Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types, Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Gilbert Comeau, Patrice Drapeau, Hayden Pike, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

New Rookies Drama, More League Scandals, Voyageurs Group Chat, Misogyny, Sexism, Victim Blaming, Queerphobia, Homophobia, Assume Shane and Ilya Are Toxicly Sexting in the Background

Language:

English

Series:

Part 12 of Hope You're Not Waiting For Me to Wait For You

Stats:

Published: 2026-06-06 Completed: 2026-06-11 Words: 14,104 Chapters: 3/3

Startle Response

Summary

Jake Merrell is completely fine and recovered from his first season playing for the Voyageurs. So he knows he's not overreacting about their new star rookie.

Notes

CONTENT NOTES at end this time

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

Jake Merrell loved playing in a PPD unit. It wasn't a good position for his team, he knew, but hockey was never more fun than when he was playing at a handicap. Since he was currently doing drills with his team, he got all the fun with almost no stress.

He partner for this unit was Jamie Wagner. Quicksilver and beautifully trained Jaime, who boasted the speed and stamina of a fresh nineteen year old with the lifetime of training that came with being a Wagner. They were doing a difficult drill--the opposing unit had Hollander, Pike, and Xie, with Mitty and J.J. at the D-line--but they had the puck. They kept passing it between them, trying to stick close to Babikov and Passey, one of their new rookies.

With Jamie keeping up, they managed to advanced on Hollander's line and on the next pass, Jamie scored on Drapeau.

Drapeau startled, as though he'd been a little spaced out, but still. It was a goal from a penalty position. Jake grinned, skated over to Jamie, and threw an arm around his shoulder for a quick, celebratory hug.

And Jamie flinched. Like he'd been electrocuted.

Jake slid away from him, noting how wide the boy's hazel eyes got, as Hollander skated closer to them.

"Good job," said Hollander.

"Thanks," said Jake, still watching Jamie. "Can I get a couple of minutes? I need to readjust my skates."

Hollander nodded and signaled to the coaches. Two fingers up, for exactly two minutes of break time.

"Can I get ten?" asked Jake.

"A 'couple' is two," said Hollander.

Jake paused for a careful breath. "Yes, Shane, that's true. On second thought, I think I could use ten minutes, if possible."

For a moment, it looked like Hollander wanted to argue. His dark eyes flitted between them before he nodded to Jake and skated over to the coaches. The instant one of them signaled a ten minute break, Jamie made a break for it and skated over to one of the benches. The empty one.

What was that about?

Jake went over to where the other guys were sitting to go through the motions of adjusting his skates. He saw Hollander begin a set of stretches with a few of the guys. Nikki skated over to Jamie's bench and sat a couple of feet away from him without a word. No one paid any attention to them. A few moments later, Coach Wiebe went over to chat with them.

Maybe there was nothing to pay attention to. The rookies got along. Everyone more or less got along this season. Two months in, and the Voyageurs had zero scandals. Their rookies were playing well and their recruited free agents were taking to their roles without complaints or drama. They were winning too; a whopping seventy-five percent of their games so far. The talking heads were swearing that, at minimum, the Voyageurs would make it to the quarterfinals. The gambling websites, always more bullish, had insane bets that they would keep the Cup in Montreal.

It was too early to be so confident, like Hollander kept reminding them. It was possible to defend the Cup, of course, but far from a guarantee. Jake would like to push back at him for killing the vibe, but he wasn't wrong. Two months was nothing. Their first two months last season had been really good. The entire season had been good, play wise. They'd just made the fucking playoffs when--

Not that something like that would happen again. Jake needed to pull himself together and stop looking for phantoms.

The rest of training passed without further incident.

"Guys, let's all rest properly tonight," Hollander told them in the locker room. "We send the Panthers back to Vegas with their tail between their legs tomorrow and start our next roadie with one last victory on home ice."

"Yes, Captain," chorused the team.

"Uh, if anyone's interested, I'll be watching the tapes of their last two games tonight," said Hollander. "I have room for five people at my place. First come basis."

Jake would not be joining them. The day before home games, he made an effort to spend time with his family. Maybe Xiaoyan would want to go to a nice restaurant, or show, or something else out in the city. Or she might want to stay home sipping tea and catching up during one of the few on-season nights when Jake got home with energy to spare. He shot her a text that he would be picking Lina up at school and she would handle the rest.

Their daughter was still young enough that she thought Jake was a superhero and, from he'd heard from guys with older kids, that wouldn't last. Soon enough, Lina would decide that he was the lamest being on Earth, or at least act like it, and then it would be too late to intervene if she started going down a bad path.

"Hayden, can I talk to you for a sec?" Jake asked, when they were on the way to the parking lot.

Most early days, Jake rushed out of the rink in a futile attempt to beat Montreal's afternoon traffic. Today, though, there was something eating at him.

"Yeah, what's up?" said Hayden.

If something was going on, then Hayden Pike--jokingly referred to as Shane's work wife because he always seemed available to help his teammates, almost like he was the actual captain--would know about it. Perhaps more importantly, Wagner was playing as Hayden's left wing on the second line, meaning that Hayden had spent way more time with him than Jake.

"Bro?" said Hayden.

Jake looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear them. Several yards away from them, Hollander was walking out with Drapeau, J. J., and Comeau. The new rookies, Cole Passey and Mykola Koval, trailed behind them like eager puppies. Passey was a limber boy from Chicago who had taken the fourth line center position now that Carmichael was playing right wing for Comeau. Koval was a bulky Ukrainian partnering with Miitka on the D-lines. When they turned the corner, Jake looked back to Hayden.

"I wanted to ask about Wagner. What are your thoughts on him?"

"He's quiet, I guess," said Hayden, after thinking for a couple of seconds. He shrugged. "But I haven't noticed any serious issues. He plays as well as everyone expected him to, gets along with the other rooks, seems like a team player. Why do you ask?"

"I'm not sure yet," admitted Jake, wondering if he was making a mountain out of a molehill. "It's just. . ." He sighed. "Babikov is quiet. Koval is quiet."

"Koval knows enough English to order food at a restaurant," said Hayden.

"Right," hummed Jake. He wasn't quiet in the same way that Wagner was quiet.

Koval was expressive; he pointed at things, followed Babikov around asking for random translations, tried to join in when the team went to bars. When his forwards scored, at games or during practice, he hugged them and bumped fists with them. He was often roughhousing with Jeremy and Passey.

Wagner, by contrast, hung around the other rookies staring at his feet.

Okay, that was probably an exaggeration.

"Jake, did you notice something?" asked Hayden.

"No," Jake said. Too quickly.

Hayden stared at him.

"I don't want to blow something out of proportion," said Jake. "Who's he rooming with?"

"Mitty," said Hayden, reaching for his phone. "Let me see if he's still around."

Soren Miitka, the veteran defenseman who had been assigned to room with Wagner for the season, was still at the weights section of their gym, putting in a few sets before leaving for the night. Hayden offered Jake a questioning look. If they went back in, then they could expect to hit peak rush hour. Jake sighed and sent Xiaoyan another message.

Sorry, could you please send the sitter to pick up Lina? Something came up on my end.

A few minutes later, Miitka seemed a little annoyed to be interrupted, then confused by Jake's line of questioning. "What do you mean what do I think of Wagner?" he asked, wiping at his sweaty forehead with his towel.

"Like, do you see anything off about him?" said Jake.

The way Miitka narrowed his eyes made Jake wonder if he wasn't giving the wrong impression. He searched for a way to clarify things only to realize that he didn't actually know what the fuck he was talking about. The more time passed, the stupider he felt for going on a quest over what might have been an imagined uncomfortable moment with a teammate.

"Mitty, we're just wondering how the rooks are settling, is all," said Hayden. "Since you're rooming with Jamie, we figured you might have something to add."

"Yeah, exactly," said Jake.

Miitka still looked at little hesitant, but he seemed to give the question some thought. "He's not what I expected," he said, stroking his chin. "Ops people tell me I'm rooming with Prince Wagner, who's just been traded, and I get ready for a little rooster with a chip on his shoulder."

Jake and Hayden glanced at each other. Had either of them ever heard Wagner so much as raise his voice?

"But he's fine," Miitka went on, with a little shrug. "Clean, organized, quiet, polite, never complains if I ask him to clear our room for me and a bunny--"

"--bro, what about your fiance?" asked Hayden.

"I can't take her with me on the road," said Miitka, rolling his eyes when both Jake and Hayden made faces at him. "Don't give me any American prudishness, please. Cajsa and I have an arrangement."

"Dude, we're both Canadian," said Hayden.

"Back to Wagner," said Jake, before the conversation could devolve into how advanced Europeans were. "You were saying."

"Maybe it's nothing," said Miitka, "but the kid is. . . too polite. He will ask if I need anything before he goes to sleep. Or if he can use the shower, even if I already showered first."

Without being present, it was hard to say how off that was. Wagner might just be really conscientious to roommates and Miitka was only talking about it because Jake came in to fish for info.

"When the other rooks call him to go and watch cartoons or whatever," Miitka went on, "he'll ask me if he can go. Or maybe he just tells me? In case I'll wonder where he is or something? Why would I care if he crashes with the other rooks?"

"Why haven't you said anything?" asked Jake.

"The boy's not a problem, Merrell," said Miitka. "I didn't want to go and make a stink over nothing. Besides, I told him he doesn't need to ask me, and now he goes 'Miitka, I'll be going over to so-and-so's room tonight'. So, it's fine. I don't want to rag on him too much."

"That's a good point," said Jake. "Can I ask that we keep this little talk between us?"

"Not sure what we're even talking about," said Miitka, laying back on the chest press bench.

Out by the parking lot, Hayden paused and looked around nervously as a chilly, wet breeze batted at them. "I get what you mean, okay?" he said, after a few moments. "The kid seems spooked. But that might just be pressure from being a Wagner--you know how intense these hockey families can be. Who knows what the trade was about, or if anyone back home is saying it was his fault, or if something completely unrelated is going on."

"Or if anything is going on at all," added Jake. "Some nineteen-year-olds are quiet and awkward. It doesn't have to be a big deal."

"Right," nodded Hayden. "Anyway, I'm keeping an eye out and I think the rough edges will smooth out on their on. Jamie gets along with Jeremy and the other rooks, he's playing well. . ."

"I know, I know," said Jake, squeezing his eyes shut. "Hayden, I'm not complaining about the kid, just. . . I need to relax, I guess. Just seeing things. Nothing bad--I don't think Wagner is gonna do anything."

Fuck, what would he even do?

They paid each other hesitant, uncomfortable goodbyes and Jake retreated to his car to do the breathing exercises he learned a few months ago from the therapist Xiaoyan had cajoled him into seeing post-Thompson incident. He hadn't thought he needed it and stopped going after the third session, when the lady looked at him and asked point-blank if any part of him blamed himself for what had happened.

Jake didn't blame anyone but Thompson, and the fucker was dead already. The only thing left to do was move on. He didn't need a freaking therapist to realize that. The breathing exercises were okay, though. Grounding and all the other shit the meditation gurus insisted on.

He would do them while stuck in fucking traffic if only he didn't need to sort of pay attention to the road. Which might as well have turned into a fucking parking lot. Sighing, Jake checked on the group chat.

Voyageurs

Cole Passey
is anyone seeing the rumors about the Panthers?
one of their D-men? Wilkes
his girlfriend is saying he raped her

Patrice Drapeau
seeing it now on ESPN
looks like the police was called to their home earlier today for a domestic disturbance
there are unpleasant pics of the girl looking beat up

Hayden Pike
oh damn

Shane Hollander
@James_Wagner this is your brother's team
do you have any info

James Wagner
no
sorry

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
league put out a statement that they're putting Wilkes on reserve until "further communications with law enforcement"

Dylan Xie
at least they're not immediately defending him

Gilbert Comeau
we don't know what this chick did

Nikolai Babikov
look at the pictures of them
she's like half his size

Greg Cornick
my girl met this chick at some WAG meet up thing
says she seemed nice

Shane Hollander
we don't need to get into an argument about this
Wilkes is one player and not even a top tier Panther so we have to focus

Gilbert Comeau
I'm not fighting anyone
just saying we don't know the full story

Jeremy McAllister
that's not what you said

Shane Hollander
guys we will not let a domestic dispute in another team cause problems for us
it's true we don't know what's going on and also true that men shouldn't be assaulting their WAGs
drop it

Hayden Pike
yes that's for the best
let's just focus on the game tomorrow
we're going on the road after for like three weeks so let's enjoy home ice while we can

About half an hour later, after being parked behind the same traffic light for five minutes, Jake indulged his morbid curiosity and looked up news on the Panthers. The unpleasant pictures Drapeau mentioned were plastered all over the internet, in multiple 'news' sites and random blog posts from MLH fans of varying levels of repute. Jake was hardly an expert in bruising patterns, but some looked fresher than others.

Jared Wilkes' wife alleges years of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse; Leaked pictures show her leaving hotel room with AHL player!

Jake closed the window and glared at the traffic light a few yards ahead of him. The light turned green, but the car in front of him remained stubbornly still. Some vehicle behind him honked, as if making noise would somehow force traffic to move along. Jake took a deep breath, trying not to curse himself for not rushing out of the rink when he had the chance.

He would tell himself that, whatever else was going on, at least he didn't have to worry about one of his teammates pulling a Wilkes. But he didn't really know that, did he? Last season, he would never have imagined that Thompson would do what he did. Jake hadn't been close with the man, but he'd assessed the veteran defenseman as a mature adult who was perhaps holding out a few more seasons in the MLH to pad out his savings.

Even after he'd stopped the man from choking out one of their rookies in a sudden fit of rage, Jake told himself that the guy had anger issues. Maybe homophobia issues. Obviously, there had to be consequences for his outburst, if only to ensure the younger guys in the team didn't get it in their heads that it was okay to start actual physical fights at work. Jake was simply too old to be concerned that his coworkers might start breaking each other's noses before games, thank you very much.

Theriault had agreed with him and suspended Thompson for. . . Jake didn't remember how long the suspension would have been. He'd never seen Thompson again after that day. No one had. Because Thompson drove home, killed his wife and son, and then set their house on fire with himself still inside.

Obviously, it had been an extreme reaction. One that no one could have predicted or prevented. The team hadn't even taken a day off work because, why would they? The people affected were all dead, after all. Thompson had been a low-tier D-man so even their strategy for the season hadn't been affected to any significant degree. By now, even the seedy true crime genre of deranged content creators had moved on to greener pastures.

Jake was stuck in traffic for almost hour, long enough that he promised himself once again that he would start taking the light rail out of the city. He knew he was bullshitting himself--since the Voyageurs had brought the Stanley Cup back to Montreal, the team had been practically deified. Jake, as a first line forward and Eastern conference MVP, would be recognized too often. He might enlist a driver from Player Services, but then he would be in the backseat doomscrolling or further frying his brain in group chats.

The game against the Panthers was shaping up to be a slog. It was the middle of the second period and neither team had scored, though both had certainly tried. Both coaches kept cycling their first and second lines, which meant that half of the teams were growing fatigued while the other halves grew restless. The crowd was getting rowdy too, perhaps annoyed at the lack of action. So far, there hadn't been any penalties.

Above them, the gambler screens kept updating bets about when exactly the first goal of the game would be accomplished. Jake blinked at the numbers, wondering if he shouldn't have his vision checked. Who the fuck was betting twenty thousand cold dollars that he specifically would score first, and just five minutes into third period? How did they know he'd be playing during the first part of third period, anyway? Did someone have psychic connection to Theriault?

"Guess they're not bothered by this domestic scandal," huffed Comeau, while they waited for second period to start. He gestured at the other bench, where the Panthers looked pretty relaxed.

"Told you we should expect as much," said Hollander.

One of the Panthers leaned at the edge of their bench. "Hey, Jamie! You can join our celebration after we beat your new team's ass!"

Wagner peered out from behind Miitka and made a noncommittal noise at the Panther--Wagner-36. One of the brothers, then. Jack, probably, since he was built like a D-man. He had a broader face than Jamie and sported a thick, light brown beard with scattered blond highlights, but his eyes were the same bright hazel shade.

"We'll send him over to help lick your wounds," said J.J.

The two D-man postured at each other for a bit before returning their attentions to their teams. Wag--Jamie remained quiet throughout the interaction. He didn't look concerned or embarrassed. Or much of anything, really. Maybe he was just a quiet kid.

The third period of a game locked at zero-zero usually made the teams more aggressive, and this time was no different. It opened with a face off between the third lines, which Comeau won. The Voyageurs lost the puck less than a minute later, when a Panther D-man crashed into Carmichael and sent him to his knees. Before the refs had made a call, Bilash was on the guy, spurred by cheers from the home crowd. Cornick soon joined the fray. By the end of it, both teams had earned a minor penalty.

Theriault picked Wagner and Xie for the next play; they both played left wing, but Jamie was versatile enough to take right. Hollander huffed and glanced his way as J.J. and Nik followed them. Jake nodded at Hollander. They both knew what was happening. Theriault was having them rest in case the game went overtime.

The kids pushed for a little over two minutes and then Xie took one his now-infamous crazy shots.

"Yes!" hissed Hollander as the buzzer blared and the crowd burst into ecstatic cheers.

Jake watched as Xie fist-bumped Jamie and then pulled him into a loose hug. Up on the jumbotron, their flushed, grinning faces took up the screen.

There, thought Jake. Normal celebratory response. No need to start a forensic investigation.

Out on the ice, Jack Wagner caught up to the Voyageurs as they skated back to their box and lightly bumped the back of Jamie's helmet.

And then shit hit the fan.

Jamie pushed Xie--who had been skating next to him--so hard that Xie stumbled and fell to his knees. As Jamie shot away, Babikov tackled Jack Wagner, slamming him against the boards. Hollander shot to his feet. A full on brawl was well underway by the time he made it out to the ice.

It took Hollander and J.J. to hold Babikov back. And to defend him from irate Panthers shouting that he was a psycho. Jamie hovered by the bench, hunched in on himself as he watched medics examining his brother.

The referee hit Babikov with a five minute major despite Hollander's attempt to argue that Jack Wagner had been the one to start the whole thing by tapping his brother. The replay of the interaction made it very clear that Jamie's reaction had been surprising and Babikov's subsequent tackle a wild overreaction.

By the end of the penalty period, the Panthers had scored two goals. Not the worst outcome, all things considered, but then the Voyageurs failed to score. Not only did they not go into overtime, they also lost the game.

"What the fuck happened?" Theriault demanded next day, after replaying the few seconds prior to the fight.

The Voyageurs had been ordered to arrive at the rink early to review the tape before setting out for the airport. It looked like Theriault had decided that the brawl in the beginning of third period was to blame for their lost the previous day. And that Wagner was to blame for the brawl. When no one responded, he played the clip again.

In the quiet, calm atmosphere of one of the conference room, it sure looked like Jack Wagner had meant to tease his little brother, and then said little brother abruptly pushed his teammate and skated off. Babikov, slowly skating behind them without paying attention, had seen an opposing D-man near his forwards--one fallen on the ice and the other one fleeing--and decided to do some defending.

"Well?" said Theriault.

"S-sorry, sir," said Wagner, face flushed, gaze fixed on the screen. "I was startled."

"Presumably, you knew who was right next to you," said Theriault.

"Sir, it was the last period of a rough game," tried Jake.

Theriault shot him an angry look and signaled at him to shut up. "And Babikov," he hissed. "Why would you attack an opponent outside of play?"

"I thought he pushed Dylan," shrugged Babikov.

"And you just rush without thinking? Without orders?"

"Yeah," said Babikov.

Theriault's face went cherry red and Jake rubbed his eyes. The league had announced this morning that Jack Wagner had a cracked rib and would be on short term injury reserve for two weeks. Babikov might have been fined and suspended for at least as long, but Wagner himself had said in one of the Panthers' reels that he considered the whole thing a misunderstanding.

"Sorry, sir!" interjected Dylan. "I shouldn't have stumbled like that--Jamie didn't even push me that hard--but I wasn't expecting it."

Out the corner of his eye, Jake saw Jamie squirm.

"Not that it was his fault either!" added Dylan. "I should've been paying more attention too."

"Sir, I take responsibility too," said Hollander. "We clearly need to work on our discipline. And our PK units."

Nice sentiment, but it did not stop Theriault from shouting himself hoarse for the next few minutes, until he had to turn around to catch his breath. It was obvious that he was embarrassed by the fuck up, which meant one of them was about to be punished.

"To conclude," Theriault said, without turning back around to face them. "Such behavior cannot be tolerated. Babikov, you're benched for the next game."

Thank God the man wasn't looking at them because Nik had the gall to shrug. Hollander glared daggers at him and Dylan nudged him with his foot.

"Alright, sir," mumbled Babikov.

They were all a little subdued during the flight. Well, most of them were. Babikov settled between Xie and Koval with his Nintendo Switch, explaining things to Koval in Russian. Jamie was over a couple rows away, seated by himself. When Jeremy plopped down next to him, he put on some headphones. Jake sighed and headed to the back of the plane. The beginning of a flight was never the right time to start a difficult conversation.

He wasn't sure there was a conversation to start, anyway.

Social media was abuzz with speculation about the incident. To be expected, Jake supposed. On-ice drama was theoretically less depressing than the league's latest domestic abuse scandal.

From what Jake could gather perusing the tags, Jamie had emerged as the undisputed villain among hockey fans at large. Babikov wouldn't have assumed Jack was attacking Xie if Jamie hadn't freaked out, of course. The bros were not moved by arguments that if Babikov's head hadn't been up in the clouds, he'd have seen what happened.

There were the usual comments that Xie was once again the problem--that he had used mysterious wiles to drive the players around him insane. It was getting difficult to tell how much of that was incomprehensible shitposting.

The team group chat was hit with a flurry of activity.

Voyageurs

Patrice Drapeau
looks like Wilkes' girl is withdrawing all charges
league announced Wilkes if off reserve

Cole Passey
what about those pictures?

Patrice Drapeau
mysterious accident

Hayden Pike
that sucks

Gilbert Comeau
she withdrew the charges

Shane Hollander
guys drop it
we have our shit to deal with

Mykola Koval
internet says she is a beard
what does this mean?

Greg Cornick
that's when a gay guy gets a fake girlfriend so he doesn't look gay

Mykola Koval
what?
how does this help?
is beard face hair?

Jean-Jacques Boiziau
someone get Koval off the translation apps
Nikki get on it

Gilbert Comeau
if the girl is a beard than why would Wilkes have beat her up for cheating?
makes no sense

Cole Passey
you don't want your beard to make you look like a cuck
might as well touch your own balls

Hayden Pike
what?

Cole Passey
you know
you have a beard to not look gay
but touching your balls is gay

Soren Miitka
what

Jake Merrell
I need a new job

Dylan Xie
Passey wtf are you talking about

Cole Passey
come on guys don't act like you don't know
touching balls is obviously gay

Jeremy McAllister
what's happening?
is this a homophobic joke?
we don't do that in this team

Shane Hollander
if touching your own balls is gay then how do you jerk off?

Jake Merrell
People would think I autogenerated these texts

Cole Passey
I'm not homophobic
but what do you mean Shane?
you don't need to touch your own balls to jerk off

Soren Miitka
if touching your balls is gay
then touching your dick is even gayer

Shane Hollander
good point

Cole Passey
no because you *have* to touch your dick to jerk off
you don't have to touch your balls

Nikolai Babikov
also you have to touch your balls at least once a month to check for tumors
they said in health class

Patrice Drapeau
i didn't realize Americans had health class

Hayden Pike
you have to touch your balls daily to *wash* them

Cole Passey
that's different too!
ball touching for hygiene purposes is exempt

Greg Cornick
I can't believe I'm saying this but I am on the ball touching team

Jake Merrell
good God

Greg Cornick
it feels good when your girls does it and it also feels good when you do it yourself
don't be fucking lazy

Chapter End Notes

There is a league scandal in the background with yet another player from a different team making the news for assaulting his girlfriend. There is mentions of rape, police being called for domestic disturbances, and non-explicit descriptions of a bruised woman. And victim blaming.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Once again the length gets out of my hands. Although there's no law that says chapters need to be short. Maybe I should just post it all in one big chapter once its ready.

WARNINGS at the end note.

The Voyageurs won three of their next four games, which did little to get the hockey bros off the big Jamie-Jack-Xiekov incident. The hashtag was unwieldy but catchy, unique enough that people might click on it just to figure out what it was about. Doing so led them to endless posts dissecting the five second moment beginning with Jack Wagner tapping his brother's helmet and ending with Nikki slamming him into the boards. Then, the brawl. To top it all off, there was the footage of Nikki fuming in the penalty box, watching a replay of what had happened, and cringing when he realized who exactly had pushed Dylan.

It made for a pretty funny reaction gif, Jake had to admit.

That, and there was only so much drama that could be generated from the Hollander-Rozanov rivalry, especially when they were both doing great. Two months into the season, it was pretty much settled that the accident had not diminished Roz's skills. The rest of the league trucked along without serious scandals to feed the ravenous rumor mills.

Somewhat notably, The Admirals were doing well. Consistently so, which had Drapeau is a sour mood because it meant that once again, Eric Bennett would be the Eastern conference's All Star goalie. According to Drapeau himself.

"Why won't the bitch retire?" hissed Drapeau, as they waited for the flight attendants to announce that they could begin disembarking. They'd arrived in Dallas on time, but it seemed that there was some clusterfuck going on with airport scheduling so they'd been waiting to get off the Voyageurs' plane for nearly an hour.

"Isn't Eric Bennett like thirty?" asked Passey.

"Thirty-six," said Jake.

"He looks really good for thirty-six," said Dylan.

"He looks fucking seventy," said Drapeau.

"Bro, he so does not," said Jeremy. "What are you even talking about?"

"Besides," added Shane. "You don't want him to retire before you beat him to the All Star roster."

"Shut up, Shane," mumbled Drapeau.

Shane rolled his eyes and slipped in his headphones.

"Dude, we're not even close to the All Star game yet," said J.J. "It might be you this time. We're doing great, better than the dumbass Admirals. I don't know why the fans like them so much. They haven't won't the Cup ever."

"They won thirteen years ago," said Dylan.

"Maybe Xie can get a bunch of teen girls to vote in Drapeau as the year's fan pick," said Comeau.

"Fuck you," said Dylan.

"I would smother him in his sleep," said Drapeau.

Jake slipped his own headphones and turned on some white noise. They better be able to unload the plane before any pair of idiots started roughhousing out of boredom. Drapeau should be too old for it, but he'd been looking stressed for the last few days.

Or maybe Jake was going crazy. Drapeau had what appeared to be a one-sided competition going with Eric Bennett. At least Jake thought it was one-sided; he couldn't picture the Admirals' serene goalie spending any time worrying about Patrice Drapeau. Either way, Drapeau's fretting about the man wasn't new, much less a sign that he was about to have a meltdown.

Jamie Wagner had also returned to his quiet and reliable self. Jake bet the boy had already assessed that #Jamie-Jack-Xiekov was nonsense and blocked the tag. Which was what Jake ought to do. But he couldn't. There was something Jake was missing. He wasn't crazy. It was like a splinter digging at the tender meat of his brain, an itch on his back that he wasn't quite flexible enough to reach on his own.

Okay, that did sound a little crazy.

He looked over at where Jamie was seated--next to Mykola Koval, their Ukrainian rookie who did not speak English yet. Jamie appeared to be sleeping and Koval was fixated on his phone screen.

Appeared to be sleeping? thought Jake. Why the fuck would he be faking sleep? Truly, he was losing his grip on reality. It was like he had a grudge on the kid.

Jake didn't. He really didn't. It was just. . . something was wrong.

He had spent some time since #Jamie-Jack-Xiekov looking into the trade that brought Jamie to Montreal in the first place. There wasn't much. When asked, coach Bill Donahue--head coach for the LA Kings, Jamie's previous team--declared that Jamie had been a pleasure to work with, but that it would be better for him to be closer to family.

That didn't make a lot of sense. It made no sense, actually. Not even when further digging informed Jake that Mr. and Mrs. Wagner had divorced last year and Mrs. Wagner--now Ms. Leloup again--had moved back to Montreal. Jamie was an adult. As much of an adult as a nineteen-year-old millionaire could be. He would be on the road for a significant part of the year, so why would it matter what city his mother had settled?

Theriault had even less information, of course. He didn't have to explain why he'd jumped at the chance to trade for one of the season's best rookies. When some douche reporter asked if he'd wondered if there was some "occult issue" with Jamie, he'd smirked and said that he trusted Donahue's integrity.

"No one wants to be known as the Coach who dumps broken players on other teams," Theriault had said.

Charming. Jake wondered if Melissa, or anyone, had sat him down to harp at him about the importance of tactful answers to reporters.

Not that there hadn't been blatant speculation about Jamie Wagner hiding some career-ending (or at least limiting) injury that had been discovered at some point during the off season. The theory had flared up a bit right after camp, when Theriault announced that he would be placing Jamie on the second line as Hayden Pike's left wing. SportBets had determined that Theriault would move Xie back there so the fact that he hadn't could only mean that Wagner had under-performed during camp.

For all that the bros bragged about strategy, some of them sure were obsessed with who was a first liner or not. Why would Theriault alter his battle-tested first line when he could simply bolster his second? Anyway, that theory had died down too. Hard to pretend Jamie sucked when he was leading the team in assists and trailing Hollander in goals.

One of the flight attendants announced that they'd be good to vacate the plane within the next five minutes. Most of the guys started fidgeting restlessly. Their game against the Diamonds was scheduled to start in less than two hours so they'd likely be driven straight to the stadium. They weren't quite jet-lagged, but it still sucked.

"Damn it," said Jeremy. "I was hoping to meet my Mom and Fernando at the hotel."

"Hoping for a threesome, McAllister?" chirped Taylor.

"Gross, David," said Jeremy.

"That reminds me," said Hollander, loud enough to signal an announcement. "We will not make a spectacle because McAllister's boyfriend will in the stands. This is no different than any SO coming to see one of us play. Be fucking professional."

"Yes, Captain," responded a chorus of disinterested voices.

Jake kept scrolling. At the same time the guys started getting up from their seats, he saw an article about Graig Valenti, star player of the LA Kings. And Jamie's former captain. Valenti, 37, denies imminent retirement, the headline announced. A picture of the man in full uniform, looking fatigued and focused on his graying beard, filled most of the screen. Jake saved the article for later, though what could any of that have to do with Jamie?

The Dallas Diamonds were a low tier team; not quite the worst in the league, but they hadn't made the play offs in a decade. That did not stop them from calling Voyageurs fags and cocksuckers every chance they got. They didn't care for timing or quality, so they vomited out chirps like drunken hatchlings as the Voyageurs skated circles around them. It would be one thing if they did that against all teams that passed by Dallas to kick their asses, but Jake remembered a different set of chirps from his time as a Bear.

They were playing in a near-empty stadium too, to add insult to injury. Maybe if the home team sucked a little less, there be some fans at the stands. The game stood at three-to-one at the end of first period, favoring the Voyageurs, but the goals felt almost like whimper without a real crowd to cheer for them. Or to boo them.

At least Jeremy had some fans on the stand. Dallas was his hometown and though he'd been gone for three years, he still had plenty of friends coming to see him play. This afternoon, he also had his mother and boyfriend, both of whom were wearing his jersey. The infamous Fernando had driven nearly three hours to watch Jeremy play. And Jeremy was playing well, thank God. He played well most of the time, but some kids got thrown off when they were home.

The buzzer shrieked as Jeremy scored his second goal that evening, drawing some respectable cheering. Four-to-one now.

"Fuck," one of the Diamonds groaned, loud enough so that Voyageurs off the ice could hear him. "And from one of the cocksuckers."

"That's right, bitch," said J.J. "Cocksucking is the secret. Maybe if you did some, you might be half as good as him."

That probably wasn't productive, but it was kind of funny. Jake indulged in a halfhearted snort.

The end of the second period got more aggressive. A D-man threw a punch at him, startling him into biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood despite his mouth guard. The refs--motherfuckers--either didn't see, or didn't care. Jake pushed through and kept moving; was ready to accept Hollander's next pass--and an opposing forward slammed into his side.

The refs saw that one and hit the asshole with a two minute penalty. Theriault signaled Jake to switch with Jeremy. When he settled back down on the bench, Babikov looked him up and down and then towards the Diamonds on reserve.

"You guys shouldn't have done that," Babikov sing-songed. "That was stupid."

The Diamonds tried to grunt and posture, but no one gave a real response.

"Nikki," said Jake.

"Hm?" said Babikov.

Jake opened his mouth. Closed it. It was literally Babikov's job to deter other teams from dirty plays. "Nothing," said Jake, glaring at the other bench. "Just stay rested. We have a real game against the Bears in two days."

"More fags," said one of the Diamonds.

"Whatever, you assholes," said Taylor, patting Jake's side. "Hope Coach lets Babikov loose on the ice. These bitches might actually score from a power play."

"Besides, there aren't any gay dudes in Boston," said Passey.

"Bro, there's millions of dudes in Boston," said Taylor. "Some of them must be gay."

"I meant with the Bears, dipshit," said Passey. "They don't have gay players."

Theriault called for a switch and signaled at Hayden, who rolled his eyes as he got ready to swap in for Hollander.

"Rozanov and Wynn!" shouted one of the Diamonds as Hollander got back to the bench.

"What?" said Hollander, in between deep breaths.

"They're total fags," said the Diamond, pushing his tongue against his cheek to mimic a blowjob.

"The fuck are you guys talking about?" said Hollander.

"Nothing important," said Jake, though it was a little alarming that the Rozanov-Wynn 'jokes' were cropping up in games that had nothing to do with the Bears.

Not that Jake would care if Rozanov decided to reveal himself as the third queer player in the MLH. Fourth? Would Wynn be the third? In any case, someone in Russia might care, but Jake assumed Roz understood what risks he was taking with his new bit. If there were risks at all. There were legions of people ready to help him get American citizenship though marriage, if it came to that.

The buzzer sounded again, drawing Jake's attention to the boring-ass game. Jeremy's third goal--and the first hat trick of his career, Jake was pretty sure. And five-to-one for the Voyageurs. A handful of hats fell on the ice as the small crowd exploded. The Voyageurs on the bench cheered and clapped each other on the shoulders.

Jake looked over at the diamonds and smirked. "Fucking losers."

Since they had a bit of a buffer until their next flight, the Voyageurs reserved one of the hotel rec lounges to gloat about their victory while sipping cheap alcohol and playing pool. Mrs. McAllister, a plump woman with a heart-shaped face and a pleasant twang who had the same eyes as Jeremy, was keeping the whole thing calm and PG. For now. The way she went at the hotel sangria had Jake praying she could hold her liquor.

Fernando was over at the pool table playing with Hollander, Drapeau, and Comeau. Aside from a relatively discreet rainbow wristband, nothing about him would have alerted a bunch of jocks that he was gay. He was a little taller than Jeremy, broader at the shoulders, and boasted a generous goatee complemented by a five o'clock shadow. He was supposed to be the same age as Jeremy, but the deep rumble of his voice made him sound older, especially when he hummed indulgently at Jeremy's comparatively high-pitched, run-on way of telling stories.

Jake was pretty sure that he was what gay men called 'masc', a. . . genre of gay men that hockey bros didn't have much reference for. Even Hollander had stared at him in confused wonder. A few of the Voyageurs had probably assessed that they looked a lot more like Jeremy than Fernando. Or at least, gave more of a Jeremy vibe than a Fernando vibe. Jake wished them good luck in incorporating this information into their understanding of the world.

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," mused Cornick, stroking his chin.

"How do you mean?" said Jake, vaguely curious despite all reason.

"A guy like that," said Cornick, gesturing at the pool table, "he could probably get any chick he wanted."

"Greg, he's gay," said Miitka.

Cornick looked around to make sure Mrs. McAllister was out of earshot. "Fine. Any guy, then."

"Do you have something against Jeremy?" asked Hayden.

"For real," said J.J. "Our boy has many positive qualities."

As if on cue, Jeremy let out one his loud pearls of laughter that ended with a little snort. Some people might generously call it cute. Babikov and Passey were both looking at him with bemusement, so he'd probably tried retelling some comedian's joke and botched up the punchline.

"Come on, guys," he said loudly, still chuckling to himself. "It's funny because he would've ordered less stuff for the burrito if he'd known it wouldn't all fit."

"It has to be the money," said Cornick.

"I don't think so," said Jake.

Fernando was looking over at Jeremy with a fond smile, shoulders relaxed, a wistful air hanging about him. No golddigger looked at their target like that unless they meant said target to notice. Jeremy had yet to give up on explaining his punchline to Babikov and Passey.

Speaking of body language analysis, Jamie had picked a corner in the room and buried his face in his phone. Jake would dismiss that as typical of their age group, but Xie, Carmichael, and Koval were doing the same, but seated close to each other in the opposite corner of the room.

"I'm gonna step out for a bit," said Jake, shaking his head. "Calling my wife; don't bother me unless someone's dying."

He did take a few minutes to walk aimlessly around the big fountain thing at the hotel's main hall. Walking outside might have been a little better, but it was humid as hell in Dallas for some reason. Even in the middle of freaking November. God, why was Jake annoyed at the weather, something that no person on Earth could control? He was supposed to be better than this.

He told himself to go make his phone call before he wasted the entire evening pacing around like a lunatic, annoyed at nothing. For fuck's sake, they'd even won their stupid game. His lip barely even hurt. Good time to call? he messaged Xiaoyan.

His phone vibrated a video call request. He declined. Voice only?

His phone vibrated again, this time for voice only. He accepted, laying back on his bed.

"Hey," said Xiaoyan, softly. "Why no video?"

Jake fished for a reason. "Ah, I got a bit of a split lip."

"Does it hurt to talk?" asked Xiaoyan.

"No," said Jake, quickly. "Um, we won the game."

"You don't sound excited about that."

Jake shrugged. Then remembered Xiaoyan couldn't see him. "Dallas' team is shit. How are the girls?"

They talked for a bit; Xiaoyan tried engaging him with some stories of the girls, but they were seven and one, respectively. Their lives weren't too exciting. It was also past their bedtime, so they couldn't lean on their cuteness for flavor. He had no excuse for spacing out when Xiaoyan tried to discuss what progress she'd made on the book she was writing, though.

"Jake?"

"Sounds great," he said, blinking hard.

"Really?"

Shit. She must have been complaining about. . . something. "Sorry, I'm just. I'm listening." He very obviously was not. "To your voice, I mean. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong, baby?" asked Xiaoyan. "Was Hollander mean to you again?"

"No, he's been fine," said Jake. "And I don't care when he's mean, for the record. I care when he belittles the rookies and barks out orders like we're all his fucking children."

"And did he do that today?" said Xiaoyan.

Jake searched for an infraction, but the truth was he hadn't been paying much attention to Hollander lately. When he did, Hollander was looking down his nose at people, as usual, but not being particularly toxic. Even when the botanist returned to Japan a few weeks ago, he hadn't seemed bothered. Or if he had been, he hadn't taken it out on the team, which was all Jake could ask for.

"It's Jamie," admitted Jake. "Something's wrong. I can feel it, okay?"

"Have you tried talking it out?" asked Xiaoyan.

"I don't want to influence the guys against him," said Jake. "It's not--it's just a hunch, okay?" He had said something similar at least once during every call since this roadie started. If he was sick of saying it, then he didn't want to imagine how tired Xiaoyan was of hearing it.

"I mean, have you tried talking to him?" asked Xiaoyan. "To Jamie directly."

"You mean ask him point-blank if he's crazy?"

"Jake."

"Sorry," said Jake. "I know what you mean; I just get the feeling. . ."

"What? That he doesn't like you?"

Jake held back a grunt. He'd complained about that once. Most people liked him, okay. It was notable when someone didn't, though of course, every once in a while he just rubbed people the wrong way. See Hollander for another recent example. The problem for Jake was that from Jamie, he also detected fear.

"You're right," Jake said finally. "I can't keep spiraling around--whatever this is. I'll reach out. Sorry I spaced out when you were telling me your thing."

He forced himself to pay attention this time, shoving back the acrid guilt at the notion that he had to force himself to pay attention to his wife in the first place. Often, he barely understood what she was talking about and this was one of this times. She went on about her topic, sounding a little like Dylan when he really got into one of his rants, but even harder to parse. Something about the dilution of labor power for white collar, lower level workers in the United States after women entered the work force more fully post WWII, and how it had eventually morphed into--

"What?" asked Jake. "Mytho-what? Like when dudes pretend they're knights and ninjas? You know, like roleplaying and stuff? They could be doing worse things with their time."

"Mythopoetic men's movement and that's not too far from what it was," said Xiaoyan. "But this was largely a movement from the seventies to nineties. By now, it has all escalated into fake boot camps with ex-Navy SEALs and what could be described as the final boss of men's self help grifts: looksmaxxing."

"Are they hot, these Navy SEALs?"

"Not as hot as you, baby," said Xioayan. "And they're taking advantage of sad suburban men with disposable income and a deep sense of alienation; some without disposable income."

"Pretty sure you've said the exact same thing about merchandising and men's sports," said Jake. "And my other favorite: we're selling an illusion of idealized Western hypermasculinity."

Xiaoyan laughed but didn't deny it. "You're not on social media telling chubby middle aged men with distant teen sons that if they spend a weekend in the mountains letting you yell at them, they'll suddenly be pro athletes in spirit."

That sounded like it ought to be a difficult scam to pull off. And like it didn't have anything to do with women. "I thought your thing was women's history," said Jake.

"Yes, but I'm a free agent now, with plenty time to develop a toxic internet algorithm of my own," said Xiaoyan.

They talked a bit more and eventually, Jake felt lighter and hardly remembered what had twisted his belly into knots in the first place. They'd won. The team had managed to hang out with a confirmed gay man they weren't forced to sort of 'respect' because he was a teammate, which could only be a step in the right direction. Jake would go and do something to celebrate if wasn't so late already--it was barely past nine pm. The fuck? If someone had told Jake it was nearing midnight, he wouldn't have doubted them.

He was getting old.

Jake decided to go back down and see what the guys were up to. On the way, he spotted Jamie hanging out alone by the fountain. The boy was gazing at the decorations with some interest, more than Jake had ever seen him express for anything that wasn't hockey related. Jake sighed. He had promised Xiaoyan, and himself, that he would try to talk to the boy.

No time like the present.

Jake squared his shoulders and approached him. He watched as Jamie noticed that someone was coming towards him and his posture shift into defensive tension before he even spotted Jake.

"Hey," Jake pushed through. He waited for Jamie to acknowledge the greeting with a tiny nod. "Do you mind if we talk for a bit?"

"No?"

Jake wished that hadn't come out like a question. He looked around. The hotel had cushioned seats all over the lobby. People walked by, most with headphones or otherwise minding their own business, so Jake decided that they would have relative privacy in the open space. He gestured at a set of unoccupied seats, guessing that Jamie would rather not be alone with him.

"You know," he started when they sat down in the lumpy cushions. Then, he searched for what he wanted to say. "I got traded at the end of my rookie year," he settled on. Transparent attempt at making a connection or not, it was true. "To this day, I don't know who I pissed off in NYC." He remembered being completely blindsided when it happened, then wretchedly wondering what he'd done wrong for months, well into his next season.

Jamie looked at the vicinity of Jake's chin.

"We have a good deal in common, actually," said Jake. Time to put it all on the table. "I was first draft pick my year, I was almost rookie of the year. Lost it to--I actually don't remember his name now, jeez. He retired next season after a bad knee injury."

"I don't want Babikov to be injured," said Jamie.

"I don't think you do." Jesus, where had the kid gotten that from? "I meant to say--and I might be totally off base here--but you seem really stressed about. . . something. If you are, and if it is about the trade, I just wanted to tell you that it's not the end of the world."

Jamie didn't say anything. No denials, no anger, no attempts to open up, no angry demands to be left alone. Just blank silence.

"You can still have a great career," Jake continued anyway. "I like to think I've done pretty well for myself."

"Okay." He still wasn't looking at Jake.

A few silent moments passed. "Right," said Jake, feeling pretty awkward. "Well, I don't mean to take any more of your time."

Jamie practically jumped to his feet, mumbled something that sounded like "thank you-sorry", and walked off.

Jake stared at his retreating back, wondering if that had gone as poorly as it felt. This was why it was better not to directly speak of these things.

He went back to his hotel room after all and decided he could use some time to himself. They didn't have to be at the airport until six in the afternoon for a late flight to Boston, so Jake pulled up his rental company and requested a vehicle. A drive around might do him some good, though he knew that the region around Dallas didn't exactly have scenic highways. Maybe he was thinking of some other major city.

A bit later, Dylan returned to their hotel room and announced that he would be going to Babikov's room for yet another anime catch up session. Jake noticed that he was fixing up his hair, so that was questionable. Though why would Dylan lie? Maybe he just wanted to look good in front of Fernando, assuming he was still around.

"This is supposed to help with Koval's English," Dylan was saying, "but, like, how? Nik is just gonna translate everything for him. We're all going about it the wrong way; this is not how language acquisition works! If Koval gets translated summaries of everything, then his brain has no reason to build the neural pathways required to understand English."

"So we don't let Nik translate and take away the English-to-Ukrainian apps?"

"It might sound mean, but yeah," said Dylan. "It's counterproductive to have them rooming together."

He took off before Jake decided if it was worth it to tease him about being jealous now that there were more people vying for Babikov's attention.

Jake took a quick shower and settled for an early night. He didn't even feel like checking the group chats. Sleep came to him easily enough and next thing he knew, his phone's frantic vibrations dragged him from an amorphous dream. He grabbed at it, frowning. It was a call from Dylan.

Fuck, it was two-thirty in the fucking morning. Jake answered. "What's going on?"

"Jake, sorry to bother you," said Dylan.

"Where are you?" said Jake. "Who's with you?"

"Okay, I need a little help, but you have to promise you won't be mad."

Jake sighed. "Send me a location pin. Are you safe to wait?"

"Oh, it's fine," said Dylan. "We're at a frat party; it's no big deal. UT Southwestern is a party school, I'm pretty sure. And we wanted to head back like an hour ago, but we can't find Jamie."

Chapter End Notes

More slurs than usual because the bros wanted to talk a lot.

Finally, the joke Jeremy is ruining is one of Bo Burnham's. I picked him because while it would be difficult for any non comedian to tell a comedian's jokes, I feel like his would be practically impossible for poor Jeremy to retell.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

CONTENT WARNINGs in the end note again

And I keep forgetting to say this but I am latigrat over at tumblr which is basically the only social media app I use because it's so broken it doesn't let me be on it for more than 5 posts scrolls. I don't even know if I have followers. App so broken I couldn't get into discourse if I wanted to.

J. J. didn't answer his phone--probably had it set to Do Not Disurb--so Jake had no choice but to bang on his door at two-forty in the morning like a fucking psycho. He prayed J.J. woke up before any unfortunate guests rooming near him.

"J. J.!" Jake called out, just as the door opened.

"Dude, what the fuck?" said J. J.

Jake sighed. "Get dressed; the rookies are stranded at the local college."

"What? Passey!" J. J. looked to the other bed in his room, which was neatly made. "Fuck!" He gestured Jake inside. "Fill me in."

Jake explained what little he knew. The idiots had gone to the local college with Fernando, scattered to try and get laid, and then when they'd all tried to regroup to come back to the hotel, they failed to locate Jamie. He wasn't answering his phone either. At some point, the stupid brats had decided that the best thing to do would be to split up and start knocking on doors to ask if anyone had seen a dude fitting Jamie's description. On a Thursday night. Friday morning, by now.

By some miracle, Dylan ran into a girl who had recognized Jamie from a picture before someone called the cops on them, and she had led them to the home of some "roofie-ing asshole", as Jake had heard someone hiss through Dylan's phone. Said asshole had answered his door--at two-thirty in the morning--but denied knowing Jamie and shut the door in their faces. It was at this point that Dylan had called Jake.

"Dumbass fucking rookies," muttered J. J. as he pulled on a pair of joggers. "We're up against the Bears next. I thought they were going to Nikki's room to watch Fullmetal Alchemist! All of them fucked off to get drunk and laid?"

"Except Carmichael," said Jake, sighing as he dialed Miitka.

Thankfully, he answered his phone right away and about ten minutes later, they were heading towards the parking lot. If Jake hadn't thought to get a rental earlier in the evening, they'd be stuck looking for some kind of taxi service in the middle of the night. Small mercies, he supposed.

"Mitty should drive," said J. J. when they reached the gleaming red Porsche that Jake's rental service had delivered.

"Why?" asked Jake.

"Trust me," said J. J., heading to the backseat. "If we get pulled over at the asscrack of dawn, we'll be wanting him talking to the cops."

"Why?" insisted Jake, though he went over to the passenger's side.

"Because he looks like a country club finance douchebag and thanks to your lazy buzz cut and split lip, you look like the bouncer at a seedy club that's about to go out of business," said J. J.

Jake rolled his eyes but decided that they didn't have time to unpack that. He should probably be ready to argue with Dylan over the phone anyway.

While Miitka tried to sort the car's obnoxious automated systems, Jake inputed the address Dylan had sent him. They weren't even at the college, but at a residential area that seemed to be within driving distance. Jake supposed that some students might be living there for convenience.

"Should we contact Hollander?" asked Miitka.

"No," Jake and J. J. said at the same time.

"No," repeated Jake. "Hollander's gonna want to call Player Services for back up and we might as well just wake Theriault and tell him directly."

"Also Shane's been in a decent mood this season," added J. J. "Let's not fuck that up."

"Half our team is missing," said Miitka. "Seems like something our captain should know."

"Let's not exaggerate," said J. J. "One of our teammates is currently not answering his phone, but we know the last person to see him and his current location."

"According to some girl Xie picked up," Miitka said, skepticism dripping from his tone.

"Stop that; we don't need this negativity right now," said J. J. "Everything is under control. I texted Nikki to go back to Dylan and stand by."

"And I called Jeremy and told him to gather the other morons to come back to the hotel," said Jake.

J. J. gave them a satisfied smile. "We are good to go," he said. "Drive. Let's assess the situation before we decide to give Shane a rage stroke."

Aside from a quick stop at an ATM, where Jake withdrew as much cash as possible just in case, the drive was uneventful. The neighborhood was not promising--poorly lit, lacking sidewalks, and with unkempt lawns. The houses looked eerily identical, as though someone had copied and pasted the same structure over and over in several rows. How the fuck had the rookies ended up here?

They found Dylan and Nik waiting in front of one of the cookie cutter homes, seated at the porch with a petite dark haired girl wearing a nose ring, a blouse that was a little too low cut, and short shorts. Jake didn't consider himself a prude, but these young college kids were looking. . . well, young. They looked younger every year.

"Jake!" said Dylan, jumping to his feet when they started getting out of the car. "This is Rae! She's the one who convinced me to call for help."

Nik gave them a quick wave.

"Hi!" said the girl, giving them a quick once-over. "If the asshole in there," she gave the house a disgusted look, "doesn't want to turn over your dude, I think you should call the cops. I got a friend who totally got roofied trying to buy some Delta-9 from him. I told her that shit isn't even that expensive anymore."

"Jamie's a guy," said Miitka.

"So that means he's immune to drugs?" said the girl, rolling her eyes. "Sarah said she saw your friend leave the party with him and now he won't let us go up to his room. I swear your friend's with him; John's a psycho who loves to play 'pranks' and if there's the slightest chance this Jamie is up there, you need to get him out ASAP."

"Let's ring the bell," said Nikki, cracking his knuckles.

"One moment," said Jake. "Did you guys notice a doorbell camera the first time you rang?"

"Obviously yes, but who cares!" said the girl. "Do you guys care about your friend or not?"

"Shouldn't we try the police?" asked Miitka.

"Why don't we write the blog post for TMZ ourselves?" said J. J., shaking his head. "No, we might still be able to neutralize this."

"Are you guys famous or something?" said the girl, squinting at them. Her gaze landed on Xie. "Wait a minute! You're that football player."

"I'm definitely not a football player," said Dylan.

"The Under Armour ad at the mall," said the girl. "That's where I recognize you from!"

"It's not about football," mumbled Dylan.

"That's great; touch base on that later," said J. J. before looking at Nikki. "We'll be needing that douchebag's phone."

The girl volunteered to be the one to ring the bell a second time, with Nikki, J. J., and Miitka staying out of what they had eyeballed as the doorbell camera's range. She rang three times before an annoyed voice answered. "If you people don't fuck off I'm calling the cops!"

"No, we will be calling the cops if you don't let us collect our friend," Jake said firmly. He considered trying a bribe, but would rather not go down that road in case the asshole had just assessed Jamie as pretty and vulnerable rather than a viable target for blackmail.

God, he was hoping that Jamie's big secret was that he was queer. Jake was certain that the Voyageurs at least would shrug that off. Probably. People willing to play with two gay players for a chance to be on a top tier team wouldn't draw the line at three. Right?

"I fucking told you there's no dude in here! I only pick up chicks," insisted the asshole.

"Then let me go in and see for myself," said Jake. "Once I confirm my friend isn't with you, we will be on our way."

"Fuck you!"

Jake pulled out his phone, looking directly at the camera.

"Alright, fine!" shouted the guy. "We're coming down. But he came here willingly."

"I was warned this team would be crazy," Miitka mumbled as they waited. "What if this man is armed?"

"Don't worry; John is a pussy," said the girl. "It's an embarrassment no one's shot him yet."

The door opened and Jamie shambled to the threshold, visibly impaired even in the dim light of the porch lightbulb. Someone had spilled something down the front of his loose t-shirt, leaving behind an ominous, chalky substance. He blinked rapidly and swayed as his mouth twisted into a pout. "Hi."

Immediately, Dylan grabbed Jamie's forearm and pulled him out of the house. The asshole tried closing the door but Nikki dashed forward, long arm snaking past Dylan, the girl, and Jake. His fist wrapped around the collar of the asshole's flimsy white t-shirt and dragged him out, pushing his back against the wall. Skinny, spindly arm, crucifixion tattoo on the right shoulder, Jake noted. Maybe it looked better under better lighting.

"Hello, John," said J. J. as Nikki pushed his elbow into the asshole's neck in warning. He reached for the doorbell camera and ripped it off its hinge. Some of them were set to call the police in the event of tampering, so they might not have a lot of time. "You lied to us. Not very hospitable of you, now is it?"

"Ma-eugh," John tried, eyes bugging out, fixed on Nikki's face.

Jake tapped Nikki on the arm lightly. Not a good time for him to misjudge his one-twenty-odd kilos of strength.

"You okay?" Dylan was asking in the background.

Jamie hummed. "Yeah, I feel good," he slurred. Then, sighed. "I'm sorry I pushed you, Dylan. I wasn't mad at you or jealous or--hic--anything else people are s-saying."

"What?" said Dylan.

"He's high," said Miitka.

"We're noticing that," said J. J.

"I didn't make him take anything!" wheezed John. "He wanted to come with me."

"You piece of shit!" The girl tried to squeeze past Nikki to scratch John's face, but Jake grabbed her and prayed for patience when she started squirming. "I hope these guys break your noodle dick."

"I don't know what this slut's been telling you--"

"--we'll be needing your phone," said Jake.

"No-eugh" Nikki bore down on him.

"Make that your phone and laptop," said J. J., striding into the house. "Don't worry. I'll get them myself."

Jake shared a look with Miitka and followed J. J. inside in case there were other scumbags waiting in there, turning on lights as he went. It was a small house, furnished with cheap mismatched furniture and a couple of gangster movie posters. There were dirty dishes in the sink with honest-to-God flies buzzing about. How the fuck had Jamie, youngest prince of the Wagner clan, not combusted the moment he saw this?

There were three bedrooms total--one stocked with cans of energy drinks and bottled water and another with a cheap blow up mattress. The one that had to be John's bedroom had a faint musty odor, a large flat screen connected to a computer-looking thing that looked like it belonged in an old movie, and an unmade bed. Multiple bags with half-empty containers of fast food laid near the bed. There weren't any curtains. A single set of plastic drawers--and Jake hadn't known such things even existed--occupied one of the corners.

"Gotta get Dylan up here," said J. J. "Little nerd probably knows how to disable this shit."

"Gross," Dylan was saying a few moments later, shuddering at the unwashed status of the place. "Why would Jamie let this loser anywhere--oh, that's a cool PC."

"Can you fuck up the hard drive or whatever?" said J. J. "In case this creep recorded God knows what with Jamie?"

"I'm guessing he has a password and we don't want Nik actually breaking the Geneva Conventions so. . ." Dylan started fiddling with the PC back of the computer, forgoing the keyboard altogether.

Jake and J. J. looked around while he handled that. The top drawer had a bunch of underwear, the second plain white socks, and the third. . .

"Gross," said J. J.

Pill bottles and glass pipes. A couple of syringes that Jake did not want to touch. Fucking hell, Jamie had better not let this scumbag dose him with any of this shit. Except he very obviously had. They were supposed to treat their bodies like temples, and not just in the aspirational, bullshit way people said sometimes, but for real. Their bodies were tools, practically property of the MLH, as outline by multi-million dollar contracts.

Jake took pictures of the different pills in case they needed to show them to doctors. With any luck, Jamie would be able to sleep off whatever he'd taken before their next game. When J. J. tried reaching for the drugs, Jake slapped his hand away.

"Maybe there's that fentanyl shit," he said. "It can kill you with microscopic amounts."

"Dude, don't believe whatever bullshit the cops say," said J. J., reaching for one of the take-out plastic bags, lips curled in disgust. "We might need samples to show the docs."

"Guys I got a couple of phones and the hard drive," said Dylan. "We can go down and have the asshole log me into his accounts and I'll see what I can do. But who knows what he uploaded and to where."

"Let's go," said Jake, trying to feel relief because at least they'd found Jamie before anything permanent happened.

"Are we sure we don't want to call the team doctor?" Miitka asked again, when they made it back to the hotel.

"No, bro, he's good," said J. J. as he he helped Jamie out of the Porsche. Jamie burped, but was able to walk unassisted. That had to be a good sign. "He's just tripping, but we have a full flight and change for him to sober up."

"Pretty sure we interrupted before anything too gross happened," said Dylan, "but he should probably get a full STD screen soon, considering what I found in those phones."

Back at the house, Nik only had to loom menacingly for a bit before John unlocked his phones and Dylan verified that there were no incriminating or embarrassing footage or photos. Of Jamie. The grimace on Dylan's expressive face had indicated that he'd found plenty of shit. With Rae screeching and cursing, it had been pretty easy to guess what type of shit.

In the end, they'd chosen to give Rae the material since she knew at least one of the victims. The whole thing left a bad taste in Jake's mouth, but there was no way for them to check if the people (mostly women) on the phone wanted their business disclosed. Not with the limited time they had. That being said, it was safe to assume that they didn't. A couple of threats against John's testicles was sadly the most they could do and since the fucker folded like wet paper, they didn't get the plausible deniability of self defense. John had seemed more devastated that Dylan had fucked up his gaming computer.

They'd dropped off Rae at her house, which was in the same shitty subdivision. She'd given Dylan a kiss on the cheek and then they'd driven back to the hotel. Dylan had babbled the whole time about how they hadn't started the evening in some in that shithole, but some frat house that had allegedly been way cleaner. Loud, and not as fun as Dylan had been hoping for, but there hadn't been actual fleas.

"I have no idea what Jamie was thinking," Dylan complained in the hotel parking lot. "Bro, what were you thinking?"

Jamie was off in his own little world still, trailing behind Nikki like one of those fluffy cats that weren't very smart. If he even heard Dylan, he gave no indication.

"All of you, shut the fuck up," said J. J.

The rest of the rookies--and Fernando--were waiting at the lounge the Voyageurs had reserved for them. Jake did a quick headcount when they entered and let out a relieved breath that they were all accounted for. What a fucking night.

"Bro!" said Jeremy, grinning at Jamie. "What happened?"

"All of you are idiots is what happened," said J. J. "I'm very disappointed."

The rookies paused chattering at each other and looked at J. J. with varying levels of apprehension.

"We are between games," said J. J. "It's not even the fucking weekend--or it wasn't when you decided to pull this. We face the Bears less than forty-eight hours and you decide it's not necessary to keep yourselves in top--Babikov, wait until I'm done talking before translating!"

Nikki paused his hushed whispers to Koval and straightened up. Koval looked between him and J. J. with wide, questioning eyes until Nikki rushed out a few more words in Russian.

"Besides," continued J. J., "there's a protocol to partying between games. Pick a buddy and watch out for him like he's the hottest, drunkest chick at the joint and you're in love with her. Or she's your sister. How did you lose Wagner in the first place?"

"Wow, straight guys are gross," said Fernando. Which, fair.

"Excuse me?" said J. J. "Didn't I hear this was all your fucking idea?"

"It wasn't!" said Jeremy. "Not entirely."

"It was me," said Passey. "I said we should go."

"It doesn't matter at this point," said Jake, looking at his phone screen. "It is, fuck me, four-thirty-five in the morning. Let's agree to keep this between us and go to bed."

Jake pulled Miitka to the side to make sure he was cool with babysitting Jamie while the kid sobered up. He nodded despite looking spooked by the prospect, but Jake decided to step back a bit. While he had some experience dealing with inebriated rooks (the Bears' reputations as party animals wasn't entirely undeserved), Jake had a feeling that Jamie would not want to switch roommates with Dylan for the evening. The worst that would happen at this point was that Miitka would call one of the team doctors, and they knew to be discreet.

He also made sure to talk to Jeremy and, more importantly, Fernando. What little good will they had built with the team would be nuked if Fernando decided to post about their little adventure anywhere in social media.

"I didn't see or hear anything," said Fernando. "I don't remember where we went, if we even went anywhere. I had too much to drink."

Over in the corner, J. J. had Nikki, Koval, and Passey and was probably making sure that they hadn't dropped some idiotic reels on social media for Melissa to clean up. Good. Jake didn't have the energy for another speech instructing children on the basic facts of life.

Next day (or a few hours later, to be more accurate), Hollander glanced around the plane's narrow conference table section with suspicious eyes. Drapeau and Comeau--standing by his right and left, respectively--gave each other questioning looks.

"What the fuck happened last night?" asked Hollander.

The stressful smog that had taken over the plane intensified. Jamie burrowed into himself. Jeremy squirmed miserably. J. J. shot Jake a questioning look. Miitka, thank God, had taken refuge further in the back.

Well. Guess Jake had taken charge of the shitshow. "Jamie ate something stupid so he's been throwing up a bit--probably a little food poisoning. He'll probably be good for tomorrow's game, but we might want to ask Theriault for a backup forward just in case."

Hollander's critical gaze scanned over them one more time. The only one who looked natural was Babikov. Koval was looking a little confused, but that was his default state. Jeremy's face had gone ripe red. Dylan looked at his hands and Passey fidgeted. Jamie opened his mouth but ended up gagging a little. Whether it was real nausea or an attempt to corroborate Jake's story, it looked pretty silly.

"All right, I'll pretend I believe that for now," said Hollander. "I trust we will be over this poisoning before our game against the Bears."

"Request the call up," said Jake. "Just in case."

About an hour into the flight, Jake square his shoulders and went to find their illustrious captain. As usual, Hollander was in the back of the plane reviewing tapes of their next opponents. Jake sat next to him and pointedly looked at his tablet screen. Bears-Admirals game; the Bears had lost that one, but the tape was at the point where Roz scored. Hollander paused it right before the now-customary Rozanov-Wynn kiss.

"Can I help you?" asked Hollander.

"Wagner has food poisoning from tainted Delta-9 he took from some scumbag at a frat party."

Hollander frowned. "So he doesn't have food poisoning?"

"That's what I said. Do you know what Delta-9 is?"

"Literally, you just said he has food poisoning," insisted Hollander.

"It's synthetic weed," said Jake, though that wasn't the point. "I'm pretty sure this is the first time this happens, but still."

"Still what?"

"Wagner," said Jake. "You have, by this point, noticed that something is off."

"He's still playing at the level we expected," said Hollander.

Yes, but imagine, for a second, the world outside of the rink. Jake knew saying that would be counterproductive, so he bit it back. "I mean. . ." Fuck, how to put this? "In regards to adjustment to sudden changes in interpersonal dynamics. . ."

"Merrell, what the fuck are you talking about?" said Hollander. "I'm not an idiot, okay. I assume what happened was the rooks went out to party, Wagner did something stupid, another one called you, and you went to pick them up. Standard shit, really. Thanks."

One day, they would have that fist fight SportsBet kept hoping for. "It wasn't standard."

"How so?" asked Hollander. His eyes narrowed. "Did he go off with another guy?"

"Yes, but--"

"--we can't raise a stink about a third gay player," said Hollander. "Was that why they traded him to us? Are we getting all the queer players now?"

"Hollander, I don't know if Wagner's queer," said Jake.

"That's fine, as long as they're good," Hollander went on.

"Fuck me," said Jake, burying his face in his hands. "I am concerned about Jamie Wagner, specifically," he tried. Again.

"What, is he giving you a Thompson vibe?" asked Hollander.

Jake froze. That wasn't. . . He hadn't said that. He wasn't thinking that. There was no reason to be thinking that about people. "No, I mean. There's no reason to think he's violent."

"There weren't many reasons to think Thompson would be violent either," said Hollander. "Except for the episode with McAllister." He paused and hummed. "Wagner did attack Xie."

"No," said Jake. "That was a startle response."

"Which resulted in what was, technically, a physical assault."

"Hollander, that's not what happened."

"Fine," said Hollander, in an obnoxious placating tone. "What's your hunch about Wagner, then?"

"There's no hunch." Jake shook his head. He forgot what he meant to say about Wagner. "Hollander, I didn't know Thompson would do what he did."

"Obviously not exactly," said Hollander. "But you knew he would do something. You were the one who wanted to call the police from the beginning."

"No, no," said Jake. "That's not true. I wanted someone to talk to him and make sure he cooled off."

"Well, then McAllister was lying?"

"No!" said Jake. It sounded high pitched and crazy to his own ears. "Hollander, are you insane?"

"He said it in the Everglades stream," insisted Hollander. "McAllister said I should've listened to Jake and called the police that day. And you told me and Hayden too that we should call the police."

"Why the fuck are you saying these things to me now?"

"It came up," shrugged Hollander. "Look, I admit that it was a hard step to take since none of us backed you, myself included. But I think, with benefit of hindsight, if you had trusted your instincts--if any of us had trusted your instincts--things might have turned out different."

Jake sat there watching him, sure that his mouth was hanging open. Or maybe not. Was he even breathing?

"Anyway, with that mind," said Hollander, looking to the side and letting out another considering hum. "You think something's wrong with Wagner?"

"You think it was my fault?"

"What was your fault?" said Hollander.

"Thompson! You think Thompson killing his family was my fault?"

"I. . . don't know where you're getting that from," said Hollander, tilting his head.

"It was your fault, Captain," said Jake. It burst out of him, words he hadn't allowed himself to so much as think.

"Excuse me?"

"You team is going up in fucking flames and you disappear to the gym to do cardio?" Jake stood up and Hollander did the same, pushing aside his tablet. They were in each other's faces.

What was left of Jake's rationality warned him to walk away, but where the fuck would he go? He couldn't believe that he'd ever considered the Voyageurs' private yet spacious. He felt his hand curl into a fist.

"Guys!" Hayden's voice pieced the plane's recycled air.

Hollander leaned back, but he didn't take his eyes off Jake. Behind Hayden, J. J. and Miitka were watching quietly.

"Guys," Hayden repeated, more softly. He laid a hand on Hollander's shoulder and pushed him a little further away from Jake. "Whatever is going on here, I think we need to cool off. If it's about Jamie, I was talking to him and he's feeling much better."

"Good," said Hollander. "Now I need some time to finish the tapes I was watching."

"Okay," said Hayden. "Jake, let's just go to the other side of the plane, alright?"

Jake felt his jaw tightening. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Miitka shift nervously. He walked around an aisle of empty seats and found a semi-secluded spot where he could fume in peace.

Shane Hollander-Ilya Rozanov

Shane Hollander
the fuck is Merrell's problem

Ilya Rozanov
oh
finally unblock on this line lol
ready for another fmk

Shane Hollander
fuck you

Ilya Rozanov
Jake Merrell, Dylan Xie, Dallas Kent
go

Shane Hollander
stupid set with obvious answer
kill Merrell

Ilya Rozanov
invite me to Kent-Hollander nuptials

Shane Hollander
he told me the Thompson thing was my fault!

Ilya Rozanov
doesn't sound like something he would say normally
what did you do to him hollander

Shane Hollander
so immediately you take his side

Ilya Rozanov
explain situation where Jake Merrell told you it's your fault 5 year old baby was murdered

Shane Hollander
I only said that if he had trusted his instincts and called the police, things might have been different
which is a factual statement

Ilya Rozanov
oh so you say it's his fault first

Shane Hollander
I did not say that
I never said those words
if that's how he chooses to interpret the sequence of events, that's on him

Ilya Rozanov
glad we're on same page
so about our post-game plans
we can have hotel or my house out in suburbs
hotel closer to airport more time to do you the way you like
house more comfortable and private but bit of a drive

Shane Hollander
hotel
fmk: Merrell Wynn Me

Ilya Rozanov
lmao hollander you are so bad at this game
I already fucked you plenty
kill you fuck Jake marry Wynn
fmk: Boizaiu Troy Barrett Me

Shane Hollander
same kill you
I can fuck Troy Barrett I guess

Ilya Rozanov
please
as if you wouldn't sink a ship with all MLH players in it if only to bounce on my dick some more

Chapter End Notes

More sexual assault heavily implied to happen off screen with OCs, this time from a serial predator at a college campus.

Also I don't think people will be happy in general lmao