Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Anxious Ilya Rozanov, Angst, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Oblivious Shane Hollander, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 01

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-11 Words: 11,116 Chapters: 1/1

Definitely, Probably

Summary

“Bella broke up with JJ.”

Shane stopped dead. He swore the temperature in the kitchen dropped two degrees. “What? Noooooooo.” The neck of his T-shirt was suddenly too tight. He curled a finger in the elastic and pulled. Air. He needed air.

Hayden’s voice was lowered to a frightened whisper, “We’re Code Red, buddy. Code fucking Red.”

Notes

Show-canon more than book canon, I think.

SHANE

“How about some blueberries? Or some banana? Maybe chopped up?”

“How about I chop you up?” Ilya paused and they both acknowledged for a moment how lame this response was. He shrugged carelessly. “Is too early.”

Shane grinned. He was having such a good morning. They had woken up together, which was his favorite thing in the world, and he’d come twice already and it wasn’t even 9am. “It’s—” Interrupting what was going to be a well-rehearsed speech about what constituted ‘early’ (this was not it), Shane’s cell phone lit up and began to vibrate itself nearly off the table, Hayden’s name flashing on the screen.

Ilya’s changeable eyes narrowed. They had a pretty strict Do Not Disturb policy during their rare days together but had both negotiated a short list of people who were allowed to break through. For Ilya it was Svetlana and Marly. For Shane it was his parents (who counted as one) and Hayden.

Nevertheless, with instincts honed from recent experience, Shane grabbed his phone before Ilya could and answered, edging around the kitchen island to a safe distance away. They would not be having a repeat of last time. Or the time before that. Or the— actually they really needed to set a boundary about this. He made a mental note.

“Hey, Hayd,” he said quickly, “I’ve only got a couple of minutes.”

Ilya continued eating the kids cereal that Shane now stocked for him. To up the nutritional benefits (ha, fucking, ha) he had mixed it with his chocolate protein shake and a heaping tablespoon of peanut butter. He somehow made eating this revolting concoction look vaguely threatening, as he glared at Shane and this unwanted interruption to their time together.

Shane mouthed ‘sorry’ him. Ilya huffed and moved the cereal box so he could pretend to read the back, the corners of his mouth turned down in a pout. It was distracting – everything about Ilya was distracting – and Shane’s feet began to inch back towards him, with some intention to placate him for rudely diverting his attention from Ilya.

Which was normally how he ended up with his pants down and his dick in Ilya’s mouth.

God. Maybe he was the problem?

“Bella broke up with JJ.”

Shane stopped dead. He swore the temperature in the kitchen dropped two degrees. “What? Noooooooo.” The neck of his T-shirt was suddenly too tight. He curled a finger in the elastic and pulled. Air. He needed air.

Hayden’s voice was lowered to a frightened whisper, “We’re Code Red, buddy. Code fucking Red.”

*

JJ loved women.

Of course, he loved them in the ways the rest of the guys in the team loved women, the ways that Shane had learned to tune out in the locker room. The tits and ass and mouths and pussy and what all those things could do for a guy who wasn’t, it turns out, Shane.

But JJ also loved women romantically. Which was fucking rare, as far as Shane could tell.

JJ believed in love at first sight. Not lust. Not she looks hot, I’d like to fuck her. No. He believed in love. And from the moment he locked eyes with a girl – across a bar, in a club, in the crowd at a game, several times through Instagram DMs – JJ went all in.

All. In.

Shane had lost count of the girls JJ intended to marry. “This is the one, boys, this is the one!” he’d crow and they’d all roll their eyes because, sure enough, three weeks later, he’d slink into the locker room and quietly admit things had gone south.

If he hadn’t been so obviously heartbroken about it each time, it would have been funny. Some of the team did treat it as a joke – “How many days was it this time, you fucking pussy?” – but Shane, no stranger to the tortures of love, didn’t. “Sorry, man,” he’d say, accompanying this with a manly slap on the back or maybe one of those side-hugs that were acceptable in a closed in environment where men wore only small towels or sometimes nothing at all.

Occasionally, very occasionally, a girl would slip through the net. A month would pass. Another month. JJ would be upbeat. Chatty. Taking my girl to New York for the weekend. Can’t come out tonight, my girl and I are catching that new Di Caprio movie.

Then she’d be brought to the next social. Introduced around by a puffed-up JJ. “This is my girlfriend,” he’d say proudly, hand around her waist. And later there would be some inappropriate PDA.

(Or maybe it was normal PDA; Shane had no scale for these things as all his PDA had only ever happened behind closed doors.)

(And none of it was appropriate.)

Once the girl passed the met-his-sisters milestone (typically a third month activity) and then the met-his-mom milestone (fourth month), Jackie would tentatively ask for her name and number and add her to the WAGs messaging group. 

It was usually at this point that Hayden and Shane started to get a little on edge.

*

“Fuck, fuck,” Shane said, pulling the calendar off his refrigerator with a sharp snap. He began flicking backwards, back past all the carefully color-coded boxes where he and Ilya mapped out their plans, back to where most of the dates were blank except for his own games. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ilya push the cereal box aside, now more interested than mutinous. Shane pushed out a breath. He needed to get a grip. Be cool, Hollander. “Okay. When did they start dating?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not been paying attention,” Hayden whined. There was a muffled movement. “Wait. Babe. When did you add Bella to the group chat?”

Jackie said something indiscernible which was then punctuated by a child – probably Ruby – screaming about fish sticks. In that she hated them.

“Jackie says February. Maybe March. Before the playoffs.” Then he groaned. Shane joined in.

Well shit.

*

The danger zone, as far as Hayden and Shane were concerned, was the six-month mark. By the sixth month mark, JJ was starting to actively talk about long-term commitments. Moving in together. His mom’s first engagement ring (she’d been married three times and the first engagement ring was the best one).

There would be a discussion about Spring weddings.

Admittedly the first time this had happened, neither of them knew that these signs should ring alarm bells. After all, Shane’s only benchmark for the timeline of dating to marriage was Hayden, who had locked down Jackie after six months. And (not to be discussed on pain of death) eight months after that they’d had the twins. (Twins come early. Everyone knew that. End of discussion.)

So he thought this was par for the course. And so did Hayden. They joked about who would be best man (obviously it would be Shane). Shane had mentioned to his mom that he might need a new suit.

And then Hannah – Hannah Boiziau, doesn’t that sound great? – broke up with JJ. Out of the blue, just before Labor Day weekend.

*

The second time this happened, they’d all been extra supportive. Get right back on that horse, Comeau had said and then made some kind of gesture which suggested the horse was a woman and Shane actually hadn’t definitely known at that point that you could have sex with a girl from behind like Rozanov did with him. So that was a learning he filed away to be thought about probably never again.

Everyone had laughed.

The timeline for this relationship moved rapidly but in the prescribed pattern that Shane would come to note. Hannah was replaced in the WAGs group with Shauna and Shane made extra effort to get to know her, this time, as if in some way he was helping his friend towards his goal in life. Which was marital bliss, apparently.

Shauna broke up with him just before Christmas.

*

By the third time, Shane and Hayden were on alert. They tracked the milestones. They cast each other side-eyes across the locker room. Hayden even got Jackie involved early – having her interrogate this ‘Amelie’ at WAG socials, looking for problems in advance.

“He’s a lovebomber,” Jackie told them, shaking her head. “He’s too much.”

They tried to get JJ to tone it down.

“Whaaaat?” JJ laughed this off. “Mes amis, a woman likes to know she’s being chased, non?” He slapped Hayden on the arm. “It was the same for you and Jacqueline. I remember.”

On that front, Hayden didn’t have a leg to stand on. He winced at Shane behind JJ’s back.

Amelie broke up with JJ, thankfully waiting until they were at least out of the playoffs. Which was good of her.

*

“I can’t do it again, Hayden. We’re six weeks into the season. I have to be strict with my diet. With sleep. And any down time I have, you know I spend it with Ilya.”

“Correct,” said Ilya crisply, putting his bowl in the dishwasher with a kind of pointed air, like he was saying look at me, tidying things away. They had, maybe, had words on the subject. Once or twice.

In his ear, Hayden said, “I know, I know,” and Shane noted that things must be really bad when Hayden didn’t even make a disgusted noise.

Ilya sauntered over and draped himself around Shane, his head on the shoulder that wasn’t cradling his cell phone. His thumbs hooked into the elastic of Shane’s sweatpants. “We have plans, Shane,” he whispered into his neck, close enough that Shane felt each word like a kiss.

Every hair on Shane’s body stood to attention. Every millimeter of his body that was touching Ilya’s electrified. That was right. They did have plans. Experimental ones. “Um. I’ve got to go. Um. Let me know if you hear from JJ. Or— should I get in touch? Oh. How did you know they broke up?”

“Bella told the WAGs.”

“Okay, so we could plausibly not know, right?” Ilya began to tug down on his waistband, nails dragging on skin. He wasn’t wearing any underwear because why bother? “Oh my god, I’ve really got to go bye!”

“Wait, Shane—"

 

ILYA

Ilya thought it was hilarious. He had to wipe actual tears from his eyes after Shane had explained.

“You don’t understand.”

“No, no, I think I do.” Propped up on his elbow in one of his three favorite posed positions, Ilya poked Shane’s right pec and then cupped the whole thing with his hand and squeezed. He loved touching Shane. “You and Hayden are so boring you don’t know how to party and your poor heart-broken friend is stuck with you and only you during his time of need.”

Shane made a noise and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye-sockets. Hard. “You don’t get it. JJ is— he is insane. He turns into this monster. Like the Energizer Bunny but, like, drunk. Unstoppable.”

“Mmm. Sounds like fun.” He didn’t particularly like not being able to see Shane’s earnest eyes, nor the degree to which he appeared to be hurting himself, so he tugged at his wrist until Shane’s arms dropped down.

Exhaling, Shane slanted Ilya a look. “You think I’m exaggerating.”

Ilya grinned. “Of this I’ve no doubt.”

“Now I have to find, like, a night to take him out. A night when we don’t have game, when we’re not seeing each other, when I don’t have some, like, stupid brand gig or something— I don’t have that much free time! I don’t want to spend it chasing JJ down Saint-Laurent.”

This all sounded like an enormous overreaction to Ilya - but he was a boyfriend now and boyfriends didn’t dismiss their partner’s problems. Particularly when he knew how much Shane’s routine meant to him.

He stroked a hand down Shane’s belly towards his dick and tried to convey a sympathetic air. “Yes, this is difficult.”

Shane scowled. “Don’t humor me.”

Oops. “You could tell?”

“Yes, the shit-eating grin was kind of a giveaway. Asshole.” He shoved at Ilya’s head, sending him downwards to make amends with his mouth.

*

A date was set for two week’s time. Ilya knew this because when he returned to Boston any and all conversations by phone or text circled the upcoming event as Shane debated which day would have the least repercussions, then there was a series of emotional exchanges with Boiziau which Shane screengrabbed for him with the scream emoji that conveyed Shane’s total inability to process emotion like a normal human being, as well as a discussion about extending the invite to others. This was nixed by JJ himself who just wanted his best buddies, his wingmen, by his side. Shane sent Ilya the crying emoji.

This was the kind of conversation that – had it been with anyone else – Ilya would have shut it down immediately, possibly with some kind of threat. But because this was Shane, and every message from him was a hit of dopamine, Ilya found himself not only responding to each and every message but actively asking after said event. What time would they meet? Would they pre-game at someone’s house? Where would they go? He’d been out in Montreal a fair bit, though not as much in recent years since his post-game focus tended to be on railing a certain member of the opposition across a variety of surfaces in his apartment, so he recognized some of the bars that Shane and Hayden planned for this evening’s entertainment.

He was surprised that there was an actual list of bars. In his heart of hearts, he’d maybe thought they’d go to one and all be in bed by midnight. Which was late for Shane.

“The trick is to keep him moving,” Shane said in one of their many phonecalls. “Hold on. Blender.” There was a loud noise and Ilya held the phone away from where it had been resting on his chest until it stopped and Shane resumed talking. “Yeah. So, if he starts to get a bit too much, we move locations. Distract him.”

“This is impressive strategy.” Ilya was bored of this topic. “What are you having for dinner?”

“Chicken and quinoa with this green sauce my mom makes. It’s tofu, peas, spinach and nutritional yeast, some garlic and lemon juice. And normally basil but I don’t have any. It’s good.”

Ilya looked at the greasy remains of pizza on his coffee table. In the weeks they’d spent together over the summer, he’d got used to making homecooked meals. Despite his inability to work with proportions, Shane was a competent cook and Ilya knew how to read a recipe, so it had become part of their daily ritual, cooking together. He had taken great pleasure in this but now, alone again, had fallen back into old habits of ordering in and eating on the couch.

“What are you having?” Shane asked brightly.

He shifted uncomfortably. “I am not telling you because I do not want you to shout at me.”

“At least tell me there were vegetables.”

“There were!” Ilya said proudly. Because he had ordered the Vegetable Supreme and then added pepperoni which practically made it a health food.

*

When Ilya’s phone lit up just before ten, he was surprised to see Shane’s name. Or Jane’s. They’d Facetimed and exchanged a handful of texts before Shane had left his house, mostly discussing his outfit (boring). (Okay, cute, but boring.) (Okay, Ilya might have saved the photos into his encrypted older, he had it so bad.)

He answered, almost hesitantly, expecting a butt dial. Shane didn’t call when he was out with his team. “Hello?”

“It’s me. They’ve gone to the bar.” Shane’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper.

Ilya’s smile could probably be seen from space. He had not expected a phone call. He was delighted. “Why are we whispering?” he asked, mimicking Shane’s volume.

“Because I shouldn’t be calling you.”

It was hard to tell, with Shane’s whispers and the noise of the background but he thought he could detect a slight slurring. “You’re drunk!”

“I am not. I am alternating beers with water. I’m barely tipsy.”

“Hmm.” With Shane’s tolerance, he doubted that. He would be able to tell if he saw him. His eyes were always softer when he was drunk. “You must be pissing like racehorse.”

“That is revolting. But yes.”

“So, the evening is going well.”

“It’s early. He hasn’t even cried yet.”

“Oh, there’s a program?”

“Yeah. Like. We’re in the ‘plenty more fish in the sea’ phase right now. This’ll last for maybe another hour. Then we’ll slam into ‘but she was the one woe is me’. That’s when he’ll cry the first time. Then we come back out of that into a sort of angry ‘I’m better off’ phase. We’ll hear all the things about her that weren’t perfect.”

Ilya nodded. He’d never been broken up with – never allowed a girl to get that close and had never had a relationship with a man before Shane – but he had certainly witnessed similar behavior from friends. Not, admittedly, in a single night.

“Then,” Shane continued with a weary sigh, “we hit his must find another girl phase. Which is when things get a little… crazy.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, he starts hitting on everyone. Well. Girls. Women. Should I be calling them women?” Shane asked reflectively. “Is that more respectful?”

“From the sounds of things, this evening is nothing respectful.”

“Yeah, one time— oh shit. I can see them at the bar now. Let me move a bit so I’m out of sight.” There was a shuffling noise. “Ugh. He keeps taking photos. I think he’s posting to Instagram.”

“Ha! Let me check.” Ilya swiped away from the call and opened Instagram. He didn’t follow any of the Metros – obviously – so he had to take a stab at spelling Boiziau’s name in the search bar before he finally found him. He saw immediately the little circle around his profile picture. “He’s posted something to his Stories.”

Clicking on the link, he sat up straighter when he saw that JJ had been posting several somethings actually. A shot of him getting ready in his house – Gucci polo and too-tight pants. A shot of some shots on a kitchen table next to a bottle of expensive Tequila. Shane hated Tequila. Then— “Ah! You! There you are!”

Shane groaned. “What? Already?”

“It’s the back of your head.” It was mostly a selfie of JJ and Hayden, clearly taken on the move. “You’re outside somewhere.”

“You can tell it’s me from the back of my head?”

“I could tell if it was you from your earlobe.”

There was a long pause. “God. That’s— I think that might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Ilya hadn’t meant it to be romantic. He had meant it to be literal. “I tell you I love you and this is most romantic?”

“Mmm, okay, point taken. Shit. They’re coming back. Okay, Iloveyoubye,” he whispered quickly, and then there was nothing but dial tone.

*

JJ’s Instagram profile was, like most high performance athletes, open to the public but Ilya whistled through his teeth when he saw quite how prolific JJ was. This was certainly no curated Instagram. As he scrolled down and down the grid, he saw not only the usual hockey content – photos from practice, from games – but photos of his family, friends, and the recently departed girlfriend. Lots of the recently departed girlfriend.

(Ilya took a brief detour to her Instagram page out of some faint curiosity. She was pretty enough but posted a lot of selfies of herself pouting at flattering angles which Ilya had long ago lost interest in, preferring his thirst traps to be of the slightly-startled deer-in-headlights shots that the Metro’s inept social media guy posted of Shane.)

Ilya obviously also posted to Instagram. But it was very intentional. Clips from games, showing him at his best. Sometimes behind the scenes with the guys fucking around. And, yes, the occasional thirst trap. But anything actually private he posted to a friends-only group. He didn’t want all his business to be in the public eye. TMZ did enough of that for him without him adding fuel to that particular bonfire.

“Fucking hell, Boiziau,” he muttered, as he kept on scrolling and scrolling through some truly inane shit. Boizau had been gone over this girl, posting the kind of disgusting romantic photos of their couple activities that had Ilya practically recoiling. Breakfast in bed in fancy hotels. Memorabilia from romantic dates.

Ilya tutted. Some of this should never have made the public grid.

Shane had said the last time JJ had broken up with a ‘long-term girlfriend’ had been in 2016 and Ilya was going to get some kind of repetitive strain injury from thumbing through all this nonsense.

He only knew he’d found the right timeline when a familiar face shocked him to a halt.

“Oh, fucking perfect,” he muttered. Rose Landry. Because of course. 2016. How could he have forgotten this blissful period of his life? Thankfully for Ilya’s fairly rocky emotional stability, this was a candid shot of her on her own, clearly in someone’s house – not Shane’s. She looked, unfairly, beautiful. Happy. Which she would do because she was Shane Hollander’s girlfriend.

To torture himself – because rocky emotional stability – he clicked on the comments, looking for Shane’s handle, the desire to pick a fight already bubbling in his chest. He braced himself for a heart-eyes emoji or some kind of tasteful expression of boyfriendly approval, scrolling past comments from his idiot blue-tick teammates and from Rose’s friend Miles. But more than fifty comments in, there was no sign of Shane. Which, with his rational thinking cap on, made sense because Shane didn’t use Instagram.

Ilya nevertheless took a screenshot of it and sent it to Shane with the angry emoji.

Jane: why are you looking up old photos on Instagram?

Lily: Not that old.

Jane: Stop looking!!!!!

Muttering, Ilya clicked away from the image of his boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and resumed his scrolling, warily watching out for more Rose Landry jump-scares.

And then – finally – he found it. The motherload.

*

2016 was that risky time for those with an active social life as it was before Instagram Stories had become a thing and where people shared their nights out on the grid rather than in 24-hour temporary windows that would disappear without a trace. And JJ liked to share.

JJ liked to share a lot.

Grinning, Ilya scrolled through grid post after grid post of his night out with Shane and Hayden. Well mostly Hayden because Shane seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to having his photo taken. There was his shoulder (hot). His bicep (hot). His back (also hot). His hand holding a drink (blue? Still hot).

Also, he appeared to be wearing the exact same outfit of white t-shirt and dark jeans as he was wearing tonight. This was so very Shane that Ilya’s toes curled with delight.

He screen-grabbed a couple of photos to send to Shane for shit-stirring purposes and then paused and pulled up the next. It was mostly a photo of JJ, posing in an exaggerated way at a bar. His shirt was vile. The wrong kind of shiny. Just behind him was Shane, who was turned to the side and appeared to be in an earnest conversation with a guy Ilya didn’t recognize. He was leaning forward. The guy –green shirt pulled tight over muscled arms, tight black jeans, very artfully styled hair, good-looking if you liked that sort of bland thing – was also leaning forward. His hand was on Shane’s hip.

Ilya zoomed in on that hand as far as it would go. He stared at the pixels.

This, Ilya knew, was a photo of his boyfriend being hit on. Well not his boyfriend. Not back then. His hook-up. His favorite hook-up. The hook-up Ilya had jerked off to every day and for whom he had a Google alert for.

He zoomed out and began to search the surrounding photos in the grid. Yup. Sure enough. Green shirt was everywhere. He also had a blue drink in one photo. He was smiling at Shane in another. Like a shark.

He screen-grabbed the shark-smile photo, surely the most incriminating, and sent it to Shane. Who’s this?

There was an interminable pause before Shane replied. Maybe a whole ten seconds.

Jane: I have no idea?

Lily: He bought you blue drink.

Jane: I haven’t had a blue drink tonight.

Lily: Not TONIGHT. Last time.

Jane: Last time???

Growling, Ilya switched back to Instagram. He was now unamused.

 

SHANE

Hayden came back with a tray of brightly colored shots and beers and no water, which was the one thing Shane had asked for. They exchanged a narrowed-eyed glare. His glare said what the fuck, man, Hayden’s glare said, I’m not doing this sober and neither are you.

JJ swung himself into the booth they had commandeered and slapped his palms on the table. “Fuck yeah, this is what I’m talking about.”

He said that every time there were shots. This was the third time this evening and the quantity of shots increased each time.

With palpable enthusiasm, JJ began to divvy them up. Three each, now. Which was about three more than Shane ever wanted.

JJ met Shane’s eyes and then Hayden’s. “On three. Ready? Un…”

Shane, who had been hunched in the corner, fielding increasingly odd messages from Ilya, sat up quickly.

“Deux.”

He took hold of the closest shot. It smelled like apples bathed in acid.

“Trois!”

Three shots went down. Apple. Fine. Something creamy. Fuck, the empty calories. Then tequila. “Tequila? Again? Fucking warn a guy,” he said, choking on the acrid taste. There should be an etiquette about tequila. “I’m gonna get water.” He climbed behind Hayden, shoving a hand against his head as he passed.

Once, years ago, Shane had stayed up past his bedtime, Googling metabolism and alcohol absorption and consequently had become completely obsessed with drinking water when he did drink. As much as he liked ginger ale, he couldn’t tolerate more than three in succession; it made his teeth feel furry.

The bar was busy because it was a Friday and Shane hated buying drinks at bars. Hated trying to get into a gap and get the bar staff’s attention and some people were so rude, too. Pushing and squeezing and definitely not being considerate of personal space or who had arrived before them.

“Sorry, man,” someone said, bumping into Shane, practically chest to chest.

“No problem,” Shane replied, very much hoping his tone conveyed that there was a problem.

“Busy tonight.” The someone – a guy – smiled broadly. He had very white teeth, a bit crooked like Ilya’s. He was nice looking, which was about as far as Shane’s brain usually got before what Rose so helpfully called his ‘latent internalized homophobia’ kicked in and he shut that train of thought down.

His eye twitched. He was gay now. Really, super gay. He was gay and he couldn’t be homophobic to himself which meant he could acknowledge that this someone was pretty conventionally attractive and if Shane had a type – tall, athletic, dirty blonde hair, oh God, maybe white which was something he sincerely hoped Rose would never clock – this guy ticked all the boxes. He was even wearing a sleeveless shirt like Ilya did.

In his pocket, his cell phone buzzed. There wasn’t enough room for Shane to fish it out and he took the opportunity to squeeze into a gap right in front of the bar instead.

Conventionally Attractive also took this opportunity. The gap wasn’t that big.

“Having a good night?” the guy asked, his face super close to Shane’s.

Shane focused really hard on the nearest barman, willing him to come over. “Sure.”

“Me too. You know, you look really familiar.”

It was not the first time Shane had heard this. If people didn’t know hockey, they sometimes recognized him from billboards or even magazines. He had a variety of responses to diffuse this kind of commentary. He smiled tightly. “I just have that kind of face.”

Conventionally Attractive laughed. “No, you don‘t.”

Shane’s brain short-circuited, as the conversational pattern took a different turn from what he was used to and from what he had pre-defined responses for. He felt a red flush crawl up his face.

“What can I get you?” shouted the barman, leaning over the bar and saving him from having to come up with some socially acceptable answer.

Thank fuck, Shane thought.

*

“Who was that?” JJ asked, when Shane dropped down into the booth with half a dozen bottles of really overpriced water.

“Who was what?” He cracked open a bottle and drank half of it. He visualized the water flushing the alcohol from his system like some kind of magic potion, which wasn’t remotely how it worked. Back at home, he had already laid another bottle of water, one of those fizzing alka-seltzer tablets and a Berocca that he would drink before he went to sleep. And he had Gatorade for the morning.

Which was still many hours away.

“The guy you were talking to at the bar.”

“No idea.” Shane’s eyes swept the crowd and then jerked away when he found the guy in question, hanging around at one of the standing tables with two girls. He was looking their way. “Um. I think he recognized me.”

“Did he ask you for a selfie?”

“No,” Shane laughed, and it sounded awkward even to his ears, “Thank God.” He nudged the bottle of water towards JJ encouragingly. “You should hydrate.”

“Pfft. Not gonna break the seal, man.” He took a big gulp of his beer and then belched and grinned. “Pardon.”

“Soooo, lot of hot girls around tonight,” Hayden suggested, awkwardly scanning their surroundings. “Anyone catch your eye?”

Shane nudged Hayden with his knee. He always did this – tried to skip the steps so that they could get to the end faster. It never worked and to Shane’s mind was more disruptive than it was helpful. “I don’t think JJ is in that mindset yet, Hayds,” he said with clenched teeth.

JJ lifted his beer. “Absolutely not. I’m in the mindset to get wasted.”

This required a cheers. Their glasses clinked. JJ took another gulp of his beer and Shane a small sip of his own. They would need more soon. Shane vaguely wished they’d gone somewhere with table service.

“So, what have you been up to these last few weeks? We barely see you anymore,” JJ wanted to know, leaning forwards on the table to aim this question wholly at Shane.

Color crept into Shane’s cheeks. “What do you mean? You see me every day.”

“Pffff. A couple of weeks ago you arrived late to practice,” JJ pointed out, with dramatically wide eyes. “We thought you’d been in an accident.”

Guiltily, Shane took another sip of his beer to stall. He had been late. Ilya had been with him, a two-night thing they’d squeezed into their schedules. One thing had led to another, to another, to another again, and he’d left his cell phone – with its crucial daily alarm – in the living room where it had chirped, unheard, under a pile of clothes for an hour before Shane had woken up.

He didn’t appear to need to come up with an excuse for this one because JJ continued, “And you don’t even stay late. Normally you’re last on the ice. Now you’re like—” He made a ‘fwoosh’ noise, gesturing with his hand, “—gone.” His eyes glinted in the dim light. It wasn’t exactly friendly. In fact it was near-accusation. “You got a girl, don’t you?”

Shane wanted to crawl under the table. He didn’t. But it was a near thing.  

Hayden nudged him, eyebrows raised. “Things getting serious with Boston Lily?”

“Not helping,” Shane said in an undertone. To JJ he said, “I am seeing someone. But it’s early days. After Rose, you know. Don’t want to… make a big deal.” That sounded plausible, right? The guys all knew that Shane had found the attention of dating Rose grueling.

As always, the mention of Rose triggered the usual responses. “God. Can’t believe you fumbled her.”

He’d practiced this one which was, at least, truthful, “We’re better off as friends.”

JJ shook his head as if this was an utterly perplexing concept. Then brightened. “You know. If you managed to land a movie-star, there’s hope for us all.”

“Plenty more fish in the sea, brother,” Hayden said helpfully, and promptly. Shane resolutely did not look at him.

“Exactly.”

They clinked glasses again. JJ tipped his head back as he finished his beer and then slammed the bottle on the table. “Another round?”

In his pocket, Shane’s cell buzzed several more times. “I’ll go,” he said. “But first I need to take a leak.”

 

ILYA

Ilya kept scrolling back, putting together a timeline. They went to four bars and two clubs that night in 2016. And Shane was hit on four times. Definitively.

There was green shirt shark teeth. A black-T-shirt guy with a tattoo and very big hands. And a guy in a grey hoodie that swear to God, in one photo it looked like he was licking Shane’s ear.

Furious, he zoomed in on that image and sent it to Shane. What the fuck is he doing?

Jane: Lol. I have no idea what I’m looking at????

Jane: What’s going on?  

Jane: Ilya?

*

Here was the problem.

Shane did not go out. If he did go out, it was with his very straight, overtly homophobic teammates. They’d go to each other’s houses and drink beer and maybe they’d go to a bar and there would be wives and girlfriends and manly backslapping and Shane would drink a ginger ale and go home early, his duty done.

The chance of a woman approaching Shane during these occasions wasn’t zero, of course. Probably they would. Probably they did. In the past, this was something Ilya had dwelled on with almost academic interest. The likelihood that Shane had been entirely, completely gay had been a possibility but it had seemed to be a minute one. Shane Hollander – gay? Nyet. Not possible. Even for Ilya, who had fucked Shane through the kind of orgasms that had left him sloppy before fucking him into the next one, had struggled, or even allowed himself to imagine Shane Hollander as being anything other than bi-curious. He had been hooking up with women. Ergo probably Shane was, too. Just privately.

This ‘probably’ became ‘definitely’ when photos of Shane with Rose Landry surfaced on those gossip sites. Women were confirmed as a probability. Beautiful, available women who could be photographed in public and brought home to his parents. They were what Ilya feared the most.

In an example of unbelievable hubris, not for one fucking second had Ilya thought about a man approaching Shane. A man who looked at that beautiful face, those freckles, that ass, and thought – Fuck yes, I want that.

Like Ilya had. Just like Ilya had, in fact. Cigarette in one hand in fucking Saskatchewan, the other hand vibrating with the desperate and sudden need to touch. Because Shane was unbelievably hot then but, inconceivably, kept getting hotter. Like, daily. Every time Ilya saw Shane he seemed to increase in magnitudes of hotness.

Shane had eyes that naturally dipped flirtatiously whenever he made eye contact. It drove Ilya wild. It would drive other men wild.

And now he was rich and famous, too, at least in hockey circles, maybe even more so having dated an actress. Hot and rich and famous and a giant, adorable nerd with a deadpan sense of humor that would strike out of the blue and take you down.

So earnest. So goddamn earnest.

Jesus. His palms were sweating.

His cell phone lit up in his sweaty hand and for a moment Ilya stared blindly at the letters that spelled out Jane calling, not sure if he was in the state of mind to take Shane’s phone call. There was a distinct possibility he might say something insane.

He hit the answer button, heart racing, and proved himself right immediately: “So. Has anyone tried to fuck you, yet?”

 

SHANE

There was a small smoking terrace outside behind the bathrooms and it was one of those terraces that was designed to make the guests feel like their nicotine addiction was catered for but was fundamentally disapproved of, so it wasn’t very busy. Most people were probably out on the street instead.

Shane made his way to the furthest depressing corner where he propped one ass cheek on a wobbly stool that looked like it had seen hard times and hit Ilya’s number.

In the last few weeks of being official ‘boyfriends’, Shane was – he thought – getting better at understanding Ilya through text messaging. They had texted a lot before of course but there had been some fairly unspoken parameters to those messages. Their emotional safety lay wholly between chirping and sexting.

He would be the first to admit he was bad at messaging generally, as he took most things at face value. He really needed facial cues to help clue him in to people’s tones and so much of what had been written between them edged around what was left unsaid. Shane said fuck you when he meant I like you more than I should. Ilya said you’re boring when he meant I like you more than I should, too.

But now the parameters were gone and he was beginning to know Ilya’s rhythms and there was something a little off about the messages he had been getting tonight.

So, like a good boyfriend, he was going to call and check in.

Ilya answered after a couple of rings and Shane was immediately rewarded for his prescience when his boyfriend aggressively said, “So. Has anyone tried to fuck you, yet?”

Rearing back in surprise, Shane twisted so his face was away from the few people huddled together with their cigarettes and vapes. “Erm. No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

Ilya was silent for a too-long moment. “No reason,” he said, though, now sounding completely different, his voice stripped of all emotion. “How is Boiziau?”

“Oh. Well.” Shane shook his head, trying to dispel some of the confusion he felt. Maybe he had misinterpreted Ilya’s tone? Maybe it was a joke that he didn’t quite get? That did happen, sometimes, not just with Ilya. “Good. Still in phase one. I guess it’s early. We’ll probably go somewhere else soon. Pretty sure we’ve been recognized.”

“Somebody ask for your autograph?”

“No, and people don’t really do that anymore, do they?” He would much rather they did, though his mom was concerned about identity fraud. “Just a guy at the bar said I looked familiar.”

“Did he.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Shane cringed, “and JJ asked about you. Well, not you, but it seems my absence has been noticed at work. And if JJ noticed that means they’ve been talking about it.”

“So what? You’re an adult. You’re allowed to have a social life.”

Shane huffed out a laugh and teased a loose bit of mortar from the brick wall on his left. It really needed re-pointing. Also, the guttering was loose. They should really get that fixed before the winter. “Not so sure about that.” In his hand, his phone buzzed. He knew without looking it was probably Hayden wondering where the drinks were. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go back. It’s my turn to buy a round.”

“Oki,” said Ilya quietly.

“I wish—” Shane didn’t know what to say. He wished Ilya was here, but that was a pointless thing to say. He wished he was at home, that they were having a sexy video call instead. Or eating dinner on the phone together or watching a movie or just lying in bed listening to each other breathe.

“Me too,” said Ilya into the silence.

Shane sighed. “Yeah. Love you.”

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

*

Being loved out loud gave Shane enough of a buzz to conquer the bar again. Just in case, he made sure to not look at Conventionally Attractive on his way back to the table with his tray of drinks – no fucking shots this time – and as a reward got immediately photographed by JJ with the flash on.

“Fuck, don’t post that,” he said, blinking white dots out of his eyesight.

“Too late!” JJ crowed, scooting back into the booth on his butt, boots on the leather and phone held aloft.  

Shane distributed the beers, shaking his head. “Asshole.”

JJ snickered, fingers typing quickly. “You love me.”

“Well, that’s up for debate.” He slid in next to Hayden and tugged one of the bottles of water towards him. “We should go somewhere else after these, don’t you think?”

“I want to dance,” JJ announced. He was a little flushed.

Now who was trying to skip steps? “I think we should try another bar first.” Shane’s phone buzzed but this time with a different rhythm. He checked the screen. “You asshole you tagged me?”

“Hey,” Hayden exclaimed on behalf of his best friend, “that’s against the rules.”

 

ILYA

“Fuck.”

Ilya slammed his phone face down on the couch and then almost immediately picked it up again.

Shane, fully illuminated with flash photography, glowed with near ethereal vitality. He wore his patented angry kitten face and Ilya could count the individual freckles across his nose and cheeks. Thanks to the lighting, his T-shirt looked slightly more transparent, certainly tighter, than it had done on the earlier Facetime call and dark shadows spoke to his well-defined abs. If he zoomed in (which he did), he could see the shape of his nipples. Had this been any other night, Ilya would have saved it into his secret Shane folder and probably jerked off to it.

Instead, he was just perilously aware that other men – other people – were seeing his boyfriend like this.

A message popped up on his screen.

Svetlana: So handsome.

Ilya rolled his eyes – Svetlana followed many of the top players but there was only one she could possibly mean – and quickly replied: Stalker.

Svetlana: So you have seen it, too. Where is he? I did not think he drank.

Ilya: He is out with a pathetic friend.

Svetlana: And you let him go out like this?

Ilya: Stop.

Svetlana sent back the devil emoji and the skull emoji, but she did know him well enough to stop.

“Fuck,” Ilya said again.

*

He got a grip. Literally, actually, thinking that maybe it would be helpful to jerk off but this did not take him very long and actually left him feeling a little seedy. In fact, Ilya was feeling a whole lot of unpleasant emotions, all circling around Shane, who was normally a spot of mental sunshine.  

And thus, vodka. Pouring himself a measure, he drank it over his kitchen counter, zooming in and out of the photo and refreshing JJ’s feed.

He was angry with Shane and knew it was unfair. He had known it on the phone, at hearing Shane’s small, confused voice, and now he was angry at himself for being a jealous asshole.

Shane was innocent of all crimes. In fact, there were no crimes.

Not yet, anyway.

He switched to their messages and typed: Where are you now?

Jane: Another bar. Phase tow has commenced!!!!!!

Jane: Tow

Jane: TOW!

Jane: Fuck. TWO

Lily: Have a good time, moy lyubimyy.   

*

Lying on his bed, another glass of vodka on his bedside table, Ilya kept scrolling, past 2016. Past 2015 all the way back to 2014. Despite the Stanley Cup win, it hadn’t been his finest year. Fucking Olympics, his family, overshadowed almost everything else he achieved. And he’d unhappily been coming to the conclusion that he was edging towards a dangerous precipice when it came to Shane Hollander.

A precipice he had subsequently freefallen off and now he was on his bed, alone, hundreds of miles away from his boyfriend, doomscrolling through this cretin’s romantic history.

It did not take long to find what he was looking for. All he had to do was locate a dense succession of photos of a nauseatingly happy couple – a blonde this time, though not naturally – and sure enough after a few months there was an aggressive series of photos of another night out.

And there was Shane.

Ilya bit his lip. God. Shane looked young. Less muscular. His cheeks more rounded. And the hair— still adorable. But a little like his mom had maybe cut it. No white t-shirt this time but a dark blue button down and some smart black pants with a belt. He’d dressed up.

Ilya gave himself a break and rolled onto his front, pressing his face into the pillow on what was Shane’s side of the bed now. He inhaled several times. He put off washing this pillow in between Shane’s visits. When the cleaning service came, he hid it in his wardrobe and would wash the cover the day before Shane travelled to Boston. It had been more than four weeks so he couldn’t honestly say the pillow still smelled like Shane but there was something psychologically soothing about the concept regardless.

He planned to take this utterly revoltingly sentimental secret to his grave.

Rolling back, Ilya resumed his personal torture of digging into JJ’s Instagram. Shane had not yet got into the habit of instinctively hiding from photos in 2014 so he was in quite a few more. It wasn’t just Hayden either. There were a couple of other guys from the team out on this occasion, one of whom was frequently snapped talking into Shane’s ear.

Really frequently, actually.

Ilya switched to Google and looked up the Metro’s lineup. He couldn’t put a name to a face and suspected this was not a question of Ilya’s Shane-related-blind-spot but because whoever this guy was he was no longer part of the current roster.

He was correct. There was no one of that facial structure on the Metro’s team page.

Now he turned back to Google to find past team members, scrolling through endless thumbnail pictures, comparing them to the ones on Instagram. Finally, he found it. A third line center by the name of Jake Huck. Huck? Stupid name.

“And where are you now Mr Huck?” he asked no one, Googling his name.

Huck did not appear to play for the NHL any-more. His Wikipedia was oddly sparse. Looked like he’d retired young.

He messaged Shane: What happened to Jack Huck?

A minute passed in which Ilya concocted a doomed love affair. He had ignored Shane for half of 2014, desperate to protect his heart. Maybe Shane had found solace in someone else. This Huck person, with his small eyes and thin lips.

Jane: Jake?

It was annoying that Shane knew precisely who he was talking about: Probably.

Jane: His mom got sick so he left to take care of her.

Jane: Nice guy.

Jane: Why?

Jane: omg you’re not still on Instagram????

Ilya decided the best thing to do was to lie. No, watching old game. Didn’t remember what happened to him.

Jane: Weirdo.

 

SHANE

So Shane was probably a bit drunk now. They were in another bar because JJ had cried in the last one and that was embarrassing for all of them so they’d had to leave.

Shane kept forgetting to get water and they were now buying several beers at a time to avoid going back to the bar. He was sipping slowly, and certainly a few drinks behind JJ and Hayden, but he could feel himself becoming slower. That was okay. He was okay. He’d spilled a little beer on himself earlier and that was okay also. It wasn’t bothering him that much. Not really.

They’d spent the last hour trying to compose a list of Beth… Bella? Yes, Bella’s bad points. This had featured such weak statements as ‘untidy’ and ‘kinda forgetful’ and ‘allergic to kiwis’. It was awkward that JJ was really struggling to find bad things to say about her, clearly still pretty hung up. At least with the last two serious girlfriends there had been real points of contention. Hannah didn’t particularly like hockey (horrifying) and hadn’t liked giving blowjobs (possibly more horrifying?). And Shauna hadn’t got on with one of JJ’s sisters and also didn’t wax regularly which Shane had heard was apparently a problem as straight men seemed to like their women hairless below the chin. He couldn’t remember what was wrong with Amelie. He must have been drunker then.

“Course, her real bad point was that she dumped you,” Hayden pointed out with the air of a man who had been searching for something to say and had been struck by inspiration and was pretty damn proud of it.

JJ half-shrieked and stabbed a finger in Hayden’s direction, none too steadily. “Yes. You’re right.” He jabbed at his phone, where he was writing this list in the Notes app which was a crucial part of the process. He had to close one eye to focus.

“Did your mom like her?” Shane piped up, remembering suddenly that this had also been a real bone of contention with Hannah. He’d met Mrs. Boiziau a few times at team BBQs and she was a force to be reckoned with. Hannah, too, had been very outspoken. They had clashed.

“Yes.” JJ’s whole body drooped dramatically – his shoulders, his mouth, the corners of his eyes. “They loved cooking together.”

“Way to go, buddy,” Hayden muttered, elbowing Shane overdramatically. Shane winced; Hayden’s elbows were notoriously sharp. “What the hell went wrong, then?”

“I don’t know! She just said…” JJ’s mouth seemed to turn down even more. His eyes got very wide and very shiny. “She said we weren’t compatible. Whatever the fuck that means.”

For a moment it looked like there would be tears again.

“You should write that down,” Hayden said eagerly, trying to stem the tide. They couldn’t go back a step. “She used too-long words.”

JJ rolled his eyes. “I know what it means, Pike, I’m not a fucking moron.”

When he was a kid, Shane had a terrible habit of thinking something and then saying it out loud immediately. It had got him into plenty of difficult situations, mostly with classmates. It was something he’d had to train himself out of – and even worked with a media trainer once it was clear he was going to go into professional hockey. Couldn’t say weird shit on live TV, after all.

But on this occasion, fueled by alcohol and JJ’s use of a word that Ilya now used with weighty fervor, he said what he first thought which was, “Maybe she’s a lesbian.”

After all, he hadn’t been compatible with Rose. Because he was only compatible with men. Ilya-shaped ones in particular.

Both Hayden and JJ swung around to look at him with varying expressions of shock. Shock that Shane was sure was reflected on his own face. For obvious reasons, Shane had always erred from any commentary about any sexual orientation other than straight.

“A lesbian,” Hayden repeated, like he’d just suggested a quick trip to the Moon or something. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to form other words but was at a loss.

“Er. Yeah. It was… a joke?” Flushing, he took a sip of his beer. Shit.

“A lesbian,” JJ repeated thoughtfully, the expression of shock morphing into something much closer to wonder. He looked down at his Notes. “Maybe she’s a lesbian.”

“Er…”

“No, a lesbian. A lesbian.” He typed. “That would… that would make sense.”

Hayden snorted. “Yeah, JJ, you turned her off men forever.”

“Fuck off, Pike.”

Shane’s phone buzzed and, relieved he seemed to have escaped some social faux pas, he flipped the screen over to see what was the latest from his favorite Russian. “Hey, do you guys remember a Jack Huck?”

*

Shane was now definitively drunk. He was leaning heavily on Hayden, or Hayden was leaning heavily on him, as they watched JJ dance with a girl that bore a startling resemblance to Beth-or-Bella who may-or-may-not-be-a-lesbian. He was loose-limbed from alcohol but still surprisingly graceful.

“Is this phase four or five?” Hayden shouted in Shane’s ear. His friend’s face was damp with sweat from the heat of the dancefloor and the shouting wasn’t really that necessary. It was loud in the club, but they were no more than two inches apart.

“Four. No. Five?” Shane scrunched his face up, trying to remember the steps. It was very hard to grasp things with his mind. He closed one eye to help. “It’s the last one.”

“So he’ll start running soon.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Fuck. The running. He really needed some water. Some electrolytes. Maybe do some stretching. “Probably.”

“Man, I’m tired.”

“Soooo tired. What time is it?”

Hayden held his watch in front of Shane’s face but, thankfully, told him the time because he sure as hell couldn’t focus on that, “Nearly two.”

There was a bright flash and Shane reared back. Thankfully they were also leaning against the barrier that edged the dance floor or he would have certainly fallen backwards in shock. For the umpteenth time that night, Shane blinked the white flashlights from his eyes.

“Jesus, these club photographers are out of control.” Hayden released his hold on Shane to follow the guy, probably to try and convince him to delete the photo.

A couple of seats had freed up on his left so Shane shuffled over and sat down heavily, still keeping an eye on JJ who was bouncing around like… something that bounced around. But athletically. He had a lot of energy. He’d gathered a few other girls and periodically swept one in his arms and danced extravagantly with her, grinning. He looked like he was having a good time and so did the girls, which meant they didn’t have to intervene.

A wave of warm benevolence overcame Shane. He was glad JJ was having a good time. He was glad they had done this. He should tell Ilya that.

He fumbled his cell phone from his pocket. The battery was pretty low which was the sort of thing that normally worried him but he was remarkably free from worries right now. Someone had spilled a vodka tonic on him earlier too and he wasn’t even that bothered about that either. Alcohol was good for some things.

Concentrating hard, he opened his messages. Ooh! There were a lot of new ones from Ilya. That was exciting. He loved hearing from his boyfriend. He loved his boyfriend. He had a boyfriend. He would never get tired of thinking that. He wished he could say it out loud. Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend.

Someone dropped down next to him, jostling his shoulder and drawing his attention. There was a smile full of white, slightly crooked teeth as close as Hayden’s ear had been earlier. “So,” the teeth said, “we meet again.”

 

 

ILYA

Ilya lay on Shane’s pillow, his cell phone propped up against his headboard. There had been no replies from Shane for more than an hour. And the last two had not been very comprehensive.

He scrolled back to to re-read them.

Jane: Beth is nbow a lesbian.

He didn’t know who Beth was. Or why it was important that he knew she was a lesbian.

Jane: Compatible.

One of his favorite words. He scrolled down to look at the replies he had sent back.

Lily: Who is Beth? Is this a girl you met this evening? I am glad she is lesbian 🏳️‍🌈

Lily: Who is compatible? Apart from us.

Lily: Are you drunk?

Lily: I love you. Be safe.

What Ilya should have done – and this was an important lesson – was go out himself. They had a game at home tomorrow afternoon, so he normally didn’t indulge but maybe he would have made an exception had he known how he was going to spend his evening. His night. It wasn’t like he was getting a good night’s sleep.

With a great exertion of willpower, Ilya shoved his phone away onto his bedside table and rolled back to his side of the bed. He would go to sleep. That was the sensible thing to do. He squeezed his eyes shut.

His phone buzzed and his hand shot out blindly for it. Jane calling it said. He answered immediately. “It’s very late, Hollander.”

“A guy hit on me!” Shane announced in panicked tones, his words definitely slurring.

Ilya sat bolt upright. “What.”

“In front of everyone. He told me I had a very sexy mouth.”

Ilya was speechless. It had happened. His worst fear.

“Can you believe it?”

Clearly Shane could not. He giggled, slightly hysterically. “I said thanks – fucking thanks – but I was seeing someone. A girl. I showed him your messages. Then Hayden came back and he cleared off. But. Wow. That’s never happened to me before. Do you think I give off a gay vibe?” he whispered anxiously.

“Um.” Ilya pressed a hand to his eyeball. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. “Is hard for me to tell because you have sucked my cock.”

“Do you think people can tell I love doing that?”

Ah, God help him. “Sucking my cock?”

“Not yours. Well, yes, yours. I meant generally— oof, nearly fell over.”

Ilya frowned. The background noise was quieter than before. It didn’t sound like Shane was somewhere sociable now. “Where are you?” he asked, with the vague concern that Shane was roaming the mean streets of Montreal alone, drunker than he’d ever been in his life.

“Outside. Hayden is chasing JJ. He is so fast,” he said wistfully. There was a rustle and a sigh. “Gonna sit down here, I think.”

“Where is this guy?”

“Mmm. Well right now, he’s heading down the Main into Chinatown. Zig-zagging.”

“Not him. I do not give a fuck about Boiziau. The guy. Who hit on you.”

“Dunno. I want to go home, Ilya,” Shane whined.

He wanted him to go home too. Right now. “Well, call an Uber. I can call you an Uber. Tell me where you are.”

“I can’t leave Hayden. This part is crucial. He’s got to work off the heartbreak. Then he’ll be better.”

Ilya pressed a hand over his chest, truly surprised he couldn’t feel his heart. “Oki. I wish I was there.”

Shane groaned. “Oh, God, me too. So much. We could— we could go to bed together. And wake up together. I would really like to wake up together— shit.” There was a muffled grunt. “JJ just ran past. Gotta go, it’s my turn.”

But Shane didn’t hang up as Ilya expected. Instead, he was treated to the rustling sound of being shoved in a pocket and the pounding of feet on concrete. Faintly, he could hear shouting. Hayden cursing. Shane panting. A weird, triumphant shrieking noise that was maybe Boiziau?

Despite everything, Ilya found himself smiling.

*

Ilya was Shane’s silent pocket companion for the next hour. Lying in the dark, his cell phone on the mattress and his eyes half closed, he listened to Shane and Hayden try to corral Boiziau, who was apparently one of those drunks who got the zoomies.

They eventually wrestled him into an Uber and conversation was too indistinct for Ilya to hear anything. Shane wasn’t talking much. He imagined him leaning against a window, maybe half asleep like he was. It was weirdly peaceful.

Boiziau was dropped off first. There was some laughter and a door slammed. The rest of the car ride was quieter and Ilya could hear Hayden and Shane exchanging only a word or two. He heard his name mentioned, once, which roused him a little but Shane shushed him with a stern, “Not here, Hayden.”

He must have dropped off to sleep then because the next thing he heard was his name again, more distinctly. “Ilya? Are you still there?”

“Mmm, yeah?” he said.

Shane huffed. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

He cuddled the pillow. “In your pocket.”

“Creep.”

Probably correct. He couldn’t muster the energy to chirp back so just said what he felt, “S’nice.”

There was a hum. “You should get some sleep. You have a game tomorrow.”

“You too. Sleep, I mean. Drink water.”

“I will. Goodnight, Ilya. I love you.”

Thump, thump, went his sore heart. “Goodnight, moy lyubimyy.”

*

Ilya woke just before 11am and wrinkled his nose into Shane’s pillow. He had that guilty feeling that sometimes came after a night out misbehaving. He was maybe a little hungover, actually. Or just tired.

Ilya checked his phone first to read Shane’s morning message: Practise 😩

He sent back a heart and then stumbled to the bathroom to piss and stumbled back to bed to order breakfast. He’d make a protein shake to balance it out. One of the revolting green ones he kept for Shane.

Curious to see if he’d missed anything from JJ’s live feed, Ilya scrolled Instagram and sure enough there was an official carousel of the night. Some photos promoted from Stories that Ilya had seen already, some he hadn’t, including one of Shane at a bar Ilya recognized, crammed in between a group of girls and a guy in a slutty tank. The guy in the slutty tank was talking to him. Close.

He screen-grabbed it and sent it to Shane. This the guy?

Jane: Good morning to you. Did you only just wake up? I think I sweated out all the beer through my pores. Pretty sure JJ is still drunk.

Ilya scratched his belly and resent the same photo. Lily: Very good. This the guy???

Jane: You’re crazy. Yeah. That’s him.

Lily: Thought he hit on you in the club. This is bar.

Jane: He was at one of the bars earlier.

So, what, they’d been together in more than one place? Ilya hit dial without thinking. Shane immediately declined the call.

Jane: I’m getting changed. Will call you on the way home. 10 mins.

And so Ilya, that guilty feeling nagging at him, made his protein shake and sat at his kitchen island drinking it. His McDonalds order was eight minutes away.

Shane called, precisely when he said he would, calling from the intimate cocoon of his sensible car. “Hey.”

“Hello.”

“Soooo I looked at your messages again. You were a little crazy last night.”

“Was I.”

“I think you were, yes.” Shane was patient. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” Ilya said, with the hard ‘p’, knowing full well that this answer would not be acceptable and kind of relishing that Shane wouldn’t let it go.

“Mmm-hmm. Shall I tell you what I think?”

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

“I think you might be a little bit jealous. Which is dumb because there’s no reason to be.”

“Oh, I’m dumb now, am I?”

“No, you’re not remotely dumb.”

They were silent. Ilya, because he knew he was being an asshole and yet he didn’t seem to know how not to be an asshole. And Shane probably because he was confusing the fuck out of him.

“He followed you,” Ilya said quietly.

“Or he and his friends went from one bar to the club like everyone else did last night.”

Ilya pulled a face. If he was going to be all rational about it, sure.

“I’m just trying to imagine your headspace here.”

“It’s bad, Shane!”

“Yeah, got that. Thanks,” Shane said sarcastically. “I don’t know how you got there, though. We talked. Before. You seemed fine? If anything, you were more excited about me going out than I was. What happened?”

Ilya said nothing.

“Okaaaay,” Shane said slowly. “What were you doing going through all the old photos?”

“You got hit on a lot,” he mumbled.

“I mean, so do you.”

“By men.”

“Oh. I swear, last night was the first time.”

“No. There were others.” Ilya sighed. “I just don’t think you noticed.”

“I don’t know how you think you would know that, since you’ve never been there.” Shane paused and he heard the indicator sound. “I guess it’s feasible. I’m not very observant about that sort of thing.”

Ilya snorted. “No shit.”

“Hey. I observed you.”

“Because I fucking jerked off in front of you.”

“Yeah,” Shane hummed happily, “you did. Best day of my life.”

“Now you’re humoring me.” And it was working. All the edgy bits were softening. No one could know how wrapped around Shane’s little finger he was. Particularly not Shane.

He scratched at the partially disintegrated branding on his protein bottle and words he rarely said came out of his mouth because Shane deserved them, “I am…sorry.”

Because he was sorry.

“It’s okay. You got in your head. I know how that feels.”

“Yeah,” Ilya said, reluctantly. He wasn’t sure he deserved forgiveness. The guilty-dirty feeling swelled again. “I am sorry, also, for messaging you so much when you were with your friends. I shouldn’t have done that.” It was… needy. He did not like that.

“No, that’s how we used to do things. You tell me when something’s wrong. I need to know. Okay?”

Ilya kept scratching at his bottle. He wasn’t sure that was a promise he could keep. He found this excruciating. Maybe it would be better if it was in person. He missed Shane, sometimes, like a physical sickness. But this wasn’t new.

Shane sighed. “I don’t think we’re finished talking about this but you should maybe start to get your head in the game.”

“Huh?”

“Your game. This afternoon.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah,” he said, with more emphasis. Fuck. He was right. His eyes flared with alarm – he was determined to go out with a bang if this was going to be his last season with the Raiders – and he slapped his palms against the table and stood up. Energy coursed through him. Fuck yeah. “You did this on purpose.”

Shane barked out a laugh. “Sure, asshole.”

The doorbell went, saving Ilya from having to try to save face any further. “My food’s here.”

“Hope it’s something nutritious!”

“Definitely yes.”

“Fucking liar.”

“Yes!” Ilya laughed, pushing the guilt and the edges of unhappiness aside. “Goodbye, moy lyubimyy, and wish me luck.”

Shane snorted softly. “Good luck, Ilya.”

 

-end