Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau/Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Connors (Heated Rivalry), Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike

Additional Tags:

Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Relationship Reveal, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Secret Relationship, Outing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, POV Ilya Rozanov, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Misunderstandings, Bisexual Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Bisexual Hayden Pike, Polyamory, Complete

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of this is secretly a vino & veritas crossover

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-17 Completed: 2026-04-10 Words: 15,949 Chapters: 5/5

like the river flows surely to the sea

Summary

Ilya: Marly got spiked.
Jane: Shit. Is he okay?
Ilya: Yes, but we do not have ride back to hotel.
Jane: I'm on my way.

--
Set somewhere in the episode 4 "My Moon Man" Montage.

Notes

i have no excuse for this except the plot bunnies in my head are entering breeding season

Chapter 1: Ilya

Ilya puts his phone back in his pocket. Marly is in the booth next to him, bracketed by Connors. He leans against Ilya, humming something under his breath that is definitely not the house song currently beating its way into Ilya’s ribcage from the club speakers.

“Did you see who he was with?” Cons asks. Ilya shakes his head. “I told the bar tender, in case they try it with anyone else.”

“Good thinking,” Ilya says. The bartender—a tattooed woman with bright pink hair and a thick Quebecois accent—had also been working the last time they came here after a Montreal game. Ilya can’t remember her name, but he knows she’s good people, takes her job seriously.

“Did you get a ride?” Cons asks.

“Yeah. He’ll be here…” Shane lives right nearby; he remembers the ride to his place last time had been under ten minutes. “Really soon.”

“Cool.” Cons nods.

Marley is swaying back and forth now, humming louder. He gropes around the table, like he can’t gage how far objects are from his hands. Cons had brought him a glass of water from the bar, and he slides it into his palm now.

Ilya is scanning the crowd in front of him, trying to think if Marly had been flirting with anyone in particular. It’s so fucking disgusting, to roofie someone. The thought that they will probably get away with it makes Ilya’s skin crawl.

“It’s my anniversary,” Marly murmurs, looking down at his water like he needs to remember how to use a straw.

“Drink, Marls,” Cons prompts. He leans around the taller man’s form to look at Ilya. He can read the question in his face: anniversary?

It’s true that Marly had said he was only staying for one drink, that he had pre-determined plans with someone. And Ilya knows that Marly had someone he sees regularly in Montreal—the team teases both of them about their Montreal girls—but Ilya had assumed she was just a regular hookup. No one celebrated anniversaries with hookups, did they?

Marly does drink some water, and Ilya encourages him to have a little more. He puts the glass down a little too hard on the tabletop. “I’m really excited,” he says. “I’ve never had an anniversary before.”

“Congrats, man,” Cons says. There’s a sadness in his voice that Ilya can empathize with: Marly had come out for one drink to celebrate their win, and now he wouldn’t be able to celebrate this anniversary with his sweetheart. Ilya tries hard not to blame himself, but he feels like he can sense the C on his jersey like a brand. It’s his responsibility to make sure his boys are safe when they travel, and he’d failed.

“Thank you.” Marly smiles. “I love—I’m in love.”

“Wow,” Cons says, again making eye contact with Ilya. This look says, Why haven’t we met this girl before, then? Ilya concurs. He knows a thing or two about secret relationships—not that what he and Shane have is a relationship. It’s just sex.

But this doesn’t sound like just sex to Ilya. This sounds serious, romantic. It’s not possible that Marly is hiding his person for the same reasons. Is it…? Sure, he’s only seen Marly flirting with girls when they go out, but the same is true for Ilya.

“That’s really cool,” Cons continues. Marly nods, his chin hitting his chest like his head is too heavy for his neck.

Shane texts that he’s outside. It’s a blue Jeep. Of course Shane Holander’s city car is a fucking Jeep. “Ride’s here, Marly,” Ilya says, grabbing his friend by the arm. Cons gets his other side, and several other Raiders run interference while they get him out the door.

Shane is right out front, and opens the back door for them when he sees them coming. Ilya slides into the back seat, pulling Marly along.

Cons pushes, helps Ilya get Marly upright and his seatbelt buckled. Marly’s humming again, the same song—it’s something slow, but maybe that’s because Marly is having trouble controlling the muscles in his face.

“There you go, buddy.” Cons pats Marly’s shoulder and closes the door. Ilya shouldn’t be surprised that he then opens the passenger door and gets in, but maybe he should’ve warned him that Shane is the one coming to get them.

He stares at Shane for a moment. “Hey, Hollander.”

“Hi,” Shane says. “Rozanov said you guys didn’t wanna risk getting a ride share.”

Cons nods. He puts his seatbelt on. “Cool of you to do this.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Shane looks at Ilya in the rearview mirror. “Seatbelt.” Ilya rolls his eyes as he buckles in. Shane puts his turn signal on and pulls into the slow traffic outside the club.

Marly is singing under his breath now. “… can’t help… falling in love with… you…” He looks at Ilya. “’s our song.” Ilya nods, though he doesn’t recognize the lyrics.

“Surprised he’s so out of it,” Shane says. “Just cause he’s so big—must’ve been a large dose, right?”

“It’s our regular Montreal place,” Cons explains. “If someone went there wanting to target one of us, then they would’ve been prepared to take down a 200-pound guy.” And Marly is more like 250, with his height and muscle mass. Shane makes a disgusted noise, which Ilya agrees with. Cons turns and peeks around the side of his seat to look at Marly. “Hey, Marly: should we text your girl and tell her you can’t make it? Where’s your phone?”

Ilya thinks for a moment that it’s possible they left it at the bar—not a disaster, if it’s locked, but Marly doesn’t need to get hacked on top of this other shit. He pats Marly’s jacket pocket, and finds his phone. It’s dead, but they could charge it when they get back.

Marly looks confused, shakes his head. “Are we not going back to the hotel?”

Cons looks at Ilya. He shrugs; he has no idea what Marly is talking about either. “We are, but she’s not there, is she?”

“Is so…” Marly murmurs. Lefvere’s at his sister’s house,” he explains. Marly liked to room with rookies, make sure they’re not getting up to too much mischief. He’d done the same with Ilya, and their newest recruit is his current charge. “Cause he’s Quebec-eese.”

“Quebecois,” Shane says. Ilya hates how endearing it is that the correction came so naturally to him.

“Yes,” Marly says. “Exactly. W—is that Shane fuckin’ Hollander?”

“Hi,” Shane says, lifting one hand off the steering wheel to wave. Ilya bites the inside of his cheek. Adorable.

Cons laughs. “He’s being very nice and giving us a ride to the hotel. But listen, Marly: your girl is at the hotel?”

He nods. “Left a key at the desk.” He leans forward to look at the side of Shane’s head. “It’s my anniversary.”

“Oh, congratulations,” Shane says, genuine. He winces. “Sucks that… this is happening during that.”

Marly winces. He looks down at his own hands. “I was only supposed to… how am I this drunk? How long were we out?”

“You got spiked, Marly,” Ilya says for the third or fourth time that night. “Roofied.”

Marly makes a sound like wounded animal. “Shit. He’s not gonna wanna fuck me like this.” Shane is stopped at a red light, and they stay stopped for a beat too long as the car goes quiet. The car behind them honks and Shane remembers he has to drive. Marly looks at Ilya, wall-eyed with lips parted. He’s afraid. “I mean—”

“That’s good,” Shane says. Ilya looks at the front seat; Cons is staring at Ilya like he doesn’t know up from down. Shane continues: “That you have a partner who wouldn’t take advantage of you like this. That’s really good, Marleau. I’m sure he’ll understand that you have to celebrate another time.”

“Yeah,” Marly croaks.

There’s another beat of silence.

Say something, Ilya thinks. He’s your friend. Fucking say something.
Instead, Cons speaks next: “How often do you get to see him, Marls?”

“Not that often,” Marly murmurs. Ilya must imagine the way Shane makes eye contact with him in the rearview.

“That’s too bad,” Cons says. “Maybe we can get him down to Boston when we have a day off—so you can make up for tonight.”

Marly looks up at the headrest in front of him. He blinks, and tears escape the corners of his eyes. Ilya takes a deep breath. “Is only 5-hour drive from Montreal to Boston,” he says, and hopes no one asks how he knows that off the top of his head. “If he can’t get down there, we can get you back up here. Fucked up that your anniversary is ruined by some asshole at the club. We fix.” He pats Marly’s leg.

His friend looks at him, still crying. “Thank you.”

They pull into the hotel parking lot and Shane takes one of the members’ space right near the door. Ilya wants to tease him about breaking the rules, but for all he knows Shane is a Double-Extra-Elite-Diamond-Bronze-Thingy. He gets out and opens Marly’s door for him, and Ilya expects him to get back in the driver’s seat while Ilya and Cons get Marly out of the Jeep, but instead he holds the door for them, despite the doorman being right there, and then hits the elevator button while Ilya and Cons prop up the taller man. He talks loudly about the Raiders really knowing how to party, yes-and’s Ilya’s bit about Marly not being able to handle a little tequila.

“We’re great at this,” Cons says when the elevator doors close.

“We’re great at everything,” Marly says, swaying so heavily that Ilya is forced to brace himself against the elevator wall, lest they all go tumbling to the floor.

Shane scouts the hallway ahead of them like maybe a gossip columnist got past hotel security, and he’s the one who takes Marly’s key from him, pressing it to the reader on the door. He knocks as he swings it open slowly. He’s probably imagining the same thing Ilya is: an unawares woman, waiting on the bed, maybe in nice lingerie or in a sexy pose, who isn’t anticipating anyone but her boyfriend coming through the door. “Hey—sorry about this, but Marleau needed—” He stops abruptly, halfway through the door. “Hayden?”

Hayden?

Hayden?

Marly’s left leg gives out, and Cons nearly buckles under his full weight. Shane moves quickly into the room, and he and Ilya move in after him. Their first priority is dumping Marly onto the nearest of the two queen beds, which is covered in fucking rose petals. The lights are dimmed, and there is a basket of chocolate-covered orange slices on the dresser—of course; Marly is allergic to strawberries—next to an ice bucket filled with what he recognizes as Marly’s favorite local beer—in fact this is some kind of limited edition flavor, one that his friend had complained about not being able to get his hands on—and Hayden fucking Pike is standing between the beds, hastily tying up his robe. This is not a hotel robe. This is a sexy, fancy robe made of partially-translucent material and trimmed in lace. It matches the stockings and garters Pike also has on.

“Shane?” Hayden blinks, his voice cracking. There is a moment where they are all staring at each other, Marly on his side on the bed trying to get his bearings.

Ilya speaks up, voicing what is likely on all of their minds: “Don’t you have a fucking wife?”

Pike’s jaw clenches. Shane takes a half-step toward him, fists clenched his side. This is Shane’s best friend. He’s godfather to at least some of the Pike children. He knows Pike’s wife, cares about her. Ilya has never seen Shane this furious.

Pike must see the anger too, because he only addresses Shane when he answers. “Jackie knows where I am and who I’m with.” Shane visibly relaxes.

Marly groans. He sits halfway up and reaches toward Pike, making little grabby hands. Pike moves toward him, puts an arm around his shoulder such that Marly can lean against his torso, face buried in his abdomen. “Missed Jackie. Missed you. I’m sorry.”

“How much did you have to drink?” Pike runs a hand through Marly’s hair.

“He got spiked,” Ilya says, feeling defensive. Obviously Marly hadn’t gotten shitfaced on his fucking anniversary, when he knew his partner was waiting at their hotel with limited edition beer and chocolate treats.

“Fuck,” Pike says.

“Sorry,” Marly repeats.

Pike kisses the top of his head, like it’s natural for him, like this is what they do. “Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Love you,” Marly tells the middle of Pike’s stomach.

Pike pets the back of his head. “I love you, too. You’re okay.” To the three of them, he says, “Thank you guys, for making sure he got here safe.”

Cons, who had been edging back toward the door since they put Marly on the bed, clears his throat. “Of course.”

“We all care about Marly,” he says, trying to make the words mean more than they say. “We wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

“Yeah,” Cons adds, brilliantly.

Pike nods. “He’s in safe hands now.” He says it like a dismissal, and Ilya turns toward the door to leave the two of them alone.

Marly makes a sound in the back of his throat and Ilya turns back to him, thinking maybe he’s in pain, or about to throw up. Instead, he paws at Pike’s robe, movements clumsy. “You want a blowjob?” Cons snorts, trying desperately not to fucking guffaw at their friend.

Pike gently pushes his hand gently away. “Hey, let’s remember that we have company.”

Marly pauses, then whines again. “Mmm… that’s not an answer to my question.” Now it is Ilya’s turn to almost laugh. Shane isn’t doing any better, either, hiding his smile with a fist.

Marly reaches for the closure of Pike’s robe and Pike smacks his hand. “Stop it, Clifford. Lay down.”

“Yes, sir,” Marly says, broad smile on his face. He flops back on the mattress, arms reaching up toward the headboard. Ilya and Cons finally fucking lose it, both of them curling in on themselves and giggling.

Shane is doing better, but there’s laughter in his voice when he says, “We should probably…” he gestures to the door.

Pike’s whole face is turning pink. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks again.”

They make their way out into the hallway and back toward the elevator. Shane hits the button and then looks at Ilya like he wants very badly to say something.

Cons says, “Thanks again for your help, Hollander. You’re a real class act.”

Shane blinks. “Uh, yeah. No problem.” A beat passes. “I was gonna say anytime, but I really hope no one gets spiked during victory drinks again.”

“You admit there will be more victor drinks for us,” Ilya teases.

Shane rolls his eyes. “Don’t you guys play Buffalo next? Yes, I expect you not to lose to Buffalo.”

Cons laughs. “Everyone says you two hate each other, but Roz just talks to you the way he talks to all his friends.”

Shane blinks again. The elevator dings. He nods to them and climbs on. Ilya watches the doors close, thinking he might be able to sneak back out and see Shane at his condo if Cons goes to bed early.

The two of them make their way to their room. “Holy shit,” Cons sighs as soon as the door clicks shut. He flops onto his bed and throws an arm over his eyes.

Ilya toes out his shoes, pushes them into a corner with his foot. “Mm.” Lot to think about.

“We—” Cons laughs. “We have to give him shit for that yes sir thing, right?”

Dread creeps up the back of Ilya’s neck. He looks at Cons where he’s still laying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “What?” Cons has never said anything outwardly homophobic, at least not in Ilya’s presence. The single time Carmichael had called the opposing team faggots, it had been Cons who told him to the knock it off, saving Ilya from putting him in a headlock in front of their whole team.

But is it different, because it’s Marly? Their friend? Not someone theoretical, abstract?

Not looking at Ilya, Con continues: “Come on—he calls Hayden Pike sir?”

Ilya lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He smiles. “Ah, maybe.”

“Like, obviously we won't tell anybody about tonight, fuck. But when it’s just the three of us, we gotta be contractually obligated to make fun of him for that.” He sits up on his elbows. “As his friends.”

“Maybe,” Ilya says again. He looks away, then back again. “I don't... you didn't see him in the car, after he said it. He was fucking terrified.”

Cons nods. “I mean, yeah. I think I would be too. I can't exactly imagine what it's like to be in the closet myself, but...” He looks at Ilya for a long time and Ilya thinks holy shit, how many of my teammates are queer?. “My older brother is trans.” Ah. “He told me once, he wants me to dog him for shit like I would any other guy, you know? He said it made him feel normal.”

Ilya nods. “And we want Marly to feel normal.” Normal. Unremarkable. Unworthy of headlines.

“Yeah. Of course.” He lays back down, spreading out across the duvet like a starfish. “God, I really can't imagine having to keep that part of you a secret, something so fundamental to yourself. It's so fucked up.”

“It is,” Ilya says. He’s vaguely aware that he hasn’t moved away from the door.

“You okay?” Cons asks. Ilya looks at him, a little startled. He’s on his elbows again. “You just seem... I don't know, effected? Was Marls that upset in the back seat?”

Is he really going to do this? It’s just Cons, right? It’s just his friend, his road trip roommate, the only other person on their team who now knows Marly’s secret. “I'm bisexual.”

He sits up properly, back straight. “Oh! Oh, shit! Here I am going on about—wow, holy shit. That’s… Thank you for... for trusting me with that, Roz. Really.”

“Thank you for saying those things,” Ilya says, because he is grateful. There’s a weight that’s been lifted off his shoulders, being in a room with someone who knows him, knows all of him, and isn’t going to hurt him for it. “About feeling normal.”

“For sure.” He nods. “I wouldn’t—I want you to feel normal around me, too, Roz.”

“Thank you, Con. That actually... that means a lot.”

“Of course.”

Ilya swallows, feels for his phone in his pocket. He wonders if Shane has texted. “I um... I had plans. To see a man, tonight.”

Cons smiles. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” he says automatically. “Maybe.” No, that isn’t true. “I kind of want to be, but... is complicated.”

Cons hums. “Maybe Marly can give you some pointers. About having a secret boyfriend.”

This makes Ilya smile. “Ha, maybe. I'm... I'm going to text him, see if he still wants to meet.” He looks down at his phone. Shane has texted: Too bad we didn’t get to spend tonight together.

“Hell yeah, man.” Cons cheers. “Go get ‘em tiger.” Ilya laughs, nods, texts Shane that he’s coming over.

Chapter 2: Cliff

Cliff shouldn't be this drink. This drunk. He shouldn't—

It usually takes him two or three drinks to feel actually tipsy. He only had the one.

Right?

Dark and stormy: rum, ginger beer, lime.

The pretty bartender with her fun hair.

The sexy puck bunny Cliff used to chat with sometimes when they came here. Red head, with pointy nails. So fun to play with.

Turned her down.

Mm-mm. He's exclusive now. Tied down. Cuffed. It's his anniversary!

He's never had an anniversary before. Never been with someone for a whole year.

A whole year.

A whole—

He shouldn't be this drunk.

One drink, he told his baby. Wanna celebrate with the guys. Then they can spend all night together. He promised.

He's going to break his promise? He doesn’t like breaking promises. Why had he gotten so drunk?

"Marly?" Rozie! Rozie's so cool. He should tell Rozie he made a promise, that he needs to go back to the hotel, that he shouldn’t be this drunk.

“Roz—” He takes a half step forward, sways like the whole building is moving beneath him.

Rozie catching him. Rozie’s so strong, such a good guy. “Did you take something? We just fucking got here.” He’s smiling, like it’s funny that Cliff is so out of it.

He shakes his head, which is a bad idea because the whole bar turns upside down for a split second. “Take? No, I just—one drink. And then I have—”

Rozie sits him down on a bar stool. “Yes, you said. Plans with that red head, hm?”

Cliff’s eyes close of their own volition. He shakes his head again, but the building doesn’t spin if he can’t see it. “No, not her. Not anyone else, ever again.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Rozie asks with a laugh.

I'm in love, he thinks. I'm in love. I'm in love!

He's never been in love before.

Rozie tugs on his arm. “Hey, Marly. Stand up for me.” He’s not laughing anymore.

Stand? He is standing.

Oh, no. He's definitely leaning. Falling? Stumbling, held up by Rozie.

Connie's there, too. "What happened to him?" He gets under Cliff’s other arm. They’re moving him.

“'M not drunk,” he insists. He only had one drink. Didn’t even order a double.

“No, you only had one, right?” Ilya asks.

“Just one drink.” Cliff nods again, but me makes the mistake of opening his eyes while he does it, and then club fucking spins again. “Then I got—oh fuck.”

“Come on, we’re going to sit down,” Rozie says. Yeah, sitting sounds like a good idea.

“You think he got spiked?” Connie asks. “Shit.”

Spiked. Spike? The little purple dragon on the cartoon he watches with the twins.

He likes the twins. Likes the baby. They like him too, he thinks.

If they didn't like him, he wouldn't be there. If Jackie didn't trust him with the kids, he wouldn't be able to spend the weekend with them sometimes. He wishes—

Can't start thinking about that. Can't start talking to the guys about that.

Dangerous.

Scary.

Scary?

The guys aren't scary

Rozie and Cons aren't scary.

They want him to drink water. Sober up. They care about him.

He misses Hayden.

Misses Jackie. The kids.

He probably shouldn't cry in front of the guys.

Now, that's dangerous.

“It's my anniversary,” he says, even though he just told himself he wouldn’t talk about his baby. Or his baby’s baby. Or their babies. It’s babies all the way down, really. And he can’t talk about any of them. Shhhhhhhhh.

But there’s a song stuck in his head. It’s not what’s playing at the club. Not a club song. Slow dance song? Wedding song. Like a river flows… What song is about a river?

No, not about a river. That song is about him. They wrote that shit for him. Take my hand, take my whole life too.

Connie brought him a glass of water. It’s too far from his hands and too close at the same time. Shit. “Drink, Marls,” Connie says, but Cliff is trying. It’s too hard.

“I'm really excited,” he says, determined to show this fucking straw who’s in charge around here. He leans forward, wraps his lips around it. Ha. Stupid plastic piece of shit. “I've never had an anniversary before.”

“Congrats, man,” Cons says.

“Thank you.” He smiles. He can’t help it. Can’t help smiling, can’t help falling in love. “I love—" NO. No, don't say it like that. Pronouns are a no-go, Marleau. Heh. "I'm in love.”

“Wow. That's really cool,” Cons says. It is. It is really cool.

Oh, they’re standing again. Cliff isn’t great at standing right now, or walking, or thinking about anything that isn’t Hayden and Jackie.

Did they get the flowers I sent? The flowers, the chocolates, the little cakes that Jackie likes. Marzipan.

Lavender soap. Citrus sugar scrub. Her favorite perfume. Smells like a sunny morning after a rainstorm.

Did the girls like the playset? Do they still like ponies? If they don't like it he can get them something else.

Little onesie for Arthur that makes him look like a panda bear.

He can't wait for Arthur to have a favorite cartoon, a toy he's obsessed with. Maybe Legos. Maybe Hot Wheels. Cliff was a Hot Wheels kid. The Scooby-Doo set where the whole gang had their own car. Fred's red hotrod.

Rozie must’ve called them a car, because there’s a car there and they’re getting in. The two of them are talking to the driver. Cliff is trying not to sing, but he can’t help it. “… can’t help… falling in love with… you…” They didn’t know it at the time, but they were writing that shit about him and Hayden and Jackie. Darling, so it goes. “’S our song,” Cliff tells Rozie.

He needs to go back to the hotel. He needs to apologize to Hayden. He shouldn’t be this drunk, it’s not cool. He’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

Connie is talking to him. “Hey, Marly: should we text your girl and tell her you can’t make it?” His girl? No, Jackie’s at home. It’s not their anniversary, just his and Hayden’s. “Where’s your phone?”

Rozie takes Cliff’s phone out of his jacket pocket. He likes this jacket. He likes how it fits his long frame, and how when Hayden wears it, it’s way too big on him. Why is Rozie looking at his phone? Oh, he’s going to text Hayden. That’s okay. He’s saved under Baby. Jackie is saved under Jackie, but there’s lots of Jackies in the world. Only one who matters, though.

But wait. “Are we not going back to the hotel?” He looks out the window. It’s Montreal out there.

“We are,” Connie says. Good. “But she’s not there, is she?”

Cliff scrunches up his face. “Is so. Lefvere’s at his sister’s house” No roommate, no problem. “Cause he’s Quebec-eese.”

“Quebecois,” a new voice says.

“Yes,” he says. Yes, that’s what he meant. Que-bec-ois. French and shit. “Exactly.” Cliff makes his vision focus on the person in the driver’s seat. What the fuck? “Is that Shane fuckin’ Hollander?”

What’s Hollander doing here? He’s not kidnapping them, is he? No, Hollander wouldn’t do that. He’s a good guy.

“Hi,” he says, like a good guy would.

Connie is talking about something. Connie’s got a nice voice. “He’s being very nice and giving us a ride to the hotel. But listen, Marly: your girl is at the hotel?”

No. His girl is at home.

He means his boy.

“Left a key at the desk,” he explains. He was very responsible. He tells Hollander: “It’s my anniversary.” Hollander is Hayden’s friend. Hayden wants to introduce them, wants to tell Hollander that he’s queer. It would be good, for other people to know.

“Oh, congratulations,” Hollander says. Thank you. “Sucks that… this is happening during that.”

Yeah! It does suck.

“I was only supposed to… how am I this drunk? How long were we out?” Fuck, he's a shit boyfriend. He's supposed to be proving that he's husband material. Making plans. Getting serious. Fuck!

“You got spiked,” Rozie insists. “Roofied.”

Roofied?

No. He couldn't have been—

He had his drink in his hand, right?

Set it down?

Must've set it down...

Damn it.

Damn it!

“Shit. He's not gonna wanna fuck me like this.” Oh no. Oh no, Cliff, that was an inside though. And now it’s on the outside, running around and making the whole car go quiet. Okay, okay. You can walk that one back. You’re drugged. Pronouns are hard when you’re drugged. “I mean—”

“That's good,” Hollander says. It’s bad, actually. He shouldn’t have said that. “That you have a partner who wouldn’t take advantage of you like this.” Oh, that is good. Man, Hollander really is a good guy. “That’s really good, Marleau. I’m sure he’ll understand that you have to celebrate another time.”

“Yeah,” he manages to say.

Roz is looking at him like he's an alien. Like he's broken and disgusting.

No, he can't—

His best friend can't look at him like that.

He—

Fuck.

Worst case scenario, they all hate me forever, he'd said to Hayden once. Worst case scenario, the guys who he's spent his entire 20s loving decide they hate him because he's queer. Because he loves a man.

“How often do you get to see him, Marls?" Connie doesn't sound disgusted, angry.

“Not that often," he answers honestly. Not as often as he wants.

“That's too bad." It is? “Maybe we can get him down to Boston when we have a day off—so you can make up for tonight.”

Oh.

Oh!

Fuck, he's drunk.

High. Spiked.

He's being stupid, panicking.

Jackie used a word once... casis? Cata… Catastrophizing!

No, the guys don't hate him. Rozie and Cons, his best friends in the whole world, don't hate him. He blinks, tears running down his face. They love him.

He’s crying. All the fear in him is running down his face, escaping his body because there’s no room in there with all the love.

“Is only 5-hour drive from Montreal to Boston,” Roz says. Cliff knows that. Cliff knows because it's two and a half hours to Burlington, Vermont. To the gay bookstore with the wine bar next door. To the little boardwalk and the lady who sells bird-approved snacks to feed the ducks. To the playground with the big slide, and the mural of families playing in the sunshine. Two moms holding their toddler's hands. “If he can’t get down there, we can get you back up here. Fucked up that your anniversary is ruined by some asshole at the club. We fix.”

We fix, we fix. Like Cliff is any guy on the team who needs help. Like Cliff is St. Vic, that time he thought his girl's birthday was on the 24th and not the 23rd. Like when Whitman's wife missed her connecting flight to join them on a road trip. Like when one of the equipment guys was going on his first date ever at 29, and he didn't know what to do. We fix.

“Thank you." He's still crying.

Okay. Out of the Jeep. Through the lobby. Up the elevator. Hayden is in his room. Hayden, Hayden, Hayden. His boyfriend. His boyfriend! Maybe he’ll get to introduce him to the guys one day, spark up the barbecue and crack open some beers.

Hollander’s a great guy. He opens the door for them. It’s okay. He doesn’t have to be scared. “Hey—sorry about this, but Marleau needed—”

Hayden's here. Cliff is on the bed. Exactly where he should be.

“Don't you have a fucking wife?” Rozie asks.

He sure fucking does. Jackie's so pretty. So hot. So fucking amazing to take the kids tonight, so he and Hayden can have an evening to themselves. And next time, it's him and Jackie's turn. Hehe.

“Jackie knows where I am and who I'm with." Hayden said that before, when his brother came to the house unannounced, found Hayden on Cliff's lap in the living room. He fits there so well. So good, so pretty, so perfect.

And now he's so far away. He's all the way over there, in his pretty robe. Stockings? Lingerie????? Holy shit. Why is he so far away? C'mere. C'mere!

Yes! Hayden's arm around him. Cliff's face in his tummy. Tummy! Smells so good. Like rose body wash he doesn't use that often cause the Voyageurs will tease him. But it smells so good.
“Miss Jackie. Missed you. I'm sorry." He fucked everything up. Got too drunk? Set his drink down, got spiked.

“How much did you have to drink?" Hayden's hand in his hair. He usually buzzes it down when it gets longer, but Hayden likes running his hands through it. He should be touching him. Hayden touching him. Hayden kissing him. Hayden—

“He got spiked." Roz sounds angry?

Angry cause Cliff got spiked, might've gotten robbed or kidnapped or worse. Not angry at Cliff, not angry that he loves Hayden. Loves Hayden. Loves Hayden.

“Fuck.”

Mm, yeah, that too.

“Sorry," he says again, because he didn't mean to make everyone worried.

“Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart." Sweetheart! Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart. "You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too. You’re okay.” He's a little more than okay if he's being honest. He's great. He's good. He's so fucking horny. “Thank you guys, for making sure he got here safe.”

Last time they were together, it was because Cliff drove the two and half hours to Burlington, and Hayden and Jackie drove down to meet him. He thinks about the BnB they stayed at, the gay couple who owns it. They’re growing old together. Cliff wants to grow old with them.

“He’s in safe hands now.” Yeah, he’s in really good hands. Strong hands, with little calluses on his fingertips.

He can’t get over how sexy this robe is. Did Hayden buy it because it’s their anniversary? It’s so soft under his hands. Is Hayden wearing panties under it? Lace and silk panties, clipped to his stockings with little garter belts. “You want a blow job?” Please, please, please.

“Hey, let’s remember that we have company.”

So? They have company for blow jobs all the time. Jackie loves watching him choke on Hayden’s cock. Sometimes she grabs his hair, moves him up and down like a toy. Fuuuuck. “That’s not an answer to my question.” He tugs at the little rope holding the robe closed.

Hayden smacks his hand. Cliff likes it when Hayden smacks him. “Stop it, Clifford." Uh-oh, full name. Clifford. Jacqueline. Hayden George. Means business, means serious business. "Lay down."

Ah. Serious business but in a fun, sexy way. Cliff can be fun and sexy. "Yes, sir."

There’s more talking. Cliff forgot the guys were here. That must’ve been what Hayden meant by company. Duh.

But they’re gone now. Hayden climbs onto the bed, tugs at Cliff’s jacket. Yeah, no more clothes. “Hi.” Cliff reaches for the robe again.

Hayden moves his hand away. “Hey, no.”

Cliff frowns. “Why not? Wanna see your sexy outfit. Did you buy that for tonight? Fuck, how perfect are you? Did you guys get the flowers?”

Hayden laughs. He has such a pretty laugh. “Yes, love. We got everything you sent. The girls love their one million ponies.”

He nods. Nodding is better now. He feels less like he’s going to fall off the face of the earth. “And the Princess Celestia castle playset." With the elevator and the carriage and the little moat in front.

“Yes, and the castle. You know the characters' names?”

Why the fuck wouldn’t he know the characters’ names? “Yes. Ruby's favorite is Rarity but Jade likes Apple Jack, and they both like the Cutie Mark Crusaders so I got two sets of them, so they don't fight over them.”

“That was really nice of you,” Hayden says. He’s sitting on the bed next to Cliff, holding his jacket. His thighs are splayed apart, draped in dusky pink satin. Cliff loves his thighs. Fucking hocket thighs, man. Hayden pushes his hand away before Cliff is even conscious of reaching out to touch. “Hey, no, baby.”

Cliff can’t help the whine that climbs its way out of his throat. “I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“I know. I was, too.” Hayden kisses his cheek. Cliff leans toward him, wanting more, wanting a real kiss, but he pulls away, slides off the bed and tosses Cliff’s jacket onto the other one. That other bed might pose a problem if Hayden decides they shouldn’t sleep next to each other tonight. Will he leave? Go back home instead of spend the night wrapped in Cliff’s arms? Fuck.

“Could just take me,” he says before he can stop himself. He could just lay back and let Hayden do whatever he wants to him. It sounds so fucking good. “Make yourself feel good. Wanna make you feel good.” He reaches out toward Hayden again, and he steps out of arm’s reach.

“Not while you're like this,” he said, voice firm. “I want you sober, sweetheart.” He moves father away and Cliff wants to beg him to stay. But he’s just going to the minibar. He grabs a bottle out of it, and takes something out of the little basket on the dresser. “Here, drink some water.”

Cliff takes the bottle but can’t manage the cap. Hayden has to do it for him, and he’s too out of it to examine how that makes him feel. “Thank you,” Cliff says as he takes the bottle again. He chugs half of it down.

“Good job.” Hayden hands him a chocolate covered orange slice like it’s a reward. Cliff doesn’t think before he eats it out of Hayden’s hand. “Fuck.”

He looks up at him again. “Thank you, baby.”

Hayden runs his hand through Cliff’s hair again. Feels nice. Feels so, so good. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart. Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?”

“Are you gonna stay?” He asks, voicing the fear that’s been clawing at him for the past few minutes.

Hayden’s brow furrows. Cute. “Of course I’m going to stay. I wouldn’t leave you alone like this, love.”

“Good.” Cliff melts into the bedspread. Hayden gets on the bed again, kneels between his legs, which does absolutely nothing to help the hard-on currently straining Cliff’s shorts. He unbuttons Cliff’s shirt, slides it off and out from under him, leaving him in just a white tank.

“Can't fucking wait for this season to be over,” he tells him. “Already put my trade request in for Montreal.”

Hayden blinks. “Already?” They talked about it a few times: whether Hayden would try for Boston or he would put in for Montreal, whether they were better off moving somewhere else entirely. But Hayden’s mom is in Montreal, and Jackie’s parents, and the kids’ school. He’d make a great Voyageur.

“Want it,” he says. “Wanted it from day one.” Maybe not quite day one—running into Hayden at a gay singles event at Vino & Veritas and interigating him about whether he was cheating on his wife—but definitely from date one—walking aimlessly around the lakeshore and trying to convince Hayden that it did matter if he was bisexual, even if he was married to a woman.

“I want that, too, Cliff,” Hayden says, his eyes going wet. No, baby. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry. Cliff reaches up, cups his face in his hand. Hayden nuzzles against his palm. “Jackie and I both do. We should talk more when you're sober, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

Hayden kisses his hand. “I love you, too.”

“Fuck me?” He asks, spreading his legs a little wider. He’s still wearing his jeans. Why is he still wearing his jeans?

Hayden shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

Why not? Oh, yeah. “Fuck, right.” He sighs, lays back against the pillows. He kicks his boots off while Hayden unbuckles his belt.

“Did you forget?” Hayden laughs.

“Fuck you, I'm drugged.” There’s no bite in it.

“I know. I'm sorry. It's not fair.” Eventually, they get Cliff down to his shorts and tank and under the covers.

Hayden stands between the two bed, clearly waffling about something. No, please don’t sleep in the other bed. Please come here and cuddle with me. Please, please. “Hold me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Hayden says. “I can do that.” He tugs on the robe’s belt and lets it fall off his shoulders. He is wearing panties: a burgundy-colored lacy thing that matches the blush that runs down from his neck to his naval.

“I’m gonna fucking cum,” Cliff groans. Hayden shoves him over and climbs into bed.

Chapter 3: Shane

Shane sits in his Jeep in the members’ parking spot he technically shouldn’t be parking in and stares at Jackie’s contact on his phone screen.

He believes Hayden.

He believes Hayden.

Hayden wouldn’t cheat on Jackie. He wouldn’t hurt her like that, risk breaking up their family. Hayden loves Jackie, loves their kids, loves being a dad. He wouldn’t do that to them.

Anniversary, Marleau had said. So, this has been going on for at least a year. There’s no way Jackie doesn’t know. No way Hayden was lying when he said she knew where he was, who he was with.

But does she know what he’s doing?

Shane’s eyes squeeze shut. It’s really specific, isn’t it? To say it that way: where I am and who I’m with. But does she know you’re wearing stockings, spreading rose petals on the hotel bed spread?

Why risk the hotel, if the Bears are in Montreal? Why not meet up at the Pike house, if Jackie knows?

That’s what he would do. What he does, when he’s in Boston, when Ilya is in Montreal. Hotels have staff who might talk, teammates who might see them, paparazzi outside and fans pointing cameras at them. The only reason to risk it would be if—

He believes Hayden.

He calls Jackie anyway.

“Shane?” She sounds concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I mean—no, actually. I’m sorry, Jackie. It’s just… I saw something, and I’m worried, and I don’t ever want to accuse Hayden of anything, and he said it wasn’t what it looked like, but I’m sitting here turning it over in my head and I—”

“Shane, slow down,” Jackie says. There’s the clink of glasses, like she’s loading the dishwasher. Like she’s at home, cleaning and taking care of their house and their children while Hayden is maybe having an affair.

Maybe.

Probably not, right?

“Sorry,” Shane lets his head thunk back against the headrest. “Sorry. I um… you and Hayden… are you, I don’t know. Open?”

“Open?” Jackie asks.

“Like, your marriage?” There are bushes planted in a green strip in front of him, and something is scuttling around in them. Maybe a raccoon. He watches the movement of the leaves and wishes he hadn’t answered Ilya’s text.

“Oh!” Jackie says. “Oh—did you see Hayden and Cliff together?” Her voice has shifted. She sounds… concerned? Scared? Scared of what?

“You know?” Shane asks. Thank God. Thank fucking Christ.

“Yeah, I know about… it’s their anniversary today. The first time they went on a date. We… I wouldn’t say we’re open? It’s closed, it’s just the three of us. Cliff is our boyfriend.”

“Our?” Shane asks. He can’t imagine sharing like that. He knows Ilya sleeps with other people when they’re not together, but he can’t think about it too hard or he gets angry. He wants Ilya to himself, doesn’t want anyone else involved.

Not that he and Ilya are boyfriends the way Cliff and Hayden apparently are. Boyfriends.

Hayden is—

“Yeah,” Jackie says. “At first, it was just the two of them. A way for Hayden to explore that side of himself, but the more time we spent together… I don’t know how well you know Cliff, but he’s really charming, and kind, and he’s so good with the kids. We um… did Hayden not tell you any of this? Did you not, I don’t know, confront him?”

“No, I… he said you knew where he was, and who he was with. But I got stuck on the specificity of it, and it felt like I’d stay stuck there unless I got definitive answers. I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business.”

“Hey, don’t apologize. You wanted to make sure your best friend wasn’t blowing up his whole fucking life. That’s completely understandable, Shane. I promise.”

“Really?” He feels the guilt leaving him like clean sheets sliding off his skin.

“Really! I would’ve done the same thing, honestly. Thank you, for caring about us like that. You’re a really good friend, Shane.”

He swallows. He doesn’t feel like a good friend. He’s been lying to Hayden, letting him think he’s alone when Shane is doing the exact same thing. “I um… I don’t have a problem with Hayden being… you know.”

“Bisexual?”

“Yeah. That part’s fine. And him and Cliff are fine, too. I just… sometimes, when the team’s on the road, Hayden talks about you and the kids, and I can see how much he loves you, how much he needs you. I wouldn’t… the idea of him making that kind of choice, to cheat on you, I was so fucking angry, Jackie. I almost hit him.”

“Well, yeah. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A laugh bubbles out of him. “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I won’t… I won’t keep you.”

“I’m glad you know,” she says quickly. “Hayden’s been thinking about telling you. You’re his best friend, and it was killing him that you didn’t know. So, I’m glad this happened, even if it wasn’t ideal.”

Shane nods even though she can’t see him. “I’m glad I know, too.”

“Do you have plans for tomorrow morning? Wanna have breakfast with us before practice? Maybe we can talk, the three of us.”

He nods again. “Yeah. Yeah, I would like that. Thanks, Jackie.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Shane.”

“Have a good night.” He hangs up. His phone pings with a text. Ilya wants to come over. Warmth spreads in Shane’s chest at the idea—this is their last chance to be together for weeks, and the fact that he might miss it because some asshole drugged Ilya’s friend had been tearing at the edges of him, fraying him the way the revelation about Hayden and Cliff had. He texts back that he’s still at the hotel.

Ilya gets in on the passenger side and Shane is briefly worried that someone might’ve seen him, but that ship has well and truly sailed by now.

“What the fuck, huh?” Ilya asks as soon as his door is closed.

Shane can’t help but laugh. And he keeps laughing, until his stomach is cramping and there are tears in his eyes. He leans his forehead against the steering wheel and tries to calm down. He feels Ilya’s hand on his back, scratching gently.

“If you die in this Jeep in front of my hotel,” Ilya says. Shane looks at him out of the corner of his eye, chest heaving. “People will think I did it, and I do not want to go to jail for murder, Hollander.”

He shakes his head. “Fuck off.” He’s still out of breath.

“You want to know something?” Ilya asks. Shane looks at him. “I thought maybe Marly wasn’t straight. Just a feeling, nothing specific. But I didn’t say anything, obviously. And no way I ever would’ve guess that he and Pike…”

“I know right?” Shane sits up. “How the fuck did that even happen?”

Ilya shrugs. “We will have to ask them, I guess. If Marly is conscious for the flight tomorrow, I might poach the subject.”

“Broach,” Shane says. Ilya furrows his brow. “You might broach the subject. Poaching is a way to cook eggs. And like, killing endangered animals.”

“I thought broach was a little pin old ladies wear,” he says.

“It is—they’re different words. I think they’re spelled a little different,” Shane explains.

Ilya scoffs. “English is stupid language. Take me home, Hollander. I want to put you on your knees and make myself forget this whole stupid night.” Shane starts the car.

Ilya watches Shane change the sheets after they’re done destroying his bedding. Usually, Ilya would be getting dressed during this part, calling a cab. Instead, he sits wearing a pair of Shane’s boxers, eyes following Shane’s movements.

“Did you know?” Ilya asks. “About Pike?”

Shane looks at him over his shoulder. “What? No, of course not.”

“Not even a feeling?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think I get those feelings. Maybe I’m not around enough gay people.”

“Am I your only queer friend, Hollander?”

“We’re not friends,” Shane says without thinking. He smooths down a corner of the fitted sheet. When Ilya doesn’t say anything else, he turns and looks at him.

He’s still sitting, hands on his knees, eyes focused on the floor. “It’s lonely, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

Ilya eyes flick up, but not toward Shane. He focused on the bedroom door. “I keep thinking about Marly. He was scared, in the Jeep. He thought… I don’t know, I think he thought we would hurt him, maybe. For saying what he said. For saying he.”

Shane sits down on the corner of the bed he’s just finished making. He wishes he was wearing more than boxers and an old Voyageurs T-shirt. He feels exposed, vulnerable. “Yeah, I get that. I think I would’ve been scared too, in that situation.”

Ilya nods. “Me, too.” Finally, he looks at Shane. “I came out to Connors.”

“You what?” A white-hot shock of fear lances through Shane.

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Relax, Hollander. I am perfectly capable of telling my friend I am bisexual without giving him a list of all the guys I’m fucking.”

“How long’s that list?” Shane asks, then regrets it.

Ilya looks at him for a long time. “It’s sexy when you’re jealous.”

“Fuck off.”

“Not that long,” Ilya says. “Shorter and shorter.” His eyes flick up and down Shane’s form. Shane’s instinct is to close his legs, like he should protect himself. “Connors is a good guy. An ally. His brother is transgender.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Shane says. It’s a relief to know that Ilya really is safe with Connors.
Ilya nods. The two of them fall silent for a long few moments. Normally, Shane would be getting ready for bed: brushing his teeth, washing his face. Normally, Ilya would be gone by now. Shane doesn’t know what it means that he isn’t.

“I called Jackie,” he says without knowing why. Ilya just looks at him. “I—there was a chance Hayden was lying, I guess? I don’t… I don’t think he would actually ever cheat on Jackie, but I got stuck on it. They um… they share Marleau, I guess? He’s their boyfriend.”

Ilya shakes his head. “I don’t want to hear about that from you, Hollander. No offense. Marly is my friend; I want to talk to him about it.”

“Right, yeah. Sorry.”

“I am glad you got unstuck, though,” he says. “You’re not good when you’re stuck, orbiting around something like that.”

“How would you know?” Shane asks. Ilya doesn’t know him that well, surely.

He shakes his head, finally standing from Shane’s accent chair. It isn’t a chair Shane really uses. The designer had said it suited the composition of the room. He wonders if he will start to associate it with tonight, if it will always be the chair Ilya sat in while they had this conversation.

“I know you, Shane,” Ilya says. Shane swallows. Shane. Shane, not Hollander. “You’re my friend.”

Shane looks at him. He watches as Ilya starts to get dressed.

Ilya.

Ilya, not Rozanov? How long has he been thinking of Ilya as Ilya?

“Oh,” he says as Ilya tugs on his jeans. He looks at Shane again. “I um… I guess I didn’t know.”

He pauses, belt halfway undone. “What did you think you were to me?”

Shane shrugs. “A convenient fuck?”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “No. If anything, is very inconvenient to fuck you. But I like what we do, so I want to do it when we can. And I like you.” He winces after that last part, like he hadn’t meant to say it.

“You don’t like me,” Shane retorts, because it can’t be true. Ilya doesn’t like him. He’s just a reliable sexual partner, right?

Ilya finishes doing up his belt. It’s Burbury, with a stupid gold buckle studded with what might be real diamonds. “I’m less lonely when I’m with you,” he says, voice quiet. “I like spending time with you. And I like that you would help Marly, even though you don’t really know him.”

“He needed help,” Shane says. “You needed me.”

Ilya nods. He pulls his rumpled shirt on, does up the buttons slowly. “I think it would be nice, if we could be friends.”

“We can’t,” Shane says automatically. They can’t be friends. People wouldn’t understand. The questions wouldn’t stop; the scrutiny would get worse.

“Yesterday, I would’ve said that about Pike and Marly.” He pads toward the door. Shane stands, pulls on a pair of sweatpants while Ilya gets his shoes on by the front door. He steps out of the bedroom and Ilya looks at him. “What are you doing, Hollander?”

Back to Hollander?

Shane shrugs. “I was just going to walk you down. Weren’t you wearing a jacket?”
Ilya grabs the black leather jacket from its hook by the door. “I can find the door on my own.”

“Have you even called your cab yet?” No, he hasn’t. He’s just running away from Shane because—

Because what? Shane hadn’t realized they were friends?

Ilya sighs, takes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“I just didn’t realize,” Shane says. Ilya looks at him, jacket draped over one shoulder like a pirate in a movie. It’s actually annoying how good he looks. “I didn’t realize we were friends. I don’t… I don’t always pick up on that kind of thing. Hayden had to tell me we were friends, too.”

“What?”

He shrugs, embarrassment coloring his cheeks pink. “One time, he asked me if I wanted to get dinner after a skate, but I had already meal prepped for the week, so I didn’t need to go out and get food, and he said he could just order something to my condo. Because he wanted to spend time with me, and I didn’t understand that until he told me. So, I’m sorry I didn’t realize we were friends, because I don’t pick up on that kind of thing.”

He’s looking down at the floor, and Ilya’s feet come into his field of vision. Ilya hooks a finger under his chin and directs his vision up toward him. Shane looks at his mouth. He wants to kiss him. Not a goodbye kiss, like they might share any time Ilya is leaving Shane’s place, but. Just a kiss. He leans forward. Ilya lets him slide his tongue between his teeth.

Chapter 4: Connors

Chapter Summary

re-uploading these last two chapters because the first time they were some major editing mistakes that all of you were too polite to point out ;^;

Con texts Marly and Roz that he's getting a smoothie before their flight. Roz replies with his order, but Marly only sends a thumbs up. He asks the girl at Tropical Smoothie what might be good for his friend who's massively hung over, and she gives him a watermelon and wheat grass thing that looks Extremely Green.

He returns to the hotel and knocks softly on Marly's door. Pike opens it such that someone couldn't see him from the hallway and Con gets a little kick in his chest; he keeps realizing over and over that he'll never have to worry about what Pike and Marly and Roz are worried about; it doesn't matter who he dates, he'll always be able love them out loud. He nods at Pike as the door swings closed. He's thankfully not wearing his sexy outfit from the night before, instead dressed in jeans and what must be one of Marly's hoodies, judging by how big it is on him. Indeed, Marly is wearing a hoodie that looks a little small on him. That must be nice, Con thinks, to share clothes with your partner.

Marly is laying flat on his back on the un-slept in bed, fully dressed, with his arm sling over his eyes and his feet on the floor.

"Hey buddy," Con says as he approaches. "Got you breakfast."

Marly makes a grumbling noise, free hand reaching out blindly for his smoothie. "Can we turn that light off?"

Con looks up at the ceiling. The overhead light is already off.

Pike comes up to Con's side and touches Marly's arm. "That's the sun, babe." The curtains are drawn, but there is light spilling in nonetheless.

"I really think you should call medical leave," Pike says even as he helps Marly sit up, his arm falling away from his face. He winces. "You can meet the team in Toronto."

Marly frowns. "I think I'll be fine after I get some vitamins in me." He blinks, seems to remember that he's holding a smoothie. "Shit's green."

Pike laughs. "Looks healthy."

"The smoothie girl said it was good for hangovers," Con says. "And you've basically got the mother of all hangovers right now."

Marly looks dubiously at the smoothie, then takes a sip. He grimaces. "Mm. Tastes green."

Pike touches his face. "You're really pale, baby."

Marly nods. "I'll be okay. I can sleep on the plane. We have a rest day before we play Ottawa."

Con looks at Pike. He looks like it's killing him to let Marly exist like this. He puts a hand on his shoulder. "Rozie and me'll make sure he's alright.”

Marly touches Pike's face. "I'll be okay, sweetheart."

Pike kisses his temple. "Thank you. Drink your gross smoothie."

Marly takes another sip and winces again. "Shit is fuckin' green, man. That's straight up grass."

Pike helps Marls off the bed while Con stands to the side holding a cardboard drink carrier and feeling a little useless. He checks around, makes sure Marly isn't leaving his phone charger plugged in. The basket of chocolate-covered oranges is depleted but not empty, and it's sitting next to a plastic bag of beer. The ice bucket must've belonged to the hotel.

"Are we taking the beer, Marls?"

"Nah," he rasps. "Hayden's gonna take those home and we can have them next time I visit. Taking those orange peels, though. Things are bomb."

Con grabs the basket and tucks it under his arm. "Vitamin C is probably good for you right now."

Marly makes a vaguely affirmative noise and turns toward Pike. Con really should turn away in this moment, but instead he watches his friend cup Hayden Pike's face and kiss him, tender and soft and slow. Has anyone ever kissed Con like that?

"I'll see you," Pike says against his mouth

"See you," Marly answers. He kisses Pike's forehead. "Wait twenty minutes after we leave and then get outta here?"

Pike nods. "Text me when you land, okay?"

"Can do."

Marly grabs his bag and the two of them make their way back toward Con and Roz's room so he can grab his luggage, and, it turns out, give Roz his smoothie.

"Have a good night?" Con asks him.

Roz nods mutely. "How are you feeling, Marly?"

"Better every minute, brother." Marly takes a sip of his smoothie.

Ilya makes a face. “What the hell are you drinking, Marly? Why is it green?”

“It's good for my head,” Marls says, taking another sip. “And yeah, it’s uh… it’s pretty green.”

The three of them make their way to the elevator, where St. Vic is already waiting with his suitcase. He smiles when he sees them. “Hey, Marleau. How're you doing? Saw Rozie have to pour you into an Uber.”

“I'm alright,” Marly rumbles. “Gonna sleep all fuckin’ day today.” The elevator digs and they all climb on.

“You shouldn’t play tomorrow,” Roz says.

Vic scoffs. “Cause of a fucking hangover? Come on, Capitaine He’s better than that.”

“Wasn't drunk last night, Vic,” Marly murmurs. “Got fuckin' spiked.”

Vic’s entire form shifts, his face falling. “Shit. Glad you're okay.”

“Me too.” Marly looks at Roz. “I’ll probably be alright by tomorrow.”

Roz shakes his head. “You’re getting assessed by team doctor, and I’m recommending you not play. If Doc decides you’re good, then you’re good, but is matinee game, Marly. Earlier than you think.”

Con had forgotten about that part, too. Their rest day will help, but if Marly isn’t ship shape in the morning, he has less buffer time than he normally would.

Vic looks at Marly. “Must be serious if Capitaine is lecturing you like this. Take the break, hm? We can handle Ottawa without you.”

“And your girl will be happy you’re resting,” Con adds.

“Girl?” Vic asks. “Marly has a girl? Someone serious, Marls?”

Marly shrugs. Con almost regret saying anything; he’d meant to be supportive, to remind Marly that someone who cares about him is worried about him. But Marly is smiling. “Something like that. Was my anniversary yesterday. Couldn’t celebrate properly cause…” He gestures vaguely with his smoothie.

“Fucked up!” Vic squawks just in time for the elevator doors to open. “We’ll have to get her down to Boston next time we have a break,” he says, as effortlessly as Roz and Con himself had done the night before.

“She might have to move some things around,” Marly says. Most of the team is milling around the lobby waiting for their bus, and he winces at the sound of voice overlapping. “Jesus. If I still feel like this tomorrow, no way I’m playing.”

“Did we see who did it?” Vic asks. Con shakes his head. “Putains de caves,” Vic swears. “Sorry some bastard did this to you, mon frère. But maybe time for video call with you girl, hm? My Olivia and I Facetime a lot on the road. She has a little tripod for her phone.” Vic continues for a bit, explaining little tricks for getting more time with a long-distance partner. It makes Con smile—he’s proud to be part of a team that love each other so much, who is so willing to help in any way they can.

It’s a short bus ride to the airport, and then only a 40-minute flight to Ottawa, where another bus waiting to take them to a hotel. Marly sleeps for most of their travel time, but manages to down his smoothie, and he’s starting to look a lot less pale, his eyes not as hollow.

The three of them end up in Con and Roz's room with neat little catering boxes: sub sandwich, side salad, kettle chips, little square brownie, and cups of slightly-better-than-hotel coffee. Con and Roz keep reminding Marly to drink water.

They eat in relative silence for a while, game highlights on a low volume on the room TV. Con and Marly are sitting on one bed and Roz on the other. Marly breaks his brownie in half and looks up at their friend. “You wanna talk about it?”

Roz glances at them sidelong. “About what? Your terrible taste in men?" Roz asks. Con smiles. Yeah, this is what Tanner had been talking about: making Marly feel normal. Teasing a buddy about his partner is practically in the Bears’ team playbook.

True to form, Marly chuckles, rolls his eyes. “Roz, come on.”

Roz polishes off his coffee. “In fact, I would like to discuss the rock I can throw and find ten better people for you to date than 15th best player on worst team in league.” There’s an edge to his voice that Con doesn’t like; he sounds too serious, but maybe that’s the accent. Sometimes Roz is blunter than he means to be, just cause he’s less eloquent in English.

“They've been doing pretty well lately,” Marly shoots back. That’s true; the Bears just broke a 5-game win-streak for the Voyageurs.

Roz scoffs. “Thanks not at all to Hayden Pike.” Con gets the idea that maybe Roz thinks Pike isn’t good enough for Marly; it’s a good instinct to have, he supposes, but it’s not really relevant when Marly is already so deep.

“I love him," Marly says, some force behind it.

Con nods. He goes to say something about how that's awesome, how they're happy for him. Roz speaks first: "So you keep saying. Get well soon, Marly."

Marly scoffs. “Would it kill you to be sincere for two minutes?”

“Quite possibly.” Rozie shrugs.

Con's gaze ping-pongs between them. He feels like he's watching his parents have an argument at breakfast. He doesn't even know what side he's on, really—Roz hadn't meant anything bad by what he said, but Marly is clearly upset.

Marly surges up from the bed—as best he can running on shit sleep and a plane ride—and practically stomps over to the door. “Unbelievable. God, I can't do this right now. My head's killing me, and the room's starting to rotate, so I'm going to bed. Hate me if you want, I guess.” His hand is on the door handle.

Con stands. “What?”

Marly’s back is still. “I said I'm gonna sleep off the fucking withdrawal.”

When Con looks at Ilya, his friend looks appalled, confused. He asks, “Why would I hate you?

He leans his head against the door, shoulders slumped forward. “Why wouldn't you?”

“You're my friend,” Roz says automatically.

Con stands, goes over to Marly and puts a hand on his arm. This is definitely Pike’s hoodie; the logo on the back is for the Laval Rocketeers, one of the Voyageurs’ farm teams. “Roz was just giving you shit, Marls. Nobody hates you.” Something occurs to him. “Malrs: how much do you remember from last night?”

Marly shrugs, still leaning against the door. “I remember slipping up, saying that Hayden was a he. I don't... I remember being scared.”

Roz stands, but stays near the bed, like he doesn’t want Marly to spook and run off. “You looked scared. I'm sorry if I made that worse. I was trying...” He mutters something in Russian, frustration blooming across his face.

Con takes the proverbial baton from him. “It's my fault. Me and Roz were talking after we dropped you off, and I said it would be good if we treated you like any other guy, too know? Give you a little shit about Pike. That's all.”

Marly breathes out harshly. He steps away from the door, runs a hand down his face. He’s starting to look like death warmed over again, which is bad. That is bad and not good. “That didn't feel like a little shit,” he says. He turns around and Con expects him to come back to where they were sitting, but instead he leans against the door and sinks to the ground, resting his forearms on his knees, head bowed. “I know you like to chirp Hayden on the ice, but... him and Jackie, they're my people.” His hands clench around nothing. “They're it for me. I love them. Please don't... don't make fun of that.”

Roz approaches slowly. He sits down at Marly’s side, back against the wall. “I crossed a boundary. I'm sorry.”

Marly looks up at him. “Thank you.” Con sits on his other side. He doesn’t really know what say; he tries to think of what he would say to Tanner. “Sorry I snapped,” Marly says. “I just—”

Roz makes a dismissive gesture. “No, is my fault. I'm being a fucking coward and I don't know why. I'm bisexual.”

Marly looks startled. He stares at Roz for a long time. “Ilya.” And Con can count the number of times Marly has called Roz by his first time on one hand. “Are you fucking dating Shane Hollander?”

Oh!

Oh, shit.

Oh fuck, that makes sense. Con had honestly thought Hollander had just been being nice, giving them a ride to the hotel—he seems like a genuinely nice, kind guy—but why would he be the one Roz thought of, unless he’d already had him on his mind? Because they’d had plans for the night before!

“Not dating,” Roz says. “Not yet.”

Marly laughs, his smile back and warm. “Holy shit. How'd you pull Hollander?”

Roz shakes his head. He sighs, lets his head thunk back against the wall. “I have no fucking idea. Well... made his first time very special, I suppose.” He looks at the two of them, waggles his eyebrows.

“First time?” Marly asks at the same time that Con says,

“Special?”

Roz nods. “We were 20. Met him at his condo in Montreal... it was nice. I had not been with many men before, but I was more experienced than him. I... I like making it good for whoever I'm sleeping with, but he was the first time I was someone's first.” He sounds fond, wistful, not like someone talking about a hook-up.

Marly chuckles. “You're secretly kind of a softie, Rozie.”

“My friend Sveta says I have the soul of a poet,” Roz says letting his head thunk back against the wood of the door.

Wait a minute… “Wait: you were 20? So, this has been going on for a while, then.”

Roz sighs. “We see each other when our teams play, at All Stars. You know." He shrugs.

"Yeah, I do," Marly says like a man who knows he’s dying.

Con hesitates. Should he share something? He didn't actually have that many interesting sex stories, and he hadn't had a serious girlfriend since he'd been playing college hockey. And… is that inappropriate somehow? The one time he’d tried talking to Tanner about his own experience of masculinity, his brother had told him to fuck off. It just isn’t something Con has the frame of reference for.

Marly speaks first: "My first time with Hayden was on a boat.”

Con blinks. “Fucking what?”

There’s something sly in Marly’s smile. “They have these paddle boats you can rent in Leddy Park,” he explains. “If you lay down in them, no one can see you. It was sunset and we'd been dancing around each other all day.”

“Maybe Pike is actually interesting after all,” Roz muses. Con hopes that isn’t pushing Marly’s boundary too much.

“Well, we know he had good taste in partners. His wife and his boyfriend are both smokeshows,” he says, to lighten Roz’s already light blow.

Marly raises an eyebrow. “You coming out too, Cons?”

He rolls his eyes. “I'm straight, not blind.”

“If I'd been thinking clearly, I probably would've waited until we were back at the hotel," Marly continues.

That gets Con's back up. He knows it's just because he's feeling protective after Marly got hurt, but he says anyway: "What does that mean? Thinking clearly?"

Marly shrugs. "I was out of my mind on him."

Roz scoffs. “Horny, you mean.”

“Fuck off,” Marly says, but he’s still smiling, and his voice has an edge of laughter in it. “It was romantic. I—this is my first serious relationship. The first time I've seen a future with someone.”

Roz shakes his head, jaw set the way it gets when they’re down a goal after the second period and he doesn’t know if they can pull it out. “A future? Meeting up in hotel rooms and hoping you don't get photographed with another man's wife?”

Con feels a jolt of anger run through him. “Jesus, Roz—”

“Sorry.” Roz scratches at his scalp, musses his curls. “Sorry, sorry—I fucking—”

“You’re thinking about Hollander,” Marly provides. His smile has faded, but he doesn’t seem upset like before. Maybe because he knows now that Roz is in the same boat. And, apparently, dabbling in some good old-fashioned projection.

Roz nods. “I… I can’t have a future with him. Not anything real. Even if I want to, even if I think he wants the same thing.”

“Can’t is a big word,” Marly says.

“I have it on good authority that it isn’t,” Roz shoots back.

Marly shakes his head. “It’s something we say to the kids. Can’t is something big and tall that stands in front of you and doesn’t like you go forward. Either you have to figure out something you can do, and go around can’t, or you have to make can’t smaller.”

Con almost wants to laugh. Cliff Marleau: a dad. A dad with advice he gives to little kids. A dad with parenting techniques!

“We can make can’t smaller,” Con says. “Same way we’re gonna get Marly his anniversary do-over: if we work together, we can support you and Hollander, make sure you—Roz?” He’s shaking his head.

“Can’t might be Russia,” Marly says, looking at Roz.

Fuck! Con forgot about fuckin’ Russia.

“Russia, my father, everything.” Roz gestures vaguely.

“Seems like something we could go around,” Marly says. “It kinda sucks, being secret, being long distance, but you’ll have help.”

Con leans around Marly to look at Roz. “You’d have help,” he repeats. “You deserve to be happy, Rozie.”

Roz, to Con’s horror shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Fuck off,” Marly barks. “We don’t have to do anything. You didn’t have to get me back to the hotel safe last night, Hollander didn’t have to come get us in his fuckin’ Jeep. You did that because you care, and he did that because he cares, and me and Con would help you if you needed us to because we care about you.”

Roz runs a hand down his face. “You don’t care about me.”

“I’ll kick your ass right now, man,” Marly says.

Con feels like he might start crying. Did Roz really think they didn’t care about him? “Ilya,” he murmured. “That—that’s fucked up, that you would think that. I’m sorry if we ever did something to make you think we don’t care about you, but we love you. You’re our friend, and our brother.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Roz says. “I—it’s not—I’m…” he gestures again, grasping at the air. “I don’t know the word in English.”

Con pulls his phone out of his sweats and navigates to Google Translate. “What is it in Russian?” He asks, hitting the little microphone button. He shifts so he can hold his phone up toward Roz, and the other man hesitates before saying something in Russian. The site pings and Con and Marly look at the translation.

Unlovable.

“Did someone tell you that?” Marly asks, voice gentle and soft.

“That’s fucked up.” Con’s voice cracks when he says it. “Not that—hey.” Roz has looked away, gaze downturned. “Hey.” He touches Roz’s knee where he’s brought it up to his chest. Roz shakes his head, curls himself into a ball.

Marly puts an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in close. “No one’s unlovable, Ilya,” he rumbles.

“You’re a great guy,” Con says, feeling a little helpless. “You’re always there when people need you, and you love so loud. Anyone would be so, so lucky to be your person.”

“Con’s right,” Marly says. “We love you.”

“We love you,” Con repeats. He really is going to cry, he thinks, face hot and eyes stinging. “I—you’re—like, I know we’re not gonna solve this for you sitting on the floor of a hotel room in fucking Ottawa, but fuck, Roz. I hate that you feel that way, and if someone did convince you were unlovable, they were wrong. God, I’m so shit at this.” He swipes at his eyes.

“Rozie,” Marly says, squeezing Roz’s shoulder. “Give a sign that you’re hearing us.”

Roz looks up. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks streaked with tears. He sniffs. “I do not want you boys to think that I am weak—I am supposed to be leader.”

“Why the fuck would we think that?” Con knows his voice is too loud. Roz shrugs. “Masculinity is a prison.”

Con is completely serious, but Roz starts laughing anyway, head thrown back against the door and belly shaking. Con shakes his head. “I’m being serious, you asshole.” He flinches. Maybe don’t call your friend who’s having self-esteem issues an asshole, asshole.

Meanwhile, Marly has his phone in his hand. “I’m gonna torture you.”

Roz takes a breath, wipes his face. “Mm, kinky.”

Con and Roz’s phones buzz. hey, guys: quick favor: Marly has texted in the team groupchat, the one they use for planning nights out and off-ice fun. everyone say one nice thing about Cap.

“Marly, you bastard,” Roz recoils, phone dropping to the carpet between his legs.

Buzz, buzz.

The first responses are immediate:

Roz is a great leader. I never feel demotivated after we lose because he never blames us.

Capitaine is very fun to be around, even when he’s being serious!

He’s a loyal and caring friend.

A few people ask if something is wrong, and Marly says Roz is feeling down and needs a pick me up. More responses pour in:

He’s an inspiration, not just as a player but as a person.

✔️hot ✔️smart ✔️fantastic backhand

Hardworking and passionate about everything he does.

Rozie’s hilarious, and he always knows when a well-timed joke will make everything better.

He makes me believe in myself.

Roz loves us! I’ve never had a captain who seemed to genuinely care so much about players as people!!

He’s super knowledgeable about the game but not condescending about it, and knows hockey is supposed to be fun. He makes it more fun to play.

Most guys write one or two things, but people keep jumping on each other’s points, replying with strings of party popper and thumbs up emojis, going Yeah!!!!! when someone says something they agree with. Rookies who haven’t said two words in the chat all season are typing whole paragraphs about Roz’s leadership skills, his boisterous personality, his competence as a host. Vets tell him how much they appreciate his energy in the locker room, how he doesn’t tolerate the bigoted shit they’ve heard elsewhere.

I never realized how uncomfortable I was in other teams’ locker rooms, says Carpenter, the only Black player on their team, one of only a handful of Black guys in the league. Some guys pay lip service to the idea that we’re not supposed to be assholes to each other, but Rozie puts in the work.

All he does is put in work!

ALL CAP DOES IS PUT IN WORK!!!!!

That becomes a mantra for pages and pages of messages: all Rozanov does is put in work, for the team for his relationships, for training, for having fun.

Roz stops looking at his phone after a while, and Marly and Con take turns reading messages out loud. He stops crying, and then eventually tells them to shut the fuck up already.

Marly types: Missions accomplished, boys and Con can practically hear the celebratory response from their teammates. Rozie gets himself off the floor, tosses his phone on the bed, and goes to take a shower, leaving Marly and Con in the room, exhausted.

Con lays down on the thin hotel carpet and stares up at the ceiling. “All the best people in my life think they’re the worst,” he says, thinking about the self-loathing Tanner had had to work through in the beginning of his transition.

“Fucked,” Marly sighs.

Con looks at him. “I’m glad we did that though. I’m glad we can talk about all of…” he gestures in the air around him. “I wanna be there for both of you, in any way I can.”

Marly nods. “You’re a real class act, Cons.” He yawns. “Alright, I’m gonna go find my actual room and collapse for a few hours.”

“You deserve it!” Con says, pointing at him. Marly struggles to his feet and opens the door, letting it close with a thunk. Con takes out his phone and googles how to support my friend who just came out to me and maybe has depression.

Chapter 5: Hayden

Shane is fidgeting with his hands when Hayden opens the door. “Hey, come on in.”

He does move an inch. “Hi. I wanted apologize—”

Hayden cuts him off. He’d been prepared for this. “For what? Making sure my boyfriend got to his hotel room safe, or for checking on my wife to make sure she wasn't traumatized?”

He looks down, shifts from foot to foot. This is full on Shane Guilt Mode. “Well, um...”
Hayden steps outside and wraps an arm around his friend’s shoulders. Shane doesn’t look at him, but that’s pretty normal for him. “Shane, you're fine. Come on in.” He ushers Shane inside, tells him not to take his shoes off since they’re eating on the patio. “There’s ginger ale in the fridge,” he says.

“I’m okay, but thank you.” Shane smiles, which is a good sign.

A high-pitched voice rings out across the living room. “Uncle Shane!” Jade comes bounding around the couch and slams into Shane’s legs, wrapping him in a hug.

Shane barely budges. He puts his hands on her shoulders in an approximation of a hug. “Hi, Jade.”

Jade lets go of him and takes his hand. “Look at what Papa got us!”

“Papa?" Shane looks back at Hayden even as he lets Jade lead him over to the corner of the living room where the girls keep their My Little Ponies; the collection had outgrown the playroom, and it’s easier to keep an eye on them if they’re playing in the living room anyway.
Hayden goes to answer Shane’s questioning look, explain that the girls have two dads, three parents who love them to death; how Cliff watches cartoons with them when he visits, how he made the 5-hour drive once because a new Barbie movie had come out and they only wanted to watch it if Cliff could be there too.

Jade beats him to it: “He comes and visits sometimes.” Simple an easy as that. "And he sends us presents." She introduces Shane to Apple Jack and her siblings, as well as the rest of the Mane 6—Hayden has learned recently that the spelling is very important—and the other Cute Mark Crusaders, besides Apple Bloom.

"And this is Shining Armor," she says about a white unicorn in a cage.

"Is Shining Armor in jail?" Shane asks.

“Yeah." She offers no further explanation.

“We’re gonna go outside and see Mama, okay?” Hayden says to Jade.

She kneels down in her sea of ponies and nods. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

On the patio, Jackie is turning kebabs over on the grill while Ruby colors at the picnic table, an array of art supplies spread out in front of her. Hayden checks on Arthur in his outdoor playpen—Shane had gotten it for them off their baby registry; “It’s durable and spacious”, he’d said. Arthur is getting really into stacking and unstacking his rainbow cup set, which Hayden had read is good for his fine motor control.

"Hey!" Jackie sets her tongs down and wraps Shane in a hug. She squeezes him tight, and Hayden sees Shane relax into it, accepting the affection he’d been doubting he deserved. Good. Operation: Make Sure Shane Doesn’t Feel Guilty officially complete. "How're you?"
Once they let go, he says, “Good, I'm good. How are you guys?” He looks at Hayden. “Is Marleau okay?”

“Yeah, he got on the plan alright. Texted us when he landed. Feels like shit, apparently.” He’d offered twice to let Cliff come back to the house instead of flying out, but the Bears were on a three-game road trip and needed to be in Ottawa for a game tomorrow. He hopes Cliff will get medical leave for the game, but he doubts he’ll ask for it.

Shane nods. “Yeah, I bet. Um...” He starts fidgeting again.

Hayden reaches out automatically, like he does when Jade is scratching her arm so she can think, when Cliff tears at his cuticles. “You wanna talk about it up here or you wanna take a walk?”

Their property backs out onto a nature trail alongside a thin stream, its banks planted with milkweed and thistle. He and Shane head down the slope at the edge of their backyard and walk along the water in silence for a few moments.

A butterfly floats past them. “So, I'm bisexual,” Hayden says, mostly to the butterfly. He doesn’t think Shane is homophobic; certainly, he’s not some macho asshole swimming in toxic masculinity like some guys on the team. And the only thing he’d been concerned about last night had been Hayden cheating, not that he was sleeping with a man.

Still, the hair on the back of his neck stands on end in the silence that stretch between them.

“Oh,” Shane says finally. “Yeah, that makes—that's cool.” Hayden almost laughs. That makes sense; most Shane response to someone coming out, ever.

“And poly, I guess,” he adds. Shane looks at him. "Polyamorous. We um... if I say triad, do you know what that means?" Shane shakes his head. "It means there's three of us, and we all love each other. Some people do poly where it’s like, this is my boyfriend and my boyfriend's boyfriend, and they're just friends, but that's not us.”

“Oh, okay,” he says in the same voice he uses when Coach explains a line change.

The two of them pause for a mother duck to cross their path on her way to the stream. Hayden counts her ducklings: nine in total, all yellow and fuzzy and perfect. “Sorry if I'm over-explaining,” he says as the last ducking makes it into the wildflowers. “I just... you're the first person I've gotten to talk to about this, really.” And he’d wanted to talk about it with Shane, to let his best friend in on this part of him.

“I'm glad you trust me with it, Hayd.” Shane touches his shoulder. “I'm just sorry I found out the way I did.”

“I'm sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he says, the words bursting out of him. “I just...” he has to take a deep breath. “It's so fucking scary sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“I don't... it's not that I didn't trust you.”

“I know.” And fuck, he sounds like he means it.

And now that Hayden is talking about this, now that he knows his best friend in the whole world is safe to talk about this, the words won’t stop. “But like... my worst nightmare is people thinking I'm cheating on Jackie.” He sees Shane flinch. “Not you, like: the guys, or people online. Reporters. It's something I thought about a lot when we first started hanging out, me and Cliff, and you know how the press just runs with things.” Shane nods, lips pressed into a thin line. “Shit gets released into the general public and people go crazy coming up with conspiracies, and then suddenly it doesn't even matter what actually happened, what the truth actually is. I'm a cheater for life; I'm an asshole for life. And Jackie's stupid for staying with me, or she's a slut who's sleeping with two guys, and Cliff's a homewrecker, or he’s cucking me, or whatever the hell else.”

Shane nods, face thoughtful, brow pinched. “You really have thought about this.”

Hayden sighs, the last of the weight coming off his shoulders. “Sometimes it's the only thing I think about.”

“I'm sorry, Hayd. I'm sorry that’s something you have to consider so deeply, and I'm sorry you haven't had anyone in your corner until now.” He squeezes his shoulder. He never let go of it, never stopped letting Hayden know he’s there.

Hayden smiles. “You're saying you're in my corner?”

“Always, man.”

“Thanks. Thank you, that means a lot.” Hayden opens his arms and they embrace, holding each other for a few moments before letting go and heading back up the trail to the house.

“Can I ask you a question?” Hayden asks, because he really can’t help it, and Shane definitely isn’t going to bring it up himself.

“Sure.”

“What the fuck were you doing hanging out with Cliff and the gang at the club? You hate clubs.”

Shane stops short. Hayden stops with him. He looks away from Hayden, focusing on the queen Anne’s lace next to them, swaying in the breeze. “Oh, I wasn't... um... so...” His eyes squeeze shut.

Hayden takes a half-step toward him. “Shane?” He really doesn’t have to talk about this if he doesn’t want to; Hayden just been curious.

“Fuck.” He slides a hand down his face.

“You okay?” Hayden asks. He wants to put a hand on his shoulder, but he still has his eyes closed, and Shane doesn’t like to be touched unless he sees it coming.

His eyes open and he looks at Hayden, actually makes real eye contact with him. “I'm gay.”

“Oh! Oh, shit, cool—wait!” Holy shit. “Shit, is Boston Lily a fucking Bear?” Holy shit!

Shane rubs the back of his neck, breaks eye contact; good, he hates that shit. “Yeah, he is. He um... he texted me when Marleau got spiked, cause he didn't want a cabbie to post about him getting spiked. I um... I didn’t even think about it. He needed me.”

And fuck, Shane is in love. You just had to look at him to see that, just had to hear the concern in his voice as he remembers his guy reaching out to him for help. Suddenly, Hayden regrets ever hiding from Shane. How couldn’t he realize he was in the exact same boat as Hayden and Cliff? They wasted so much time they could’ve spent being honest with each other.

There’s just one… not problem, per se, but one more thing Hayden is curious.

“Please tell me it's Connors, and not—" Shane flinches. Hayden lets his smile grow, pays Shane on the arm, makes sure he knows he’s being friendly, not actually pissed off. "Holy shit, man.”

“Yeah, I...”

“Wait: you've been texting Boston Lily for years. Has she been Rozanov this whole time?”

He nods. “Mmhm. We've um... we've been seeing each other since our rookie season.”

“Wow,” he says, because wow. “That—that’s awesome, man.” Shane looks confused. “That you’ve had someone for so long, kind of like me and Jackie. You found your person, huh?” They must be good for each other if they’ve kept it up long distance and in secret for so long. He should tell Shane about Burlington, about Vino & Veritas.

Shane nods. He blinks heavy and slow, like he’s trying not to cry. “Yeah, I... I actually really like him? And it's fucking terrifying.”

Hayden hugs him again, quick and gentle. “Yeah, I get that. How often do you get to see each other?”

He shrugs. “Just when we're playing each other, or at the MLH awards. All Stars.”

“Summers?”

“What?” Shane asks like it never occurred to him to invite his lover to spend a week or two at his fortress of solitude.

“Cliff came up this past summer,” he says. “Does Rozanov...?”

“No, he needs to go back to Russia when he can. His um... his dad's sick. He takes care of him.”

Hayden deflates. “Oh, fucked up. Both that his dad is sick, and he can't spend summer with you.” He starts walking toward the house again, and Shane follows. “Do you guys know… have you talked about the future at all?”

“We barely talk about the present,” Shane says, almost too quiet for Hayden to hear. “We don’t… it’s not like you and Cliff.”

Hayden looks at him over his shoulder. “What’d you mean?”

Shane shrugs. “We’re not anything. We’re friends, I guess? Fuck buddies.”

Hayden stops, turns on his heel. Shane isn’t looking at him and they bump chests. “Shane: the way you look at your phone when Boston Lily texts, is not how a person looks at their phone when their fuckbuddy texts.”

His face scrunches. “I don’t look at my phone in a specific way.”

“You look at it like you’re head over heels,” Hayden insists. And he’s right! “You have heart eyes and little cupids floating around your head. I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, but… maybe you’ve decided you and Ilya aren’t anything serious, and you’re ignoring how you do feel. You just said you like him. You like him in a friend way, or a boyfriend way?”
Shane looks up at him, then away. “I um… I want… I want him? To be with him, I mean. To be… something.” He swipes at his eyes. “Fuck, I’ve never said that out loud before.”

Hayden wraps him in their third hug of the morning. “I think you should tell him,” he says. “I think you should be honest about how you feel, and what you want.” He pulls away, takes Shane’s shoulders in both hands, squeezes gently. “No one keeps up a long-distance thing for years without caring about the other person. I bet he likes you, too.”

He shakes his head. “He doesn’t like me.”

“What if he does?” Shane looks at him. “When I was first getting to know Cliff, I kept thinking what if he doesn’t like me? What if he’s just fooling around, just flirting for fun, and he doesn’t actually want to kiss me? And Jackie said: what if he does? What if he wants to kiss you, and be with you, and love you?”

He sees Shane swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He looks away again.

“What if he does?” Hayden repeats. “You deserve to be happy, to be with someone you like, even if you can’t be public, even if it’s long-distance.”

“Sometimes…” he murmurs. “Sometimes, when we’re apart, it feels like part of me is missing.” God, Hayden knows how that feels—like his soul is divided into thirds, like he’s not whole unless the loves of his life are on either side of him. “And I… I don’t want to feel that way, but I also don’t want…”

“You don’t want to let him go?” Hayden guesses. Shane nods. “Then don’t. Let yourself have it, Shane.”

Shane takes a deep breath, lets it out slow. “I… I just don’t know how it would work, you know?”

“We should talk, like the five of us,” Hayden says. “Hell, maybe we’ll all drive to Ottawa while the Bears are there. Who gives a shit?” Shane makes a face at that. “Okay: my first piece of advice about having a secret long-distance boyfriend is to get cool about impromptu road trips. Come on.”

He throws an arm around him, and they walk the rest of the way back to the patio, where Jackie is serving kababs and lemonade, Ruby ceding only some of her table territory to food rather than art supplies. Hayden interrupts Jade in the middle of some kind of pony ritual while Jackie gets Arthur into his highchair.

They all sit together and Hayden tries not to focus on the empty space between Jackie and himself, the gap next to Shane. He imagines Cliff there with them, imagines Ilya with his arm around Shane. It’s something he’ll have to get used to, and he wants to make sure Rozanov is nice to Shane, given that he’s not really nice to anyone else, but… Well, he knows what it’s like to love someone who’s far away, who it feels like you can’t have. If can help Shane not feel that way, then he wants to. He texts Cliff, Can’t wait to see you again. Might have big news.