Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Shane Hollander & Original Character(s), Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Original Child Character(s), Ilya Rozanov, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Characters, Including a hot male nanny

Additional Tags:

POV Shane Hollander, Family Dynamics, Yuna and David have a late life second kid, Shane as an elder brother and hockey star, And how it effects him coming to terms with being gay and not fitting the mold he thinks he should, Self-Reflection, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Momager Yuna Hollander, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Tags May Change, Internalized Homophobia, The Chase Hollander AU, Jealous Shane Hollander, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Ilya Rozanov, Family Fluff, Sibling Bonding, Kid Fic, Kinda

Language:

English

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-21 Completed: 2026-10-11 Words: 51,192 Chapters: 20/20

Can't Outrun You

Summary

Shane's life comes to be defined by 'Before the 2008 Prospect Cup' and 'After'.

Before he met his rival, his only equal in the sport he built himself around, Ilya Rozanov; and after his parents told Shane that he was going to become an older brother for the first time at the age of seventeen.

***

Yuna and David have an unexpected late-life baby right as Shane's professional hockey career is both taking off and put at risk by his attraction to not only another man but his only real rival (in hockey, at least).

Chapter 1

JANUARY 2009 - OTTAWA

“You played a great game, sweetie,” his mom consoles him after the final buzzer, after the handshake line, after Rozanov bids his coy farewell and Shane’s begun his countdown to the draft, to next year’s Prospect Cup, to whenever he’s going to make up for this loss and even the score, as Team Canada failed to just a day and half ago. Shane believes his mom believes he played well despite that. She continues, “That Stephenson kid is a joke. A piece of tissue paper would put up a better defense!”

“Yuna,” Dad chides as a waitress coasts by their booth. The kitchen door flaps open and closed after her, wafting heat and oily scent over the restaurant.

They’ve stopped at a sleepy diner on the way home from the Ottawa airport. The Hollanders had an early flight. Most of the restaurant’s customers at this hour are coming off the night shift and parked wordlessly in their individual booths and bar stools. Shane had patted his teammates on the back in Regina and will be home in Ottawa for a few days before heading back to his billet in Kingston. Shane’s technically on a short break, it was a tough loss, and the diner is warm and nostalgic, the kind of place with framed newspaper clippings on the wall, so Shane is waiting on a veggie omelet, served with an extra side of bacon that his parents nudged him to go ahead and order after he turned down a tall stack of blueberry pancakes in the first place. Shane likes bacon. He hasn’t had it much since he joined Kingston’s hockey program. They have a dietitian on staff. 

“We’ll see his performance reflected in his draft number, is all I’m saying.” Mom blows on her tea and takes a sip. She grimaces, maybe at the scalding temperature, maybe at the taste.

Shane wonders why she isn’t having coffee like him and Dad. He’s seen her down pots of what amounted to motor oil at gas stations and concession stands over the years, just to keep herself going. Maybe she’s cut back since Shane moved out and became his billet family’s day-to-day responsibility. He watches her shift in the rubbery booth seating and fuss at the curtain of hair at her neck.

Mom fans the air. “They really had to seat us right next to the kitchen?”

Dad sniffs the air and smiles. “I think I smell your omelet on the griddle, Shane.” He leans over to nudge his shoulder against Mom’s. “And our pancakes.”

Shane doesn’t get it, the weird emphasis his dad puts on that last bit. Mom seems to know. She squirms further in her seat, in that big black puffer jacket.

“Why don’t you take off your coat?” Shane blurts out.

Dad straightens up in his seat.

“Sorry?” Mom breathes.

“It is warm in here, and the food’s taking a while.” Shane shrugs. “Why not ditch your coat and get comfortable?”

He could have asked this same question a dozen times in the past week. His parents came to collect him from his billet family despite it adding four hours to-and-back onto their travel to Regina. Shane sat sandwiched between his parents on the flight. It was their chance to catch up on things, especially since Shane spent most of the tournament with his team. Any one-on-one time Shane spent with his mom during the tournament amounted to perching in the stands at the rink, scoping out the competition during his their practice. It hadn’t been enough. Shane skated off the ice into his mom’s waiting arms, squeezing each other. Her coat, which she had never failed to take off all throughout the Prospect Cup, from Ottawa to Regina, was so damn thick and puffy that the hug hardly seemed to count. And Shane’s mom was still wearing it now as a sheen of sweat caught the diner’s fluorescent lights.

His parents exchange a cryptic look. Dad clears his throat.

“We meant to wait for the food to be served, but well, I suppose we’ve waited long enough…”

Mom is rustling around in her huge coat, like something’s lost in the sea of it, letting out a triumphant sound and slapping down a yellow envelope onto the plastic laminate tabletop. She slides it closer to Shane with slightly more ceremony.

“We hoped it give this to you as a sort of late Christmas gift slash bonus congratulations,” Mom explains sadly, and Shane nearly apologizes for letting down even more of her expectations for this tournament. Even this one that he hadn’t even been aware of until this very minute. Shane feels the paper envelope in his hands. It’s not thick enough to hold the key to a car – and his parents set him up with a credit card for emergencies right before he went off to his first billet – Shane struggles to see the link between this thin square of paper and his mom’s giant puffer jacket.

Dad’s hand rests atop Mom’s on the table. “Think of it as a late Christmas gift slash consolation prize instead.” He encourages Shane with a nod and a smile to tear in.

Shane draws a breath and, despite his best efforts to neatly peel open the flap, rends the envelope open in jagged white lines. The glossy black film inside survives, though. Shane squints at the ink blot. He brings it closer to his nose, like that might make it take a concrete shape. He rubs some remnant sand from his eye and wonders if he’s still passed out on the plane, his brain processing shit from the Prospect Cup by proposing outrageous hypotheticals. What’s next? Rozanov waiting on their doorstep with a suitcase, prepared to billet in Canada with Shane’s parents in Shane’s old bedroom? Tossing himself onto Shane’s made bed and rumpling the blue covers with a satisfied smirk, legs crossed at the ankles with his boots still on, head of curls pillowed by thick arms –

Shane blinks hard and forces the distinctly baby-shaped blot into focus. His hand drops to the table. “You’re pregnant?” He asks his mom. “For real?”

She’s discarded her puffer jacket while Shane was zoned out, however, and the answer is pretty self-evident. Her belly brushes the table’s edge even as she leans back in the booth with a relieved sigh. Shane’s mom is, in fact, super pregnant. At least from Shane’s perspective, sat across the table. Dad’s free hand rubs the bump affectionately. Shane watches his parents exchange giddy little grins.

“How – ew, no, don’t answer that! When-?!” When a lot of things.

His parents answer patiently and thoroughly regarding the timeline and even offer an apology upfront about keeping Shane in the dark as long as they had. Five months since they themselves learned. (Shane would have been home with them and at the family cottage over the summer for part of that.) But they had their reasons.

“We obviously didn’t plan for this,” Mom confides in a discreet hush. Shane’s never seen Yuna Hollander look, well, embarrassed before. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who bulldozed through showing him how to roll a condom onto a banana at the kitchen table. She presses on all the same. “Honestly, we didn’t think this was possible. Not at our age. Not after – our difficulties.” She and Dad exchange looks as soft as the butter melting over their untouched stacks of pancakes. Mom widens her eyes and throws up her hands. “I was more surprised than anyone when my OB-GYN handed me the diagnosis, trust me, Shane! I thought the store had closed, but it turned out mother nature wanted to hold a going out of business sale first. That’s how Dr. Chen put it, anyway.”

Shane groans into his hands. “I’m feeling pretty surprised over here, Mom.”

Mom falls quiet, and Shane feels like a piece of shit.

Dad puts it delicately. “At your mother’s age, this would have been a higher risk pregnancy regardless. Even her pregnancy with you wasn’t all smooth sailing, son…We decided not to tell anyone – not just you, but your uncles, our friends, even our jobs, Shane – until we were sure.”

“So this is happening? I mean, you’re sure now?” Shane feels so dumb and like such an asshole. As if his parents hadn’t just said Shane would be none the wiser to this if it wasn’t certain that it was – that they were – “That I’m going to be an older brother?” Shane plasters on a smile and tries to perk up, to posture excitement so maybe he’ll feel it.

Practicing in the bathroom mirror for news interviews must be paying off. His mom and dad grin ear to ear. Shane’s cheek muscles ache, pulling taut to match.

“You’re not just going to be a brother, Shane, you’re going have one.”

“Oh.” Shane feels like the ice slips out right from under his skates after regaining his footing. Like he’s climbed out of a dogpile only to be body-slammed by some giant defenseman he should have seen coming from a mile away. He squints at the dark film in his hands and then back at his parents. “You can tell…?”

“Uh huh.” Mom proudly pats her huge belly. “It’s a boy.”

Shane nods. “That’s – wow, the League is going to love this!” It’s the first thing Shane can really wrap his head around. The Hollander Brothers. Pro hockey loved its dynasties. The Kariya brothers come to mind, and the Gretzkys. Of course, given the age difference, Shane is unlikely to ever share professional ice with the younger Hollander. No, Shane realizes, it would be more like passing the torch. Out with the old, in with the newer, shinier model. The League and hockey fans would still love it.

“Mom, Dad,” Shane swallows. “Congratz! For real, I’m so, so glad that you guys and the baby are doing okay. I understand why you didn’t say anything, I know it must have been scary the past few months. If there’s anything I can do, to make things easier…” Shane trails off. He honestly isn’t sure what his role is supposed to be in all this, now that he knows. Later, Shane imagines that he’d help teach the kid how to skate, how to hold a hockey stick, how to shoot a puck into each corner of the net. Maybe change a few diapers and babysit in the meantime. But right now…?

“You don’t need to do anything for us, Shane,” Mom asserts. “We’re the parents here and you’re still the child.” Shane smiles. Mom continues, “All we need from you right now, sweetie, is to focus on the rest of the season and the draft. Okay?”

Shane licks his lips and nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He can do that.

They finally dig into their food. Shane slices into his omelet and congealed vegetables spill out in a goo of slightly undercooked egg and melted cheese. His eyes flit enviously to his mom’s plate of pancakes (plain and simple, not chocolate chip like Dad’s).

The top pancake is picture-perfect, soft brown and mathematically circular, dolloped with a square of yellow butter, something out of a glossy ad. It only emphasizes the uneven, slightly too crisp edges of the bottom pancake, the presumed first, peaking out from underneath. It’s turned sodden and spongey in a pool of Canadian maple syrup as they talked.

***

MARCH 2009

“-mom?” Shane hums groggily, lifting his head from his pillow. The dark shape next to his bed pulls the cord on the bedside lamp. Shane squeezes his eyes shut and when he forces them open again, he’s met with his billet mom leaning over his bed in a bath robe. Shane sees her husband standing in the doorframe.

“Is everything okay? What time is it?”

Shane fumbles for his phone.

Angie shushes him. “Everything’s all right, Shane. Your dad called.”

That does not sound all right. Shane sits up in bed, then a beat later shyly pulls the comforter up to cover his bare chest like a girl in a movie. Till now, Angie and Craig had been good about respecting his privacy. So this had to be important. “What’d he say?”

Angie smiles, accentuating the many smile lines of her face, and pets his hair. “Your mom had the baby about an hour ago. You’re a big brother, Shane.”

This is good news, Shane’s aware. Everything went well. After months of anxiety, modern medicine had seen his mom safely through. Distantly, he wonders what he’s supposed to do with this information, if it maybe couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but then would Shane have felt some type of way about not being told right away? Frustratingly, it feels like a no-win scenario.

His phone is still in his hand and he taps a button to bring the screen to life.

Zero messages, except some dumb alphabet soup shit a teammate sent him after midnight. Right. Mom’s probably still, like, recovering, and Dad only uses his brick Nokia for calling. Shane’s not sure David knows how to open a text.

“Should I…?” Call them, he means.

“Yeah,” Angie nods. “Get dressed. Craig’s going to drive you back to Ottawa.” She straightens up. “I’ll fix you both some breakfast before you hit the road.” She practically shimmies out the door, giving her husband a weird giggly smile and waggly eyebrow that makes him chuckle and that Shane chooses to pretend he didn’t see while crawling out of bed.

Craig’s a good guy. He makes a token effort to chitchat with Shane about congratulations and exciting news and how this must be a “big change” for Shane while they’re within Kingston’s city limits, then allows the radio to fill the silence for the remainder of the two-hour drive.

Once they’re close, Craig’s bone-deep knowledge of the route between the two cities fails him. Shane looks up how to get to the specific hospital on his iphone.

“Gotta get me one of those,” Craig mutters in pleasant surprise at their safe arrival in the hospital parking garage.

Craig’s a good guy. So is David Hollander. He greets the other man with a paper cup of coffee, a fresh donut, and a firm handshake. Shane’s packed a bag for the weekend, Angie’s going to call his coach in a few hours when the rest of the world wakes up, so Craig is turning right around to head home.

“Congratulations!” He calls out the driver’s side window as the car pulls off.

There’s a silvery balloon saying as much tethered to Mom’s hospital bed, and a big bouquet of white and yellow flowers set on the maternity suite’s table. Shane’s their first visitor, so Dad must have raided the gift shop the minute the doors unlocked. Now, he brings Shane.

Mom perks up in her hospital bed. She throws her arms wide. “My baby~”

Shane lets himself be fished into for an awkwardly angled hug. He smiles into his mom’s hair, slightly – amused? Bemused? Shane’s not quite sure if Yuna is exhausted or high. There’s an IV taped to her hand that Shane nearly gets tangled in before he settles on the edge of the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Shane’s voice is a croak.

“Good. Now that you’re here.” Mom looks up at him with wet eyes. “My first baby.”

It feels like something is welling up at the back of Shane’s throat, choking him. His eyes dart around the room. “Where is…?”

Yuna and David’s lips part, maybe to explain exactly what happens next; a nurse softly knocks on the ajar door and wheels in a transparent plastic box with a smile. She declares that “baby” scored perfectly on all his tests and markers. Shane shares in his parents’ relieved sighs and smiles. This is good news.

“Is this big brother Shane?” The nurse asks Yuna, like they had been talking about him. She flashes him a teasing smile, but Shane’s eyes fall to the burrito tucked into her arms, then in his mom’s as they complete a tricky pass.

“He is,” Yuna answers softly. The nurse steps aside, unobstructing Shane’s view of the baby for the first time. Kinda. He’s tightly wrapped – swaddled, Shane thinks is the technical term – in a hospital blanket and a little blue cap is pulled over his ears, so all Shane really sees at first is pink. Raw, vulnerable pink. Then Yuna tilts out her arms a little and tells him, “Come meet your little brother Chase.”

Shane’s seen pictures of himself as a baby. His parents only took a million and one of them, him being an only child and all. Until now. Until Chase, who looks uncannily like those old photos of Shane dozing in the crook of David’s arm as his parents watched the 1991 playoffs from their 90s floral-print couch. Except, maybe it was completely canny, because this kid is Shane’s brother.

“Chase Hollander,” Shane tastes the name. He holds his breath at the way the baby’s pink features twitch, like he knows he’s being talked about already. Shane’s mouth pulls tight at the corners as he looks between Yuna and David. “It’s a good name.”

His dad barks a laugh and claps Shane on the back. “We thought so, too!”

Chapter 2

JUNE 2009 – LOS ANGELES

“Montreal is just thrilled to have Shane,” the GM is emphatic. He ducks his head forward conspiratorially. Yuna tilts her chin back as she sips her champagne and it stays there so she’s kind of staring down her nose at the GM. “Boston didn’t know what they were passing up,” he stage whispers. Yuna lets out a scoffing laugh into her champagne flute.

Shane only has one ear to the conversation, but he’s pretty sure the GM is flirting with his mom and using Shane’s second-place draft pick to do it. Shane tries not to get offended on his dad’s behalf. Especially since his mom’s been expertly deflecting each pass and shot like an Olympic goalie while never letting her polished mask of professionalism slip. The GM wouldn’t be the first guy to try it on since they landed in L.A. Really, what were people to think of an objectively beautiful, well put-together woman stood alone by her son’s side at the biggest moment of his life?

Dad is back home in Ottawa, taking care of Chase. It’s a big week for his young life, too. His first time being away from Mom for longer than the half-days she works in-office downtown before coming home to trade off with Dad. It felt like too much to take Dad away from at the same time and leave him entirely to a temporary nanny.

Dad had called Shane, right after the photo op with Rozanov and the third pick, Korogyri. He even held up the phone for Chase to “say congratulations”, but Shane didn’t catch any baby babble over the line. It was just as likely that Chase had blinked owlishly at the brick in Dad’s hands while blowing spit bubbles for his own amusement.

Shane feels eyes on him – he feels eyes on him a lot nowadays, but this is different because a trill runs down his spine and he feels like a fieldmouse in the sights of hawk. He peers up through his eyelashes, trying to be subtle and not spin his head around like an idiot searching for whoever is leering at him. Shane’s eyes meet Rozanov’s. He stood up on a balcony, staring directly down at Shane, spectating him like back at that rink in Regina rather than paying attention to the discussion happening a step to his left. He’s the hawk. And Shane feels like he’s about to be eaten.

Asshole, Shane thinks forcefully. He imagines that Rozanov must be feeling real high and mighty right now. Even if he doesn’t necessarily look it. Rozanov was also accompanied by only one parent to the draft. Maybe he looks so gloomy up there because someone with the Boston team has been flirting with his dad all evening, too.

Even if that does strain the limits of Shane’s imagination. Because Rozanov and his dad don’t really look alike. Like, at all. Rozanov’s dad looks like the bad guy in a Cold War era spy thriller while Rozanov looks so…The guy must take after his mom.  

Rozanov turns his head in profile, smiling with closed mouth politeness and nodding at something someone said. He suddenly doesn’t look like himself either. Yuna ghosts her hand across Shane’s shoulder and jerks him back to reality.

***

DECEMBER 2009 – OTTAWA

Shane arrives at this year’s Prospect Cup determined to flip last year on its head. Shane’s put in the work at Kingston and with the Canadian team. Even Stephenson’s got his fucking act together since last year, having been put on notice by a second round, double-digit draft pick. Moreover, Shane has a homefield advantage this time around and the notoriety from the draft to fill the rink with a sea of Shane Hollander fans. That was sure to psych anyone out, even Rozanov.

Maybe Rozanov realizes this, too, because this year he comes and finds Shane before the first game.

Shane is sat alone with a lunch he brought from home. He’s one of, like, two guys on the team who lives close enough to this year’s hosting rink to do that. The rest of his team has gone out to eat, coach’s treat. They’ll be gone long enough with the drive that Shane plans to run some solo drills on ice while waiting for them. He doesn’t mind. He appreciates the chance to decompress after being constantly surrounded by people over the past several weeks. He’s not as annoyed as he should be when Rozanov drops into seat across from him.

Shane automatically swipes his sleeve across his mouth. He’s still chewing when he says, “Rozanov! H-how’ve you been?” He clears his throat. “How was the rest of your summer?”

“Good,” Rozanov answers. He starts emptying a greasy-bottomed McDonald’s bag onto the table. Shane is pretty sure the clown wouldn’t have waited too long to invade with the fall of communism, so he doesn’t understand why Rozanov is pigging out on three Big Macs, a 10-piece McNugget, and a large order of fries right before a major competition. “Lots of fun to be had as first MLH draft pick. Boston Raiders fork over huge signing bonus, but everyone in Moscow wants to buy me drinks. Or fuck me. Or both.” Rozanov shrugs as he chomps down on a sesame seed bun.

Shane grimaces.

“Hope you squeezed some hockey into your busy schedule. Would hate to wipe the ice with you when you’re not in top form, Rozanov.”

Rozanov’s eyebrows lift high on his forehead. There’s a smudge of mayo on his lip. Shane quashes the urge to reach across the table and wipe it away.

“Better to be out clubbing dusk till dawn than up with screaming baby, hm?”

Shane blinks, meeting Rozanov’s eyes again. “Excuse me?”

Rozanov fucking chuckles, eyes darting to the side as if scoping out the deserted corner of the facility. “I saw your mother in the stands during practice with baby.” He sets down his Big Mac and licks his thumb and two fingers clean before wiping them on a brown napkin. “People are saying it is yours.”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane nearly faceplants into his Tupperware of chicken and rice, curling in on himself. “No!” He answers, even though Rozanov was more stating a fact about what people were saying rather than asking a question. Truth was, Rozanov was not even the first hockey player to bring this stupid rumor up with Shane directly.

A seventeen, nearly eighteen-year age gap between siblings raised eyebrows. His parents being so secretive about the pregnancy didn’t help matters. So, the rumor got started that Shane Hollander’s momager had cooked up an insane scheme to cover up for the hockey golden boy knocking some girl up ahead of the draft.

Shane’s ex-girlfriend Jessica felt compelled to post a fucking essay about it and plaster her Facebook with revealing bikini photos throughout the summer. Each one showing off her distinct lack of stretch marks or “baby weight”. She had a new boyfriend joining her in the photos by late-July.

Yuna, formerly rather approving of Shane’s choice of girlfriend, had said good riddance.

‘If that’s how she reacts to silly smalltown gossip, how was she going to cope with national news coverage and tabloids?’

Except, the rumor isn’t smalltown gossip. Fucking Ilya Rozanov’s now heard it!

“I never –” Shane swallows the words ‘fucked’ and ‘knocked up anyone’ before the chirps can tumble gift-wrapped from his tongue into Rozanov’s spit-covered hands. He sighs. “Chase is my brother. Like, for real.” He hates how the last bit sounds like begging. It shouldn’t matter if Rozanov believes a stupid rumor about Shane or not, especially when it’s not even true.

Still, Shane is relieved when Rozanov looks legitimately relieved on his behalf. It lasts all of a minute, of course. 

“Ah, well then you have no excuse of sleep deprivation when Russia beats you in final.” Rozanov plucks a fry from the pile and tosses it the air, catching it in his mouth like a trained seal. “Again.”

Shane shakes his head, laughing as he picks up his fork again. “Could beat you with my eyes closed, Rozanov.”

Not that Shane would want to, goes unsaid. Because when it does come down Canada vs. Russia again, when Shane does take the win this time around, playing against Rozanov is the most fun Shane’s had all season, and he commits every minute to memory until next fall. It makes Shane's brain swim with adrenaline and other happy chemicals. He comes off the ice from the handshake line directly into his parents’ embrace and indulges the sudden urge to take Chase into his arms like a trophy and press a fat kiss to his little red toque as the cameras flash.

Chase grins back at him with tiny gummy teeth. 

Chapter 3

JUNE 2010 – TORONTO

“Shane? Shane,” Yuna’s voice cuts sharply through Shane’s thoughts. “Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

Shane groans, “Yes.”

His mom folds her arms. “Then what was I saying?”

“To wear my Reeboks.”

“And not be seen wearing anything else. You have to wear them –”

“Mom, I’m always wearing skates –”

“I know, I know,” Yuna says lower and lower, cooling off the frustrated exchange. She tries to get Shane to meet her eye even as he feels his gaze veering continually to his right, like a busted steering wheel, or compass point to due north. “It’s a lot of money we’re talking about. You’re the youngest hockey player they’ve ever signed to a deal like this, Shane, and a lot of eyes are on you. Not just sponsors but kids who don’t get to see themselves represented like this very often. Kids like your brother.”

“That’s unfair.”

Yuna’s eyes go wide.

“Chase is a baby,” Shane deadpans. “He looks up to everyone.”

His mom rolls her eyes. “You got me there."

Shane’s due back on ice soon, and Yuna has a meeting at some brand’s Toronto office to run to. She opens her mouth to cover one or two more bullet points before she leaves Shane to mind himself like a big boy, when the phone in her hand rings.

Yuna’s thumb flies across the screen while the other hand presses against her opposite ear to block out the echoey noise of the rink. She takes a wide step away from Shane.

“Hi, Matthew? Is everything okay?”

Matthew is Chase’s male nanny, who his parents hired right after Shane moved to Montreal in preparation for his first professional season. Right around when it became apparent that Yuna had her hands full with Shane’s career even after stepping back from her job with the Bank of Canada. Matthew’s salary is paid out of the percentage Shane insisted his mom take out of the Reebok deal she helped negotiate. Matthew is calling Yuna to let her know Chase is running a slight fever and to ask if it’s okay to administer baby’s Tylenol, since David is wrapped up in a meeting at work.

“Oh, poor Chase,” Yuna coos over the phone like Matthew has put the baby on the line. She snaps back to a normal professional tone like a rubber band seconds later. “Yes, give him some medicine. It’s probably just more teething pain, which I’m sure you know how to deal with by now–”It sounds almost like an inside joke, the way she says it. “–but please let me know if he shows any other symptoms or you have trouble consoling him until David gets home…Yes…Yeah, of course…Thank you, Matthew! Bye bye now.” And then it comes back. “Chase? Mommy loves you so, so much. Lots of kisses. Be a good boy now, okay? Bye bye!”

Yuna turns back to Shane with a dignified sniff. She fixes her hair and glances at the time on her phone. “Sorry about that, Shane. I’m holding you up. I should get going.”  

“No.” The word hops out of Shane’s mouth like a frog and there’s no way of putting it back. Shane might as well just roll with it. “I mean, they haven’t called me back down to the ice yet. What were you going to say before Matthew called?” He leans against the railing, telegraphing that, despite their earlier impatient exchange, Shane’s ready to listen to whatever his mom has to say about the importance of shoes, sponsorships, and representation to his hockey career. He resists the urge to glance over his shoulder at Rozanov skating figure-8s on the ice below.

Yuna glances at her phone one last time before tucking it away and stepping closer. “Well, I’ve been fielding emails from Teen Vogue for the past few months. I know, I know –”

***

By the end of the day, Shane has made two huge mistakes: first, he gave Yuna the okay to seriously talk offers with Teen Vogue regarding an interview and fashion photoshoot sometime in the fall, and second, he’s sucked Rozanov’s dick and vice-versa. He just can’t help himself.

Shane and Rozanov are exchanging awkward promises of mutually assured destruction if this ever came to light of day when Shane’s phone rings. His first irrational thought is that somehow it’s already leaked to the media and some grainy flip phone picture through a gap in the hotel curtains is doing the rounds. His mom is calling him to demand how Shane could let down so many people – hockey fans, Asian kids across Canada, her and Dad, Chase.

It is about Chase.

Shane leaps out of bed with his phone wedged between his face and shoulder. He struggles to pull on a pair of pants and nearly fucking decks Rozanov for yanking them back down to his ankles until he realizes he’d been trying to pull on Rozanov’s jeans in his hurry to get out the door. “Ro –” Rozanov holds a shushing finger to his lips, nodding to the phone still pressed against Shane’s ear. Shane fumbles for a save. “R-ring a cab, did you? No, no, don’t – don’t, you have enough to worry about with the flights! I’ll call the front desk and have them order a car. Okay?...Okay, Mom, I love you. Meet you downstairs in ten?...Okay. Love you…Yes, bye. Love you.”

As he’s talking, Rozanov is picking up the clothes Shane folded up earlier and helping him back into them. Shane steps into his sweats one leg at a time with a steadying hand planted on Rozanov’s broad shoulder. The shirt, Rozanov loops over his head in a ring of fabric. Shane manages to shove one arm through a sleeve but standing there, half (three-fourths?) dressed, until his mom hangs up. Rozanov moves around the hotel room. He’s found Shane’s half-packed suitcase and is tossing loose clothes and toiletries inside. Rozanov opens Shane’s closet door. The hotel’s closet, that is. With a raised eyebrow, he reaches inside and pulls out the garment bag for Shane’s “just-in-case” suit.

Shane shoots forward and snatches the hanger and the suitcase from Rozanov’s hands. In seconds, everything is zipped up into his carry-on.

Shane grabs his hotel key card and jitters by the door, waiting for Rozanov to get his clothes on now. He’d dressed Shane and helped pack his stuff all while buck naked.

Rozanov’s jeans are so tight he has to do a little jump to pull them over his ass. He looks up and Shane feels caught. Rozanov points at the door. “Go,” he says thickly. “Your family.”

“I – the room-”

“Can let myself out and let the door lock.” By now, he’s basically dressed already. Just shoving his feet into shoes. But Rozanov insists. “Go, Hollander. Your baby brother is sick, yes? I am big strong Russian hockey player first draft pick who can walk himself back to elevator.”

Right. Rozanov isn’t some date Shane has to be chivalrous toward. Shane bites his fucking lip and rips the door open finally.

“We shouldn’t be seen together anyway,” Rozanov adds more quietly.

He’s right about that, too. Shane closes the door, leaving just a hair of light seeping in from the hall. “Thank you,” Shane whispers. In case, he doesn’t ever have a moment alone with Rozanov like this again.

Rozanov’s head jerks up, curls springing everywhere. He’s still wrestling with his shoes since he didn’t bother unlacing them earlier. “Is nothing, Hollander. Now go!”

He points at the door again, and Shane yanks it open and closed in quick succession. He meets his mom down in the lobby, apologizing profusely for forgetting to call the front desk about a car. Mom says it’s fine. Luckily there’s a cab idling just outside, waiting for a fare.

Even with a sympathetic driver and switching their flights, they don’t arrive at the hospital for several hours. By then, the doctors have administered antibiotics for an ear infection that spiked a dangerously high fever, which they now deemed “under control”.

Shane’s parents beat themselves up for letting it get so bad in the first place.

Dad, who noticed the fever spike while trying and failing to put Chase down for the night, takes it the worst. “Our eldest, Shane, he pulled his ears all the time when he was teething. Nothing some baby Tylenol and a cold rag to chew on couldn’t fix. I just assumed Chase was the same. To think he was dealing with an infection, for who knows how long…” Shane’s never ever seen his dad on the brink of tears like this.

“Ear-pulling is common with teething and ear infections, Mr. Hollander,” the pediatrician explains. “Without obvious cold symptoms or ear drainage, it’s not always immediately clear which is which. What’s important is that you brought Chase in when you noticed his fever.”

Mom drapes over Dad’s back in a blanketing hug, rubbing his arms up and down. “You did everything you could for our boy, David. Like you always do.” Dad doesn’t look convinced. He probably won’t be anything close to comforted until Chase is discharged.

Probably the day after tomorrow, according to the pediatrician. So long as Chase’s condition shows improvement.

Shane is a bystander to these discussions.

While he’s lived under the same roof as Chase for weeks at a time over the past two summers, as well as some spare weekends here and there, his parents keep their word. They never ask Shane to do anything that might qualify as “caregiving” when he is supposed to be relaxing in the off-season or otherwise preparing for the pre-season. Shane has faked his way through bouncing Chase in his arms while Dad warmed up a bottle, sure, and he got peed on while changing a singular diaper at the family cottage last summer, which was a sort of rite of passage for having a baby in the house. But tears of teething pain and smacked away spoons of mashed peas have never been his experience of brotherhood. Shane’s mental image of Chase is that of a happy-go-lucky smiley baby, always game for cuddles and peek-a-boo.

Shane feels sick, thinking that while he was – with Rozanov in that dim Toronto hotel room, Chase was red-faced and in pain, being poked and prodded by nurses at a sterile Ottawa hospital.

For lack of anything better to do with himself, Shane takes up the post at Chase’s bedside so his parents can run home. They plan to be quick – change clothes, ditch Shane and Mom’s luggage, and grab a few toys to comfort Chase once he’s awake. Dad brought Chase to the hospital already wrapped up in his blankie and he’s loosely tucked into the crib-like hospital bed with it now. It’s a plush red and blue throw emblazoned with ‘HOLLANDER’ in big white block print along one side. Custom merch gifted by the Metros to their “newest player’s newest fan”.

Shane holds the hand poking out from the blanket. It feels impossibly tiny.

***

FEBRUARY 2011 - NASHVILLE

Rozanov makes it look easy, talking to each other in public. Not just in public, but on the benches at All-Stars in front of dozens of hockey players, a hundred cameras, and thousands of fans. In hindsight, why was Shane so hung up on whether he would ever be able to exchange two words with Rozanov that weren’t chirps at center ice? The League is going out of their way to fan the flames of the rivalry narrative – Shane and Rozanov are rivals – but no one was actually going to think it was weird to see the two of them chatting across the boards. Right?

“Where is your biggest fan?” Rozanov asks, apropos of nothing but Shane’s chirp about Finnish cousin-fuckers. “I do not see him in stands.”

“Oh.” Shane ducks his head, hoping the cameras don’t pick up the color in his cheeks. “Yeah, no, my family’s watching from home.” Much to the League’s disappointment. Throughout the season, the jumbotron directors at the Montreal and Ottawa arenas found that cutting to baby Chase Hollander decked out in Metros merch was a real crowd pleaser. Chase was a natural with the cameras, too, eyes widening when he recognized himself, cheesing it with all his little teeth, and waving a mittened hand to the adoring public. Rozanov had seen it play out live at the Montreal-Boston games so far this season and chirped Shane about it. The asshole.

Rozanov smirks. “With manny on couch with them?”

For a second, Shane thinks Rozanov is talking about some guy named Manny. He means Matthew. Matthew the male nanny, who sits with the Hollanders at Metros games. “Probably.” Shane shrugs deliberately. “Half the neighborhood is in my parents’ living room tonight, Rozanov.”

“Ooh, Mr. and Mrs. Hollander throw rager while boring son is out of town,” Rozanov drawls, and Shane chews his bottom lip. From the outside, he probably looks annoyed. He sees Rozanov’s eyes flick downward right as a ref calls him back onto the ice for the next skill competition. “Sorry to miss it. Think I will head to bed early tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane's voice is faint to his own ears beneath the roar of the arena. 

“1-2-2-1.”

***

Shane pulling a plain T-shirt over his head while Rozanov sits there in his birthday suit must jog a memory.

“How is your brother?” Rozanov asks idly.

“You’ve seen him.” At a distance and up on a giant screen, but still.

Rozanov rolls his eyes. “Yes, but he is healthy now, yes? No more emergency visits to hospital?”

“No, I mean, yes.” Shane shakes his head. “Those are different questions with different answers.” Neither of which was really Rozanov’s business. “Listen,” Shane puts on a more business-like tone, stuffing his hands in his pockets to really sell it. “He’s fine now, Rozanov. You don’t need to - Let’s not bring up my little brother when we’re together just cuz last time…I appreciate what you did, Rozanov, really, but let’s keep him separate from - all this.”

Rozanov doesn’t say anything at first. Then an “okei” pops out of his pouty mouth and he’s levering up from the bed.

“Okay?” Shane is surprised by the ease of it – and disappointed? No, that’s weird. Shane’s just primed to get always get pushback from Rozanov. A chirp, a challenge.

“Mm-hmm,” Rozanov hums. He’s still damp from the shower, and Shane can feel the heat radiating off his skin from how close he’s standing. “I hear you loud and clear, Hollander. In two weeks, when we meet in Montreal, I will not ask about Metros’ tiny mascot, or his manny.” There it is. The challenge.  

Shane sneaks out of Room 1221 and holds his breath as he passes Scott Hunter’s neighboring suite on the way to the elevator. The metal doors slide closed and his phone screen lights up with “Lily’s” text thread.

Lily: Hey Jane, See you in 2 weeks😉xo Lily

Shane mouths the text under his breath – laughs again at the absurdity of now having a fuck buddy codename – and swipes out of the conversation to his contacts. His mom picks up after a few rings.

“Hey, Mom – yeah, everything’s okay, just getting back to my room from hanging with the guys…it’s been incredible. I know a lot of guys get tired of it after the second or third time, but – yeah…yeah, Scott Hunter said the same! – listen, Mom, I’m probably going to pass out the second my head hits the pillow. I just wanted to check in on you guys before…? Chase is in bed… Snoring? Is that normal for – I don’t snore, Mom!…I guess I wouldn’t know…Well, will you kiss him goodnight for me? Thank you. Yeah…yeah…Listen, I’m at my door. Talk to you and Dad more in the morning?…Love you, goodnight.”

Shane didn’t lie to his mom. Not really. He does end up passing out the second he crawls into bed. The bedding feels exactly the same against his bare skin as in 1221.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

A short one but this section ended up taking on a bit of a life of its own and didn't quite flow with what I have outlined next (which makes sense as this is scaffolded off the end of EP 1). Also, I wanted to say how overwhelmed I've been by all the likes and reblogs the original tumblr post received today!!! I am so flattered that so many people also find this concept interesting / have mentally adopted Chase!

I don't have a set schedule in mind for this as of yet. What I've posted so far is the product of a long weekend. But I hope to ride this momentum, put out shorter, punchier chapters, and get us to the Cottage sooner rather than later.

Thank you all fr <3

JUNE 2011 – LAS VEGAS

Shane descends the stairs and lifts the crystal Rookie of the Year trophy overhead to cheers and applause. His mom and dad are standing on either side of him, their unshed tears catching the flash of an event photographer’s camera. It feels like destiny.

Then his parents disappear into a quiet corner of the hotel to call Matt (Matthew is hard for toddlers to pronounce, Shane learned at Easter) and say goodnight to Chase. It gives Shane a chance to circulate with the other award nominees and league officials in attendance. He does shots with Scott Hunter. He ends up on the roof with Rozanov.

He ends up yelling at Rozanov on a Vegas rooftop.

And Rozanov yells back. “Not everything is about you, Hollander!”

As if Shane is unaware. No, Shane’s well aware, he just still doesn’t fucking like it. Even after two years, he’s pouting over sharing his parents’ attention on his big day with a baby who doesn’t know one day of the week from the other. Isn’t that why he followed Rozanov out onto this roof? Because Shane is upset his rival wasn’t paying enough attention to him, too busy nursing his bruised ego to be sportsman-like. God, they’re both acting closer to two than twenty.

In his shamed stewing, Shane falls silent.

Rozanov leans all his weight on the railing. “I go home in three days.”

“Okay.” Shane shoves fingers through his hair. “Fuck, do you think I’m thrilled to go home this summer?”

Rozanov shoots a withering look over his shoulder. Shane hears the thick Russian sarcasm as if by telepathy. Oh, woe is you, Hollander! Forced to return home to Canada with measly Rookie of Year award to beat off your hoards of rabid admirers! They will tear you apart and turn the pieces into holy relics in the Church of Canada! 

Which, okay, fair. Shane knows that Russians go crazy for hockey just like Canadians. He’s sure a lot of people in Moscow are going to have shit to say about Rozanov’s loss tonight. Shane understands the pressure Rozanov is under better than anyone. All season, they’ve both shouldered the expectations of fans, legacy franchises, and their families. Now, they’re heading into the off-season, yet it hardly sounds like reprieve when Shane thinks about it.

Not just because Yuna has booked ad shoots for every other week. Or because now the sports journalists will be reaching out for the scoop on Shane Hollander’s award-winning first professional season. Or because Shane is sure to be swarmed like flies on honey if he steps one foot out in public in any major Canadian city.

It’s because Shane gets both his parents for tonight and tonight only. Tomorrow, Cinderella’s carriage turns back into a fucking pumpkin. Except the pumpkin is a direct flight back to Montreal, while his parents head back to Ottawa via Chicago to reunite with the baby they have been pining after since Shane met up with them at the Vegas airport yesterday. Sure, Shane will come out to the family cottage for a few weeks in July. But he will be there as a guest. Sleeping on the pull-out couch because Chase graduated to a toddler bed since last summer and their parents are renovating Shane’s old bedroom.

His brain is too waterlogged from shots with Scott fucking Hunter to articulate all that any better than - “Everything’s changed.”

Rozanov looks more uncomfortable than understanding, and Shane wonders if he misjudged. But he doesn’t harden against Shane either. If anything, his rival has never looked softer and more vulnerable, standing there rubbing an ear and wiping a knuckle across his nose.

“That’s the thing, Hollander,” Rozanov huffs. “Nothing’s changed for me.”

Shane’s brows pinch together. “Sure they have, Rozanov.” He may not have a trophy to show for it, but the fact Rozanov was in strong contention right alongside Shane (LeMaire was basically a ballot-filler) proved how much their lives had changed since they met in that parking lot.

Was that really only two years ago?

Rozanov smirks. “Yes,” he drawls, abandoning the railing to prowl closer to Shane. “At least one thing is different. We do this now.” Their first kiss in months is like a playful puppy nip. Frisky and - sweet?

Shane’s back is against a wall and Rozanov’s hand has snaked its way inside his tuxedo jacket to paw at his pecs when his pocket pings. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Rozanov snickers into Shane’s neck. 

“Is that the sound hockey robots make when hard? Like oven beeping?” 

Shane shoves him in the shoulder. It makes just enough wiggle room between their bodies for Shane to fish out his phone. “Shut up, that’s my dad’s notification sound.”

Rozanov lays off as Shane scans the messages.

“Fuck.”

Rozanov’s eyes widen. “Is everything-?”

“It’s not about my brother,” Shane snaps. A second ago, he was melting in Rozanov’s arms and now every trained muscle in Shane’s body is wound tight like a spring ready to pop into the stratosphere. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “No one’s sick. Everyone’s fine. My dad just says he’s been looking for me.” Knocked on Shane’s hotel door and everything, hoping for some one-on-one father-son time. If his dad had come knocking even thirty minutes later -

Shane straightens his tuxedo jacket. “I gotta go,” he tells Rozanov, who nods and returns to the railing. Shane stalls, one hand on the door to the stairwell. 

He almost calls out Have a nice summer!

“See you next season!”

Rozanov glances back and winks. “Oh, you will, Hollander.”

“Asshole,” echoes too fondly through the stairwell as Shane makes his way down to meet his dad in the lobby. 

Chapter 5

SEPTEMBER 2011 - MONTREAL

“Sheen,” Chase whines into Shane’s neck as he carries the toddler out to their dad’s car. 

Shane hushes him. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Tu t'es amusée aujourd'hui, ouais? Tu dois être très fatigué.” 

“Non.” Chase is petulant. He refuses to detach himself from Shane’s neck and sink back into his carseat. “Chuis pas,” he protests, after having crawled into Shane’s lap around sunset and conked out after a long afternoon terrorizing the Metros captain’s backyard with his teammates’ kids. His teammates and their WAGs all thought it was the cutest thing. 

“It’s like a before and after picture,” J.J. had said with some awe. “Hard to believe le ti-cul is going to grow up into a beast on the ice like his big bro!” Their teammates gave a roar of approval that nearly woke Chase then and there. He settled quickly. 

Shane had finished off what was likely to be his last beer before the season kicked off quicker than he would have liked, not wanting to somehow spill it all over Chase. 

“Pas pas pas,” Chase sing-songs until he fades out and finally goes limp. It takes Shane a minute to wrestle with the buckles, but Chase can do nothing but wriggle when he blinks awake again. “C’est char,” he astutely observes. 

“Mom and Dad are going to take you back to my apartment. You remember my apartment. You’ve been there loads of times.” 

Chase picks at the band of Shane’s Rolex. “Seep?” 

“Yeah, buddy. You’re going to go back to my place and sleep.” 

Chase kicks his legs out, frowning. “Sheeeeen,” he whines again. 

Shane sighs and meets the eyes of his parents buckled in the front seat. They grimace with sympathy. Mom looks like she’s trying to rally the energy to intervene. 

“Hey.” Shane’s tone is stern enough that Chase goes still. Shane feels like such an asshole. “No need to get jealous. It's my bedtime, too. I'll be right behind you in my car,” he lies in a gentler voice. “Okay? À tantôt.” 

He plants a kiss against Chase’s sweaty forehead as the little boy mumbles “à tantôt” back and shuts the car door. Hayden joins Shane in waving off his dad’s GMC. 

“It really is like seeing double,” says Hayden. “ ‘cept for the freckles. But I bet that’ll be fixed after today.” He knocks their shoulders together. 

“With all that sunscreen my mom slathered him in?” Shane shakes his head. “People will think they keep him in a cellar or something.” 

“Nooo,” Hayden slurs. “Your parents take good care of him for ya!” 

Shane’s buzz evaporates, and his stomach churns like he’s already hunched over his toilet with a hangover. “They don’t do it ‘for me’, Hayd.” 

Hayden’s had one too many. “Oh. Oh shit, dude. Did you not want them to -”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Shane hisses. “Because Chase isn’t my - because he isn’t my kid, Hayden.” 

“You mean like - like biologically?”

“Yes! Oh my god. Do I need to broadcast the DNA results on ESPN?” 

Maybe, Hayden admits as they sit on the mansion’s front stoop in the dark. “Not everyone,” he whispers. “But a few guys take it as a given, yeah.”

Shane’s head is between his knees. “Including Cap?” 

Shane had planned on attending this preseason shindig by himself. O’Brien, the Metros team captain, had taken Shane aside and encouraged him to invite his parents and Chase. “They’re practically local!” he’d said, clapping Shane on the back and moving on as if it was decided. 

Hayden’s head undulates like it’s too heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah. Including Cap.” 

***

FEBRUARY 2012 – OTTAWA

It’s either really kind of the MLH to host the 2012 All-Star game in Ottawa or particularly cruel. For once, Shane’s hometown arena is packed to the rafters with enthusiastic fans. But of the players on ice being cheered for, only one is an Ottawa Centaur, and he was drafted by the League rather than voted in by fans. He’s the captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, actually. The guy who Shane spent his childhood holding out hope would whip the team into shape. Over thirteen seasons, Ottawa had dropped to dead last in the Atlantic Division and more recently was drifting to the bottom of the Eastern Conference. Rumor has it the 2011-12 season will be Darren Kelly’s last. Making this his first and last All-Star weekend. A send-off gift or a humiliation ritual. It's hard to tell.

In a fit of paranoia, Shane now hopes that Kelly retires somewhere with palm trees. That way, it greatly reduces the odds of him ever cross-referencing stories about how Shane spent the last night of All-Star weekend.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand. He trades it out with his half-empty can of ginger ale from the hotel minibar.

Mom: Shane, everything okay? Did you get back to Montreal safe?

Yes! Safe and sound. :Me

Sorry, traffic was bad. Everyone leaving Ottawa at the same time, you know? :Me

Then jumped straight into the shower. :Me

All lies. He hasn’t even taken a shower since he left the arena a few hours ago, shaking Kelly’s hand in the parking lot. Shane took a rain check on drinks until the next Ottawa-Montreal game, saying he was spending quality time with his family in-town tonight. Shane told his family that he was grabbing a bite with Kelly and then driving back to Montreal so he could be at the training facility bright and early. Well, that part’s not a total lie, at least. Just substitute “blowjobs with Rozanov” for “a bite with Kelly” and you had the truth.

Shane’s phone buzzes again right as the tap finally squeaks off in the bathroom.

Mom: Good <3

Mom: I’ll let you get to bed then. Love you.

Mom: Don’t lay there and scroll! Blue light from your phone will mess with sleep patterns and make your eyesight worse!

Shane smiles and taps out a dutiful reply as a cloud of steam spills through the bathroom door. Rozanov struts out and falls into bed next to Shane.

“All yours, Hollander,” Rozanov rumbles, all damp and pliant.

Shane’s eyes rake up Rozanov’s chest. There’s still water droplets like morning dew in his chest hair and the happy trail peaking out from his towel. “All two bottle caps full left in the hotel water boiler?” Shane tilts his head and presses a hand to his heart. “Rozanov, you’re too generous.”

Rozanov’s eyebrows climb. “Two orgasms is generous, yes.”

“Fuck you.”

“Name time and place, Hollander.”

“Like that worked out so well the last time, Rozanov.”

They’re both laughing, but the truth is that Shane still isn’t in the headspace to put out for Rozanov in a hotel crawling with other hockey players. This is the longest either of them has lingered in a hotel room all season. Shane would have rinsed off first and been halfway back to Montreal by now, if not for Rozanov cheaply calling a race to the shower while Shane’s legs were still jelly. At least if anyone catches Shane in the hall, he can say he was looking for J.J.’s room.

“I really should get up and shower,” Shane yawns.

“Yeah,” Rozanov grunts.

They both continue to lie there. Until interrupted by Shane’s buzzing phone, for the umpteenth time that night. Rozanov fully rolls onto his belly and groans into a pillow as Shane opens his messages.

“Pike has weekend off at home and spends it texting you? His wife must be jealous. Or relieved.”

“Trust me, it’s the other way around on roadies,” Shane says absently. He sighs. “I brought this on myself anyways.”

“Hey!” Rozanov lifts his face from the pillow and points a stern finger. “Is never the stalking victim’s fault.”

Shane sputters in surprise of that one. “Hayden isn’t a stalker. I asked him for advice. Geez!”

“About how not to wear a condom?”

“No.” Though it was a matter of expertise. Shane fidgets with his phone in his hand. The screen has gone dim with the image of a digital storefront. “I asked him for gift ideas.” 

At first, Hayden didn’t seem think he could help Shane because he and Jackie only have experience with “girl toys”. However, his best friend has risen to the occasion and keeps spamming Shane with links to toys designed specifically to annoy the shit out of David and Yuna Hollander. Many of which had popped up in the Pike family’s living room over the past few weeks. 

Rozanov blows a raspberry. “If it is the thought that counts, then gift idea from Pike must mean very little.”

Wow. Two-for-one special. Rozanov just called Hayden dumb and Shane insincere in one go. Shane scoffs. “You would have trouble shopping for this person, too.” 

“I am great gift giver. I give gifts that piss off other party guests.” 

He's pissing off Shane right now. “Oh yeah. Do you know what to get a toddler?”

It feels like a fire alarm or something should go off. A ref should pop out of the closet and call a game misconduct. Shane broke his own taboo just to get one over on Rozanov. 

And it doesn't even work! “Of course,” Rozanov answers.  

“Bullshit.” Rozanov may have an edge on Shane in experience in very specific things, but this definitely isn't one of them. “You don't know anyone below the age of 18, I bet.” Not unless he'd gone and knocked someone up, right…? 

“I have a niece, Hollander.” 

It’s a revelation. “You're an uncle?” 

Rozanov rolls his eyes. “Yes. One often goes hand in hand with the other.” 

Shane wipes the grin off his own face and swallows questions like Since when? How old is she? By your brother or your sister? “Okay. What do you buy your niece?” He challenges instead. It’s a technicality. Shane and Rozanov are discussing gift ideas, not the toddlers in their lives.

Rozanov shrugs. “What she likes.” 

“That's a cop out!” 

“What? My niece likes puppies and kittens. She runs up to them in public and squats down to pet them. But my brother doesn't like animals, so I got her a bunch of plushies over the summer before I left.” 

Rozanov probably sees his niece less than Shane sees Chase. But Shane doesn't have the first clue what Chase likes. What toys he gravitates to or topics that hold his interest, none of these are pattern that Shane has trained himself to pick up.

Shane’s parents have been less than subtle about what they would like for Shane to gift his brother on his upcoming 3rd birthday. Shane was three years old when he got his first pair of skates and took to the ice like a duck to water. What a nice tradition, if they could keep it going.

“Is not rocket science, Hollander.” 

“Says the guy with a PhD in baby-whispering.” 

“Dinosaurs, Hollander.” 

“Sorry?” Shane's head swivels around. “You’re a paleontologist now?” 

Rozanov chuckles as he reaches for his own phone. “All kids love dinosaurs. And big trucks. Is cheat code for Level 1 baby-ese learners.” 

Shane leans back against the headboard and watches Rozanov’s thumbs work. “What happened to ‘it’s the thought that counts’?”

Rosanov grins like a shark and shoves his phone screen under Shane's nose. “This thought is very funny, so it counts for double points.” Shane bites his lip to stifle his laughter, ever mindful of neighboring hotel rooms. Rozanov's screen is lit up red and blue with a page on the New York Admirals merch site reserved just for Scott Hunter jerseys.

Chapter 6

OCTOBER 2013 – MONTREAL

“Whoo!” Rozanov flops into the rumpled sheets next to Shane. It takes a sec to catch enough breath to tease him. “Worth the wait?”

Totally. Shane had been crawling out of skin by the end of the preseason, thinking about it all summer, but Rozanov made it worth his while. Shane’s brain-to-mouth filter is running on a delay, thankfully, so he’s able to catch himself in time. “That was so fucking hot.” His voice is rough as gravel. 

“Yes,” Rozanov agrees. “Especially part where you came hands-free.”

“Yeah,” Shane agrees. “You’ve clearly been holding out on me, Rozanov.”

“Hm, new personal best for both of us.” Rozanov scrapes his teeth over Shane’s nipple hard enough to make Shane hiss. “We can try and one-up ourselves next time.”

Next time, he says. Shane stares up at the ceiling as Rozanov crawls off to the shower. 

Obviously, there has always ended up being a next time. From that first hookup in Toronto to when Shane finally gave it up to Rozanov after Montreal and Boston’s final regular-season match-up last spring. Shane hadn’t planned on it. Things just happened that way. His parents not being able to make it, on account of Chase catching pinkeye at playgroup. Rozanov’s sexts. Winning that game in overtime. There’s been a next time every time they’ve been in the same city since, despite what Shane thinks to himself while ducking into elevators and throwing dirty sheets in the wash. They just never say it so plainly. Not since they jinxed it at the 2011 All-Stars.

“It must be exciting, having the games be in Russia,” Shane rambles as Rozanov wedges on his shoes and tugs at the laces. “Is your family going to be there?” What Shane means, of course, is Are the Olympics “next time”? Or are you going to be busy entertaining your family? Are we going to hook up in the Olympic village, Rozanov?

It doesn’t get across. 

“My father.” Rozanov shrugs. “My brother, who knows.”

“Your brother isn’t going to bring your niece to watch?” Shane blurts out. Because come on. Who cares if she’s three! If Rozanov’s niece grows up into any sort of hockey fan, she’s going to be pissed at her dad about this in the future. Shane’s pissed on her behalf now.

Rozanov doesn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. He wipes his nose and makes a vague hand gesture. “Normal people have jobs that do not revolve around sports, Hollander.”

“I guess so,” Shane grunts. “My parents are excited though. My mom’s threatening to wake up at 4 AM to watch every game.”

Rozanov leans on the railing and levels Shane with a seriously concerned look. “With your little mascot sat in her lap?” 

Chase is somehow four already, nearly five by the time they’ll be carrying the torches into Sochi. He’s starting to get too big for Yuna’s lap actually. It’s a weird thought for Shane. His baby brother really isn’t a baby anymore. Chase is still a cute kid, but the jumbotron doesn’t cut to his reactions as often when Shane’s family makes it to a Montreal game. When the camera does linger on Chase, the intent is less to solicit “awww”s from the crowd and more to inject enthusiasm back into the audience in an endless feedback loop. 

Chase doesn’t get nearly as excited by hockey on TV. He’d much rather watch something called The Backyardigans than hockey. He also cries in frustration through all his skating lessons, according to Mom and Dad. They’re holding him back from timbits for another year. “So he can mature a little bit more,” Mom said. 

Why the rush? Shane thinks then and again now, overwhelmed by the idea of Chase being off to his own Olympics before long. 

“That’s way past his bedtime,” Shane tells Rozanov with a grin.  

Rozanov’s grave concern turns to a pout. “Hm, too bad for you then. Bronze metal is best you can hope for without your good luck charm.” 

“You fucking wish, dude.” Shane laughs sleepily. This entire scene in the stairwell feels dream-like. Reality exists just past that metal fire exit.

Rozanov stoops down so their noses brush. “I see another Hollander up past his bedtime,” he purrs. 

It’s not a goodnight kiss. They're not like that. It's more like one for the road. Something like one of Rozanov’s cigarettes to take the edge off “until next time”.

MARCH 2014 – OTTAWA

Shane pulls into his parents’ driveway later than planned. It's not totally his fault. He's still new to his captaincy, so it isn't like Shane can tap his stupidly expensive watch at the coach when their meeting runs long. He didn't know about the roadwork either. Shane doesn't usually need GPS to find his way home.

He puts his Jeep in park and detaches his phone from the mount fixed in the air vent. 

 Just pulled in :Me

Mom: Thank goodness! 

Mom: Poor Mattie. He's probably missing the opening act right now. Tell him again how sorry we are to keep him so late. 

[It's not like you could have planned for this…] :Me 

Except this is sorta the plan. Not for this specific weekend but for, like, any emergency. It just happened to work out that Shane's next game is against the Centaurs. He was planning to take the team bus tomorrow, but then his dad got a call this morning. Shane has a fair few uncles dotting Canada, but his uncle Gerry is a confirmed bachelor. David and Yuna are his healthcare surrogates. When Gerry slipped in his cottage driveway while shoveling snow and concussed himself, there was no one else to call. They’ve been at the hospital in Haliburton all day, making arrangements for Gerry to go home with a caregiver until he’s back on his feet. They hope to be back well before Shane’s due at the arena tomorrow afternoon, but this sort of thing is why his parents are talking about keeping Matt on even after Chase starts school. 

Shane painstakingly deletes each letter. 

I’ll let him know! :Me

If he’s missed a lot of the concert, I’ll reimburse his ticket. My bad for being late. :Me

Mom: No sweetie, don’t!

Mom: … … … 

Give Uncle Ger my best! :Me

He stuffs his Blackberry in his jacket before Yuna can finish typing her reply, grabs his overnight bag from the passenger seat, and makes for the door. Matt must be lingering near the door to hear the scraping of metal as Shane fumbles within his keys. 

“Shane!” Matt greets him, haloed by soft lamp light. “Welcome home.” 

Shane is weirdly winded from his hurry up to the door. “Hey,” he manages to breathe. 

Matt takes Shane's bag while he sheds layers and kicks off his shoes. He asks Shane about the drive and offers to heat something up in the kitchen. Shane can't help feeling like he's in Matt's house. Even though this is undeniably Shane's childhood home underneath all the clutter. 

Evidence of a toddler in the house is impossible to contain to one room. Shane's seen it at Hayden's house, and the same holds true here. Little snow shoes line one shelf of the rack by the front door. There's a tiny red parka on a hook. The floor is clear of tripping hazards, but there's a big pile of toys in one corner of the living room. Shane sees the toy construction equipment he gifted Chase for his last birthday in the mix. He knows the toy ATV he gave Chase for his third birthday is stored in the garage. The fridge is a collage of crayon scribbles. 

“Shit,” Matt mutters as he peers inside. He smiles apologetically at Shane. “Sorry, I had the last ginger ale with dinner. Can’t blame me for having good taste though?” 

“No, I guess not.” Shane laughs. 

Matt looks pleased and turns back to the fridge. “Iiiiiiiis coke zero or apple juice acceptable?” 

He knows better than to ask if Shane wants a beer in the middle of the season. Shane fixes a grateful smile on his face at his thoughtfulness. “Water’s fine, thanks!” 

Matt holds out a sweaty bottle of water, but the kitchen island is too wide. He ends up having to toss it. 

“Chase in bed?” Shane asks after a big gulp. 

Matt blinks hard. “Yeah, yeah. He went down a bit over an hour ago.” 

Shane feels even worse now. He was supposed to get here in time to run Chase through his bedtime routine. “I really am sorry for being late, Matt. Mom told me you've been talking about this concert for months and I know stuff like this doesn’t come to Ottawa often. If you want to hit the road -” 

“No, no.” Matt waves a hand, clearing the air of apologies. “No. Don't even worry about it. Chase is a great kid. Andddd my friends all ended up running late at their jobs, too.” Matt shrugs in a “whatchaya gonna do about it” fashion. “I'm waiting on them to swing by and pick me up now.” 

“Oh, okay.” Shane nods. “Cool.” 

Shane wonders if he should ask how school’s going? He thinks Matt is in grad school, but he can't remember what he actually studies. Would it be presumptuous to assume it’s related to childcare? They're just standing at opposite sides of the kitchen. Should they move to the couch and…? 

Matt circles closer and leans one hip against the island. He’s definitely close enough to pass a bottle of water now. “You can call me Mattie, by the way.” 

“Oh.” Heat pools in Shane's cheeks like after a workout. He’s tempted to press the cold bottle in his hand to his face. “Shit, dude. I'm sorry. I know you don't go by Matthew-” 

Matt – Mattie – the extra syllable feels damning – he chuckles good-naturedly. Like Shane’s flustered state is amusing. “Matthew is stuffy,” he grumbles. “It'll look good on my doctorate someday. But my friends, they all call me Mattie.”

Right. Shane and Matt – Mattie are friends. They should be, by now. Matt's only been to a dozen Metros games, and out to dinner with the Hollanders afterwards, and stayed the night in Shane's guest room, and celebrated Easter with his family. If they aren't friends, then that would make Shane one of those smug rich guys who doesn't mingle with “the help.” 

“Okay, Mattie,” Shane says slowly, voice low and cautious. “When do I start calling you Dr. Matthew?”

Mattie throws his head back and groans. A swell of irritation at himself turns Shane’s stomach. That shouldn’t sound so sexual, Shane’s eyes shouldn’t be drawn to the lines of Mattie’s throat.

It’s fucking Rozanov’s fault. Not for not hooking up at the Olympics. Shane understands now why that was never going to fucking happen. What Shane doesn’t understand is why Rozanov hasn’t answered any of his texts. Or how Shane visited Boston earlier this week to only see Rozanov on the ice and feel like Rozanov wasn’t seeing Shane at all.

Shane sees Mattie though, maybe for the first time really. And Mattie is objectively hot.

“I wish I was graduating sooner rather than later.” Mattie’s eyes snap back to Shane too quickly for him to cover for it smoothly. Mattie definitely catches Shane staring. Instead of looking bugged out by it, however, he adds, “Especially now.”

Shane wets his lips nervously. He’s only done this once before. “Yeah?”

“It sounds so sexy when you say it.”

Up until this very minute, Shane doesn’t actually know if Mattie is – if he likes – if he’s into hooking up with dudes. There have been assumptions, thrown around the Metros locker room, sure, about the Hollander family’s manny. Shane has tried to give those assumptions as much credence as those about his brother’s paternity deserved. On some level, maybe he was just trying not to think about it.

“Do you want to hear it again?”

Mattie’s eyes fall to Shane’s lips. He nods.

Shane tries to replicate the husky quality of what he did before. “…Dr. Matthew…Dr. Matthew…Dr. Matthew…” It’s like he’s luring Mattie in. One step closer and then another. They're on a collision course.

HONK!

They jump apart at a car horn outside. It’s loud enough that Shane and Mattie both look to the ceiling and hold their breath, expecting Chase to wake up. Chase. Jesus Christ. Shane suddenly feels like the cold water in his hand has been splashed in his face.

The manny? Was Shane really about to fuck the male nanny who looks after his little brother five days a week? Rozanov wisely doesn’t risk their necks in Russia, so Shane turns around and nearly blows his whole hockey career back in Canada less than a month later?

“My friends,” Mattie explains sheepishly. He brandishes his phone. “I could tell them I’m just not feeling the concert now. The vibes are off. I’d much rather go to bed.”

Shane feels so skeevy. What bed? The guest room down the hall from Chase’s room, across from his parents’ bedroom? He’s suddenly assaulted by memories of his mom rolling her eyes at celebrity sex scandals. Fucking the nanny, how stereotypical. 

“Have fun at the concert, Mattie,” says Shane. He means it.

Mattie’s smile fades, but he doesn’t press the issue. Not so much of a hint of hard feelings that make Shane worried he'll turn around and tell the tabloids that Shane Hollander came onto his family's employee. He drops the flirty façade completely, and their goodbye at the door before Shane locks up is perfectly friendly and platonic.

“Good luck tomorrow!” Mattie calls over his shoulder as he makes for his friend’s car idling in the street. “Not that you need it, of course!”

“Still appreciated,” Shane calls back. He shuts the door on a faint question from one of Mattie’s friends of “Is that Shane fucking Hollander?”

JULY 2014 - LANAUDIÈRE, QUEBEC

The cottage is everything Shane dreamed. The architect, the decorator, the landscapers – they took Shane’s wish list of amenities and his half-baked idea of a private sanctuary on the water and turned it into a real place he could visit each summer, starting now.

Of course, Shane isn't the only one visiting, at the moment.

“Okay, Chase, watch my feet.” Shane drops the sewer ball onto the grass and taps it into the air with his right foot. “One.” He taps with his left, sending it sailing toward Chase. “Two. Okay, your turn!”

Chase grins and seizes the ball with both hands.

“No, buddy, no hands.”

The little boy freezes half-way through the motion of hurling the ball back at Shane. He gets a contemplative look on his face. “Why?”

Shane resists the urge to rub his forehead. “Because it’s against the rules, and rules are important.”

Now Chase starts getting real philosophical. “Why’s it a rule?”

Shane sighs and rests his hands on his hips. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

Chase is maybe having more fun than if they were playing the game properly. “Mattie says questions are helfee.”

“It’s ‘heal-thy’.” Chase repeats the word carefully until Shane nods in approval. Chase beams at him with pride. “Right. I guess it’s a rule because the game is supposed to help with your control and leg coordination. If you played with your hands…it wouldn’t hurt anything, you’d just be working on a different set of skills.”

What Chase seems to get from that is that it’s fine for him to play with his hands while Shane plays with his legs. They adapt the rules on the fly: no catching the ball in both hands, no kicking the ball higher than Chase’s tiny arms can reach, so on. It’s not really sewer ball, but it’s more fun than Shane thought he could provide when his parents asked him to babysit while animal control wrangles a racoon from their cottage’s attic.

Matt never comes to the cottage with the Hollanders. He visits his family in Mattawa and vacations with his friends down in Mexico. So it’s convenient that Shane decided to build his own cottage ten minutes down the road. Otherwise, his parents would have shit out of luck today, and maybe Shane and Chase wouldn’t have this memory.

The glass door to the patio swings open. Mom calls out, “Shane? Chase?”

It works just as well for a game buzzer.

Chase hoists the ball over his head, ecstatic. “Mama!!!”

Past and future overlap. It puts Shane back on his heels. He watches Chase dash up the stairs to tackle-hug their mom. The ball bounces across the grass and pitters out at Shane’s feet.

What the fuck is wrong with him? Why did Shane’s brain make that connection?

He feels the urge to jump into the lake. Yeah, that’s what Shane needs right now. To cool his head and rinse off all this sweat. Decided, Shane waves to his mom, whose ear Chase is talking off, and yanks his shirt over his head. He’s about to dive off the pier when he remembers his phone and thinks to check his messages.

Lily: My ring has been stolen.

Shane feels alarmed like it’s his Cup champion ring that’s at stake. His thumbs fly.

Are you sure you didn’t misplace it while packing? How do you know it’s stolen? Have you called the police? :Me

He doesn’t expect Rozanov to take crucial time from his search to immediately answer Shane’s texts. That is his first clue.

Lily: I know it is stolen. I am looking at the thief right now.

??? :Me

Lily: I have been robbed by beautiful girl who only loves me for my jewelry 🥲

Shane drafts and deletes a few incredulous, pissed off responses before he hits send.

I bet she wears it better. :Me

Lily: she does! 😍

Lily attaches a picture. On instinct, Shane hides his phone and looks around before peeking.

It’s a little girl with curly brown hair crowned with a pink rhinestone tiara. She’s perched on a tiny plastic chair, at a tiny plastic tea table scattered with a pink plastic tea set. All of it stands in contrast to the hunk of gold and diamonds hanging from her tiny finger. Shane bites his lip, knowing he’s being teased and challenged, while incapable of denying that it’s a pretty fucking cute picture.

But Shane bets he can get an even cuter picture of Chase next year, and he texts Lily as much.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

This was supposed to be much shorter and be part of a single chapter arc, so to speak, but it felt more cohesive like this. Will have the rest of the 2014-15 MLH season "arc" ready this weekend probably.

OCTOBER 2014 – MONTREAL

It works out this year that Montreal has a home game on Thanksgiving Day, and they don’t fly out for their next game against Boston until Wednesday night. So, come Tuesday morning, Shane’s kitchen is getting used for something aside from blending protein smoothies and heating up meal prep from the team nutritionist.

“You did run this by Dominique, right?” Shane asks again.

He figures the turkey will be fine as long as he sticks to the white meat, and he plans to load his plate with roasted vegetables, but the mashed potatoes are probably a no-go. It goes without saying that Shane hasn’t had cranberry sauce from a can in years.

Mom rolls her eyes at the insinuation she’d forget. “Of course. You think I’d sabotage your crushing defeat of Boston later this week?”

Dad pulls two giant sweet potatoes from a canvas grocery bag. “We got you, sport.”

The sweet potatoes end up baked, but Shane's heart feels like a warm pile of mush. Despite his reservations about squeezing this late holiday into his schedule, it feels nice to sit at this big dining table with other people for once. Shane looks to his mom and dad sat at his left, patting themselves on the back for the delicious food, and then to Chase sat at his right, still pouting over not being allowed to sit at the head of the table.

“We’re your brother’s guests, Chase. That’s his place of honor,” Dad chided.

Shane doesn’t mind the idea of sitting next to Chase, but his parents clearly want to make some kind of point, and Shane isn’t in any position to question their parenting. They probably did similar stuff with Shane that he simply can’t remember learning. It’s simply part of him now. 

Still, Shane feels kinda bad.

“How’s school, Chase?” He asks with a bright voice. “Making friends?”

Chase pokes his fork at a lightly charred broccoli floret. “Yeah. Lots.”

Shane has to ask himself for the first time if his little brother is being sarcastic. “That’s good…is there anyone you like to play with more than the others?”

That cracks a smile. “Ethan and Brayden! We sit next to each other in the alphabet!”

Wow. That's all it takes at that age. “What are Ethan and Brayden like?” Shane asks. 

As it turns out, Ethan and Brayden are also big fans of digging for fossils. Which has gotten the boys in trouble more than once during recess. Brayden sounds like a class clown in training who spends a lot of class in time-out rather than his alphabetically-assigned seat. Ethan actually lives just around the corner from the Hollanders. His backyard has a big wooden playset, so the boys play over there on the weekends.

Chase looks pensive. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like the taste of that broccoli Mom finally coaxes him into trying. “Do you know Ethan’s mom and dad, Shane?” he asks. “Cuz they talk about you like they know you.”

Shane coughs to cover his laugh. All the adults share an amused look hidden behind sips of drinks and daps of napkins. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Chase stares blankly.  

“I mean, no, I haven’t met them. I don’t think.”

Chase smiles. “Thought so.”

“What do Cody and Alyssa say about your brother, Chase?” Mom jumps in eagerly.

Shane’s prepared to hear a lot of things – gushing from dyed-in-the-wool Canadian hockey fans, sore feelings that Shane hasn’t come home to Ottawa, even anger at Team Canada only bringing home silver from the Olympics earlier this year.

“They think Shane is my dad!”

Shane drops his fork and buries his face in his hands.“Oh my f-reaking god.” 

“They said that?! While you were in their house!?”  

“I know, right?” Chase sounds as scandalized as the rest of them. He whispers across the table, “I feel bad for Ethan. His parents don’t seem very smart.”

Chase's innocence is a blessing. Shane peeks his head out of the hole he’s crawled into.

“Yes, sweetie,” Mom declares, aggressively sawing at her plate. “Cody and Alyssa are very far from smart. Maybe that’s why their son can’t count to ten properly during hide-and-go-seek.”

Dad takes a long sip of coke zero right then.

***

They laugh it off at the table, but it’s decided while cleaning up the leftovers that Mom and Dad should probably talk to Chase about these stupid rumors. The two-hour drive home will probably be the best time. They plan to get on the road before dark, but of all things on their extensive grocery list, his parents forget ice for their cooler. 

“Do you wanna watch TV?” Shane asks, already flipping through channels. Usually, he’d be reviewing game tapes right now, but he doubts that’d interest Chase. “Chase?” Shane spins in a circle, searching.

Shane finds him browsing a shelf of hockey biographies way above his grade-level. Chase has a game puck that Shane uses for a makeshift decoration grasped in hand like a big cookie. Shane’s so glad Chase is past the age of putting random stuff in his mouth, but the sight still makes him nervous.

“That’s from my rookie season. My first game winning goal on home ice,” Shane explains. “You were there actually. You, uh, just might not remember it.”

Chase doesn’t look at the puck like it’s suddenly more impressive. “Hockey is your job?” He pronounces the word ‘job’ with a certain weight.

“Yeah.” Shane nods, even though that answer feels incomplete. “It’s my job.”

“You don’t do anything else?” Ouch.

“Well, I have sponsors and –” He is not about to explain modeling to his five-year-old brother. “– and they only sponsor me because I’m a professional hockey player. I’m very lucky.”

“You’re famous.” It’s so matter of fact. Shane’s stunned to realize just how aware Chase is.

“With hockey fans, yeah.” And with the readership of GQ Magazine, but Shane is determined to preserve Chase’s remaining innocence as much as possible.

Chase makes it difficult. “Who’s Ross-and-off?”

Shane chokes a little. “It’s ‘Rozanov’. Ro-zan-ov.”

“Who. Is. Ro-zan-ov?” Chase huffs sassily.

The guy who Shane was sexting this morning before his family arrived, arranging a hook-up in Boston for Thursday night. The first guy Shane did anything with and so far the only one to see Shane’s bedroom upstairs. The guy who sometimes leaves Shane on read for months at a time with no explanation. The guy who helped Shane get dressed and packed the night that Chase was in the hospital with a fever. The guy who makes Shane fight for it on the ice at every game, who makes sure having what he wants never comes easy. 

“He’s my rival.” 

***

MARCH 2015 – MONTREAL

“Shane, Shane, Shaaane.” Every whine of his name comes paired with a nudge.

Shane peels one eye open, groaning.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Chase whimpers. He already has one knee up on the bed’s edge, ready to climb up.

Shane shoots up.

“No,” he says too sharply. “W-what’s wrong with the bed I made you?”

He’s done a good job of transforming his fairly beige guest bedroom into a space where Chase could make himself comfortable over the next few days. Shane thought so, at least, looking over his handiwork at bedtime. He placed a Spiderman-print throw blanket atop the duvet, for a start. His parents also packed Chase off for the weekend with his own pillow and two stuffed animals, a dinosaur and beaver in a hardhat. They even thought to include Chase’s nightlight, which Shane has plugged in so star and moon shapes glide across the walls. Chase should have no problem sleeping there.

Chase fidgets. “Nothing…I just got scared. Can I sleep with you?”

Shane doesn’t know what there’s to be scared of in his apartment. Chase has slept in that bed a dozen times with their parents. He sleeps alone at home all the time. On the other hand, he’s never slept in Shane’s bed. He’s definitely not about to sleep in Shane’s bed where he fucks his rival two to three times a year!

“You can’t,” Shane says quicker than he has an excuse ready. “I – I toss and turn in my sleep. I could roll over and hurt you, Chase. Come on, I’ll tuck you back in bed, and you’ll see it’s okay.”

Except Shane hears Chase tiptoeing back into his bedroom maybe twenty minutes later. He can’t sleep either now. He’s too worried about Chase climbing into his bed and actually rolling over and crushing him in the night. They strike a compromise and move the sleepover to the living room floor.

Shane is still a bit sleep-addled, because he forgets about the couch. The couch Rozanov bent Shane over a week ago. The couch he definitely needs to replace. Shane won’t waste time shopping for a new one, he’ll just email the decorator and ask for the model info to order a duplicate in pristine condition. Until then – 

“Let’s move the coffee table and sleep on the floor,” Shane rushes out. He’s already lifting the table and carrying it off. “It’s tradition!”

Chase’s Spiderman blanket, his pillow, and the stuffed animals migrate downstairs as well. The light over the kitchen sink serves as a makeshift nightlight. Shane listens to Chase’s breath even out as he stares up at the ceiling.

This really isn’t how Shane should be spending a rare free weekend in the season. Hadn’t Shane given the guys a speech at the end of their roadie, basically ordering them to focus on recuperating ahead of their final push of the season into playoffs? Who knows what even one night of this is going to do to Shane’s back…

Shane wracks his brain on how to fill up the next two days. This is supposed to be his birthday gift to Chase. Mom and Dad told Shane this is what Chase specifically asked for in lieu of an Avengers action figure playset or another pair of skates he’ll outgrow before they’re broken in. 

Any other weekend would be easier. The front office would jump at the chance to give their star captain’s little brother a VIP experience at the arena. Against the right team, Shane could put up a really awesome game of hockey to watch. The Boston Raiders are always good for that, but the Metros don’t play them again until April, and what’s Shane supposed to tell Rozanov?

He wouldn't get pissy. No, Rozanov would just love this. Shane can imagine the grin spreading across his face as he reads Shane's text, the dot dot dot as “Lily” types out a chirp, the tweets about Rozanov’s wild night in Montreal following the Raiders getting stomped by the Metros while wholesome Shane Hollander eats birthday cake with his baby brother or whatever.

“Fuck.” Shane turns over, folds a pillow over his ears, and tries to sleep.

***

Saturday morning goes well enough. 

Shane wakes up first and does some yoga in his home gym in hopes of undoing last night’s damage to his spine. He shoots off an email to the decorator. It’s impossible to fix breakfast without waking Chase, sleeping like ten feet away, but by then it’s close to 10 AM. They have to meet up with the Pikes at the Biodome by noon.

Which goes fine. 

But Chase is older than Hayden and Jackie’s twins, and at their ages, eighteen months is a chasm. It's the difference between divisions of youth hockey. And a reminder of why Hayden will sometimes turn to Shane when they’re hanging out and ask for advice for different milestones, and why Shane sometimes has an answer. When Jade starts sobbing in terror of an ugly fish drifting past the glass, Ruby quick to follow her sister’s lead, Hayden and Jackie tag-team trying to deescalate the scene. Chase tugs at Shane’s sleeve.

“I wanna see the capybara.”

“We’ll go as soon as Jade and Ruby calm down.”

“I don’t wanna wait on the babies.” Chase wrinkles his nose. “They walk too slow! Let’s just go without them, Shane!”

“Chase, don’t be rude. They’ll be in their stroller in just a second.”

It ends up taking around forty-five minutes to make it to the capybaras, due in part to an intervening bathroom and snack break. The rest of the outing runs smoothly.

Shane had hoped to kill time by taking Chase to dinner at the Pikes’, but that feels like pushing his luck. On the car ride back to his apartment, Shane probes for what Chase might want for dinner. He picks up McDonald’s. But the Happy Meal doesn’t look to be doing its job as they sit at Shane’s dining table.

Shane holds out a forkful of grilled fish from his meal prep. “Want to try a bite?”

Chase considers the fork and shakes his head. He’s been nibbling the same chicken nugget for a while now. It’s probably cold.

Shane doesn’t really have a lot of ingredients in his fridge aside from eggs and what goes in his breakfast smoothies. “I’ll order you something else.”

“’m fine.”

“You don’t like your food.”

“I like it!”

“It’s okay. Just tell me what you want instead.” Shane just needs Chase to name it. Literally anything. Even places in Montreal that don’t usually do takeaway will do so for Shane Hollander. He takes out his phone.

At first, Shane thinks Chase gets the hiccups. The wet sound erupting from the back of his throat startles them both. But as soon as Chase seems to realize the sound came from him, Shane watches his little brother’s face crumble up.

“Chase, Chase,” Shane tries. “It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. I’m not mad!” He kneels next to Chase’s chair and tries to get him to just look at Shane. It’s hard. Because Shane knows he’s a strong guy, and Chase is so small still, that he can’t just manhandle him without risk of hurting him. “Just tell me what you want!”

“Can I – can I call D-dad?” Chase sniffles, balled fists rubbing at his eyes.

The two hours it takes for David to drive from Ottawa to Montreal pass in virtual silence. Chase sits curled in a tight ball at the end of the couch, while Shane gathers his things from across the apartment into a single Metros blue overnight bag.

Chapter End Notes

Joke’s on Shane, they’re both mispronouncing their favorite hockey player's name.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

I may actually be quite busy this weekend, so I am posting what I have. Pinky swear to wrap up the 2014-15 season arc by next chapter though!

Once again, thank you all for your support <3<3<3

APRIL 2015 – MONTREAL

Lily: We must make the most of tonight Jane 😉

 Oh yeah? :Me

Lily: Yes! We won’t play each other again until next fall...

Lily: Seeing as how the Metros are not making it past first round this year 😝

Go fuck yourself, Lily 🖕 :Me

You’ll need the practice for when I’m busy winning the Cup. :Me

Shane’s pride at that one carries him to center ice where he faces off with Rozanov for the first time since All-Stars in Columbus. Rozanov’s got his game face on, too. It makes sense why he’d get his chirps out sexting Shane in the locker room beforehand. The Metros and the Raiders are both shoe-ins for playoffs, but their positions in their division are by no means settled. This game will help decide who leads the division and faces a Wildcard team in the first round and might even cinch the home-ice advantage in the finals. The arena is electric. 

Well, except for one sad little piece of driftwood treading water in the ocean of Metros blue. 

Obviously, Shane’s zeroed in on the puck. As it’s dropping from the ref’s hand, flying down the ice into the Raiders’ zone with it, passing it back and forth with Hayden, squeaking it out to Taylor when Rozanov drives Shane into the boards, watching Hayden send it sailing over St. Simon’s shoulder into the net. Even when he’s on the bench, squirting gatorade into his mouth, Shane’s focus is on the puck and the game. And yeah, part of that is watching Rozanov closely. 

Rozanov's obviously locked in, too. If he's watching Shane on the bench, it's when Shane is checking back on the ice, and vice-versa. So it bugs Shane when he glances over and sees Rozanov looking up into the stands. 

Shane follows his line of sight directly to where the Hollanders are sitting in the lower bowl. 

He expects a chirp at their next face-off. But it doesn't come until after the game. The cherry on top of a stinging 2-1 loss. Shane just couldn't keep Rozanov off his fucking back long enough to even the score and send them into OT. 

Rozanov bounces on the mattress and fucking laughs when Shane shoves him down. 

“Sore loser~” 

“Your throat sounds sore,” Shane bites out. 

Rozanov smacks his lips. “You are doing the saying backwards, Hollander. Can’t get even, so you get mad. What? Embarrassed about losing in front of your biggest fan?” 

Shane scoffs. “We were leading two minutes into the game, and he was already acting like we lost.” 

Shane wasn't watching the jumbotron. But there's no way the cameras loved Chase Hollander tonight. Sitting there slouched in his seat like a total sad sack, not even pretending to be interested in the game. The one thing the Metros had going for them tonight was that their fans never gave up the fighting spirit until the final buzzer. One look at their captain's little brother would have killed it stone dead. And that would have been Shane's fault, too. 

Rozanov's sharky grin fades. “Didn't look like that from where I was sitting.” 

What the fuck does Rozanov know about Chase? Why the fuck are they even talking about Shane's brother right now?! 

Shane climbs on top of Rozanov and tells him to shut the fuck up, tries to busy his stupid mouth, but Rozanov doesn't ever quit. 

“Jumping up and down – like a bunny –” Uh, no? Chase was slumped so far down in his seat he looked ready to slip to the sticky arena floor. “– wearing his Hollander jersey –” Chase was bundled up in a parka jacket all night. They are talking about Chase, right? Rozanov looks like he’s about to impart a serious warning onto Shane. “You do know wearing player’s jersey is considered, uh, gauche? You should warn Manny next time. Hate for the Metros WAGS to be talking shit behind his back.” 

Shane peels back and stares. “Wow, Rozanov. Didn’t realize you were trilingual.” 

Rozanov hums, running his hands down Shane’s back to squeeze his ass. “I will try anything and come back for more if I like it enough. You know that, Hollander…What about you?” 

“His name is Mattie.” Shane feels compelled to nail down this point.

“Mattie the manny,” Rozanov sing-songs. 

“Mattie the male nanny.” Shane wrestles his mouth into a serious line. “Mattie’s just the male nanny, Rozanov.” 

Rozanov looks skeptical. Shane’s not sure if he should be flattered or offended. 

“Okay, maybe he’s more like a family friend at this point.”

“He wants to be more.”

Shane knows that’s kinda true, but he doesn’t know how Rozanov knows that. He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” 

“Why not?” Rozanov asks. “He has not sold pictures of dildo in your bedside drawer to TMZ yet, so he is discreet. He likes hockey. Your family obviously likes him.” 

It’s bizarre how much it sounds like Rozanov is encouraging Shane to not just fuck his family’s nanny but maybe date him? It’s made worse by the fact that Shane’s parents do like Mattie. If Mattie introduced a boyfriend to David and Yuna tomorrow, Shane’s sure they’d be excited and supportive. If that boyfriend turned out to be their pro hockey player son…

Rozanov’s eyes widen and he nods. “Ah, they do not know.” 

“Of course not,” Shane snaps. “That’d just – overcomplicate things and make them worry for no good reason.”

Maybe as a part of his management team, Shane should tell Yuna. But he knows she and David have their hands full, even with Mattie’s help. It turns out Ethan and Brayden’s parents are each their own distinct flavor of suck. The school district is ran by idiots. They’re thinking about sticking Chase in a private school starting first grade.

Shane's already failed to do his part in easing the load. He ruined his mom and dad’s rare weekend of alone time. He's never given Chase the birthday gifts he was supposed to. He’s basically sabotaged Chase’s interest in hockey. The least Shane can do for his parents is not put any of his shit on them. He’d be the low-maintenance kid. No work drama, no friend drama, no relationship drama, no – fucking guys drama. 

One day, Shane will find the right girl. Bringing her home to his parents won't be bothering them with drama to add to their plates. It will be weight off their shoulders.

Rozanov looks bemused, a word Shane hasn't thought of since high school. "Guess I thought boring Canadian families welcome their sons' Hallmark Channel boyfriends with open arms." 

Who the fuck is Rozanov watching Hallmark movies with? 

"I think fucking the nanny would get complicated in any family, Rozanov," Shane deadpans. 

"Com-pli-cate-d." Rozanov flips them over and presses Shane into the mattress. He's grinning again. "Ah, but fucking rival under everyone's noses is so much simpler." His voice is still rough and sexy from earlier. 

Shane locks his arms around Rozanov's head and crushes their mouths together. 

Chapter 9

Chapter Summary

Let's suspend our disbelief ☺️

APRIL 2015 – TORONTO

Lily: See you in Boston 

What was that about the Metros being knocked out in the first round again? :Me

Lily: Yes, pleasant surprise!

Lily: I worried my second Cup would come too easy after Tampa rolled over and showed their bellies 

Lily: Then again, I like it when you do those things, Jane

You can not be serious. :Me

Like whether you believe in curses or whatever it’s still insane to be trying to hookup during PLAYOFFS :Me

Lily: … … 

Shane rolls his eyes, pockets his phone, and gets back to packing. 

Obviously, he and Rozanov don’t hook up during playoffs. This year probably won’t be any different. 

Since Toronto couldn’t beat Montreal, they settled for sending the Metros to the second round with new team colors: black and blue. Despite Rozanov’s bravado and their Wildcard status, Shane knows that Tampa didn’t exactly make it easy for the Raiders either. They’re fucking sore and exhausted enough already without actually fucking. Rozanov’s sexts are just empty teasing, sent on principle. 

What principle? Who the fuck knows. 

Shane hates to think it, but the fact of the matter is the longer this series drags out, the more likely their wheels are to come off well before the finish line. It’ll be Mitty’s injury all over again. Worse, if Shane’s the one injured. 

The only solution is to crush Rozanov in four consecutive games. 

Shane bets that high would feel even better than sex. 

***

MAY 2015 – MONTREAL

Lily: How are your hips? 

Like I’d tell you. :Me

Fine. :Me

Lily: 😢 

Getting nervous, Rozanov? :Me

Lily: No. Just feeling bad for them. It must feel so wrong to leave Boston without aching.

Asshole. :Me

Lily: That too

Shane puts his phone down so hard that he immediately picks it up again to check the screen isn’t cracked. 

Shane’s got the hockey IQ, but Rozanov’s always played a strong mental game as much as physical. It’s a valid tactic, keeping Shane on edge like this off the ice so he’s easier to throw off his game when they get back on it tonight. But it's not that serious either. These sexts are more eyeroll-worthy than, like, psychological warfare. Rozanov's just playing around. Shane wouldn’t be letting it get under his skin if the Raiders weren’t already leading in this series. 

The Metros have the home ice advantage back tonight, though, and the fans are fired up after  two recent losses against the Raiders. It’s their chance to change the momentum of the series. 

Shane does some yoga before he needs to be at the arena. Partly for the breathing regulation, partly because his hip is a little bit fucked after an all-round rough roadie. By the time his family are letting themselves into his apartment, Shane is on his way out. 

Mom pulls Shane into a hug and launches into a pep talk, while Dad tries to sort out the chaos of three overnight bags and a gameday bag all piled by the door. Chase trudges past in the direction of the TV. It blares to life and flips immediately from clinical sports commentary to singing cartoon characters. 

“– Rozanov is a cocky showboat on the best of days, now he’s downright overconfident. You can take advantage of that and knock him on his ass tonight!” Mom is saying. 

Chase’s head pokes out over the back of the couch. “Like Rozanov did Shane?” 

“Swear jar,” Shane blurts out in horror. 

“I didn’t even say it!”

“Chase.” Mom puts her hands on her hips. “Language has a time and place, but we don’t ever put down family. This is very serious business. This is the playoffs!” 

Shane watches Chase slide back against the leather. He hears his little brother muttering something like “it’s a game”, but Shane really has to get to the arena and doesn’t have time to argue with a kindergartener. 

***

Intermission feels like a snap of the fingers in Shane’s face. He’s been in it since locking eyes with Rozanov at the first face-off, and the roaring atmosphere washes over Shane all at once, replacing the heartbeat in his ears. The crowd sounds hungry. Shane can relate. First period ends with no points on the board.

The teams are about to pile back into the locker rooms to regroup and see about changing that. Shane glances over at Rozanov and finds him glistening with sweat under the bright arena lights. There’re specks of red staining his white visitor jersey. He’ll probably change it out during the intermission. But Rozanov’s clearly having a great time. He's glowing. Not one point on the board yet, and Rozanov looks happy just to be here to slam Shane against the boards in front of all of Montreal. Shane wishes he could feel the same way, but he doesn’t have a Cup to his name yet. 

Shane looks up into the stands. Not one Metros fan will admit it, but they’re eating Rozanov up. They love to hate his cockiness. His unabashed pleasure in playing this serious game thrills them. It's not love, but it's not exactly the hatred everyone pretends either. He really is a great player to watch.

The jumbotron cameras comb the audience for the most colorful fan signs telling Rozanov exactly where to stick it. The camera coasts by David and Yuna Hollander, the way you can't avoid saying “Hi” at someone you know at a party, but snags on Chase. Shane finds himself holding up the line of Metros trying to empty the bench. 

Shane watches Chase's eyes light up when he sees their parents up on the Jumbotron. The little boy gets his legs under him and stands in his seat between them, sticking out his tongue. The crowd roars, loving the defiance and cheek. Shane's confused where this fire’s come from, until Chase rips down the zipper of his parka.

Mom sees it on the Jumbotron first and turns to Chase with a slack jaw. Dad chokes on a snip of cocoa and nearly spills the hot drink across his lap. Chase grins and frees his arms from the parka like he’s whipping off a cape.

Chase is wearing a Raiders jersey. 

Not just a Raiders jersey, a Rozanov 81 jersey.

The arena erupts. The camera team scrambles. The angles jump from Chase Hollander in a Raiders jersey to booing fans to Shane staring up at himself on screen. There's no telling what he's thinking; Shane’s not sure what he’s thinking. He turns his head and finds Rozanov still standing over his own bench. 

He’s not gloating. Not laughing and pointing like his teammates. He's not even smiling. Shane doesn’t think he’s ever seen a hockey player knock Rozanov on his ass like this.

Shane laughs. He laughs at Rozanov's face. He looks up at the jumbotron again and sees the camera jump between Chase peacocking and Rozanov rebooting, and he double overs, gripping the boards for support. He hears the mood in the stands shift from ticked off to fucking tickled. Shane feels like he's going to be sick.

Back in the locker room, J.J. slaps him on the back and asks, “Tabarnak, did you plan that?!”   

“Of course not!” Shane says before he can think better of it.

Thankfully, the guys find it hilarious regardless of whether Shane was in on what everyone is quickly deciding was a great prank.  

“I fucking wish you did. Give that fucker a taste of his own medicine,” Hayden jumps in. “Did you see Rozanov's face?!”

“Bet he was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out!” Schneider shouts across the locker room.

“That's such little brother shit, though, for real.” 

“If this is what he's pulling at five then he's going to grow up to be an even bigger menace than Rozanov.” J.J. shakes his head. 

“Hey!” Shane's booming voice silences the room. J.J. looks at him like he's about to puke an apology. Shane puts on his stern captain voice. “He's six.” 

J.J. and the rest of the guys crack up and then listen up when Shane tells them exactly how they're going to score in the second period. Which they do. And then do again in the third. The Metros take it, 2-0. 

***

Yuna manages to wait until they're back at Shane's apartment to pull the Raiders jersey off Chase. She might have tossed it into the fireplace if Shane had left it on before heading to the arena. Instead, she pinches it between two fingers like it's contaminated and demands to know how a six-year-old got hold of it in the first place.

David rubs the back of his neck. “He said he wanted a new jersey for his birthday." 

Shane's stomach turns, wondering when that happened. 

“You couldn't have gotten him a Metros jersey, David?!” 

“I thought I did. I pulled up the Metros website to let him pick something.” David Hollander is no liar. His confusion is completely genuine. “It's the darnedest thing.” 

Mom turns to Chase and asks with great patience, “Sweetie, how did you get this jersey?” 

Chase perches atop a bar stool and kicks his legs. “I asked Siri.” 

“Who?” Dad is immediately alarmed, then confused as to why Mom and Shane aren’t.

“Mom asks Siri to do stuff all the time,” Chase answers, holding a flat palm out in what Shane realizes is imitation of a smart phone. “‘Hey Siri, call Reebok guy'. ‘Hey Siri, find the closest Tim’s.’”

Dad looks to Mom, who looks ready to bang her head against a wall. 

“It's a feature on iPhones,” Shane explains. “Did you give your phone to Chase to pick out which jersey he wanted while you did something else?” His dad nods. “Well, there ya go.” 

‘Hey Siri, buy me a Rozanov Raiders jersey so I can rub it in my big brother’s dumb face how unfun he makes hockey!’ Or something like that. 

Chase clicked the big button under the first jersey he saw and then clicked the little shopping cart in the corner of the screen. All Dad had to do was enter his credit card info. 

It's lucky – or unlucky, who the fuck knows – that Chase ordered a too-big size. He won't outgrow this jersey anytime soon. 

Shane scrubs his face. “What the – H-E-double hockey sticks, Chase?”

Chase giggles.

"It's not funny!" 

Mom sighs. “Shane. Just have use the goddamn word.” 

That just feels wrong on so many levels. 

“If you make something taboo, that only makes it more appealing as a way to act out. Did your dad and I stifle you like that?” Mom asks, and Shane really doesn’t know what to say to that. She goes on, “I’d rather your brother learn to exercise good judgment. Also, it’s just silly. You’re a grown man throwing around hockey euphemisms. That’s why he’s laughing!”

Shane muscles himself past his discomfort to look a six-year-old in the eye and ask, “What the fuck, dude?” Mom and Dad also act very interested to know.

“Rozanov’s really good! You said so!”

“So is your brother!” Mom gestures at Shane like she’s aggressively presenting a shiny new car.

“But Shane said Rozanov won the Cup.” Chase looks between the adults. “So that makes him better, right?”

Focus rapidly shifts to Mom going through the 100+ tabs Dad currently has open on his phone browser, a Boston Raiders digital receipt page among them. Shane grabs water from his fridge and slides a can of ginger ale across the island toward Chase.   

“Sans rancune?” 

Chase screws up his face. Shane's too familiar with his real annoyance to be fooled.

“Rozanov va te sortir prochaine fois.” 

Shane chews his lip.

“We'll see about that…But what about this time? Did you…did you still have fun?” 

Chase cracks open his can of pop with a fizzy little grin. “Yeah, lots!” 

***

Ten minutes after his parents and Chase hit the road for Ottawa, Shane crawls into bed.

Ten minutes after that, Shane is grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

Ten minutes after he hits send, Lily replies. 

Lily: So you have gone insane now? 

Maybe, Shane thinks. 

You don’t have it in you to go into overtime? :Me

Shane’s riding one last wave of adrenaline as far as it will take him, chasing another point, another win.

Rozanov doesn't play along like Shane expects. The dots keep appearing and disappearing. 

What? Your ego too sore? :Me

Lily: No. 

Lily: I was more worried about yours.

I won tonight. :Me

Lily: I won over your little good luck charm. 

Shane rolls his eyes. "Some good it did you." 

You didn't win shit. Chase is just being a brat. :Me

Delete that. :Me 

Lily: Brat…Sure, okay. 

Lily: My older brother would kick my shit in if I ever pulled that on him.

Shane can't imagine putting his hands on Chase. Not seriously, outside of the roughhousing their dad is getting too old for. He has to assume Rozanov and his brother are closer in age. That they're on more equal footing.

It’s definitely cuter when a kindergartner does it, yeah. :Me

The Read receipt pops up immediately, but Shane lays there waiting for those damn dots to pop up for what feels like a long time.

Lily: I don’t know. There’s another Hollander I’d prefer to see in a Raiders jersey sometime.

Shane’s stomach does a flip.

Gross. Don’t even joke. :Me

Lily: Who said I was joking? 

For real, that’s weird. :Me

Lily: Okay okay fine

Lily: I will think of even better way to celebrate my next Cup 😏

I’m deleting that right now. :Me

You should probably delete it from your hopes and dreams because the Metros are taking the Cup this year! :Me

Lily: Focus on winning more than one game this round first 😛

Shane smiles at the stupid emojis, fighting to keep his eyes open as he types. 

So you’re not coming over? :Me

Lily: I lost the game, not my “marbles” 

Lily: See you on ice tomorrow 

Assuming that Rozanov rolled over in bed and dropped off immediately, Shane attempts to do the same without replying. 

The Metros and Raiders go for seven games in the second round of the 2015 MLH playoffs. It’s not consecutive, but beating the Raiders four times does feel really fucking good. 

***

JUNE 2015 – CHICAGO

The Cup is both lighter and heavier than Shane expected. The shape more than the weight make lifting it overhead feel like a slightly awkward bench press. 89.5 centimeters, 15.6 kilograms. It’s the hundred years of history that bear down on Shane all at once. He brings the Cup down and presses his lips to the gold name plates of past (and present) hockey greats. 

He passes the Cup off to Hayden, who deserves to bask in this moment as much as Shane, and to all the rest of the great fucking guys that helped get him here. Families start pouring onto the ice to kiss and cry. 

Shane’s hands feel empty until his parents come crashing into him. Dad’s hand ruffles his sweaty hair. Mom’s kissing his cheeks. Chase shuffles over on shaky legs. Mom and Dad have put him in a Metros blue jersey for the occasion, but he's wearing the face of a performatively chagrined Raiders fan. He can't quite keep the smile off his face. The atmosphere's too infectious.

Shane lifts Rozanov’s biggest fan off the ice and into the air. It’s a familiar weight.

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary

It's come to my attention that some readers may not be aware of the original tumblr post. Beware of spoilers, but linked here for those curious: https://www.tumblr.com/habitualfacepalmer/817462480346431488/au-about-yuna-and-david-having-a-late-life?source=share

I also have answered some asks about this AU in general over on my tumblr!

FEBRUARY 2016 – RALEIGH

Mom and Dad get Chase his first passport so he can watch Shane play in the Cup Finals in Chicago. It opens up a literal world of hockey spectating opportunities, school schedules permitting. All-Stars is, by definition, on a weekend. 

“So who did little Hollander vote for?” Rozanov chirps across the boards. He flicks a finger up at the stands, but Shane keeps his eyes trained on the shot accuracy competition. Toronto’s star centre Dallas Kent is up; he’s a complete and utter shithead, like actually, but fans love him. Maybe not as much tonight, with Rozanov – who’s an asshole but much more disarming and clever about it, and way better at hockey – in the same building for immediate comparison. Fucking Kent. Can’t even provide Shane a proper distraction. “Wait, let me guess. Hm, was it…Pike? Oh wait, he’s not here. Hunter? Kids love dinosaurs. No, of course not. Hunter went to prom with the fish that crawled onto the beach, he's grandpa to the dinosaurs…Ah, how silly of me! Little Hollander must have voted for his big brother, yes?” 

“Fuck you, dude.” 

A ref calls Rozanov for his turn. It’s a déja vu moment, hearing an accented “later” blur with the whisper of skates on ice. 

Up in the stands, Chase jumps up from his seat with a thousand other black and gold-clad fans. Already, the Raiders jersey doesn’t hang on him quite like a potato sack anymore. 

Seeing as Kent and Barrett are on Shane’s All-Stars teams this year, he skips out on hitting one of, like, two clubs in Raleigh to have dinner with his family at the hotel restaurant. Lily texts him in the locker room while changing, asking which club his guys are going to, but only to avoid it. 

Lily: risk of getting caught dancing between tweedle-dipshit and tweedle-dickface is too great

Nothing about a specific meet-up time for after he’s done dancing. 

Shane keeps peeking at his phone under the dining table, but each buzz turns out to be a text from J.J. or Vaughney at the club, or Hayden back in Montreal. Plus one spam text with a fake FedEx link, which just feels like the universe being a dick. He feels his parents’ eyes on him each time he peeks. 

“Sorry,” says Shane. “My teammates are trying to get me to come out. To the club, after dinner.” 

“What kind of club?” Chase asks, genuinely curious. 

“Uh…”

“I’m in a club. After-School Sports Club. We play games until parents come and pick us up. The last kid picked up gets to play games in the computer lab!” 

“That’s nice,” says Shane. “My teammates, they’re, uh, at a dance club.” 

Chase laughs. “You can’t dance!” 

“Yes, I can,” Shane shoots back. 

“I never see you dance.” 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t ever.” 

“Do you?” 

Swaying vaguely as a girl rubs his abs under strobing lights counts, right? It has to, if jumping up and down to “Shots! Shots! Shots!” counts. “Yeah.” 

Chase grins, a smudge of tomato sauce at the corner of his mouth. “With who?” 

“With – friends.” Shane feels his parents watching him. He bunts the question back to Chase, “Who do you play sports with?” 

A new year in a new classroom means news friends to talk Shane’s ear off about. Liam, Atlas, Olivia B., Rylie, Ezra. The play by play of afterschool pick-up games of soccer, basketball, and wiffle ball. The distraction works, he thinks. Shane lets his guard down.

“We were actually hoping to do some introductions,” Mom cuts in. Shane watches her anxiously wipe her hands on the cloth napkin in her lap. 

“Like autographs?” Shane isn't opposed to doing a little meet-and-greet at his next Ottawa game. The Metros comms team would love it. The Centaurs, not so much. Chase is still smiling in his seat, which is…good. Shane takes out his phone again. “I don’t see why not. Let me just check the schedule. Depending on the start time, some of the other Metros would probably be game.” 

“We were actually thinking this weekend,” Mom emphasizes. Her eyes dart around the restaurant like she’s afraid of some high-level industry gossip being overheard. “If possible, of course.” 

Shane is not following. “I mean, if Chase’s friends are here.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind signing a few jerseys and snapping some photos. Kinda the point of being at All-Stars.”

“What about Ilya Rozanov?” Chase bursts out. 

“What about him?” Shane hears himself bite back. It’s so harsh that Chase flattens against the back of his dining chair, like he’s trying to stay out of reach of Shane’s teeth. 

“Shane.” Dad hasn’t sounded so disappointed in Shane since he made one of his teammates cry in U11. The kid lost them the game, that was undeniable, but it had been unsportsmanlike to snap at him like Shane had afterward. Nevermind teammates and coaches had said worse to Shane over smaller mistakes. Even Mom looks a bit horrified. Shane’s dad lowers his voice and delivers a measured reprimand of his grown-up son in the middle of a crowded restaurant. “It’s an autograph, maybe a picture. We don’t plan to plaster it all over Facebook and make a spectacle of it. Are you saying you and Rozanov aren’t man enough to set aside your rivalry for one little boy’s first All-Stars weekend?” 

Shane’s grip on his phone flexes as he resists the urge to cross his arms. Crossed arms mean closed-off, standoffish, arrogant. Open arms mean receptive, nonchalant, unbothered. He’s practiced this posture a thousand times. 

“I’ll need to get his number from someone tomorrow,” he lies. 

***

Rozanov will probably say yes. Shane hopes he says no, so he can report back to his family that Rozanov’s an asshole, which he is, but Rozanov will probably say yes, because he’s not that kind of asshole. 

[what time are you getting back to your room?] :Me

… … :Me

[Raleigh more boring than me yet?] :Me

… … :Me

What’s your room number? :Me

Lily: 1130

Lily: same time I’ll be back from yawn-inducing club. So sleepy, told team I’m turning in early zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Strictly speaking, Shane doesn’t have to ask Rozanov in-person. He could just text him using the number he already has saved in his phone. But two birds, one stone, and all that. 

It feels weird to hook up with Rozanov in the same hotel his family is actively staying though. Even three floors of separation feels like they might as well be next-door. Rozanov notices when Shane doesn’t get into it as immediately as usual. 

“What’s wrong?” Rozanov grimaces. “Taste of shitty American vodka?” He sounds like the brand’s tanking even further in his opinion for now cockblocking him. 

“No. ‘s fine.” Shane pulls Rozanov back in, their noses smooshing against each other but whatever. The last thing he wants is to sit on the bed’s edge while Rozanov brushes his teeth. He fumbles with Rozanov’s belt, which does fuck all to loosen Rozanov’s insanely tight going-out jeans. He’s assaulted by the memory of Rozanov’s little jump while getting re-dressed in a distant Toronto hotel room. 

The growl of frustration that escapes Shane is not particularly sexy. 

“Is not fine, Hollander.” Rozanov rolls onto his back. “Whatever it is, is killing the mood.” 

They lay there in awkward silence.

“Well?” Rozanov sounds so fucking tense. 

They might not have time to meet like this the rest of the weekend, and then their teams don't play each other until April, and then there will be the awards in June, and then the next season doesn't start till October. Shane feels queasy, at how he needs to check the calendar to remember when he plays Ottawa and will see his family, but he knows the Metros-Raiders schedule by heart. 

The question wells on his tongue like spit. It tastes metallic, like blood but not. He just needs to hock it out, like he does on ice. 

Rozanov will say yes. He'll give Shane shit about it, about being both Hollander brothers’ favorite hockey player. It'll be chirp-fodder for the rest of the weekend at least. But he'll say yes, sign that oversized Raiders jersey, and stoop down to put his arm around Chase's shoulders and grin for Mom’s camera like he’s done with thousands of other young fans. Five minutes that wouldn’t mean much to Rozanov, but to Chase…It might not go on Facebook, but his parents are sentimental enough that it will end up in a family photo album. Shane imagines flipping through one in twenty years. 

“Who's that?” Some phantom of a future son or daughter will ask him, pointing at the glossy print. Maybe it will have the same vibe as old black-and-white photos, because everything will be digital in the 2030s. 

“Oh, that guy,” Shane will say, like he's remembering Rozanov exists. And he'll talk about how Rozanov was his rival, a rough and cocky star centre with the Boston Raiders who had a real mouth on him. If there's a fond note in his voice, it's because a decade or more and a literal ocean of distance softens the edges. Rocks worn down to sandy beaches. Huge glaciers melting into sparkling lakes. The stuff that plays in Shane’s headphones while he meditates. 

It will be up to Uncle Chase to butt in and tell Shane's kid just how fun Ilya Rozanov was to watch play hockey. All the things he did better than Shane, like chirping to pick fights and reap dividends off penalties, like board battles and rough checks, like fanning the spark of interest Shane nearly snuffed out into a real passion. Maybe Chase will say something like “Rozanov's still my favorite hockey player” someday, while Shane's relationship to Rozanov will be past tense. 

Why does that suck so bad to think about? Why does it tie a knot in Shane's stomach? That’s just how this is meant to shake out. 

He doesn't turn his head on the pillow. He keeps staring up at the hotel room ceiling. 

“Don't laugh.” Rozanov hums noncommittally, no promises. Shane chews his lip. “I forgot what I was going to ask you and it's driving me nuts.” 

“Pfft, okay.” Rozanov clucks his tongue. “You want to ask me a very important question. Obviously, because I am the best hockey player in the league -”

“When I have the flu, maybe.”

“– and  a very skilled lover.” He's totally making his accent thicker to be obnoxious. 

“Gross.” 

“Would you prefer ‘a very skilled sex-haver’? Of course you do. I am so good that your silly question fell out of your ears the second I touched you.” He makes a demonstration. 

Shane stretches out with a sigh and glances over the bed’s edge. “Maybe I should call housekeeping tomorrow and ask if they find it.” 

Rozanov starts pressing kisses to Shane, starting with his mouth and moving down, down, down. “Let me jog your memory. Was it - ‘may I please - suck your dick - sir?’ Or maybe - ‘will you kindly - suck my dick, sir?’ Ah-hah! I see a nod-!” 

Shane muffles either moan or laugh into the pillow. 

JULY 2016 – LANAUDIÈRE, QUEBEC

Chase likes playing with Shane's championship rings, one on each hand now. Hayden joked about not letting him do that where his girls can see; he just now has enough that they don't have to take turns with his. Chase and the girls argue a bit over what super powers each ring grants, but Chase insists it's some combination of laser beams, invisibility, and mind control. He almost looks jealous at how baby Arthur fits perfectly into the Cup. As much fun as he's having fun with the fruits of victory, Chase doesn't pretend past the parade in Montreal to care how Shane got any of it. 

Shane holds the ladder while Dad drills in a basketball hoop over the garage door. 

“That’s not too high?” Shane asks when they’re finished. 

Dad admires his handiwork. “You’d be surprised what he and his little friends can do at their age.” 

Probably. Shane’s not really sure if he knows what’s reasonable to expect in U9 hockey, let alone…however they divvy up kids in basketball. He was already faster and sharper than a lot of his teammates back then. He remembers that fact really pissing him off as a kid, going into his teens.

The front door flies open. “Is it ready?!” 

“You bet!” Dad touches Shane’s shoulder so they can make way and welcomes Chase to an inaugural – free throw, Shane thinks is the term? The point being, Chase doesn’t need all that much to start playing in the cottage’s driveway: a ball and a hoop, that’s it. He’s pretty good, too. 

“Let’s go!” Shane and Dad whoop and clap when the ball tips over the hoop’s edge and falls through the net on Chase’s third try. That’s good, right? Chase does a victory lap – dribbling? – up and down the driveway. Mom steps outside and does the wide-mouth exhale to sound like a stadium of cheering fans. 

“Hollander shoots, he scores!” She does game commentator voice that makes Hayden’s reporter impression sound Oscar-worthy. It kinda reminds Shane of how she’d cheer on the sidelines of his Timbits practices. “He’s done it, folks! He’s won the NBA finals for the – uh, Lakers?”

“Mom,” Shane pleads.

“What? Don’t get jealous that you’re not the only athlete in the family anymore.”

“I’m not jealous,” Shane laughs. He hopes it doesn’t sound as strained as it feels. “Come on, the Lakers?”

“Well, I’ll definitely learn the names of more teams when your brother’s playing on one of them. Right, Chase?” Mom calls out.

Chase comes up the driveway and takes another shot, hurling the ball overhand. “No thanks,” he grunts. “I just wanna play with my friends!”

The basketball bounces right off the hoop’s rim. Shane expects Chase to groan at having come so close and yet fallen so short. He’s shocked and a little relieved to see Chase’s smile never falter as he turns to run after the ball again.

Chapter 11

AUGUST 2016 – CANCÚN

Shane gets Comeau and his fiancée the professional-grade kitchen gadget on their registry, but the more valuable gift is probably his time. After back-to-back Cups, Shane’s never been in higher demand. Which is saying something. Magazine features, ad campaigns, local talkshow appearances, and even a fluff documentary special coming out in a few short weeks. His next twelve months are already scheduled down to the minute. After this bachelor party trip, and then the wedding the weekend after next, Shane won’t have another real day off until July 2017. He really should try to make the most of this trip, he thinks, turning from the bar with a fresh beer in hand. 

He squints into the sea of bodies on the night club’s dance floor, trying to pick out familiar faces cast in green, red, and purple light. There’s Taylor and Laine rubbing up on the blondest women in the building. J.J.’s so tall and so magnetic that people are clustering around him to really dance to the music. Further back, Shane sees some of the guys hanging in their VIP booth. Hayd’s politely accepting another pour from one bottle girl, while the groom’s got another one cuddled up under his arm. Whatever. It’s Comeau’s bachelor party. It’s his happy future to fuck up on one weekend. If a divorce impacts Comeau’s play during the season, then Shane might be allowed to get pissed. 

“What happens in Cancun, stays in Cancun,” Andropov had said while dropping his sunglasses over his eyes, walking out of the airport. Cancun, Vegas, Montreal, Boston, Toronto, LA. Name a city, the same rule applies. 

Shane can’t see Andropov or Berkie in the VIP booth or on the dance floor. They probably slipped away to fuck some girls in the bathroom. If Shane disappeared for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, if anyone noticed, they’d assume it was also with a girl. He leans back against the bar and takes stock of who’s actually paying him attention right now. 

There are girls looking at him. There almost always are. Shane’s not oblivious. He knows women like to look at him and why. It’s the guys looking at him that are hard for Shane to parse. It’s confusing. Sometimes, Shane could swear a guy’s sizing up his arms or his chest, only to end up shouting about protein powder brands over the music later in the evening, or nearly in a fight over some girl Shane happens to make eye contact with. Other times, a guy across the room might be practically drooling, open admiration on his face before a friend shyly nudges him in Shane's direction, and Shane ends up signing napkins for the whole table, including the guy’s girlfriend. Shane still isn’t entirely sure how he got his dick sucked in that LA bathroom ten months ago. He knows it started with a look across a crowded room though. 

So Shane does what Shane Hollander does best: practice a move as many times as it takes to get the result he wants. 

His beer is half-empty when he locks eyes with a muscular guy in a fitted black tank top. His hair is gelled to hell, and he’s got a new earring flashing under the club lights, but Shane recognizes him instantly. Going by the eyes popping out of his skull, the feeling is mutual. “MATTIE?” Shane calls over the music. 

“Where have you been, man?” Shane asks once they’re outside the club, standing up-wind from a pack of smokers. 

“You know. Around. Finishing my Master's and starting my PhD program’s kept me ssssuper busy.” Mattie lifts the beer Shane bought him in the air. “Happy to be blowing off steam with my friends!” There’s something stiff about his smile. Shane wonders suddenly if their friendship ended with Mattie’s employment. 

He tries to rush through the niceties so they can go their separate ways. “Wow, congratulations! That’s great, man. Starting your PhD is a big deal.” Shane nods. “Yeah, I can only imagine the time commitment on top of working. No wonder you stepped back.” Mattie hums in that way Shane sometimes does when J.J. or Hayden start describing a really hot, really smart, really funny, really nice girl they know. “Sorry, did something happen?” 

Mattie is evasive at first, which puts Shane on a knife’s edge. What could have happened that his parents and now Mattie aren’t telling him? For one terrifying instant, Shane wants to grab Mattie by the shirt and shake the answer loose. There’s no real relief when Mattie does spit it out. 

“I didn’t step back. Your parents fired me.” Why? Shane’s parents loved Mattie. Chase loved Mattie. Loves Mattie. He asked their parents about him over the summer at the cottages. “I…” Mattie looks mortified. “I had a friend over after putting Chase to bed. Anddd it turns out there was a nanny cam in the living room.” He says the last part as quickly as possible, like ripping off a bandaid. 

Shane suffers the sting, then hisses out, “Are you fucking kidding me right now? With my little brother in the house?! In – in view of a fucking camera that – that my parents could see everything!” He walks back toward the door to the club, then turns on his heel back to Mattie. “Seriously?!” 

“Woah, Shane!” Mattie takes a step back, gets some distance. “It’s not – it’s not how you’re thinking. It was a friend. Yes, I kissed that friend in your parents’ living room! But it was just a kiss in the moment when we were talking out some really complicated shit – we don’t need to get into that. You can ask Yuna and David.” 

Shane catches his breath. His heart is hammering in his ears. It’s like he’s sprinted through the past minute of conversation. He stares at Mattie, decides he believes him, and feels like such an asshole. “My parents fired you over a kiss?” 

Mattie sighs. His hair is too stiff to run his fingers through properly. “I think it was lying about having someone over that they took issue with,” he whispers. “I don’t even know why I did it.” 

The smokers are staring out the corners of their eyes. Shane and Mattie cross the street and end up walking the beach with their shoes in one hand and empty beer bottles in the other. 

Shane wants to believe his parents would have reacted the same way if Mattie was a girl kissing a stranger in their living room. (In front of a hidden camera that’s been there for who knows how long. Probably the whole time.) He can even see his parents prepared to leave it at a stern warning until Mattie lied about it to their faces. Everything fucked up in two split seconds of bad decision-making. Why did he kiss him? Why did he lie? 

“I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

“No one needs to be sorry. Your folks sent me flowers for my graduation,” Mattie throws out like a life preserver. “They even included a little card your brother made out of construction paper. I have it in a frame with my graduation tassel back home.” 

“He misses you,” Shane offers back. “I…I don’t know if I could change their minds without hearing their side first, but I could at least talk to them -”

"Chase was getting too old for a nanny anyway." Mattie shakes his head. “Besides, my PhD program is at McGill. David wrote me a recommendation letter, even after everything.” 

Shane stops. “You’re in Montreal now?” 

For the past three months, subletting in Le Plateau-Mont-Royal, hunting for something more permanent to share with roommates found through the McGill Facebook page. “You won’t find something with your boyfriend?” Shane makes the mistake of asking. 

“Oh. Yeah, no. We…That’s -”

“‘Complicated’.”

“Exactly. I mean, we’re good! He’s actually on this trip with me and five other friends, all packed like sardines into one hotel room. But he’s got his own thing going in Ottawa, so it’s just me in Montreal right now.” 

“Well, it’s not just you,” Shane points out. He still needs to talk to his parents, but in his mind, there’s no reason Chase can’t see Mattie at a Metros game or dinner afterward. Maybe they could even take another crack at those weekend sleepovers and arrange a meet-up at a park or movie theater. Shane could, like, reunite them. If that’s something Mattie and his parents would be okay with. And when Chase isn’t around, well, Shane and Mattie are supposed to be friends, too, right? 

“My buddies and I rented out this huge beach house for our teammate’s bachelor party weekend. Hayden, J.J., you’ve met them, and five other guys. Somehow we still have an extra bed, if you wanted to not sleep on top of someone.” Mattie snorts. “Tonight, at least.”

“That’s a really kind offer, Shane, but…” 

“The guys would be cool with it! They know you.” 

Mattie raises an eyebrow. “So they know I’m gay?” 

“They…” Assumed as much for years based solely on Mattie’s job. “They’re good guys.” 

“Ssso they know about you?”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of lapping waves roaring in Shane’s ears. Mattie nods. “Thought so. Listen, it was a kind offer, Shane, really. But I’m going to head back to the hotel with my friends. You go celebrate with yours. And we’ll link back up in Montreal sometime, okay?” He grips Shane on the shoulder as they cross out of the darkness back onto the brightly lit street. “Be safe, okay?” 

Shane’s phone buzzes with texts from Hayden. He finds Shane sat on a curb outside the club and drops down next to him. 

“Dude, did ya get shitfaced widdout us?” He looks more concerned at how sober Shane is when he finally gets a good look at his face. “Whass wrong?” 

“I ran into Mattie,” Shane whispers, then corrects himself. “Matthew, the nanny, remember?” 

“Oh yeah. Whaddabout him? ‘s he okay?” 

“Yes.” Shane rubs sand from his eye. “He’s doing great. We were talking about what he’s been up to since – he finished school. He’s on vacation with his friends.” 

“Okay. Good for him?” Hayden waits for Shane to say something, anything. It’s obvious that there’s something he’s not saying. God. Hayden’s probably going to walk away from this thinking something outrageous like Chase really is Shane’s kid. But what is Shane going to tell a drunk Hayden on a random curb in Mexico that he can’t even fucking think to himself in the privacy of his own head? It’d be better, Shane thinks instead, if Hayden wakes up with a massive hangover and doesn’t remember this exchange at all.

He stands up and offers to buy one last round for everyone before heading back to the beach house.

***

OCTOBER 2016 – OTTAWA

The Metros’ second game of the 2016-17 season is in Ottawa. Crushing the Cens is like a chore that has to be done before Shane can meet his parents back at home for dinner and maybe a movie if they’re feeling ambitious. It’s a Tuesday night. They’re all pretty beat from a long day at work. Or school, in Chase’s case. 

Another year, another classroom, another shuffle of students. It’s not too different from offseason trades. A guy you get used to seeing only at games (recess) or galas (in the lunch room) becomes someone you hang out and work with everyday. Chase is back in another alphabetical seat wedged between Atlas and Ethan, with Ezra further down the row. 

“I like Kobayashi-sensei’s class better,” Chase grumbles as their parents scroll endlessly through Netflix. “She makes all the short kids sit in the front row instead.” 

Shane’s face pinches in thought. Maybe he misheard, maybe he’s just really tired. “Are you in a karate class?” He asks slowly. 

“I wish!”

“When we find the right studio, sweetie.” Mom leans over Shane to set her wine glass down on the coffee table. “Since your brother doesn’t want to play on a youth basketball team, we’re shopping for extracurriculars. Right now, Chase is in Japanese language classes every Saturday.”

They talked about putting Shane in those, when he was younger than Chase is now. It never worked out with the time commitments of youth hockey. “That’s great.” If Shane’s voice lacks enthusiasm, it’s because he’s tired. “And you like it?” He asks Chase. 

Chase’s head bobs up and down with a shy smile. 

“Kobayashi-sensei’s seating chart isn’t the only reason,” Mom says knowingly. 

“Yuna.” “MOM!” “What? I’m only teasing!” 

Shane looks between everyone. He’s the only one not in the loop on why Chase is twisting into knots and burying his face in a throw pillow. There’s a minute of silent debate between Yuna and David before they explain to Shane, in very sentimental tones, that Chase has his very first crush. On a girl named Olivia H. in his Japanese language classes, not to be confused with Olivias B. and K. from his first grade classroom. 

Shane is – surprised. “What? No way! You’re a baby, you’re too young to be interested in girls!” 

Way too young! What ever happened to cooties? Shane remembers his friends treating girls practically like a different species back when he was Chase’s age. When the first of them did start looking at girls differently around the double-digits, they gave those guys such shit for it! Other guys Shane’s age didn’t start taking an interest until their voices cracked and there was hair on their chests. And Shane himself didn’t start noticing girls until, well, when his friends started noticing that Shane never had any crushes on girls. 

But that was just because he was so focused on hockey. Shane just needed the nudge to realize girls weren’t aliens. That a lot of them were really nice, and funny, and smart, and beautiful. Shane’s dated – been on dates with, whatever – plenty of women who were all these things since he was sixteen. 

Chase is seven and twisted into knots over Olivia H. in a way Shane never was over Jessica, or any woman for that matter. “She’s a really cool girl,” Chase muffles into a couch cushion. His arms and legs flail out in embarrassment of this confession, so he rolls off the couch onto the floor. 

Realistically, Shane knows this will pass. It might only last as long as Chase and Olivia H. are in Japanese classes together. Which could last months, until karate consumes Chase heart and soul. Or, it could last years. It occurs to Shane that if it all somehow works out, Olivia won’t have to even change her initials one day. 

Shane sees a future where this night ends up in his speech at Chase’s wedding, like the speech he gave at Comeau’s wedding a few months ago. Chase will marry the hometown girl his parents have known forever and love like a daughter already. They’ll have regular family dinners together, and loaf on the couch as one big happy family, watching a basketball game. There might be grandkids curled into their sides or scattered across the living room floor. Shane’s retired and two hours away, alone in his cottage’s driveway with a broken hip, waiting for the neighbors to find him in the morning like Uncle Gerry.

Chapter 12

Chapter Summary

There really was nothing to be done but commit. Otherwise this chapter was never going to get posted.

NOVEMBER 2016 – BOSTON

This morning, Shane was still in Montreal. He finished the last 5% of his packing and left his apartment looking like a furniture showroom, the blinds pulled down and the last few lights flicked off as he locked up. That feels much more than three hundred miles and a handful of hours removed from where Shane sits on Ilya Rozanov's big black sectional couch in Boston, afternoon sun pouring through giant windows.  

It's so bizarre, mostly because of how normal it is. Not really but at a surface level like in lucid dreams. Shane and Rozanov are eating tuna melts and watching the Buffalo-Minnesota game, talking about what cities they like playing in most. Shane feels like he could snap awake on the team flight at any moment. 

Rozanov asking if Shane likes girls is a nightmare. A manifestation of all Shane's anxieties forcing him to process and confront the reality that's been nipping at his heels for months. Years. 

“As friends.” It's the most he can force out. He shrugs to make it casual. 

Rozanov sits up and tilts his head back like the answer actually surprises him and he needs to size up Shane’s seriousness. Fuck, did Shane out himself for no reason? 

“So, you do not have sex with them?” 

Shane makes a face. He’d have thought that would be obvious, but come to think of it, the answer changed over the years. “I used to. I had a girlfriend in high school, and I'd sometimes pull when out with my team. It honestly felt like a lot of extra effort.” Shane isn’t afraid of effort. It’s just the rewards for his efforts in this department are never quite as fulfilling as winning a game of hockey feels. Especially any game against Ilya Rozanov. 

“So, no one-night-stands, no girlfriends. What about regular friends?”

“Dude.” 

“What? I see what you do with rivals.” 

Point taken. Shane rubs at his mouth to cover a smile. “I don't have any friends like that, no.” 

“Would you like to?” Rozanov asks, back to that weirdly conversational tone. He lays back with his head pillowed on a bare muscled arm and tucks a hand under the waistband of his sweats. 

“I…” It feels like a trick question. If he says no, is Shane fully admitting he's not interested in women? If he says yes, will Rozanov ask why Shane hasn't gone out and found one yet? 

“Is good arrangement. No ‘extra effort' like with going out or dating. All the perks of hanging out with a friend plus great sex.”

Shane’s mouth feels mealy and dry. But his ginger ale is empty. The tin can dimples under his fingertips. “You have one of those?” 

It’s embarrassing, how relieved Shane feels when Rozanov shrugs and says, “I did.” Listening to Rozanov describe it feels like punishment for caring. “Svetlana. Friend from back home and daughter of famous Soviet goaltender. She knows everything about hockey. She likes you.” It lands like a sucker punch. Like, how dare Shane resent a woman he’s never met who it turns out is something of a fan. How pathetically one-sided. “She likes little Hollander even better,” Rozanov teases. “He has good taste in hockey teams and looks very cute in Raiders jersey. She texts me, cooing ‘Ilyusha, remember when we were so cute’ and I say -” 

“Can we please not bring my brother into this.” 

“...Was going to say ‘speak for yourself, baba’.” 

Shane shifts on the couch, casts a glance at the game on TV. “I’m serious. I told you before, don’t bring him into this.” 

“I’m not. Is joke, Hollander. Even you must recognize one when you hear it.”

“Well, it’s not funny. It’s, like, inappropriate.” 

“What is ‘inappropriate’ about it? That he roots for me and not his big brother?” Rozanov challenges. He usually delights in poking and prodding Shane for reactions, but right now he looks like finding Shane so thin-skinned would be disturbing. 

“Of course not,” Shane scoffs. But that leaves him with nothing to hide behind. He feels naked in the worst way, sitting there in Rozanov’s clothes. “We’re in the middle of a hookup, Rozanov.” Their longest one to date, but technically speaking that’s what this is, hanging out on the couch between fucks. One long secret gay hookup. 

Rozanov rolls his eyes. “We are sitting three feet apart for fuck’s sake.” 

“Talking about another one of your hookups,” Shane dryly adds. 

“Was nothing dirty,” Rozanov insists. Which Shane has to admit is true, on reflection. It felt wrong – it feels wrong – but Rozanov never actually said anything bad. Shane’s shame compounds on itself.

“And besides, Svetlana and I are not like that so much nowadays,” Rozanov continues. “It’s good to have someone like that, but she has new job selling sports cars and is busy. I think I will find someone else.” 

He makes it all sound so easy. Shane sits there nodding along like an idiot.

“Maybe I won’t go looking too far.” Rozanov’s looking directly at Shane now with open invitation; for a second, Shane’s that kid gawking in the showers. Unlike that kid, Shane doesn’t look away. Rozanov smirks like a cat. “You know how lazy I am.”

“I don’t know that side of you at all,” says Shane. And his chest aches, because he doesn’t know all sides of Rozanov. Shane thinks he has a sense, but that’s different from knowing like how Svetlana probably knows him. Could it be possible to get there? If Rozanov is suggesting what Shane thinks he’s suggesting? And then what to do with all that knowledge?

Rozanov’s smile, quieter than his usual, drowns out all those questions. Shane’s just happy to have put it there.

A ringing phone breaks the silence. Rozanov gets up to take it in the other room. But Shane can hear Rozanov’s side of the conversation, and it sounds distinctly less cool than their discussion, even if the only Russian word Shane can catch is “Papa”. Maybe because that’s the only word Shane catches.

Rozanov falls silent and comes back a minute or so later. He drops down almost directly next to Shane and asks all the good host questions. “I’m good,” Shane says quietly, wiping his hands clean on the napkin and chewing over his last bite. “Uh, everything good with your family?” 

Rozanov looks at him with wide eyes. “You speak Russian now?” 

Shane chuckles. “I know the word for ‘father’.” 

Rozanov grins, eyes brightening. All the tension of the past ten minutes leaves his muscles. He hooks an arm around Shane’s shoulders and leans back with the remote, but he doesn’t answer the question. Shane squirms against Rozanov, unable to settle. 

He sits up. “Come on,” Shane says quietly. 

“What?”

Shane chews his lip. “You just said you were looking for…”

“A fuck buddy? Yes,” Rozanov says. “No need to bring phone call with my father into that. Real mood killer.”

Shane feels the pure hypocrisy spewing from Rozanov’s mouth like a shot of adrenaline into a vein.  “So, you wouldn’t talk about that sort of thing with Svetlana?”

It’s rare to see Rozanov struggle for words, even in his second language. “It’s same old shit.”

“She knows about your family then? Your father, your brother, your niece.” Not just about. She’s a friend from Russia. She probably straight-up knows them.

Rozanov throws up his hands. “We have known each other since we were small! What do you want me to do about it, Hollander?”

Shane stands up. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “Maybe not fucking talk like what we’re doing and what you do with her or – or any other girl for that matter – could ever be the same?”

Rozanov looks stunned. “You are jealous?” The question practically falls out.

“Yes!” Shane shouts. “Yes, I’m jealous. Of you, asshole! Fuck!” He rips off Rozanov’s baggy T-shirt and storms back to the bedroom to grab his own clothes.  

Shane’s a strong guy. It takes effort for Rozanov to coax the jeans out of his hands and hold them down at his sides.

“You are jealous of me?” Rozanov asks softly, brows drawn together.

“Happy?” Shane fucking sniffles.

“Confused. Why?”

Shane takes a shaky breath. “Because you have an out from all this?” He says. “Because whether it’s Svetlana or some perfect girl you just haven’t met yet, you get to bring someone home to show off to your family one day. Because you like girls, and I…I’m gay.”

The world doesn’t end. A wall of flashing cameras doesn’t appear in Rozanov’s yard. Rozanov doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. He rubs at his eyebrow and thumbs his nose. “Your family, they won’t…”

“No, no, they’d be cool with it. In theory. The problem is in practice. I can’t play hockey and bring home someone I love to mom and dad like other people get to.”

“After you retire then. You can find someone like - like Mattie –”

“What about when you retire?" Rozanov doesn't answer. "Or are you going to wait that long? Because I don't see the point of - of eating fucking tuna melts on your couch and watching TV, talking about our favorite cities and - and cuddling and joking about how cute my little brother is in his Raiders gear and getting to know each other like friends, when you're going to fuck off back to Russia and get serious with someone one day."

What is Shane supposed to do with all that afterward? What use is knowing how soft Rozanov looks when he first wakes up or lounging on his couch in the afternoon light? How his tuna melts taste? The fact he can even cook. That he noticed Shane only drinks ginger ale during the season without being told.

It's not like hockey skills, where Shane can go into coaching or commentary in the future; this stuff is all non-transferrable after retirement. 

Rozanov's grip on his hand loosens up. Shane drops the sweats and starts hobbling into his jeans one leg at a time. He nearly tips over, but Rozanov reaches out to steady him. It's automatic. They're both unsteady on their feet, leaning on each other for support. 

“I can’t do it," Shane whispers into the narrow space between them. "I can’t get used to doing all what we did today, and then watch you go off and do it with a woman you love, every day. It’s too fucking cruel, Rozanov.”

Shane finishes getting changed. Rozanov walks him to the door. The cab he called for Shane is waiting at the end of the street, as promised. 

He's back in time to tack a plate of grilled salmon onto Hayden's room service order, even though he's still full from the tuna melt and chips at Rozanov's place. Despite everything, Shane is well-ahead of curfew.  

Chapter 13

Chapter Summary

For funny / cute shit that Chase has done as a palate cleanser, please see the 'Chase Hollander AU' tag on my tumblr.

NOVEMBER 2016 – MONTREAL

Shane’s just parked outside of Mattie’s place in Milton Parc when J.J. calls for the second time in under two minutes. Shane’s tempted to let it ring out and text back instead, but on the off chance it’s important…

“Shane, where the fuck are you right now?” 

Shane actually looks around the dimly lit residential street, half-expecting J.J. and a bunch of his pissed off and betrayed teammates to roll up. Which even if that were to happen, Shane reminds himself, he’s not doing anything wrong. He tells J.J. the truth. “I’m picking up a friend. We’re going to catch a movie and then grab a bite.” 

“Perfect!” J.J. exclaims. “I have something way fucking better than a movie. You know that restaurant my buddy owns? Well, the X-Squad cast just walked in!” 

“What? Really?” Shane can’t help getting excited. He loved the first movie, and he’s been so hyped for the sequel. “Who’s there?” He has to wonder if it’s just a few of the background metahumans, like the guy with eagle wings or the girl who turns invisible. 

“All of them! Rose Landry is here, you got to come down!”

“Uh…” Shane glances out the window to see Mattie trotting down his front stoop. “My friend and I had plans-”

“Crisse! Bring your friend!” 

J.J. hangs up like it’s a done deal. Mattie is climbing into the passenger seat when Shane blurts, “Do you like the X-Squad movie?” 

Mattie raises an eyebrow. “Are they running it at the theater?” 

“No, uh, J.J. just called. I know we had a plan for tonight, but the whole cast just walked into his friend’s restaurant and we have an open invit-” Mattie’s been around pro hockey players before, but Shane’s never seen him starstruck. He lets out a high-pitched sort of gasp-yell, hand flying up to cover his mouth. Shane breathes a small sigh of relief. “You’d be cool with-?” 

“Hanging out with a bunch of movie stars? YES!” Mattie pokes at his shoulder. “Drive!” 

J.J greets them close to the door. Despite the anxiety that crept up Shane’s spine in the car, he greets Mattie with the same bro-y handshake he gives traded former teammates and immediately launches into a list of stuff he wants to show him around Montreal, since Shane’s too much of a shut-in to be a reliable tour guide. Shane leaves them to grab drinks at the bar and an empty table. 

He doesn’t mean to end up engrossed in conversation with the Rose Landry. 

It feels so normal, so seamless. Shane nearly forgets this beautiful, down-to-earth Michigan girl is a mega-celebrity, leagues above him in terms of fame and notoriety. Right up until Mattie appears over her shoulder looking for his beer and bites down on another gasp-yell when he looks to see exactly who Shane’s chatting with. 

“Oh my god,” he whispers quietly and gestures loudly. “You’re – Please excuse my reaction just now. It’s just you’re – My apologies for interrupting! I’ll just take my drink and go -”

“No, please sit down.” Rose even scoots over and pats the leather seat. “You’re Shane’s friend, right? I want to meet you, too, then.” She flashes a coy smile across the table at Shane, similar to a look she gave him at the start of their conversation. It’s like she’s trying to suss him out all over again. 

Shane’s lips pull in a tight smile. Mattie isn't, like, flamboyant. Well-groomed, sure, but the earrings and tight clothes have been packed away since Mexico. They’re both actually pretty underdressed for the occasion, in McGill and Metros sweaters with jeans (they took off the ball caps at the door). Mattie doesn’t come across as gay just walking down the street. But Rose has a certain canniness to her. Not for the first time tonight, she reminds Shane of someone else, as much through their similarities as their differences. It feels intentional, how Rose waves over her castmate Miles to join their table. Then again, maybe Shane’s just being paranoid? 

The atmosphere isn’t quite as intimate as before. At least between Shane and Rose. He feels Miles’ eyes rake him up and down when he takes a seat next to Shane, but he quickly ends up engrossed in conversation with Mattie sitting directly across the table. It turns out they have some overlap in following this same super underground music artist whose song Miles asked to play over the speakers and also being excited for an upcoming film festival in Montreal. It’s an LGBTQ film festival, which is why Shane hadn’t answered definitively when Mattie asked if he wanted to go. Part of why. 

Shane sits back and listens to Mattie and Miles dig deeper and deeper into the films they’re looking forward to seeing, the past work of the featured directors, faculty at McGill who Miles wants to talk to about a role he’s preparing for. Rose chips in at the perfect moments with some interesting insight or clever quip and then invites Shane to do the same so he’s not completely forgotten and listens attentively to his answer. Even though Shane doesn’t feel like he has anything worth contributing. He’s never watched a gay movie. Not unless porn counts. He’s never attended university or talked to an expert about careers outside of hockey. It’s sort of nice though, watching Mattie and Miles get along so quickly and openly. 

He feels a nudge against his shoe and watches Mattie’s face, but he’s looking at Miles with stars in his eyes. Shane figures it’s an accident. Everyone loose-limbed and relaxed with each other around the table. Then there’s a brush up his leg. Ankle to halfway up his calf, at an angle Mattie couldn’t possibly manage. Shane nearly bangs his knee into the table, realizing it’s Rose and she’s trying to play footsie. 

He’s up with a jolt. “Who wants another round?”

The bartender is weird about Shane asking for a ginger ale again. He offers to make it two glasses of wine, not just the one for Rose. Again, Shane insists he doesn’t want a beer. This time, he doesn’t tip the guy out of courtesy for the free drinks. 

Mattie appears at Shane’s side but doesn’t speak until the bartender is at the other end of the bar. 

“Did you want something?” Shane asks. He wants to order for Mattie, to make sure he isn’t the one person in this building who actually has to pay for anything tonight. 

“Ummm, maybe?” Mattie glances over his shoulder. “So, there are definite vibes coming off Miles and Rose.” Shane nods. Definitely vibes. “And I just wanted to check in with you about that.” 

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way to let Rose down easy.” As absurd as that sounds. Shane letting down an actual fucking movie star. He almost feels ungrateful but also put-upon, like his resolve is being tested. 

Rose is so nice though, and Shane doesn't want to waste her time and energy when he knows the truth already. 

Mattie doesn’t look reassured. “What if…I don’t want to let Miles down easy?” Shane’s first thought is about Mattie’s “friend” back in Ottawa. His second thought is about Rozanov, teasing him about “the Manny” over the years and then seriously suggesting just a week ago. He feels the heat rise in his face. Mattie continues, “I just haven’t been able to read your intentions in hanging out these past few months, and I wanted to be clear whether tonight was supposed to be a…”

“No.” Shane shakes his head and smiles encouragingly. “Go on. Shoot your shot with Miles. You miss one hundred percent of the ones you don’t take.” 

Mattie looks like he could hug Shane but settles for a clap on the shoulder before returning to the table. A moment later, Rose takes his place at the bar. 

“You ever watch two people lock eyes and feel like you might as well be wallpaper?” Rose asks Shane after a sip of wine. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it outside a movie before tonight.” She rests her cheek in her hand and looks back at the booth with exaggerated pouting. “Lucky.” 

Shane looks back, too, sipping his ginger ale. “Yeah, the luckiest.”

***

Lily: [Shared an Article]

Lily: It is always embarrassing when journalists make typos. There should be a space between ‘girl’ and ‘friend’ in this title.

It’s the first that Rozanov has texted Shane since that…whatever went down in Boston. On some level, Shane can’t blame him. From his perspective, these “Shandry” rumors are laughable. 

Her team and mine are drafting a statement. :Me

Lily: The Metros know how to read? 

Okay, now Shane’s annoyed. 

Fuck off. Can you read the room? :Me

Poor Rose says this shit happens with every guy friend and male costar. Her team has a template for these statements. It's so frustrating men and women can't hang out without people jumping to conclusions. :Me

Lily: … … …

Lily: Can you blame people? You two look so sweet together. I should send you dentist bill for my cavities. 

It's called being friends. :Me

And no, not with any benefits. :Me

Lily: … … …

Lily: Not even an autograph?

Shane glances at the closet where he has a rolled up poster with the whole X Squad cast’s signatures tucked away for Christmas. Between that and the surprises he has lined up for the next Montreal-Boston game, Shane thinks he can top basketball equipment or whatever his parents are planning to get Chase. 

Okay, one benefit. :Me

Rozanov likes the message, a new feature on the iPhone, and texts nothing else for the rest of the night. 

***

DECEMBER 2016 – MONTREAL

Can't meet until after 11 PM. I need a buffer after the game. :Me

Shane drafts the text four times until it sounds business-like and nonchalant. Setting a tight schedule feels like the best strategy. There won't be a lot of time to waste before Rozanov needs to get back to his hotel. If he shows at all. Besides, Shane does really need the buffer. His family is coming to tonight's game.

Rozanov doesn't reply until Shane is mostly dressed. It's another Like. Shane's still not sure what that means. Yes, I will arrive after 11 PM, or I will keep that in mind if I decide to come over, or…? Shane sets his phone down in his cubby and finishes getting into his gear. 

During warm-ups, the arena roars despite the players only stretching out on ice. Shane looks up and sees Rose waving to the crowd. She turns and shows off a Hollander jersey that’s way too big on her – probably because it’s borrowed from Mattie, who’s kicked back in the same box next to Miles. He raises a hand and waves to Shane, too. Shane takes a knee, smiling, and searches the lower bowl to see if his parents and Chase are watching the jumbotron. He finds a spec of black-and-gold amid the red-and-blue. He sees the exact moment Chase recognizes Mattie. 

At center ice for the first face-off, Shane’s braced for a chirp about Rose. Maybe something about Make-A-Wish for their dying chances of making the playoffs this season. (It’s been tough, admittedly, between Renaud and Gagnon being on LTIR and Comeau’s fucking divorce.) It’s more unnerving how quiet Rozanov is, how his eyes sear into Shane with a heat he doesn’t usually feel until much deeper into games. Usually when the Raiders are behind on the scoreboard. Shane gets the puck and skates like hell into the Raider’s zone.

It stings, losing badly to the Raiders on home ice in front of family and friends. Shane tells himself it’s all the better for Chase, who jumped up in his seat and hurled his hat onto the ice when Rozanov scored a third goal right before the final buzzer. Call it another early Christmas present. 

“Ya gotta tell him to cut that shit out, cap.” Andropov shakes his head in the locker room. “It’s not cute anymore.” 

“Oh? So we should cut you from the team since you’re not a cute little rookie anymore?” Hayden reaches over to pinch Andy’s cheek, backing him right up into range of J.J.’s lethal towel snap. 

Shane shakes his head and uses the commotion to slip away to the box seats before the press comes in for interviews. 

“Good game, son.” Dad greets him with a sideways hug. “You made him work for it.” 

Mom squeezes him tight. “Rozanov really was on one tonight, eh?” She peels back and smirks. “Probably was seething with jealousy.”

“Why’d Rozanov be jealous? He won~,” Chase gloats. He's running up and down the hall with airplane arms, riding the high of victory. He skids to a halt next to Shane and taunts, “With a hat-trick!” 

Shane rolls his eyes and reaches for the door handle. “Remember to tell Santa you need a new toque,” he says. “Right now, I have an early present for you: a one-on-one fan experience!" 

“Rozanov?” Chase exclaims as the door swings open. He darts into the box ahead of Shane and their parents, looking around. He gasps, then exhales all that air in a great big “Mattie!!!” and throws himself into his former nanny’s arms. 

Rose and Miles go completely ignored. 

Shane is left scratching his head. Sure, Rose isn't as recognizable when she's not head-to-toe blue. But the only difference between Miles and his character is a pair of sunglasses! 

“I thought Chase liked superheroes?” Shane whispers to Mattie when Dad nudges Chase to say hi to his “brother's new friends.” 

Mattie grimaces and leans over. “He does! But the X-Squad movies do run a little older…” In that moment Shane remembers Rose complaining about a contract clause where she can't gain weight because her costume is literally latex body paint, prosthetics, and a thong. If Shane didn’t realize he was gay before…

Shane shoves off that thought in favor of the poster sitting in his actual closet, back at his apartment, signed specifically ‘To Chase, Love Rose xoxo’. Fuck. He can't even regift it to Hayden. Fuck. What is he supposed to get Chase for Christmas on such short notice? Mom and Dad told him to only get Chase one nice thing since they have everything else covered, and Shane still fucks it up again!

Yuna’s eyes widen and she joins the huddle. 

“I'm sorry.” Shane feels caught. “I thought he'd be-”

“It’s okay. Whatever you're worried about, we can discuss later. Just keep smiling,” she whispers, one plastered on her own face. Shane follows her eye toward the ice. Across the rink, in another box, there's a flash. Shane's not sure if it's trespassing press or a nosy fan lingering in their seat, but someone is snapping pictures – maybe even taking video – of the Hollanders meeting Rose Landry. 

Shane swallows the urge to flip them off and does what his mom asks. He smiles at Rose bent down next to Chase, shaking his little hand, attempting to indoctrinate him into the non-existent virtues of being a Detroit fan. Yuna and Mattie each put a hand on his back. They're trying to comfort him, to be something firm to lean back on, but it feels a bit like someone's holding his leash in a limp hand.

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

Any resemblance to real usernames and online handles or those used in other fics is purely coincidental. Also, TW for only slightly anachronistic meme usage.

***

Lily: Cute. You look like a happy little family. 

Fuck all the way off. :Me

That was a private moment. :Me

Lily: Clearly not. 

The celebrity news outlets are only just churning out headlines an hour later, but fans have already reposted the pictures thousands of times and have ‘ROSE LANDRY’, ‘SHANE HOLLANDER’, and ‘SHANDRY’ trending across social media. Yuna jumped straight into manager mode and decided she needs her laptop to deal with this mess, not just her iPhone. Shane hugged his parents goodbye and ruffled Chase’s hair in the arena parking lot. Rose texted her manager on her way back to the hotel. Their statement should be up on Instagram sometime tomorrow morning. 

Shane tosses his phone aside on the bed to try and sleep until a final draft’s ready for review. Then he remembers he texted Rozanov to come over sometime after 11 PM. And all he got was a Like. It's 10:45 now. He reaches for his phone right as the screen lights up with a new message notification.

Lily: But I am happy for you. Truly. 

Asshole doesn’t begin to cover the magnitude of how fucked up that is to text Shane. 

He tries to give the benefit of the doubt. That Rozanov’s just chirping like usual. That it’s supposed to read like an in-joke between them. Ha ha, lucky you with your hot movie star girlfriend even though you’re totally irretrievably nonnegotiably gay. But no. Rozanov has to be aware of the utter shitshow Shane is headlining tonight.

Shane was stupid enough to check Twitter when he got home. When he thumbs out of his messages with “Lily”, he still has the most nauseating thread open in the app.  

DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

Rose auditioning for the role of The Mom Who Stepped Up 💪

↳ On the Shane Train @mayainmontrea1

Did you see Shane smiling at them interacting?😭this must be such a weight off his shoulders! 

↳↳  DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

Finally someone who understands his position as a public figure!!! (1/2)

↳↳  DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

Its unfortunate that he probably wont be able to acknowledge it publicly until retirement because of the scandal (2/3)

↳↳  DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

But at least in private he can enjoy having both a fulfilling romantic relationship and his family without shame or guilt (3/3)

↳↳↳ On the Shane Train @mayainmontrea1

He deserves it after all he’s sacrificed for the Metros!!! 

↳↳↳↳ Hoe for Hollander @oneteamtwocups 

🎵 A single dad who works two jobs (hockey god and underwear model)🎵

Shane doesn’t even use Twitter – even his mom farms out sponsored posts to an assistant these days – and he found this bullshit in seconds. The original tweet has twice as many Likes and Retweets as it did five minutes ago. Rozanov has to have seen what people are saying about Shane and Rose and Chase. 

Shane’s so agitated that he keeps making typos stabbing out a response.

Thanks, Lily.. Seeing as I’m now in a committed relationship, you’ll understand why I don’t want you coming over tonight anymore. :Me

Shane almost means it. But the part of him that just wants to go back to their routine and fuck the memories of Boston out of his head has joined forces with a part that wants to angry fuck Rozanov until the reasons for his frustration melt from his ears. The sarcasm is scathing, but they’ve always played rough with each other. He fully expects Rozanov to whine and beg and tease Shane into opening that stairwell door.  

Lily: Yes, I understand.

Lily: You have said everything that needed to be said already.

Lily: Good night, Jane.

Shane stares at his phone in dull shock. His jaw is hanging. When he realizes that, every muscle in his body feels like it coils tight, and his mouth clicks shut. His eyes sting, but Shane’s not going to cry. Why would he cry? Rozanov never said he was coming over. This is a no-brainer after Boston.

Except, not really? Shane struggles to wrap his brain around it. He puts his phone down at the opposite side of his bedroom, then his apartment, to not text Rozanov a barrage of questions. Fine, Rozanov doesn’t think it’s a good idea for them to hook up anymore after what happened. It was never a good idea in the first place! But why is he being so cruel? Does he think – Jesus – does he think Shane’s using Rose as a beard? Did Shane lose Rozanov’s respect thanks to E-fucking-News? But no, Shane keeps saying he and Rose are just friends. Surely Shane can’t be held responsible for public speculation? In that case, is Rozanov going to send him a dick pic tomorrow after the statement goes live?

That thought shouldn’t make Shane’s chest swell with hope. Like the first full breath he’s taken in an hour. Everything could be back to normal – as normal as things get between Shane and Rozanov – it shouldn't go back to the way things were – but it might, come tomorrow morning. Shane just has to go to bed and wake up at 6 AM to read the draft statement while he runs on the treadmill. He might get that dick pic by noon. 

What will Rozanov be doing in the meantime though? Shane can’t imagine Rozanov tossing and turning in bed, avoiding his phone so he doesn’t have to see the world eat up Shandry with a spoon. Rozanov hasn’t left Montreal without getting his dick wet since rookie season, and Shane can’t imagine him starting now. The dick pic Shane gets might be taken in some girl’s bathroom.

Shane crosses his apartment in long strides and picks back up his phone.

***

Rose takes all of two minutes convincing because she’s joined J.J.’s agenda to get Shane out of his apartment whenever and however possible. She might even buy Shane’s reasoning that people seeing them as a bunch of young people out to a hot new club will counteract the super domestic image being painted online. Mattie and Miles are coming with, of course. They’re just a group of friends, out on the town to blow off steam.

Shane doesn’t really think through that he can’t do much more than sit in the VIP booth and watch everyone else dance. Rose is bummed, pouting when he turned her down a minute ago. But if they dance, it kinda undermines the statement their teams are working literal overtime on tonight.

It might actually be a good idea, from a PR perspective, if Shane gets up to find a random girl to dance with, but then wouldn’t he just be using them? Shane used to pull girls. As recently as this past January, in Toronto. Which, okay, was almost a year ago, but still. He told himself that recognizing the girl was pretty and decently nice to chat with over a drink was basically the same as being attracted to her. Now, Shane knows he’d only be wasting the most beautiful and charming girl in the world’s time for his own sake if he got up now.

Dancing with a guy is out of the question, obviously.

Maybe Shane could get away with dancing next to Mattie and Miles. Shane’s done that with J.J. and Hayden and other teammates. Usually it’s just a lot of fist pumping. Usually to a really hyperactive beat. That’s not at all how Mattie and Miles are dancing right now, though.

Shane watches Miles kiss and nibble at Mattie’s neck as they sway lazily with the music. Mattie has the fingers on one hand tucked comfortably into Miles’ back pocket and the other hand is snaking under Miles’ shirt. The fabric is black. It absorbs the blue and red club lighting. So it’s not obvious how Mattie’s worshipping Miles unless you’re paying close attention to just one couple among many on the dance floor.

The fabric of Rose’s dress sparkles under the club lights. It’s like a beacon. Shane can keep track of her dancing under her bodyguard’s watchful eye no problem. She’s not shy about dancing by herself next to two people who are totally into each other. Like, glued together, for real. Well, right up until Mattie whispers something in Miles’ ear and makes for the bar. Shane loses track of him in the crush pretty quickly.

Mattie clamoring back into the VIP booth with wild eyes and a half-spilt drink a minute later feels like a movie jump-scare.

“What’s wrong?” Shane glances back at the dance floor where Miles and Rose look like they’re having a great time.

Mattie is sunk awkwardly into the couch like he’s hiding. Because he is. “Quit looking around,” he says. “They’ll see you!”

Being seen was kinda the point of tonight. “Who? Did the paps slip past the bouncer?”

“More like the Raiders,” Mattie hisses, and Shane’s stomach lurches. Despite Mattie’s warnings and his own better judgment, he lifts himself slightly from the couch and combs through the crowded club for familiar faces. He quickly spots Connors chatting up a girl a full head taller than him, and nearby, Marleau’s shiny helmet of black hair. No Rozanov. 

Shane lets out a long breath as he sinks back into his seat. Right. There's twenty-odd guys to a team, and countless clubs around Montreal. 

He picks up his beer and plays it cool. “I guess this place is as popular as Rose said. You know, my mom must have really rubbed off on you if you think a fight’s going to break out off the ice. Hockey players aren't, like, total neanderthals.”

“Well, I didn’t think so either,” Mattie laughs. “Until the Russian Terminator gave me the fucking murder eyes over at the bar a minute ago!”  

There's twenty-odd guys on the Boston Raiders, but only one of them is Russian. And of all the clubs in Montreal, he walks into this one. Of fucking course he does.

Shane can't stand up and look around again. He won't duck and hide either. Why should he hide? Why is Rozanov giving Mattie “murder eyes” anyway?

“He definitely recognized me,” says Mattie. “I felt him burning a hole in the side of my face, so I turn, and he's just – glaring daggers!” 

“Did he say anything? Did you?” 

“I didn't do shit except order a drink from the bartender, man.” Mattie looks legitimately scared. “Is he…I know you guys are rivals, but is there more to it?” Shane feels scared, too. But he can't run and he can't hide. Mattie continues, “Is Rozanov a bigot? Is that why you won't let Chase meet him?”

“No,” Shane blurts. He shakes his head, too, not wanting Mattie to believe something so awful. “No, he –” There’s no real excuse for why Shane hasn’t let Chase and Rozanov meet for an autograph and a photo-op yet. “You probably just caught him in a bad mood,” he tells Mattie.

Mattie relaxes a bit but now looks more confused than anything. “He won tonight…? God, what shit storm rained on his parade…” 

Shane thinks back to Boston, to that phone call that flipped the mood. And, come to think of it, plenty of other instances over the years that implied Rozanov had his own tension with his family back in Russia. 

He feels a pang of shame. 

Why did Shane ever assume Rozanov had it easier than him? 

He shrugs at Mattie and gets up for another beer, asking if Mattie wants a drink that's not half on his shirt. 

Shane looks to his left and right at the bar after ordering. He doesn't see Rozanov. No, he probably took his drink and went back to dancing. Shane thinks Rozanov likes dancing at clubs anyways. Unless he's in such a shitty mood he'd prefer to sit in a dark corner alone. Shane turns from the bar with drinks in hand. 

It takes all his self-discipline not to toss Mattie’s whiskey ginger into Rozanov’s face. He tells himself the brunette stroking Rozanov’s bicep through that ridiculous silk shirt doesn’t deserve to get caught in the crossfire – except Shane can’t help but imagine her shrieking and fleeing to the bathroom to clean up, leaving the rival hockey players to get up in each other’s faces and demand just what the fuck is your problem?

He doesn’t act on this stupid petty fantasy, but Shane does stand there like an idiot thinking about it for a beat too long. Some guy shoulders him roughly out of the way from the bar, and Shane ends up with Mattie’s new drink splashed across his shirt now. It’s humiliating. Shane Hollander gets checked by an accountant or whatever in skinny jeans in front of Ilya Rozanov and his impending hookup. The only thing he can do is make sure his pace is too slow to look like running away. 

The men’s and women’s bathrooms are down opposite dimly lit corridors. They’re long and the club music is weirdly distorted by the walls. Shane stumbles into one of the single-occupancy men’s rooms, throws the latch, and grabs a wad of paper towels to wet in the sink. He doesn’t know why he’s trying to save a plain white T-shirt.

Shane looks like he’s about to enter a wet T-shirt contest or film another stupid commercial when there’s a knock. “Just a minute.” 

“It’s after 11 PM,” comes Rozanov’s muffled, accented voice. 

Shane stares at the locked door. “Fuck off,” he says finally. 

He hears Rozanov scoff on the other side. The door jiggles. “Open the door,” Rozanov says quietly enough that Shane has to lean up against the door to hear. “Or are you just going to stay in there all night?” 

“Go piss in an alley.” 

“Open the door, Hollander.” 

Shane unlocks the door, but Rozanov tears it open to slide inside and latch it closed again. Shane only does this much so he can be certain Rozanov hears it clearly when he starts tearing into him. “Where the fuck do you get off glaring at Mattie?” He demands. “What? Are you mad that your hat-trick is just a footnote to Meet the Hollanders or something?” And to think Shane let himself worry about this asshole! 

Rozanov’s nostrils flare. That’s the only warning Shane gets before he surges forward. He doesn’t throw a punch or grab at Shane though. Silk sleeves reach around his waist to anchor onto the concrete counter. Rozanov drives Shane back until he feels the back of his shirt get wet too from pressing into the sink. 

Rozanov’s cologne fills his nose, overwhelming the awful public bathroom urine-mixed-with-cleaning-solution stench. Shane feels Rozanov’s breath on his face and tastes the edge of liquor and peppermint. “I changed my mind,” Rozanov whispers. About coming over…? “Your boyfriend and his boyfriend are much cuter couple.” 

“What the-?!” Shane reels back. He nearly cracks his head in the mirror. 

Rozanov doesn’t let him. His hands fly to Shane’s back and don’t let go as his teeth nip in Shane’s face. “You don’t agree? But you looked happy to sit on the sidelines and watch them dry hump on the dance floor. Was very hot. Do they give private shows?” 

“N-no, what’re you-”

“No?” Rozanov asks. “You don’t get off on your boyfriend fucking around on you, Hollander? But you don’t get pissed and walk away either. You just sit and wait to get mad at home – or are you waiting for when no one gives a fuck that you are gay to knock someone’s lights out?” It pours out of Rozanov all in one breath. He’s panting by the end like he just came off a shift on ice. 

There’s another knock at the door. 

Cold runs over Shane as Rozanov removes his hands. Neither of them speak, hoping the knocker will get impatient and actually go piss in an alley. “Shane?” Rose calls. “Are you good in there?” 

Shane and Rozanov share a look and try to switch places as soundlessly as possible, so Shane is next to the door. He clears his throat. “Yeah, just cleaning up. Spilled Mattie’s drink all down my shirt.” 

“Mattie said he saw Rozanov follow you back here? And he didn’t see Rozanov come back out.” Shit. Fuck. FuckFuckFUCK. Rose’s voice drops. “I have Barry with me. You know, my bodyguard? Do you need-”

Shane cracks the door open. “It’s fine! We’re fine. We’re just talking.” 

Rose searches his face. “‘Talking’.” 

“Yeah, about -” hockey? In a club bathroom, a totally normal venue. Should Shane just bite the bullet and say they’re snorting drugs off the toilet seat? 

“Shane,” Rose interrupts his spiral. “It’s okay. It’s a private discussion,” she says meaningfully. Shane swallows his gratitude and nods. “I’ll have Barry keep anybody from coming down the hall while you guys -”

“Yeah, thank you. It’ll just be another min-” 

Rozanov shoves the door shut on Shane’s sentence. Shane turns to ask yet again what the fuck is his problem.

“Are you and Mattie in an open relationship?” Rozanov demands.

Shane stumbles. “No,” he says and watches Rozanov look like he’s about to hug the toilet bowl. He licks his lips and adds, “Mattie and I aren’t in any sort of relationship.”

Rozanov sucks in a breath and drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

"Shane," he sighs. 

Shane’s head knocks back against the sheet of metal separating them from the rest of the club, thrumming with vibrations from the latest song, something something this is not enough echoing through concrete walls and locked doors, and he thinks, Holy shit. He really likes me. 

Chapter 15

DECEMBER 2016 – MONTREAL

The urge to pee tugs Shane back to consciousness at 3:07 AM. He sees the red numbers spelled out in the dark over the slope of a muscular shoulder. It takes all Shane’s strength to crawl out of bed toward the bathroom. He doesn’t bother flipping on the light. He wants them to stay in this dreamy in-between state at least a few minutes longer. 

Shane shuffles back out into the bedroom, detouring from the bed over to the window. He pulls back the shade slightly to peek out over the city and – it’s nighttime, so the temperature has dropped well below freezing and the street’s visibly whiter with ice crystals. But it’s nothing that can’t be braved with a good coat. Rozanov will shiver in that ugly silk shirt between Shane’s back door and his rideshare, though. 

Shane could loan him a jacket, he thinks, turning back toward the bed. Except, Shane’s jackets are too big and bulky to be mistaken for a girl’s. The Raiders might ask where it came from. Or they might not think twice about it. If they do ask, maybe Rozanov could brag about fucking Jane so good that she dumped her new boyfriend Matthew and handed over his jacket as a trophy. That’d be kinda hot…Or maybe Rozanov could just stay in bed with Shane until the sun comes up. 

The mattress dips under his knee as he leans over his guest. Shane’s never seen him asleep before. Not even in Boston; Rozanov had curled against Shane’s back and jerked awake when Shane turned his head to look back at him. He’s fast asleep tonight. Warm and heavy like he's become one with the bedding. If only a blizzard struck Montreal in the hour they dozed off. Something historic, big enough to ground planes. 

Shane gives him a nudge. A light poke, then a shake of the shoulder. Finally, “Ilya.” 

He snorts awake. As bad as Shane feels for startling him, it's cute. Shane bites back a grin as he watches Ilya roll onto his back and rub the sleep from his face with little grunts and sighs. Finally, his arms fan out, and he blinks bleary blue eyes up at Shane, who forgets to breathe for a sec.

“Good morning,” Ilya croaks. “What time…?” 

“Good morning,” Shane repeats softly. “Uh, technically. It's like 3:30 AM.” 

Ilya blows out a long breath. “Team has early flight to Pittsburgh.” He levers up and swings one leg off the bed. Then just sits on the edge for a minute. 

Shane crawls over and sits next to him. 

“About last night…”

Ilya groans painfully. He may be a little hungover, come to think of it. “Not my finest hour.”

Shane doesn't think he regrets it. They’ve both passed up countless opportunities to be regretful. Shane might even feel the opposite now. “I mean, it was a nicer bathroom than Vegas.” 

Ilya laughs and winces. Definitely a little hungover. “Yes, paper towel dispenser was automatic this time. Very fancy.” 

“You remember that?” Shane laughs, then feels silly.

But Ilya looks over at him and says, “I remember everything.” Then he does that thing where he rubs his nose and an eyebrow. “Would have to delete any sexy pictures or videos. Memories are all that’s left. I,” he chuckles. “I squirrel them away, that is the saying, yes? I am like greedy little rodent.” 

“You're not greedy,” Shane says. “You're, like, a normal squirrel.” 

“I am greedy,” Ilya insists before Shane can come up with some crack about liking nuts to lighten the mood. “I want everything. Including what's not mine.”

Shane sighs. “Mattie is just a friend,” he tells Ilya for what feels like the hundredth time. 

“I acted like a bigger caveman than Scott Hunter.” 

Shane thinks back to the girl at the club, hanging all over Ilya. To the dozens upon dozens of girls he's been papped and tagged with across the internet over the years. Shane heard there's a Reddit page where Rozanov’s hookups compare notes. He never let himself go looking for it. The pictures of Shane paling around with Rose, Mattie and Miles at the edges of the frame, must feel inescapable. 

“It's different,” he tells Rozanov. “You thought Mattie was cheating right in front of me when I couldn't do anything about it. If that's what was happening, it would be super unfair, yeah.” 

Rozanov smirks. “So, I am your knight in shining armor?” 

Shane suddenly remembers that one movie starring Heath Ledger where the crowd sings “We Will Rock You” at a ren faire. He grins and replies, “Better than a squirrel or a caveman.” Though Shane makes it clear that he'd never just lay down and take being disrespected like that, closet or no closet. He didn’t need Rozanov defending his honor. “It was hot though.” Shane ends with a shrug.

Rozanov groans and forces himself to stand up. “Don’t be sneaky, Hollander. Even if I miss my flight, you won’t catch up to me in the scoring race,” he says, but then he also ducks down to peck Shane on the lips on his way to the bathroom.

The water turning on probably drowns out whatever dry quip Shane belatedly throws back.

***

[Sent a photo] :Me

I don't know how I'm going to explain this to my drycleaner…:Me

Lily: Don't bother. I won't. 

My mom got me that sweater. Please take care of it. :Me

Lily: I will. Until All Stars when we can trade dirty laundry. 

Lily: I would like sexy underwear next time pls and thank you ;)

Well, since you asked so politely… :Me

***

Shane’s been to an intervention before. It was for a second-line defenseman after he crashed and burned in training camp following their first Cup win. A summer of celebrating had reintroduced him to a ton of bad habits. There was no way management wasn't putting him on waivers, but half a dozen guys on the team tried to give him a come-to-Jesus talk about losing his career entirely if he kept on that path. Shane feels like he’s on the other side of that discussion now, sitting across from Mattie and Rose in the last place anyone’d look for a pro hockey player and a movie star in Montreal: a PhD student lounge located in the basement of a McGill academic building. Miles is off somewhere on campus talking to a professor about how to convincingly play some kind of scientist. Mattie brought everyone coffee and pastries from a campus café.

Shane’s eyes dart around the room. He wonders if this would have been his life, if he got super into science or history or whatever instead of hockey. Mom told him to buy Chase rocks for Christmas; will he grow up to be a geographer? Or wait, no – Shane thinks the correct term is geologist. He wants to take his phone out and google it, but Mattie and Rose are watching him, and that’d be rude. And what if Shane sees a text from ‘Lily’ and they see him see it?

They’d probably guess it’s something to do with Rozanov, Shane resigns himself. He’s alone with basically the only two people in the world who would correctly jump to that conclusion. They’re probably two of the best people he could ask to do so.

Shane clears his throat. “I’m really sorry for worrying you guys at the club on Saturday night. And for dragging you all into covering for me. I – could you please thank Barry for –” Shane can’t finish the sentence. “And Miles, too, I guess.”

“Miles doesn’t know anything,” Mattie quickly says.

Rose nods. “We wouldn’t tell him without your say-so, Shane. It’s not our place.”

Shane feels some relief from that. “Thank you,” he says again, sincerely. “I don’t know what to say. I know this is a lot to put on you guys.” Mattie gets a look on his face. Technically, he’s kinda known about Shane for years. But this is different. Being gay is one thing, fucking his rival is a whole nother order of magnitude. “What happened at the club was totally on me and fucked up to force you guys to run cover on. I promise it will never ever happen again.” Shane is firm. He’s taking responsibility for his actions. “I just hope you guys don’t look at me differently after this.”

“Oh please.” Rose rolls her eyes good-naturedly. She reaches across the table and covers Shane’s hand with hers. “Hooking up with your ex while your friends look on in concern? I say this with love, Shane, but you are so cliché. There’s nothing ‘fucked up’ about it.”  

Mattie nods in agreement. “Yeah, this doesn’t even rank in the top five of messy shit I’ve seen go down in the gay community either. I mean, dating someone you told a bunch of people you hated? A coworker? From a conservative background? That’s my friend Cole! He and his husband adopted a baby last year.”

Shane is a bit taken aback. “I mean, hockey is a bit different from an office job.” He can’t imagine their fans ever celebrating a Hollander-Rozanov baby announcement. Not in Shane's wildest dreams. Fuck, their patience with Chase and his Rozanov jersey is already wearing thin. The shit grown-ass men post online about an elementary schooler…It’s sort of galling to be confronted with how much easier it would be – not easy, but easier – if not for hockey. Then again, would Shane and Rozanov have ever met if not for hockey? It’s not a world Shane wants to think about too hard.

Mattie coughs. “It was behind the counter at an A&W, but point taken.” There’s a pause. “I guess it’s a moot point now.”

“What?”

“I meannn, you just said it’s never happening again…? That was all just a really charged interaction between exes…right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Shane takes a deep breath. “No. We’re not…That is to say, we weren’t – we aren’t – What I meant to say, is that we definitely won’t do anything risky like that in public again.”

Rose’s eyebrows climb. “And in private?”

Shane fidgets in his seat. Mattie sits back in his chair; Rose almost looks giddy. Shane’s sorry to get her hopes up.

“We’re good again,” Shane explains. “But I think this may be as good as it gets for us. It can’t get much better.” It’s nice to imagine. So nice it aches. Shane might be the greedy one, actually, because he wants to keep Ilya overnight and wake up to the rising sun together. He wants him all to himself, and he thinks Ilya feels similarly. Shane no longer thinks Ilya’s at risk of running off and getting married while leaving Shane to weather this shitstorm alone till retirement. But where does that leave them in the meantime?

Mattie grimaces with sympathy. Rose’s brows pinch together. Shane's noticed that's another way she's like Ilya, in that her eyebrows do a lot of talking. 

“Okay, it has to stay private. I respect that,” she accepts. “But it doesn't have to come with an official statement from your PR teams to be more, Shane.”

Shane chews his lips. He isn't sure about that. Not when he imagines his and Ilya's sneaking around next to Comeau’s big fat tacky waste-of-time-and-money, the Pike family Instagram page, or the prospect of Chase taking Olivia H. to a school dance. 

But then Rose says, “It’s no one else's business. It can be just for you guys, if that's what you both want.” 

And god, Shane's never wanted anything more. Maybe not even a third Cup. 

***

DECEMBER 2016 – COLUMBUS

Lily: Do not fret. Your knight in shining armor will avenge you after holiday break. 

Fuck off!!! :Me

Lily: Relax. Anyone with eyes sees you were the only one who bothered to show up tonight.

Lily: I fear for your teammates tbh 

…I am seriously considering Clockwork-Orange-ing the second line with game tape. :Me

Lily: … … …

Lily: Google is showing me untrustworthy looking man in top hat?

It’s a film. Rose actually said it was bad that I liked X Squad so much, so now she keeps assigning me homework. :Me

Lily: That will be one way to fill time when Metros don’t make it to the playoffs this year.

So true. Let me send you the list so can join the club :) :Me

Lily: Sorry! will be too busy winning :P

Lily: … … … 

Lily: Any Christmas movies on your list?

Oh, no. But I’m going to watch When Harry Met Sally on New Years Eve. :Me

It’s not on the list. I always liked it. :Me

Lily: Google says this is a romcom? 

Yeah…do your worst. :Me

Lily: No. I will give it a watch on NYE. Is it on Netflix?

Oh! Yeah! And I think you can also rent it on Youtube? :Me

***

CHRISTMAS 2016 – OTTAWA

Shane flies separately from his team and touches down in Ottawa minutes into Christmas Eve. He orders an Uber and quietly slips into the house with his spare key. 

Chase trots down the stairs in the morning and screams when he sees Shane sitting at the breakfast table. “You liar!” He basically shouts in Shane's ear after barreling into him. “You said you'd be playing a game on Christmas!”

“I will be. At that little outdoor rink down the road with Dad.” 

Chase giggles, and Shane doesn’t fight the urge to squeeze him. He's getting big. The PJs he's wearing don't quite reach his wrists and ankles; Dad said half the presents under the tree are boring clothes by necessity. The other half is basketball stuff (besides a ball, Shane’s not quite sure what that entails), and somewhere in the mix are the basketball-sized geodes Shane ordered at his Mom's direction. 

“You're really staying the whole time?” Chase whispers, still latched around Shane's neck.

Shane suddenly feels bad for pranking him. “Yep,” he answers, patting his little brother's back a little awkwardly, like he did when he was a baby. “My next game isn't till the 29th so you have me through Boxing Day.” 

In an instant, Chase lets go of Shane to throw his arms up in triumph. “C’est le fun! This is going to be the best Christmas ever!” 

Less than twenty-four hours later, Chase stands in the middle of the wartorn living room and declares his prophecy fulfilled: “This is the best. Christmas. EVER!” 

Shane shares a smile with Dad as he accepts a mug of black coffee and another gift he wishes they hadn't sprung for. Shane still has a few boxes under the tree. Chase tore through all of his like a mini tornado. But Mom is ever strategic, sandwiching all the winter clothes between a new basketball and the latest NBA video game, then nudging Shane to present literal boxes of rocks to a way bigger reaction than he was expecting. Never doubt Yuna Hollander. There are a few smaller stocking stuffers on the pile, including Lego sets Shane threw in at the last minute for good measure. Overall, it's a good haul.

Still, Shane can’t shake the feeling some centerpiece is missing. He watches his parents as he methodically unwraps a soft blue, distinctly non-sporty sweater meant to pad out his wardrobe. Maybe they're just trying to not spoil Chase too much.

They’ve just cleaned up the wrapping paper and boxes when Mom claps her hands and orders, “Okay, boys, close your eyes! No peeking!”

Shane dutifully shuts his eyes and puts his hands over Chase’s so he won’t fucking cheat. Chase messily slaps a splayed palm across Shane’s face in return.  

“I bet it’s a bike,” Shane wagers.

Chase gasps. “You got me a dirt bike?!”

“Close!” Dad chimes in.  

“If you mean that this is against my better judgment, yes, very close to a dirt bike.” Mom sounds about the same level of exasperated as where Chase’s growing collection of Raiders merch is concerned. “Quit teasing and come hold this thing, David!” Then, even weirder, Shane hears what sounds like an alarm going off in another room. Wheek! Wheek! Shane can’t place it.

Everything goes quiet, save for floorboards creaking under his parents’ socked feet.

 “Shane, Chase, meet the newest addition to the Hollander clan!”

Shane’s eyes snap open and he pushes Chase’s hand away to see Dad standing in the middle of the living room with a bundled towel in his arms. Chase jumps up and squeals; Shane feels his blood pressure spike.

***

[sent a photo] :Me

Reminded me of you. :Me

Shane doesn’t expect an instant response on Christmas Day. But he smiles, imagining Ilya opening his phone to a picture of a guinea pig sitting in a Raider’s toque. He’ll save the tidbit about Chase naming her Peanut for later. Maybe on Boxing Day, or on New Years Eve. Maybe at All-Stars, after they have a chance to really talk. He’ll keep this fact in his back pocket to exchange for an ear-to-ear asshole grin lighting up Ilya’s face.

“T’as une blonde?”

Shane stuffs his phone into his hoodie. “Fuck! No! I was texting a friend. Who taught you that word?”

Chase cradles Peanut against his shoulder and strokes her back. Despite the ear-splitting start, he’s been nothing but soft and gentle since Dad shifted the new pet into his arms. “A friend named Lily?” Chase asks slowly. “You said you aren’t dating your friend Rose. Is that because Lily’s your girlfriend?”

Shane swallows his nerves. “Lily’s not my girlfriend. We’re, uh…” Not something to be discussed in front of a second-grader.

Mom coasts back into the living room with a stiff drink to celebrate yet another successful holiday season. “What’re you two bickering about now?”

Surprisingly, Chase doesn’t throw Shane under the bus. The mischievous smile he flashes Mom makes Shane fear it, for a second, but then he says, “I was telling Shane how guinea pigs come from the Andes in South America. And their back feet and their front feet have different numbers of toes. And did you know guinea pigs can die from being lonely, Mom?”

Yuna rolls her eyes in Shane’s direction. “Good thing Peanut has you, Chase.”

“But you can’t just have peanuts by themselves!” Chase whines. “What about M&Ms? And - and trail mix? What about butter, Mom?” He holds Peanut out with both hands, securely like Dad showed him. Mom leans as far back on the couch as she can, clearly trying and failing to keep a straight face. She’s always been squeamish about mice; Shane thinks Chase must have really wanted this for her to bring any sort of rodent into the house.

Chase pouts and points Peanut at Shane instead. “Shane, donchya think Peanut’s too cute to not have a friend?” He asks earnestly.

Shane doesn’t really see the appeal of a pet guinea pig. Like, it’s going to sit in a cage most of the time, right? But he has to admit there’s something in those wet black eyes and floppy little ears and those soft wheek wheek wheek sounds, and the way Chase already loves her to pieces, that has him agreeing, “Everybody deserves somebody.”

Mom shifts uncomfortably on the couch, and a Christmas miracle occurs. “They can really die of loneliness?” She asks Chase over the rim of her glass.

Chase tamps down a smile, the way Shane does when he knows a game is already in the bag.

Shane is up and moving from the couch before he’s really processing what he’s about to do. “Shane? Where are you going, sweetie?” Mom asks as Shane pulls on his jacket.

“I just need to get some air,” he says quickly, and darts out the back door before he has to field any more questions or his own doubts. He stands in the snow-covered backyard and pulls out his phone.

He wavers over the unanswered text thread. He reminds himself it’s the middle of Christmas Day, people are busy celebrating. But he can’t wait six hours, six months, another minute. Shane presses the call button.

“Hello? Shane?”

Shane’s breath comes out like smoke. “Ilya.”

Chapter 16

Chapter Notes

I really need to stop pretending I know how many chapters this is going to be.

FEBRUARY 2017 – TAMPA

Shane’s family can’t make it to All-Stars this year. Too much going on at work and school. Plus, finding a pet sitter for guinea pigs is surprisingly difficult. Mom doesn’t know if she trusts any of Chase’s friends’ parents with the job. Not least of all because so many of them own dogs. Oh well. Chase promised Shane over the phone that all five of them (Mom, Dad, Chase, Peanut, and Butter) will be on the couch, cheering. 

Ilya grins. “Ah, so my fans now out-number yours in the Hollander household!” 

Shane rolls his eyes. “Guinea pigs can’t be fans of anything. Except for, like, vegetables.” 

Ilya hums thoughtfully as he rolls over in bed. Shane’s eyes drift down his mole-dotted back to his ass. Which Ilya notices, of course. “Unfortunate, since I am certified prime cut,” he says proudly. “Peanut and Butter must be huge Metros fans then. Your team does play like they are in, how do you call it? A vegetative state, this season.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane groans. He lets his head fall back into the pillow, but he does peel one eye open to watch Ilya swagger over to the mini fridge to grab a water bottle and a ginger ale.

He accepts the cold can gratefully and sits up against the headboard next to Ilya. The argument doesn’t climb to emotional heights of Everest proportions. It doesn’t boil over and make a mess everywhere. They’re past that. That was – Shane glances at the hotel alarm clock – fifty-five minutes ago. It’s not hurried either. It’s simply…relaxed. They have time here in this hotel room, without teams or families wondering where they’ve slipped off to so early in the evening. Shane feels like he can really open up about how the season’s been going. 

“Olly, ya know Olsson? His theory is it’s the universe leveling out. Like, back-to-back Cups is such a karmic high - you can only imagine, of course-"

"Hm, for now."

"You can only imagine, but it’s probably better than any party drug. Like, cocaine times eleven. But like, there’s supposed to be a comedown, right? So now we’re cursed to have a shitty season to make up for it and balance the scales. He called it a 'cosmic hangover.'” 

Ilya nearly chokes on his water, laughing. He wipes his chin and says, “How you played this weekend proves Olly misread his whorescope.” 

“It’s ‘horo-scope’,” Shane corrects, smiling. It does feel validating, though, to have the only hockey player on his level, and also the fans watching them play beautifully together, see that Shane can still put up a damn good game of hockey. Even if Shane touched down in Tampa half-convinced Ilya was going to try breaking things off and in his head about it. 

“Do you really believe that?” Ilya asks a few moments later, a bit more serious, a bit more wary. “That bad things need to happen to you to pay for the good things?”

“No,” Shane answers automatically. “I don’t…” Shane really doesn’t want to get metaphysical right now. Sometimes the atheist thing feels as big of a secret to keep from some of his teammates as the gay thing. “I think actions have consequences, I guess. Like if you do or don’t do something, you have to be prepared for what comes of it.” 

Shane isn’t about to divulge his teammates’ every flaw and misstep this season to the captain of their rival team. But it’s not like the Metros’ so-called misfortunes are a well-kept secret. Comeau’s bachelor party antics leaking back to his new wife, resulting in a divorce-annulment-headache takes up a lot of the oxygen, sure. Because it was just a stupidly obvious blunder to make, whether you are on the side of ‘he never should have done it’ or ‘he should have hid it better’. But there’s been plenty of chirps about Renaud shattering his fucking wrist trying to bare-knuckle box his girlfriend’s husband. And then there was the stuff that was just plain shit timing. Gagnon’s appendix bursting after muscling through practice. Berkie getting sued by his neighbor over a fallen tree. Even Hayden’s head is never fully in the game this season; not with either Jackie or one of the kids constantly seeing the doctor. 

“Nothing serious though?” Ilya asks, brows pinched with real concern. Shane assures him it’s mostly the usual: bad morning sickness, preschool bugs being passed around the house, thrush, something helpfully called hand-mouth-and-foot disease, ear infections. Ilya’s eyes widen. “Did Pike think three kids was too easy?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane laughs. He stifles himself, remembering they’re still in a hotel room with thin walls. “You handled a dozen pretty well earlier,” he says shyly. 

“Ah, so our ref wasn’t asleep on the job behind those shades. Why didn’t you flag game misconduct when they all left me for shark food then, hm?”

“See?” Shane bumps their shoulders together. “That’s what I mean. I don’t think I could make a fool of myself like that even for Chase or Hayden’s kids.” 

“A fool?” He tries to sound offended, to put on a similar show of outrage as he did for that girl who correctly identified Shane as the best hockey player in the league. Shane lets himself be splashed harmlessly. 

“You’re good with them.” Shane sighs. “God, I suck so bad as an older brother.” Ilya raises an eyebrow, so he elaborates. “I’ve been sitting here, grateful that I didn’t have my family trailing after me at the bar, at the pool, on the beach. I am grateful that I got all this time alone with you this weekend." He reaches over and squeezes Ilya's meaty thigh for emphasis. "But I also feel like a dick about it, because I’m sure Chase wouldn’t have left you to feed the sharks.” Shane groans and grins at the same time. “He’s like your biggest fan.” 

“Wow,” Ilya breathes. “Shane Hollander admits he is not number one at not just one but two things.” 

Shane screws up his face. “Two things?” 

“Yes, two.” Ilya holds up one finger. “Not being best big brother in the entire world. And,” Ilya flicks up a second finger. “Only being my second biggest fan.” 

Shane shoves his middle finger in his stupid smug face, grinning. “I am your number one rival, actually. In case you forgot.” 

“I did not.” His finger is swept away, revealing that solemn face again, and Shane worries he’s fucked it all up already. “That is obvious. Me or you, one of us is the best, that much any fool can agree on. Including this one right here. It is as obvious as how much you love your brother.”

Shane sags. “That’s not the same as being good at it.” Shane knew plenty of players growing up whose skills never matched their enthusiasm for the game. He made a kid like that cry once for losing them a game. 

Ilya shrugs. “You worry about him. About 'corrupting' him and about letting him down. That’s more than I can say about my brother.” 

Shane can’t help the swell of curiosity. He feels greedy. An hour ago, Ilya told him about his dad’s dementia. And his mom having passed away. “Your brother’s a cop.” Shane ventures cautiously, like testing ice on the lake. Ilya shrugs again. Like, what does that matter? 

“Your niece…” Shane doesn’t even have a concrete question. The concern for a little girl across the world who he’s never met, has only seen in one single picture of from years ago, flows naturally. 

Ilya breathes deeply. Shane sees his fingers twitch like he has the urge to puff on a cigarette. “Alexei is Alexei. I sometimes think if not for our father, I would…But Alina makes me hesitate.”

Alina is the name of Ilya’s niece, Shane learns then. He soon also learns that Ilya sees her even less often than Shane’s been imagining. Apparently, Russians have their own type of summer cottage, called a dacha. A few days after Ilya arrives in Moscow each summer, Alexei fucks off to his in-law’s dacha with his wife and daughter, leaving Ilya to look after their father in the city. They don’t come back until the evening before Ilya’s flight back to Boston. Ilya’s watched his niece grow up in fits and bursts. He’s not completely happy with what he’s seen. Last summer, Alina was rather demanding of gifts from her uncle and then less than grateful when she got them. It’s not at all how Ilya and his brother were brought up to treat their elders, apparently. But who is Ilya to tell Alexei how to raise his child? It’s not his place.

“But still I feel responsible for her,” Ilya says, resigned. 

Shane thinks he gets it. At least part of it. He feels similarly about Chase. His parents always emphasize that Shane is also still their kid. He has never been asked to play third parent. Mattie's definitely first in line for that title. But Shane can’t help feeling like Chase is his responsibility as much as anyone else’s, and that he’s shirked that responsibility time and again out of selfishness and plain ineptitude. At the same time, Shane thinks he wouldn’t want Ilya thinking it was his fault if his brother fucks up his niece in the long run. 

He sets his ginger ale on the bedside table.

“Even if you’re not always there, you’re a good role model,” Shane assures him. Ilya’s head swivels, eyebrows climbing high. “Okay, maybe not the smoking, or the clubs, or the fast cars. But you’re a great hockey player! That doesn’t happen by accident. If Alina wants to buy herself gifts one day rather than ask for them, she’ll have an example to look towards. The same goes for Chase.” Ilya looks at him with misty eyes. Shane drives his point home. “I couldn’t ask for a better player for my little brother to look up to.” Someone to challenge the great Shane Hollander, as different from him as night and day, while also being more alike than people might think.  

Ilya wipes his eyes and lets out a croak. Like something in him cracked open for a second time tonight.

Shane gapes, feeling guilty suddenly. 

“You said you believe in consequences,” Ilya says wetly. “Are you prepared for the consequences of this?” He gestures between them, naked in a hotel bed together, to the whole prospect of being together outside it.

Shane squares his shoulders, gripping the duvet covering his lap. “I don’t know what those would be exactly,” he admits. Shane's at least on the same page of not wanting to find out the exact consequences of coming out and being together publicly while still playing hockey, if it can be helped. “But if there’s going to be consequences, I want it to be because I did something, not because I just stood by and let it happen to me.” 

Shane’s tempted to make Ilya laugh at how the prospect of a guinea pig having a boyfriend and not him pushed Shane over the edge into calling. At how Shane subsequently went out and personally purchased Peanut’s boyfriend at the pet store on Boxing Day. But he doesn’t want to fall back on humor as a crutch. He wants go two-for-two on having serious heart-to-hearts tonight, if that’s on the table. Shane's coming to terms with being greedy, with wanting. He wants more of Ilya, however much he can get. Shane wants to help, if he can, even if it just means holding him tight again.

Ilya brushes a hand across his mouth and under nose like a kid, nodding. Shane watches his throat work to swallow before he speaks. “I am afraid,” Ilya confesses in that same tone he talked about Russia. “That no matter what I do or do not do, that little girl I knew is going to grow up and look at me the same way her father and mother do.”

It turns out that wrapping his arm around Ilya’s shoulders and pulling him down to rest his head in Shane’s lap while he pets his curls really is all that Shane can do for him that night. 

Alina is an ocean away, and neither Shane or Ilya has any say in how her parents raise her. 

Chapter 17

Chapter Notes

APRIL 2017 – MONTREAL

Shane goes back and forth on whether to tell Ilya before the game. It’s bad enough that Shane can’t be on the ice, and it’s not like Shane can forget for a single nanosecond that Ilya Rozanov of the Boston Raiders is his team’s biggest obstacle to taking a third Cup (as well as Shane’s…to be defined). His head feels stuffy, so thinking puts pressure on his skull like it’s going to explode. It exploding might feel nice actually, because then at least the pressure would have a release valve. In lieu of exploding, Shane really wants to shut his eyes and shut off his brain. But he also doesn’t want to worry Ilya. Not after what just happened with his dad. And his brother. And the Russia of it all. So, Shane turns the brightness all the way down on his phone and painstakingly types a message with one eye open around the time the teams should be getting dressed. 

Don’t freak out but you’ll probably hear a announcement soon that I won't be there tonight :Me

Lily: Are you okay? Your family?

I’m sick :Me 

Lily: … … 

Lily: Of losing? 

Shane’s snort is extra snotty and sends him into a coughing fit. He’s tempted to respond ‘of winning Cups’, but that feels like hockey heresy. Sadly, his whole body aches too badly to reach for anything extra clever. For real, Shane’s hurt less after being checked by sasquatches in skates. How has half Chase’s second grade class survived this? How is Chase doing right now? 

Thankfully for Shane's slow-cooked brain, Ilya brushes past his own chirp after Shane goes a few minutes without replying. 

Lily: Must be bad. Since you probably still play better with plague than half the league on steroids. Get some sleep. 

I should at least watch the game :Me

Lily: That never stopped your goalie 🤷

Shane rolls his eyes and nearly drops off right there on the couch. The MLH theme blaring on the TV jolts him back from the edge. He blinks heavily and grips his phone tighter from where it nearly tipped out of his hands. 

Lily: You wanted me to meet your brother after tonight’s game. Do you want me to approach your family alone? Might be less suspicious. 

The text is time-stamped to just two minutes ago, but the teams are already making their way onto the ice up on the TV screen. 

***

His apartment door unlocking and the door creaking open stirs Shane awake. He’s been asleep since the first period at least, but he doesn’t have the energy to crane his head and see who’s sneaking in. If it’s a burglar or deranged stalker, he’s a goner. So be it. Shane feels like death already. Why did he tell his parents he was a big boy who doesn’t need chicken soup and vapor rub on his chest again?

A head of damp hair leans over the back of the couch. Ilya rakes his eyes over Shane, head to toe. For once, there’s not a whisper of lust to it, but Shane still gets warm all over. Which feels weird because he also has the chills.

“Heyyy,” Shane hears himself.  

Ilya draws a breath, like he’s breathing in Shane’s greeting. “Hey,” he says back. He reaches down, feeling Shane’s burning forehead but also running his fingers through Shane’s hair. It feels like petting disguised as assessment. Shane lets himself melt under the touch and watches Ilya smirk over him. “I guess I am best hockey player in the league now,” Ilya drawls. “Seeing as you have the flu.” 

Shane’s pleased hum turns to a groan that’s still pretty damn pleased. He glances at the TV, where guys in suits are discussing how the reigning back-to-back Cup champions may not even make playoffs this season after tonight’s narrow loss, and grumbles, “Debatable.” 

Shane warns him that he’ll get sick, too, but Ilya still hooks Shane’s arm around his shoulder and helps him up the stairs to his actual bed. It’s slow-going. Especially compared to how they usually hurtle through Shane’s apartment, steadily losing clothes. Ilya disappears back downstairs again and comes back with Shane’s gym water bottle. It’s filled to the brim and mixed with a vitamin C and zinc supplement left behind by a team doctor after he finished diagnosing Shane with “that virus from The Walking Dead, vous faites dur!” Ilya carefully taps two capsules out of a medication bottle and presses them into Shane’s hand. He makes a familiar ‘give’ gesture at Shane’s phone and sets an alarm for his next dose. It’s started warming up finally in Montreal, but Shane’s shivering, so Ilya finds an extra blanket and throws it over him. Then he fucking laughs because it’s Metros merch stamped with Shane’s name and number in big block print. 

“And people call me conceited.” 

“Cuz you are.” Shane runs his hand over the cheap synthetic fabric. It’s melted in spots from being thrown into a hot dryer. “It’s my brother’s. He’s had it since he was a baby.” 

Ilya’s grin fades. He sits on the edge of the bed and says, “I didn’t see your family at the arena.” 

“Chase’s sick, too.” Then Shane adds, because he knows Ilya will care, because Ilya's always cared, “My parents are looking after him in Ottawa.” No hospital this time.  

“Ah.” Because of course Shane’s survived countless airports, busy sets, and crowded locker rooms only to touch the same doorknob as his kid brother and kiss the playoffs goodbye. “Next season then. I can sign my biggest fan’s jersey after we crush Metros in our first match-up of the season. And maybe your little brother’s jersey, too, while I’m at it.” 

“F-fuck - you,” Shane coughs, laughing. Ilya lifts the water bottle to his lips again; the water is warm and soothes his throat. Ilya’s thumb strokes Shane’s cheek as he drinks. With the blinds drawn closed and the lights low, his head fuzzy and his body warm, it reminds Shane of a dozen nights before. Because they’ve only had around a dozen nights in Shane’s apartment. This bubble with just Shane and Ilya. Except they’re not having sex, Shane’s body doesn’t even feel particularly okay at the moment, and it somehow feels perfect.

A thought surfaces in the soup of Shane’s mind, that it sucks that Ilya can't stay the night with Shane sick as a dog. Which – is so bad. Not because it’s wrong to want Ilya. No. Never. But because Shane should be more upset about sitting out tonight's game when he could have made a difference against Boston. Because he was supposed to sacrifice some of his time with Ilya tonight so his little brother could finally get that autograph and photo. Except Shane can’t bring himself to feel as bad as he should. His and Ilya's time together is rare and precious as is. 

“Have you thought about it?” His speech is slightly slurred. Shane knows he’ll be asleep again in a few minutes.

Ilya whispers something to himself in Russian as he puts aside the water bottle and wipes Shane’s chin. 

“My cottage…” Shane already asked once, a few weeks ago in Boston. But then all that happened with his dad, and now playoffs are around the corner. It makes sense for those plans to go on the backburner. Come July, though, Ilya should definitely take a well-deserved break. He deserves one now, instead of taking care of yet another sick person. Shane tries to tell him as much.

“Sssh.” Ilya runs his thumb over Shane’s cheek again. “You need to rest now. Who is going to be taking care of you after I leave?”

Shane sighs and sinks back into his mattress. “M’team’ll probably send someone…But my mom might be on her way to kidnap me right now.”

A closed-mouth smile twitches on Ilya’s lips. “Good,” he whispers and then leans down to kiss Shane’s sweaty gross forehead.

***

APRIL 2017 – OTTAWA

Rose: Shane Mildred Hollander

The M stands for Michael actually. :Me

My dad has the same middle name after his dad / my grandfather. :Me

Rose: Heartwarming. But beside the point!

Rose: What is this I hear from my brothers about Rozanov being out for the first round with the FLU?

“Is that your girlfriend?”

Shane stuffs his phone back under the old blanket they’re sharing on the couch. “It is my friend who happens to be a girl.” 

Chase isn’t convinced, nor pleased. “You said you’d watch my show with me,” he whines. 

“I am watching.” Understanding is a different story. Shane has questions about how an alien rock and a human man made a baby. Is this explained in a later episode? 

Chase rolls his eyes. “You’re texting.” 

Shane rolls his eyes right back. “I bet you’d text Olivia H. if you could.” He doesn’t need to be a star goalie to deflect the pillow Chase hurls at him. He laughs when Chase next tries to throw himself.

Mom pokes her head out of the home office to find her two sons much livelier compared to last week’s joint zombified state on the couch. “Shane,” she calls out, totally nonchalant. “Don’t break your little brother or his glasses. We just got them.”

Chapter End Notes

Not completely happy with this chapter, but at least got from point A to point B. Will backfill a little bit next chapter on Shane being brought to Ottawa by his parents and so forth.

As a bit of trivia: because Shane's middle name is technically his paternal grandfather's name, Yuna and David decided Chase's middle name should be his maternal grandfather's name, Masaru, who is also the source of Yuna, Shane, and Chase's shared far-sightedness.

Chapter 18

Chapter Summary

A/N: We are heavy on the mid 2010s nostalgia in this one.

APRIL 2017 – OTTAWA

It’s Dad who whisks Shane away to Ottawa where he and Mom can keep an eye on both their zombified sons on the living room couch. Shane peels his eyes open at the sound of his front door opening, listens to the creaking stairs, and thinks did he come back…? He makes a sleepy questioning noise at the shape that appears in the doorframe. David Hollander flicks on a lamp and stoops down next to the bed with the kind of grunt that only comes out of dads. “Hey, son.”

And like that, Shane’s season is over. He’s actually feeling better ahead of Montreal’s last regular season game. He has a sneaking suspicion that even Chase is milking it a bit after the third day, talking Shane’s ear off about whatever’s on TV, then turning into a slug when Mom peeks her head out of the home office. Chase could probably go back to school no problem. Shane definitely feels like he could be playing hockey with the help of a cough drop. But IR policy dictates that he can’t be back on ice sooner than seven days from his initial “injury”, so Shane watches the Metros miss the playoffs for the first time since his rookie season sharing a blanket with Chase on the couch. 

Mom shakes her head at the screen. “That back-up goalie really wasted his chance in the limelight.” It’s not your fault, she means.

Both his parents reach across the back of the couch to squeeze Shane’s shoulders and rub circles into his back. Even Chase, the resident traitor, wraps his arms around Shane’s middle and squeezes with all the strength his skinny body can muster. 

Shane never planned on having so much free time during the playoffs. 

The hours fill up quickly. 

Shane is up and off the couch in no time, on conference calls with the Metros coaching staff and management, “autopsying the cold fucking remains of our stillborn dynasty”, as the GM puts it. It takes hours, days. Shane feels like he’s being interrogated at points. Not just about his own performance but about his teammates. A captain doesn’t have a say in trades or contract negotiations and the like, but Shane knows every word out of his mouth on these calls is going to be carefully weighed on the scales by the front office bean-counters. Not just because he’s captain, but because Shane Hollander’s word carries weight. 

He can’t get the phone away from his ear fast enough after the call finally drops. 

He sinks down into his mom’s desk chair and rubs at his face. 

There’s a knock at the home office door. 

“Are you done?” comes Chase’s muffled voice. “Will you watch Steven Universe with me now?” 

Shane should be packing his bag to get back to Montreal. Because phone calls aren’t enough to fix this. Shane’s already convinced Andropov is getting traded. Getting to the train station early probably won’t change that. He’s not sure he wants to change that.

“One episode”, Shane tells Chase, then he absolutely needs to get going. 

How are you feeling? :Me

Lily: head hurts too much to chirp you about giving me STD

Lily: that is how 

I did not give you an STD! :Me

Lily: I got flu from kissing you that is sexually transmitted disease

There’s nothing sexual about a sweaty forehead :Me

Lily: Yours is very sexy especially when you are thinking too much

Not too sick to sext, I see 🙄 :Me

Lily: Never sick of it with you 😘

Gross :Me

[I wish I could hear your stupid lines in-person. Can I call | ] :Me

“You’re texting,” Chase snarls the way Shane does over blatant penalties on ice. 

“It’s work,” Shane says, turning the phone screen down in his lap as nonchalantly as possible. 

“It’s your girlfriend.” Chase takes the remote in both hands and rewinds the cartoon that Shane truthfully doesn’t get. Like, it’s a show about rocks that are people, but like not in a magic way but in an alien way, and the main character Steven is half-human, half-rock somehow. Which means he has superpowers basically but mostly each episode seems to be about him wandering around helping the townies with their problems when he should probably be in school. Also, Steven now has a pet pink lion. For some reason. “Pay attention,” Chase says in a tone he must have picked up from an adult. “You’re missing the important parts!” 

Shane must have really been checked out, texting under the blanket with Ilya this past week, because he’s shocked to find the cartoon suddenly has a plot. A pretty dark one even, involving evil space rocks invading Earth and taking the good space rocks prisoner on their ship. Of course, Steven is attempting to rescue his – guardians? Aunts? Shane watches as Steven instead stumbles across a new little red rock alien – named Ruby, obviously, making Shane wonder if a character named Jade will show up later – Shane also wonders if it’s wrong to think a cartoon character is kinda…butch? – is Shane allowed to say that now that he’s gay? – he’s barely processed how sad it is that Lapis Lazuli has given up on fighting back when the little blue rock alien named Sapphire appears and she’s flying toward Ruby and they’re – oh. 

“Are those two girls…they love each other, right?” 

“They’re not girls, they’re gems,” says Chase. “But yeah, Ruby and Sapphire love each other so much they fuse to be together all the time. There’s a song about it, just wait a minute!” 

There is a song. And they beat the bad guy’s ass while singing it.

Chase wants to bulldoze forward, “just one more episode, Shane, pleeease,” but Shane needs to get moving now. 

He sits in the backseat of his rideshare, his messages with Lily glowing in his lap, but text on a screen isn’t enough. A call isn’t enough. FaceTime won’t be enough. He sits in silence with the driver, leg vibrating. The same goes on the train, save for a few autographs he signs for his fellow passengers in business class. The second Shane’s back presses back against his apartment door in Montreal, he Facetimes Ilya and pitches a crazy idea. 

***

APRIL 2017 – NEW YORK CITY

Ilya plays the latter three games of the first round, but the Raiders can’t overcome their earlier losses in the series. Ilya’s calendar for the remainder of April opens up, and he talks to his manager about filling that time with some last-minute sponsor engagements. He gets invited to some private parties and club openings around New York to help promote some ridiculous top-shelf liquor brand made with, like, gold leaf. There’s also a luxury car show that he’s going to attend with his friend Svetlana as her plus-one. 

Yuna is less than thrilled about the timing. 

“It’s just so unfair. You’re using your free time to meet with young athletes while he’s partying it up, but because one’s sexier you know what’s going to get all the attention in the media,” Shane listens to his mom huff over the phone as he steps into the elevator. The line breaks up a little bit, the signal weakened, but Shane catches the faint grumble of “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he planned it just to steal your thunder.” 

Shane bites down on his smile and hopes it doesn’t creep into his voice. “Mom, I can guarantee you Rozanov didn’t plan this.” 

“I know, I know,” she concedes. “Of course not. It’s a big city, at least, so odds are you won’t run into each other. Rozanov probably isn’t visiting any school campuses or museums.” 

“Yeah, not likely.” Shane watches the elevator numbers tick by. 10…11…12…it skips 13 entirely to 14. 

“...What are you and Mattie doing tonight?” 

“Me and Mattie?” Shane repeats distractedly. He reminds himself that he’s technically on this trip as a tag-along. Miles is researching his role, Mattie is researching…something for his PhD program.

“Yeah, you and Mattie.” 

20…21…22… “And Miles.”

“And Miles!...Well, what are you guys getting up to?” 

“Well, Miles and Mattie are seeing that rap musical. Hamilton?” Shane’s not sure why. They’re all Canadian on this trip. “But I’m heading back to my room now. Probably going to bed early.” 

“Really? You’re not going to join them?” Mom sounds weirdly disappointed. “It’s not even 8 o’clock. Are you really feeling better, sweetie?” 

The elevator pings and the doors open onto the 35th floor. “I feel great,” Shane breathes as he hurries down the hall. “Just not into musicals. I might even try to get some cardio in at the hotel gym before bed.” 

“...all the way to New York to use a hotel gym…” 

“YEAH, WE HAVE A GYM HERE,” Chase booms over the line like he’s shouting across the room. “WHY DOES SHANE HAVE TO GO ALL THE WAY TO NEW YORK CITY JUST TO RUN IN ONE PLACE?” 

“Chase.”

Shane rolls his eyes, listening fondly to the pair of them peppering each other on the other end of the line. “Listen, I’m at my room now.” Ilya shamelessly yanks the door open then. His eyes flick over Shane top to bottom, lingering on the phone. Shane grins and Ilya matches him tooth for tooth. He takes a step back, Shane takes a step forward. “Have a goodnight, love you, talk later!” The call ends and the hotel door clicks shut.

***

Fan Voted #1 Puck Pod @maninthecreaseofficial

The Admirals reach safe harbor, overcoming the Carolina Storms in the second round with a comfy 4-1 victory in Raleigh. 

↳ Shane on the brain @mayainmontrea1

It’s so weird to see Scott Hunter in the playoffs while Shane is terrorizing white sandy beaches in a speedo

↳↳  Shane on the brain @mayainmontrea1

Like total role reversal lol good for Hunter tho

ENTERING THE ANGER PHASE @oneteamtwocups 

[image: Timmy Turner’s dad meme with the text ‘And this is where I’d put my Third Cup - IF I HAD ONE!!!” ] 

***

Fan Voted #1 Puck Pod @maninthecreaseofficial

Join us Live at 6 PM eastern as we discuss the trade rumors coming out of Montreal and Ilya Rozanov’s upcoming contract renewal: [link] 

Logan @raidersdienasty

[photo: Shane, at a distance, accompanied by two other pretty fit guys, all dressed discreetly with sunglasses in downtown Vancouver] 

Idk about this Hollzy banging a moviestar era if it means he’s not even gonna pretend to feel bad about missing playoffs :/ 

↳↳ Billee @Farmcentaur

Lol all the better for the rest of us. Maybe if Shrose get married the Cens will have a shot. But who are those dudes?? 

↳↳↳ Logan @raidersdienasty

Idk not his teammates so I don’t care

↳↳ DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

Left: Miles Allen, an actor in X Squad w Rose Landry. No brainer. Right: Mattie Webster, he’s been a close friend of Shane for years. 

↳↳↳ Logan @raidersdienasty

I have never heard of this guy before. Did they play together in OHL? 

↳↳↳↳ DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

[photo: Mattie decked in Metros gear sat next to Yuna and David Hollander with a four-year-old Chase in his lap, cheering ferociously for Raiders blood] 

You may not recognize him out of uniform lol 

↳↳ Safanna ♥️ @landrydetergent

Get off Rose’s dick cuz she ain’t riding your dipshit jock’s and said so already. Rose isn’t even in Vancouver, she’s filming in ROMANIA.

***

Shane on the brain @mayainmontrea1

[photo: a slightly blurry shot from across a crowded upscale restaurant, still obviously focused on two adjacent white-clothed tables, a blond man at one, a dark-haired man at another, facing each other but both focused on their phones]

Come look what I found on the Where’s Hollzy thread on the Metros reddit @rozanderlish Omfg what are the odds 😆

↳↳ Chef Dani @rozanderlish

The same as the Admirals winning the Cup maybe?? ROFL fr tho look at them so determined to ignore eo wen their destinies are literally intertwined bro

↳↳ DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

Was this really in Chicago? I’d hoped Shane would spend more of all this free time with Chase…

↳↳↳ Shane on the brain @mayainmontrea1

True…But he might be and simply not posting it!!!

↳↳↳↳ Chef Dani @rozanderlish

Maya babe pls tell me youre not buying the crazy baby mama conspiracy when SH hasn’t touched pinkies w a girl since 2009

↳↳↳↳↳  DILFfinder General @hollybluejersey24

I wonder why that might be… 🙄

↳↳↳↳↳ JJ’s DD @lloydboizeau 

Y’all are equally delusional. I mean the Admirals winning the Cup, come now. 

***

MAY 2017 – TORONTO

Shane spends much of April into May bouncing between Montreal and different North American cities. He returns home every week for team obligations as well as social events (a different sort of obligation). J.J. organizes a ton, seeing the bright side of the whole “didn’t even make the playoffs” situation. Stuff for the anxious players and their families. Usually that sort of thing falls on Jackie, but, well, she goes into labor while Shane and Mattie are boarding their flight to L.A., during what turns out to be a deciding game in the second round for the Admirals. In a strange way, it does start to feel lucky. J.J.’s putting two years of fun ideas into action, Hayden’s home for the birth of his (hopefully last) child, and Shane – he’s jetting off to New York, Los Angeles, Vancouver, Chicago; he even finds a business purpose for spending a weekend in San Antonio, Texas. Which happens to be not too far of a drive from Austin.

This weekend, Shane is in Toronto, which happens to be only a few hours’ drive from Buffalo, New York.

“Where is Mattie?” Ilya whispers in Shane’s ear as they spoon on the bed. It’s the middle of the day, and they’re cuddling. They’re not even naked. One of Rose’s movie recommendations is playing on the TV, unwatched. 

“Off with his boyfriend,” Shane answers. Ilya’s breath tickles and Shane squirms, both of them chuckling at what’s become an in-joke. “Miles has family in town,” Shane explains, a bit more seriously.

“Ah. Big step.”

“Yeah.”

Ilya burrows back into Shane’s neck, as if he could hide there. “What time do you have to be up for stupid talk show?”

“It’s not stupid, it’s for Asian Heritage Month,” Shane says. What’s stupid is that Shane had this offer sitting in his inbox because the Guardians don’t have a single Asian player on their roster. “They need me on set by 7 AM for makeup. When do they need you in Buffalo to discuss putting your face on milk cartons?”

“It’s sour cream. Very important in Russian food pyramid.” Ilya shrugs and adds, “Will meet for lunch tomorrow.”

Shane relaxes. It sounds like they can spend the night, at least. “Watch lunch be a giant bowl of sour cream.” 

“Sounds delicious.” 

They laugh lazily and go back to watching the movie for a bit when Shane’s photo buzzes with a call – and then another – and then another – until Shane actually snatches his phone from the bedside table and finds his little brother’s grinning face staring back at him. It’s just a really bad profile picture, of course. Mostly chin. Still, Shane stumbles to his feet and puts his back to a wall before answering.

Ilya lays still as a statue on the bed. Watching, hardly breathing. 

“Shane~” Chase sing-songs. 

“Chase,” Shane breathes. “How did you make this call?”

“I got an iPad for my birthday, remember?” Chase says. Like it’s so obvious. Because it sorta is. Yet again, Chase makes handy use of the technology at his fingertips right under their parents’ noses. 

Shane makes a mental note to text his parents immediately about this. As soon as he’s done with – whatever this is. Shane asks if something’s wrong, if Chase needs help, if Mom or Dad needs help. 

The camera shakes as Chase fiddles with the iPad, walking around his room with it. “No,” he says slowly. “I just wanted to know what you were doing.” 

“Oh,” Shane says. He’s relieved, obviously, but also confused. “Well, I’m in Toronto for work. Did Mom tell you? I’m going to be on TV tomorrow.” 

Chase gives Shane a look. “You’re always on TV.”

“Yeah, well, this time is different. There’ll also be scientists and artists on the show.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can watch me look stupid and uncultured next to them. It’ll be great representation for dumb Asian-Canadian jocks!” 

Chase giggles on the screen. Briefly, he points the camera at the shaggy blond guinea pig hanging out on a pillow next to him and asks what she thinks. He helpfully interprets her squeaky sounds for Shane. “Butter says she can see you be a dumb jock in-person…Are you gonna stop back home on your way to Montreal?” Chase asks. 

Home is Montreal technically, but Shane catches Iya’s eye across the room. He mouths a single word. ‘Go.’ Shane flew from Montreal to Toronto, but suddenly he’s promising to swing by Ottawa on his way back. His to-do list grows: call Mom and Dad about the iPad, ask Farah to rebook his return flight, apologize for how that's going to cut into his and Ilya's limited time together. 

Ilya shrugs off the apology, draped across the bed like he expects to be painted. 

“Your little brother sounds like a little shit,” Ilya notes fondly. 

“He is,” says Shane.

“Hm, he will need to learn to mind his mouth if he’s going to look like nerd.” Shane had shown Ilya a picture of Chase with his new glasses and new guinea pigs. Ilya had said now he wants an autograph.

“Chase is more rough and tumble than he looks,” Shane defends his scrawny little brother. A knee-jerk reaction but also the truth. “He likes to wrestle when I visit. He annoys the shit out of me till I’m tossing him into furniture and hanging him upside down by his ankles. I’m the only one who can really do that with him,” Shane says, realizing it. 

Shane knows his parents are older. Shane is a grown ass man. His mom mistook pregnancy symptoms for menopause, for fuck’s sake. It does sneak up on him, though, how many gray hairs they don’t bother to hide with dye anymore, how much Shane can hear their bodies strain to move. Simple stuff, like standing up from a couch or stooping down next to a bed. 

Shane’s learned recently that Ilya’s father was older. Seventy-two, when he died a few months back. That’d make him…forty-six when Ilya was born? Shane’s parents were forty-seven when Chase was born. Shane looks at Ilya, grinning up at him from bed, soft and young. Shane doesn’t often think of himself as young, but he feels in his bones how young Ilya is to be going through all this shit. How young Chase will be when...

He sets his phone down, steps up to the edge of the bed, and drapes himself over Ilya like a blanket. 

***

MAY 2017 – OTTAWA

[sent 6 photos] :Me

Lily: Hockey distracted you from your true calling. Pet photographer. 

More like wedding photographer. :Me

Lily: ???

Shane smirks as he thumbs out of his messages, back to his camera. Chase asks if he’s ready, and Shane gives a thumbs up from where he’s sat cross-legged on the floor. 

Chase hits play on the wedding march music on his iPad and lifts the laundry basket. The two brides (as Mom learned when taking Butter to the vet to get her nonexistent balls removed), sit there a moment, nibbling at each other’s Kleenex tissue veils. Then, Peanut catches scent of the guinea-pig-safe plants Chase was tricked into weeding from the yard this morning. From there, it’s a gluttonous race to the makeshift wedding altar of books and Legos erected at the opposite end of Chase’s bedroom. Dad, their officiant (because “Dad works for the government, duh!”), waits patiently with a Bible (the most current MLH rules and procedures) in hand. 

It’s a touching ceremony. Especially the vows. 

Wheek! Wheek! 

It nearly brings Shane to tears.  

***

Chase begs Shane to spend the night, but he really does have to get back to Montreal. Their season’s over, but the work’s still not done with his team. Probably, it won’t be done for a few more seasons as they’re staring down a partial rebuild. Too many injuries, too many contracts coming up this summer and next. 

Shane sits on the late train, wishing he was in his car so he could talk to Ilya on the phone. Even that doesn’t feel like enough. 

Ilya still hasn’t given him a straight answer about the cottage. Seeing each other so much over the past few weeks has felt amazing, but he can't shake the feeling it's more of the same. A handful of hours together while in the same city on business. The cottage would be different. A total change of pace. Maybe another turning point for them. Maybe that's why Ilya's hesitating. So much has changed in his life already this year. Shane tells himself it's okay if he's scared. 

***

JUNE 2017 – LANAUDIÈRE, QUEBEC

In exchange for sitting still and not complaining during Game Seven in the Cup Finals, Shane parks on the couch with Chase at his parents’ cottage all afternoon to watch movies ahead of the puck drop. Shane pitches rewatching the Lord of the Rings trilogy like they did while dying of the plague together, but Chase is adamant that he wants to watch something set in space. Shane almost goes for the easy win with Star Wars, but Shane’s always liked the satisfaction of earning his victories. 

Chase sits curled against Shane’s side and thoughtfully chews popcorn throughout the movie. He doesn’t ask questions till the credits roll. 

“Did you watch WALL-E when you were a kid?” 

“No,” Shane laughs. “I mean, I watched it when it came out." He remembers really feeling for the lonely little robot. Maybe even more so today, having met his own shining stranger who changed his life. "I was seventeen. It didn’t come out that long ago.” Fuck, Shane thinks in awe, but so much has changed since then. Literally his whole life. 

Chase smirks and says, “That’s still before I was born.” 

Shane takes that for the invitation it is to hang Chase upside-down in the middle of the cottage's living room. 

***

Later that evening, Chase breaks his promise to not be a smart aleck about the game. 

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, looking between their gawking parents. Shane’s phone is buzzing in his hand. “What’s the big deal about two guys kissing…?”

Chapter 19

Chapter Summary

Phew...this has been an experiment!

JULY 2017 – THE COTTAGE

3/7/2017

Dear Diary, 

My name is Chase Masaru Hollander. I am 8 1/3 years old. My school gave me you to write about my summer and stuff and show my teacher and class when I go back to school. Mom says I have to do it now if I want to go in the lake because I forgot to before we left Ottawa to come to the cottage.

But it was Canada Day! My friends Atlas and Brayden and Riley all came over for Bar-B-Q. Ezra came too but his family doesn’t eat meat because of their religion so Mom made quinoa salad (Mom helped me spell that). And tofu (I knew how to spell tofu! I eat it all the time!) Dad grilled some stinky fish for my brother Shane. I hate fish. Yuck! 

My Mom’s name is Yuna by the way. She talks to people for my brother to sell underwear and orange drinks to other people on TV. I think she must be really good at it because my brother sells a LOT of stuff on TV. My Dad’s name is David. He works at the treasurey treasury where all Canada’s money is and he does math and writes reports on how the country should spend it. Everyone knows who my brother is. 

Shane is very busy all the time. His team did not make the play offs this year because Shane got the flu (I don’t know why the other guys played so bad) but he still flies to a bunch of cities for work. He went to Los Las Vegas to get a hockey award and shake hands with Scott Hunter. Scott Hunter kissed his boy friend and that is a big deal in hockey. Like bigger than winning a cup I think. Mom and Dad and Shane keep saying good for him! Anyway Shane has a giant cottage up the road from us all made of glass! We came to our cottage today for all of July and not just the weekend and Shane will come tomorrow! I can't wait, Diary! I do miss my friends in Ottawa :( but I like the cottage a lot too! Okay. I wrote 4 paragraphs. Now I can go swim :) Bye, Diary! 

***

4/7

Dear Diary,

My brother Shane is A STUPID IDIOT WITH NO ROOM IN HIS BRAIN FOR FUN BECAUSE ITS FULL OF STUPID HOCKEY! He showed up and when I asked to go on his jet ski because I am totally big enough to drive the jet ski now so I asked him to teach me and he said no not until the end of July because he wants to be alone in his cottage and NOT TALK for 2 WEEKS like a weirdo!!!! Who does he talk to when we are not at his cottage anyway? He is so weird its annoying. He is crazy about a stupid game and never does fun stuff ever everything is always about hockey even when hockey isnt fun even when it is supposed to be over! He eats like my guinea pigs Peanut and Butter! He wont even eat birthday cake because my birthday is during hockey but hockey is ALWAYS HAPPENING EVERY DAY OF THE YEAR BUT JULY!!! This year should be different because his team sucks so Shane should have stayed home more but he still went on trips for work to take pictures and junk. Diary do you want to know a secret? SHANE DOESNT EVEN LIKE WHAT HE SELLS!!! He thinks that stupid orange sport drink is gross and he said it made him puke when he drank a bunch of cans to make that TV add where he has a wet shirt on. He thinks his new reeboks look stupid and he hates the color they sent him. But he spends more time with his stupid ugly shoes than with HIS FAMILY! Well whatever I spend more time with Peanut and Butter now than him. They eat so many veggies that its like having Shane home haha :) but better because they dont talk about hockey all the time with Mom and text girls when they are supposed to be watching TV with me! Whatever. Shane can go be boring by himself. I dont care. Im going to build a birdfeeder with Dad now just the two of us. This has to count for 4 paragraphs. Bye, Diary. 

Mom checked my homework and told me what I wrote was private and to erase it and start over. She said I don’t have to write much. Just a little before I help Dad outside because me and her talked for a long time in the kitchen. 

My brother Shane is taking 2 weeks to be alone. He has a cottage up the road but asked us to stay away and not call him so he can have a silent retreat. Mom says that’s normal because he’s a adult. She says he loves us a lot but he works all the time and is around people all the time so sometimes he needs to relax a lot even away from us because we are still people too. She says it’s like when I want to play in my room with just Peanut and Butter and not over at a friend’s house after school. I think I get it now but it still makes me sad. But Mom says 2 weeks isn't that long when you're having fun. 

Tonight, Mom says we can make smores and tell camp fire stories and I can stay up till 11. Tomorrow, we will go hiking and swimming. We’re going to have dinner at Shane’s cottage and when we leave his retreat will start so I will see him for a little bit at least. Mom says this is enough and now I can go outside with Dad. Bye again, Diary!

***

6/7/17

Dear Real Diary,

Mom went to the store to get a new lighter to start the grill. She came back and gave me you so I can write down my thoughts and feelings without someone reading it. She said she won’t read this one unless I want to talk about it. She said this is a real diary because it is private. I still have to do my school diary but that can just be all the fun stuff we do every day like swimming and hiking and going on the boat. This one is for feelings. 

I feel lonely I guess :( I am having fun! But there are NO kids out here! All the neighbors around the lake are old people. Sometimes their grandchildren visit and we play but not a lot. I miss my friends. I wish they could be here too but they all went on vacation with their families to Disney land and the beach. There are lots of kids in places like that AND my friends all have brothers and sisters to play with. Shane is still doing his stupid silent whatever at his cottage. Maybe if I promise not to talk I could come over and play? But Mom said I am not allowed to call because that is one of Shane’s rules. He has so many rules, Diary.

I tried calling Brayden (he’s my best friend) but my iPad doesn’t connect to the wifi and Mom and Dad can’t figure out why :( But Mom said asking Shane how to fix it is not an emergency. So her and Dad are watching videos on Youtube right now.

This summer kinda sucks so far, New Diary. See you later. 

***

7/7/17

Dear Diary,

My iPad still can’t call my friends in Ottawa :( 

***

8/7

GET THIS! DAD BROKE THE STUPID SILENT RULE, DIARY! His phone died and then he used Mom’s phone to call Shane until he picked up! He was going to go over there and get it by himself but I called him a hippocrit because he was being one! Mom got mad but Dad knew I was right so he took me in the car with him up the road to Shane’s cottage! I was so excited to visit Shane but we didn’t even get out of the car! Shane came outside with Dad’s gross old charger and Dad rolled down his window and Dad asked how the retreat was going and Shane said good (he looked like he went swimming. Why can’t we swim with him and just not talk?) But he was acting all weird about it so I asked if his retreat was finally over now (because we were talking!) and then Shane said he is going to keep going till the END OF JULY! 

He said it with a smile, Diary! I don’t get it! What’s so great about sitting alone in a cottage not talking to anybody???? What is Shane doing over there all day that is so great and fun????

***

9/7 

Mom asked me today if I want Mattie to come visit the cottage. Mattie was my nanny when I was little which is kinda like a babysitter but all the time. He’s really fun and smart and goes to school in Montreal now to become a doctor! (But not like a doctor at a hospital) He’s never been to our cottage before because he likes to go on vacation in Mexico and Florida with his friends in the summer but I would be super happy if he could visit now! He can meet Peanut and Butter! (My guinea pigs!)

I wonder if he will bring his boy friend? Mom let me call Mattie to say Happy Canada Day and he said his boyfriend (Miles?) also says Happy Canada Day back and also their friend Rose even though she is American. They are filming a movie in Montreal which is really cool. I think I met them at one of my brother’s hockey games and they were really nice. I like basketball more than hockey but that was a great game because Boston was playing and I like to watch Ilya Rozanov if I have to watch hockey! He is really fast like Shane and scores lots of goals and says funny things. And he won! He’s my brother’s rival which is a big deal. Which is why it is so funny to cheer for Rozanov because Shane hates him for being soooo good at hockey. But Shane acts soooo different when he plays Rozanov and he and the game are always more fun to watch. He pretends it’s so serious like the rink is going to blow up if he doesn’t put more pucks in the net than the other team but I can tell he’s having fun playing Rozanov like your supposed to with games! But he won’t ever say it. Im not even allowed to ask Rozanov to sign my jersey because Shane hates Rozanov. Shane sucks at lying though. Like I know he probably does have a girl friend because he is always texting a girl named Lily and also I heard Mom and Dad talking about him dating last night. They talked about him maybe dating his friend Rose too before Christmas. Mom was really worried about getting her a gift and she didn’t like my Detroit jersey idea :( 

Wait! Do you think Shane IS dating his friend Rose? Rose and Lily are both flowers! That is so dumb!!! Why lie about something stupid like that? UGH! I don’t know why my brother is so weird about stuff sometimes, Diary!

***

His basketball bounces off the rim for the third or fourth time and feels like the millionth. Chase sighs and follows the bouncing ball down the driveway. He doesn’t walk very fast. So it bounces out onto the dirt road and into the tall yellow-green grass field opposite the thick patch of trees that hides their cottage from the road. Dad called it a copse one time. Chase stops to look both ways before crossing like his parents always tell him to, even though it’s a private road, with a gate with a code and everything. So hardly any cars ever drive past their cottage. Every time Chase does hear dirt crunching under tires, he races to the window to see who it is. 

He grabs the ball and marches back up the driveway, past the hoop over the garage door to the front door. He cracks it open just enough to drop his ball in a pile of the shoes and call out, “I’m gonna ride my bike!”

There’s clinky noises from the kitchen, and Mom says, “Okay. Give us a sec, and I’ll come watch.”

Chase groans. “I don’t need you to watch me!”

“Yes, you do. Come on, you can show me your wheelie again! You get better at it every time.”

“I ride my bike alone at home!”

“There’s a sidewalk at home. Just – give me a minute. Your dad and I are sorting out lunch and dinner.” They’re still in that part of vacation when Mom decides they should eat nothing but homecooking, not just hotdogs and s’mores (which Chase thinks sounds like a great idea, but whatever, who cares what he thinks!). A few days ago, they made fresh pasta noodles. They tasted good but took forever. 

“Mommmm!” Chase knows to be careful! Last summer, he rode his bike all the way to Shane’s cottage! Yeah, Mom and Dad were following in the car, but they even said he did a good job staying close to grass on the right side! And Chase really isn’t in the mood to have an adult staring at him while he tries to have fun by himself today.

There are whispers and clanging pots and pans that don’t really hide it. Then, it sounds like the sink turns on, or maybe Mom sighs, and she says, “You stay right out front, you hear me? I’ll be out soon to check on you.”

Chase lights up with a winning swish feeling, even if it’s not a slam-dunk. He yells “Thank you, Mom!” and lets the door slam shut behind him, sprinting around the side of the cottage where he leaned his bike after yesterday’s ride. To prove a point, Chase very carefully straps on his helmet before leading the bike onto the driveway and taking a seat.

His absolute favorite part of riding his bike at the cottage is the dirt clouds his wheels kick up. It makes him feel faster than stirring up brown leaves on the sidewalk, like a racecar driver! It’s bumpier than the sidewalk at home, sure, but that really only adds to the fun. The specks on his glasses are kinda annoying – Chase has to stop to rub them clean on the corner of his Raiders shirt – but he can get away with sticking them in his pocket if it gets too bad. On his bike, everything important is far away, and Chase really only has trouble seeing up close, like reading books or looking at the board in class when he’s stuck in the first row. Like being sat next to Ethan Dallaire every other year isn’t bad enough…

Actually, Chase stops in the middle of his lap in front of their cottage to pocket his glasses. Because it sometimes feels easier to just – shut his brain off when he isn’t wearing his glasses and everything isn’t so crispy.

He zones out finally, and it feels really nice to just peddle his bike up and down the road, and to feel the sun and wind on his cheeks, and Chase really doesn’t feel so bothered when Mom steps out onto the driveway to wave at him. He waves back and then pops a wheelie for her. Mom laughs and claps her hands and, seeing he is totally okay, like he said, she goes back inside.

Chase doesn’t notice at first that his laps are getting longer and longer, he swears! He just wants to pick up more speed before having to turn around each time. He rides as far as two metal posts along the road. Then from one post to an old tree stump further along. Then to a ditch that runs under the road and is all dried up because they haven’t had any rain so far this summer. And then Chase stops and thinks I need to pee.

He looks around and there’s tall dry grass on either side of the road. Chase gets itchy, thinking about all the bugs and snakes crawling inside. He’s not scared. But Mom and Dad might take him all the way out to the town clinic if he gets bit by something. And his friend Ezra got bit by a dog a few months ago and had to get four shots! Chase needs a bathroom, not a shot.

Chase looks over his shoulder, back at the thick patch of green where their cottage hides from the road no one comes down, and then he looks ahead. Up the road, the dry grassy fields curve around the glittery lakeshore until they meet another thick patch of green, the copse where Shane’s cottage is tucked away like a secret. He’s closer to it than home, Chase thinks. He really has to pee, too. Would Mom and Dad want Chase to get bit by a tick or a snake instead? Would they want him to pee his pants to not break a stupid rule? He repeats the excuses to himself as he pedals up the road.

It’s cooler under the trees, enough that Chase shivers a little. He pedals slower and slower as he looks for the gap in the trees where Shane’s driveway opens unto the road, until he’s kicking his bike-stand down and walking the rest of the way up to the door. Chase starts practicing his excuses under his breath for Shane now. They don’t sound as convincing. 

He knocks on the door shyly, then feels stupid and knocks harder. Shane won’t be mad at him. He didn’t get mad at Dad coming over for his charger. And Chase really does need to pee!

He stands there, waiting. He cranes his head to peak through some of the one thousand windows to see if Shane’s coming to answer. He tries again, knock! knock! knock! Nothing. Is he ignoring me? Chase suddenly remembers that Dad had to call Shane like twenty times on Mom’s phone before he picked up. Chase hammers his fist on the door one more time – wonders if Shane went into town? – sees his Jeep in the driveway and knows he’s home – tries the door handle. Locked!

Chase looks around the shadowy front of Shane’s cottage, rubbing his arms as a breeze ruffles the branches. It’s so quiet, he notices. And Chase is alone out here – he doesn’t think he’s ever been alone like this in his life – and no one knows where he is.

“Shane?” It’s not loud, but then Chase isn’t completely sure he wants someone to hear him. What if Shane hears and he does get mad? What if it’s not Shane who hears? Chase bangs on the door some more, then he jumps, back flat against the door, hearing something – he doesn’t want to know what. He leaps off front steps and hurries around the side of the cottage, hoping the backdoor is unlocked – hoping to find Shane.

Chase hears his brother before he sees him. Shane is laughing? Or, no, Chase thinks, it sounds more like his older brother is giggling. Which would be weird enough, giggling in the middle of nowhere by yourself when you’re supposed to be on a “silent retreat”. Except, Chase hears another person giggling, too. He slows his steps, creeping around the cottage until he’s looking out over the sunny backyard. 

Shane’s cottage is really nice. Chase has fuzzy memories of when it was just a big hole in the ground surrounded by mountains of dirt. He didn’t really understand that Shane was going to build something over that hole and was super excited to tell their parents all about it. Chase was just excited to dig through the piles for pretty rocks and dinosaur bones. But Chase does remember going “WOW!” a million times when the cottage was finished and Shane gave them all a tour. Shane’s cottage has everything needed for a great summer. Big windows to see the pretty lake, a big patio with a firepit for telling stories and roasting s’mores, a pier for doing cannonballs off of, and a lawn for playing games together. 

Someone is playing a game with Shane right now on the grassy green lawn. They look like they’re having a lot of fun, kicking the ball around – thunk! thunk! – and giggling in the middle of Shane’s stupid “silent retreat”. 

Chase’s face starts feeling hot under the sun. His eyes burn like he’s standing next to a fire. And his fists are twisted in his black Raiders shirt. He feels like – like a bag of popcorn in the microwave, or – or a pot on the stove, bubbling and bubbling, close to boiling over and making a mess all over the kitchen. He’s never felt like this before. He’s not even sure he’s mad, because Chase has been mad lots of times before – at Ethan for calling Brayden poor, at people asking if he plays centre like his brother, at Shane for texting girls named like flowers when they’re supposed to be watching TV together – and Chase has never felt like this any of those times. 

Shane has a friend over to play at his cottage. He wanted to have over this friend – probably some hockey player from his team – and Shane wanted Chase over so little that he made up a stupid excuse for why no one else is allowed to visit. Chase feels his throat tighten up. A word fills his mouth like spit. Liar! He wants to scream it over the yard, to lob it at Shane’s head like a dodgeball.  

He starts to, when the ball Shane and his friend are kicking around rolls out from under them. They fall on their butts in a tangle of legs – serves them right – except they’re still laughing, and of course, Shane is saying that’s his point, and his friend shoots back, “That’s your two-minute minor! Ref! Ref! Where are those blind fuckers when you actually need one?!” in an accent. 

Chase knows that accent. He watches clips of brutal chirps and hilarious post-game interviews in that accent on his iPad all the time. He imitates the best ones at the lunch table with his friends, under his breath while getting a plate from the microwave, in Shane’s ear just to get on his nerves. Chase knows that voice, but he can’t believe his eyes. 

He rummages through his pocket and puts back on his glasses, blinking. The slightly blurred dreamy edges of Shane and his friend take shape. Chase feels like he did when he first saw a teacher at the grocery store. He almost didn’t recognize her in bright pink yoga pants, but it was definitely his music teacher Miss Armstrong. Ilya Rozanov is definitely rolling around in the grass with his brother Shane in a blue flannel and swim trunks. 

Somehow, Chase feels even worse. 

You lied! You lied about everything! Not just about wanting to be alone, to not talk to anyone for the whole summer, but of all the hockey players in the league, Shane invites Ilya Rozanov. He could have invited Hayden or J.J. Chase thinks he still would be mad, especially if Jade and Ruby got to come over and not him. But Rozanov? He’s Chase’s favorite hockey player, and he’s never been allowed to meet him or ask him to sign his jersey because he’s also Shane’s rival since before Chase was even born. But it turns out they’re not rivals – they’re…!

Chase watches from the patio as Shane and Rozanov’s wrestling in the grass, giggling and arguing over a stupid point as the ball rolls further and further away, suddenly turns. Chase doesn’t know how else to describe it. Rozanov flops on top of Shane hard enough to knock the breath from both of them, but instead of shoving him off, Shane hooks a leg behind Rozanov’s and they sorta – settle into each other? It reminds Chase of his parents sinking into the couch to watch TV after dinner, after a long day of work, two bodies becoming one big cozy lump. Except, Chase has only ever caught his parents kissing like that when they don’t notice him walking in. Kinda like right now. 

Chase’s mouth falls open, but nothing angry bubbling up from his stomach pours out. Awe washes that all down. It’s like the bucket Dad empties over the fire pit each night to make sure the embers all go out before they all head to bed. Shane and Rozanov aren’t friends, Chase realizes, they’re boyfriends!

He makes a noise then. Just a tiny surprised one. He doesn’t mean to, but he does, and Rozanov lifts his head up and then scrambles off of Shane, who’s looking up at the patio like his cottage is on fire.

Chase’s stomach drops, weighed down by that awful feeling of “I’m in trouble”. 

He bails back around the side of the cottage. 

“Chase?” He hears Shane. Then, “Chase, wait!” 

He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t want Shane to yell at him for coming by without permission, for interrupting his – his date with Rozanov? For seeing something he shouldn’t…? He darts around the corner of the building back into the shadowy driveway, feet thudding against the dirt and kicking up gravel, heart and breath loud in his ears. He can’t even hear Shane calling for him anymore. He makes it to his bike and starts pedaling –

“CHASE!” He’s snatched backwards out of his seat and held in the air, kicking his legs uselessly like he can still pedal away. His overturned bike gets further and further away. Shane is carrying him back toward his cottage. “Please, just let me explain-”

“I didn’t see anything!” Chase cries, but then also, “I won’t tell anyone! I promise, Shane, I promise!” 

Shane is strong. He throws Chase around the living room and hangs him upside down and lifts him onto his shoulders easily. Chase squirms and kicks, but he can’t get free until Shane decides to let him go inside the cottage.

He plonks Chase down on a couch. Chase feels small, at first, with Shane standing over him like this. He’s a big strong professional hockey player who can catch Chase if he tries to run and carry him back as easily as Chase carries Peanut and Butter around the house. More than that, it feels like, Shane is a grown-up. 

“I’m sorry for breaking your rule, Shane,” he apologizes, because he really didn’t need to pee that bad. 

Shane doesn’t put on his serious grown-up adult face to accept the apology, though. Chase watches his older brother rub his face and groan into his hands, looking like he wants to curl up in a ball and not come out. Looking like he feels just the same as Chase does about this conversation. Shane won’t look at him, but Chase follows his glances across the room; he turns his head and finds Ilya Rozanov standing by the backdoor with his arms crossed. Not in a cool guy way but in a worried way. The way Mom sometimes looks at Dad and Dad sometimes looks at Mom. Chase looks between his brother and Rozanov. It’s like there’s a string tying them together. It’s pulled tight. Every time one twitches or moves, so does the other. They should be standing closer together, Chase thinks that only feels right if they’re dating, but they’re not standing next to each other – because Chase is there, because…

Because Scott Hunter having a boyfriend is a bigger deal than winning the Cup. Chase remembers this suddenly and clearly. It’s like he puts on his glasses and sees it for the first time.

“I won’t tell anyone about you guys,” Chase says, looking between the two men. He means it, too. “Mom and Dad don’t know I rode over here. They don’t need to know! I’ll – I’ll come up with a lie about where I was, and I’ll make sure no one else bothers you guys and – and-”

Shane is shaking his head. “Chase, no,” he says quietly. “No, no, you don’t need to do any of that.”

“I want to!” Chase wants to keep this secret for his brother. Not just because he’s afraid of getting in trouble either. No, the more Chase thinks about it, the more he likes the idea that he can help his big brother with something so important. He’s still not sure why it’s such a big deal for a hockey player to have a boyfriend – he knows that some people are weird about gay people, Mattie and his parents taught him that – but he doesn’t understand why hockey players being gay is a bigger deal than Mattie or Atlas’ moms being gay. But it’s a big deal to Shane, and it’s a big deal to Rozanov, and they looked like they were having so much fun! They looked even happier than they do playing hockey on the ice, kicking around that ball in the grass! So, Chase wants to help them. “It can be our secret!” He exclaims, grinning. Just Chase, Shane, and Rozanov!

Shane doesn’t smile back. Chase’s smile slides right off his face, watching a tear slide from his brother’s cheek and drip off his chin. Rozanov peels away from the glass and plants himself at Shane’s side finally, but only with a hand on his bare shoulder. Because Chase is still sitting there. 

“Shane,” Rozanov whispers along with what Chase guesses is Russian. Does his brother know Russian? He wonders. Chase took Japanese classes for six months, but he wouldn't say he knows Japanese. How long has this been going on? Chase has so many questions he’s afraid to ask. Because he’s not supposed to know any of this.

“No, Ilya, it’s…” Shane takes a deep breath and puts his hand over Rozanov’s. He looks down at Chase and says firmly, like an adult, “I’m not going to ask you to keep my secret for me, Chase.” He tries to argue, but Shane talks right over him. “I don’t want you thinking this is something to be ashamed of! That you have to be afraid to-” Shane bites down on whatever he’s about to say, like it’s worse than a curse word. “I won’t put you through that,” he finishes. 

Shane walks him back outside and picks his bike off the dirt. He goes to load it into his Jeep but stops and starts, getting frustrated trying to fit it in the back, until Rozanov leaves his spot standing next to the front door this time to try and help. They almost start whisper-arguing, the way adults do when kids are watching. Chase reaches between them to grab the handlebars and drags his bike back out.

“I’ll ride back home.”

Shane sighs and rubs his face again. Rozanov nods. 

“Okay. It’s not too dangerous, yes?” That’s the first thing Ilya Rozanov ever says to Chase. He raises an eyebrow at Chase and flicks a finger at his hot rod flame-print helmet, which Chase just now remembers he’s been wearing the whole time. His face heats up a little. A smirk tugs the corner of Rozanov’s mouth. Chase’s face is on fire, like his helmet. 

He puffs up his chest and climbs onto his bike. “I rode over here by myself, I can ride back by myself fine.” Chase can tell Shane wants to argue about it some more (his brother hates losing), but he shares this look with Rozanov, and it’s like they have an entire conversation without Chase hearing. Shane lets him go.

“We’ll be right behind you,” he says, the words thick in his throat.

Chase pedals hard down the road, kicking up an angry dirt cloud. The wind and afternoon sun are in his eyes. Specks fly into his glasses. There’s no one else on the road with him. He doesn’t hear the Jeep coming up behind him until he’s nearly home.

His bike and helmet go in a pile at the end of the driveway. The garage door is open, and the SUV is backing out. Mom whips around and her phone drops from her ear. “David! He’s back!” The car jerks to a stop. Dad stumbles out of the driver's side while Mom runs up to Chase. “Where were you?! I couldn’t see you, and your brother isn’t answering, and – Chase, sweetie, what happened? Are you okay?”

Hands reach out to touch his face, but Chase shakes his head and tries to walk past her. He won’t say. He won’t! He walks into his confused dad and buries his face in his stomach.

“Chase...?” Dad tries.

He won’t say it, so he says the only thing he can. “Daddy,” Chase sobs, squeezing his arms around his middle, hands twisting in his shirt. Behind him, he hears a car turn into the driveway from the dirt road.

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

Okay, fess up, who shared a link? I wanna kiss you!

***

The adults are talking. That's what Dad told Chase, nudging him in the direction of his room when they all came inside from staring at each other in the driveway. Right after Shane introduced Rozanov. Like they don't already know what his rival looks like. Like Rozanov didn't ditch the blue flannel for a black Raiders shirt before driving over! 

Well, what Dad actually said was “we need to talk to your brother and – uh, his guest alone for a bit”, which sounds nicer but means the same thing: Chase is a kid and he's not part of this. Even though Chase definitely started it. 

It's my fault, he thinks. If he didn't ride his bike over when he wasn't supposed to, Shane wouldn't have to tell Mom and Dad he's gay and in love with Rozanov in the middle of the driveway. Even Chase knows that's way less cool than center ice at a playoff game.

The adults probably want him to sit in his room and wait. Chase figures he's already getting in trouble. So, he presses his back to the wall next to the door between the dining room and the living room.

At first, they talk more about him than Shane and Rozanov. 

“I'm sorry that your brother – interrupted you, we should have watched him more closely. He's been antsy all week. But I’m sorry, he turns up crying, and then you turn up with – with -” 

“Ilya,” Rozanov offers. It’s so polite that Chase can’t match the Russian accent to the picture in his head.

“Ilya…” Mom gives it a try. “We have questions. For both of you.” 

“Ilya didn't do anything to make Chase cry, Mom. Chase didn't do anything wrong either. I mean technically -” Shane sighs. “He saw us kissing. That’s all.” 

“Okay…And he just started crying?”

Chase’s hands twist in his Raiders shirt, listening. Great. Now he’s given Mom another reason to hate Shane’s boyfriend! He tells himself that he should probably come out of his hiding spot and say something. He hypes himself up. Jump out and say something! Just get it over with and take his punishment!

“Chase was…” Shane starts before he can. “I think he’s afraid of getting in trouble. He kept promising not to tell, but I couldn't ask him keep a secret from you guys for me. Not like that. I can't stomach him wondering why I'd hide it, if what he saw was somehow wrong…Could you guys please not punish him for this? Like, talk to him, obviously, but don't…” 

“We won't. Shane, look at me, we won't.” 

What they won't do, Chase isn't sure. Besides grounding him through the end of summer, he guesses. Chase knows he should feel relieved, but he doesn’t.

“So,” Dad says after some clinking glasses and footsteps. “This entire time, it's been you and – Ilya out at your cottage?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Including when I drove over for my charger? When you said you were extending your retreat?” 

“I invited Ilya out here to spend more time together. Just the two of us. Two weeks didn’t feel like enough.”  

“Not even close,” Rozanov adds, sappily. Is this really the Captain of the Boston Raiders?

Dad coughs. “Well, I have to say I'm a bit surprised by this. By the Ilya of it all.” 

“I know we played into the rivalry a lot…” “Er, yes, I understand that I have certain reputation…” 

“Well, that, too.”

Mom makes a noise, and Dad tries to change the subject to how Rozanov - Ilya likes the Russian vodka they must be drinking. The “good stuff” Dad only brings out after a really rough call from his work in the middle of their vacation. But Shane asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chase knows his parents lie sometimes. They even tell him to tell what they call “little white lies” from time to time to be polite or keep “family matters” private. He’s never seen or heard someone force them to own up to the truth like Shane does now. Now they’re the ones to sound like two kids in trouble, having to fess up to a teacher.

“Your dad and I suspected you might be gay,” Mom says first. And when Shane asks questions like how and since when, Dad says, “We know you pretty well, son. And there were signs, here and there, that you were seeing someone who you were reluctant to introduce us to for some reason.”

Lily. Chase presses a hand to his mouth, so he doesn’t get himself caught again. 

Lily who is Shane’s girlfriend is actually Ilya Rozanov who is Shane’s boyfriend!

“You’ve never brought anyone around to meet the family before,” Mom says. 

“I’ve never been in love with anyone before Ilya,” says Shane. 

“Me either,” Ilya joins in again, softer than Chase ever heard him in a clip. “I have only ever been in love with Shane.” 

It’s so sweet and syrupy that Chase is a little grossed out. The moment feels sticky, hard to escape as much as he suddenly kinda wants to run away from all the lovey dovey talk. He’s like a fly stuck in a glue trap! Chase wonders how his parents feel, since they can act pretty gross, too, and gets frustrated he’s not sitting at the table where he can see their faces. Instead, he can only listen to everyone’s voices.

“So…you’ve never been involved with Mattie then?” 

Someone chokes on something. Shane groans miserably.

“Mom, seriously?!” Chase wants to ask the same question, Shane!

“I’m sorry, but if we’re all being honest here…?! We thought you were up at the cottage with Mattie this past week – or that actor friend of yours, Miles Allen? Or – or maybe both?” 

The way Ilya laughs then definitely sounds closer to the clips Chase watches. Chase needs both hands to cover his mouth to keep himself quiet. Mattie? Mom and Dad thought Shane was kissing Mattie at his cottage?! Chase tries to imagine it, but it feels weird and wrong, like imagining Dad kissing Mattie. It just doesn’t make sense. Also, Mattie has a boyfriend already! Miles! Why would either of them be kissing Shane? That’d be cheating!

It makes zero sense to Shane, too. 

“I have never had a relationship with my little brother’s nanny, before, during, or after his employment, oh my god! That’s what you thought I was doing in my spare time?”

“Hm, yes, really puts the rival thing in perspective.”

“Ilya.”

“You three were photographed all over North America together this past spring! Can you really blame us for wondering?”

“He’s a friend! My only gay friend until he started dating Miles and we all started hanging out together. They were helping me cover up for traveling all over North America to meet up with Ilya.” 

“Oh.” Mom breathes. Chase thinks it’s similar to the breath a basketball to the stomach punches out of somebody. “Then, Mattie knew about you two, and Miles Allen knows. Does – does anyone else know already?” 

Shane takes a minute to answer, along with Rozanov. Ilya has a friend who helped him out, Svetlana. She might know, she might not, which Mom doesn’t like the sound of. On Shane’s side, though, Rose Landry definitely knows, and some guy named Barry? “Who is Barry?” Mom demands, sounding like how Chase feels. Yeah, who is Barry, and why does he get to know about Shane dating Ilya Rozanov before Chase? Why does Rose Landry get to know before him? She isn’t gay! No, Dad, this isn’t okay!

“Please, calm down. He’s Rose’s bodyguard and under an ironclad NDA.” 

“I’m just concerned, Shane. It sounds like this is already ballooning outside our control. I mean, four – possibly five – people already know about you two in under six months?” 

Shane and Ilya get real quiet then. Like, really quiet. Chase has to peek around the doorframe to check. His eyes lock with Ilya Rozanov for a sec before Ilya’s blue eyes dart away, focusing on Shane and Chase’s parents across the table. He doesn’t immediately rat Chase out. He glances over at him one more time, but it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to scare him off. Just…checking that Chase is still there. 

“How long have you two been…?” 

Shane sinks down in his chair. Ilya sniffs awkwardly and flicks a finger toward the door. “How old is he again?” he asks. 

All heads snap toward Chase. Caught, he steps out from his hiding spot. His mouth is hanging open. Catching flies, he hears his dad’s voice in his head and clicks it shut. Mom and Dad are making the same faces as they did when Scott Hunter kissed his boyfriend. They can’t seem to decide who to look at, him or Shane and Ilya. Eight years?! Eight. Years. Chase’s whole life?! Shane and Ilya have been boyfriends the entire time?

“No, no, we haven’t been – not boyfriends,” Shane says, glaring at Ilya. “We’ve been, ya know, involved in some way or another since rookie season -” He glares extra hard at Ilya right then. Ilya’s mouth clicks shut on whatever he’s about to say then. “- but this has only been going on for, I guess, a bit over six months now, counting back from Christmas. Retroactively?” Chase does not know that vocabulary word. “But we didn’t really put a label on it until a few days ago, and…” 

They do it again, like they did outside Shane’s cottage before letting Chase bike home by himself. It feels like they have an entire conversation at the table right in front of Chase and their parents without saying a word. It’s not just a look out of the corners of their eyes. Mom and Dad probably don’t see it from where they’re sitting, but from the doorway, Chase swears he sees their legs shift under the table.

“We opted for fiancés rather than boyfriends,” Shane finishes, sounding like he does right before a big game. The type he’s not really sure he can win, but he still tells Mom and Dad that he’s going to, and then he goes along does.

Chase knows that vocab word. “You’re getting married?” he blurts out.

Shane’s face gets all red as he nods. Next to him, Ilya says, “One day, yes.”

Mom, for the first time ever maybe, can’t seem to say anything. Dad tags in. “Wow, that’s big news. You boys weren’t joking about two weeks not being enough. But we know you wouldn’t make this decision lightly, Shane.”

“Of course not,” Shane answers, like how could Dad think he wouldn’t? Shane’s always thinking. Chase can see it on his face. His brother is always thinking something that he’s not saying out loud. Except for right now, it feels like. Everything comes out. Like someone turned on a faucet in Shane’s brain. “And I know it’s a lot, all at once, especially from your guys’ point of view, but when we were talking everything out, our future together and how we’re going to make this work, I figured why not call this for what it is? I want to marry Ilya. I’m going to. One day.” He says that last bit looking directly at Ilya, smiling like Chase saw him smiling in the grass earlier.

Chase jumps a little when Mom gently touches his arms to guide him out of the doorway. She slips past him, and Chase hears the front door swing open and shut seconds later. Shane follows her.

Chase turns to Dad and nervously asks, “Is Mom mad?”

“No,” Dad says, like he’s sure of it. He stands from his chair and puts a hand on Chase’s back, pushing further in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s just overwhelmed. Maybe a little sad that your brother didn’t feel comfortable telling us about some of this stuff sooner. They have a lot to talk about. I think they’ll be hungry when they’re done. And you’re probably running on empty after all that cycling, hm?” He turns his head. “What about you, Ilya? Has my eldest been a good host?”

Ilya freezes up like he’s trying to avoid being seen by a T-rex, but Dad patiently smiles at him, waiting for an answer. “Uh, yes, very. He is overfeeding me, as a matter of fact, trying to slow me down on ice, haha.” His laugh is so awkward it actually comes out as ha-ha. Chase is still amazed that this Rozanov is the same Rozanov as his favorite hockey player.

“Overfeeding a hockey player,” Dad laughs. “Sounds like a challenge. Let’s take a crack at it.”

Lunch turns out to be cheddar pierogi, which is Chase’s absolute favorite ever since he had dinner at his friend Liam’s house. It’s not something his parents usually make, especially homemade. Lately, they’ve been eating a lot of salads with tofu and lentils, because Dad is supposed to be cutting back on red meat. A salad would have been easier to make than folding dozens of little pierogis. These were what his parents were busy with in the kitchen when Chase asked to ride his bike, he realizes, helping Ilya Rozanov feed the delicious cheesy dumplings into a boiling pot.

“Good vodka, now pierogi. You really weren’t expecting me?” Ilya raises an eyebrow at Dad.

Dad turns away from the pantry with three diet cokes in hand, one for each of them. He shrugs and calls it a “happy coincidence.”

When Mom and Shane do come back inside, their eyes are red and puffy, but no one mentions it. Dad kisses Mom’s hair as he hands over plates and forks to set the table. Chase watches Ilya take a can of ginger ale from the freezer where he put it ten minutes earlier and set it on the table next to Shane with a kiss to the top of his head.

***

While they’re eating, Mom starts talking about Speedo and Rolex and having a game plan for if someone finds out about Shane and Ilya. Shane doesn’t want anyone to know, though, not yet.

His eyes fall on Chase, sitting in a chair pulled up between Ilya and Dad.

He’s about to say something, when Chase beats him to it. “I won’t tell anyone, I told you.” He grins and looks between his parents on one side and his brother and – Chase guesses, his future brother-in-law, on the other. “This is a family matter,” he repeats the familiar phrase. “It’s private and no one else’s business but ours.”

Shane nods slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Exactly,” Ilya muffles around a big bite of pierogi. The ones Mom and Dad made are pretty huge. He puts his hand on top of Shane’s, no more hiding underneath the table. “Everyone who needs to know already knows.”

“Well,” Shane says, right as Chase gasps, “No, they don’t!”

He hops out of his seat and flings himself around the table toward the door. A minute later, he comes back with Peanut and Butter cradled against his chest, grinning ear to ear. Ilya’s face splits open to match. He looks like someone’s presenting him with another Cup. Shane and their parents burst into laughter. “Peanut, Butter, meet Ilya,” Chase announces very officially. “Now you’ve met the whole family!”

*** 

“We'll be over in a bit - with wine!” Mom says as they all pour out into the driveway.

“Sounds good.” Shane nods, then glances down at Chase next to him and back at Mom, “Uh, call first?” Chase would feel bad if Shane wasn't smirking.

“Oh! Of course,” Mom says. She gives Chase a meaningful look. “We'll definitely call first before coming over.” 

Dad reaches down and ruffles Chase's hair. “You hear that, son?” 

Chase nods shyly. When he looks up, Shane is still smiling, with his hand on the car door handle. “À tantôt. Okay?” 

“À tantôt,” Chase softly repeats, feeling safe that it's true. 

And then Ilya peers over the car roof and also calls out, his accent curling each syllable, “À tantôt?” And Chase trips over himself to say “À tantôt!” back, like reaching out for a handshake to seal the deal.

He's going to see Shane and Ilya again, and soon! 

Chase clamors back to his room, and the first thing he does after putting Peanut and Butter back in their enclosure is scream a little because that was so crazy! He actually pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. “Ouch!” Okay, that was dumb. Chase obviously couldn’t dream up this afternoon in a million trillion years. 

And obviously, the first thing he wants to do after something unbelievable happens is tell someone all about it so they can be just as surprised as him. He looks around his bedroom, searching for his iPad. Then Chase remembers a couple things. First, his iPad still won’t connect to cottage wifi. Second, he should have asked Shane to help fix it when he had the chance. And third, even if his iPad was working, Chase can absolutely never ever, not in a million trillion years tell any of his friends about this. Not even Brayden. Not until Shane and Ilya say so.

Chase made a promise to his brother and his future brother-in-law. To keep things private. Which is different from a secret. Because this is a family matter! 

Still, Chase feels like he might explode if he doesn’t tell someone!

Thankfully, all that buzzing energy powers on a light bulb in his head. He reaches a hand under his pillow.

10/7/17

Dear Diary, 

HOLY SHIT.

***

OCTOBER 2017 – MONTREAL

It’s the end of their second-to-last practice before their season opener. Shane’s timed it this way on purpose, to give them some buffer room in case things don’t go as well as he hopes. He is hopeful, too, because Hayden and Jackie were already so supportive. Maybe too supportive, given how quickly they’ve switched tacts to trying to set Shane up with random gay men Jackie interacts with in the course of her day. Shane probably needs to schedule a follow-up conversation about that. One problem at a time. Right now, Shane is trying to come out to the rest of his team.

He taps Olsson’s shoulder to keep him from brushing past Shane toward the locker room door. “Hey, can you hang back a few more minutes? I have an announcement.” Olly’s a pretty zen dude, so he just nods and plunks back down on a bench. But word spreads from there, neighbor to neighbor, like a contagion – “Listen up, Cap has an announcement!” and “Ssh!” – until everyone is sitting or standing quietly, looking to Shane.

Shane looks out over the sea of faces, some more familiar than others, some familiar ones, like Andropov and Renaud, missing due to trades and retirements. He doesn’t know their new starting goalie, Drapeau, all that well, but Drapeau is about to learn something pretty damn intimate about Shane.

Shan takes a deep breath. “I know that I have this rep for keeping myself apart from the team sometimes,” he begins. “I don’t always go out to clubs with you guys, or talk a lot about my personal life, or share as much of myself with guys as you all do with me. Truth be told, there’s something important that I haven’t been telling you guys. Something that I was ashamed of for a long time. I was afraid of what you’d all think of me, if you’d think less of me as a man and as your captain, if you knew. But it doesn’t feel right to hold it back any longer, to refuse to trust you guys with something so fundamental to who I really am, especially after all we’ve been through together. The highest of highs and the lowest of lows.” Around the room, teammates he’s won Cups with and now have missed the playoffs entirely with solemnly nod their heads. Shane smiles grimly. “So, uh, what I’m trying to say is – this may come as a surprise, or it might not, but –”

“Come on, Cap,” Comeau butts in, rolling his eyes. “We all know your baby brother is just your straight-up baby!” He chuckles and elbows Taylor, who sags with relief, like the thread of tension in the room’s been snipped clean. Around the room, other teammates follow suit, chuckling along like yeah, this is no big deal, Shane! We knew all along! Only Hayden and J.J. stand at attention, watching cautiously as Comeau swaggers across the room to give Shane a good-natured clap on the back.

Shane’s lip curls reflexively. “I’m gay,” he enunciates, and the locker room goes still, and then promptly explodes with whoops and hollers and hyena laughter, now at Comeau’s expense.