyfriend. What an excellent way to prove he was an ally.
“You brought your boyfriend,” Cliff said.
“I did,” Hunter said. His grip tightened and the man smiled awkwardly, out of element at All-Stars. Or maybe just out of his element next to a large hockey player.
“Don’t worry. I’m not homophobic,” Cliff said. The couple blinked. “My sister’s a lesbian and I’ve been to Prides. They’re a great time.” He attended Pride first to protect his sisters then because Prides were fucking dope. Should he have invited Roz? Was that a way to open that conversation with Roz or did it put Roz in a weird spot? He’d have to ask his sister. “I’m Cliff Marlow.”
Hunter stared and the man tucked into his side snorted. “Hey, I’m Kip.”
“Sweet,” Cliff said. “Let me know if I need to punch anyone for you. I’m an ally.”
“Jesus, Marlow. No fights.” Hunter’s rebuke was belayed by his grin.
“No unprovoked fights,” Cliff said.
“Appreciate that, but we’re good so far,” Kip said.
“Sweet. Let me know if that changes.” Cliff cocked his head at the only openly gay man in the NHL. Maybe he could put out some feelers. Subtly. He lowered his voice. “You think two active players in the NHL could come out as dating each other?”
Hunter choked on air. In contrast, Kip never looked more at home in the hotel lobby.
“What?” Hunter managed.
“Hypothetically,” Cliff said.
Hunter stared as if he’d never seen Cliff before. Kip nudged him. “Come on. Hypothetically.”
“I mean,” Hunter said slowly as if searching for a trap, “they’d get a lot of scrutiny no matter what. That scrutiny would be amplified by their popularity. I’m sure people would question if they ever threw games for the other.”
“I couldn’t see them throwing anything even on pain of death.” Roz was crazy competitive and Hollander seemed just as bad if not worse. Hunter gawked again. Oops. “Hypothetically.”
“Right,” Hunter said. He squinted as if trying to decipher Cliff’s sexuality just by sight, which was problematic—his sister lectured him in college about it. Kip looked endlessly amused.
“Besides, that’s narrow-minded as hell,” Cliff said. “Brothers compete and no one asks if they throw games.”
“Agreed but, hypothetically of course,” Hunter said dryly, “active hockey players dating would likely need to defend a lot of their achievements. It’s possible they may even be shut out of the league because of the conflict of interest of competing on different teams. It’s uncharted territory.”
Cliff couldn’t imagine a hockey world without Roz and Hollander dominating the top. “Fucking bullshit. Hypothetically.”
“It is but, hypothetically, they wouldn’t be alone,” Hunter said. “They’d have people in their corner. People like us.”
“True.” Not that Cliff doubted the pioneer of gay hockey would protest an illicit rivalry turned actual dating, but it was good to have confirmation. “Anyway, sorry, you won’t win the Stanley Cup two years in a row.”
“Fuck off, Marlow,” Hunter said more warmly than he had ever spoken to Cliff.
He waved and continued to the bar.
Hollander showed up thirty minutes after Cliff, which he should have seen coming. Hollander was an introvert for sure.
“Hollander!” Cliff cheered, a bit more enthusiastically than intended. He had an aggressive buzz since he finished his fifth beer. Vaughny whooped.
Hollander awkwardly waved and tentatively headed Cliff’s way instead of the bar, his original target. “Uh, hi, Marlow.”
Hollander was all too human. Not a single hint he was a generational talent or fucked his rival. “Sup, man. Excited to play with you.”
“Same,” Hollander said. Cliff suspected Hollander was more excited at playing hockey in general than the prospect of playing with Cliff specifically. “You just get in?”
“Yep. My sister and her wife were supposed to join me but they weren’t able to make it.” This was a lie. They didn’t give a shit about hockey, devastatingly enough. “Too bad since Hunter brought Kip. That kiss was all they talked about on the Stanley Cup final.” This was true.
Hollander’s face locked down. If Cliff didn’t know any better, he’d assume Hollander was homophobic. Luckily, he was just awkward as fuck. “Maybe next time. I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Oh yeah, me and Taylor are tight. She’s just one year older,” Cliff said. “You have siblings?”
“Just me,” Hollander said.
What a shame. Siblings were meant to be biological confidants who’d be supportive and annoying at the same time. Roz’s sibling was a massive exception, of course. Roz had several friends in Boston at least. So he had the opportunity to open up to people, even if he didn’t to Cliff’s knowledge.
“You get along with Pike and JJ, right?” Cliff asked.
Hollander nodded, not questioning the conversation shift. An awed rookie bringing Shane a beer helped since Hollander had something to do with his hands. He took a small sip.
“How’d they react to Hunter coming out?”
Hollander coughed.
Vaughny whacked Hollander on the back, which seemed to make it worse. “Don’t kill our star, Marly. We need to laugh at Hunter and Roz sharing a line. They’re going to kill each other. No magical hockey bond like last year with you and Roz, Hollzy.”
Holy shit. Their chemistry was not unexpected or unprecedented. It came from years of being fuck buddies. Did they become official at last year’s All-Stars? He’d have to keep an eye out for any romantic purchases Roz made. For all he hid behind Russia, he was a sappy motherfucker.
“At least Rozanov will be too busy chirping Hunter to bother with us,” Hollander said.
“Small miracles,” Vaughny said.
“So, did they react okay to Hunter or…?” Cliff asked. Vaughny’s permanent grin flickered and Hollander looked panicked.
“No issues from them,” Hollander said, which implied issues from other teammates. Fuck. Hollander was a hockey legend, but with how awkward he was when Cliff just mentioned Taylor, he doubted Hollander enforced a strict no hate speech policy. Even with Roz and Cliff, some Boston teammates still said horrendous shit. Locker rooms could be nasty.
“Was there issues from someone?” Vaughny asked, tone light but eyes dangerous.
Cliff took this one. Didn’t want Hollander to speak and make Vaughny think he was a problem. Awkward, not homophobic but actually closeted guy. “Not from anyone unexpected.” Dallas Kent laughed at the bar with Troy Barrett. He grimaced. “Wanted to check in with Hollzy too since Hunter brought Kip. Don’t want Kip to get anything uncool.”
Vaughny relaxed. “Feel that. Good looking out, dude.”
“Fuck yeah, man.”
They traded a complex hand shake before Vaughny threw an arm over an overwhelmed rookie and herded him to a larger group of players.
“Vaughny’s fun. While Roz and Hunter duked it out, we bro’d out,” Cliff said. “It’s nice to be friendly with people from other teams.”
Hollzy nodded and pinkened. Something that could be passed off as an effect of the crowded bar or drink, but Cliff knew was related to Roz. Who Hollzy was dating. Still a mindfuck. Crazy that the two generational talents were gay for each other. Or maybe bi for each other? Assuming someone’s sexuality wasn’t cool; Taylor lectured him the last time he called her girlfriend a lesbian when she was actually bi. Cliff should let Hollzy know he supported all kinds of love. He’d appreciate it.
“Forgot to mention—my sister’s wife is bi. Bi-erasure isn’t cool. All sexualities are valid as fuck,” Cliff said.
Hollzy looked panicked. “Oh, uh, right. Sorry, if I said something wrong about them. I didn’t mean anything bad.” Oh fuck, he was scrambling and that was totally not the intention. “I’m glad they found each other. I bet they’re happy and, uh…”
“They totally are,” Cliff cut in. “You’re fine, man.”
Hollzy twitched as if considering the merits of sprinting away.
“Hollander,” a familiar Russian voice said, “the bar gave me a ginger ale by mistake. Seemed a waste not to give Canadian Golden Boy Canada Dry.”
Aww, Roz brought his boyfriend his preferred drink.
Hollzy swapped glasses gratefully. “Sounds like the bar has good taste.”
“Boring taste,” Roz corrected.
“Asshole,” Hollzy said. His tone was dry, but Hollzy visibly relaxed at Roz’s proximity. Holy shit, Roz had his besotted Montreal Jane face on. He hid it drinking Hollzy’s beer, but it was obnoxious like a neon sign. Cliff was practically an expert. He’d been around Roz’s Montreal Jane face for years in locker rooms, on planes, in hotel rooms, during team nights out… everywhere really. Roz had it bad for Jane.
“Marly,” Roz greeted, slapping Cliff with a bro hug. Roz stepped back, closer to Hollzy in their newly formed triangle.
“Bro, missed you on the plane this year.” Cliff smirked as inspiration struck. He nudged Hollzy conspiratorially. “Roz was with his boo thang in Canada since we had some time off before All-Stars.”
The top two hockey talents satisfyingly coughed on their drinks in tandem. He rarely caught Roz off guard.
Roz recovered first. No surprise there. “Did you take too many pucks in the head? Don’t say random shit. I wanted something more exciting than Boston. No big deal.”
“Yeah, you wanted to spend time with your new partner. Well, newish. Glad you finally got your head out of your ass for your longest situationship.” Cliff turned to Shane and wow okay so that was red. “Roz has been obsessed over a Montreal Jane for years. We don’t know much about Jane except they’re a legend.” And have a good ass, better mouth. “Do you know a Jane, Hollzy?”
“Montreal is a boring city—inevitable with Hollander—but is too big for everyone to know everyone. Don’t be dumb,” Roz said.
Cliff was having too much fun. “So not denying you spent the time with Montreal Jane then? Wait, I can confirm that myself. Let’s go to the pool so I can count the fingernail scratches on your back. Are there bite marks too?”
Hollzy may implode.
Roz looked smug. “Not my fault you are a weak lover. Give your partner a good time and they can’t restrain themselves.”
“Fuck off, man. I give head like no other,” Marly said.
“Doubt that,” Roz said.
Hollzy remained mortified but shot Roz a glare at that. Roz was unrepentant. He took another drink, incorrectly assuming it covered his wink. Wow, they really were obvious. It could be because Cliff knew the truth though. He’ll ask Kip who he thought was fucking for an outside perspective.
“Lucky man,” Marly said. “Just wanted to say love you, brother. Congrats on you and Jane. Happy you’re happy.”
Roz’s face softened. “Love you too, Marly, but still am not confirming anything.”
“All good.” Hopefully, the love birds will deign to share more details with friends soon. Or at least Cliff. Well, time to give said love birds some relative privacy. Their corner was away from the masses if nothing else. “Gonna assume you won’t kill each other since last year’s All-Star domination. See ya, Hollzy.” He clapped the hand of a startled Hollzy. They’d work on it. “Roz.” They did a more complicated handshake before Cliff walked away.
Now where did Kip wander off to?
That night, Roz uncharacteristically vanished after the first bar the All-Stars hit after dinner. Something less confusing since the Montreal Jane Shane reveal, but Cliff was still morally obligated to mock him relentlessly. Hollzy characteristically vanished around the same time.
JJ set up a pool game across the bar, alone. Cliff grabbed fresh beers and headed over. Time to perform his bro-in-law duty and suss out if JJ would be an asshole about Shane’s sexuality in general and fucking Roz specifically.
Answers respectively: no and maybe. Not the best odds for Roz and Hollzy’s relationship, but hopefully Cliff’s subtle hyping up of Roz would help.
Cliff grabbed the stall next to Hollzy’s in the locker room. Kent was on the opposite side of the room with the other assholes drawn to his small-minded bullshit. It was like they were quarantining themselves. If only the quarantine was soundproof too. Vaughny claimed Cliff’s other side.
“Have a good night, Hollzy?” Cliff asked.
Unfamiliar with Hollzy’s pre-game vibe, he couldn’t 100% dedicate Hollzy’s relaxed stance and easy grin to a night spent with Roz. But, like, part of it had to be. Not that he wanted to dwell on Roz’s bedrooms skills one of the few times he was in a locker room devoid of Roz loudly raving about his sexual prowess.
“Yeah.” Short answer, but the tone revealed a lot. The small smile revealed more. Hollzy and Roz had it bad for each other. “You?”
“Fucking dope night,” Cliff said. “You shoulda stuck around. We ended at a karaoke place.”
“We sang Adele like the pros we are,” Vaughn said. Cliff bumped his raised fist. “You could’ve wowed us all.”
“I’d rather play an entire hockey game than ever sing in public thanks,” Shane said dryly.
“What if we did a boy band song?” Cliff said.
“No.”
“What if you lip synced and I sang?” Vaughny asked.
“Definitely not.”
“What if a kid’s Make a Wish was for you to sing karaoke?” Cliff asked.
Hollzy paused as he examined the tape the Equipment Manager left in his stall. He frowned, but his media training led him to one answer. “I guess in that very specific circumstance, I’d do karaoke.”
Cliff raised his arms triumphantly. “Fuck yeah.”
Hollzy—the man accused of being a hockey robot and stoic—rolled his eyes, unable to stop the slight smile. Cliff was doing such a great job as Roz’s future Best Man.
Kent, predictably, ruined it. He said something tame by hockey locker room standards, but horrendous in any other setting. It cut across the room, and obnoxious laughs followed. Something homophobic that made Vaughny glare. Something homophobic that made Hollzy’s face shutter to a blank mask. He was their team’s captain, but it wasn’t like anyone expected All-Star captains to do anything besides argue with refs.
No one else was going to speak up, the room already moving on.
“Not cool, man,” Cliff said. “Slurs aren’t chirps.”
The room halted. Kent sneered, but the majority of Cliff’s attention was on his periphery, on Hollzy. Hollzy’s eyes snapped to Cliff, face still blank.
“Shut the fuck up, Marlow,” Kent said. “There’s no cameras or microphones here to record you. Stop acting like a perfect PR bitch.”
It was times like these that he wished he had Roz’s quick wit. “You’re the bitch, bitch. That shit isn’t funny.”
“Didn’t realize it was your fucking period,” Kent said, stepping forward. “Try not to bleed when we get on the ice.”
Cliff stood and Hollzy stood with him. He held Cliff’s arm. Not enough to hold him back, but more like a silent plea. He would have listened even without the added layer of Hollzy being with Roz. Cliff didn’t move closer.
“Keep it civil, guys. No in-fighting,” Hollzy said. “Kent, censor yourself. You know there’s more cameras during these games. If you want to get caught up in a new scandal, that’s on you.” Kent opened his mouth, but Hollzy pretended not to notice and turned to the rest of the room. “Because who’s ready to kick the other team’s asses?” Vaughny gave a loud whoop and others followed. “I heard there’s a bet that the losing team will buy the winner’s drinks tonight. I can’t wait to make Rozanov buy us a round!”
More people cheered and Vaughn started a chant until Kent trudged back to his locker.
It was only Hollzy’s tense hand on Cliff that indicated he was anything other than the Golden Canadian Captain. Hollzy waited to speak until they both turned back to their stalls.
“That type of thing is said a lot.” He kept his voice low. “Surprised you said anything.”
“I don’t agree with it, so I don’t mind speaking up. It’s not my usual method since I usually hear that shit on the ice so I can just hit them.” Cliff pretended to focus on his All-Star jersey. “It’d be nice to make hockey more welcoming to everyone, though. I’ll do my part to make that happen and support anyone who needs it.”
Hollzy’s stare was intense, but Cliff was busy poking his pads. No need for Hollzy to overthink his terrible poker face if Cliff wasn’t even looking his way.
Hollzy cleared his throat. “That’s good of you. More people should do that.” The I should do that wasn’t said, but even Cliff heard it.
“You’re a good dude, Hollzy,” Cliff said. “Don’t overthink stuff. You help more people than I could just by being you.” Even today, with Shane Hollander being Shane Hollander, too many articles fell back on how he was the first Asian hockey player to… “It takes a lot of people to make a change, not just one person. I’ll just be one of the loud ones.”
Hollzy hit his shoulder gently. “Thanks, Marly.”
Marly bumped Hollzy’s hand before it dropped, and forced a few more hand movements. He’d make a special handshake with Hollzy if it killed him. “I got you, man.”
The game was a success. A miracle really since Roz’s chirps, which weren’t even directed at him, threw him off. It was the weirdest thing. The words stayed the same, but he could not unhear the flirtatious undertone any time the chirps were aimed at Hollzy. Therapeutically, even though he didn’t say anything that Cliff caught, Hunter and Roz took turns slamming Kent hard into the boards.
Best of all, Cliff scored the game-winning goal after a sharp pass from Hollzy through an insane tangle of All-Stars. He crashed into Hollzy with a loud whoop.
Roz found a keeper.
Cliff entered his room after too many drinks at the bar—he was morally obligated to drain the winner’s pockets even after Hunter tried to cut them off—and screamed. A manly scream, if asked.
Roz sat in a hotel chair like a mafia boss. The floor lamp was the only source of light.
“Marly, calm down,” Roz said, as if he often broke into Cliff’s rooms to lurk like a serial killer. “Neighbors will call the front desk because they think there’s a murder.”
“Why are you here? Jesus fucking Christ.” He turned on more lights. “How long have you been here?”
Roz shrugged, not reassuring in the least. “Wanted to chat before tomorrow’s flight. I leave early.”
“Phones exist,” Marly said. “You could’ve warned me.”
And here comes Roz’s smirk. “Less fun that way.”
“Sadist.”
“If shoe fits.”
Cliff kicked off his own shoes and scooped up sweats off the ground. Comfy clothes would soothe his pounding heart. “What’s up that couldn’t wait, brother?”
Roz was quiet while Cliff changed. The quiet had nothing to do with the fact Cliff was changing since locker rooms and close quarters got rid of those barriers quick. If it was anyone else, Cliff would think they were nervous. Cliff frowned and, holy shit, Roz was nervous. He hid it well but Cliff wasn’t his best bro for nothing. Roz’s tells were the same ones he had in his first year in Boston when he didn’t fully understand English.
“I have been wondering something,” Roz said, pure nonchalance contradicted by the sharpness in his eyes. “On our first day here, you mentioned Jane.” His fingers drummed on the chair, and Cliff wasn’t sure if he noticed. “You said they, not she.”
Not a question, but Cliff nodded. “I did.”
Roz’s face was smooth. “Why?”
Cliff could mention how he stole Montreal Jane’s number and had the shock of the lifetime when the owner of it was Shane Hollander, but outing someone in general was shitty. That extended to secret relationships. It’d be a grade A dick move to force Roz to admit to something he didn’t intend on sharing. “Didn’t know if Jane identified as a she.”
Roz studied him. If he had a cat in his lap, he’d stroke it. “Because you’re Mr. Politically Correct.”
“I can be,” Cliff said. “I’m a stellar ally.”
“Yes,” Roz said. Not admitting anything, all matter-of-fact, but it was more revealing than he typically offered. Roz never hinted he was anything but obsessed with women. Agreeing Cliff was a good ally implied Roz was part of the group able to judge that. Or it was wishful thinking. Cliff may be manifesting Roz opening up to him too hard. Roz stopped his drumming fingers.“What if Jane doesn’t identify as a she?”
Okay, never mind. This was way more revealing than Roz typically offered. Cliff tried to stay casual. “Bro, totally good no matter what. You’ve been crazy about Jane for years.” And equally obsessed with Hollander. Funny how all the rants Cliff chalked up to rivalry bullshit had an enamored light now. “Jane’s cool if they can deal with your ass. Either that, or they’re equally crazy.”
Roz softened. Shane Hollander, hockey legend, caused that. Wild. “Second one. No question.”
Hollzy had crazy layers. He respected it. Actually, he knew Hollzy had crazy layers just based on the aftermath of him and Roz hooking up. Or at least freaky layers. “Happy for you, dude. For you both. Because, like, you are staying at Jane’s all the time, right? Because you’re official and gross and couple-y?”
“Maybe.”
“Roz, I’m your bro. Give me something.”
“Maybe is maybe,” Roz said. “Maybe I stayed in nice big lake mansion, maybe I didn’t.”
Time for Cliff to cyberstalk if Hollzy owned a lake mansion. “Bet you’ll make a cute house husband. Glad Jane can make you a kept man.”
Roz raised his eyebrows, clearly offended. “I would be the best house husband. Don’t demean me.”
“Never, bro.”
Roz ended up staying longer than Cliff expected, considering his long distance boyfriend was in the same hotel. Instead of immediately leaving, Roz shot the shit with him for nearly ten minutes. It felt like a record since Cliff had firsthand experience with how eager Jane—Shane—made Roz.
“You’re a good friend, Marly,” Roz said at the door. “Best friend on team.”
Cliff, of course, hid his teary eyes with their complicated handshake. He blamed all the beers under his belt. It wasn’t his fault though. Roz rarely even hinted at anything close to emotions, and now he got all sappy. “Course, Roz. You’re like a brother, for real.”
Roz slapped his back briefly. “Don’t miss me on flight too much. See you in Boston.”
“Night, Roz.”
The next morning in the airport, Cliff edited his phone contact like he should have the first day of All-Stars. Montreal Jane was no more. In its place was Step-Captain.