Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/F, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais & Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais/Carter Vaughn, Ryan Price/Fabian Salah, Luca Haas/Original Male Character(s), Rose Landry/Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Airports, First Time, Revelations, Art

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of win conditions

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-25 Completed: 2026-04-17 Words: 48,353 Chapters: 2/2

What Distance Makes

Summary

Connections are made and broken between countries, between cities, and between wanting hearts.

Notes

This is a mix of several requests!
Calanthe asked for Fabian re-framing his relationship with hockey. Cowhuggin also wanted more Ryan and Fabian.
Jugglonggreennoodles and Queenbookwench asked for some Rose POV
DestinedtoDylan asked for a J.J. one shot.
ETA: AND Robinade who asked for more NY Admirals!
Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the prompts!

Chapter 1: Take Offs

J.J. Boiziau - June 2021

"You'll text me when you land?"

The organized chaos of thousands of people launching themselves to their destinations echoed outside the car. Inside, there was only the sound of the engine and music that was turned down so low, J.J. had no idea what was playing. It had been like that the whole car ride, plucky little notes trying to crack through the thick silence.

They'd never been quiet together. Pike and Boiziau were the talkers. The alternates that kept the party going. Or they had been once. It was hard to remember now even though it hadn't been very long ago. Had they once joked and shoved at each other, made idle threats against other teams that weren't particularly creative, but were gutsy and ridiculous?

Now, here they were. A/C blazing over them as the sun pierced through the windows. Pike and Boiziau, long since missing their third. The man they stood behind. What were pillars without their roof? Just two silent, tired men trying to find a way to goodbye.

"Yeah, man," J.J. said. "First my mother, then you. You seem more worried than her."

Hayden didn't even tell him to fuck off, he just nodded. "I am, probably. At least she knows you have to come home for the holidays."

"Fuck off, I'll come and hang out," J.J. said.

"You're not going to come to Montreal just to spend the day with us. I know that. It's okay. I'll just miss you."

"I will," J.J. said, but it was hard to be offended when it wasn't something they'd ever really done.

Shane and Hayden had been like that. All in each other's private lives. J.J. had hung out with Hayden in bars, at hotels and on plane rides. He'd gone to all the team dinners at Hayden's place, even a few times with just Shane, but the kids didn't call him Uncle J.J. which was fine. He had nieces and nephews to spare.

Until Shane left. After that, J.J. and Hayden had been locked together in their tiny pack of two, no longer so welcome at every other team event. Since then, J.J. had gone to the Pikes more. Jackie had learned how to make pate kòde and surprised him with it on his birthday. It didn't taste exactly right, but it was hard to care when he was in a warm kitchen with a food carefully prepared with only him in mind. The kids were funny, if a little odd. J.J. had gotten particularly fond of Jade, who also seemed a little exhausted by her whole family sometimes.

"J.J.," she had said to him very seriously when they were the last two at the dinner table, "do you like painting?"

"I don't know," he'd had to admit. "I haven't painted in a long time. Since I was your age, maybe."

She had dragged him to the room she shared with Ruby. There was an easel in the corner, one of the bright plastic kinds. Someone had wisely laid down a drop cloth. The pots of paint were covered like tupperware and she had a brush for each one so they didn't mix together. They were pretty mixed together anyway. From one corner hung a little apron and Jade picked it up and instead of putting it on, very carefully hung it over J.J.'s neck. It covered about a third of his chest.

"Merci," he said anyway because he had manners.

"Mommy made me a painting this morning and Daddy says he'll do one tomorrow. I'm going to make Uncle Shane do one when he visits," Jade explained. "But you can do one now!"

"I'm not an artist," he protested.

"I don't care," she said. "Make me something, please?"

"S'il vous plaît," J.J. prompted. He'd heard Shane try to encourage more French into the Pike kids and he was damned if he was going to get left out of that.

"S'il vous plaît?" Jade pleaded.

J.J. picked up a brush. "D'accord. No being mean to me if it it's no good."

"I wouldn't be mean to you!" Jade protested, wounded at the mere thought.

Kids. Wild.

The paint was thick and gooey. J.J. picked up as little of the muddy green as he could. What did kids like? What was he even capable of making? He had dim memories of art classes, but he couldn't recall a single thing he'd created. School had been fine for him, something he did to pass the hours between hockey practices.

"What should I make?" He asked Jade light as if he was taking her suggestions out of kindness rather than lack of ideas.

"Mommy made a tree," Jade said. "But you can do anything."

So J.J. gave up and touched the brush to paper. He knew the shape of a hockey stick better than anything and it was simple enough. Once the shape was there though, it didn't seem like very much. He took the brush with it's brownish blue and made a puck. Even easier. Anyone could make an oval. The red paint was still mostly red, so he used that to do a goal. That was a little shakier, but he though it was reasonably close.

"Thank you!" Jade said happily. "Merci!"

"Du rien," J.J. said.

Then they both returned to the living room with no further discussion. Except the next time J.J. had come over, the painting had been hung over Jade's bed next to one of a tree that looked more like a lollipop, and a cat so simply rendered that J.J. assumed Jade herself had done it until he'd noticed Hayden's messy signature in the bottom right. If Shane was going to get pressured into making one, it hadn't happened by the time J.J. got the call from New York.

There had been paint under J.J.'s fingernails for a few days, lodged there beyond his ability to scrub it free. Or maybe he had left it there on purpose, the streaks of blue and red making him smile when little else did.

And now here he was. A suitcase in the back, the leather messenger bag that had been through years of carryon duty in his lap. All his other things had been shipped out before him, moved by unseen hands to an apartment that he'd only seen once, in a city he'd only ever visited for a handful of days. He'd played in New York plenty, but that wasn't the same as even a vacation.

J.J. was leaving Montreal. His home for five years and his childhood home barely an hour's drive from it. All his memories tucked along a few long roads, almost everyone he'd ever cared about too. All within easy reach, along with his favorite coffee shop and the cranky old lady, who lived nextdoor.

No more. Gone. And he'd asked for it. Asked to live hours away by plane from his family, his community, his teammates From Hayden. From Shane. Gone, gone, gone, because he hadn't been able to take it any more. The great J.J. Boiziau taken down not by a bad hit, but death by a thousand paper cuts.

"I'll come visit," J.J. said heavily. "I promise. Wherever you wind up, I'll be there."

"Who knows? Might be right where you left me," Hayden said, forcing a smile.

"Better not be. Gotta go. I don't want to be late."

"Missing the flight would be a bad start," Hayden agreed.

J.J. undid his seatbelt and pushed open the car door. The airport loomed up in front of him, the promise of a fresh start on the other side. He hesitated and then leaned back into the car to pull Hayden into a rough, awkward hug. Hayden hugged him back as soon as he got with the program.

"You're going to be amazing," Hayden said like he knew it as fact. "Show those New York fucks the heat Montreal used to bring."

"Can't wait to stop every one of your shitty passes," J.J. said, clinging to him in a way he'd be embarrassed about later.

"Fuck you, Boiziau," Hayden's voice hitched on his last name. In an echo of a half dozen years ago, a younger, more animated Pike greeting J.J. for the first time, saying his name so carefully so all the syllables came out right. "You won't even see me coming."

"You wish," J.J. said thickly and smacked Hayden's back once, twice and released him. "Pop the trunk. I'm out of here."

Suitcase in hand, J.J. escaped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the glass doors. If he looked back once, it was only to make sure Hayden actually made it out of the unloading lane. Drivers were taking crazy risks on the crowded sidewalk. It definitely wasn't to catch that last wave and return it, before turning his back resolutely and moving forward.

Security was fast, the wait at the gate interminable, and then the flight very short. J.J. always had to readjust to commercial flights after the season ended, too used to the ease of the Metro's plane. It was weird to sit next to strangers and not be able to spread out, elbowing into their space. When the New York skyline became visible on descent, he tried to make himself see home. If not home, then at least 'home base' for now. Maybe he'd only stay a season or two. Maybe he'd become one of those itinerant players, shoved from team to team and never finding another home again until retirement.

What had having a home with the Metros done for him when push came to shove anyway?

At least there was good food here. J.J. could spend a lifetime trying new restaurants in a city like New York. There was a top 100 list he'd heard about. He could eat through that and make friends at the bar like he used to. He'd like that. He could do that. Actually, he could start tonight if he so chose. Right now, J.J. was beholden to no one.

The first tentative practice with his new team was a few days out. Even those would disappear almost as soon as they'd started. The Admirals would go to the playoffs and J.J. wouldn't be allowed to play. His season was over, earlier than it had been in years. Which was good. A real break. A reset.

Following signs on automatic pilot, J.J. headed towards the arrivals. The Admirals travel department had arranged a pickup which was a nice courtesy. Or maybe it was normal. All the people J.J. would've asked about how trades normally went were no longer speaking to him.

Stepping outside, J.J. found a light summer day, pretty despite the ugly field of parking lots and overpasses. He got out his phone to check for the ride information, but his eyes snagged on a group of three guys standing in front of an SUV first. They were all wearing sunglasses and a lot of red. One of them was holding a sign that said Boiziau in blocky red letters.

J.J. started towards them a little bewildered.

"J.J.!" One of them said, stepping away from the car.

Carter Vaughn with his gleaming white smile threw open his arms as if to embrace the whole airport.

"Hello," J.J. said, returning the smile automatically. He was pulled into a rough fast hug, a hand smacking down over his shoulder, before Carter took a step back.

"You're freaking him out, Vaughny," the shortest guy said. Huff. What was his first name? George or something? "Hey, man. We're the welcome wagon."

"We had the day off and we heard you were coming today." Scott fucking Hunter was extending his hand and J.J. shook it in bemusement. "Late season trades are rough sometimes. Figured we'd give you a ride, see if you wanted to get dinner or something. No worries if not, we can just play chauffer."

"Dinner would be good," J.J. said, glad his voice didn't betray him.

Whatever his vision of starting in New York was, being met by their whole first line hadn't been part of it.

"You'll meet Kip too," Vaughn said. "Greg's wife Laura is out of town with the kids."

"And he doesn't want to brag," Huff (Greg, right, lock that in) said. "But his gorgeous tv show star girlfriend is on a shoot."

"I do want to brag," Vaughn countered. "All day, every day. Gloria is off being beautiful and successful."

"Gloria Grey?" J.J. asked incredulously. "You're dating her?"

Hunter plucked up J.J.'s suitcase and put it in the trunk. "She's a sweetheart. We're all happy Vaughn landed her."

"Damn right," Vaughn grinned. "I class up the place already and then I bring her in? Come on, the Admirals are only high profile thanks to me."

"Sure, man," Huff laughed. "C'mon, he's been on a plane for an hour, let's get him stuck in traffic and then home."

The camaraderie between the three of them was almost palpable. Hunter got behind the wheel and Huff jockeyed with Vaughn for shotgun until Hunter cut in, "Age before beauty, Vaughny."

"How do you make winning feel like losing?" Huff complained as he took the front seat and Vaughn took the back with an eyeroll."

"Talent," Hunter said with fond exasperation. "Do you prefer Boiziau or J.J. by the way?"

"J.J.," he said. "Both are fine though."

"Oh good. I prefer Scott. Carter goes either way, same with Greg. We won't go through the whole roster with you today, but Eric said he might come back in for dinner tonight."

"Bennett?" J.J. checked. He had read over the team list a few times, orienting himself. A Shane suggestion which he'd taken seriously. Of course, he knew Bennett, but he wasn't sure he'd ever known the man's first name before that.

He hadn't needed to know his opposition like that. It had never occurred to J.J. after year two that he would play anywhere, but Montreal. Foolish.

"That's him," Carter nodded. "He's a nice guy. Went through some mess last year, but he came out clean and with a cute boyfriend. Probably going to retire this year, but he hasn't told us yet."

"C'mon," Greg sighed. "He doesn't care about all that yet."

"It's good to know what you're walking into," Carter argued.

"What would you know about it?" Greg asked. "You and Scott are lifers. I'm the only one that's moved around."

"So what's your advice?" Carter challenged.

"Honestly? I have no fucking idea. I showed up here and you two were on me from day one and I haven't been able to shake you. So it's worked out pretty good."

"See?" Carter rolled his eyes and elbowed J.J. like he was in the on joke. "Stick with us and you'll never go wrong."

"Is that so?" J.J. asked, pleasent smile still slapped on.

When he glanced up it was to find Hunter's eyes on him in the rear view mirror and with an authoritative nod, Hunter said, "Yeah. That's fucking so."

All right then.

Dutifully, J.J. texted his mother. Then he sent a message to Hayden.

 

J.J.: Made it. Hunter, Huff, and Vaughn picked me up at the airport. WTF

Hayden: They did? Were we supposed to be doing that?

J.J.: That's what I thought! It doesn't seem normal. Is it normal and we fucked it up?

Hayden: Let me add Shane, hold on.

Shane: Hey, what's going on? You land okay, J.J.?

J.J.: Yeah, but I have an escort.

Hayden: Vaughn, Huff and Hunter picked him up at the airport.

Shane: Why?

J.J.: I don't know. I think they want to be welcoming.

Shane: Were we supposed to be doing that? Picking guys up from the airport? Seems extreme.

Hayden: That's why we wanted to ask you. Is this a captain thing we missed?

Shane: Not that I know of. Hold on, let me ask Ilya.

 

Oh, great. If fucking Rozanov had been picking up every transfer at the airport, J.J. was going to have a meltdown. J.J. had been a good alternate captain. He was positive of it. When Hayden and Shane went home, J.J. was the one that held down the party and made sure everyone had a great time. The guys loved him. Until he stopped having fun. Then they didn't.

 

Shane: News to him. He said Scott is weird and J.J. should make sure he's not getting organ harvested. Ignore him though.

J.J.: I don't think they want my kidneys. Probably.

Hayden: They definitely don't want your liver.

J.J.: I will text if I wake up in an ice bath.

 

There was a lot of traffic. J.J. had rented a place near Midtown which was apparently not exactly right judging by the mild expressions of surprise he got and Carter's muttered could be worse.

"Listen," Carter said as they got close. "We practice out of the city. Tarrytown. It's not a bad train ride, okay by car too, but it's a pain in the ass when we've got a lot of days back to back. I've got a condo out there with two guest rooms. If you want to crash with me on those nights, you're welcome to. Otherwise, you should carpool with Scott. He always has some classy fucking ride."

"It's a car service, not a Rolls Royce," Scott said aggrieved. "I'd take the train, but…"

Silence hung and then Carter supplied, "Since he came out public transit is a fucking nightmare."

"I didn't say that," Scott said.

"I did," Carter agreed. "People want a piece of him. Good, bad, you name it. Fuckers who never watched hockey before a day in their lives. It's a whole thing."

"Yeah," J.J. said. "That happens to Shane too. He never went out much to begin with, but he definitely does it even less now. Even the nice people rattle him."

Except now Shane had a built in bodyguard, who handled things for him. J.J.'s mind skittered away from that as fast as it came up. That had been a conversation and a half. One where he hadn't exactly been proud of himself for his reaction after. But what's done was done. Hands had been shook, apologies made. One day, J.J. would sit down to a meal with Ilya Rozanov and just…fucking deal with it. But not today.

"The nice people are great," Scott said, slowing down. "Holy fuck, street parking spot. That's a miracle. Hold on."

With three fast spins of the wheel, Scott parallel parked so masterfully that J.J. almost applauded. Carter and Greg seemed unphased, so he kept it to himself.

"We can let you go settle in, in peace. Meet you somewhere," Scott offered.

"Or we can go up, poke around and invade your space," Carter said with a grin. "Get our fingerprints all over everything and tell you why you're place sucks and why should move somewhere else. It's traditional."

"I like tradition," J.J. said. The idea of going up to an empty box filled apartment was suddenly vastly unappealing.

"So glad you said that," Greg said "Because I've needed to take a leak for a twenty minutes."

"Jesus Christ," Scott muttered. "Okay, everyone out then."

The building was nice and the apartment was mostly what J.J. remembered. His furniture had arrived and the moving company had accurately gotten everything where it was supposed to be. He could already tell he would have to get rid of a few things. The space was smaller than his old condo and was crowded by the bigger pieces. The rugs looked good though. There were boxes stacked neatly in both bedrooms and the kitchen.

"View doesn't suck," Carter declared as Greg skittered into the bathroom.

"I like the layout of the living room," Scott said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his phone out. He seemed to be intently texting. "The kitchen is a nightmare. You don't cook?"

"I like to eat out," J.J. said.

"Already a New Yorker," Carter laughed. "Use your oven for storage, trust me on this."

"A great idea until you set your sweaters on fire," Scott said wryly.

"That would mean I turned the oven on which I do not," Carter rolled his eyes. "Scott cooks, he thinks he's better than us."

"I do not," Scott grumbled, but his attention was definitely divided.

"The bathroom is acceptable," Greg announced. "Decent water pressure."

J.J. ducked into it to use it himself and it was fine. Not as big as the one he'd left behind, but nothing in New York seemed to be. This was his now though. This was his bathroom. His apartment. His teammates that had picked up from the fucking airport like fucking lunatics.

He washed his hands carefully with no soap or hand towels.

A fresh start was dripping wet hands in a bathroom that was nebulously his and Scott Hunter texting in his kitchen.

They took him out to dinner. The restaurant was only a few blocks away, a burgers and fries kind of place. Kip did turn up, giving Scott a kiss on the cheek and accepting Carter's effusive hug with the same acceptance as Greg's bro nod. He sat beside J.J. and whispered,

"Sorry you got invaded. They're a lot, but they mean well."

"I like them," J.J. said and meant it.

Kip studied his face then nodded like he approved of whatever he found there. J.J. had had a lot of meals with WAGS, but this felt different. Kip was one of the guys too. When the jokes turned raunchy, it was Kip that made them raunchier with a sly smile and Scott was the one who flushed a little. It was different.

It was the first time J.J. had broken bread with a gay couple. He hoped they couldn't tell.

Scott stole the check and then said his good nights, leaving hand-in-hand with Kip. Huff disappeared, muttering something about his daughter.

That left him and Carter, evaluating each other over the empty table.

"Was this your idea?" J.J. asked because he had to.

"No, actually. I think Scott's got eyes and ears on the Montreal locker room. He's worried you were traumatized."

"Traumatized?" J.J. laughed. "By those motherfuckers? They wish they could traumatize me."

Carter didn't laugh. He wasn't smiling either. "Scott told us he was gay before he came out big. And I was happy for him, I really was. He deserves everything in life. But I was also scared shitless for him because he'd never lived like that before. I was right to be scared too. There's good days and there's fucking hellish days. At least the team was good though. We've had years to whip them all into the shape we want."

J.J. fell quiet. Was that another place they'd failed? Him and Shane and Hayden? Weren't they supposed to be the ones who set the tone? Weren't they the ones who were supposed to make sure the room was good? But how good could they make it when there was such bastards in every corner?

"Yeah, well. Guess you got lucky."

"I did," Carter said. "And now you're lucky too. That's all I wanted to say."

It didn't feel lucky, standing in the middle of boxes, washed up in a country that J.J. had talked shit about his whole life. His phone was heavier four contacts ("Oh, take Kip's too, you never know," Scott had said off-handed).

And an address.

"I ate there a few times, did some quality control and it's fucking fantastic," Carter said. "Can't just trust Yelp. Meet you there on Thursday at 1."

J.J. unpacked his bathroom stuff first. Soap. Hand towels. Once he started, he couldn't seem to stop and he stayed up until 3 A.M. almost all his boxes flattened by the front door. The noises of a city filtered through the windows, subtle differences everywhere you went, but the cacophony functionally the same.

For a few days, J.J. shook around the city like a pebble in a giant boot. He worked out in the building gym in the morning for hours, then went in search of new and exciting breakfast options. Everyone seemed to know where they were going, a general bulleted direction that swept around him.

It was quiet in the noise.

He met Carter for lunch on Thursday and they were greeted at the door of the tiny restaurant like old friends. J.J. spoke to owner in Creole, who teased him about his accent like they were family. The restaurant was Haitian. Carter wasn't.

"I'm American," Carter said with a shrug when J.J. asked. "You speak Creole and French?"

"Oui," J.J. said. "And you only speak English."

"Hey! I know a little Spanish. I took it in high school and I practice with people sometimes," Carter said, apparently unoffended. "You can teach me French."

"Can I?" J.J. asked. "You want to learn? If you commit, I won't not let up."

"If you don't care that I'm slow, then yeah sure. It's the language of love, right?"

"It's a great language to swear in too," J.J. said seriously. "Bonjour."

"Bonjour," Carter replied and it was all wrong with his accent, but J.J. didn't correct him yet.

"Bonne," J.J. praised. "Repeat. Je."

"Je," Carter said. His eyes were on J.J.'s lips. A good start. A way to memorize the shape of things.

"M'appelle."

"M'appelle."

"Je m'appelle Carter," J.J. said slowly.

"Je m'apelle Carter," he said with equal slowness, then grinned. "Okay. How do I ask your name?"

The question took J.J. off guard. He wasn't sure that had ever been any girl's next question who had teasingly asked him for lessons in an American club when they admired his accent. But Carter wasn't a girl in a club. He was an over friendly hockey player in a restaurant that it might've taken J.J. weeks to find on his own.

J.J. sounded it out for him and Carter repeated diligently. " C'est quoi ton nom?"

"Je m'appelle Jean-Jacques."

"Wait, really? That's what it stands for?" Carter blinked. "It's not a middle name?"

"Two first names," J.J. said. "Hyphenated."

"I like it. You prefer J.J.?"

"The guys started calling me J.J. when I was still in Mites. Jean-Jacques is a lot to yell over the ice."

Carter tilted his head, "Most of the guys call me Vaughny and that's fucking longer than Carter and Vaughn. Jean-Jacques. That's like three syllables max."

J.J. frowned. "What's your point?"

"If you like your name, then I'll call you by it. That's all. That's how you just introduced yourself to me."

It had been. J.J. wasn't even sure why. He felt the prickle of Carter's attention on him in a way he didn't know how to parse. "It's very French."

"And I'm learning French now. So?"

"So. Yeah. Fine. Go ahead."

It hardly mattered. One person calling him by the name his whole family still insisted on saying in the whole was no big deal. No one in the house he'd grown up in called him J.J. though he got a Junior occasionally. His name was his father's name, but his father had always been just Jean.

"How do I say 'your name is'," Carter prompted him.

"Depends how friendly we are," J.J. said. "Formal or informal."

"Man, I've never been formal a day in my life," Carter winked at him. "Let's call it informal."

Every few minutes as they ate, Carter would pause the conversation to repeat 'Tu t'appelle Jean-Jacques' and J.J. would say 'Bonne'. It was almost irritating, if it wasn't for how clearly pleased Carter was with himself about it.

J.J. started going to practice on Friday. Bennett was in the net and he was the calm kind of goalie that J.J. preferred even if he missed Mitty's dumb chatter a little.

"Boiziau," Coach Murdock called as the other guys headed into the locker room. "With me for a second, please."

J.J. skated up to him, swallowing back instinctive concern. Theriault's 'short meetings' were never pleasant. To his mind, your attaboys came from being well paid and if he never spoke to you then you were way ahead of the curve. J.J. had been pulled aside twice in his career and both times, he'd gone straight home and gotten blind drunk.

"Yes, coach?" he asked.

"Sit with me a second, all right?"

Shit, shit. J.J came to sit beside him on the bench. Murdock sat next to him, looking over the ice instead of at him.

"We were surprised to get you in the trade. We didn't think Montreal would be so fast to let go of you."

"They were ready to do some rebuilding," J.J. said, repeating the line Yuna had given him.

She was good at this stuff and it was nice to have direct access, instead of trying to copy Shane's mannerisms in front of the press. She tailored them more for him now, less a mimic of Shane's restrained style. Technically, she wasn't his publicist, but J.J. didn't really need one of those most of the time. He did need a Yuna. Every player probably did, but he wasn't going to share.

"Sure they were," Murdock said wryly. "And they were ready to wipe off the stain that losing Hollander left behind. I'm sure we'll be hearing about Pike's move soon too."

"I don't know," J.J. said. He hoped so. Very hard.

"You don't want to talk about it. Don't blame you. I'm not interested in what went on there, I'm only interested in us. You're an impressive player out there and I want to keep you impressive. What do you need from me?"

"Coach?" J.J.'s head whipped up. "What do you mean?"

Mudrock turned a little. His face was familiar to J.J. not only from games against New York and the press, but through time. When he told his parents he wanted to play hockey, it had been Murdock's card that he'd shown them. One of the first Black players to break through and make a splash. When he'd been injured and retired, J.J. had been heartbroken that it was before he could meet him on the ice (even though the chances were slim that it would've happened anyway, how long could one man play?). And now J.J. was on the ice with him. Working for him, in a way. That hadn't fully hit until right in this moment.

"I mean that I want you at your best. If something here isn't working for you or you need a little extra in the coaching department, then I'm here for that. Or one of the other guys. Draper is our main guy for defense, you'll get to know him pretty well."

"I'm good," J.J. said, entirely bemused by the situation. "Really."

"Glad to hear it. Seems like Vaughn's glued himself to you. That okay by you? I can tell him to back off. He's excitable."

"I like him," J.J. said, the taste of leftover diri djon djon and meticulously pronounced French springing into his mouth. "People call me excitable sometimes too."

"A match made in heaven then," Murdock said and clapped him on the shoulder pad. "All right. You ever need to talk, you know where to find me. Good practice."

"Thanks, coach."

No one spared an extra glance for him when he came in late. His stall was next to Greg's, who was already in the showers. Hunter was talking to one of the younger player's intently, the kid's posture a little sulky, but listening. The general air was content, music playing under a dozen conversations.

 

J.J.: What's the Centaurs room like? Loud? Quiet?

Shane: Loud before games, but not like Montreal. A surprising amount of singalongs.

J.J.: No one singing here. But it's very different.

Shane: Bad or good?

J.J.: Not sure yet. Probably won't be able to tell until I'm here for a game.

 

A few practices, a few more lunches with Carter and then it was deep into playoffs. J.J. watched the games from the stands, trying to make sense of the play style and where he'd fit into it. The Admirals got knocked out at an away game, J.J. watching at home from his familiar couch in the unfamiliar room.

 

Hayden: Sorry, man.

J.J.: It's a good thing. Think about how much credit I'll get when I bring them to the playoffs next year.

Shane: You'll have to get through me first.

J.J.: Send me a real challenge.

Shane: I will.

 

J.J. could go home for a few weeks. His parents' house had a room for him. They had asked him to even. But J.J. only went for a handful of days, staying long enough for his older sister's birthday and to get his fill of 'helpful' advice from every member of his family. Then he gave out hugs, kisses, presents, paid his parents' bills when they weren't paying attention, and left again before he could get annoyed by them.

By then, he was so close, it would've made a lot of sense to stop by the Pike house.

He didn't. He couldn't even say why. Instead he flew back to New York and spent a few days aimlessly walking through spring-clad streets, summer not yet baking into the sidewalks.

 

Kip: I'm dragging Scott to the MoMA today and he gets bored. Want to come keep him company so I can actually look at an exhibit?

 

J.J. stared at the text in the sunlit square close to the window. Did he want to go to art museum with Kip and Scott? The last time he'd gone to a museum had been for a school trip years ago. He'd been more interested in one of the girls in his class than the paintings. But this summer held no women for him so far and no other distractions.

So he met them in front of the building, Scott in a cap and sunglasses.

"Are we undercover?" J.J. asked, bemused.

"He's trying to be discreet so I can focus on the work," Kip said dryly. "Not working for you?"

"It helps," Scott protested.

They had a membership apparently. Kip quickly wandered ahead of them.

"You don't actually have to come, right?" J.J. asked. "Does he really drag you?"

"I like listening to him talk about it," Scott said merrily. "But sometimes he gets involved, stops talking and I'm not great at focusing on this stuff on my own. These days he usually takes Eric instead."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's big into art. But he's not free today and it's the last day of this exhibit. We can wander around, Kip will find us when he's ready to leave. We were thinking sushi for lunch. Good?"

"Yeah, great, sure."

So J.J. walked around an art museum with Scott Hunter on a June Tuesday morning like that was totally normal. The truly bizarre part was that J.J. enjoyed it. Not only talking to Scott, which was less surprising, but the art.

"Wait, it's here?" J.J. asked.

"Yeah, right there," Scott pointed.

And sure enough, an image J.J. has seen a thousand times in his life was hanging on the wall. Starry Night was in one corner of a top floor gallery, mobbed by phones taking photos like it was Rose Landry on a red carpet. J.J. could see over most people's heads and he stood behind them.

For a famous painting, there was something humble about it. The darkness illuminated by balls of light. He stared at it for a long time. Scott didn't hurry him along.

"They have some of those water lilies here too," Scott mentioned as J.J. peeled himself away.

"What water lillies?"

J.J.'s pace had slowed. He took in each piece.

There was no paint left under his fingernails, but he felt it there anyway, chalky and lodged in. When they finally left for lunch, Kip was explaining something to Scott about the outdoor installation and Scott was grinning at him like he doing something miraculous. It was sweet and it let J.J. tune out for a few minutes.

"Hope you weren't bored," Kip said, once they were seated in the quiet dim of the restaurant.

"I wasn't," J.J. said. "You're studying art history?"

"Yep. All goes according to plan and I'll have my masters done next year. I don't know about going for a doctoral program yet."

"Is there anywhere else you think I should go? Things I should see?"

Kip lit up. "Yeah, absolutely. I send you a list."

A few hours later, Hayden called. No text. He knew J.J. preferred that, but rarely did it anyway.

"Hey, man, I wanted you to hear it from me before it hits the trades," Hayden said.

"You got a contract?" J.J. asked, already on his feet, too excited to sit. "You're getting out?"

"Yeah! I did. It's- okay, best case scenario really. I'm going to Ottawa."

"Ottawa!" J.J. cheered. "That's awesome!"

That was his first thought. His second too, in fairness. He stayed on the phone with Hayden full of good feeling. Hayden was getting away from Montreal and going to Shane. Reunited and on a team that as only going to climb higher and higher.

But when he hung up, he had his third thought which was: Fuck you. Why you and not me?

For years, J.J. had liked to think of the three of them as a set. The Captain and his two Alternates. Then Shane had broken from them, taken out all his secrets to show the world and walked away. J.J. had understood. He'd released him as best he could. But it was in those hazy terrible months after that J.J. started to see a different shape.

The friendship between Hayden and Shane had always been something else. It had been J.J. place neatly on the outside, fed information only a little before everyone else could get it. Hayden knew about Shane's sexuality, about Rozanov. He didn't get blindsided six months before Shane left for good. Before anything could really be fixed between them.

And now Hayden was going to Ottawa and J.J. was in New York. The tight threesome had maybe always been two plus J.J. when they wanted a night out.

J.J. didn't sleep well that night. When he watched the sunrise over skyscrapers, clinging to his coffee mug, he decided that was the last night of sleep he would lose over it. Let the Pikes and the Hollanders have Ottawa. He had New York City and that was a lot.

Fresh start.

It was a summer lush with food and art. J.J. floated through the museums of New York and walked long city blocks to find complementary meals. Sometimes he went to bars and clubs, dancing his way straight into a beautiful woman's arms, but nothing stuck. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone too just then.

Sometimes he texted Kip questions about pieces and he always got a response, but mostly, J.J. read the occasional plaque when he wanted to remember an artist's name and otherwise let the work wash over him without context. Oils, acrylics, marbles and woods, the smell of preservation and fresh house paint on the walls, lingered around him.

In August, on a day so hot that air shimmered off the sidewalks, J.J. walked through a street fair, drinking lemonade and finishing off a pile of pirogi with a wooden fork. He slowed to watch a woman squatting over a canvas with a pile of pastels. She drew in buildings and vague silhouettes of passerby as he watched, waxy layers piling up.

"You want to buy?" She asked, glancing up, then back down.

He bought a piece to justify his looming, then asked, "Where do you get your supplies?"

There was a store and without letting himself think about why, J.J. went. It smelled like the museums, but livelier. Almost at random, he plucked a canvas out of a wall of them. He walked through aisles with a dozen mediums, but the paint was what pulled him in. Thick tubes of acrylic in a hundred colors. They were rated by skill and though he had no intention of learning, he settled for 'student'. He picked a dozen colors that appealed and wandered into brushes. That was overwhelming, so he picked a handful of different sizes from the most expensive brand and hoped for the best.

"Did you find everything you need today?" A cashier asked.

"I did," he said.

Without an easel (that had seemed a bit much), J.J. propped the canvas against his coffeemaker. It settled there, blank and challenging. The paint needed to go somewhere, he realized, so a paper plate became his pallette.

Picking up a brush, J.J. ran it through the paint. Purple smeared over the bristles.

 

Hayden: Good luck tonight!

Shane: Can't wait to watch the highlights later. You're going to be a challenge to play against, looking forward to it.

 

"Were you doing some home reno or something?" Carter asked as they got ready.

The locker room was loud before a game. It wasn't the same kind of loud. There was a friendlier note, guys chirping at each other without edge and Scott checking in with everyone like a nervous parent on the first day of school.

"What do you mean?"

"You've got paint on your hands? I thought maybe you were painting your bathroom or something."

J.J. glanced down at the smears of green stuck around his nail beds. He smiled faintly. "Something like that. Do you guys do anything on game nights?"

"Home game nights, sometimes we go to the Kingfisher."

"What's that like?"

"Have a few drinks, some laughs. Low level partying. Tu veux sortir avec nous, Jean-Jacques?" Carter asked, eyes bright, smile wide.

"Oui," J.J. decided.

He pulled on his gloves and rolled his shoulders back. Someone shouted something from across the room and he closed his eyes for a second. Not a flinch. Just a pause.

Fresh start. It was a fresh start.

"You good?" Carter asked, clapping him on the back.

"The best there ever was, mon ami."

 

 

Fabian Salah - October 2021

The room was in the palm of Fabian's hand. Or more accurately, tied to his bow. This far into his set, sweat ran through his makeup and only the god-tier setting spray Alicia used was keeping him from melting into a puddle of mascara and foundation. His fingers were on fire, his feet ached in their stylish boots and his throat was starting to rasp. Four performances in three days across two states.

He was high on it. None of it touched him. The needs of his body were a thousand leagues away as he swam through the warm ocean of music and adoration.

Was it everything we dreamed? Some dim sixteen-year-old version of himself might ask.

All that at more, he'd answer now. Hold on, kid, we're going to lick the stars.

The backing tracks that Fabian no longer had to manage himself kicked in and he sang, voice rising over the clawing fatigue to describe the heights of ecstasy. One last song written years ago, in bed beside his first boyfriend when he'd imagined that was what forever would look like.

And then, just like that, it was over. Applause, of course, there was always applause now. Years of polite clapping or deafening silence stretched behind him, cold reminders that his certainty had not always been certain. Now though there always wild appreciation as he bowed. He said his thank yous to the the band, to the venue, to the audience, to the support staff. He did a last little flourish of an encore and he went from shining start to wilted flower in the dark in seconds.

No autograph line tonight. It was late, the bus would leave early in the morning to take them to the next place. There was a hotel at least and the tour staff surrounded him, carrying him through. Makeup removed, costumes returned to the rack, Fabian rendered down to his essential self again. Small and tired, alone in a bed that smelled a little like bleach instead of whatever scented candle his boyfriend was cycling through this week.

Fabian: bedtime at last, hope you're already asleep. I love you.

Silence. Good. Sometimes Ryan stayed up for him and Fabian felt progressively more guilty, the more tired Ryan looked. It would've been a home game tonight, Ryan standing seriously on the sidelines.

Melancholy, Fabian looked through his photos. The selfies and the group shots from nights out. Ryan's arm around his shoulders, Ryan kissing his cheek, Ryan in profile on a bridge watching the boats sail by.

The missing of him was a feeling Fabian did not allow himself to indulge in. He had lived for years without Ryan Price and he'd been fine without him. Missing your boyfriend was very normal and fine, but there wasn't time to sit around yearning about it. So Fabian put down his phone and tucked himself in for a few hours of sleep.

There was a text waiting for him in the morning as he stumbled onto the bus and onto the weird pleather couch in the back.

 

Ryan: sorry I missed you! How was the concert?

Fabian: Great! Good turn out, great energy. The opening act was late though. Didn't go on until 11!

Ryan: Did you talk to Denise about that?

Fabian: I will, but there's only so much she can do about it. It's fine.

Ryan: If you say so. Did you change your set around like you wanted?

Fabian: Turns out it's not that easy when you work with a whole crew. I can switch out my encore song, but moving things around now is way more complicated.

Ryan: It can be. Teams are good though. I'm glad you've got people around you helping.

 

Of course Ryan would see it that way. Fabian shook his head and let the phone fall against his chest. He was dressed down for the ride, just comfortable loose things. It made him think of a lazy afternoon in bed with Ryan, showing each other stupid things they'd found on the internet in between long make out sessions. Afternoons when sex always a possibility, but not the point. Something that could be tipped in and out of at a whim. With Ryan's issues compounded by Fabian's own, they treated sex like a pool that they swam around each other in, instead of a singular act with one purpose.

It was the best sex of Fabian's life. Maybe because it was the first time he had a partner that truly cared about Fabian being comfortable and cared for from start to finish. Or maybe because Fabian himself had come to see it as a bit of a team effort. They were in it together, this quest for hedonistic pleasure. With Ryan's candles and Fabian's lingerie, they cajoled each other into hours of atmospheric enjoyment. There was no magic fix to Ryan's frustrations or Fabian's hair trigger, but they made it work by putting aside orgasms as the goal.

They were good together. Great together.

When they were together.

Fabian picked the phone back up.

 

Fabian: How was the game?

Ryan: All right. We won, but it was a race to the finish. Few rough spots.

Fabian: A win is a win!

Ryan: Some are better than others. When do you get in to Tulsa?

Fabian: Around 6 if everything goes according to plan. Video chat then?

Ryan: I'd love that. Miss you.

Fabian: I miss you too. Love you!

Ryan: Love you too!

 

There were several other things Fabian could be doing. Some of which he absolutely should be doing. Reluctantly though, he switched to his browser and searched 'hockey Centaurs' and hit 'News'. He read about the win on site he knew wouldn't autoplay video he didn't want to watch. Dykstra had gotten injured. That's what Ryan hadn't wanted to tell him. A dislocated shoulder maybe, but the article seemed sure he'd back after a few games.

Fabian wasn't sure he could pick Dykstra out of a lineup. He googled his name and tried to set the face to it.

Six weeks ago, Fabian had been minding his own business at a party he absolutely did not want to be at when Ryan had plopped Joey Yolen in front of him like a dog, who thought he had played a rousing round of fetch. Here, love, here's someone like you to talk to. It had been a sweet thought. A good effort. A fucking disaster.

Joey Yolen was a distorted mirror. Someone who had run from the thing Fabian loved most towards the thing Fabian hated above all. They were even of a height, smaller people in a room full of giants (though none as giant as Ryan, Fabian had been uncomfortably pleased to see). Yet, they could not have been more physically different otherwise if they'd been making an effort. A warping. A funhouse reflection.

And Joey had looked Fabian right in the eye and basically said: You're the one failing.

A fucking hockey player in eyeliner had taken in all of Fabian's everything and told him that he'd missed the mark. That he had, unintentionally, opened a door to let the nightmare in.

The comments in Joey's DMs had been everything that Fabian feared. Not only his own fans making a meal of the kid, but also all the hate Fabian knew lay simmering under the surface of hockey fans. The Centaurs' own fans with other player's numbers in their usernames, other teams' fans full of bloody threats, and buried where Joey might've thought it wasn't visible, even a few other verified accounts of players from other teams. It was a menu of hateful shit with Fabian's fans of one of the entrees.

Every time Fabian thought of it,bile rose in his throat. He wanted to fix things, to make right the small wrongs he'd done to Joey without intent, but he also wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake. To ask why the fuck they thought hockey was their savior when it was so full of poison?

But most of the anger was really at what Joey had talked around. What they had inferred.

Fabian was failing Ryan.

Or at least appeared to be.

But what the fuck was Fabian supposed to do? Show up to a Centaurs game in a jersey like an obedient WAG? Even if he could stand to sit through an entire game, he could not stand to be on display as a target like that. To put himself before an audience that might secretly long to tear him apart was too big of an ask. Ryan must know that. That must be why he'd never even inferred around the question.

Sure there were gay players on the ice, even Joey there with them, but that wasn't the same. Joey might put on eyeliner and wear playful things outside of work, but on the ice they wore the same uniform and blended in with the rest of them. Fabian did not blend. Would not blend to satisfy people he did not respect.

Except Fabian deeply respected Ryan.

And Ryan loved hockey. With all the terrible bits cleared away and his focus purely on helping other people be better, Fabian couldn't deny that. Ryan didn't talk much about it to Fabian, seemingly content to set aside his work to concentrate on Fabian and their shared passions when they were together. They went for long walks around their neighborhood, listened to new artists, read each other poetry and all sorts of delightful things. They didn't talk about Fabian's work either. They were each other's vacations, in a way.

But hockey crept in around the edges. It was in Ryan's cramped handwritten notes, taken during games and left on the coffee table to be typed up later. It was in texts and phone calls, Ryan's earnestness drifting through the apartment to find Fabian no matter where he was. Sometimes it was with people too, visits from Wyatt over the summer, sudden appearances of Roz, who moved through the world by his own logic of travel, and the funnier stories from practices that Ryan shared from time to time.

It was in the way, heartbreakingly, Fabian had found Ryan sitting on the floor of their hotel bathroom last January, talking to Coach Wiebe with tears in his eyes about Ryan's worst nightmare.

Hockey lived in their home with them and Fabian pretending that they didn't have a roommate was getting ridiculous.

Fucking Joey Yolen.

Who was Fabian supposed to talk to about it? No one on Fabian's 'team' gave a goddamn about hockey either. Some of them likely thought that Fabian should ditch his oversized boyfriend for someone a little more acceptable in the music world. Not happening. Ryan was nonnegotiable now that Fabian had him.

No one from Ryan's world made sense either. They all lived and breathed hockey, thrilled by their violent sport in every aspect as far as Fabian could tell. Queer or not, they wouldn't understand the problem.

Fabian groaned and rubbed his forehead.

Wait.

There was one person. Fabian picked up his phone again.

 

Fabian: Do you have Kip's number?

Ryan: I don't, but I could get it from Scott. He'll want to know why though, he's protective of him.

Fabian: I want to pick his brain a little about being a WAG that's not a fucking WAG

Ryan: Good idea! Okay. Let me reach out. I'll send it to you if he shares it.

Fabian: Thanks! ❤️

 

They talked that night on video chat, Ryan's face filling up the tiny screen and not nearly large enough.

"Are you okay, honey?" Ryan asked after a few minutes.

"I'm tired," Fabian admitted. "This is all really great and I'm so excited. I don't want to sound ungrateful, but…"

"You can be ungrateful with me," Ryan assured him. "You've been driving yourself into the ground for months."

"It's so good though! It's great for me and when I get back, I have all these ideas for new things. I know as soon as I stop moving I'll be sad that it's over."

"You can be sad that it's over and tired when it's going on," Ryan said. "It gets like that on the road sometimes."

"You hated the road," Fabian reminded him.

"I hated the flying for sure," Ryan agreed. "And the feeling rootless, but traveling with you is fun. Then again, I'm not the one working then."

"I don't feel rootless. I feel like…" Fabian reached for the words, trying to catch them out of the air like fireflies. "Like I've got a tether, but it's getting stretched so thin that I can't feel it anymore until I talk to you."

"I'm always here," Ryan told him. "No matter what. Call me, text me. I don't care what I'm doing. You're my number one priority."

"Oh," Fabian said and then he was crying. Tears came too easily to him these days.

"I wish I was there," Ryan said helplessly. "Did you not know?"

"I did," Fabian assured him, reaching for a tissue. "I promise. I'm just really tired and that really hit hard in a good way."

Fabian had never been someone's number one priority. Not even his own parents. Hockey above all else. Then the rest of the world and Fabian somewhere below his sister and their billeted players.

"You're it, my love, always. Three more weeks and you'll be home. You can do anything for three more weeks."

"I can," Fabian agreed. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Ryan said. "Maybe take a long shower? Do a face mask? Be nice to the man I love tonight."

"I can do that. And don't worry about me, okay? You're doing everything you can and I'm fine, really. Be nice to the man I love too."

"I will," Ryan promised.

They were probably both liars. Ryan would stay up worrying and Fabian was too tired to do the little things that would soothe him. They would be united across the continent by their sleepless bodies in lonely beds, ignoring good advice from each other.

Somewhere between San Diego and Seattle, Ryan sent him Kip's contact with a Scott says he gave Kip a head's up that you might reach out. Apparently he's a fan.

The bus rolled on. Fabian had stopped looking out the windows months ago, the romance of the world sweeping past long gone. He finished practicing, the last sweeping notes fading from the bus' air. Everyone else was wearing noise cancelling headphones, just as done with his playing as he was with the windows.

Then he sent a message.

Fabian: Sorry to bother you, I know we don't really know each other, but you're the only person I know that's a guy dating a hockey person and isn't a hockey person themselves.

There was no reply for a half hour and just when Fabian figured that Ryan had misunderstood things, his phone chimed.

Kip: You're right! I didn't think about it that way, but we're a pretty rare group. Though I admit that I've become a hockey fan over the last few years if only so I can actually see my husband during the season.

The words hit hard. Of course Kip liked hockey to some extent. And of course it was a way to see Scott, who still played and wasn't standing on the sidelines. What would Fabian even see if he tuned in? Brief glimpses of Ryan standing there? How could that be worth the high price of admission?

 

Fabian: Makes sense. Did you not like hockey before?

Kip: My dad likes it and it's just the two of us, so I'd watch it with him sometimes for company, but no. I wasn't super into it.

 

Okay, so maybe Kip might understand. It was really all Fabian had to work with.

 

Fabian: What's it like in the stands for you now? That's mostly what I wanted to know. Are people terrible?

Kip: Tough question. Not terrible, but I also think they don't recognize me. Like yeah, my face was big news for fifteen minutes two years ago, but I'm just a guy. I blend in pretty easily. I've overheard some foul shit. People still suck. But they also say nice things too when they do notice me.

Fabian: I don't blend.

Kip: You don't. But you're also famous. People like fame usually. Have you not been going to the games?

 

Hesitating, Fabian thought of Joey again. The way they hadn't been able to meet Fabian's eyes when they said, It's more that you're just…not around?

 

Fabian: I haven't.

Kip: I get it. And it's not like Ryan is playing. Is that why?

Fabian: I don't like hockey.

 

There was a long pause after that confession and Fabian figured he'd lost his potential ally.

 

Kip: Can I call you? This feels bigger than texting.

Fabian: Yes.

 

The phone rang a few minutes later.

"Sorry," Kip said as soon as it connected. "I was walking back to the apartment, wanted to get inside before I called."

"That's okay," Fabian said. "I'm sorry to burden you with this, it's ridiculous really."

"You're not a burden," Kip said firmly. "First off, I'm a huge fan, so this is really cool on many levels for me. But second…I get it. Who else are we going to talk to? I mean, I have Kyle, but Eric is retired, so it's different. Harris might not be a player, but hockey is his job too."

"Yeah, exactly," Fabian said with a sigh. "And I don't think Harris likes me very much."

"Harris doesn't like you?" Kip asked. "I thought he liked everyone."

"He wanted to get me involved in an Insta campaign and I turned him down. Ryan doesn't even work with him, I'm not going to."

"Oh. Huh. I don't think he'd dislike you about that. Though it probably confused him," Kip said. "He's a nice guy. I'm sure next time you talk to him, you'll see that he's already let it go."

Maybe. Maybe not. It was nice to think so. Harris did seem decent.

"That's not why you wanted to call though."

"No," Kip agreed. "You surprised me a little. With the not liking hockey thing."

"It's an old grudge," Fabian admitted. He got up and carefully made his way to the front of the bus so he could be as far away as possible from everyone else even if they weren't listening. "But I also don't like the violence of it. I find it hard to watch."

"That would make it hard. I really only care if Scott's involved and he doesn't instigate fights. Sometimes someone takes a swing at him. It's kind of hot when he takes a swing back. But I get that not being your thing."

"Very much not my thing," Fabian agreed firmly.

"But you're calling me, so you're thinking about going."

"Yes," Fabian sighed. Because what was the point of subterfuge here? "I should. I've been told my absence has been noticed."

"By Ryan?"

"No! No. He'd never say a word. He knows I feel about it and he respects it."

Kip's breathing was light, the slightest sound over the line. He had a nice voice. Steady, but light. He was probably a tenor. "Every relationship is different, but I gotta say that never showing up is a loud statement."

"I know," Fabian said, staring blankly out the front windows. "I didn't realize I was saying it until now. I'm terrified. I don't want…I don't know. All of it."

"I get that. It sucks out here sometimes."

"Yeah," Fabian breathed out. "He comes to so many of my concerts. But he likes my music. So I thought it was different. But I don't know now."

"I don't really like going alone," Kip said. "I take my friends with me. My Dad, sometimes. For company."

"My friends aren't into hockey either," Fabian grimaced, too easily imagining the spectacle of Vanessa, Marcus and Tarek flanking him. "They'd come if I asked, but it wouldn't make for a good picture."

"Elena and Maria love blood. It's troubling and kind of cute. Hold on though. Let me look at something."

"All right."

Fabian watched an exit sign go by. Intellectually, he knew they would stop tonight and he'd perform tomorrow, but right now, it seemed like they had always been on this road and they always would be.

Flying past exits they would never take.

That was a lyric. He'd have to hold on to that one.

"Okay!" Kip's voice came back over the line. "Your tour is over by February, right?"

"Oh yeah, way before that, thankfully," Fabian said. "Why?"

"The Admirals are playing the Centaurs in Ottawa on February 21," Kip provided. "I'll come up. We can go to the game together. We can make it like a night out thing too, if you're up for it. Double date?"

It was a very nice offer. Fabian would have loved to say no to it. What he really wanted was for someone to absolve him of all of this. For someone to say 'I see you. I get it. You don't have to.' But the only one doing that was Ryan and he was the person Fabian had to do this for.

"That's kind of you. I'd like that."

"Great!" Kip said. "I'll take care of the tickets. And hey, if I promise that Harris really doesn't dislike you, would you want to join our group chat?"

"There's a group chat?" Fabian asked. "For what?"

"These days, we're mostly talking about the Kingfisher. Harris has been helping us advertise, but it's just me, Harris and Kyle. We call ourselves the HABS for fun, but it doesn't mean anything. Sometimes Ilya shows up, but we kick him out whenever he's being annoying."

"So every day then?" Fabian asked, lightly.

"Exactly," Kip laughed. "Harris always adds him back in because they're good friends somehow. I think they bond over dogs. Unclear. You want in or does that sound to annoying? I'd get it."

"I want in," Fabian said with far more actual interest than for Kip's other offer.

"Great! You're in. Okay, cool. You can complain about hockey, by the way. Kyle has some issues with what it did to Eric, so he complains about it sometimes and it's Harris' whole job so it gets to him too sometimes. It's not like we're oblivious to how much it fucking sucks and what it does to our guys, you know?"

"Got it. The closet is a dark place."

"It sure fucking is," Kip agreed.

They didn't talk much longer, but a few hours later, Fabian's phone buzzed.

 

You've been added to group chat 'HABS Without Borders'

Kip: I win.

Harris: Holy shit! Hi, Fabian!

Kyle: Welcome! You're in for some scintillating conversations about mocktails, whining about grading papers, and the worst social media ideas you've ever heard.

Harris: Wow, I can take my unpaid consultation elsewhere, Swift.

Kip: I appreciate you and considering I'm the one that does most of the social media, you can ignore him.

Fabian: Hi. What did Kip win?

Harris: I thought we'd never snag you in here, but Kip said it was a matter of time.

Kyle: He said we had black hole energy.

Harris: I'm still not sure what the means. Is it a blowjob joke?

Kip: Nothing I say during finals weeks should be held against me.

Ilya: We're making blowjob jokes? Hello, Fabian.

Fabian: Hi, Roz. I'm not making any jokes, I just got here.

Kip: Kyle is alive on a day ending in 'y', a blowjob joke is inevitable.

Ilya: Everyone is in a good mood, excellent. I have an idea.

Kip: No, thank you.

Kyle: Pass.

Harris: I vetted this one, guys, it's actually good. It's not like the one where we hunt Scott for sport.

Fabian: With what?

Ilya: Paintball! They are making a big deal of nothing. His name is Hunter. It would have been a fun pun.

Harris: I kind of liked that one too.

Kip: Still a hard pass. Leave my husband alone. What's the new idea?

Ilya: Charity game. WAGS vs HABS. We get our international friends on board to even up the teams. Maybe soccer, not hockey since they don't all skate.

Kip: Would anyone even want to see that?

Kyle: Eric would laugh his ass off, he'd probably buy five tickets.

Harris: It would be part of a larger event. A couple of the AFC Richmond guys and some of the Americans we've found from baseball and the Olympics were thinking of coming up for a summit before the Irina Foundation camps start this summer.

Fabian: What summit?

Ilya: We are organizing international queer pro athletes for charitable events and outreach. We have about thirty people now. Enough to get started with.

Fabian: I think Ryan mentioned it now that you say that. But he didn't say anything about a summit?

Harris: That's new. We just started talking about it last week. It's tricky trying to find a time everyone is off, but it looks like July is our best bet.

Ilya: Yes, and this way, if you all come with your partners, you can participate too. Yes?

Kyle: Okay, fine, that actually sounds fun. I'm in.

Kip: Me too. I bet the WAGS will have some ringers.

Ilya: Depends on who is willing to be out by then, but yes, I know one maybe.

Kyle: What do you know?

Ilya: That I would never out someone before they are ready because I am a good person?

Kyle: You hit on me in front of Eric to force him out of the closet.

Ilya: I did not. I hit on you because you are very hot and he's very slow. These two things are both true at the same time and not my fault.

Fabian: I think I've been missing out on a lot lore.

Harris: Ilya has a hobby.

Ilya: My hobby is dogs. And Shane.

Kip: I can never tell if you two are cute or top level disturbing.

Kyle: Both. It's both.

Harris: I vote cute.

Ilya: Me too.

Kyle: You don't get a vote, that's the point.

Ilya: This is not a democracy? I am in a fascist group chat? Kip, does your All-American Grandfather-Husband know this?

Ilya has been removed from the group chat.

Fabian: Isn't Scott only thee years older than him?

Harris: It's a thing.

Kip: Grandfather-Husband is new.

Kyle: I like that better than Wrinkled and Afraid: The Hunt for the Hunter.

 

It went on like that. The chat went dormant for days at a time and Fabian would almost forget about it until there was a new flurry of activity. It made for an interesting counterpoint to all the other madness of his day. His Toronto friends group chat was a far more sedate place, mostly photos sent back and forth and occasional dating gripes. It was funny, among his friends, Fabian was the only one in a long term relationship and he was often appealed to as an authority. With the HABS, Kip was the one most often tapped. Although from time to time, Ilya would swan in, drop a wisdom bomb then make a joke that got him booted again.

"That sounds like Roz," Ryan said fondly when Fabian told him about it. "I'm surprised they let him in at all."

"They all like him. I think it's more of a running joke to kick him out than it is serious. Someone always adds him back in a day or two."

"Is anyone making you uncomfortable?"

Fabian thought about Harris' exasperation with the league, how he talked about other social media managers refusing to reply to him as if his posts might contaminate them. The way Kip didn't have any public social media accounts anymore, except the Kingfisher's Insta which he curated with obsessive diligence like that might make up for it. Even Kyle, who was the most removed, mentioned going to a game with Eric and being frozen out by a clique of WAGS that he didn't even want to talk to in the first place.

"No," Fabian said. "I think a lot of people are trying to make us uncomfortable though. It's better to handle that together. It's like you said. Better as a team."

"Exactly!" Ryan's voice curled around him.

Fabian missed him like a bruise he couldn't help, but press on. "Ryan."

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you entirely, right? Completely? Madly?"

Ryan blinked and flushed a little even though it had been two years since the first time Fabian had said it. A magic trick to turn this big strong man into the blushing, easily flustered teenager that Fabian remembered well.

"I love you too. Entirely," Ryan said. "Is everything okay?"

Fabian shook his head. "No. But I'm working on it."

 

Luca Haas - December 2021

The apartment was a disaster. Luca stood in the middle of it trying not despair. He'd barely been home in weeks and he wasn't great at organizing things on the best of days. Usually it didn't matter. The only people that came over were Joey, Holmberg and Young. They didn't care if he left his clothes everywhere as long as nothing smelled rank.

The cleaning service that showed up once a week made sure that the bathroom and kitchen were spotless, the windows clean, but they left Luca's piles alone.

Now, he had three hours to make the entire place presentable. To say 'I have my life together'.

He did have his life together! He had a career, decent money, a car, a best friend, and hobbies. What he did not currently have, was enough visible floor.

With a sigh, Luca put on his current favorite workout playlist 'Pump, Thump, Repeat' and started in on the living room. Most of it was clothing and he decided that it could become the hamper's problem until it overflowed and he needed to retrieve a laundry bag. It was totally normal to have a lot of extra laundry when you'd been traveling.

Luca was totally normal. Everything was normal.

In two and a half hours, Luca performed a miracle. The apartment was not spotless because he still owned too many things for a one bedroom, but it was at least, fairly organized chaos. He'd even found his favorite colored pencils that he thought he might've left in a hotel in Vegas so that was nice.

 

Joey: Going to do the family pack for five unless you want something else?

Luca: Pack is fine. I only have soda in.

Joey: Fine by me. See you in twenty.

 

That was enough time to shower and change into clean things. Luca considered dressing up, but it wasn't actually that kind of evening, no matter how much he might hope it was. Nice jeans and a heather colored sweater that he'd carried with him over the ocean would do.

All the doormen in Luca's building knew Joey by now and Luca had left the door unlocked for them. While Luca was debating if the stubble on his chin made him look older or just careless, he heard the door open. He met his own startled eyes in the mirror.

"We're here!" Joey called out, the slightly nasal tone in their accent spiking through the apartment.

"Coming!" Luca called back.

When he stepped back into the main room of the apartment, Joey was already setting down the heavy bag of food from Luca's current favorite restaurant, the Afghani one that was midway between his and Joey's apartment buildings.

"Huh," Joey said. "I didn't know you had wood floors."

"Ha," Luca said, a little woodenly. "I tidied."

Standing beside Joey, a little shorter and smaller in every other proportion, was Sal. He grinned at Luca, showing off incisors that were sharper than the average. Luca had lost a not insignificant amount of sleep in the last month, wondering what those would feel like sinking into his shoulder or thigh.

"Hey," Sal said. "Thanks for having me over."

"Happy to have you. Thanks for coming."

They stared at each other for a long beat. The refrigerator door opened.

"Diet Coke or Fanta, Sal?"

"Fanta works," Sal said, but he didn't look away for Luca.

In the dark of the little club under a deli in New Jersey, it had been hard to make out the details of Sal's face. Luca had remedied that over the last four weeks by scrolling through Sal's Insta feed, studying each shot until he could make a sketch that came close to matching the feeling of his memory.

Now, Luca could see he'd missed things. Not the obvious, not the labret and eyebrow piercings or the incisors. Not the slight unevenness in his cupid's bow lips or the bleached tips of his shaggy mullet. It was something in Sal's eyes, the way the lids were a little sleepy, but the depths of the brown hummed with energy. Luca hadn't captured that. He'd have to start again.

"I'll get plates," Luca decided and finally unstuck his feet from the ground. "How was your flight?"

"Short and uneventful, the way I like them," Sal said. His accent was the same as Joey's, but his voice had a rasp to it that was all his own.

"Me too," Luca said fervently.

"Shit, I forgot about you guys having that whole incident, sorry."

"Fucking nightmare of an incident," Joey grimaced and took a plate from Luca. "I almost broke Wiebe's hand."

"I cracked the armrest," Luca recalled. "It was a very long afternoon."

"How do you keep getting back on planes?"

"No choice," Luca said. "And it's not so bad after the second or third time. You start to forget."

"Yeah," Joey sighed, "you do until you don't. Every time we hit turbulence now, half of us hold our breath. You can hear it."

Luca didn't like to think about it when he didn't have to. He scrambled for another topic. "How did your finals go?"

"Oh, you know," Sal said with a shrug.

"He doesn't know," Joey reminded him. "Luca is a hockey savant. Went from kantonsschule to the rink."

"Every time I teach you new words you use them again me," Luca complained. "Why are you like this?"

"I've been asking them that for six years," Sal said with a laugh. "No real answers yet. Finals suck, basically. I'm at the point where it's mostly papers instead of tests which is good except for how it's a million words to write in like two weeks. Probably did okay though. I'm graduating in the spring, but I've already got some applications in for grad school."

"Social work," Luca recalled.

"Yeah, exactly. There's a bunch of good programs near me."

In New Jersey, maybe New York, a full flight away. It was all so pointless. Luca had told himself that many times. Luca traveled more than he was in this apartment and this apartment was in the wrong country to be home.

"What will you do with it?" Luca asked.

"Save the world," Joey said with some pride as they dished out plates of kebob and rice.

"Not save it. But maybe help my little corner of it."

Over dinner Sal told Luca about kids who fell through the cracks and all the places he could put himself to potentially catch them. He talked with his hands a lot, something Joey did too. As if they couldn't get their point across with only their voice. Luca had fallen a little in love with Joey's hands for a brief weekend in December last year. He had sketched them several times.

Not for the first time, Luca wished that love had swept over Joey's entire body. It would have been complicated and hard, but it would have made sense. Like Hollander and Coach, they could work together. Play together. Joey would have loved him back. They had nearly said as much a few times, loosely drunk on Luca's couch, Luca draped over their lap feeling nothing, but safe and warm.

They had never said 'no' to each other because Joey had never formed the question and so Luca had never had to answer. Now they loved each other the way friends did and that was good. Very good. And Joey had fit their puzzle piece self into a family in a way Luca didn't entirely understand except that it made Joey relax in a way they never really let themselves.

In turn, Luca had started searching for someone that would ask him the question.

Sal asked a lot of questions.

They had maybe texted a little since the drag show.

Texted a lot.

Texted every day. Simple things. Hellos and good mornings and what's your favorite fruit? Have you ever seen the Northern Lights? Do you like dancing? What kind? How long have you been out? What's your family like? Do you miss them? What language do you dream in? What's your favorite city? Where do you like to eat?

When did you know you were different? What did you do about it? What is it like to exist in the world the way you are?

It could be friendship. Friends were good. Luca liked having friends. A friend could be kept when you lived in Canada, went home to Switzerland, bounced around America in airplanes for long months and only landed in the same city twice a year. Friends could do that.

"Should we go out?" Joey asked idly as they finished their plate and eyed up what Luca had left on his. He pushed it towards them and they fell on it savagely.

"What's the Ottawa nightlife like?" Sal asked.

"It exists," Joey said. "There's a handful of gay bars and things, but if we go, just know we get recognized now."

"Every time," Luca confirmed. "I played a full season and never once got stopped, but we came out so publicly that we can't avoid it."

"I think they have our pictures at the bar or something. There's no way there always clocking us that fast without help," Joey said which was not the first time they'd floated the theory.

"Do you always go together?" Sal asked, amusement curling on his lips.

"Mostly," Luca said. "If we go with the others, it's couples night and we become the kids."

"Such bullshit," Joey groaned. "Even Barrett does it and he's only two years older than me. Harris too. All of a sudden, I can't have a third drink."

"Yeah cause you turn into an asshole after the third one," Sal said. "That's not them treating you like a kid, that's protecting their egos."

"True!" Luca laughed.

"Filters off," Joey shrugged, untroubled by that assessment. "But it's my right to do it if I want. I'm an adult, I can handle the consequences."

"My point is they're probably clocking you two because you come in a matched set. One of you at a time is probably less of a tip off," Sal said.

"No," Luca sighed. "It happens when I'm alone too."

"I don't go alone, I wouldn't know," Joey sing-songed.

'Yes," Luca rolled his eyes. "Because you are no longer in the singles club with me."

"Very sorry," Joey said, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"Hey," Sal said, glancing from Joey to Luca with a slow growing smile. "I just realized that you'll actually tell me things about them."

"Will I?" Luca asked, blank faced as Joey started to pink up. "Why? What do you want to know that they're not telling you?"

"Every time I ask how it's going with the Pikes, they say a lot of positive adjectives at me," Sal said, fully grinning now. "I want more. Do you know more?"

"Depends," Luca smiled back. "What will you give me for the information?"

"Stop," Joey groaned. "There's nothing to tell. The configuration is unusual, but it's a normal relationship. Not that interesting."

"Oh, sure. You're fucking the guy you had a crush the size of a moon on for years and his hot wife and it's not interesting," Sal said flatly. "Luca. Help me."

"It's very sweet," Luca said with a grin he had learned from Coach. He didn't think it looked right on his face, but it made Sal give him a second glance that seemed positive, so maybe it worked on him in a different way. "It feels like it should be kind of dirty, but when you see them together, it's very family-friendly. Very G-rated throuple."

"Because we're not fucking in front of you," Joey said with a scoff.

"Sooo," Sal prodded. "What's happening after dark in the Pike house?"

"Sex," Joey said flatly.

"Come on! I know I've told you in detail about all my hookups for years. Luca?"

"I have to tell someone," Luca agreed. "Joey knows all my secrets."

"Luca works with Hayden. It's different," Joey protested. "Anyway, all you nosy assholes need to know is that it's spectacular and I'm double not single."

"Lot of missionary then?" Sal asked with wink to Luca.

"Sure," Joey rolled their eyes. "My two incredibly athletic partners who were willing to open their marriage to a person they met three months ago when I'm reasonably sure they didn't even know the word nonbinary before me are very unadventurous lovers. That tracks."

"So it's what? Constant BDSM?" Sal teased. "Puppy play?"

"Missionary BDSM?" Luca asked, eyes wide.

"Fuck the both of you," Joey said mildly. "You're just jealous. Are we going out or what?"

"Let's stay in," Luca said. "I cleaned, might as well enjoy it."

Luca had figured that would mean video games or a movie, but somehow they wound up on the couch with Sal flipping through Luca's latest sketchbook while Joey attempted to bake cookies with the stuff Luca had laying around in his kitchen. This involved a lot of texting with someone, presumably Jackie.

Which meant it was on Luca to lean over Sal, helpfully explaining each drawing to entertain him.

How terrible.

This close, Luca could see the carefully razor line of Sal's haircut and a very small tattoo of a star behind his left ear that Luca had missed before. He reached out before he could think about it, but did stop before he touched it like an idiot.

Sal caught the movement, couldn't have missed it really. His eyes darted to Luca's fingers still midair and gave him a questioning look.

"I didn't notice your tattoo," he said limply dropping his hand away. "I like it."

Sal grabbed Luca's hand. His fingers were more fine-boned than Luca's. There was nail polish on them, a much chipped forest green. Without a word, Sal guided Luca's hand back to the star, pressed one of Luca's fingertips to it. A fine short soft stubble greeted him, the tattoo itself felt like nothing, only warm skin pulled taut over bone.

"I got it when I turned eighteen," Sal said. "Joey came with me, actually. This was before they'd gotten theirs. I was the first one of our friends to get inked. I kept my whole head shaved then."

"Why a star?" Luca asked, his fingers lingering without his consent, exploring the fine fur tracing back into the longer hair at nape of Sal's neck.

"Why not?" Sal said, tilting his head a little in welcome of the touch. "I wanted something small and simple. I know Joey goes in for complicated meanings and poems, but I just wanted to have some cool ink. I've got more."

"Where?" Luca asked, ravenously curious, his eyes tracking over a lot of covered skin. "Just the one on your wrist?"

Sal dressed differently than anyone else Luca knew. A baggy brown cardigan pulled over a black t-shirt with angry white writing so distorted in it's jaggedness that Luca couldn't figure out what it said. His pants were something like jeans, but they had been patchworked in a dozen scraps in seemingly random places and had snakes of brightly colored embroidery jogging between them. There were several leather braided and wooden beaded bracelets on one of his wrists and the other had a thick-banded analog watch. Another tattoo which Luca had noticed before slid between the watch and the base of his thumb, a thorny vine that disappeared up his sleeve.

"That's part of a bigger piece," Sal said and moved away from Luca's touch to shed his cardigan, but deliberately returned to almost the same spot so Luca's hand cupped his neck.

Luca felt a flush start at the base of his neck and he willed it to stay off his face. Please, let him be cool and easy for five whole minutes.

"Is that a rose?" Luca asked as Sal turned over his wrist.

"Yep," Sal said. "Not a very good one. My artist gave me a discount because they were just starting out and needed stuff for their portfolio. I like it though. The thorns and leaves came out well."

"I like it too," Luca said and meant it.

He liked all the things about Sal that weren't polished. The lopsided rose tattoo, the mullet, the scrappy beard, the patchwork pants and mismatched clothes. Everything about them seemed exactly how they wanted it to be without giving much of a shit what anyone else might say about it.

"You ever want ink?" Sal asked as if Luca didn't have a light grip on them that could've turned into a hundred other things.

"Maybe. I don't know what I'd get," Luca said. "I have too many ideas."

"Would you design your own? That'd be cool."

"Maybe. Someday."

Luca was not thinking about getting a tattoo. He was wondering what tattoos tasted like. Could he run the tip of his tongue up over that vine from thumb to the underside of Sal's wrist where Luca could see faint blue lines of veins under his skin and up his forearm?

"Haas!" Joey called. "Where did you put the peanut butter chips I brought over?"

For the first time, in their entire acquaintanceship, Luca wanted Joey to go away. Luca was, generally, a very clingy friend. It was not something he was proud of, but he didn't know how to stop and Joey had, historically, been fine with that. Very understanding. Very indulgent.

Very fucking annoying right this second.

"They're in the freezer."

"Why?" Sal asked, bemused.

"That's where he puts things he doesn't want to accidentally eat," Joey explained and the freezer door opened. "You know how I am during the season with food? He's worse, but he's not a meal guy so it's all huge snacks all day and he'll suck up everything that's not actively too frozen to eat."

"I have more body to fill," Luca said with an eye roll.

"You're what? Six one, six two?" Sal asked.

"Mm, I don't know. I don't measure that way," Luca said.

"He knows, he just likes to pretend he doesn't understand the imperial system to be a jerk."

"Really?" Sal asked Luca with a grin.

"It's a bad system," Luca complained.

"True." With a shift, Sal's neck was even more firmly pressed into Luca's hand. "Your hands are huge."

"Are they?" Luca held up his free right hand and Sal settled theirs against it, palm to palm. It wasn't even close. Sal's fingertips fell a full knuckle short of Luca's. The silver rings, snakes, skulls, a circle of inlaid jade pressed cool against Luca's fingers. Luca could do a lot of sketches of that hand. He could do a lot of things with that hand in general.

"Okay," Joey said. "I'm missing like five things. I'm going to go to the store. And I'm buying you more blueberries, you live and die by those shits and your last carton is rotten. Tossed it for you."

"I can go."

"Nah, I got it," Joey said and when Luca finally turned to look at them, they found a look nailing him in place. "Text me if you want anything else. Parking is shit there, I'll just walk."

"It's cold," Luca protested and then wanted to punch himself in the face when Joey's eyes rolled up to the heavens. Right. Buying them time.

"Yeah, I'm going to steal your jacket, it's warmer."

It would also swamp Joey completely, but that would likely make it warmer. "Okay."

"Sal, want any exotic Canadian candy?"

"Yeah, an Aero bar would rock, actually."

"On it."

Sal was quiet as Joey rustled through the coat closet, grabbed Luca's keys, and left, door shutting behind him. Then Sal was moving, sitting himself across Luca's thighs before Luca could form a question.

"If I've been reading this wrong, say the word," Sal said. "But if I'm reading it right, they just gave us a half hour and I'd rather not waste it fucking around with will we/won't we stuff."

"I like you so much," Luca gushed out.

"Awesome," Sal declared and gripped Luca's shoulders, massaging them a little as he leaned down to kiss him.

The sample size of people Luca has kissed was not enormous. A half dozen hookups since he'd come out, two or three before that. That first kiss with Sal wasn't particularly extraordinary. It was good. Hot. Then Sal got his hand in Luca's hair and pulled a little.

"Good?" Sal asked when Luca exhaled shakily.

"Yeah. I like it a little rough," Luca admitted and then waited for the fallout.

Sure, Luca liked to be polite and kind. He was soft-spoken because he'd never seen the point in making a big noise. The way the team coddled him didn't annoy him the way it did Joey sometimes. Luca liked being the baby and the pet. It reminded him of home.

But that's not what he wanted from sex and most people seemed to be unable to reconcile that with his face and his demeanor.

"Me too," Sal said simply, worked his fingers deeper into Luca's hair and gave a good yank. "You want me to mark you up? Is that okay?"

"Please," Luca said immediately. "I've been imagining you biting me for weeks."

"Weeks, huh?" Sal studied his face.

"Yes."

"Damn, okay then."

Thirty minutes was almost endless when you had a month of horny energy pent up and a willing, extraordinary hot partner. They did adjourn to bedroom, but they did not get fully naked. In fact, Sal didn't take his pants or t-shirt off at all.

"We're not there yet."

"Okay," Luca said, his cock already out of his jeans and in Sal's hand. His sweater and shirt had disappeared by the door. "Whenever you want. How can I make you feel good?"

Sal grinned down at him. "I'm going to eat you. Fuck, you're hot. How about some good old fashioned dry humping?"

Luca was great at languages, but he wasn't perfect. His accent was light, and he knew sometimes even the team forgot that he was translating. Sometimes, he wondered if Coach had the right idea. Keep the accent thick and force other people to give you the words you were missing. It was confrontational, in a way. Forcing people to reckon with you.

Instead, Luca adapted by pretending he understood what he'd missed and usually that was fine.

Not tonight.

"I don't know that phrase," he said.

"Oh, yeah fair," Sal said, idly stroking Luca's cock in one hand which was very distracting. "We rub against each other basically."

"That sounds good. Humping sounds awful."

"It does, doesn't it?" Sal laughed, then leaned down to kiss him. "It can feel great though."

It did feel great. They made out and Sal made good on marking Luca up. He bit, pulled hair, and worked his nails into Luca's arm. Luca shoved Sal's t-shirt a little aside to suck a bruise onto his shoulder in response. Wll the while their hips worked against each other until Luca came with a shudder, streaking over his bared stomach. Sal seemed thrilled to watch that, then grabbed Luca's hand and pressed it to his crotch, working against it until he started shaking in a promising way and bit down on Luca's neck.

Gasping, Luca clutched at him, his dick twitching as if it could summon the strength to rise again.

"Fuuuck," Sal mumbled against the red mark he'd rendered. "That was hot as hell."

"Yes," Luca said, cupping the back of Sal's neck again, rubbing his thumb over his hair line. "I wasn't sure if you were flirting with me when we were texting."

"I was," Sal said. "You're hot and you keep up your half of the conversation. It's interesting. I like interesting."

"You interest me too," Luca said. "We're far away though."

With a stretch, Sal sat up again. He was rumpled, but not nearly as much of a mess as Luca. "Guess so. So we'll talk. See each other next time you play Jersey at home. "

"I'm supposed to go meet the Yolens. Their mother threatened to feed me."

"Oh, she loves me," Sal winked at him. "She used to think I'd marry Joey for her, take them off their hands, no matter how many times they told her we were just friends. I'll get myself invited too. Eat dinner and then we'll make an escape. I can show you my shitbox apartment."

"I want to see it."

"Then we'll make it happen."

They were back on the couch, mostly set to rights by the time Joey got back. Joey didn't ask any questions or make a comment, only set down the groceries and started baking again, talking about the other patrons at the grocery store at ten o'clock at night.

It was mostly normal after that. Just hanging out. They ate oven hot cookies, too impatient to let them cool and talked shit. Finally, they did play video games and Sal beat both of them at Mario Kart. When yawning started, Joey shepherded Sal back out to the door.

"Sorry," Joey said when they reappeared alone the next afternoon. "Should I have left him here last night? I just-"

"He's your friend. He came to visit you, not me," Luca cut them off. "I did eat all the cookies though."

"All of them?" Joey asked, eyes wide. "Dude. You're going to explode."

"They were really good."

"Yeah, they're Jackie Pike approved, of course they're good."

It wasn't until they were both comfortable on the couch, some show Joey had picked playing that Luca said, "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to make a mess of things with your friend."

"No one knows what they're doing," Joey said. "I'm pretty much living in low level terror all day, every day when I'm not with Hayden or Jackie. It's okay when I'm with them, but any time to think? Danger."

"Really?"

"Really. You think I know what I'm doing? Absolutely fucking not, but I'm happy, so I'm going to hang out until I figure it out," Joey said. "I love Sal. He'll always be the guy that got me before anyone else did, but it's not like it used to be. Maybe it won't be again. But I trust him with my best friend, for sure. And if it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out. Neither of you are the kind to make me pick sides, but if you did…it's you. Okay?"

"Okay," Luca said and lay down, to rest his head on Joey's lap where he'd always been welcome for better or worse. "It's far. New Jersey."

"Yeah," Joey sighed. "Tell me about it. But it's also only an hour long flight. So. Depends on how you add up the miles."

"Kilometers."

"Whatever. Point is, it's only a short flight."

Luca watched someone on screen blow into a long pipe. Glass grew in a wobbly bubble, superheated and impossibly delicate without breaking.

"We're not playing there until March."

"Good thing phones have cameras," Joey said philosophically.

"That's true," Luca muttered then froze. He rolled on his back and looked up at Joey. "Do you prop it up on the nightstand?"

"Nope," Joey said. "Absolutely not. What happens between me, Hayden, and Jackie on FaceTime is none of your business."

"Of course," Luca said seriously.

"It's so hot though," Joey blurted. "She's really good with words and Hayden is like crazy good at taking direction?"

Luca paused, imagined that a little. The bite mark on his shoulder throbbed pleasantly. "Why are you with me instead of over there?"

"Jackie's sister is visiting," Joey said. "We're not there yet."

Like Sal's pants.

"My gain," Luca decided and turned back on his side. "Gym before dinner?"

"Sounds good. Leg day."

"If we have to."

 

Sal: Back in the shitbox. I'll send you pics later.

Luca: Want to FaceTime after your shift tonight? Talk more?

Sal: Absolutely.

Luca: Would it be okay if I drew you while we talked? I like your face.

Sal: Who is going to say no to that? Do I get a copy when it's done?

Luca: Only if it's good enough to share.

Sal: Who gets to decide that?

Luca: Me.

Sal: Okay. But do I get to make a persuasive argument if I disagree?

Luca: Yes. As long as I can still say no.

Sal: You can always say no. But I hope you say yes.

 

Rose Landry- January 2022

The first class lounge at Logan had a bar and a tiny printed menu that Rose was ignoring in favor of eating the salad she had bought in Florence many hours ago. Some part of her never stopped being her mother's daughter and the idea of simply throwing away the creamy goat cheese, cranberries and wilted lettuce in favor of something fresh disturbed her. Waste not, want not.

Rose was waiting. She was excellent at waiting. Sometimes, she thought it was her best skill and why she had made it as far as she had. Lots of girls were pretty and could act well enough. Not many could sit in the long expectant silences and then come back to life like a doll taken off the shelf as well as she could. She had only gotten better at it the past few years, long hours in makeup chairs bonding her to a dozen makeup artists. Some of them she talked to more than she had her actual mother though she still dutifully called home once a week.

Rose Landry, actress, doll, professional wait-er, dutiful daughter, fun sister, and personable interviewee.

Thank fuck that she would see Shane soon. He understood this part of her better than anyone. The part that felt tired of lurking behind the eyes of the person she was most of the time. Even if he'd been attracted to her, Rose didn't think they would've worked out. You had to be a little delusional for love to work and they could not delude each other. Too similar, in the end.

A man in a suit walked by her, slowed, glanced at her and opened his mouth. She waited, patient. But he closed his mouth and gave her a very stiff nod. I see you and I'm not saying anything, aren't I behaving? Yes. Good boy. Keep walking.

He kept walking. Rose didn't breathe out a sigh of relief because there was always another one and another. Some days she welcomed the attention, but she was tired and she'd been in the air for hours already. Still not done.

She finished her salad, threw the container out herself and returned to her table. No phone, no headphones. The doll on the shelf, waiting.

The doors opened and a woman stepped in, scanning the room.

Rose had seen pictures. She knew that she would be gorgeous, full head of dark curls and more of a movie star face than Rose herself had. Slightly built, but a presence immediately. A deep purple hoodie designed to show off a strip of toned stomach, matching leggings and sneakers that were never intended for running. A model for athleisure that any magazine would be thrilled to have.

Svetlana Vetrova, a woman Rose knew only by name and a few photos, found her target. Her eyes locked on Rose and a very small smile played over her lips. As she came towards Rose's table, Rose stood. Activated. Awake.

"Hi," Rose said. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"It is," Svetlana said. "I have been asking Shane for months to introduce us, you know."

"He mentioned," Rose said. "Do you want anything to drink? Eat?"

"Mm, no," Svetlana decided and sat down. "I had breakfast already. You?"

"I just had lunch. My inner clock is all wrong."

"Ah, yes. When I get home from traveling, I eat breakfast for every meal until I get back to normal," Svetlana told her, that tiny smile edging up a little more. "Breakfast is always good."

"That's true." Rose smiled back, she hoped it wasn't her press smile. That found it's way on her face without permission more and more often these days. "You can always have french toast."

"I like your sweater," Svetlana said, perusing Rose's body with the kind of interest a designer might have. "Where did you get this?"

"I stole it," Rose admitted. "Off a movie set two years go. We're really not supposed to take wardrobe, but I do all the time. It's terrible."

"Someone else picks out beautiful things for you and you don't get to keep them? I think that's the terrible thing," Svetlana declared and the polite smile broke out of containment, going broad and toothy. It was a great smile. "Tell me about other things you've taken."

"Promise not to rat me out?" Rose asked with faux fear. "I could get in trouble."

"I will tell you one of my secrets too," Svetlana promised. "We can have something on each other."

"Do you have a lot of secrets?" Rose asked.

Leaning in, Sveltlana's perfume carried between them. It was startlingly dark, a little masculine with a cedar note in it. "I think most women are made of secrets, don't you?"

"I never thought about it," Rose said, leaning in a little too.

You match energy. That was acting. You found the pitch your co-star sang at and you made a harmony with it. Rose was great at that. It made her good at forming connections fast and with a smile. Survival at first, then thriving.

Rose didn't have to change her own pitch to sing along with Svetlana. They were already in tune. Which only made sense. Why wouldn't they?

"We are." Sveltana's eyes danced with amusement. "What are we even meeting here for if not a secret?"

"Not our secret," Rose pointed out. "This is all Ilya's doing."

"He thinks it is, I'm sure," Sveltana laughed quietly. "But it wasn't his idea that you and I should meet here instead of there. He would like it, if shook hands for the first time in front of him and Shane. So he can take credit for us saying hello."

"You suggested meeting here? Taking the same flight in?"

"Yes," Sveltana said with evident satisfaction. "I wanted us to meet on our own terms. Say hello before the boys get to tell us what to think of each other. Already you have shopped in stores I recommended and I have worn the slippers you left behind in the guest room when my feet were cold."

"I borrowed your face wash last time I was there," Rose admitted. "I forgot mine. I bought yours afterwards, it's better."

They were haunting each other in a house in Ottawa, chasing each other across guest rooms and the guest bathroom. Rose hadn't considered that for every tiny bit of Svetlana she'd taken while she was with Shane, Sveltana had stolen a bit of her return when she visited Ilya. Of course she had. Sveltana was there far more often than Rose with her dedicated room.

"It is a very good brand," Svetlana said with some satisfaction. "So, now we can know each other without them between us."

"It's not a very long flight," Rose pointed out. "We'll have to talk fast."

"Agreed. Tell me more about your thefts, Rose," Svetlana rolled her name over her tongue.

"The best one was socks. I know that sounds nuts, but these were probably the best socks I've ever worn. Socks knit by angels, maybe."

It was so easy to talk to her. It reminded Rose a little of meeting Shane, the way they had slipped into depth almost immediately, bypassing small talk after the first twenty minutes. They talked their way through boarding and into their seats beside each other. Sveltana's seat had been a few rows back, but she'd smiled and chatted at the man with a ticket for the one next to Rose's and suddenly it was vacant. Svetlana sat down and picked up her story about selling a Ferrari to a drunk duke.

The flight whipped by. Rose didn't hear the take off announcements, she was too busy laughing.

Mid-flight, suspended between two countries, Svetlana's hand alighted on Rose's shoulder, plucking away a white bit of fuzz. Her nails were perfectly oval and painted blush pink. Rose pink. They grazed a little of Rose's hair. Barely a touch.

They plane landed with them still chatting, then falling into step with each other.

"Do you have a bag checked?" Svetlana asked.

"Oh no, I had my stuff sent on home," Rose said, patting the singular tote she'd carried with her. "This is enough for two nights."

"I'm only staying for one."

One night and it would be full of the boys' celebrations.

"I'm really glad we flew together," Rose said. "You were right. It was better."

"I know," Svetlana said. "I knew I'd like you."

"I knew I'd like you too."

The car service was waiting, sweeping them to the rink.

It was all excitement after that, no waiting. Everything had been timed, their arrival the last step in a month's long carefully executed plan. Rose didn't get teary eyed at romantic scenes. It was hard sometimes, to separate the real from the things she did for work. Engagements had stopped feeling magical when she'd had to play one out fifty times in front of a dozen cameras.

But it was still beautiful and she was still thrilled to play a part in Shane's happiness. The way he fell to his knees gave her a sharp spike of joy. How in love he was. How good it must feel to be loved back so entirely.

"Let's go bother them," Svetlana suggested and offered Rose her arm.

They were well-matched on the ice, both comfortable enough with skating to move in tandem without threatening to take each other down. They waited their turn, unwilling to be knocked down in the scrum of eager oversized men with more excitement than sense.

Waiting was always better with someone else.

"You're the worst," Shane told her even as he pulled her into a hug. "I can't believe you pumped me for information and fed it to the enemy."

Rose held him back a little too hard, but his strength was nothing on hers. He probably didn't even notice.

"It was for your own good," she scolded. "I wanted you to get engaged before you grew old and died. Also, I sort of agreed with him. It was his turn."

"It was not," Shane said right into her ear. "Thank you."

Her grip only intensified. He'd been hers. Once. Briefly. Not really, ever, but Rose was allowed to make peace with that however she wanted. She released him and said genuinely, "You're welcome."

The restaurant was loud and everyone moved seats over and over. Rose talked to Luca, who was very sweet and good about not asking all the questions he had for her, and Dillion, who was on again with his girlfriend and eager to talk to someone that wasn't sick of hearing about it.

"Sorry about him," Hayden said, somehow getting seats moved so he took Dillion's place. "Nice to see you again."

"Good to see you too," Rose said though she was sure they had only met once very briefly. Shane talked about Hayden a lot. Probably more than Hayden would like recently, but she could keep secrets. Women were, apparently, made of them. "How's the family?"

Across the table, a person Rose had never formally met, but knew to be Joey Yolen was listening to Wyatt with rapt attention. Hayden's gaze strayed to them over and over even as he talked to Rose about kindergartens and developmental stages. It was charming and Rose was absolutely going to rat him out to Shane later, even though Shane probably already knew about his friend's new found concentration problems.

When the noise reached it peak, the boys trying to out do each other talking about romantic nights past, Rose felt the old frustration of being alone in a crowded room when her brothers' had thrown parties.

Several seats away, Svetlana shifted. Their eyes met. A chin inclined.

They went to the bathroom together, an unquestioned feminine activity. The sinks were empty and they stood in front of the wide mirror, regarding each other's reflections until Sveltana started to laugh. "What idiots. Nice ones, of course."

And Rose laughed along with her. "Very nice ones. But Valentine's Day is such a low bar! Did they not just see the same engagement we did?"

"One that we helped engineer," Svetlana said. "What would they have done if left to themselves?"

"Chased each other across the city until someone tripped and fell onto a ring?"

They laughed louder, bent over the sinks until Rose accidentally triggered the sensor and it sprayed water up onto her. Which didn't help their joint hysteria.

"Here, here," Svetlana said, grabbing paper towels and reaching over to blot up the worst of it. "It's not too much. But it's so cold out there, you'll freeze."

"Thank you," Rose said, staring down at the top of Svetlana's head. Her hair was so perfect, each curl so tightly wound.

When Svetlana straightened, she was so close that Rose could see the places her lipstick had come away with lunch. Tiny flaky spots. Rose could rub those away for her. She didn't move. Svetlana stepped back.

The Rozanov-Hollander household was heaving at the seams that night. Everyone from lunch came back to the house, including Yuna and David. Their presence tempered some of the worst party impulses at least, the music staying below club-level sounds and no one suggesting shots.

"I can't believe my boy is engaged," Yuna said as Rose dutifully brought her wine that the boys couldn't, swarmed as they were by their co-workers. "There were years when I thought it might never happen for him."

"And now he will be okay for life," Svetlana said, appearing at Yuna's other side as if she had always been there. "Ilyusha will take care of him and he will take care of Ilyusha and none of us will have to worry anymore."

"You'll see," Yuan shook her head, "being a mother means the worry never ends."

Without a word, Svetlana met Rose's eyes. Never, they seemed to say and Rose fervently tried to send back, same.

"I don't worry about Shane," Rose said lightly. "He does that enough for me and him."

"If I spent time worrying about Ilyusha, he would know some how and call to tell me off," Sveltana said with a curl of amusement. "This is not allowed."

Lies, naturally. But the kind that made Yuna smile at them both and change the subject.

"Mm, no," Ilya said twenty minutes later approaching the three of them.Then said in the exact same way Sveltana had said mockingly: "This is not allowed."

"Silencing women already? Is it misogyny o'clock?" Rose asked.

"Do not," Ilya groaned. "I am allowed to stop conspiracies against me and my fiance."

"How much do you want to say that word every five seconds?" Sveltana sipped her wine.

"More than I want to breathe," Ilya admitted without hesitation. "Sveta, please."

"We are talking about public relations, not you," she said with an eye roll. "Narcissist."

"It's my special day. Why would you not be talking about me?" He teased.

"That's wedding days, not engagements. You know that."

"And I know you are not talking about ad campaigns because Rose is giggling. No one giggles about ads."

"I was not," Rose protested. "No giggling."

"Little bit," Shane said, but he had the bottle of wine and was refilling her glass, so he was forgiven.

"Let me see your ring," Rose insisted. "I didn't get a good look at it before."

Shane put his hand in hers with a ring on it and it was like two realities laid over each other for a brief moment. This was the better one. In this one she could admire and release it. Release him, a little. Keep the good parts and let the rest of him go to stand under Ilya's arm.

Eventually, the Hollanders said good night. Twenty minutes later, Ilya unceremoniously unplugged the sound system and announced, "If you have a dick or are married to a dick, you have to leave."

"Ilya!" Shane scolded.

"What?" Ilya demanded. "If I am polite, they will stay here until three am."

"What if we don't think our husbands are dicks?" Jackie asked.

"You also have to leave because you are wrong," Ilya said, a little apologetically. "But I respect your choices even when I do not understand them."

"Thank you," Jackie laughed, getting up her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Congratulations again."

"I hope you're very happy together," Hayden said so flatly that Rose had to stifle a laugh in her palm. She'd had far too much wine.

Eventually, it was only the four of them left. Svetlana winked at Rose then asked lightly, "Who wants to watch a movie?"

"A long one," Rose said immediately. "Something epic. I really want to sink into the couch with my favorite guys and dig in."

Shane froze and Ilya's eyes narrowed.

"Oooooh, double feature!" Svetlana suggested.

"Yes, you're so smart. We can maximize our quality time together, Shane!"

Ilya reached out and slapped a hand over Shane's mouth. "They are joking. We are going to bed. If you agree to watch a movie, I will be forced to pick you up and throw you over my shoulder in front of them. Do you want this, Hollander?"

"We're going to actually watch a movie," Rose said. "Very loudly. For hours."

Shane went tomato red, turned on his heels and stalked away towards their room, Anya trotting along after him.

"Hey," Svetlana squatted down, "come here pretty little girl, you're with us. I have treats."

The dog didn't even hesitate in giving up her loyalties, dashing to Svetlana's side hopefully.

"Thank you," Ilya said, touching Svetlana's shoulder lightly. "Good night. We will say hello again in the morning."

"We'll go out and get breakfast, bring it back to you in case you can't walk so well," Svetlana said, actually producing a treat from her pocket.

"Good idea," Ilya laughed and stalked after his fiance like a wolf on the scent of a deer.

"I think the guest room is further than your room," Rose speculated. "But I don't think the TV in there has surround sound."

"Mine is good. They're not that loud and it's more comfortable."

Rose changed into pajamas, a matched set in pink flannel to ward off the chill that seeped into even the best houses this time of year. Svetlana had stayed in her sweats, but switched her hoodie for black thermal shirt.

"Do you actually bite?" Rose asked, tapping the sign on the door.

"Only if he really pisses me off," Sveltana shrugged.

The room was clearly not a guest room. Rose had peeked into it before and seen things littered over the chest of drawers and the homey rug by the bed where Anya was now happily curled up. There was nothing temporary about the space though it also wasn't very lived in. Like Rose's house in L.A. that she vaguely thought of as home, but lived in for a collective three or four months a year.

Svetlana had put music on, something bluesy and soft. The bedside lamps had dark lampshades so there was enough light to see, but it was muted, spreading around the room like butter.

"What do you want to watch?" Svetlana asked.

"I'm terrible with movies and shows," Rose admitted. "It's a little too much like work sometimes."

"Hockey?" Svetlana floated, a note of hope in her voice. "L.A. is playing tonight. We can root for them."

"I would be kicked out of my family immediately. Who are they playing?'

"Vancouver." Svetlana sat down on the bed.

"No good choices then," Rose sighed and sat down beside her. She sank in a few inches. A lot of comforters. "We could make fun of both of them."

"Good choice."

They never got around to turning on the game. The music played on as their conversation picked back up where they'd left it in the airport. Then it slid to the afternoon, the proposal. Marriage. Children. The look they had exchanged picked apart.

"I don't want to be someone's wife," Svetlana said, rolling onto her back, her head hanging a little off the bed, curls cascading down. "I don't want someone else in my house telling me how to live or worse, waiting for me to tell them how to live."

"I'd like it one day," Rose mused, laid out on her stomach, cheek pressed to to her folded arms. "When they start casting me as a mother or a district attorney."

"Just those two?"

"It's what happens when you turn thirty-five. Your fake children are in their twenties and you're a nag or you wear a power suit and have no personal life. That's when it's safe to get married. Better really because if you're single than you're in tabloids every ten minutes, pairing you with any man you stood next to for ten minutes. Marriage can save you from that a little, if you're boring enough about it."

"You're not boring," Svetlana pointed out. "You wouldn't marry someone boring."

"We can be interesting in private. I don't know. I haven't met the right guy yet anyway."

"And does Rose Landry only kiss men?" Svetlana asked. She hadn't moved. Her tone didn't change. The question was asked with the same weight as everything else Sveltana had asked her: deadly serious and with a smirk lingering behind it.

"I've only ever kissed men," Rose said. Other people had asked her that over the years. It didn't make her uncomfortable anymore. Very little did. You couldn't be uncomfortable in front of reporters.

"Ah, let me change my question then. Does Rose Landry only want to kiss men?"

Rose sighed. "What does it matter? I like men. I get men. I get to keep my career and the life that I want."

"You don't want to be Lesbian Landry." Svetlana nodded. "I understand that. I'm not like Ilyusha. I want to go home a few times a year to see my father and my cousins. My friends. Moscow still loves me as I show myself to be. So I only kiss women here, quietly."

"Secretly," Rose ventured.

"Secretly," Sveltana confirmed. "But not an ugly secret. One that I keep for myself and a few women I respect a great deal."

"It's good that you can do that," Rose said, the game covering something that might've been a masculine groan or maybe her own stomach, gurgling through dinner. Turning over. Nerves fluttering. Warning signs. "Be yourself and keep home going."

"It is good. Would it be good for you too?" Svetlana asked and she still didn't move. Her tone still didn't change.

Was it an invitation? A test? Rose didn't know how to play it. She didn't know what mask to put on. So she only stared at Svetlana, waiting for a little more.

Svetlana met her eyes and stared back. Her lips parted, only a little. She chest rose and fell with easy breath. Unhurried. Unconcerned.

They waited each other out and finally it was Rose that had to say, "We're going to see a lot of each other, maybe for the rest of our lives. I don't want to make things awkward."

"Then we won't," Svetlana smiled slowly as if she'd gotten exactly what she wanted. "We will have one night together. A secret shared. Maybe if it's good enough then when we're both here, we have other nights. If it's not then we both learned something and we're the kind of friends who had sex once. Eventually, we will laugh about it."

"Will we?" Rose asked. "You can't promise that."

"Of course I can." Svetlana pushed herself up onto her elbows. "But only if you promise too. It's the kind of thing that takes two people to agree on. Do you promise to laugh with me about tonight some day? Years from now, maybe, when we are both being aunts to however many children our boys have?"

It wasn't hard to imagine. There were other rooms in this house, untouched still. Places that were waiting for more. Rose would like to be an aunt to whatever children Shane and Ilya summoned into their lives by sheer will. To share that with Svetlana would be no hardship. They would both flit in and out of this house, adding their two cents and their gifts and their hugs to all the other love that would grow here.

And when it got too much, would she and Svetlana retire into this room and talk like they were girls with each other? Would this moment, both of them not yet thirty, linger enough to laugh about when they were forty?

Remember when you propositioned me and I hesitated? Do you remember when we kissed? We talked about secrets and now this one has gone dusty in the attic full of them. How silly we were to do that! Overcome with the day, the romance of the afternoon on a rink with our boys, who were so foolish for so long. Who can even remember what that was like when they have been married for so long? Who were the women that kissed in that bed?

Who were the women that didn't?

"I promise," Rose decided. "If you don't mind that I don't know what I'm doing."

"I don't. Come, sit up. We won't start with such a bad angle or you'll think I'm terrible at this."

Svetlana got on her knees, sinking into those plush covers and Rose mimicked her, falling back on the ease of the mirror. With a soft sigh, Svetlana reached out to cup Rose's cheek. Her hands were soft and smelled like some creamy lotion. There were only faint remains of her perfume, the last fading note of cedar.

"So beautiful," Svetlana said softly, then she closed the distance between them.

The kiss was lush. Indulgent. Svetlana took her time and Rose sank into it. It was like being slowly submerged in a bath that was almost too hot, each moment thinking that this would scald, would hurt, but instead every muscle relaxed and gave way to the water. Without her permission, Rose's hands settled on Svetlana's waist, her thumbs skimming just under the the thermal shirt to feel a hint of skin.

The favor was returned. Svetlana kept one hand on Rose's face as the other went to her chest, sliding down under her pajama top. Rose braced herself for some attempt at her breasts, but Svetlana curved her hand over Rose's shoulder instead. A gentle massage there, a reassurance.

"You're gorgeous," Rose told her, trying to return the earlier compliment even as her head spun.

"Mm," Sveltana's lips trailed down to press kisses to Rose's neck. "I am. But am I sexy to you? Do you want to touch me?"

"I do," Rose confessed, a squirming ball of heat in her stomach and want in her fingertips.

Svetlana pulled back and for a moment, disappeared in a rustle of black cloth, then her curls cascaded back, her lovely face and her bare chest. "Then touch. There is nowhere that is not for you tonight."

For Rose, sex had generally been something fun she did with someone she liked. A game to be played where everyone won at the end. It was it's own kind of performance too. See this angle of me, hear this moan. But that was something that had come with time, experience and several disappointments with men who did not want to see her or hear her, not really.

Right now, Rose felt sent back to to square one. She was in her trailer with her co-star, both of them eighteen and heady with too much success too young. Her hands had shook and she wouldn't let him kiss her too much in case her makeup artist noticed the mess. It had been fun though. Stressful. He didn't seem to like it much in the end. He never came out, but Rose had marked him on the board anyway as a 'maybe'.

Her hands shook now too. There was nothing 'maybe' about Svetlana though. She guided Rose to her, then let her be. Let her explore and encouraged her with tiny amounts of pressure in her hands on Rose's shoulders. The weight of a breast in Rose's palm, the taste of a nipple, stiff and interested under her tongue were revelations.

Eventually, their inequality seemed ridiculous and Rose shed her own top, casting it aside.

"Look at you," Svetlana said and Rose didn't need to look. She knew her body too well. But she liked to be looked at. "Lay down?"

Rose went down as if struck, forgetting to make a good pose of it. Whatever she did, Svetlana must've liked because she ran her hands down Rose's chest, her sides, over her stomach and back up against to cup her breasts, thumbs running over Rose's nipples with hungry interest.

"Good?" Svetlana asked.

"So fucking good," Rose breathed out, unsteadily. "You can…yes. More. Please."

"You can have whatever you want." Then Svetlana's mouth was on her and Rose knew the sound she made wasn't hot or cute, it was desperate and wanting.

The promise of the flick of Svetlana's tongue made Rose's head spin and that heat in her stomach spilled down into her pussy, in her thighs.

"I want all of it," Rose said to the ceiling, to Svetlana's curls. "Whatever I can have."

"Mm, small problem." Svetlana pulled away only a little, studying her own hand. The pretty gloss of her polish caught the dim light. "If I leave you here, will you panic? Even if it's only for two minutes?"

"No," Rose said."

With a frown, Svetlana studied her face. "Yes, you will, I think. No panic. Come to the bathroom with me."

"Why?" Rose asked, but she reached for her shirt. With a laugh, Svetlana got to it first and tossed it off the side of the bed. "Hey."

"They're not coming back out of their room tonight. We're alone enough. Come."

It was very weird to cross the hallway, half-naked, but they were on the other side of the house and it was quiet. Anya didn't even stir from the rug as they left. The bathroom was familiar to Rose, a shower she had used several times. It was large, but it felt small when Svetlana bracketed her against the sink, leaning up to kiss her again, even as she fiddled with the lights, taking the clinical brightness back down into dim romance.

"Stay," Svetlana said playfully, dotting a kiss on Rose's neck again, before pulling back to look through a drawer. "Yes! I knew I left this here."

A little manicure kit appeared and as Rose watched, Svetlana cut the perfect ovals on two of her fingers down to a square.

"Oh, you don't have to-" Rose started and Svetlana gave her a baleful look. "I guess it's too late."

"You don't want those cutting you up. It's hard to do this with my left hand. Here." Svetlana handed her a nail file. "Can you? Please?"

Taking it, the familiar tool turned foreign in Rose's hand. Then Svetlana offered up her hand to Rose and she took that too, slim fingers fitting against her own. In the twilight, Rose held Svetlana's hand and took in the enormity of the moment. Svetlana met her gaze, patient. Waiting.

"All right," Rose said and gently filed away the rough edges as Svetlana watched her. "They'll be all uneven now."

"I have done a lot worse to do things I wanted to do a lot less," Svetlana said quietly. "Nails grow back."

Running her thumb over both nails and finding them smooth, Rose tucked the nail file away again. "Done."

"Mm, but we are only starting. You want more kissing. Those lips require more kissing."

They made out in the bathroom until Rose's ass went numb from being pressed against the counter.

"Uncomfortable," she whispered.

"Ah, your peach skin will bruise," Sveltana laughed, and drew away. She took Rose's hand, leading her back to the bedroom like she might run.

"I'm tough," Rose protested. "Not a peach."

"No? Too bad. I love eating peaches until the juice drips down my chin."

Rose groaned. "Why is that hot? That should not be hot."

"Why not? I'm very hot and I said it."

Dropping back down on the bed, Rose lifted her hips and skimmed out of her pants and underwear in one push. She wanted to show willingness. Also her underwear had started stick to her unpleasantly where she's soaked through them. Standing at the end of the bed, Svetlana's eyebrows flew up.

"Wow," she said then grinned. "Rose, I like you."

"I like you too," Rose said. "You like me because I took off my pants?"

"Oh no, I liked you in the airport bar, all bundled up in your cozy good girl drag. I like you more like this though."

Svetlana cast off her own bottoms as easily as she had her shirt. Before Rose could take her in, Svelana was kneeling between Rose's barely parted knees, making room for herself. She ran her hands up Rose's thighs with a throaty noise of appreciation.

"I like how you touch me," Rose breathed out.

"I want to touch more. All over. I want to lick you open and finger you until you come at least twice. Can I?" Svetlana asked.

"I don't usually come more than once."

"Okay." Svetlana leaned down to kiss Rose's stomach. Her curls tickled. "Until you want me to stop then. Yes?"

"Yes," Rose said, the word trembling a little around the edges even though she meant it with her whole body.

The word was a spell. It set loose whatever Svetlana had held back so as not to scare her off. She moved fast her hands sliding up under Rose's ass, kneading there a little as she returned her mouth to one of Rose's nipple, kitten licks knocking moans out of Rose one after the other.

Right when Rose was about to beg, Svetlana started moving, the point of her nose dragging a little over Rose's side. It forced Rose's legs further apart to accommodate her until Svetlana's lips pressed to rise of Rose's pubic bone, her body cradled between Rose's thighs.

"Don't touch my hair," Svetlana warned gently though Rose's hands were still uselessly limp against the sheets. "But you can grab me anywhere else you want."

Whatever reply Rose might've summoned from that disappeared as Svetlana's tongue darted out and her fingers spread Rose wide. Rose had gotten good head before, had dedicated men eat her out with some enthusiasm. This was not good. This was say goodbye to your measuring stick fantastic.

Svetlana didn't eat Rose out, she sat down to a seven course meal and made sure every bite got taken. She wrote in cursive with her tongue over Rose's clit until she found the words that unlocked Rose's unfiltered panting curses and then dove down to tonguefuck her until those curses turned to messy, pleading whimpers. Back up again to describe those new vistas to Rose's clit with two neatly trimmed fingers sliding up into Rose like they were always meant to be there. They hooked a little, searching until Rose had to bring her arm up to muffle the wail that threatened to rise in her.

The pace Svetlana set with her fingers was languid until Rose started to thrust against it, begging for more. It was given to her, hard, fast and relentless and the orgasm that had been distant rushed towards Rose and unleashed over her, sending her shaking and whining and sweating.

And Svetlana didn't stop. Not her lips, not her tongue, not her fingers.She did something with her fingers, separating them a little maybe, making them bigger and even harder to ignore. Some polite part of Rose wanted to point out that the destination had been reached and Svetlana could stop and have her turn. All was well, mission complete.

But as Svetlana went on working her, kept licking over her, another wave built in Rose. She felt it coming, disbelief rising with it. But instead of saying stop, Rose begged, "Harder again? Please? Oh please…"

She got what she wanted. Svetlana was a tidal wave, unstoppable. For maybe only the third time in her life, Rose came a second time, head thrown back and her hands wrapped around Svetlana's arms in an attempt not to get washed out to sea.

"No more," she gasped when it was clear Svetlana was entirely willing to keep going. "Please, no more."

Every nerve ending tingled and her pussy throbbed, not in pain, but in overload, ever tiny movement sending secondary zings of pleasure through her thrumming nerves. Svetlana sat back, a goddess in the faded light, her mouth and chin shining with fluid. She met Rose's eyes and deliberately licked her lips slowly.

"All done, sladkaya?" She asked, voice thick with amusement.

"How did you do that?" Rose demanded. "I can't feel my bones. I don't think they exist any more."

"Good. You don't need them. You can lay here and be beautiful with me," Svetlana laughed. "Do you want to taste yourself?"

"I- yeah," Rose said, the thought immediately invasive. She wanted to kiss, to taste.

Svetlana covered her, pressing Rose down with all her weight which wasn't very much. She kissed her with hunger, sharing now all that artfulness that she'd used on Rose's clit on Roses' tongue. At last, Rose's hands came unstuck and she traced down Svetlana's back, marveling at how she was soft all over, except for her ass which spoke of muscle dearly earned and worked for. When Rose dug her fingers in a little, Svetlana moaned into her mouth.

"I can't cut my nails for you, I'm sorry," Rose said. "Because that was actually incredibly hot, but I have a photoshoot. What can I do instead?"

"Ah, you are lucky that I have so many good things here," Svetlana laughed against her lips. She sat up again and reached for her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a silky black bag. "You've never put your mouth on a woman before."

"I can try it," Rose murmured. "I've thought about it before. A lot."

"A lot?" Svetlana asked, even as she drew out the kind of sex toy that looked more like a sculpture. It was a soft purple, gently rounded, only very vaguely suggesting the idea of a penis. The buttons jumped into glowing life when Svetlana touched them. "So much and you never did anything about it?"

"I've been famous since before I started having sex," Rose said with a shrug, attention mostly on the toy. "And like I said. Men are easy."

"Easy is boring," Svetlana kissed her again and a buzzing sound started up. "You can use this on me, no fingers needed. If you want to get your mouth on me, then you can."

"I might be bad at it," Rose said.

"You might. I don't care. The toy can do the work and you can figure out the rest. When I tell you, hit the plus button. I like to increase it slowly."

Rose thought they'd roll over, but Svetlana only knee crawled up the bed until Rose was surrounded by her, the dark promising folds between her legs nearly at Roses' mouth. The toy was pressed into Rose's hand.

"Work it in slowly," Svetlana instructed. "Or just hold it and let me do it."

Absolutely not. Rose was participating if it killed her. The toy buzzed in Rose's hand, pleasant on it's lowest setting. She ran it down the seam of Svetlana's body, her other hand splayed on Svetlana's thigh where she could feel the faintest tremors in her muscles. A shift and those lips parted, invited Rose in. There was something not too dissimilar at home in Rose's bedside drawer, she knew the principles. So she teased it over Svetlana's inner lips, the buzzing making her pull her own thighs together. Rose still ached there, phantom fingers folded inside her.

"Like that," Sveltana encouraged, far too clear and even.

The toy gained purchase and Rose slid the tip of it in. She moved slowly, Svetlana's hips swaying towards her, but without demand. She let Rose tease her a little and then sighed in satisfaction when Rose pushed in, the wet sound of it entering echoing like thunder in Rose's ears.

Only when the toy was fully settled in Svetlana, the buzz muted into near silence by flesh, did Rose dare to say, "Come closer. Let me try."

"Brave," Svetlana said and it didn't sound teasing at all. With her first awkward motion of the night, Svetlana had to catch herself on the headboard to tilt herself and Rose caught her waist to help her.

When Rose got the right angle, she took in a breath and closed the distance. She licked tentatively, unable to see her target exactly in the dim light and then at all as she moved in closer. But to the her surprise, it wasn't hard to find with the tip of her tongue. The taste was briny, a diluted ocean and very human, unmistakable as anything else, but it was far more pleasant than semen. She liked the slickness on her lips, and she loved the way Svetlana said her name, accent thickened and the S sliding into a Z.

It was messy immediately, in the best sex-driven way. A 4D, surround sound experience.

The buzz of the toy reached her tongue a little especially as Svetlana said, "Hit the button, sladkaya, go on."

The toy buzzed louder and Rose contorted her hand to press it in deeper as she returned to her prize. She buried herself in Svetlana, quickly lost in the sensations of buzzing and heat. When trying to coordinate became more difficult, she drew back and said, "Get on your back."

And to her surprise, Svetlana did without hesitation. Whatever upper hand, Svetlana had held, she was apparently happy to discard. With things less cramped, Rose got her hand on the toy and started slowly fucking Svetlana with it to her vocal encouragement. It was easier than to keep that going as Rose bent her head back to her new found vocation.

"The button, sladkay," were the only words Svetlana offered after that. Twice more until the buzz of the toy was loud even inside her and Rose's lips were going a little numb from it.

Rose was just starting to wonder how she would know when if Svetlana came when it happened. Beneath her Svetlana's hips stuttered and then she was arching off the bed, pressing into Rose's mouth and then sagged back down again with a heartfelt moan.

"More?" Rose asked her, hoping she sounded even instead of divinely ecstatic at that response.

"We will do so much more. We have hours and hours. But take it out for now, please."

Rose slid the toy free. She meant to put it aside, in the tidiest way she could, but it was gleaming with fluids she had already swallowed. She ached. She wanted.

"How gross would it be if I used this right now?" Rose asked her idly.

"Oh my god," Svetlana groaned. "Do it. Please. Let me watch."

They had hours and hours. Rose didn't so much as fall asleep eventually as her body gave up on being awake between one kiss and the next.

The morning found her alone in the bed and she lay there, cataloging all the places she was tender and aching. When was the last time she had stayed up for hours having sex? It had to be years now. She was tired in the best way and she ran her hands idly over the edges of Svetlana's pillow.

"Good morning, printsessa."

Rose sat up a little to find Svetlana in the doorway. She had two mugs with her and she was back in her thermal shirt and pajama pants, hair tucked away in a black bonnet.

"Good morning," Rose said and dropped back onto the pillow. "Coffee for me?"

"Mhm. The boys are still sleeping. Unusual, but understandable and lucky for us, yes?" Svetlana sat down on her side of the bed and held one mug out to Rose.

With a sigh, Rose sat up against the headboard and took it. "Thank you. What's in it?"

"I took a guess. A little of Shane's oatmilk and there's sugar in packets if you want them."

"The oatmilk is perfect, thanks," Rose said, cradling the mug between her hands. "Thank you in general. Fuck, I feel amazing."

"Me too." Svetlana smiled at her over her own mug.

"Yeah, like, I have to break my promise though because there's no way I'll ever laugh about any of that. It was too good to laugh about."

"Ah, but you can laugh over good things too. Don't be too sure you'll break it just yet," Svetlana said and took a sip of her coffee. Her eyes slid closed as she too rested her head on the headboard. "So. Lesbian Landry?"

"Bisexual Landry," Rose corrected, but otherwise didn't argue. "But I guess I knew that already knew that, deep down."

"What will you do about it? Anything?"

Rose stared down into the light brown depths of her coffee. The right answer was nothing. The right answer was keeping her career safe and her money investing until she was so rich and untouchable that she could do whatever she wanted, produce her own movies if no one would hire her to do what she wanted.

"Have you ever been to L.A.?" Rose asked.

"I've been everywhere," Svetlana said airily. "Enough to know that I am not the only woman who will kiss you in the whole wide world."

"You're the first one I let do it though," Rose said and took a sip of her coffee. "I think there's been others. Sort of open ended invitations. None of them interested me until last night."

"I am very special," Svetlana laughed. "But maybe now that you've done it once, it will be easier to say yes again."

"Maybe," Rose allowed. "But I know I like you and it's good. Why wouldn't we do it again?"

"Have you ever been to Boston?" Svetlana challenged.

"I have. I like the aquarium. The seals are cute."

"Come see the seals then." Svetlana stretched out her legs, skimming one foot down Rose's blanket-covered calf. "When you have a free day or two. If I'm in town, we can have dinner. We don't need to tell the boys."

"A secret," Rose said.

"A secret," Svetlana agreed and they stayed in the patch of sunlight until Anya surged to her feet and darted out into the living room, no doubt hearing her master stir.

Rose took her coffee and slipped away, no last kiss or touch, but she didn't need one. Sveltana had mapped her thoroughly. No part of her wouldn't remember last night, even after she showered and dressed. Even after Svetlana herself was gone in a friendly hug and kiss for all three of them around the breakfast table to catch her flight.

Beside her, Shane had eyes only for Ilya, but across the table Ilya studied her briefly. She met his gaze with a mask. The best friend mask. One of her favorites. His eyes slid away from her and back to Shane as they bickered over something she wasn't tracking.

Tomorrow she'd be back in L.A., then a week later back out to Milan for a few additional shots to finish out principal shooting. Then to Miami for an interview for a movie she'd half-forgotten about, the filming finished over a year ago. There was Oscar buzz, for the director, not her, so the circuit for that would last weeks and do her little good. Eventually though, maybe she could slice time from her life for just herself.

A flight to Boston. A day with seals. A dinner. A night.

"Was it ever enough?" she asked Shane hours later. "When you two were just hooking up? Was there a time when that was really all it was?"

"Yeah," he said immediately, then hesitated. "Maybe. I don't know. Probably not."

"Which one is it?" she asked, laughing a little at his confused face.

"Honestly? I can't fucking remember," he said. "It's been so many years of feeling things that I don't really if I'm remembering it all wrong now. If maybe it was only fucking and slid into something else slowly or if we were there from the start and just didn't know our asses from our elbows about it."

"Should I ask Ilya?"

"No," Shane groaned. "Come on. He'll say something really romantic and I'll sound ridiculous. Or he'll say something dirty and tease me about it."

"You're not dissuading me here, Hollander."

"From what?" Ilya asked, returning to the room from his brief sojourn to the bathroom.

"Nothing," Rose said angelically while Shane glared at her.

"I don't want to know," Ilya lied and gave Shane a long speaking look.

"Rose was asking if it was ever just sex between us. Like at the beginning."

Ilya's eyebrows shot up. "Personal questions before dinner. Rude, Ms. Landry."

"I am a rude person," she agreed. "So?"

"What did he say?" Ilya asked.

"No," she insisted. "I want your answer before his. Uncontaminated."

With a very put upon sigh, Ilya said, "I wanted it to be. Maybe it was, a little. I don't know. He made my head a mess from the start. I didn't tell myself that I loved him for a long time, but that doesn't mean that I did not."

"Ilyusha," Shane breathed out.

"Also I wanted to brand his ass with my name after the first time, so no one else would ever have him. Can you imagine, Rose? First time you pull down his pants and I'm right there on his left cheek? That would have changed a few things."

"Ilyusha," the same word, totally different cadence.

"We could still do this instead of rings. Or with the rings. What do you think?" Ilya asked, grinning down at Shane. "Tattoos instead? Tasteful. Very small. Only covering one whole cheek."

The pillow Shane threw at him had been behind Rose and she fell back laughing at the two of them.

Shane and Ilya were Shane and Ilya. She didn't have to worry so much. They had been kids, she was grown. She knew her heart. She could spend a day with seals. Have dinner. A night. It would be fun and easy. Another efficient stop on her path to an Oscar and an assured future.

Chapter 2: Landings

Chapter Notes

I had a slight continuity error in chapter one which is now fixed. Eric Bennett was already divorced and with Kyle when J.J. joined the Admirals. It is the year that he retires though.

J.J. Boiziau - January 2022

"You want another?" Kyle asked, sliding back down the bar.

"Yes, thanks," J.J. said. "I can pull it myself if you want."

"Sure, don't tell the boss," Kyle laughed and meandered away to take the orders of the couple that had just come in.

Reaching over the bar, J.J. hooked the soda gun and re-filled his diet coke. It was hard to say how he'd become a regular at the Kingfisher. He hadn't intended it. After the first few times he'd come out with Hunter's inner circle, he'd found the slightly frightening mystique of a 'gay bar' dispersed. It wasn't a club or much of a hookup location. It was a quiet local bar that had sports on a surprising amount of the time.

The first time J.J. was there alone accidentally (he'd meant to just stop by to return a book of prints to Kip, but Kyle made him a drink while he waited and then Kip texted an apology about getting pulled into a meeting at school), he had actually found it oddly peaceful. Especially in the middle of the day when it was nearly empty. But it wasn't bad at night either. People tended to talk instead of shout, maybe because Kyle and Kip kept the music low and sweet. It was a place where friends congregated and couples stopped in during a date. A neighborhood kind of place.

There were definitely guys holding hands and kissing, sometimes women too. Trans people and people whose gender J.J. couldn't even guess at bellied up to the bar and ordered all the usual things. Kyle flirted harmlessly with everyone. It was a gay place, but to be threatened by this level of banality was to be the weakest kind of man. Instead of feeling a low hum of discomfort like J.J. had imagined, he relaxed into it.

Sometimes J.J. ate dinner nearby, then came in for a drink. He did have a few guys eye him up, but it wasn't bad to be appreciated once and a while, even if it wasn't someone he appreciated back. If he looked at his phone instead of acknowledging it or only gave a bro nod, then usually that was the end of it.

His phone or to the small blank page notebook he'd taken to carrying around with him. J.J. was under no delusions that his loose lined sketches were anything like real drawings, but they were satisfying to do, capturing things that caught his eye. Tonight, he was doing the rows of bottles behind the bar, all of them too wavy and uneven, but he sort of liked that.

"Hey," Scott said, sliding in next to him on a bar stool. He looked like J.J. felt. Wrung out.

"Hey."

"You did good with the press tonight," Scott said, not even trying to get Kyle's attention. For the best. Kyle bartended haphazardly with the hockey crowd as if to prove he couldn't be bought or something. Better to wait for him to come to you.

"You came here to tell me that?" J.J. asked. He didn't worry about ticking Scott off. They were friendly. Friends, maybe, and J.J. had learned that Scott didn't need any particular handling.

Shane had taken a lot of handling. No one would've called it that, least of all J.J., but now with Scott, he could see all the seams. As a captain, Scott was a pillar. His word in the room wasn't law, but it was damn near close. Before he came out, it must've been stronger, but even now, he held his team close and to account. Even the guys who muttered behind his back, listened to his face. Carter and Greg were alternates in the sense that they were Scott's eyes and ears, and on the rare days that Scott couldn't play, his arms and legs.

Shane wasn't a pillar. Shane was lightening in a bottle. When his skates touched the ice, it was like God had spit him out and commanded him to win. He moved like no one else, understood what was before him in some kind of bullet time. Hayden had been his winger for his entire career and they were good together, but J.J. privately thought that Shane could've turned anyone into the right person for that job by sheer force of will. Pushing out strategy, demanding the most from the people around him was just how Shane lived. He had turned them into a team that did nothing, but win.

Off the ice though.

Off the ice, everyone knew that Hollander needed time and space. He wasn't fragile, and fuck anyone who even thought that in passing. But if you wanted to get the best out of him, you performed some of the rituals. You repeated things for him when he spaced out, you listened to him when he was on a tear about strategy even when it had no bearing on the present game, and you damn well did not bring him problems that couldn't be solved with puck and stick. J.J. and Hayden handled that shit. Or they thought they had handled it.

They hadn't been Scott, who pinned down Yikes in the hallway before practice and spoke to him in low tones until the guy went from stone-faced to easy and relaxed or challenged Offerman in his ridiculous app game that he loved to the exclusion of all else when no one could take hear him talking about it.

They weren't Scott, who had gone through the same media gauntlet J.J. had tonight, except longer and worse, then come to find J.J. instead of going home to sleep the sleep of the just.

"I came here because I thought I'd get a drink, but yeah, fringe benefit," Scott said, exactly as unperturbed as J.J. knew he'd be. "They looked happy, huh?"

"Yeah," J.J. sighed. "Shane sent me the video yesterday. He wanted me to see it before the media got it."

"Roz shared it in the HABs group chat and told Kip to show me," Scott said. "He's very high on having 'outdone me on ice' or something in the romance department. The scoreboard in that man's mind scares the shit out of me."

"Guess that's why he likes Hollander. He loves keeping score," J.J. said neutrally, folding his notebook shut. He hadn't been hiding his art exactly, but he had so far managed to not to get asked about it. Except by Carter, who accepted J.J. fobbing him off with baffled acceptance.

"They asked you some shit questions about it."

"Good thing I don't know anything," J.J. said mildly.

"Yeah, I liked the blank looks. Good work."

"Yuna." J.J. took a sip of his soda. "She said when I don't know what to say, be as boring as possible."

"Good tactic."

"How many times did they ask you if you were all in the know or something?"

Scott snorted, "Don't you know I get a copy of the Gay Hockey Agenda in my inbox every morning? If I read them the actual gay player group chat they'd be so fucking disappointed."

"It's all hockey, huh?"

"It's me, Hollander, Haas, Barrett and Yolen. Hockey is actually the only thing we have in common aside from sucking dick," Scott said with none of his press charisma. Just a tired man after a long work day. "And none of us are comparing those kinds techniques. Mostly it's the Cens ganging up on me. Assholes."

"Yeah, fuck them," J.J. agreed.

"Little bitter?"

The question was light, but Scott was staring at him in that hangdog way that seemed serious. Genuine. Like he really deeply cared about what was going on with you. He was such a fucking psycho and J.J. hated how much he liked him sometimes.

"No. They asked me to go up for the whole thing, you know? But we had a game."

"Schedule is tight this time of year," Scott said neutrally.

"Yeah. Anyway. I'm glad that Hollander's happy."

"You still hate Rozanov?"

"No," J.J. said, probably too quickly. "I don't know him."

"I get it, if you do. He can be a real prick," Scott said. "Hey, Kyle."

"Hey, Scott," Kyle said brightly. "Did you want a drink?"

"Please. A bottle of Yuengling if you've got one."

"Can do. How's Kip?"

"Second draft phase. Best if I stay away until he's done," Scott said amicably.

"Been there!" Kyle said cheerfully and disappeared again. He'd probably get Scott his beer eventually.

"The thing is," Scott said, "that Roz is actually kind of decent underneath all the bullshit. It makes it hard to totally hate him."

"Take that back," J.J. insisted.

"Sorry," Scott laughed. "I can't. It's true. He's got a big mouth and a sharp tongue to match, but I think what he mostly wants is for the world to meet his expectations and he'll drag it along until it does. But you don't have to like him. I don't think most people do."

"Good," was all J.J. had left to say on the matter.

He had spendthis limited good will for the man Shane loved in front of cameras. Yes, he was happy for his ex-Captain. Yes, of course he'd go to the wedding if invited. No, he had no idea of any details. No, he didn't know if anyone was going to wear white (which like…what the fuck? On so many levels). Did anyone care that he'd just won a game? No. Great. Cool. Awesome.

Maybe Scott was here to lecture him or test the waters or do something, but whatever his intent, they were both immediately waylaid by their phones rattling in their pockets simultaneously.

A message in a group chat. The one that J.J. rarely said anything in because he had no idea when, how or why he'd been included in the first place. Scott's on ice inner circle of Greg, Carter, and lately, Yikes. The kid was only barely not a rookie, but since whatever had happened with Scott, he had been folded into the group too.

For once, J.J. didn't have time to spare a thought for 'why is this even happening' because the message was fucking bleak.

 

Carter: A moment of silence for my relationship.

 

"Oh," Scott said, "shit."

"But they were having a great time last week," J.J. frowned. "I didn't even know she was in town."

 

Scott: Are you okay?

Carter: I would like to be drunker. Immediately.

Greg: Bud, we leave for San Fran at like 7 am. What can we do that isn't booze?

Carter: Can't you just roll me onto the plane?

Scott: Where are you?

Carter: Home.

Scott: J.J. and me will be soon.

Eric: Already back on the island, but I'll make you a breakfast burrito in the morning.

Carter: thanks guys

Greg: I'll be morally supportive by not stealing your burrito.

Carter: You're a real one, Huff.

 

"Kyle, scratch the beer! Sorry!" Scott called out. Kyle, who hadn't even gotten near the beers yet gave a lazy wave. "Shit, sorry, I shouldn't have just volunteered you. You good with this?"

"Scrapping his sorry ass off the floor? Yeah, I think I can tag along."

They took the subway after Scott did some mental city math that J.J. hadn't learned yet. It did spit them out only a block away from Scott's building which got them to his car. It was late enough that the city that never slept was at least dozy enough to kill off the worst of the traffic. The drive was quiet, Scott laser-focused on the road.

When J.J. got bored of looking at shadow-dark trees, he flicked back through his messages on his phone. The video from Shane was still there and he played it again on mute. The playful race. The momentary confusion on Shane's face. The surprise. The joy. The ring. A drop to the knees. A kiss. An embrace.

The only time J.J. had seen Shane that happy was when they won Cups.

Scrolling back up through their chat, the last real message before that was Hayden asking about Christmas plans. J.J. had gone home, briefly, barely landing before taking off again. Shane texted more these days. Before that a flurry of conversation about a rumored rule change, the kind of thing that always sent Shane into tactics mode and maybe he'd forgotten J.J. was on another team or maybe he did genuinely wanted to include him for old times sake. It hardly mattered. Not like any of them were calling the shots.

Hayden didn't wear the A anymore. Shane seemed content not to reclaim the C just yet.

J.J. had thought that was crazy at first, but now the idea of yanking the A from Carter or Greg left a bitter taste to his mouth. The Metros had run like a well-oiled machine. The Admirals ran like a team of guys who mostly liked each other. Machines won Cups. But so did teams. And one was way more pleasant in the day-to-day than the other.

Shit. The thought felt treacherous and dark. But J.J. liked being an Admiral far more than he'd ever liked being a Metro.

"This isn't the first time," Scott said so suddenly that J.J. almost dropped his phone.

"What?"

"With a girl like this," Scott went on. "Last time was two years ago. Laylah. She wasn't famous, but she was an Instagram model type. He can always get the most beautiful woman in the room."

"He's a good looking guy," J.J. said, unsure where this was going.

"Carter is a lot of good things."

"I know, man. Ease up, I'm agreeing."

"Sorry," Scott exhaled, "Just mad for him right now. He's always good to them. I don't really know where it goes off the rails. I'm hardly the fucking expert."

Because Scott had apparently met one reasonably decent guy and latched onto him forever. Not that J.J. didn't understand the appeal. Kip was smart, cheerful and up to the task of being the First Husband of Hockey in a way J.J. couldn't imagine most people would even want to be. But it didn't exactly make Scott a relationship counselor.

"Me either, man," J.J. said.

"No relationships for you?"

"I've tried a few times. Taking a break right now."

"I wasn't sure if that was intentional or from the move. Never found the one that moved you?"

"I like the idea of being love," J.J. said with a shrug. "I like seeing other people do it. Just hasn't landed for me yet. Plenty of time, right?"

"Sure."

They parked in a the private garage and made their way up to fifteenth floor. Last unit on the right. Scott knocked. Carter opened the door, stared at both of them, then turned on his heels and walked back into the dark.

"Worse than last time," Scott determined.

"What do we do?" J.J. asked.

"Be supportive," Scott said grimly.

It was bizarre to deal with a Carter who wouldn't smile or talk much. His animation had become reliable in a way J.J. hadn't realized. The sun rose, the sky was blue, and Carter Vaughn was cheerful. He was always talking or jogging in place or running circles around average players. These days he was often yapping in his shitty new French at J.J. to show off or asking him to go out to dinner or get a drink or cajole him into talking about whatever museum he'd wandered around recently.

As J.J. sat in the armchair he usually took in Carter's living room and watched the man himself deflate over the ouch, it occurred to J.J. that he liked Carter a lot. It should've been obvious. They were friends. But they were friends because Carter had pursued him relentlessly into it and J.J. had given in because he preferred company over solitude when push came to shove.

J.J. hung out with Hayden and Shane for years for company. Scott was a little like that too.

But J.J. liked Carter. The way he very rarely simply clicked with someone. The pure 'yeah, you're my people' of it all.

"What happened?" Scott asked with all the delicacy of a sledge hammer.

"She asked if I'd try to get a deal with L.A.," Carter said flatly. "I told her my life was here. I thought her life was going to be here at least part-time. But she's got a big TV offer that would staple her down there for a few years maybe and she thought I'd just…dunno. Uproot? Follow her out there?"

"Oh, bud," Scott sighed.

"What is wrong with me?" Carter demanded, blinking a little too rapidly for J.J.'s liking. "I don't lie, I don't cheat. I tell every woman I date up front that my career is going to be shorter than theirs, so I just need to stay put until it's over! Am I not fucking clear enough?"

"I don't know," Scott said, and now his eyes cut over to J.J. like he had something to add to his.

"Man, fuck her," J.J. offered.

"Nooo," Carter groaned and slid further down the couch. "She's not evil or anything. We just want different things. Different coasts. She made some noises about long distance, but I'm already all over the whole fucking country all the time. It was nice to come home to someone for fucking once."

The guilt on Scott's face was frankly ridiculous. Like the guy hadn't lived in some kind of special hell for a decade before getting married.

"Never had that," J.J. said before Scott said something weird. He was getting a feel for when Scott ran out of good boy quotes and started sliding into true crime bizarreness and they were about to hit that point. "But seems like her job is taking her one direction and you're going the other. Yeah?"

"Oui," Carter said sullenly.

That was kind of cute. J.J. repressed a smile. French was a pretty good language to be sullen in.

So J.J. switched to French, Scott's confused face be damned. "You're not going to die alone. This is a bad day. Tomorrow will also be bad and then each day a little better until you're ready for the next beautiful woman. And then maybe she will be the one."

It took Carter a second to translate that out, eyes narrowing at nothing as he worked through it and then he said, in his questionably grammatical way, "When did you get smart?"

J.J. made a shocked annoyed noise, "Always! How dare you." He switched back to English before Scott glazed over entirely. "We can't drink, but maybe we could eat something stupid. Is there a late night bakery or something around here?"

"I would fucking love a cronut," Carter said urgently.

"You hate me. This is a hate crime," J.J. said immediately.

"What the fuck is a cronut?" Scott asked.

They ate a lot of pastries. It was ill-advised, but not as ill-advised as killing off a bottle of whiskey. Carter still looked pistol-whipped though he stopped staring so deeply at walls that holes might burn through them.

"Getting late and our bags are back in the city," Scott realized. "Shit. Sorry, Vaughny, but we should go."

"No, no, it's all good," Carter said from the floor where he'd sunk at some point. "Thanks for coming."

J.J. got to his feet, but he wavered there. It seemed wrong to leave now. Out of step. Something he would've done without a second though in Montreal. Hell, in Montreal if a guy had a breakup, J.J. would've been their last call until they were ready to find a rebound fuck and needed a good club night. Had he ever done this before? Comforted a guy with pastries and joked with him in French?

He hovered there uncertainly, then glanced at Scott, who had a grim tilt to his mouth, contemplating Carter's prone form with the same calculus. Scott's apartment was a one-bedroom, something Kip has said they were considering changing out for a bigger one, but they were both clearly attached to.

J.J. had a guest room. Carter was the only one who had ever used it.

"Come back with me," J.J. said and he saw Scott's shoulders come down an inch. "Get your shit. We're going out of JFK anyway, be easier if you were already closer."

"You don't have to babysit me," Carter muttered.

"Maybe I want company, andouille. Get up. We're going."

"What the fuck did you just call me?" Carter asked as he pushed up.

"A sausage," J.J. snorted. "Means dummy."

"You're a fucking sausage," Carter huffed. "Andouille. Andouille. I'm remembering that one."

To J.J.'s surprise, that was the end of the discussion. Carter got up and got his bag (already packed at least) and obediently followed them down to Scott's car. He didn't try for shotgun, just crawled into the back with a wounded noise.

There was even less traffic now and soon enough, they were in J.J.'s apartment. Instead of heading for the guest room, Carter gravitated to the couch and threw himself down on it. They hadn't turned the lights on when they walked in. He made for a broody shadow.

"We should try to sleep," J.J. said weakly.

"Yeah," Carter mumbled.

For lack of other motivation, J.J. sat down on the other end of the couch. The curtains were parted a little, lights winking and reflecting in windows, smears of a starless cloudy sky far above.

"Want me to put something on?"

"Yeah, whatever would be good. Noise."

There was some movie on Netflix that they'd started together weeks ago and never got around to finishing. J.J. hit play then immediately zoned out, dozing off at a shitty angle so he woke up hours later with a crick in his neck. Rolling his head around groggily until it eased up, he pried open his eyes to find Carter equally knocked out.

The glow of the television painted Carter's face in a dozen different colors. Pulled along by sleep-deprived strings, J.J. stood and walked to the kitchen. He opened his oven where instead of the recommended sweaters, he had hidden his art supplies. Not hidden. It wasn't like a little girl's journal or something. Just private. No one's business, but his.

He had a stack of finished canvases on the lower rack. They were going to have to overflow somewhere else soon. A box in his closet maybe. Drawing out a blank one , he propped it against the coffee maker. Using his phone flash light, J.J. prepared his paper plate palette.

In a haze, he caught the lines of the scene. All of J.J.'s paintings were collections of lines, warping bands of color over any attempt at realism. They had a wavy quality, underwater and saturated in jewel tones. White block couch, brown, tan, black lines of Carter's body spilled over it, purple and blue splotches from the television radiating out to meet them. Only a suggested of a face and then the darkness of the rest of the room the blue-black of a fresh bruise.

It was only when he stepped back from it that he became aware of his own stiffly cold hands. The heat in the apartment was decent, but this late at night, the windows leaked a lot. J.J. went into the guest room and pulled the comforter off the bed, and then carefully dropped it over Carter, who didn't stir.

J.J. climbed into his own bed, checked his alarm and grabbed a last two hours of sleep from the jaws of dawn.

When his alarm went off, he mostly fell out of bed, dragged himself into the kitchen to the smell off coffee.

Carter was standing with a mug, staring down at the drying canvas.

Shit.

Fuck.

J.J. froze where he was, like maybe Carter wouldn't see him if he didn't move.

"Bon matin," Carter mumbled. "I made a pot."

"Merci," J.J. said, hovering for a second. "I can-"

"You're really good." Carter gestured at it. "Like this is…yeah. That's how I feel."

"It's just fucking around."

"It's good," Carter repeated.

"It's something to do. That's all," J.J. contradicted and finally got moving to get his own mug. Carter barely moved from his spot, so J.J. squeezed in around him to get coffee, their shoulders brushing together. "Sorry."

"What for?" Carter asked, bemused.

"Should've asked, not just…." J.J. waved at the painting, then grabbed the milk out of the fridge.

"Nah. Not like you can even tell it's me, right? I mean I know. But it's not supposed to look exactly like me or anything. Could be any pathetic guy melting down."

"You're not pathetic," J.J. said immediately. "Fucking normal to be upset about a relationship ending. Come on."

"It's my fault though. I could've…I don't know. Maybe I should've said I'd at least try to go out there."

J.J. was still standing too close to him, shoved into the corner a little. He should move. He was so fucking tired though and Carter didn't seem to care. They shared a little body warmth, pressed together at the shoulder. The painting throbbed against the bland gray counter top.

"If you loved her enough to move for her, you would," J.J. said. "But you didn't."

The words fell out of him before he could fully think them through. Too much probably. Too heavy.

Carter stared down at the painting and then nodded once. "Yeah. I liked her a lot. I do love her. But I love being here more."

Here meant the city. Here meant the Admirals.

But for a brief fleeing moment, J.J. wondered if Carter's here could also mean this moment. This apartment with J.J., both of them clinging to coffee, jagged with fatigue and together.

It didn't. Of course it didn't.

There wasn't time to talk more, even if they wanted to. Car service arrived twenty minutes later and they were on the sidewalk waiting with seconds to spare. The flight out was long enough for a nap, thank fuck. They both slept and everyone else left them to it, Scott no doubt spreading the word to leave Carter be.

They played brutal hockey that night. Carter's usual happy hum on the ice was a catastrophic minor chord that Scott amplified immediately. Greg gamely went along. Blood was shed in every period. J.J. got in a few good body slams just to feel like he was participating in the general chaos. They won, pulling teeth to victory.

"Don't know what you all were on tonight," Murdoch said as they headed in, "but let's tighten it up, take a little less damage and do it again tomorrow."

Three games in three days and they came out the other end leaner, bruised to shit and hungry for more. Scott actually led the charge to a bar, promising a first round and almost the whole team went out. Strangers in a strange land, they congregated close together, swarmed around their fearless leader.

"You want to get laid?" J.J. asked Carter. "Or is it too soon?"

"Too soon," Carter declared. "But you go pull if you want."

"Nah," J.J. said, signaling the bartender. "Let's just drink."

They were a few beers in when Carter asked, "Have you gotten laid since you came to New York?"

"Yes," J.J. said automatically. Defensively.

"Okay," Carter frowned. "Anyone repeated?"

Rolling the bottle between his palms, J.J. swallowed down another lie. It had been easy in Montreal. No one looked that closely. You danced with some hot women, maybe you kissed them in a corner and whether you went home with them or not as long as you disappeared at the right moment, the conclusion was drawn. J.J. the ladies' man with his portfolio of hookups was an easy thing to imagine into existence.

J.J. found hooking up hollow these days. He'd done it plenty for a few years with a joyful gusto, fucking his way through a herd of interested women. But his fiery verve had banked the last few years until it had died out entirely. But it turned out you could feed your own reputation without doing very much about it, so one else had noticed.

Except he'd forgotten he had no reputation in New York. And Carter hung out with him at least three times a week in places where women, at least ones that might show an interest in what J.J. was offering, weren't congregating at all.

"No," he said with no particular weight. "Guess not."

"Part of me wants to go clubbing eventually and hook up. Clear the palette, you know?"

"Sure," J.J. said. "We can do that."

Carter nodded vaguely. "I guess. The other part thinks it sounds like a lot of work. I'm thirty, you know? Is this going to be it? Year long relationships that fizzle out and club hookups forever?"

"I want to get married some day," J.J. confessed because it seemed the moment for it and he thinking of Shane drop to his knees on the ice with that big smile that changed the geography of his whole face. "I want to live with someone and all that stuff."

"Yeah, me too," Carter said with a sigh.

If J.J. had said that a year ago in a bar, he would've been laughed out of the place, even by the guys that were already married. Men got trapped into marriage. They fell into it. They did it to keep the girlfriend around. They did it for the kids, actual and potential. J.J. didn't even want kids.

"I think we need to switch to something harder," he decided. "This is depressing the fuck out of me and I didn't even have a break up."

"Tequila?" Carter perked up.

"Tequila," J.J. confirmed. "Scott! Shots!"

"Shots?" Scott lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah, fucking fine. Let's do it."

The Admirals were a mess on the flight home, but who gave a goddamn? Some sainted flight attendant handed out Gatorade and Advil like party favors and by the time J.J. fell back into his own apartment he almost felt normal.

The painting was still there on the counter.

He stared at the lean line he'd made of Carter for a beat too long before unceremoniously shoving it into the oven. Not quite right anyway. He'd try again later.

The problem with trying again was that it required a lot of looking.

Carter didn't even seem to notice. Either J. J. was subtle, Carter was oblivious or there was a third, horrifying, option: maybe J.J. had been looking at him since the beginning and now Cater had assumed that was what J.J. was like.

The more J.J. looked, the more he found familiar things. He already knew Carter's steady hands and knobby wrists; the even line of his shoulders was hard to miss; the almost continual smile that returned to his face a week or so after the breakup just as J.J. had predicted.

Of course J.J, knew the way Carter's French tripped off his lips, shaky and unsure, yet unceasing in his attempts. J.J. might have threatened himself as a teacher, but Carter was the most persistent student then he'd ever had.

So J.J. would be persistent too. He would look and pay attention.

 

Hayden: Looking forward to beating you next week. Come over afterwards? We all miss you.

J.J.: Dream on, we're going to flatten you fucks. Sure, anything I can bring?

Hayden: Just your beautiful, losing, self.

J.J.: Eat shit.

Hayden: You can ride back with me, if you want. I'll wait in the parking garage.

 

Playing Ottawa was surreal. They'd done it in New York once already and that had been strange enough, fending off Shane and Hayden like it was a practice scrimmage, except they had a whole new team that was absolutely bananas. Thanks to J.J. and Hayden's tactics last season with the Metros, J.J. had never really played with any seriousness against them before.

J.J. was starting to wonder if there was a serious way to play against them. Not because they were bad, if anything they were some of the toughest opponents the Admirals faced this season, but because they were a group of hypercompetent hyenas.

"Whoopsie!" Haas cackled and circled around J.J. like he was standing still. The puck was mysteriously gone, teleporting to Shane.

"Fucking what?" J.J. demanded.

"I think the man was clear," Bood shouted as Shane passed to him and he slid it between two defenders and back to Haas. "He said fucking Whoopsie!"

The puck went in to the goal somewhere in that confusion. J.J. would've preferred being punched in the throat.

J.J. wasn't sure if that terrifyingly upbeat first line was better or worse than dealing with Hayden's second line of assholes. Barrett was familiar at least. He bore down with his face set for homicide, but he was counterbalanced by a cheerfully unhinged Hayden and the Yolen kid, who together moved as fluidly as Carter and Scott. They kept fucking yapping while doing it, something Shane would never have put up with.

"I don't want to be combo-ed on," Yolen argued as J.J. attempted to block their shot. They managed to get the puck to Hayden.

"No combos, just like one special attack. One of those whirling around ones," Hayden was saying, as he set up a beautiful assist and flew it to Barrett, who faked a backhand like he was fucking Rozanov and shelved it into the goal neatly.

"That's our special fucking attack!" Yolen yelped and laughed as Hayden bonked helmets with them.

"You are all the same flavor of demented," J.J. said breathlessly. "What the fuck."

"Aw, thanks!" Yolen winked at him ostentatiously. "The Demented Line has a ring to it. What do you think, Troy?"

"No," Barrett said firmly. "Can't I enjoy a goal for five fucking seconds?"

"No," Yolen said, even as they were socking him in the arm. "Good work. We're all very proud. Take a picture and stick it on the fridge."

"I hate you," Barrett intoned, even as he hit Yolen back affectionately and took off. "Magical girl transformation would be better!"

"Oh shit, he's right," Hayden said. "We could still spin around and we'd look baller afterward."

"Mon ami, did you get another concussion since the last time I saw you?" J.J. called out to his retreating back. Hayden flipped him off. Probably fair.

That was the whole game. The rest of the Admirals seemed unbothered by the nonsense, focused on playing as normally as possible. Though Scott definitely hid a few grins and Carter outright laughed a few times.

All of it presided over by a smirking Rozanov, standing with perfect posture next to his head coach and Price. He hadn't said a word the entire game and didn't do so as the Admirals filed back in carrying 2-1 loss. It was more disturbing than all the weird chatter from the team. A quiet Rozanov was one to be wary of, J.J. was almost certain.

"You coming out tonight?" Carter asked him in the locker room.

"Told Pike I'd go say hi to his wife and kids," J.J. said with a shrug.

"Maybe check his medicine cabinet. I don't think humans come in that flavor of happy organically."

"Hayden does," J.J. was forced to admit. "Usually not on the ice, but he's mostly just like that and I think his new crowd eggs him on."

"You guys are still good?" Carter asked, not judgmentally. Just a question. "Hollander, you and Pike?"

J.J. shrugged. "Guess so. Harder with the distance."

"Huh. Thought you were like the three musketeers or whatever. Always seemed that way."

Sitting down to take off his shin pads, J.J. made the mistake of glancing up. Carter was looking down at him, naked from the waist up, concern written all over his handsome face.

Paint splashed over J.J.'s brain, sending new vibrant color in every direction.

The J.J.- Hayden- Shane of it all had hardly been legendary. They were friends, people knew that, but it wasn't the stuff of even idle goosp. That meant that Carter had apparently been noticing J.J. since before he turned up in New York like a victim of a shipwreck clinging to the last big of driftwood. By now, J.J. was almost positive that the welcome wagon at the airport had been Carter's idea, even if Scott had executed it.

Thoughtful, cheerful, warm, funny Carter, who J.J. liked more than he liked most people. Almost any people.

All the looking J.J. had been doing the past few weeks had drawn a singular dangerous conclusion: Carter Vaughn was very hot.

J.J. had maybe noticed that last bit before. He'd sort of noticed other men before in that way you did when there was no room for that kind of information in your life. So what if your roommate had a nice butt, that one bartender's smile was especially charming, or Shane's summer routine had carved in new muscle? So what if Rozanov's winks were disconcerting when he flashed by you on the ice with a shitty joke on his lips?

Noticing women was way more fun, coming with no sticky fear or shame, and J.J. really liked women. Easy.

What J.J. jerked off to in the privacy of his own home was his business and no one else.

But there were new colors leaking into J.J.'s brain now. Splashes of the pearl white of Carter's teeth, the raw umber of his skin, the carbon black of his hair, and the brown rose of his lips.

A little stunned, J.J. became aware he was simply staring up at Carter like he'd been concussed and Carter's expression was drifting from vague concern to sharp worry.

"Moving changed some shit," J.J. said. "It's fine. I'll have dinner and it'll be like it used to be for a bit."

"Okay," Carter said. "You know if you get back early and want a drink, you can drop me a text. Not sure I'm going out yet."

"Thanks," J.J. said and forced his eyes back to the work at hand. Even if he could shed his equipment blindfolded at this point.

The walk down into the parking garage was a necessary frigid shock. Whatever temporary madness he'd been seized by in the locker room, he shoved aside. Tonight was Hayden and Jackie and the kids. Whatever that looked like now.

"-later if you want," Hayden's voice drifted out from the row of cars.

"See how it goes," someone replied. "I'm beat anyway. I'll probably pass out early."

As J.J. walked further down the ramp, he spotted Hayden leaning against a beast of a car painted an eye-searingly electric blue. Sitting on the hood beside him was Yolen, arms crossed over their chest.

"Okay," Hayden said with a small frown. "But you know that I-"

"It's fine," Yolen said. "Really, Hayd. Breathe. It'll be okay."

"It just matters to me how he takes it," Hayden said.

"I know. Text me, okay? I'll stay awake for it."

"No, don't do that. It won't be any different in the morning."

Were Yolen and Hayden friends? That made sense with the on-ice banter. The name hadn't come up in their texts, but that didn't mean much.

"Salut!" J.J. called when he got close enough that he had to say something.

"J.J.!" Hayden called back, a genuine smile on his face. That was nice. "I thought you got sucked down a drain or something."

"Your water pressure is terrible. Is it a prank you play on visiting teams?" J.J. asked, accepting Hayden's collision of a hug.

"It's bad for us too, right now. They've been trying to fix it for a week," Hayden commiserated. Then tentatively. "I don't think you've met Joey off the ice."

"Hi," Yolen said with a lopsided smile. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."

"Always nice to hear," J.J. said neutrally. "You coming over too?"

Pushing up off the hood, Yolen headed around to the driver's door. "No. Just keeping Pike company for a bit."

That slapped a constipated look on Hayden's face. "You could-"

"See you later!" Yolen said and then they disappeared into the depths. The engine rumbled to life.

"Come on," Hayden said, smile back in place, but no longer reaching his eyes. "I'm only a few cars down."

There was Hayden's sturdy SUV, unchanged from the last time J.J. had gotten in the passenger seat. "Something I said?"

"What?" Hayden asked, preoccupied with pulling out.

"Yolen ran off like a scared rabbit."

"Oh, that," Hayden grimaced. "No. That's a me thing, not a you thing. Or just an everything-thing. Don't worry about it. How's New York?"

They talked about their moves and the cities they'd found themselves in through the short drive to the new Pike family home. The house was very different from the one in Montreal. It was hard to say what J.J. expected, but it threw him a little when Hayden pulled up to a large single-level house. Gone were the stairs that J.J. had sat on as the twins crawled up and down them over and over at Hayden's birthday party.

When they went inside, familiarity reinstated itself. All the furniture was the same, if a little reconfigured. The twins were the same, only a little older and taller.

"J.J.!" Ruby sprinted toward him at a dead run and he had to squat down so she wouldn't tackle him around the shins for her hug.

"Bonjour!" Jade said, waiting for Ruby to bullet off elsewhere to take her hug.

She was definitely taller now. "Bonjour, ma chérie."

"We missed you," she whispered like it was a secret as he embraced her.

"I missed you too," he told her. It was even a little true.

"There you are!" Jackie greeted him as he stood, giving her own gentle hug. "I was so glad you could come over. I know you must be tired after the game. The little guys are already in bed, but the girls insisted on staying awake to see you."

"Good. They're so big now. If I'd missed them, then they might be up to my chin next time."

"I know, it's terrible," Jackie said with a smile. "I made risotto, do you want some?"

"Absolument."

"Come see our rooms first!" Ruby insisted. "We have our own rooms and it's the best!"

Even if there had been a way out of that, J.J. wouldn't have taken it. It felt far easier to follow Ruby to her disaster den with it's pink hurricane of toys and blankets, then figure out how to talk to Hayden again. He nodded through explanations and pointing until Jade slipped her hand in his and told her sister firmly, "My turn."

"Okay," Ruby grumbled.

Jade's room, true to her name, was done in greens.

Over her bed were five paintings: Jackie's lollipop tree, Hayden's lumpy cat, someone's attempt at few flowers, bright yellow and uneven, a very fat bluebird hanging awkwardly in the middle of the paper, and J.J.'s collection of poorly done hockey things.

Jade followed his line of sight and smiled at her gallery. "Isn't it nice?"

"Very nice," J.J. said. Who else had his art hanging on their walls? "Where are your paintings?"

"Mama puts them on the fridge when they're new and then I have a box," she said. "I don't want to hang them up yet."

"I bet you are very good."

"Girls!" Hayden called. "Come brush your teeth! This is late enough!"

With a very put upon sigh, Jade parted from J.J. to go brush her teeth. J.J. lingered so he could lean in to read the signatures on the two new works. The yellow lines on the flowers were hard to read, a little smeared and shaky. It had to be Rozanov though, the I, at least, very confident. Was he here often enough that Jade wanted a painting? If so, where was Shane's?

Maybe Shane had refused. He loathed not being good at things.

The bird painting had a jaunty 'Joey' written in pen instead of paint. They had put a smiley face inside the 'o'. J.J. slipped out of the room and tried to shove down a rising tide of jealousy.

"I set the table already," Jackie said when he came in. "Help yourself to something to drink and you can have a seat. We'll have to start without Hayden, bed time is going to take a second."

Talking to Jackie wasn't hard, exactly. She was curious about New York and he gave her the same impressions he'd offered to Hayden. Positive nonsense shit about restaurants and the subway. When Hayden joined them, talk swung around to hockey. Nothing important, nothing about their own teams. Just the comings and goings of guys they both sort of knew.

"But how are the Admirals?" Jackie asked. "You're fitting in okay? They're being good to you?"

"He's a grown man, not one of the kids," Hayden reminded her.

"Still good questions," Jackie said without remorse. "I was worried. You were really worn out when you left, but you seem better now."

"It's better," J.J. said. "Everyone is decent for the most part. There's some partying, but nothing like Montreal. Older team, mostly. We'll probably get a lot of turn over in the next few years."

"You can get you A back," Hayden said cheerily.

"Maybe, yeah," J.J. acknowledged and turned his attention to Jackie's excellent cooking. "Kids settling in?"

There was a currant of tension between the Pikes that J.J. couldn't place. It made him even more uneasy. As soon as the food was cleared, he'd ask Hayden to take him back to the hotel. J.J. didn't want to be in the middle of a marital spat. They'd never done that to him before, but there was a first time for everything.

Before he could ask though, Jackie produced rice pudding. A weakness of J.J.'s that he generally didn't disclose. He could stay for that. It would barely take three minutes to eat anyway.

"Listen," Hayden said as J.J. dipped his spoon into the bowl, "there's something I want to tell you. We want to tell you."

"Did you defeat a vasectomy?" J.J. asked incredulously. That would certainly be something to get tense about.

"No!" Jackie squeaked out then laughed. "I told you that's what he would think."

"You win," Hayden said, but he wasn't laughing. He was looking at J.J. like he was a grenade thrown suddenly into the room. "It's nothing like that. We haven't really told anyone yet. Shane knows because he's around all the time. And Jackie told Rozanov. But that's it."

"Luca," Jackie reminded him.

"Right. Well. That was their business," Hayden said.

Their new inner circle. Including Haas, apparently.

"I'm listening," J.J. said because Hayden seemed to have stalled out a little.

"Jackie and me…" Hayden stared down at the table. "Joey Yolen. We started dating them. It's been like six months or so? And it's getting more serious and I wanted my friends to know. Seemed like it was time. They usually come over after games and if you visit with us next time, they'd be here. So. Yeah."

J.J. heard all the individual words, but he had to sit with them for a moment before they started to line up. It didn't make much sense. Hayden and Jackie were the most straight-laced normie people J.J. knew. Their early steady marriage, their four children, and nicely kept house could've been cut out of now-extinct department store's catalog. Neither of them had ever so much as dyed their hair an unnatural color the entire time J.J. had known them. Jackie kept an honest-to-God swear jar around and held Hayden to it firmly.

"What are you telling me?" J.J. asked. "Because it sounds like you've got like… a threesome thing?"

"It's not just sex," Jackie said without a single blush or hint of shyness. "It's a relationship. We go on dates. They stay over a lot. The kids adore them."

Two years ago everyone J.J. knew was straight as far as he'd known. Seven months ago, Hayden still was and Jackie too, in so much as J.J. had ever considered her as a sexual being which had been a danger zone he'd avoided. Even if she was very attractive.

But two years ago, J. J. hadn't hung out in gay bars at night and frequently texted a gay man about his favorite pieces in art museums. He also hadn't been noticing his teammate with an attention bordering on stalkerish.

"Are you happy?" J.J. asked them.

"They're so great!" Hayden gushed. "It's been amazing."

"It has," Jackie said warmly. "Joey is wonderful. You'll like them."

"I'm sure I will," J.J said. "You play us at home in a few weeks. Bring them out for drinks? We usually just go to the Kingfisher anyway."

"You're being very calm about this," Hayden said, coming back down to Earth a little. "I wasn't really sure how you'd react. I know it's a little weird."

"I'm a New Yorker now," J.J. said with a smirk. "Nothing weirds me out. It's the law there."

"Seven months is all it takes?" Hayden asked.

"Sometimes you just know."

Jackie and Hayden exchanged a soft look that had nothing to do with Manhattan. J.J. let them do whatever that was in favor of eating his dessert. It did seem like a bizarre choice, to bring someone else into their crowded family. Did Joey parent the kids? What did that even look like? They were still almost a kid themselves.

But none of that was J.J.'s problem. The Pikes and their besties Hollander and Rozanov were no longer people that he had to worry about on a day-to-day basis. They were background noise in his life. A lightness came to J.J. and he breathed a little easier. He listened as Hayden and Jackie filled him in on seven months of missed stories. He asked questions and paid attention to the answers, but a big part of him was already mentally at the hotel.

As Hayden drove him back, J.J. texted Carter and got back a thumbs up with a room number.

"Thanks for being cool about all this," Hayden said as he pulled up to the front of the hotel. "We miss you a lot, you know?"

"I miss you too," J.J. said and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "But I'll see you in a few weeks."

"Awesome," Hayden said. "See you then."

Slipping from the car, J.J. didn't look back for a last wave. Carter's room was only a few down from J.J.'s so he took a second to go back to his own to freshen up. There was a little glitter on the hem of J.J.'s shirt, a transfer from a hug with the girls. Carter wouldn't care. He'd probably think it was funny.

"Hey," Carter said as he let him in. "Have fun?"

"It was fine. Jackie's a crazy good cook. What did you do?"

"Found something crappy to watch. Mostly I've been zoning out. Want to put on a movie?"

There was only one bed in the room. Last year, J.J. would've taken the desk chair or the questionable armchair hotels always had shoved in one corner. Now, he knew better because Carter would give him a 'why are you over there?' look. It was definitely more comfortable to sprawl out on a bed that could fit three guys their size if it had to.

"Can I ask you something?" J.J. asked as Carter started scrolling through the movie offerings.

"Always."

"I don't even know if you'll know. I guess I could ask Scott, but it'd be awkward."

"Come on, man, if Scott could answer it, I bet I can."

"It's about gay stuff."

"Oh," Carter considered that. "I mean, I have google. We can probably figure it out between the two of us."

"I don't know. It's…do you think that like gay guys find each other even when their closeted?"

"Is Hayden gay?" Carter sat up straighter. "No. Wait. You can't tell me, right? But is he?"

"No! I mean, sort of?" J.J. winced. "You can't say anything."

"I am a lock box," Carter promised. "I kept it a secret for Scott for like three months!"

"You want a prize for that?" J.J. laughed.

"Yes! Do you know how bad I wanted to meet Kip? No one made Scott smile like that before. I wanted to study him for science. I still do sometimes."

"Jackie and Hayden are doing some kind of threeway thing. With another person. They seem fine."

"Are we using 'they' because…."

"I can't tell you," J.J. said firmly. "But Hayden said he's not straight, but he's not sure what he wants to call it yet. Pan or bi or whatever. I don't know. So. Yeah. My two best friends for years are both not straight guys and I don't know what the means."

"That you're a safe chill guy for gay guys to hang out with?" Carter floated.

"If you compare me to the rest of those fucks, probably," J.J. allowed.

"Are you going to ask me if it makes you gay to hang out with gay guys?" Carter's eyes narrowed. "Cause, dude. Seriously?"

"No! Not- no. Not like that," J.J. said quickly. "Sort of the opposite."

"Well, I don't think it makes your straighter," Carter said incredulously.

"Not that kind of opposite."

"Help me out here then. I'm lost." Tossing the remote to the side, Carter sat up and gave J.J. his full attention. "What do you want to ask?"

"Do you think sometimes people find each other because they're all hiding the same shit?" The question fell out of him, slimy and slick and strange. He didn't look at Carter as he asked it.

"Oh," Carter said a lot less spiky immediately. "Are you saying that you're a little gay?"

"I don't know," J.J. admitted and it hurt a little. Spiky dry bits of sand in his throat. "It was never going to be something I could be, so I didn't think about it. My parents are good people. They would still- I think. I don't know. They're religious. I like women. I'll meet one, I'll get married and it won't matter."

"It could matter," Carter said. "What if you meet a man that you really like? Will you just keep walking?"

J.J. scrubbed a hand over his face. "I haven't. Ever. So why should I? Isn't it enough already? To be this different and have to live in their world? I have to layer on more?"

"You're not doing it on purpose," Carter said. "It just is. Cutting yourself up to fit in better just means a lot of blood on the floor."

Reluctantly, J.J. looked at Carter. There was no grin on his face, but no malice either. Just the open friendly regard that had filled up an emptiness in J.J. for months.

"You're good at this," J.J. said.

"I've had practice. First Scott. Then Eric. My cousin too. That was a whole thing," Carter sucked in a breath, "And you know. Me."

"You?" J.J. froze.

"A little. Maybe. I don't know," Carter said with a soft sigh. "I think you've got a pretty good theory about who we become friends with sometimes. Maybe I didn't want to think about it either for a long time, but you hang out enough nights at the Kingfisher and you get enough guys giving you the eye- eh. I hooked up with this guy when we were in San Fran last year before Gloria. Random kind of thing. He was nice about it. I liked it."

J.J. stared at Carter, who simply let him look. They regarded each other over the mattress.

"I don't know who I am anymore," J.J. told him, fragile and thin. "I used to be the guy that made sure the parties happened. Now I don't even go to them. I paint weird shit in my apartment and I drink soda in a gay bar so I'm not alone. Or I'm with you."

"Is that a bad thing?" Carter frowned. "Is any of that a bad thing?"

It should feel bad. He wasn't the man who had left Montreal. The person he had crafted himself into without knowing what was happening. The last seven months had felt so much more deliberate. Careful.

It wasn't so bad, being a more careful person.

"Maybe not," J.J. allowed. "Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"I like you." J.J. wasn't sure he'd ever said that to a friend before. Why should you have to? Friends would know. That's pretty much what being a friend meant.

"I like you too," Carter said and his smile rekindled. "You want to kiss me about it?"

Maybe it had been a joke. It was hard to tell with Carter sometimes.

"Would it be a problem if I did?"

Carter's eyes went wide. "Not for me. Sounds like it might be for you. I'm done with people walking away from me."

That was fair. J.J. wasn't sure if he could make any kind of promise that he wouldn't.

"Could you wait a little while for me to figure it out?" J.J. asked.

"For you?" Carter reached across the bed and held out his hand. J.J. hesitated then took it. Warm, strong fingers wrapped around his own. "Yeah, I think I could wait a little. I have stuff to work out too."

"You still want to hang out?" J.J. asked.

"Jean-Jacques, mon ami, there's no where else I'd rather be."

They watched a movie, hand-in-hand.

By summer, J.J.'s paintings were no longer all hidden in his oven. There was one in the Pike family home, hung over Jade's bed. He had made her a butterfly in a dozen shades of green and sent it along with the twins' other birthday presents. Hayden had sent back a photo of it hanging proudly on her little gallery wall.

Another one depicted two glasses on a bar top, both drained of whatever fluid they had held. Whoever had drank them had already left, leaving behind a napkin with a sketch of a man with a bright smile. It hung in Carter's front hall, so everyone who came in saw it and the proud black lines in the bottom right corner :

Merci de m'avoir attendu, mon beau. - Jean-Jacques

 

Fabian Salah - February 2022

"Does this look okay?" Fabian asked, adjusting the shoulder seams of the blue-gray cashmere sweater. He'd paired it with his favorite black velvet leggings and violently purple suede boots.

"Are you actually asking me?" Ryan glanced up from his phone. He was waiting very patiently on the bed.

Usually, Ryan didn't bother with a hotel room in Ottawa. He stayed with Wyatt and Lisa, taking up their guest room. Fabian liked them well enough, but he was grateful when Ryan suggested a hotel instead. Somewhere he could come decompress later.

"Little bit," Fabian admitted.

"You look fantastic."

"Thanks, but do I…" Fabian trailed off. What was he even going for? Appropriate? He knew what hockey games looked like. Short of pulling on a jersey, whacking off his hair, wiping his face clean of the very nice full beat he'd done and getting a lobotomy, he wasn't going to fit in.

"Come here," Ryan said and held out his hands to him,

With a groan, Fabian took them and let Ryan hug him close. "Sorry."

"What for?" Ryan asked, kissed his neck. "You're beautiful. It's okay to be nervous. It's okay if you want to not come to tonight after all. Kip will live."

"I'm coming," Fabian said firmly. "I love you and I'm going to support you."

"Thanks," Ryan said and rubbed his back.

"You don't have to say that. This is ridiculous."

"It's not, you know it's not," Ryan pulled back enough to meet Fabian's eyes. "It's complicated and painful. I don't need you to hurt yourself to prove something to me. I know you love me."

"Ugh, stop being so kind and understanding and loving," Fabian teased and kissed him. "You're amazing. I love you. I'm going."

With Ryan's ID, they got into the parking garage and walked through back hallways. They stopped in Ryan's office. It was funny, Fabian knew Ryan had an office, had even seen it on some of their FaceTime calls, but it felt very professional and serious now that he was in it. It was a somber room with a bookcase full of binders and hockey books, a solid wood desk with a laptop closed and waiting on it along with files, and a photo in a frame taken the day Fabian had met Ryan's sister for the first time. Colleen had an arm around Fabian's shoulder and they were both clearly delighted by each other.

"I like this room," Fabian decided and sat down in the guest chair while Ryan sorted through a few things. Mail, maybe. "You give good office."

"Thanks," Ryan laughed. "You look good in it. Class the place up a little."

They hung around there for a few minutes, chatting as Ryan got himself sorted. There was a distant clamor, the gathering of manly men getting ready for their sport. Music crept down the hall.

"Is that Lady Gaga?" Fabian asked, bewildered.

"Must be Pike's day to pick the playlist. He's been on a Gaga kick. Don't ask me why," Ryan said. "He's an unusual guy."

Fabian had no idea which one Pike was, but he'd take his boyfriend's word for it. "Better than blasting electronica."

It was almost, a little, comforting. Fabian might now listen to Lady Gaga much anymore, but she had always been a voice of acceptance at least.

"Are we waiting for- ah! Fabian!" Roz walked in unceremoniously. "Very good to see you. I'm so sorry for your fate. I heard you must eat dinner with Hunter tonight."

"Hi," Fabian said, fighting to keep a smile off his face. "I like Scott, actually."

"You do not," Roz said immediately. "You don't know him. You are poking me for fun."

"A little," Fabian conceded. "How are you?"

"Very good." The charming smile was easily locked into place. Game recognized game. "Thank you for coming home. He has been in a much better mood."

"Oh, was he grumpy?" Fabian asked, casting a look to Ryan who was already going pink. Poor man couldn't hide a feeling to save his life.

"Even on his worst day he is nicer than me," Roz snorted. "But yes, a little. He is much more cheerful when you are around. I understand this well."

"Yeah, I'll bet. I know we all said it a thousand times in the group chat, but congratulations again on the engagement. Can I see the ring?"

"You can see mine. If you want to see Shane's we will have to go to the locker room. He would like to say hello though. After the game, there may not be time."

"Going somewhere?"

"Only getting ready for the away game tomorrow." Holding out his hand, Roz let Fabian admire the black band with it's thin lines of gold.

"Very you," Fabian said. "I like it. I don't want to bother them."

"Eh, they are not easy to bother. Probably all still standing around in their regular clothes and talking nonsense"

Fabian glanced at Ryan, who shrugged and gave him an 'only if you want to' face.

What Fabian would like to do was go home, but that was ridiculous and counterproductive. He did like Shane, who had met a handful of times. All he had to do was poke his head around the door and say hello. It'd be fine.

"Sure, why not?"

So Fabian followed Roz down the short hallway, only realizing when they were nearly there that Ryan hadn't come with. When he glanced back he saw his boyfriend had gotten held up by his boss, Wiebe approaching with a clipboard.

That was fine too. What would Ryan do anyway? Fabian had made it pretty far in life without Ryan Price's protection. Besides, Roz was no slouch in the looming department, he could pick up the slack.

The noise intensified as they got closer, but it had nothing on a crowded concert hall venue. Roz walked in first, gave a quick survey than gestured Fabian in.

As Roz had predicted, everyone was still mostly dressed, only a few shirts whipped off or hanging open. The music was banging, but they were talking over it. The room even smelled relatively pleasant. Before the game was definitely better than after the game.

"-remembered the keys were inside," a cherubic-faced meat slab was saying mournfully.

"So then he calls me at 2am," Joey said. They were sitting down, working off calf-high Doc Martins with red roses embroidered on them. Shoes aside, they were mostly dressed like everyone else. Blending. "And I had to remind him that he's had a spare key in his car for months because he knew he would do that."

"I did!" Apparently the cherub could laugh at himself. "I felt very silly, but! I got in and did not have to scale my building like Beetleman."

"I know you know it's Spiderman, Haas, quit it," Wyatt groused, then glanced up. "Fabian! Hi!"

The whole locker room went a little quieter, attention snapping to the doorway.

"Yes, you are all very lucky," Roz drawled. "Big famous musician comes to wish you good luck. Be nice or maybe he will not come back."

"Hey," Shane, who had been talking seriously to a man that could've been an actor given the cut of his jaw, also looked up. That had to be Troy Barrett. Ryan had been very nervous about coaching him, but mostly seemed to have accepted it and migrated into tentatively liking him now. Unlike Fabian who could happily hold a lifetime of grudges. "Nice to see you again, Fabian."

"Good to see you too. Sorry to interrupt your…whatever it is you're doing. Getting ready?"

"Pre-game shit shooting," Wyatt said seriously. "Very important. Deep part of the ritual."

"Right before we make a meat sacrifice to Bood's grill," a pretty wide-eyed guy said.

"Closed for the winter for sacrifices," Bood said seriously. Fabian did remember him from the summer barbecue. His wife Cassie had been very kind and an excellent hostess.

"No one is making blood sacrifices," Shane said like this was maybe something he'd had to say more than once, potentially more than once today. "Are you staying for the game?"

"Yes," Fabian said. "So you boys all better impress."

It had come out a little more admonishing than he'd meant it, but to his surprise, they seemed to take it as a literal directive. The whole room seemed to stand up a little straighter. Except for Joey, who tilted their head a little as if it taking Fabian in anew again. Then, of all things, they winked at him, before turning their attention to the wide-eyed guy that had made the sacrifice joke.

Fabian absolutely did not need a baby hockey player to approve him. He didn't.

But he did feel, ever so slightly, better. That was very annoying.

"Hear that boys?" Wyatt called to the rest of the room. "You only get once chance to make a first impression!"

"Too bad for Hunter," Roz said dryly. "He has been around so long, there is no one left that has not met him."

"You went to the man's wedding," Bood pointed out. "We all know you two are friends, coach. You can't fight it."

"Take this back," Roz feigned a gasp. "Fabian! Do you hear this disrespect from my own players?"

"I dunno. You said congratulations and everything," Fabian said thoughtfully. "I think you shook his hand."

"He did," Shane confirmed, only a tiny twitch of a smile giving him away. "It was very nice."

"No," Roz pointed at Shane. "This is not allowed."

Shane laughed and sat back down at his spot on the bench. "Yes, coach. I won't tell them how you texted him when-"

"Betrayal!" Roz threw up his arms in disgust. "Fabian, I will return you to Price, so you can get a good seat and watch these treasonous assholes play decent hockey."

"Treasonous," Shane repeated appreciatively.

"I will end you, Hollander," Roz groaned, turning on his heels and stalking away. Given that guys were starting to reach for the hem's of their shirts, Fabian read that as the appropriate time to leave. A shame. The only thing about hockey he'd ever been given to appreciate was the bodies it carved.

Fabian followed after Roz, back to where Wiebe and Ryan were still talking, pointing very seriously to something.

"What?" Roz asked immediately.

"LaPointe is back on the injury list," Wiebe said. "I talked Tabitha and she's not thrilled with the progress on that ankle. He has to stay off it. He tried to hide it."

"Fuck," Roz said. "Okay. You want me to talk to him?"

"Please," Wiebe said. "Ryan and I will figure out who to sub in. I've got him in your office already. Hi, Fabian."

"Hi," Fabian said. "Babe, why don't you point me in the right direction to get my seat. I don't want to be in your way."

Ryan looked briefly torn, but relented with a nod. "Let me get one of the security guys to walk you so you don't get stopped."

He didn't move, only got out his phone and sent off a text. Barely a minute later, a guy in a black polo and a radio showed up. These days, Fabian had an almost pavlovian reaction to that kind of uniform. It signaled the end of a show, the beginning of the travel back to himself.

"I'll see you after," Ryan said leaning down to brush a kiss over Fabian's cheek. "I'll collect up Scott when he's done and meet you at the restaurant as soon as we can."

That was the plan, but Ryan often needed to restate the order of operations. These days Fabian also found it soothing. "All right. Love you."

"Love you too."

There were already a few fans filtering into the arena. It wasn't a 'big' game, Ryan had told him, but the Admirals were having a good enough season that there was interest. Fabian had come prepared for a long wait, phone at full charge and headphones at the ready.

He doesn't even get as far as pulling the headphones out.

"Fabian! Hi!" Harris arrived like a cheerful grenade, a barrage of colorful pins and neatly trimmed beard. He's a soft looking man in every imaginable way, but Fabian had read through the Centaurs P.R. more thoroughly the last few months and there was steel in him. "Is it okay if I crash with you and Kip today? No camera, I promise. I'm technically off."

"Only technically?" Fabian asked and waved at the seat next to him.

"I'm 'on call' on game days in case something nuts happens. My folks can probably manage without me, but I'd come see Troy play anyway. So off, but not."

"Sounds like being self-employed," Fabian said with a nod. Do you come to all the home games?"

"Most of them. I used to be able to do some of the away games too, but as a department head there's less excuse for it. When we make it to the playoffs, then it might make sense for me to travel, we'll see."

"When, not if?" Fabian asked.

"We're making it," Harris said with serene confidence. "The guys are on fire this year."

"What about the Admirals?"

"Oooh could go either way really. The whole team is aging, but that's not always a bad thing. Experience can beat energy. Their record is solid."

Letting hockey talk wash over him had been most of Fabian's childhood. He had absorbed a great deal of it, mostly against his will. In his mind, sitting through that again was akin to torture. But this was little like it was from Ryan when he did occasionally talk about work. It helped that Ryan concentrated on the players, not the game and Harris had a similar focus.

"I'm just so proud of him," Harris was saying about one of the younger players. "He's really adjusted even though it was a big culture shock."

"Because of all the gay?" Fabian hazarded and Harris laughed which was gratifying.

"Yeah, basically. But he's got a good heart. I think that's what keeps surprising people about us. When you treat people with respect and give them a chance to see whatever they were afraid of isn't so scary, sometimes they come around."

"What happens with the ones that don't?"

Harris blew out a stream of air. "Ryan doesn't talk about that, huh?"

"I think he doesn't want to confirm my worse fears," Fabian admitted, then winced. Did Harris know? Did Ryan talk about why his lover never showed?

"Oh," Harris considered that, then nodded once. "Yeah, I can get that. There's always a few. So far they haven't lasted long. If they're that at odds with the culture, they don't tend to play well, you know? There have been a few rough moments, but we've gotten pretty lucky so far."

"Are things any better with the socials? I try to keep up, but it's a lot to even stay on top of my own things."

"The internet is a flaming trashpile," Harris said without any particular weight. "But it has its bright spots and things could be worse."

Nothing specific and Fabian didn't really want to expose himself to ask anything closer to the bone. As far as he can tell, Harris was blissfully unaware of the showdown at the barbecue. Hopefully almost everyone was.

"Heya!" chimed Kip, coming down the steps in a few awkward hops, before launching himself into the seat on Fabian's other side. "Harris! I didn't know you'd be here tonight."

"I had to come and watch Troy show your husband how it's done," Harris said merrily. "In case he's starting to forget."

"Oh my god," Kip huffed out a laugh. "Not you too."

"Sorry, sorry," Harris said with a grin. "I know, he's still very young and hot."

"Think whatever you want," Kip said airily. "I get to go home with him and I know exactly what that's worth."

"Amen," Fabian said with a smile. "You tell him."

"Who's team are you on?" Harris asked, mock-appalled.

"Mine," Fabian said immediately. "And Team HABs apparently."

"We need a jersey," Kip said. "Harris, design us a jersey."

"I'm not a graphic designer. Aren't you an art person?"

"Art history," Kip corrected. "I like to think and look at the art, I don't make it."

"Doesn't one of your players draw things?"Fabian asked. There was a nice sketch on their fridge of Ryan standing in front of television pointing at something. It captured him well.

"Luca," Harris supplied. "Talented kid. He's Roz's favorite."

"Are they supposed to have favorites?" Fabian asked.

"No, but they're human and Luca is adorable," Harris explained.

"Which one is Luca?" Kip asked.

A picture was called up on Harris' phone and tilted across to them.

"Oh, the angel-face one with a twelve-pack," Fabian said. "He is cute."

"Agreed," Kip surveyed him. "But like…five years old?"

"Now your ageist?" Fabian teased.

"I am when it's illegal to look!"

"He's twenty-one," Harris laughed. "But yeah, very young. He's some artist though."

Scrolling through some of Luca's sketches, Fabian could almost forget where they were. Apparently Harris really didn't harbor any resentment which was nice and Kip was fun to talk to.

"J.J. has really gotten into painting, but he won't show me anything," Kip said as the phone withdrew back into Harris' care as he answered a text from a contact so showered in heart emojis that it had to be Troy.

"Who's J.J.?" Fabian asked.

"He was with Montreal when Shane and Hayden were there. The three of them were pretty good friends, so he was pretty pissed with how things went after Shane came out, acted out about it, so they got rid of him. Our gain though. He's a ton of fun and a real sweetheart. Plus, the accent. I know you guys must be used to men being French at you, but damn."

Fabian laughed, "Being French at you?"

"The accent," Kip said a little dreamily.

"And you a married man," Harris cackled.

"I still have eyes and ears," Kip said. "Speaking of, I know someone caught the bouquet at my wedding. What's happening there?"

It had been a movie moment. Fabian would remember Ryan sliding the rose over Fabian's ear for the rest of his life. The tenderness, the planning, the bobbypin already in Ryan's hand ready to secure it. They had even danced afterwards. A fade to credits kind of night.

"I'm iffy on marriage," Fabian admitted. "Not with him. Just as a thing."

"Mm, same," Harris said. "No offense Kip."

"None taken. I love being married, but it was more for Scott than me. You know he doesn't have any family, so it's kind of a big deal. I made him get a pre-nup though. Huge fight," Kip sighed. "Probably the biggest we had."

"Isn't he supposed to be the one that wants one? Unless you're secretly the richest grad student in history," Fabian said.

"You'd think. But I think he hopes if we ever got divorced I will take half of everything because then at least he'll finally have gotten me to take a lump sum of money off him," Kip sighed. "I love him so much, but he's got a box of broken glass in his head sometimes."

"Ryan likes to spend big on me too," Fabian said. "But I love jewelry so I'm probably not sending the right message to make it stop."

"Troy took me to a resort for our first date," Harris said with a nod. "Maybe this is something that needs to be studied in a lab."

"You want us to tell other people the secret to a luxury life is to find the most closeted jocks alive and bat your eyelashes at them?" Fabian asked lightly.

Harris and Kip both busted out in peals of laughter and Fabian smiled broadly. That felt good. The stands filled in around them, but the seat on Kip's other side stayed open until only a minute before the first puck was dropped.

"Hi, Harris- oh! You're Fabian!" A pretty woman with a high ponytail said. "Shane gave us your album, it's really lovely. We met at the barbecue, I think, but very quickly. I'm Jackie Pike."

"Of course," Fabian said though he didn't remember her even a little. "It's nice to see you again."

"Do you mind if I sit with you guys? Cassie wound up staying home, Milo is a little sniffly and I think it's a lean WAG showing tonight."

"You can sit next to me," Kip offered. "I'm Kip."

"Oh! Yes! Thank you," Jackie moved politely past all their knees without touching them to sit next to Kip. "I know it it was a bit ago, but congratulations on your wedding. Shane showed us a few pictures, it was lovely."

"Thanks," Kip said. "Any reason we're low on WAGs for a home game?"

"It's not one of the big battles tonight," Jackie said with a shrug. "The girls love to come out for Boston and Montreal games, when things are kind of tense and bloody. But I wanted to support J.J. too. Do you know him?"

"I was just mentioning him! We adore him."

The two of them were off to the races. Before Harris could try to engage Fabian in more small talk, the match finally started. The players went out onto the ice and Fabian prepared to be horrifyingly bored and boredly horrified.

"Hey," Kip leaned in as the puck dropped, his conversation with Jackie apparently on pause, "if you want, you can close your eyes when things get punchy and I'll tell you when it's safe again."

"I'm not five," Fabian grumbled, but he gave Kip a sidelong look and he seemed earnest enough. "I- yes. Please."

"You got it."

That helped a little. As Kip had predicted months ago, it wasn't a game rife with fights. Both teams played hard and there were a few sticky moments, but for the most part, Fabian zoned out and was fine with it. At one point, Joey scored a goal and while the whole arena made about the same general noise as they had about Hollander's goal, Jackie got to her feet and yelled like something truly spectacular had happened. Which she had notably not done for Shane.

"Big fan?" Kip asked her.

"Yes," she said unabashedly as she sat back down. "They really needed that. They've been having a few bad games in a row and I know it was getting to them. Hayden keeps saying everyone has bad stretches, but I don't think that was helping."

Okay then. Fabian had some new and interesting questions for Ryan that had nothing to do with the on ice action. Or maybe he could just ask a present source. He leaned into Harris and asked in a whisper,

"I'm confused. Is she Hayden or Joey's WAG? Also which one is Hayden?"

Harris blinked then laughed quietly. "Hayden is her husband, number 35. He's taken Joey under his wing a little. Jackie feeds them a lot, so I think she's got a protective thing going."

That was normal hockey stuff as Fabian well knew, but probably not normal for the league's first out nonbinary player. That settled Fabian a little. It wasn't just the cosmetics of flags and empty words. The camaraderie of the barbecue was not aberrant or false. Hockey was still boring and terrible, but at least Ryan's team was exactly what they seemed to be for the most part.

Fabian could cheer for that as Hollander scored another goal, soundly beating New York.

Across the ice, standing in his black and red fleece,smiling as he applauded his players, Ryan looked up. Fabian wasn't sure he could see him, but he waved anyway.

"Did you want to come with us for dinner?" Fabian asked, the relaxation of thing trial being over making him magnanimous and it seemed rude not to extend the offer to Harris.

"Thanks, but I promised Troy he could come over tonight. The team will be away for two weeks, so we're going to squeeze in a little in person time."

"You don't live together?"

"He basically lives with me, but we haven't hammered out the details yet," Harris said, apparently unbothered by that. "It's an in progress thing. But hey, next time you feel like coming to a game or just hanging out in Ottawa, let me know and I'll make sure I'm free. Okay?"

"Absolutely," Fabian said and meant it.

"It was nice to see you again!" Jackie said warmly as they all filed out.

Fabian made the usual agreement and small talk as they shuffled out, but something occurred to him as they got close to the exit.

"Jackie, is there any chance you'll see Joey before they leave for their away games?"

"Maybe," she said, her face shutting down a little. "Why?"

"Can you tell them that I thought they played well tonight? And thank you. They'll understand, I think."

"I can do that," she said neutrally. "They don't mind texting though if you want their number."

"Probably better this way. I don't want to be intrusive."

If she had any response to that, it was lost as the crowd parted them and Fabian had to double-time to keep up with Kip's surprisingly fast walk.

"Where's the fire?" Fabian asked, coming back up alongside him a little breathless.

"Sorry! Doing my normal New York pace. Gotta slow down for the Canadians," Kip laughed. "We've got a car waiting for us. Who knows when the guys will be free to meet up, we can get a drink or something."

Having a drink with Kip at a restaurant bar felt delightfully familiar. Fabian could've been with any one of his friends from Toronto, drinking and catching up. It was so easy and normal that by the time Scott and Ryan showed up, Fabian was certain he'd made a new friend for life.

"Look at you two," Ryan said with a grin as he leaned down to kiss Fabian hello. "How much did you drink?"

"Two cocktails, medium strength," Fabian said, sliding his hand into Ryan's. "Your team is really special. I'm proud of you."

"Oh," Ryan blinked a few times, maybe a little wetly. "Thanks, love."

They got a table and Fabian properly met Scott too. He was nice guy, solemn around the edges, but an excellent listener and a very attentive husband. Ryan clearly admired him, but as the evening went on the respectful distance wore away as Scott talked frankly about how things had been since the wedding. The good, the bad and the ugly that Fabian could contrast with his own career.

All told, it might be the best double date that Fabian had ever been on. They all promised to do it again some time as they made their goodbyes.

The hotel room greeted them with a little evidence of Fabian's earlier worrying. Clothes spilled out of his suitcase and his makeup bag had vomited up into the sink a little.

"Thank you for coming tonight," Ryan said as Fabian ignored all of that to shed his clothes and coax Ryan to do the same.

"I love you," Fabian said because 'you're welcome' felt wrong. It wasn't a favor he'd done. It was something necessary if a little hard. "I want you to talk to me about hockey sometimes. Not in general. But I want to know more about your team. I kept hearing names and thought I vaguely knew faces? That seems wrong. You know all my roadies and everything."

"There's a lot of guys," Ryan said.

"You'd make an excuse for me if I shot someone right in front of you, wouldn't you?" Fabian shook his head. "I want to know all your stories, not some…edited version of you. I love all of you."

"But there's things you don't like."

"There's things you don't like about what I do too," Fabian said. "But you've always been braver about looking at them head on."

"I'll never get on a plane unless it's life or death," Ryan pointed out.

"Not the same."

"It's not entirely different."

"Don't be so reasonable," Fabian scolded and slid his leg between Ryan's thighs. He ran his hand lightly over Ryan's shoulder and down his arm. "It's annoying."

"You want me to get pissed off?" Ryan asked mildly. "Really?"

"I want you to get what you want from me. You deserve that."

With a soft sigh, Ryan cupped Fabian's cheek. Or really palmed most of his face. Fabian loved Ryan's hands, large and strong and gentle.

"Love, I am surrounded by people that eat, breathe, and sleep hockey. I can talk to any of them about it. If I really have to work out something about the team, I can text Roz or Wiebe or even Hazy. I'm not at a loss for that. You don't need to scratch that itch for me. You reach everything else. Even parts of me I didn't know I had."

"Ryan," Fabian protested. "How are you this sweet? Who allowed that?"

"You," Ryan said seriously, then kissed him. "I'm glad you came tonight, but you never have to show again if you don't want to."

"Maybe once or twice a season," Fabian said and gave Ryan's butt a playful squeeze. "I didn't mind seeing all those big strong guys listening to you. That was very hot. I like when you're a little commanding."

"You never listen to my orders," Ryan grinned at him.

"I didn't say it was hot when you commanded me," Fabian snorted. "You want to mess around tonight or go to sleep?"

Ryan stretched, a few joints popping and then he rolled them so Fabian was perched on top of Ryan's hips. A favorite location for both of them. Fabian braced his hands on Ryan's chest and showed him how appreciative he was.

In the morning, they would go back to Toronto and arrive just in time for Budget Brunch. They'd eat with Fabian's friends and then go for a long walk despite the cold. They would warm each other back up in the shower and spend a lazy evening in front of the television.

Nothing was fixed because maybe nothing had been truly broken to begin with. They had only inched a little closer to each other, entwining themselves a little further together. There was a song in that. Fabian would write it some day soon.

 

Luca Haas - March 2022

Going through customs after a one-hour flight felt vaguely ridiculous, but Luca obediently proffered his passport and answered the same questions he'd answered a thousand times. He was a good traveler by necessity. Back and forth to Switzerland at least twice a year and the criss-crossing of North America for games had forged him into an efficient packer against his nature.

Luca had learned how to let the bureaucracy of it all flow over him. Usually. He had very little patience today as he was slowly pushed through the lines of Newark Airport and finally out into the unseasonably warm late afternoon with his backpack and tiny carryon bag. From there he followed careful instructions emailed to him a week ago and took the tram to the train.

It was nothing like the trains at home, but it got him where he needed to go. The neighborhood was tightly packed, rowhouses crammed together in front of broken sidewalks. Luca found the building with the bright red door, then started poking at bricks until he found 'the loosest one' and pulled it out. A key had been placed behind it for him that morning and he took it out with great relief.

Letting himself inside, he was careful to lock the door again behind him. There were doors on either side. He wanted 1B on the left. There was decal on the chipping white paint of a raven on a branch. It could be a leftover Halloween decoration or just Sal's idea of decorating. Hard to tell.

As soon as Luca opened the door, he was endeared to the space. A wave of incense and herbs hit him. It was the scent ground into Sal's clothes and hair. Turning on the light, Luca found only more familiar things. The apartment was an L-shape around tight kitchenette with a dining space to the left of the door and a living room area on the long arm of the L with a bed shoved in one corner. It was neater than Luca's apartment, but not by very much.

Setting his bag down by the door, Luca located the tiny bathroom which was exactly the terrible shade of avocado that Sal had described. He made use of it, washing his hands with the black grainy soap that was probably handmade. Much of Sal's life was handmade, but his own ingenuity or one of his sprawling network of friends.

 

Luca: I'm here.

Sal: Fantastic. I'll be home in an hour and a half. Help yourself to whatever.

 

Luca: Arrived! You were right. He cleaned for me too.

Joey: Cute. Hope you have a great time! If you need to ditch, my mother will happily take you in and stuff you full of food.

 

With full permission, Luca did help himself. He nosed around the living space, thumbing through a pile of books that ranged from 1960s fantasy novels with trippy covers to modern social justice texts with dense writing. Instead of a dresser, Sal's clothes lived in a stack of clear bins sorted vaguely by type next to a large hamper. His desk was small, laptop currently with it's owner, but several notebooks stacked there, class notes thick on the pages. Sal's handwriting was good, if a little cramped, but his notetaking was scattershot and the subjects beyond Luca's range of understanding.

The kitchen table was clear of all debris as were the chairs. Luca poked through the kitchenette, located a box of Cheez-its and settled in with them even though they were very much not on his diet plan. He ate through the steadily as he sat at the table and sketched the apartment, trying to capture all the details he could in a short time.

The door opened as he was shading in the bed.

"Hey," Sal said with his wry grin. "You really are here."

"I am," Luca agreed and smiled back him. "You look very professional."

"Don't remind me. Interview drag," Sal said.

Today had been a step in Sal securing a summer internship. The piercings and the hair had stayed, obviously, but he was dressed to cover most of his tattoos and everything was ironed. It looked odd on him as if the clothes themselveds knew how mislocated they were.

"How did it go?" Luca asked, getting up.

"Good, I think. It won't be the most exciting few months, but it'll be valuable experience," Sal said dutifully then reached out a hand to Luca. "Who gives a shit? Kiss me hello."

Luca kissed him with three months worth of pent up want. They had texted and called each other incessantly over the last twelve weeks. It was crazy how much they had talked and talked. And sometimes not talked over Facetime, their phones balanced against lamps and water bottles.

"You taste like Cheez-its," Sal declared when Luca pulled back. "I like it."

"I was very hungry," Luca admitted. "I will buy you dinner tonight. Is that okay?"

"Very okay. Food or bed first?"

Not a hard choice. "Bed. Then food. Then bed again."

"You're a genius," Sal said solemnly. "Get naked, genius."

It was an absolute pleasure to peel out of all his clothes in front of Sal, who watched him with blatant hunger. Luca sat down on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs in an invitation that Sal immediately took. A fine-boned hand with chipped black nail polish wrapped around the back of Luca's neck and squezzed once.

"Hi," Luca said, burying his face against Sal's chest.

"Hi," Sal said and let him stay there a moment, before tugging on Luca's hair. "Marks still okay?"

"Please," Luca begged.

Sal leaned down and set his mouth to the juncture of Luca's neck and shoulder. The bite made Luca moan deeply. He grasped at Sal's waist and held on a little too tightly. It went on and on, Luca riding the wave of pleasure-pain until he was almost dizzy with it. Sal pulled away and dropped a light kiss on the spot.

"Your teammates will see that," he observed. "Possibly from space."

"Yes," Luca said. They had a game in New Jersey in two nights. Luca had stolen this time from optional practices. He was reliable usually and he'd even confirmed with Wiebe that it was all right. Maybe he'd get teased when he showed up with bite marks and scratches. So what?

"You want more?"

Luca nodded and then tentatively, slid his hands to Sal's shirt buttons. "Do you want this off or on?"

He'd seen Sal shirtless now, the lean corded muscle of his arms, the sparse dark hair on his chest and the viciously beautiful underscoring of his top surgery scars. Underwear had stayed on though, a lurking mystery.

"You're really patient about all this," Sal observed.

"I like you," Luca said. "A lot. I don't want to take what you don't want to give."

"You give so many right answers." The buttons gave way to Sal's nimble fingers, his shirt dropping away and then the white undershirt beneath pulled up anbd off. Luca pressed a kiss to his slightly rounded stomach. "That kind of tickles."

"Sorry," Luca said unrepentantly. He ran his hands upwards and paused. "Can I touch or are they sensitive?"

"More numb. You can touch, but I won't feel much of it."

So Luca ran a curious finger over the scarring, learning the texture of it then, moved upward, palming Sal's pecs then his shoulders and drawing him back down for a long involved kiss. With a grin, Sal pushed Luca away, before sinking to his knees.

"I've been thinking about this for months," Sal said, giving Luca a hungry look from under his eyelashes. He reached into his side drawer, pulled out a condom and rolled it down Luca's cock with a practiced hand.

"Yeah?" Luca asked. In theory, he knew that. He knew that Sal wanted him. Had thought about it. In practice, it was giving him heart palpitations.

"Yeah," Sal said and then his mouth followed the path of his hand.

The blowjob was spectacular and Luca came embarrassingly quickly, flushing from neck to stomach over it. Sal didn't seem to care, tracing the blush back up with a trail of nipping kisses before he settled in Luca's lap for a more leisurely make out.

"Do you want me to-" Luca started to offer.

"Dinner first," Sal said, dotting a last kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Get all the edges off. Then we'll come back here and I'll take off my pants and teach you a few things. Okay?"

"Very okay."

Their conversation had been primed from months of chatter. They ate poke bowls and drank boba tea, Sal's knees between Luca's under the table. It was on the second time they had a chance to touch each other, but Luca felt utterly at ease. Maybe it was just Sal's manner, the way he moved through the world.

For anyone looking in on their date, it must seem a very strange match. Sal returned to his punk hippie splendor, bony and heavy-lidded all over contrasting with Luca's clean cut mid-season bulk and dull simple clothes. But Luca only had pride sitting across from Sal. He knew a winner when he saw one and Sal was definitely a winner, even if he was playing in a very different competition.

"You're staring," Sal said, amused.

"You're very handsome," Luca said with a shrug. "I want to look at you. Is that a problem?"

"No," Sal said. "But it does make me want to go home. Ready?"

"Very."

When they got back, Sal lit his incense and turned off the overhead light. The lamp by the bed had been draped in a silky length of orange fabric and the light diffused over the bed.

"I need you to follow direction this first time. Okay?" Sal asked.

"Whatever you want," Luca vowed.

Luca was very very good at directions and Sal was moving art when he came, a babbling mess beneath him.

"I'm going to draw this one day," Luca told him, even as he kissed Sal's thighs, the point of his hip and back up his chest until he could nuzzle into his neck.

"I'll hang it over my bed," Sal said with a tired laugh. "Goddamn. Can you do that again in the morning?"

Luca could and he did.

Instead of staying bed to go for a third time though, Sal drew him out into the world. They got on the train and went into the city without much of a plan. It was fun just to see things through Sal's eyes, the places he thought were interesting, the ones he breezed past. They ate lunch in a fancy deli, the best roast beef Luca had at an obscene price point.

In the late afternoon, Sal said, "You want to see Hunter's bar? You seemed excited about it last time."

"Yes," Luca said, attempting to seem serene about this offer.

"You're a Hunter fanboy, huh?" Sal teased.

"Little bit," Luca admitted. "It was a big deal when he came out and he is a very good player, not matter what Coach says."

"Directly contradicting the Great Rozanov, huh?" Sal grinned. "It must be serious."

"I disagree with him sometimes!" Luca protested. "I don't- he is very good to me. That's all."

"You totally had a crush on him at some point. Maybe still do?"

"Very small. I promise."

"I don't have that kind of ego," Sal assured him, bumping his shoulder in Luca's arm. "I know you liked people before you liked me. He is a good looking guy."

"I really don't feel that way about him any more," Luca said. "But I grew up watching him play and he was so good. And yes, very hot. But now we're more like…I don't know. He's a good coach. A good mentor."

"I had crush on one of my professors last year. Pain in the ass. I couldn't concentrate worth a damn," Sal said. "Not sure if they clocked it or not though. I hope not."

"My first season was a little distracting," Luca admitted. "It was easier when I got used to him being a person, instead of a poster. He acted more like a very strict older brother with me. I figured it out. "

The Kingfisher had a very large rainbow flag outside of it, but inside, it really did seem like a regular sports bar. It was half-full at 4pm on a Saturday, a few people in the booths and more at the bar. The guy bartending took them in as they approached and smiled.

"Hey, Sal. Who's your friend?"

"This is Luca, Luca, this is Kyle."

"Hello," Luca said.

"Wait," Kyle said, narrowing his eyes taking him in. "You're one of Roz's players. Haas, right?"

"That's right," Luca said. He didn't know why he was surprised. It was Hunter's bar and ESPN was on the TVs.

"He mentions you in the group chat sometimes. You old enough to drink?"

"Yes," Luca sighed and got out his ID. "What group chat?"

"We've got a HAB thing going on because being called a WAG makes me want to set fire to the bar," Kyle said with a smile that showed a lot of his teeth. Who was Kyle with? Luca turned that over and over and figured it couldn't be someone actively playing. He'd ask Coach when he saw him.

As Luca showed Kyle his ID, he glanced sidelong at Sal. Would he want in on that some day? Was that jumping too far ahead? Had they been dating for months or technically two days? Long distance still counted, surely. Even then, three months wasn't much. That couldn't be boyfriend territory. Could it?

"What goes on in a HAB chat?" Sal asked. "Whiskey sour, please."

"Vodka tonic," Luca requested. He didn't really like vodka that much, but there was something straight forward about a clear drink that he liked.

"I signed an NDA," Kyle said solemnly. "I cannot reveal our secrets."

"Really?" Luca asked.

Kyle blinked, then looked to Sal, who only shrugged. "No. It's a joke. Are you sure you're 21?"

"Yes," Luca grumbled.

"Sal. I like you. Did you bring an underage person to my bar?"

"He's only a year younger than me," Sal said dryly. "You saw his ID, don't be a dick, Kyle. Just because you landed a Daddy doesn't mean that's what we're all fishing for."

"Eric is not a daddy, trust me on this. If anything-" Kyle said, then stopped dead. "Wait. Are you two…."

"Drinks, please," Sal said encouragingly.

"Yeah, sure." Kyle wandered down the bar, clearly texting.

Luca could practically see the phone tree emerging. Everyone would know before the game at this rate. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"Do what?" Sal asked. "Tease Kyle? He was being an asshole to you, so yeah, a little."

"No, no that. He's going to tell his group chat we're together. Which probably includes Coach and he will definitely ask me about it."

"Why would-" Sal started then stopped and groaned. "Right. He's technically a HAB, huh? I'm sorry. I wasn't even really thinking. Just mouthing off. That was stupid of me."

"It's all right. I'm not hiding," Luca said. "I wouldn't have come here if I was. But maybe next time, we ask first?"

"Yes, definitely. Shit. I'm really sorry."

"Sal, it's fine," Luca repeated. Were they touching in public yet? It was a gay bar. Kyle knew now. Luca pressed his forehead briefly to Sal's temple. "You surprised me. I was thinking if it would be too much to ask if we were boyfriends already."

"You were?" Sal leaned into the touch instead of away.

"I really like you," Luca swallowed down the sudden tide of fear. "But I don't want to rush or anything. I was only thinking it."

"It's not a rush. I'd like that. I want to be your boyfriend."

"Yes?" This was the best bar in the world. Luca loved this bar.

"Yes," Sal said and slid his hand over Luca's, the twine of sharp pointed leaves and thorns of his tattoo mingling with the callouses and tiny scars on Luca's fingers.

"Vodka tonic and a whiskey sour." Two glasses appeared before them. "My number is on your napkin, Sal. I'm not hitting on you. It's for if you ever want to join the group chat."

"It's early days for that," Sal said, but he did take the napkin, fold it and stick it in his pocket. "Also, not sure I want to hang around with dicks."

"That will be a problem. Roz drops in like three times a week. Fabian doesn't say much, but he can slice your throat open if he's in the mood. Kip and Harris are nice. And I'm me."

"Fun," Sal said.

They held hands the entire time they sipped their drinks.

"We should take a selfie," Luca said when he reached pure ice. "Just for us."

"The lighting in here kind of sucks, but sure."

They put their backs to the bar to get a slightly better framing. Luca set his elbows on the bar so he didn't loom over Sal so much. The smiles veered into the goofy, both too pleased with each other to pose. Luca sneaked in a second one where he was kissing Sal's cheek because he could.

He didn't even notice until much later that there was a painting in frame behind them. It captured the shelves of liquor bottles, the lines wavy and almost abstract. When he idly redrew the photo months later, he included it, amused by the nesting of images.

In the moment though, they got another drink and Sal leaned against Luca's arm as he told him about graduate school applications and other arcane rituals of academia.

"Maybe I'll go when I'm done with hockey."

"To college? Would you want to stay in Canada?"

"If that's where I am. I could be traded," Luca said.

It was a fear that hovered around him. He would be all right for a few more years, probably. Being on Hollander's line wasn't meaningless. But someday that might not be enough for management and his time as the hot up and comer would be over.

"Do you have any control over where you go?"

"Not really."

"That's kind of scary," Sal said. "But I guess it's the trade off for the money and getting to do the thing you love for work.

"A little. But for now, I have a team I love and I get to do my favorite thing for money. It's good. Many people get less than that."

"I'll drink to loving your crazy job. I hope I get that lucky."

They toasted to that and not much later, they left behind the Kingfisher for the more private joys of Sal's apartment.

"I like it here," Luca murmured under the pile of blankets.

"I'm not staying," Sal warned. "I'm going to find a better place soon. Don't get attached."

"Too late." Snuggling in closer, Luca pressed a kiss to Sal's shoulder and then his neck. "I'm attached to the best part of it."

"Oh, you're a sap," Sal said with a curl of a smile. "My sappy, sexy boyfriend."

"That's me!"

That was him, Luca realized, even as he kissed Sal reluctantly goodbye that morning. They parted slowly, dragged apart by time and schedule. Everything Luca had brought with him smelled like incense and he dragged his own shirt collar up to his nose more times than was advisable in the back of the Uber.

He arrived at the hotel too early to check in, sitting in the front lobby waiting for the rest of the team. They poured in raucous and jovial a half-hour later. Holmberg and Young caught sight of Luca first and flanked him like he was the shepherd to their nervous sheep. When would that stop? Had he been that bad as a rookie? Joey had clung like that to him too during their rookie year, but at least it had been mutual.

"I see exactly what skipping optional skate was for," a wry voice cut through Luca's contemplations with a knife. "Good choice."

"Hi, Coach," Luca said brightly, turning his face up to him, making his eyes as wide as possible.

"Hello." Rozanov stood over him, very clearly trying not to laugh like a hyena. "You have a little something on your neck."

"I walked into a door?" Luca offered.

"This door had many teeth?" Coach asked wryly.

"Normal amount. For a door, I mean."

The look on Coach's face warred between chiding and proud. It was one Luca was very familiar with. Coach wanted to scold him, Ilya wanted to give him a pat on the back and make a dirty joke. Professionalism clashing with the inner shit talker.

"There you are," Joey said, neatly inserting themselves between Rozanov and Luca. They gave him a once over, rolled their eyes and handed him a key card. "Come on, roomie."

"Thank you," Luca said primly, taking it and following Joey toward the elevators.

"Think about your dowry!" Coach yelled after them.

"Ilya, shut the fuck up," Hollander said flatly, appearing out of nowhere, and Luca stifled a laugh. "You sound insane."

As soon as they were on the elevator, Joey shook their head slowly. "You had a good time?"

"Mmmhmmm, I have a boyfriend now," Luca said dreamily.

There was a gentle punch to his arm. "Good for you. Tell your boyfriend that he needs to answer my texts. Can you believe he ignored me for some hot piece of ass the whole weekend?"

"Very rude," Luca agreed. "I'll be sure to let him know."

The room was standard, and they settled into their usual rituals of room sharing. Luca loved his team, having a best friend and a boyfriend. Maybe he'd get traded some day. Maybe he and Sal would only make it a few months or so until the strain of different lives in different countries grew too hard. Or maybe, somehow, they'd make it for the long haul.

For right now, Luca could sniff his shirt collar again and remember the press of lips against his. He could memorize a selfie and commit it to a drawing. Life was made of maybes. Luca would seize all of his.

"You're smiling like a lunatic, you know," Joey said, tossing a pillow at him. "You're going to get the chirping of a lifetime once everyone else scopes that bruise."

"Good," Luca decided. "Maybe they should remember I am a grown up."

"Huh," Joey said, then grinned at him. "Yeah, they fucking well should. Does that mean you don't want to watch cartoons before we have to go?"

"Cartoons are for all ages, Yolen. Get with it."

"Fair enough."

 

Rose Landry - June 2022

"Yes. No…yes, Marissa, I heard you the first time, but I'm not interested in a cameo. It's a very nice offer, but it's eight hours in the make up chair for four seconds that will likely get cut," Rose said as her assistant handed her water and waited attentively at her elbow. "I have to go. Please let me know if you get the script from Ursula. I know it's a tricky project, but I'm interested. Okay. Okay. Bye."

She hung up, her talent agent's voice fading out of her ear.

"Long day?" Ginger asked, her phone back in her hands, texts and emails flying off her fingers.

"Very," Rose said. "Please tell me that my car is here and we're headed to the airport soon."

"It is and we are," Ginger assured her. "I have a few things I need to clear with you in the car and then I promise you won't hear from me for the next four days."

"Not that I don't like the sound of your voice, but I'm looking forward to that," Rose said, pushing out from her desk gratefully. "Remember, I only want you doing half-days max while I'm gone. Full pay. You need to relax a little too."

"It's fine, I've got a vacation coming in July, remember?"

"And I'm traveling for most of June which means you'll be putting in crazy days sometimes," Rose said. "Please take some time off. I'm serious."

Her bags were packed and already in the car by the time Rose got into it. Ginger followed her in and they went over a checklist of things that needed doing in the few days Rose would be out of contact.

When they reached the airport, Rose escaped Ginger's helpful clutches. The flight was on time and Rose waited in the first class lounge, sticking to water as she watched planes take off all around her.

Rose: All on time here. Are you there already?

Sveta: Yes, the boys are very cranky, so I put on a boring movie. Maybe they will fall asleep and wake up better people. They are both in deep playoff mode. Terrible company.

Rose: How's our girl?

Sveta: Adorable, of course. I took her on a walk and now she is napping.

Rose: Enjoy a quiet house while you can. Shane has been a nightmare to text for weeks. I can't imagine it's better in person.

Sveta: At least you will be here soon.

Rose: 8 hours and change.

Sveta: A single sleep. I look forward to you.

 

It was such a specific phrasing. Rose ran her finger over the words than scrolled up. And up. And up.

Since January, she and Sveta had talked almost every day. Texting frequently, but phone calls and FaceTimes too. They were both busy, their schedules choked, but somehow there was a stolen moment in every day for a quick chat. Sveta would often call just to ask Rose's opinion on what she should have for dinner and Rose found herself reaching out every time she was dithering over going out to a party or not.

They had met up in Boston for that long weekend. They didn't go to the aquarium. They hadn't left Sveta's beautiful apartment very much at all. Rose had gotten lost in the depths of the comfortable couch and they had rolled decadently around on it. The bed was wonderful too, but there was some special magic to Sveta's couch. A gravity that was impossible to escape.

A few weeks later, Sveta had come to L.A. for a sales pitch and she lingered for an extra day, moving through Rose's house with appreciative fingertips trailing over every surface. They had locked Rose's bedroom door against any accidental visits (Rose had staff these days, something she tried not to think too hard about) and opened all the windows to let in the early spring warmth.

"I'm going back to Tuscany for a week," Rose had told her when they were both finally sated and Sveta's head was pillowed on Rose's thigh. She was idly drawing patterns over Rose's knee. "They want to re-shoot the ending of the film. It didn't test well apparently."

"Is that common?"

"No. And if we did, it would usually be on a soundstage, but the studio is heaping money on this one. My co-star is being very weird about it so I think he's fucking someone in production or something, but it's a week in Italy with only a few days work."

"Mm, very hard work, being so famous."

"The hardest. I'll have a nice suite. Two bedrooms," Rose said, testing the waters. "I wouldn't mind some company."

Sveta turned over, looking at Rose up the length of her body. "Are you asking me to run away to Europe with you?"

"For a few days. You don't have to. I just thought it might be-"

"Send me the dates," Sveta said and pressed a kiss to the point of Rose's hip, before crawling back up the bed to kiss her. "Sounds fun."

It was more than fun. They walked down the rural roads around the villa the production company had secured, soaking in the golden light and the vineyard that stretched in seemingly every direction. On Rose's day off, they took a car into Florence. Rose wore no makeup and put her hair up under a hat which wasn't her favorite look, but warded off a good portion of the people who might otherwise recognize her. They shared an enormous serving panzanella and got gelato, passing the cones back and forth for 'one more try of yours'. They wound their way with other tourists through museums, and went shopping for buttery leather pieces for everyone they knew.

At night, they sat out on the balcony of Rose's suite, drinking wine and the conversation still flowing. Rose felt as if she could never run out of things to say to Sveta or get tired of listening to Sveta's stories. They ranged all over the world. Some of them starred a younger Ilya, always in the role of instigator, but spoken of with intense fondness. Most though held characters that Rose had never met, as distant as fairy tales.

For her part, Sveta seemed just as invested in Rose's stories about her brothers and parents, never asking for salacious set secrets, but always digging for more about Rose's short-lived time on the girl's hockey team or her school plays.

The bed was it's own new country, toured with hungry mouths and questing fingers. It was in bed that a whisper stole right into Rose's ear: "Call me Sveta. We are not strangers, are we, printsessa?"

They flew back via Boston and Rose found reasons to sink into Sveta's couch for an extra two nights before she went home.

They met twice in Ottawa, the tail end of one of their visits overlapping with the arrival of the other. Two nights stolen under the noses of their friends.

The last one well over a month ago.

Now, at last, Rose was on her way to steal a third, a fourth and a fifth before the journey to the Cup meant the boys would be off to Colorado.

The flight was interminably long. Rose had never been driven to distraction by sex before, especially not the longing for it. It had been three weeks and she was buzzing with desire that would likely go unsated for hours more after she landed.

There were plenty of interested men in L.A., she could have found one to take the edges off in the month since she'd last seen Sveta, but none of them tempted her. No one else had interested her in months. To L.A. men, Rose was Rose Landry, never divorced from monolithic persona that was necessary to her survival that meant a step up the ladder for them. Being in Rose's proximity was enough to raise a man's profile. She knew that. It was hard to un-know it for the sake of flirtation.

She'd tried since Shane, of course. An agent, who seemed unimpressed by her status, but turned out to just be a cynic unimpressed by everything. A fellow actor with an impressive jawline and a good laugh, who had treated her well and then slipped through her fingers to the next woman before she was sure if she even wanted to hold on. A composer with very long eyelashes and a poet's mouth that said all the right things and did absolutely nothing remarkable about it.

None of them scrapped at the edges of her. They accepted what she gave them without question. Maybe it was her fault, putting on her best porcelain-skinned self, but she didn't know how else to be with them.

None of them had cut their nails in the middle of the night for her, sacrificing their own mask of perfect polish to give her pleasure.

Rose tried to sleep on the flight. The seat was comfortable and she had all the things with her that made her frequent travel survivable. But there was no neck pillow or sleepy time playlist strong enough to let her sink away. Instead she dozed, a hazy twilight series of hours. Restlessly, she got up to use the bathroom several times, stretching as much as she could in the aisles.

Award season followed by a merciless press run followed by days trapped in a soundbooth recording dialogue for children's movie she'd been talked into as an 'easy payday' had worn Rose down to a nub. There was no reason she shouldn't be able to take a good solid nap.

Frustrated, she took out her e-reader and picked up the thriller her agent had sent to her. It was being adapted and she was shortlisted for the lead, who supposedly was not abducted at any point.

It wasn't very well-written. She lost interest, closed it and shoved the device back in her bag. She played Candy Crush for a few minutes before swiping out of that too. Listlessly, she got on the crappy plane wifi and scrolled through Instagram on her locked account, liking photos of food and outfits and new boyfriends of high school friends. Shane had posted a series of photos of Luca, Hayden, Dykstra and Dillion playing an Uno game like the fate of the world was at stake for winning. The caption implied that Shane had been banned from playing. That tracked.

Somehow, the time went by and the plane finally landed in the murky pre-dawn light. The Ottawa airport was familiar ground to Rose these days and she navigated neatly through it. She should probably have a bodyguard with her as she often did in L.A., but she was only stopped once by a teenage girl with her confused mother, so it worked out this time.

The car service was waiting and she breathed a little easier, sending a confirming text that she'd landed.

The car ride stretched like taffy, the half-hour journey seemingly as long as the interminable plane ride. Patience was Rose's forte, but she was apparently all out of it today. Maybe she was the one who needed a longer vacation. She'd tell Ginger to start looking for an optimal week in Rose's schedule to disappear. Three days around her playoff nervy friends probably wasn't going to cut it.

The driver pulled up to gate and Rose paid him, getting out her own bags, ignoring his offer of assistance. It wasn't that long a driveway and she wasn't going around giving up gate codes to strangers, no matter how 'trusted' the car service was.

Punching in the code after he left, Rose carried her things up the drive. She was only halfway to the front door when it opened. The sun was climbing now, soft pink and yellows streaked over the sky. A pretty sunrise. It could've been raining frogs though and Rose wouldn't have noticed.

Sveta stood in the doorway. She was in her pajamas, men's boxers rolled at the waist and tiny black tank top with her hair in a black bonnet. On her feet were Rose's fuzzy slippers, left behind again. Just a sleepy woman stripped down to her base layer of existence, a little bleary eyed.

She was the most beautiful person Rose had ever seen.

What Rose meant to do was greet Sveta with a quick hug, walk into the house and ask what she was doing awake. Then maybe they'd make coffee together and whisper over it, trying to figure out what to do for breakfast. That was a sensible order of operations. It was truly how it played out in Rose's mind even as the purse fell from her hand, she dropped her bag and full on ran to her.

A wide smile blew over Sveta's face as Rose rushed to embrace her. There was no protest as Rose pressed her face against Sveta's neck, catching the smell of her body lotion. She smelled good, vanilla and shea butter. A familiar, welcoming smell now.

Home, Rose thought.

"Hello, sladkiy," Sveta whispered and stroked a hand over her hair. "Long flight?"

"I'm sorry," Rose said senselessly, hugging her closer.

"What for?" Sveta asked in confusion. "You can hug me."

"I'm breaking my promise," Rose choked out. The words sprang from her as if she had been planning them the whole plane ride here. Maybe she had without letting herself realized it. "For real this time. I don't want to laugh about you and me. I never want what we have to be a joke that we tell some day. I don't think I know how to do casual, I think. I don't feel casual about you. I'm sorry, I know it's not what you wanted."

"That is a lot for 6 AM, printessa," Sveta chided softly, but she didn't let go. If anything, she held on harder too. "Did you sleep at all?"

"No. Did you?"

"Only a few hours," Sveta admitted and she was still petting Rose's hair. "I was excited to see you."

"I'm sorry," Rose repeated senselessly.

"Rose," Sveta murmured, "look at me."

Lifting her head, Rose met Sveta's eyes, held in their depths. "Hi."

"Hello," Sveta said. "Let's get your things inside and then we can sit and talk. Yes?"

"Yes," Rose confirmed, a rock in her stomach as she released Sveta and repressed the urge to apologize again. Or worse, cling to her and beg for her to forget the last five minutes if it meant getting more time when things were good between them.

Fetching her bags, Rose burned with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? That she could make some grand silly gesture and a passionate speech to get what she wanted? That wasn't how real life worked. It had been too many sets and scripts, turning her brain to rom-com mush.

She brought her things toward in, carrying them down past the closed main bedroom door and Sveta's open one, towards the guest room.

"No, no," Sveta said, catching up with her.

"No?" Rose stopped dead in the hall. "No to what?"

With her lips pressed in a line, Sveta took Rose's carryon from her and walked it into her own room. Rose followed her, bewildered.

"Do not come in," Sveta chided. "We cannot be trusted so close to a bed."

Rose stared. The rock in her stomach dissolved into butterflies as Sveta held a hand out for her purse too. Repressing a smile, Rose passed her the purse without crossing the threshold and Sveta took it solemnly, setting it on the dresser next to her own.

"Living room, printessa. Go."

Obediently, Rose went. She knew when following orders was in her own best interest. Her shoes had already been left at the front door, so she could tuck herself up in one corner of the couch, resting her chin on her knees as Sveta sat with very pointed space between them. As if neither of them could be trusted to sit too close.

"I will not move to California," Sveta said.

Rose blinked. "I don't think I asked you to?"

"No, but you will. My job moves a little more easily than yours and it would make sense. But you are not even in California most of the time and I love Boston. So. That is a big thing. We will always have distance between us."

Oh. That was a big thing. Or it could be. Wait. Wait!

"You too?" Rose asked. "You don't feel casual either?"

"I didn't know you still thought I did," Sveta said, scrunching her face a little. It was very cute. "You don't really ask someone casual to go with you to Italy for a week."

"But we didn't talk about it."

"I thought with the distance and the scheduling….it seemed like we had agreed to ignore it?"

"Sveta!" Rose gaped. "No. I wouldn't do that to you. I would've talked about it if I had realized. I just- oh my god. We're just as bad as the guys."

"Take this back immediately!" Sveta scolded. "We are talking now and it has barely been six months, it does not even compare!"

"Okay, okay," Rose conceded. "But Jesus Christ, Sveta, I promise I was not ignoring it. You. I can't ignore you. I like you so much. I'll get a place in Boston. I don't care. L.A. is fine, I'll keep my house, but plenty of people live bi-coastal. It's chic or something. Whatever."

"You will just…buy an apartment in Boston?"

"Why not? You said you don't want to live with anyone. I don't want to infringe on your space, but-"

"I want to live with you," Sveta said. "It would not be all year round. With your schedule and mine. It would be good. Time apart. Time together. You will leave things in my apartment, I will leave things in your house. Perfect. "

"It would be perfect," Rose said and her eyes were starting to burn. "And if you don't want to be public, I think we can be gal pals for pretty much forever as long as we don't tongue kiss on the red carpet."

"For now, not public," Sveta said. "But we can tell your people that matter. The boys, obviously."

"Yes," Rose said with a lot of relief. It had felt weird to hide it from Shane. Uncomfortable. "I'll figure out how to tell my folks. They should be good with it. I know my brothers will be."

"My family not so much," Sveta frowned. "My father will try to understand, maybe. He will be supportive, but say the wrong things."

"If you want to wait, then wait," Rose assured her. "There's no rush. We'll figure it out, okay?"

"My patient Rose," Svetlana laughed quietly, her eyes crinkled a little when she laughed.

Rose had said everything else. Why stop now?

"I love you, Sveta."

It was Sveta's turn to charge across the space between them. Straightening her legs, Rose pulled her into her lap and kissed her at last. Home, home, home.

"I love you too, printessa," Sveta said against her lips. Rose made a terrible, unflattering noise and started to weep. "Why does that make you cry?"

"I'm so happy," Rose said with a horrible wet catch in her voice. "I like you so much and I didn't want to ruin anything so I didn't let myself think about how much. And now you love me and I love you and we'll figure it out because we can figure out anything together."

"We can." Sveta pressed a kiss under each of Rose's eyes, on her nose. "How do you look so pretty when you cry, hm? This is not fair."

"What are we doing?" A tired voice asked from several feet away. The tiny metallic clink of dog tags following it. "Sveta, are you- ah. Hello, Rose."

"Hi, Ilya," Rose chocked out between sobs. Sveta dotted another kiss on the corner of Rose's lips.

"Ha! I knew it!" Ilya said triumphantly. "Midnight manicures!"

"Go away, Ilyusha" Sveta grumbled, still kissing Rose's face like she absolutely had to cover every inch.

"This is my house," Ilya pointed out.

With a small growl, Sveta pulled away to turn and glare at him. "Go. Away."

Ilya held up both hands. "I am going to walk Anya. Then I will get breakfast maybe. Text me what you want. Shane is awake too."

"Fuck," Rose said under her breath.

"You tell him nothing," Sveta ordered. "We will talk over breakfast. No little funny texts until then."

"Yes, Sveta. I always keep your secrets, you know this," Ilya said with a huff. Sveta glared even harder at him."I am going! Anya, come."

They waited for the front door to open and close.

"Your room," Rose said urgently. "I can't deal with Shane walking in on us too."

Getting up, Sveta offered Rose both hands and she took them.

They definitely needed to talk more, but Sveta's joking dire warnings about getting near a bed turned out to be a little too true. Rose was naked before she had a chance to consider what she wanted to say next and they fell on each other ravenously. Within minutes, Sveta was pressing her palm over Rose's mouth to keep a very telling scream of pleasure from escaping. They feasted on each other, sending every pillow to the floor, then the comforter. All around them the fitted sheet came loose until it curled around their feet getting in the way.

"We're not fit for public consumption," Rose decreed as they sprawled over each other, tacky with sweat.

"Then we will shower," Sveta decreed. "They will be running anyway."

The shower was very long. Long enough for Svetlana to come so hard that Rose had to hold her up afterwards for a solid minute.

All told they washed up in the kitchen a little dehydrated and very clingy.

Shane was making his morning smoothie with the intensity of a man who was trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

He greeted them with a bland look and a very flat, "Hi."

"Good morning, beautiful man," Sveta chimed. "Good news for you. I do not have to seduce your mother anymore."

"We didn't talk about being exclusive," Rose reminded her with a sly grin. "We could always take in a third."

"Wow," Shane said, "I hate this."

"Is that any way to be supportive?" Rose tsked. "After all the time and energy I put in to making you feel loved and accepted, Mr. Hollander?"

"What a dick," Sveta said sadly. "I'm sorry, sladkiy. Both of our best friends are horrible. You want to fire them and find new ones?"

"No," Rose sighed and tried to repress a smile as Shane actually looked a little relieved. "He's my dick, you know?"

"I do," Sveta conceded. "Where is Ilyusha? Did he take my 'go away' so seriously that he left the city?"

"He's getting you two 'a celebratory breakfast'. I think that means those insane omelettes and hash browns from the place you all like."

"Excellent," Rose said with some satisfaction. "Is there enough smoothie for me?"

"Oh, printessa, no," Sveta said horrified. "You don't!"

"It's good!" Rose protested. "He puts blackberries in it."

"Shane, please tell me there is coffee," Sveta said.

"There's coffee," he said solemnly.

When Sveta ducked around, Shane glanced up at Rose, a silent question on his face. She smiled and mouthed 'happy, good' and he nodded once, relaxing fractionally.

"Hey," she said quietly. It was all right if Sveta heard, but she preferred to speak quietly with Shane about important things. "You were the first person I wanted to tell. Okay?"

"Thanks," he said. "You could've told anyone though. It's your life."

"You're my best friend. I hated not telling you. I just wasn't sure what it was yet."

"And what is it now?" he asked.

Sveta set down a mug of coffee for Rose, before sidling in close enough that Rose could put her arm around Sveta's waist.

"This is my girlfriend, Rose," Sveta said. "And I love her."

Rose wrapped her other hand around her mug. "This is my girlfriend, Sveta. I love her too. A lot."

"Mm," Sevta kissed Rose's temple.

"Great," Shane said and slid a glass of thick green sludge at Rose. "Congratulations. Are you going to stop sneaking around our house now like teenagers? Because it's cute, but really distracting in the middle of the night when I'm trying to get laid."

"You knew?" Rose squeaked.

"Yeah," Shane said, a pleased smile blossoming on his face. "I can figure things out without Ilya telling me, you know."

If Shane hadn't been a person who could figure things out, then Rose would never have met Sveta in the first place. So she let him be smug about it and drank down the smoothie before working on her coffee. Ilya would come back with breakfast soon and the kitchen would become thick with teasing Russian while Shane and Rose caught up with each other. The boys would disappear after that, sucked into the machine of playoff games and Shane's intense rituals.

When the boys were out of the house, Rose and Sveta would remake Sveta's bed (their bed now, Rose would never again use the other guest room) and finally take a well-earned nap. They slept spooned close together, not a breath of space between them.