Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

Gen, M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike/Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander & Jackie Pike, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Jackie Pike

Characters:

Hayden Pike, Shane Hollander, Jackie Pike, Hayden Pike's Children, Ilya Rozanov, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Team Ensemble (Game Changers), David Hollander, Yuna Hollander

Additional Tags:

Billets, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, hockey innacuracies, canon typical background misogny and homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Autistic Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike Friendship, Protective Hayden Pike, Hockey, Found Family, Hayden Pike Finds Out About Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Hurt/Comfort, Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros Being Assholes (Game Changers), Montreal Voyageurs | Montreal Metros (Game Changers), POV Outsider

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-15 Completed: 2026-04-27 Words: 114,087 Chapters: 13/13

training camp

Summary

Team management e-mails him early in the afternoon, but it’s just after helping Jackie feed Ruby and Jade dinner, when Hayden has the chance to go to the bedroom and sit against the bed headboard, that he manages to see and read it. The language is polite but friendly, and the person writing it actually identifies herself as the lady from the team’s media relationship, Nathaly, which immediately makes the exchange feel more real. She calls Hayden by his first name too, which also helps. Hayden has read some official communication before, but they addressed the team as a whole, so he knows this is different. Nathaly is talking to him to know if there’s any way he might billet for next season.

***

Alternate universe where Hayden was drafted two seasons before Shane and is three years older than him. He's not quite a veteran, but, somehow, he still gets picked by the Metros to house hockey's second coming of christ, Shane Hollander, during his rookie season. Shane never really leaves.

Notes

guess who had a idea on friday and decided to write a whole new thing on a whim. i'll give you three tries.

Chapter 1: i.

Chapter Summary

Shane Hollander is drafted by the Montreal Metros in 2009. Hayden Pike is drafted two years before.

Chapter Notes

2007

Hayden doesn't have siblings, but having been part of hockey teams for the better part of his life, he figures there hasn’t been much he’s missed out on; having brothers is probably like having teammates. He hasn’t lacked in hecticness either way. There's a kind of brotherhood that comes with hockey–a natural close-bondeness. Hayden has known the balls of every male friend he's ever had from sharing locker rooms, and all his big firsts–first kiss, first time, first girlfriend–happened beside guys he played with.

So he’s not butt-hurt about being farther down the draft picks than some of his teammates in Drummondville. Hayden’s glad to have been picked at all–not everyone was, and from those not all of them are going to get a second chance next year. Sometimes, you never get much farther than minor leagues. Hayden’s glad to keep playing. And it being for Montreal is pretty nice too.

“We should all go out for drinks,” Morley, who was the 27th pick, says. Adams, who wasn’t picked at all, is the first to agree–enthusiastically–and that’s more or less the general mood for the evening: simultaneously celebrating and mourning, depending on each of the guys from the team you’re talking to.

They pick a club at random and Hayden doesn’t even pay attention to what drinks he’s taking; he’s just gulping them as they come. This is one of the last times he’ll see these people–boys and men he’s roomed and played with for his entire junior league career–and Hayden is more or less already used to it, it’s just the way it goes with teams, he’s had a taste since peewee hockey, but he can still admit he’ll miss the guys. They were his brothers for one, two, three years. Now Hayden is going to meet new ones.

He does shots with Adams, Lucky and Hubbard and lets himself be dragged to the dancefloor with a lemon slice still dangling from his mouth. He’s glad he’ll keep playing for Canada, because he can’t even think about not being allowed to drink at nineteen. Lucky is going to Colorado and he’s drinking like he’s trying to make up for the lack of alcohol in his near future; probably why he’s so shameless at the moment, hitting on anything with two legs and wearing a skirt. But Hayden won’t complain since he’s being introduced to groups of girls too.

One smiles at the lemon between his teeth and Hayden smiles back, before giving a last suck and throwing the slice over his shoulder. The club is dark but its strobe lights make the girl’s eyes shine and Hayden slides closer and says, “Hey. I’m Hayd. Hayden.”

“Jackie,” she says back.

Jackie is from Montreal, only on vacation with her sister, which is awesome–Hayden gets her number to take with him when he goes there for training camp. He’d already kissed her a bunch by the end of the night and wants to do it some more. Those are the things he’s looking forward to in the next year: playing professional hockey, making Montreal feel good about picking him, making Jackie feel good about picking him too, and giving his mom some more things to brag about with her lady friends.

Montreal, the city, is nice, and Montreal, the team, is probably going to be too. It’s weird to be a rookie, Hayden decides; he’s been playing with guys more or less around his age until now, and in contrast, entering the Metros locker room for the first time immediately makes him feel younger, a third-grader lost in a high school. He knows most of the guys are in their late twenties at best–athetles retire young–but it feels like there is an entire ravine between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six. He almost wants to call everyone sir.

“This is Blanchard, this is Corey, this is Jake,” Montreal Metros’ captain–David Stone–goes over the guys like a line, introducing them to him. It’s just the training camp still, but Hayden already feels somewhat out of his depth; having his bag slung across his chest while everyone is either already naked or in their thermal clothes leaves him feeling overdressed.

The guys greet him back as his new captain walks him through the rest of the locker room, until Stone finally stops at one of the last stalls. “And here’s your father away from mother: Nate. Management told me you’re gonna be billet-ing with him and his wife for the first year. His government name is Nathan Newton if you want to check his criminal record, just in case.”

“Fuck off, cap,” Nathan gives a big grin up to Stone. He has a tooth missing at the front, which Hayden imagines he might have lost and never bothered to get an enamel replacement; it makes him look older. All in all, he’s also probably in his mid-twenties, but Hayden’s immediate thought is of one of his old school teachers: slicked back black hair and wide shoulders. His nose is crooked too. “Hey, kid. It’s nice having you.”

Hayden shakes his hand, not sure if that’s true. “Thanks for that,” he says, genuinely. No one must look forward to giving room and board to a nineteen-old stranger. But Nathan’s smile seems earnest enough.

“It’s a rite of passage. A few years from now you’re gonna have a rookie of your own too.”

“So behave before you pay your dues!” a guy from a few stalls over hollers, just as someone else snorts at Nathan with a complaint of, “Let him put his skates for the first time before that.”

The locker room is loud enough to, paradoxically, make Hayden feel right at home. Chirps are familiar; Hayden can take some leg-pulling. He takes off his bag to put it down on his stall–just beside Nathan’s, like he really is supposed to be his duckling–and he knows he’ll make it his place.

2008

The first time Hayden hears about Shane Hollander is in a hotel sitting room, shuffling towards the breakfast table while the rest of the team watches a game on the big TV up the wall.

“G’morning, rookie,” the guys take turns rumbling at him, from the food line right to the couch. It’s early, but there’s no such thing as sleeping late in a hotel–and if there were, there certainly is no such thing as sleeping late when you’re an away-game. Everyone is already up, if in varied states of consciousness. Hayden stacks his plate with as much carbs and protein he can and forgoes the chocolate milk the hotel has provided so no one gives him shit.

The game is from a junior league–under collegiate level, even. Hockey players are incapable of not speaking loudly, but the energy around the TV is almost analytical. Stone isn’t breaking his focus from the TV. Nathan, drinking a coffee, glances at Hayden with a nod as he eats while standing–there’s nowhere to sit.

“Good morning.”

“Sure,” Hayden says, taking a bite of fried eggs. He looks at the TV, but can’t recognize the team; all the space in his head that was reserved for knowing fellow teams from junior leagues has been replaced by the NHL roster. He only knows the teams he personally played against, and–jesus. Whoever’s on screen is moving too damn fast for him to recognize the jersey. “What’s going on?”

“Hayden, meet Canada’s new captain at World Junior’s,” Blanchard tells him with an overly cheerful voice, before being elbowed away by Mcgroarty. “Team selection isn’t out yet, asshat.” But Blanchard stands undeterred.

“You’re telling me Canada isn’t picking that?”

“Ever heard of him, Hayd?” one of the goalies asks him, one of the guys that’s more pleasant with him, which Hayden didn’t expect to say about a goalie. He looks at the TV more closely–that flash of lightning has just scored a goal, and is fist-bumping his teammates at the bench stiffly – and Hayden finally manages to read the name Hollander.

 “No,” he says, truthfully, to which half the team audibly groans.

“Oh my god, does no one watch TV anymore,” one of the older guys complains. Not even the goalie comes to Hayden’s defense.

“Our Hayden is in loveeee,” Mcgroarty sing-songs. “He doesn’t care about hockey anymore.”

“I don’t care about youth hockey,” Hayden defends himself, probably more conceitedly than he should afford, considering he was in the junior league last year. It’s the best he can do to pretend he’s not furiously flushing–he spent 10 minutes texting with Jackie first thing in the morning before coming down.

It still gets some hearty chuckles from the guys, and Nathan takes pity on him and shuffles a bit to the side so Hayden has somewhere to stuff himself on top of the couch’s arm. They get off his dick, if only because the game is more interesting. Hayden has never heard of Hollander before–Shane Hollander, he hears from the game’s commentary, turned up so it can be heard amidst the usual business of a hotel lobby–but he can immediately see why he’d make everyone stop what they’re doing to watch the game. Hollander is fast–more important, his hands are, really, really good. Hayden plays at a professional level and even then what’s on the TV manages to surpass what he sees on the ice. It’s almost unfair against a junior team.

“You know he’s only seventeen?” Blanchard asks, sounding disbelieving himself; it gathers a lot of loud groans from just about everyone, most of all the twenty-somethings. “Yeesh,” Mcgroarty answers him, succinctly. Yeah–yeesh.

“There’s always a prodigy to make you feel like shit about yourself,” someone sums up. A few seconds later, Hollander scores again.

The game is almost cruel to watch; not to Hollander, but the opposite team. It’s pretty clear there’s no way they’re winning it. It would be a miracle to clear the goal advantage. Most of the guys wander away when the game result is obvious with still the whole third period left; watching Hollander is almost bad to someone’s ego. It’s easier to pretend they want to do something else before they all have to leave the hotel for their team bus.

The captain keeps watching though. Stone’s eyes keep on the television, as hard to read as from the first moment Hayden came down to the hotel hall. Nathan stays sitting close by, and, comparatively more at ease, he sticks like a sore thumb besides Stone’s stiff, curved back, stiff face, stiff silence.

“Hey,” he starts conversationally with Hayden, voice low; unclear if it’s for Stone’s sake or Hayden’s. “I meant to talk to you about this thing.”

“Sure,” Hayden says through a mouthful of his unfinished breakfast, glancing between the game on the TV and his captain. He’s distracted enough to not get how foreboding those words are from Nathan, who’s put on the same. perhaps misplaced, ‘I’m the adult’ face he makes with Hayden sometimes.

“That girl you’re with–it’s serious, huh?”

Hayden’s breakfast turns cold inside his mouth. “Uh.” He thought he’d escaped from hearing the bird and bees since living away from his parents from basically the age of seventeen.

Nathan chuckles lowly at his face, eyes crinkled up. Hayden has the notion that he’s trying to make less noise for Stone’s sake after all. “I’ll spare you an extra hour of mercy and leave this conversation for the bus. It’s nothing serious, Dana,” –Danielle, Nathan’s wife– “is just up my ass to give you some adult advice. Save your neighbor’s seat and we’ll get some privacy, okay, kid?”

Hayden agrees immediately, if only to get as far away from there as he can, immediately. Jackie is–well, she’s pretty, as much as the first time Hayden saw her in that club, and is the same age as him, the only familiar thing in Montreal. She’s taken pretty well to dating an athlete, whose work is 50% travelling, and in the few times Hayden has brought her to team events, she seemed to fit pretty well with the WAGS–after they were done cooing at her and Hayden as if they were five, and not, like, at most just ten years their juniors.

So Hayden forgets about Hollander, and he forgets about Stone’s intimidating silence too. The team bus leaves the hotel at ten, and by then Nathan is already waiting for him beside its door. He swings an arm around Hayden’s shoulders companionably, looking pretty smiley for what’s about to be for sure an uncomfortable conversation.

“This feels like a trial run for ‘the talk’ with one of my boys.” Nathan has two; with the little girl he had right before Hayden came to live with him, that makes three children. Hockey players tend to have kids young. Nathan’s twenty-six, but his oldest is seven.

Different from what both of them are used to, they take the chairs at the back of the bus, for the sake of Hayden’s dignity, he imagines. Nathan bats away any of the guys’ attention until it’s really just them sitting side by side, a little bubble. Hockey players are very noisy.

“You probably already heard a version of this from your old man, so I'm just going to give a refresher. You should always be careful with whatever you’re doing,” Nathan grins when Hayden groans in despair, “with whoever you’re doing it with, but now it’s getting serious with your girl, you really have to start being careful. It is getting serious, right?”

It’s as serious as Hayden ever had, which, at nineteen, he’s aware it’s not actually that high a mark. He’s had a handful of girlfriends from the age of fourteen, but none of them had quite got to the one-year mark. “It’s serious,” he tells Nathan–despite his embarrassment–because he actually cares enough about Jackie to be honest. 

“Good for you, rook.” Nathan gives his back big pats, earnest enough. “You’re young and rich–you deserve to have fun. Just take it from someone who had a kid before they were twenty and make sure you wrap it before you tap it, okay.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Hayden bemoans beneath Nathan’s hearty laugh. He gets up from his seat, although the bus is already moving, and almost loses his first tooth for it, stumbling dangerously through the aisle. “Okay, good talk!” he shouts back through his escape, refusing to look behind–or to the other teammates that are looking his way. “Lets never do that again!”

Conversation over, he takes his usual place at the middle of the bus, to the left of Mcgroarty–deep in sleep, thankfully–and to the right of a guy who was the rookie the year before him. The latter nods silently to Hayden as he sits down, and he imagines there will be no small talk because of the earbuds on the guy’s ears, but he takes them off for a moment.

“No pressure, huh?” he asks, and Hayden has a moment of confusion. “Hollander, dude. You’re going to tell me you liked seeing that before a game?”

They’re playing tonight–Hayden has forgotten all about that kid in the few hours between learning about him and getting on this bus, and he’s sure he can do that again several hours until the puck drops. “It was a good game, sure,” he allows. The ex-rookie scoffs. “He’s not on an enemy team yet, so.” Hayden shrugs.

“Yeah, but what a way to raise the fucking bar.” Displeasure rafts from him like a stank, making his face curl into more lines than his age should carry; he’s only a year older than Hayden, but thinking of Hollander–who’s all of seventeen years old, and making hockey commentators wow at him like he’s the second coming of Christ–he looks as washed away as an old man.

Hayden hopes that’s not how he’ll be in a year's time.

Hayden’s thick in the head on a good day, but it doesn’t take rocket science to understand that this guy is insecure. It’s not like he doesn’t get it either; he wants to impress people as much as any other player. But Hayden figured out he isn’t and neither is going to be the best player in the league several years ago–he just wants to be the best player he can be. There’s no use getting insecure about Hollander. Hayden would rather think of something else.

“We’re going against the Canucks,” he makes light of the conversation, instead, more neutral ground. “I don’t think we need to play that well.”

That gets a snort of the other guy at least, although his eyebrows keep that angry edge. “Don’t let Cap hear you.”

Hayden instinctively looks to the front of the bus, where Stone’s usual seat is. He can just about see the top of his head, hair somewhat recognizable underneath his official Metros cap; already going dull and grayish at the edges. He still looks as tense as hours ago–unlike his usually friendly disposition. Hayden imagines that he’s not in a particular playful mood right now.

“For sure,” he agrees. Stone is faraway, across an aisle of their fellow hockey players chit-chatting, and wearing headphones to boot, but Hayden still makes sure to not speak too loudly. Just in case. “You know why he’s…” he trails off; the picture is self-explanatory.

“If you were captain of a team about to fight for a big shot rookie you’d feel pretty distant too.” It’s implied that neither him or Hayden are that kind of rookie, but he’d have to agree too. Hayden was never captain material. Hollander was leading his junior team, and all the guys agreed he’d probably be picked for the captain spot at Worlds. One day–soon–Hollander was going to be a captain in the NHL too; in whatever team that had to be.

Hayden looks away from Stone’s head and says nothing.

They lose the game by a point. To the fucking Canucks. Turns out they should have been playing well after all. The team goes back to Montreal right after; a down ending for one of their first road trips in the season. It was still the start of October, so it wasn’t like the games already mattered too much, but Hayden wanted to have great games every time he stepped on the ice; maybe then he wouldn’t feel so much like the rookie.

Jackie texts him while he’s on his way back with the rest of the team, but it’s with a different kind of energy than how they kept in touch during the road trip; her messages are simultaneously shorter and carry with more of a kind of nervous energy. Hayden is still thinking about losing to the Canucks, so he doesn’t pay too much attention to it. She insists on meeting as soon as he’s back in town, so Hayden drives right over to her apartment, so Nathan doesn’t have yet another chance to tell him to “be careful.”

Maybe Nathan should have told Hayden that sooner, as it turns out. Jackie’s mascara is runny when he finally sees her, and he doesn’t get the idea that it’s the first time that it looked like this in recent days. She has him sit down before she tells him she’s pregnant, but he still feels as if he’s just lost his footing on the ice, slipping and sliding down, down, down.

So. He hadn’t wrapped it.

2009

Nathan makes an awful noise when he hits the boards, body crashing against it as roughly as a head-on traffic collision, before it drops heavily onto the ice, a puppet with its strings cut. The ref hasn’t called anything yet when Hayden instinctively glides towards the right winger behind the hit, but there isn’t a world where that would have been a clean strike. His gloves are already off as he grabs a handful of the opponent’s jersey and tugs the man towards his free fist. Hayden doesn’t fight often, but he feels possessed by someone else’s muscle memory as he yells, “You piece of shit!”

He’s so focused on breaking the other guy’s nose that he doesn’t notice that Nathan hasn’t got up on his own. The ring is a mess: crowds are bloodthirsty and Hayden can barely hear anything past its enthusiastic shouting, feverish, almost, thundering enough to make it seem that an earthquake has just hit the stadium. Hayden knows there’s yelling on the ice too, just like he had screamed at the enemy winger, the rest of his team crowding around Nathan with just as much enthusiasm to get their hands dirty and pay the unchecked hit back. A ref tries to stop Hayden off-handedly, but he’s too busy struggling to keep a cluster from each team from getting too close to each other. Everything’s chaos.

When Hayden is finally dragged away from his fight, not by his captain or another teammate–all more interested in throwing their own punches–he finally notices they’re bringing the stretcher. It’s serious. Hayden knew the hit was hard–its sound seemed to echo across the whole ring–but it’s another thing to see Nathan still on the ice, a ref and a member of the Metros’ medical team crouched around talking to him.

It’s when he’s left the ice and rewatched the hit that Hayden can understand properly how Nathan was hurt. He’d watched him hit the boards with his head first, then body, but it takes a slowed-down capture for Hayden to see how his head bounced from the glass with the weight of the collision, before hitting it back again just as strongly as the first time. Hayden feels a phantom ache in his own head just watching it, but more importantly, his stomach drops with icy dread at the footage. Nathan had been taken away by paramedics–he was still in-route to the hospital when the game ended.

“You think it’s serious?” Hayden looks around the locker room, where everyone had gathered behind Anderson and his blackberry to watch a replay that Sports Central had aired. No one, not Stone or the Metros’ coach, had chastised Hayden for fighting when they all came out of the ice, which should have been his first clue of how serious this was. If that wasn’t enough, the grave faces around the locker room are all his confirmation he needs.

“Let's wait for the doctor’s word before that,” Stone speaks before anyone can. It’s a bland answer, but the hardness in Stone’s shoulder blades isn’t hidden behind his flimsy compression shirt, so Hayden can see how tightly he’s holding himself. There’s no comfort to be found there.

Nathan spends a week in the hospital without any word. People say no news is good news, but Hayden doesn’t think that’s the case this time; there’s an uneasy sort of silence with management, regarding Nathan, and the length of his hospital stay doesn’t reassure Hayden.

He doesn’t live with Nathan and his family anymore: after Jackie got pregnant, Hayden rented an apartment in Montreal for them to stay, and then bought a house a few months before the girls were born. He married Jackie a few days after his twenty-first birthday, when she was just starting the second trimester, belly already rounded beneath her white dress, and his billet year was already ending by then. Now, Hayden has his own family, although he still feels frightfully young, but he still cares a lot about Nathan, even if he’s not sure he can say they’re best friends. The guy is as close to an older brother as Hayden has ever had.

Some whispers start about what Nathan’s condition is, but Hayden pays them no mind, if only for childish stubbornness. There’s still games to be played–after everyone has been fined and punished from the team-wide scrimmage that followed Nathan’s hit–and he pretends he’s focusing on that. Still, he’s immediately on route to Nathan’s hospital when he’s cleared for visits.

Hayden realizes this isn’t going to be a cheerful get-together as soon as he finally gets his eyes on Nathan. His skin is washed away, dark circles beneath his eyes and a tightness to them like the light in the room–which already has been dimmed–hurts. He looks small on his hospital bed; somehow no longer tall or muscular. His missing tooth just makes him seem more battered.. He looks the opposite of invincible.

“Hey, kid.”

Hayden has always been aware of the injuries that can happen with hockey. He’s had his bell rung a few times of his own and he wouldn’t be allowed to play if he didn’t understand the risks, or know what to watch out for them. Still, he rarely thinks of concussions as something career-ending; distant from the uncomfortable, but brief period of recovery that he’s personally experienced with them. For the symptoms to not have disappeared after a week and provide instead catastrophic consequences if Nathan ever does have a repeated head injury, Hayden feels this is as unfair as the hit that started it all.

“Could be worse,” Nathan says; although it’s hard to think of him as at peace when his brow is furrowed in pain. “They said I’m lucky I didn’t have second-impact syndrome. Compared to that, I guess I really have nothing to complain. I got a few good years out of hockey.” He smiles ruefully. “A cup would have been nice, though.”

It fucking sucks. For once, for Nathan’s sake, Hayden manages to swallow back his words.

Nathan is the first teammate Hayden watches go from Montreal, a particularly bitter loss when it’s due to a career-ending injury. Nathan’s departure is a terrible note to have in the middle of the 2009-2010 season. He wasn’t just a good player, but a reliable part of the team; he’d been a reliable part of Hayden’s rookie year. After how much the Montreal Metros management celebrated having landed Shane Hollander in this year’s draft–second place (turns out Hollander wasn’t a number one pick after all)–this has felt like a cold bucket of water.

Hayden tries to manage how much it’s affected him, but he’s never been good with feelings. Hayden can be ill-tempered; Jackie tends to say he takes turns between being a block- or a hardhead. He’s having a rough time as it is, a new husband and father, having to wrangle time to help Jackie take care of two infant daughters and still play at the same professional level in the national league as before. Children are hard work by themselves, especially two–surprise twins, right in an unplanned pregnancy. Hayden can recognize the universe’s sense of humor.

He loves his daughters though; loves their rosy cheeks and blonde tufts of hair, the dip of their nose that’s all Jackie’s. He loves them even when they’re waking him up every three hours and making Jackie hide in the bathroom sometimes, in tears. Hayden loves hockey too, even when it drags him away from home and spits his teammates out with post-concussion syndrome. Hayden just needs to learn how he’s supposed to make both those loves fit together.

He misses Nathan’s stall when it’s cleared out. At least the empty space means they won’t have to shuffle the locker room around to find space for Hollander.

They get the day off on Christmas, an overdue break because they’ve really been playing like shit. It’s not that Montreal is a bad team–although it’s been years since it was actively considered one of the greats–but it was clear even before Hayden joined the main roster that they had some kinks to work through. For the last several years, save a particular–and miraculous–good season, the team is lucky if they even make it into the playoffs. And they won’t this year, at the rate they’re going.

It shouldn’t surprise Hayden why management had seemed so happy about Hollander: they’re counting on him to be the breath of fresh air that’ll move their sails again. Hayden has been pulling his weight from the moment he wore their jersey for the first time, but he knows he’s not Hollander material. He doesn’t feel as defensive and territorial about it as some of the other guys from the team have appeared to, but he can’t say he’s looking up to his addition all that much, when he’s still thinking about the teammate they lost. It’s nothing personal.

He’s setting up the guest bedrooms in his house for his mom, dad and parent-in-laws, visiting for the holiday, when the e-mail arrives. It takes a while for Hayden to read it, more focused on figuring out which room each parent might feel jealous about. Hayden only really pays attention to his phone when he’s outside the house and it is the only line connecting him to Jackie and how she and the girls are doing. Now he’s at home, the device is abandoned over one of the bedside tables, along Jackie’s stretch mark cream and the baby monitor.

Team management e-mails him early in the afternoon, but it’s just after helping Jackie feed Ruby and Jade dinner, when Hayden has the chance to go to the bedroom and sit against the bed headboard, that he manages to see and read it. The language is polite but friendly, and the person writing it actually identifies herself as the lady from the team’s media relationship, Nathaly, which immediately makes the exchange feel more real. She calls Hayden by his first name too, which also helps. Hayden has read some official communication before, but they addressed the team as a whole, so he knows this is different. Nathaly is talking to him to know if there’s any way he might billet for next season.

Of all internal letters to receive, Hayden hadn’t been expecting this one. It’s not like he’s a team veteran–he barely isn’t a rookie anymore. This is his second year in the team and next season will be his third. Hayden knows, from personal experience, that billets are supposed to help rookies set their feet on the ground and settle in the city–and the team–but he can’t say he thinks of himself as someone capable of providing steadiness.

There’s spit up on his shirt and he hasn’t shaved for the entire time he spent at home. He can hear Jackie showering quickly in the ensuite bathroom and Jade and Ruby’s sleepy gurgles from the nursery, coming from the baby monitor. He can’t see what a house with newborns and first-time parents can offer.

Nathaly doesn’t mention the rookie by name, but Hayden knows it has to be Hollander. Montreal picked other rookies beyond him in this year’s draft, but they probably weren’t going to make the main roster just yet. The e-mail mentioned they were looking for a billet as soon as June of next year. Training camp only started in August, so Hayden imagines the only other reason Montreal would want a rookie close as soon as that is because they had a lot of promotional material planned (and they were willing to believe Montreal wouldn’t continue right to the end of the playoffs to afford that). If Hayden already isn’t sure if his house is billet-material, he certainly doesn’t think it’s Hollander-material, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why management would offer him that role, when half the time they act like Hollander is a precious jewel. There has to be better, older, more well-prepared people.

He doesn’t reply to the e-mail right away; since it’s the holiday season, Hayden figures he has some leniency in keeping up with electronic correspondence. He just sets his phone down and waits for Jackie to get back from the bathroom so they can sleep until Hayden has to pick both his parents from the airport, and before that, take care of the girls when they inevitably wake up in the middle of the night.

They have a nice Christmas. There’s a team breakfast planned for the day right after, before they go back to training and the rest of the regular season games, and Hayden takes the girls for once since Jackie says they’re old enough. They won’t remember being cooed at by every WAG, their children and even some of the guys, but Jackie will, and she needs the break. She looks a little more like the girl Hayden met two years ago, after planning an outfit for the first time in months and smiling around women her age. It’s all Hayden can give her when the team is supposed to travel again in just a few weeks.

Jackie isn’t allowed to drink while she’s still breastfeeding and Hayden has been refusing alcohol too in a gesture of support, but he’s dragged away from her by the guys and nagged so much about his glass of soda he eventually caves in to one beer just so they’ll hop off his dick. He drinks discreetly, glancing behind to make sure Jackie is still distracted with the rest of the girls, and doesn’t contribute much to the rowdy conversation the guys are having about whether to play videogames or watch a game of college hockey.

The one person closest to matching his quiet mood is Stone, surprisingly enough. Usually, he’s more vocal and just as much of a jock as all of them–maybe a little different from the usual image of a team captain–but he’s more reticent today. He has kids too, so Hayden wonders if he has the same reason as him behind his tiredness. The team breakfast is happening in his house, with his wife having been the one behind all the cooking, but Stone sits on the sofa like just another guest.

The guys end up deciding on playing pool table, and they leave Hayden and Stone a little more place by moving away to the game table. Hayden is still nursing his singular beer and thinking of nothing in particular–certainly not thinking of the e-mail he received yesterday–but it’s Stone that breaks that silence.

“Holiday treating you well?” And when Hayden nods his chin, taking a big sip, Stone nods as well. “It’s a good rest. We’ll come back with more fuel; and you can think of the billet situation.”

Hayden’s hand freezes around his beer can, turning back to Stone. He misunderstands his shock. “Didn’t you already know?”

“No–I, uh, got the e-mail yesterday. So you…”

“Of course I know about it, I’m the team captain.” It doesn’t pass Hayden that, from everyone else on the team, maybe Stone should have been the first to be considered to billet. It would feel like an extension of his usual captain duties–to keep an eye out for the rookies–and he’s one of the veterans, only younger than Omar, who’d be retiring next year anyway. But Hayden remembers Stone’s cold silence when he was watching Hollander captain his junior team, and the conversation he had on the bus about him, and he forces himself to move on from that thought, for his own safety.

“Nate was on talk to billet again,” Stone moves on in Hayden’s silence, “but with him out… Management’s scrambling to find Hollander housing.”

“Not to be an asshole–but how bad are the offerings for me to be the next choice?” The confusion dragged on from yesterday must sound earnest enough in Hayden’s voice, because all that Stone does is snort at him, no offense in his face. It’s a brief respite to the tense set of his brow.

“Would you believe that it was Nathan that recommended you?” Hayden wouldn’t–he can feel his own eyes bug out of their sockets by that, and Stone nods mutely to himself, as if that was already the answer he was expecting. “He talked to me about it. The guys upstairs weren’t so sure he was thinking alright, so I guess I went to check. Nate was serious about it–said you’re a good kid.”

Nathan was still dealing with the immediate symptoms and treatment of his brain injury and couldn’t come today–even if, technically, he doesn’t belong to the roster anymore–but the whole team had written him cards and sent his family’s house gift baskets to still keep them included, one last time. Hayden had sent him a christmas card of his own. It’s not that he’s not moved by, seemingly, being regarded well by the guy, but Hayden would have to agree with management and wonder if Nathan was actually clearheaded or not.

The way Hayden was still described as ‘kid’, even if a good one, should say it all. “I’m not exactly a veteran,” he argues, trying to explain himself.

“There isn’t a rule book of qualifications. This is actually more casual than I think you believe, Hayden.” Which is maybe an alarming thought, when Hayden considered he’d be in charge of taking care of someone that’s only barely of legal age. “The pick comes from the coach, depending on which family he knows that might pair well, but Nathan swore by you. It means something, from a former billet–and yours, to boot.”

“I just had a baby. Babies,” he corrects–sometimes, he still forgets. “My house is kind of a war zone right now. Shit–isn’t Hollander supposed to be really meticulous, or something?”

“It’ll do him some good to be a little less. And, might I remind you, everyone here has a kid of some age.” Hayden didn’t need the memo; just from another room, he could hear the team’s children making a ruckus, anywhere from one to ten years old. And, with Jackie, his own three-month babies.

“This might help you too. Management thinks that, since you’re two young guys, you might get on well, but I guess you’re going to feel a little bit older when you see Hollander–you might need that boost.”

Hayden doesn’t feel old enough to be someone’s dad–although he is–but he struggles to relate to people his age too, be it outside of sport or not. Playing professionally has made him feel, simultaneously, much older and more responsible than his peers, but also a perpetual kid, partying every night. He doesn’t know how to relate both things, especially now, as–he can barely believe it–the head of a house. He doesn’t know how he’d fit a teenager there, even if, logically, Hollander is just three years younger than Hayden.

Looking at him, Stone seems capable of reading all of his insecurities–he looks like he was expecting all of them, actually. In his eyes, they only seem like puzzle pieces falling in the right place. “Who knows, maybe Nathan was expecting that boost too. Maybe that’s why he named you.”

2010

Shane Hollander was driven to Montreal by his parents, two smartly-dressed people that make Hayden feel too young as he looks at them in front of the Metros’ training quarters. Mr Hollander is the first to greet him, giving Hayden a hearty handshake as he thanks him for having his son, and his eyes and smile are so painfully earnest, they are almost more intimidating.

“Oh–you know. We’re all a team.”

The GM, two team executives and Lecomte, the french-canadian coach that’s set to oversee the Metros for at least the next three years, are there to meet the Hollanders, and they nod at Hayden approvingly, sharing–if corporately–that same spirit. They don’t wait to agree with him, assuring the Hollanders that they are all team players–and that Shane is a part of the family.

Hayden doesn’t need to hear from team management that they are looking forward to having Hollander in the team; their enthusiasm to show him and his parents the franchise building, training grounds and the locker and breakroom borders on desperation. In contrast, Hayden feels more unsure, a prospective babysitter being interviewed by someone’s parents.

There’s no judgment in Mr Hollander’s eyes, but his wife–Hollander’s mom–is their son's manager, and she looks the part.

“I’m told you have a family?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.” Should he call her ma’am? Shit, he’s already done it. “Wife and two daughters. They are at home right now. My girls are almost one, but, you know–it’s hard to drive them around at that age.”

Mr Hollander smiles like he knows exactly that.

“Jackie, my wife, is with them,” Hayden goes on. “She’s cooking something to welcome you.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Ms Hollander’s voice is mild, but when she looks back to her son, she looks a bit more encouraging for a moment. It’s the same look Hayden has given Ruby and Jade at playdates, simultaneously checking on them and trying to get them to interact.

It’s somewhat weird to have Hollander right in front of him, in flesh and blood. He and his draft have been talked about so much–in connection with the first-pick, Roza-something, a rivalling prospect–that Hollander has become more of a concept than a person in Hayden’s head. Now that he’s in front of him, Hayden feels off-footed. Hollander has an official Metros hoodie on and is hiding his hands in its pockets. He looks younger and smaller in real life than on TV.

“Before that, we thought about giving a tour of the facilities and show where your stall is going to be, Shane,” the GM turns the Hollander’s heads. Shane perks up at the familiar mention of a stall–but especially anything slight alluding to hockey. “It’s still going to be a while until the official training camp, but if you want to test your new skates…”

There’s no better way to get his attention. Before, Shane Hollander seemed content in letting his parents do the talking, and disappearing to the background of his own welcome, but he comes back online at the mention of Hockey. Hayden accompanies the tour, listening offhandedly to all the promises management give the Hollanders as a whole, but he’s more interested in watching the Hollander: the quiet attention to which he learns his surroundings in the new building and the pride on his face at seeing the his last name engraved on one the stalls in the locker room. Everyone says Shane Hollander is a hockey savant–and, more derogatorily, a little robot–but Hayden thinks of a child getting their first skates when he puts on his for the first time; Hollander carries with himself that same kind of wonder.

He also skates like hell, but Hayden isn’t surprised by that. They let Hollander make some circles on the practice rink, leaving him to it as they talk with his parents by the boards. Hollander isn’t putting on a show, just testing the skates and the ice, but even then he moves nimbly and smoothly. Every time they glance at him, management looks like they have dollar signs over their eyes.

The tour doesn’t run too long. Everything there is to speak with the Hollanders is a formality by this point and Shane is going to get acquainted with the Montreal Metros in his own time. The quick glide around the ice gave him a new breath though, and he looks slightly closer to the Shane Hollander Hayden first saw on a sports channel as they leave the building.

His parents look more reassured as well, although Hayden doesn’t know if that’s because of management’s trouble or only by seeing their son slowly make his way through what’s supposed to be his team for the next coming years, and maybe however long his career is going to be.

The Hollanders shake hands with management and coach Lecomte a final time, but more surprisingly, Shane ends up freeing his hands from his pockets to do the same too. His words sound rehearsed when he says, “I look forward to playing for you,” like he carefully repeated them to himself in front of a mirror, hours before coming here, but they don’t lack honesty. In his voice, it sounds like a promise.

With it, the Hollanders look back to Hayden, and he gives them a tight smile.

“So–shall we?”

He leads them to his house in his car, driving ahead, to one of the more cushy sides of the residential areas Montreal offers. Hayden bought it in a hurry, but the house came recommended by some people in the team, which most likely stopped him from making a bad investment. Hayden still feels somewhat self-conscious about the property as he parks his car on the driveway, leaving space for the Hollander’s SUV; he’s been living with his family in it for almost two years now, but the house still looks impersonal and empty. Aside from his daughters’ bedrooms and the default furniture that came with the house, Hayden and Jackie haven’t had the time to fill it, and turn the house their own.

He leads the Hollanders inside, helping Mr Hollander carry his son’s baggage. Shane has a bag of his own, lugging it almost possessively with himself, and he looks across Hayden’s driveway and then inside the foyer with a face that’s difficult to read. He only visibly breathes when his mother brushes a hand over his back.

“We’re here, Jackie!” Hayden announces, only wincing later when he remembers that he might just have ruined Jackie’s work if the girls were put to sleep. But the house remains quiet and he moves inside, leading the Hollanders with him. “There’s a bathroom down the hall and another one upstairs. The house has four bedrooms, and mine and the kids’ are on the second floor. You can choose between the other two, Shane.”

The name still sounds strange coming from Hayden’s voice, and, by the way Hollander almost flinches at it, he thinks it sounds just as unfamiliar to him. But they’ll have time to get used to it, Hayden supposes. Shane picks the bedroom on the first floor, a bigger distance to Hayden’s, the privacy he can get, and Hayden takes his baggage there. It’s not much, considering this is the place Hollander is about to live for the next year: he must just have brought clothes and his gear with him, spartan possessions. Shane Hollander looks more and more like an ascetic teenager, but while he’s not alone in a room with his wife, Hayden keeps that thought to himself.

When he leaves Shane’s new bedroom, Jackie is already meeting the Hollanders. “Hi!” She receives and gives awkward hugs, smiling nervously, but the Hollanders aren’t much better, especially Shane. His hands are back in his pockets standing in front of Jackie, looking like a deer on headlights, and she suffices with only waving at him, still sincere in trying to be a good host. “And you must be Shane–welcome.”

“It’s a lovely house,” Shane’s father compliments and Jackie ducks her head. “I’m David and–”

“I’m Yuna.”

“Did you have a good drive?”

“Oh, we’re already used to the road because of all the games we had to take this one to.” Shane’s father squeezes his shoulder companionably. “Compared to that, a two hour drive isn’t that far.”

“We considered keeping him in Ottawa,” Yuna continues, “but having to make that commute every day…” She trails off.

“Well, we’re glad to have him.”

Hayden slides beside Jackie, wrapping an arm around her waist. It feels tense beneath his touch, despite how pleasantly she’s carrying herself, and he kisses the side of her head with what he hopes is encouragement, still smiling at the Hollanders. Beneath Hayden’s arm, Jackie’s back rises and falls with a breath.

She hadn’t been so sure about taking Hollander. Hayden eventually warmed up to the prospect–and he could admit that his name being suggested so reliably by Nathan made him feel good about himself, after he slept with it for a while–but Jackie had more concerns. She’s the one that takes care of the girls for seventy-percent of the time, for one; Hayden is either at games or training for them, and Jackie is the one that has to oversee the house. Hayden’s primary argument is that it’s not like Hollander is going to be another infant she’ll have to take care of. He’s probably going to be as busy out of the house playing or training as Hayden is.

“Jackie’s a great cook, so you don’t have to worry about Shane wasting away, Mr and Ms Hollander.” The compliment gets a smile from Jackie and the joke a chuckle from David.

“I didn’t know if any of you have food restrictions, so I kept things easy for today.”

Shane shuffles on his feet, scuffing his rebook shoes against the wooden flooring. His mom, almost immediately, gives him a pointed look that reminds Hayden of when his own mother made him ask for straws and napkins in restaurants when he was little, trying to get him to practice his social skills and independence. Hayden imagines that Shane hadn’t done that a lot, because he still seems really rusty as he eventually caves in and opens his mouth to say, “I’m, uh, I’m actually on a microbiotic diet.”

“Oh, we can work with that,” Hayden reassures, more for Jackie’s sake. He rubs her arm with a casualness that, he hopes, might hide the reassurance underneath. “Bird food only, right? We got that.”

David laughs again and Yuna lets slip a little smile of her own. “Everything’s whole grain, if that helps?” Jackie asks, eyes on Shane only, to which he nods after a moment. Hayden doesn’t miss that his mom rubs his arm almost like a complete mirror of what Hayden himself is doing to Jackie.

The girls were already fed and put to bed, and his loud greeting at getting back home thankfully didn’t wake them back again, so Hayden and Jackie get to eat without holding someone on their lap for once; as a parent, Hayden has found that that’s quite a luxury. He enjoys the Hollander’s company, even if he still feels a bit daunted by their presence.

Hayden has been playing at being an adult and father, but the Hollanders are exactly as they seem: professional and put together. Hayden feels childish in front of them. But they’re pleasant and grateful, even while, clearly, watching out for what kind of family they’re entrusting their son to, even if under the disguise of dinner. Their son seems like a good kid too, weird diet and all. Quiet and withdrawn, but every hockey player has their peculiarity.

Jackie seems genuine enough when she waves away his apologies for refusing half the things she’s cooked. Now that Jade and Ruby are eating solids, she and Hayden have more or less become used to living around picky-eating.

“I’m from Montreal originally,” Ms Hollander tells them between a sip of wine. Jackie offered them every drink the fridge had–Shane was the only one to pick just water. “Me and David actually met here; he used to play for McGill.”

“We lived here for a while before Shane was born. We thought about moving when he was drafted but with my job…” her husband trails off.

“Someone would have to have long drives either way,” Ms Hollander concludes.

“I don’t mind hosting,” Hayden tells her. He keeps to himself the initial worries that he had at the idea; Ms Hollander doesn’t have to hear about how he thought he was too young or unprepared–she probably has already thought it on her own. “I actually billet-ed with a teammate not that long ago, so I know how rough it is to be somewhere you don’t know.”

That seems to genuinely reassure Ms Hollander, if not her son. With his shoulders raised high in a tense posture, rough seems like an understatement of how uncomfortable he seems at Hayden’s dinner table, nevermind the city of Montreal.

“That’s good to know!” David pats Shane’s back encouragingly, trying to meet his eyes across their dinner. It doesn’t get Hollander’s face to relax, but he does lower his shoulders, forcibly so, before hiding himself behind a forkful of broccoli. The show is all for his parents’ sake: Hayden gets the idea that the older Hollanders are as concerned in checking in with their son as he is to get them off his back. Even if Hollander is polite about it.

Hayden and Jackie give them space after dinner, taking the plates to the kitchen. It’s also a good chance to reconvene; frowning, Jackie mouths to Hayden, “What the hell is ‘microbiotic’?” They take their time loading the dishwasher so the Hollanders can have the dining room. By the digital clock on the wall, they’re going to have to bid their son farewell sooner than later if they’d rather not take the drive after dark.

“I can show the house before bed,” Hayden offers Hollander when he gets back–a good suggestion as any that it’s late. Training camp won’t start until August, and with Montreal off the playoffs–they lost to New York on overtime at their last game, turned into their last of the season–Hayden doesn’t have practice in the morning, but there’s still a hundred things he’s been putting off fixing at home. Downtime is as good as any chance to actually live his part of the family role. He’s got an audience too now.

The Hollanders make a circle to say their goodbyes. They all look about as anxious as each other–Hayden doesn’t think that Hollander has spent a lot of time outside of home, or away from his parents’ orbit at the very least, before now. David and Yuna don’t seem overbearing, just close; Hayden’s parents, in comparison, were much more aloof, but that says more about them than the Hollanders. Yuna sounds genuine enough when he reassures Shane that he can call them anytime he wants, for anything. With how tightly she grasps his hands, she’ll probably prefer it.

Hayden shakes Ms and Mr Hollander’s hands again before they go. Jackie gets a hug from Yuna and they watch them back away from the Pike’s driveway. After spending the better part of the day standing beside Hollander with chaperones close by, Hayden feels ill at ease at finally being alone with him. He’s the chaperone now, he realizes.

Hayden claps his hands awkwardly, shuffling on his feet. Jackie doesn’t seem any better, unsure where to put her hands, until she just ends up scratching her chin before excusing herself back inside. “I’m going to find you some extra bedding, Shane.”

Hayden doesn’t feel any more comfortable standing alone with Hollander in the foyer than he did in front of his house. He takes the same page of Jackie’s book and tries to remember what other things a sudden guest must’ve liked. “So–you’re going to need an extra toothbrush too?”

“I’ve brought mine,” Shane tells the floor, avoiding eye contact. Hayden’s only three years older than him, and they both have similar heights and builds, but with his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his baggy hoodie, biting at the inside of cheek, Hollander looks like a kid. Hayden couldn’t feel more distant to him. Hollander has more trophies and medals than he probably knows what to do with them–Hayden has two kids.

He only has a guestroom to offer. Uselessly, he leads Hollander there with an awkward, “So–about that house tour.”

Hayden shows him the downstairs bathroom and the door to the backyard, still with the assembled children’s goalie net and cones that Hayden uses for training or takes outside to play some scrimmages with the neighbor kids on free days. “You can use whatever,” Hayden tells him. “There’s a treadmill down in the basement too. You can wake up any time you like, and feel free to everything at home. The fridge’s stocked, but just be careful to not end up eating the baby food. You won’t be missing out on anything.”

Shane’s lip twitches nervously. Led back to the room he’ll be staying, featureless like most places in Hayden’s house, he stands ill-at-ease in front of the bed, like a misplaced piece of furniture. Hayden almost wants to gently shove him down to sit. “I. Am I going to meet the, uh…”

“Oh! My kids? Sure.” Shane nods, but he almost looks like this wasn’t going to be the answer 100%--as if there even was a way for Hayden to host him without more or less absorbing Hollander into their home life. He just hopes that’s the better option with Hollander. “You might wake up in the middle of the night because of them.”

Jade and Ruby are already sleeping through the night more often than not, but if just one of them wakes up then the other tends to follow. Maybe a floor of distance will keep Hollander safe, but he still deserves the headsup.

“It’s alright,” Hollander reassures. His voice is usually so monotone, it’s hard to know how serious he is about any given thing, but Hollander has shown himself to be more earnest than not. Hayden trusts him, if only for now–maybe Shane won’t feel quite as generous after the first sleepless week.

The door to Hollander’s new room is open while Hayden is inside, but Jackie still knocks on the bannister before entering with an arm full of folded sheets and blankets. “Here they are. They’re all extras, just in case.” Jackie had obsessed over each guestroom compulsively before the Hollander’s arrived; Shane’s bed is already ready for tonight.

“Thank you.” One of the sheets has cartoon flowers on it–something for Jade and Ruby’s room, when they are older–but Hollander doesn’t seem to mind, just brushing a thumb over the print. When he looks up, he glances unsurely between Hayden and Jackie–like he doesn’t know what’s the next step.

Hayden sure as hell doesn’t know either.

“So,” he falters. “That’s probably good night, I guess. Unless there’s something else you need.”

Hollander shakes his head now, lips sealed. That’s that then.

“Good night, Shane,” Jackie tells him genuinely, and Hayden agrees with a much more awkward nod. Shane nods too–Hayden barely hears him say it back, as he and Jackie leave; a much quieter, “Good night.”

Neither Hayden nor Jackie speak to each other on the way to their own room, as if there was any chance Hollander might overhear them, but he already expects what she has to say. “God,” Jackie bemoans when Hayden closes their bedroom door behind them; feeling the same, he lets the back of his head fall with a thump against the mahogany. “Was that awful?”

“Probably not.” But Hayden can’t deny he has his own insecurities.

“They’re the first real people we’ve hosted.” Jackie’s friends from college and each of their families don’t really count. Jackie sits on their bed heavily, kneading the circles underneath her eyes. “I feel like we’re in charge of someone’s kid.”

“Pretty sure everyone is someone’s kid.”

“You know what I mean.” Jackie scowls at Hayden as he slings an arm around her shoulders, sitting right by her side, but she melts back into him just as naturally. “He feels like a kid. Did we actually look that young three years ago? I don’t think we did. We couldn’t had.”

Hayden hopes he didn’t. But maybe that would have explained how heartbroken his mother had looked when she told her and dad that Jackie was pregnant, just a little bit later.

Hayden lets the memory go–it’s all dust now. He married Jackie and now their parents play checkers together during the holidays. Jackie’s dad gave Hayden’s a new grill for Christmas. Hayden still isn’t used to thinking that he and Jackie are in the same category as them now, and the Hollanders too: parents. He certainly didn’t feel old enough sitting across from Yuna and David Hollander.

“It’s supposed to be easy that me and him are close in age.”

“My Hayden,” Jackie teases. “A big brother.”

Hayden makes an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Jeez, I’d hope not. You know how much more they’re paying Hollander?” Jackie snorts, the big honking type she only ever does in front of Hayden. “I’d rather not be undersold by a younger brother. The kid already has more points in tournaments than me.”

“And still you call him a kid,” Jackie says, diplomatic. She lets it go, lacing one of her hands with Hayden’s. “You do promise this isn’t going to be on me, right?”

It was his deal with Jackie–they could billet Hollander just as long as it wasn’t going to be a new thing on her shoulders. She was already taking care of two babies; Jackie couldn’t be in charge of a new one. Even if he was a second draft pick.

“Hollander’s on me,” Hayden reassures. It’s ironic, because that’s not really such a comforting thought for him. But he was the one that said yes–thinking of Nathan saying it’s a rite of passage years ago, and how good he did end up being to Hayden. He couldn’t say no when that was the last thing Nathan said to the NHL about him; it would feel like a betrayal. Even if they’re not fellow linesmen anymore, or that Nathan is never going to be part of a line ever again.

Maybe if Hayden takes care of someone else, then he’ll finally for once stop feeling like a kid; he needs that. He actually has two daughters to take care of now, about to walk, talk, and be their own person. Hayden will have to keep believing in it.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-shane's first season with the metros is the 2010-2011. in canon (edit: in the books at least), hayden is stated to have been a rookie alongside him. in this verse hayden would have been drafted in 2007 instead and had two seasons before shane.
-the book says hayden marries jackie at twenty-one, after a year of dating. in canon there's a actually another year between this and then having their first children, but i think it's more realistic for a couple to marry so young because of an unplanned pregnancy (that, or being mormons--but i didn't want to research another thing for this fic)
-i'm using jade and ruby as the name of hayden's eldest daughters because i just find those names cuter. after some consideration i decided to use the show's team names tho.
-i actually don't know if the canucks already sucked in 2008, but i'm assuming they did.
-don't ask me about hockey. i'm just one of its unwilling victims.
EDIT: rewatching the show and funnily enough i think this verse is pretty close to it age-wise. in episode 1 when we see hayden asking shane to have dinner in his house not only he has to say who jackie is (i.e. hayden's not only already married but shane doesn't know her) but he already has kids.

i'm punksalmons on tumblr, come say hi if you also can't be trusted to not be obsessive about platonic relationships
(i also ocasionally post hr fanart there)

Chapter 2: ii.

Chapter Summary

Shane's induction into the Metros is not without some growing pains.

Chapter Notes

sorry for the wait! i tried to finish another fic i have in the works this past week, before i realized it still had some time to go; i went back into this chapter after i realized it, but of course updating it took a bit longer. i hope next chapter can include more scenes too. i kind of cut this off when it felt like it reached a more natural conclusion. thank you for the response to the first chapter and this fic concept as a whole. i always get a bit anxious when i focus on a side relationship than a pairing, since i know that doesn't "sell" as much. but what can i say, i love found family. i hope you guys love it too!

if you didn't watch today's gold medal hockey game in the olympics, have fun with this chapter that has absolutely nothing to do with it (gen). if you did watch it, have fun with this chapter that still has nothing to do with it, but take a moment of silence for sid crosby. mama, i'm so sorry for you :(. well, at least you still got an official plushie. rest up, king.

JULY, 2010

Turns out Hollander does have a bunch of promotional material to do, from the team’s internal marketing right to personal sponsors. Hayden knows he was still playing some games until recently and he kind of doesn’t know how someone keeps up with so many things all at once–and he’s a professional NHL player.

Like anything else related to Hollander, Hayden has to try not to be a bit insecure about it; Hollander is much more famous than Hayden has ever been. Mostly, he’s begun to feel daunted on behalf of the kid. He doesn’t know how it would feel like to have that much weight–from the team, from the league, from sports brands right to gatorade–over his shoulders; especially so young. Shane still has zits on his face from adolescence.

“There we go.” Jackie puts a trail of steamed salmon on the table, fish still billowing out smoke. Her hair is up and she’s barely out of her pijamas–more than what she’d show a stranger usually, but they already knew it’d be close to impossible to look put together during the morning in front of Hollander when they have the girls. Hayden is holding Jade by the kitchen counter, because she woke up fussy, and Ruby is waiting to be fed on her highchair, babbling away. Hollander glances between both of the girls, Hayden and Jackie, and the salmon, like he doesn’t know where to look. Jackie doesn’t force eye contact on him, but she does look his way. “I tried to make it in the oven, so tell me if there’s anything off, okay?”

Shane shakes his head. “It’s perfect, Jackie.” That’s another thing–Hollander calling them by their name. He looks unsure every time he does, like he should be calling them Mr and Ms Pike instead, and Hayden doesn’t blame him, even though he'd rather die than to be addressed like that at the ripe age of twenty-two. It’s just uncanny; they all have a lot to get used to. “Thank you,” Shane adds, quietly.

Jackie gives him a smile–it’s genuine, past the tiredness around her eyes. “No problem.”

Hollander eats his healthy salmon and Hayden waits for Jade to calm down so he can meet his own breakfast plate of hashbrowns and eggs. They’re trying to get the twins used to highchairs, but it’s hard to teach anything to tiny people who live in a constant state of distress and confusion; so far, Ruby is the one who’s acclimating, maybe to make up for how freaking rowdy she can be.

Hayden ends up sitting with Jade balanced on his leg, feeding her her gross baby food between bites of his own breakfast. Across the table, Jackie does the same with Ruby, turned towards her highchair instead of the plate of food on the table she’s supposed to be eating herself. It’s all quite domestic, with the strange addition of Hollander to the side; he looks as unsure about it as Hayden feels himself.

“You’re going to the rink today?” Hayden asks him. There’s still two weeks for training camp, but Hollander has his own personal trainer–a new one after his move to Montreal, personally recommended by the Metros’ higher ups–and he spends every other day meeting with him, mostly when Hayden is also going to the gym, trying to make it up for the rest in the Summer. He’s been given Shane rides, so far.

Hollander nods; he looks at Jade instead of meeting Hayden’s eyes. “Just for some ice conditioning.”

If Hollander thinks he needs any more of it then they’re all fucked. Hayden must say something with his eyes, because Jackie kicks him slightly beneath the table; Jade coos at the slight flinch he makes. “That’s good,” he covers up. “Call me when you’re done, okay? I’ll be right at the gym, so we can also drive back together.”

Hollander neither has a driver’s license yet–nevermind a car–or is familiar enough with Montreal to try to explore its public transport system just yet. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’d hate for you to get lost on the Metro.” Hayden means it as a joke, but it falls flat with Hollander. He nods again, no less seriously than before.

When Hayden glances across the table, it’s so Jackie giving him a long look. Hayden winces. He doesn’t have to worry about Hollander looking at them–he barely if ever raises his eyes enough to look at their faces.

They eat in the moderate awkwardness that’s become the norm with Hollander around. He’s still unfamiliar in the picture, somewhat misplaced at the edges; try as Jackie might to make him feel included. Hayden devours his breakfast between making Jade finish her own, and by the time his plate and her little bowl of goo are done, Hollander has finished too. Jade is a little more mellow than before, so Hayden undertakes setting her down, so he can go. She complains at the high chair again, but this time she settles down. Hayden gives her a big smooch on the forehead in congratulations.

Jackie is still tending to her own breakfast and Ruby’s, so Hayden washes his share of the plates before going to her side of the table. Hollander takes Hayden’s place at the sink.

“We’re going.” Hayden gives Jackie and Ruby each their own goodbye kisses, on Jackie’s lips and then the little mole on Ruby’s forehead–she giggles. “Want me to get something on the way back? I can buy lunch,” he says Jackie’s way, brushing a hand across Jade’s tiny shoulder offhandedly. Although she’d accept the peck with a closed-eyed savoring, Jackie’s less than impressed when she looks at him.

“Stop trying to buy take-out and go to the gym.”

“Jeez–you’d think you’re working for the team nutritionist.” But Hayden acquiesces–no junk food for lunch today. He looks back to Hollander. “Shane?”

“I’m coming.” Shane dries his hands on a kitchen towel meticulously before leaving the front of the sink, something Hayden never bothers–or remembers–to do. It’s probably because of things like these Jackie’s warming up to him so quickly.

Hayden does the usual song and dance before he goes out, saying goodbye a number of times as forgets and then remembers something and has to go back–picking his bag, putting on his sneakers, searching for his car keys. Jackie is used to it enough that she only ever tells Hayden goodbye outright when he’s already at the front door; the girls will learn that too, eventually. Now they just keep looking hopefully to Hayden every time he passes them by, no concept of either work or working out, and why their dad goes missing for such long periods of time. The way they look would kill someone out of guilt, but Hayden has been getting used to it for the period they’ve been alive, and before it, when Jackie was pregnant and he had to leave her alone at home. Maybe that’s why he kisses the three of them so much.

“Bye,” Jackie says, finally, at the last one; Hayden already has everything with him. “Bye, Shane,” she tells him too, a new addition to this part of the routine.

“Bye, Jackie.” And, more quietly, enough you’d think you’d imagined it, Hollander adds, “Bye, Ruby, bye, Jade.”

Hayden isn’t the only guy that’s started to work out pre-emptively before the start of training camp, but you’d think he’s much more important than he is with how many heads turn when he enters the gym room at the Metros building. There’s already some players from the team spread around, between machines and dumbbells, and almost all of them perk up at seeing that it’s Hayden who’s just arrived.

He receives and delivers side-hugs and fist bumps, but Hayden is already sort of aware there’s something different; he almost wants to check his teeth for food. “There he is,” Corey greets him, abandoning a weight on the floor in his favor. “How’s babysitter life treating you?”

Ah–so that explains it.

“Not that differently from usual,” Hayden tells him. He looks around the room and everyone paying any sort of attention to him has the same look of curiosity on their faces as Corey does. There’s something slightly sharp to it too–like sharks who’d scented blood.

“And to think you needed babysitters of your own a year ago.” Mcgroarty dries a fake tear off his face. This sort of ribbing Hayden expects at least, and it’s almost muscle memory to throw friendly a, “Fuck off,” back into Mcgroarty’s face. “That wasn’t a year ago,” Hayden complains. But he knows it’s useless to defend himself–it hasn’t been so long since his rookie year.

“Yeah–two years is super long. Whatever. You couldn’t pick a better kid to billet, my friend.” Mcgroarty is still shaking his head when he goes back to his pushups, and who’s left watching Hayden carry the same disbelieving expression.

“How weird is the kid?” Corey doesn’t beat around the bush, at the very least. “Is he as antisocial as he looks in interviews?”

Instinctively, Hayden’s face wants to twist back into a grimace, as if he’d just tasted a lemon–he barely manages to hold it back to only a frown. “He’s not that bad.”

Hayden knows there’s a sort of general opinion around Hollander, as impressed with his playing as cynical about him off the ice. The latter is especially true between hockey players themselves; everyone has something to say about Hollander and his idiosyncrasies. It’s not as if he’s the only player they talk about, but like any new hotshot, rising suddenly to fame has pulled a lot of attention towards Hollander–especially from the Metros.

Shane isn’t known as a very sociable player; he’s not unfriendly in the sense he picks up fights, but only because he doesn’t pick up anything at all. Hollander might as well not do anything past playing. Hayden would agree he’s as introverted as he appears–in the week since he’s come to his house Hayden doesn’t think there was a single conversation that Shane started on his own–but he knows that’s more due to him being out of his depth.

“You’re sure?” one of the guys snorts, something mean to it. The sound twists in Hayden’s belly now. He’d already heard versions of it before this, but it feels different when he actually has the kid sleeping under his roof. “I’m glad we scored him in the draft, but I wouldn’t want him living at my house. Every time I see him on TV he looks like the freakin’ terminator.”

“He’s not as intense as he looks.” Unless Hollander is on the ice; but out of it, Hayden has found him quiet more than anything. A little bit shy too, or cautious at the very least. He thinks of him being around for this energy in the locker room and suddenly Hayden feels more defensive than he really should, considering this is his team and he’s known Hollander for less than seven days. He’s increasingly aware why Hollander would fall onto him as a billet instead of getting accepted by anyone else.

Hayden’s words fall of deaf ears, of course–he already should expect it, and not mind it from the get go, but there’s a new, uncomfortable taste at the back of his throat. For the team, and probably for the whole general public, it’s more interesting to imagine Hollander as they think of him; it’s more safe for the Metros too. Hayden still remembers how they watched Hollander play in that hotel lobby: impressed enough to feel jealous and defensive instead.  There’s a line between impressing and alienating and Hollander cut it clean off with his skates. He feels too far away now; even in the same city, in the same team, in the same building, running skate drills with no idea this is how his teammates are talking about him only some rooms away. They didn’t see Shane stand awkwardly in his new room or thank Jackie for breakfast. They might not see him, really see him, even when he comes to the locker room.

Hayden finds that, even as the conversation finally ends and everyone goes back to their sets and reps when the team captain joins the gym, he can’t focus on working out. The bad taste sticks around. He can’t help but notice that Stone asks him nothing about Hollander too–the omission manages to sting just as much.

A week off training camp, Shane has another promotional shoot that has him leaving for Toronto this time. His mom comes to fly with him and Hayden can’t help but think she’s reviewing him and Jackie when she arrives, but she must find everything alright, because she’s as friendly as the last time. Hollander hasn’t died of hunger, at the very least. “Looking up to training?” she asks Hayden while Shane finishes getting ready in the guestroom.

“Oh, you know.” Hayden likes the summer break as much as the next guy–he’d like it even more if they ended the season with the Cup–but it’s not long before he starts getting impatient for the ice again. There’s a momentum to the playing season and going from multiple games every week with, more than often, multiple miles of travel in between, to nothing at all, leaves Hayden feeling underestimulated in comparison. He’s not proud of it, but he gets tired of taking care of the girls too. At twenty-two, it feels more natural to play hockey than being a dad.

Jade and Ruby are at their play-mat out in the living room and Hayden glances at them again from where he’s sitting with Yuna Hollander–as if checking they haven’t disappeared. They’re learning to scoot, so they really might sooner than not. Yuna hadn’t seen the girls the first time she and Shane’s dad were here, and on the other occasion they visited on a weekend, to have brunch with their son, but now, she complimented how cute Ruby and Jade look. That isn’t Hayden’s praise to receive–the cuteness is all Jackie’s. Still feels good to hear it though. Hayden hasn’t managed to kill them of hunger either.

“I’m excited for the season,” Yuna tells him, more open than Hayden’s non-answer. With Ms Hollander, Hayden thinks he knows where Shane might have got his interest in Hockey–she seems as focused as him. “Shane’s really eager to get on the ice and play for the Metros. He’s been working very hard.”

“He has,” Hayden agrees; he’s seen Shane do it, even now they’re still technically on their break. Hayden doesn’t think Hollander has ever not worked hard before, and doubts he’ll ever start. “He’s gonna do good.” Hayden can’t believe otherwise.

Shane only brings a duffle with him since the trip isn’t supposed to be long; he and his mom are apparently only going to be gone for a day or two, literally only for the shoot. It feels pretty hectic for Hayden, but that’s not out of the way with how it tends to go with Hollander; he seems to be busy all the time. Honestly, Hayden doesn’t know how the guy doesn’t lose it.

“Hey, the commercial is supposed to be with Romanov, right?” The other rookie that came before Hollander in the draft. Hayden has watched a few games with him–some in the junior championship, when he played against Shane–but he’s never really kept up with the brackets he doesn’t play in. He knows he’s Russian and that the Boston Raiders bagged him, and that’s about it.

“Rozanov,” Shane corrects him quietly.

The media’s hoping for a rivalry. Hollander looks like he’d compete with even a bar of soap, so Hayden thinks they’ll probably be getting one, but they’re already selling it as an inevitability before either Hollander or Rozanov–Hayden always forgets his name–have even played a single game in the NHL. Hayden knows Shane lost to him–and Russia–at Worlds, and Rozanov beat him in the draft too, so maybe it really it’s ordained by the universe. Hollander and Rozanov are going to be competing together for probably their entire career.

“They know what sells,” Yuna says. The words seem practiced, like something she might have said to Shane before–as if trying to assuage him. Considering their past history, Hayden wouldn’t be surprised if Shane already held a grudge against Rozanov; maybe he really did need some convincing to do this shoot. But Shane doesn’t look disgruntled about the joint promotion, not like his mother’s words might suggest–if Hayden had to guess, he looks more anxious.

Hayden accompanies Shane and his mom to the front door. Jackie had to run errands out of the house, but she’d already given him his goodbyes–in any case, it would be for a brief time, since Hollander won’t be out of Montreal for long. More than anything, it might be a chance for him to spend his time with his mom; when training camp starts, there probably won’t be any more chances for them to meet even for weekend brunches.

Hayden stands awkwardly in front of Shane, unsure of how to tell him goodbye, before just patting him on the back. “Have fun. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Sure,” Shane tells him back, just as stiffly. Hayden doesn’t actually know what these super professional shoots were like, but if he had to guess, Hollander wouldn’t have fun even if he wanted to. He doubts there’ll be anything on the trip to write home about.

Hollander does spend two days away; he travels with his mom in the morning and only gets home–well, Hayden’s house–around thirty-six hours later, a little before dinner, two days and a night spent away. Hayden is the one that cooks dinner for once; he tries not to think too long about the fact it’s probably all for Hollander’s sake. Because of the hour, his mom didn’t get to stay, being driven back to Ottawa by his dad as soon as they touched down in the airport, so it’s just him, Hayden and Jackie, and the girls, another meal they get to have together.

Hayden made pasta–one of the few dishes he knows–whole grain for Hollander. He serves him with a side of asparagus and cottage cheese, attentive to when Hollander’s face twitches, his sign that his plate is already full enough; Shane is a bit particular about food, all par for the course with him from what Hayden is already learning. But Hollander is a bit more scatterbrained tonight–Hayden doesn’t know if because of the flight or the travel as a whole. He zones away then blinks back to attention with a pinkness to his face.

“Did you get to have fun?” Jackie asks him, between rocking Jade on her lap, and it happens again: Hollander focuses back with a pinch to his mouth, like he was caught off guard. There’s a sheen to his eyes.

“Uh, I–it was okay.” He covers his mouth, messing with his food just to have something to do probably, and somewhere to put his eyes. But that’s not so unusual with Hollander. Hayden is busy feeding Ruby, so he can’t read him down to the bones anyway.

“How was it with Rozanov?” Hayden is paying attention so all the food on the spoon gets into Ruby’s mouth, so he doesn’t see Hollander freeze; he just notices the sudden quiet, and when he glances back, it’s to see Shane with something strange on his face. “What–did I say his name wrong again?”

“N-no, no.” Shane shakes his head; shakes himself out of his stupor again and, picking at the skin of his bottom lip, goes back to staring at his plate of pasta. He smiles, almost–like a hidden joke. “It was. It was okay.”

“That’s good.” Hayden exchanges a look with Jackie, but they both just shrug–Jackie with an amused face. She’s increasingly endeared by Shane’s little mannerisms. Hayden doesn’t push–he knows the kid to be awkward and this is nothing new. He just feeds Ruby another spoon. “At least it didn’t suck.”

Shane makes a choking noise. Hayden doesn’t think too hard about it.

Training camp is brutal, but that’s to be expected. It’s going to be the Metros’ first season with Lecomte, and Hayden had heard through the grapevine he’s a guy that takes it hard the first week with the team, as if giving a shock to their system after summer break. He has things to prove to management, and in turn, the team has things to prove to Lecomte. Hayden gets through it with only minimal complaining. Hollander doesn’t complain at all. He doesn’t even seem to break a sweat.

He rises up to everything Lecomte throws at him. Shane does conditioning on the side with a personal sports coach–Hayden doesn’t know how he has enough calories to get through the day–and the guy seems harsher than Lecomte; Hollander’s ready to deal with the coach. He has that boundless energy that seems to come extra with rookies, but it’s particularly bountiful with Shane, or resistant at the very least. He spends hours at the gym, runs drills one after the other and tries every playing position Lecomte tries with him, testing out the team and their dynamics. If Lecomte said ‘jump’, Hollander would just ask him how high. He’d probably manage to jump pretty fucking far too.

Hollander is a center, but he plays everything but goalie under Lecomte’s review. As a new addition to the team, it makes sense that the coach would want to see how Shane’s strengths serve the team better. Personally, Hayden thinks that Lecomte might also just be taking Hollander for a ride: watching what he can do. He’s the new, shiny toy in the box; the one everyone had been looking forward to. More than once, officials from the Montreal Metros come down to watch them run through laps on the ice, and Hayden doesn’t think it’s for anyone but Hollander even once.

In those conditions, jealousy isn’t that much of a surprise. Hayden has expected it from the very moment he saw that Hollander got drafted. There’s a bit of a trial by fire with rookies, worse when they’re high up the draft pick or really, really low, and Hollander might be the higher the Montreal Metros have ever got, with an exception of one or two twenty-years ago. If that day in the gym–and those that followed–already wasn’t enough to clue Hayden in on how the team might feel about Hollander, the first day of training camp lays any doubt to rest. They play on a rink for a living, but Hayden doesn’t think that it’s ever felt quite so icy.

Hollander is reserved by nature, and no one attempts to get him out of his shell. They might manage the opposite: the team is harsh with Hollander on the ice, about just as severe as Lecomte. Some hazing is to be expected, but some of the forwards are downright bruttish with the checks they throw at him, usually followed by some variation of, “Can you keep up, Hollander?”

Hollander can, and does. If Hayden had to guess, it just makes it worse.

Quietly, Shane ducks his head into the area of Hayden’s stall. “Can I have some of your tape?”

A superficial look over Shane’s locker shows that the place he usually keeps his own roll is currently empty. Hayden actually sighs, feeling strangely reminiscent of when he was middle school. “Seriously, guys?” he throws over his shoulder, but Shane actually looks like he'd rather die than complain, so Hayden bites back the rest of his objections to the locker room; he silently reaches his hand out with his own roll of tape for Hollander to take.

Shane thanks Hayden with a miniscule nod of his head before ducking back into taping the blade of his stick. Everything seems to roll off his back like a duck, maybe something to be admired in other circumstances, but that only annoys Hayden further these days. He never really got it if you’re supposed to just take it or tell someone to fuck off with hazing, but he usually did the latter and it only seemed to benefit him–he doesn’t know why Hollander doesn’t show some resistance of his own. If Hayden put his mind to it, he’d probably figure out Shane has a lot of experience with this, probably since the first time he stepped on the ice, but the overfamiliar compliance with which he just takes everything just rankles Hayden further, probably because he’s so bothered by how often he watches Shane go through it.

Shane hands the tape back when he’s done. “Just take it,” Hayden tells him, but Shane just insists on it, giving him one hard look. He’s probably expecting it to be stolen again. “God damnit,” Hayden mumbles, taking it back from his hand.

Between Lecomte working him like his life depends on it, Hollander basically doing the same to himself on a daily basis, and the fact the locker room probably doesn’t feel like a welcoming place, Shane is usually the last to go in and out of the showers, and the building as a whole. Hayden’s driving him, so he has to wait for him either way, but it gives the chance to give the guys a long and hard look when he finishes his own shower, wondering if this is how he’ll feel like three years from now, when his daughters can talk and curse at each other, and Hayden will have to sit them down. He’d hope Ruby and Jade aren’t going to be such assholes.

He doesn’t actually know what to say, and most of the guys just snort at him when they see his displeased face. “Part of the game, Pike,” McGroarty tells him companionably, passing a towel between legs with no sense of shame–at Hayden or otherwise. Hayden wouldn’t be surprised if the dipshit was the one who took Shane’s tape. He’s usually a lot more fond of Mcgroarty when he’s the charismatic kind of asshole. “We all pay our dues.”

“Yeah, does Hollander owe dividends or something?” It gets snorts and laughs from some stalls around him, but Hayden isn’t actually joking. “You weren’t on my dick like this when I was the rookie. What the fuck.”

“And we’re not on your dick right now, so fuck off,” McGroarty throws his towel away, giving Hayden a smile of teeth before putting his jeans on. He’s used to some sharpness and roughness with the game, on and off the ice, but this feels a good sign as any of the extra space they’re taking the line to.

Hayden looks ahead to where the team captain’s stall is, but Stone barely meets his eyes. “Hollander can take it, Hayd.” It feels just as bad that he’d use a nickname with Hayden right fucking now–as if there is any kind of warmth at the moment. “It’s good for him to see we’re not treating him any different.”

Except they are–as if they have to show Hollander he’s not special despite having been second place on the draft, despite all the things he’s already done in the youth bracket, despite being the best rookie the league has seen in a while and proving it every day he steps on the ice. But Hayden can’t fight against his whole team, so he just lets the back of his head hit his stall, feeling annoyance building into his chest like the bubbles in a carbonated drink.

He waits when the whole team leaves and it’s just Hollander, leaving the shower with wet hair and pink skin, and he walks him to his car. Hayden has a lot of things to say, and no finesse to say them, and he ends up drumming his fingers on the wheel for a good while before he has the guts to open his mouth. A red light feels like a good place as any. “You know you don’t have to take their shit, right?”

Shane looks up to where he’d been looking at his chipped BlackBerry. He actually looks confused for a moment. “What?”

“The–you know! The team, you don’t have to take their shit if you don’t want to. They’re acting like assholes, you’re allowed to call them that.”

Shane doesn’t look like he is. “I don’t mind it,” he says after a moment of consideration–really careful consideration. His voice is mild, devoid of emotion, like he is every time something happens; he makes himself look like he doesn’t mind it, but Hayden can’t believe that’s true. Anyone would mind. Shane really ought to.

He doesn’t call him on his shit, thinking of Jackie and any time she tells him he needs to learn to think before opening his mouth, but it’s a close thing. A car honks behind them and Hayden drives, as annoyed as if the person driving was a Metros too. “That can’t be true,” he says then, more democratically. It’s hard to talk properly when he’s also dealing with Montreal late-afternoon traffic, but the car almost feels like the easiest part of the deal. “You can’t tell me you don’t think that’s unfair.”

Shane shrugs, mouth pulling down for a moment. Of course Shane thinks it’s unfair. “I’m used to it.” He says it placidly, but Hayden can't believe that’s not further motive to be pissed off. He’s ready to open his mouth again, but Shane looks back to his phone, shoulders even more curled than before, turning his body slightly away from Hayden, and it’s like every time he closes the guest room from the rest of the house–a physical barrier, as tangible now when it’s only clear air. Hayden has no choice but to bite everything, sinking into his own seat.

They have dinner, and if Shane is still thinking about any of it, he doesn’t show it. Maybe he really has practice with it. Hayden can’t say the same about himself, and by the time he’s with Jackie in the upstairs bathroom, kneeling on the floor as they both take turns bathing Ruby and Jade, she must already be expecting something.

“The team are being assholes.”

“No cursing.” The girls don’t mind–Ruby is busy playing with bubbles and Jade is halfway into sleep already in the warm bodysuit Jackie has put her on post-bath. Jackie wants him to grow out of cursing before they learn to say it back, but that’s hard when half of the game is telling other players to fuck off. It’s especially hard when Hayden can’t call his team anything other than assholes right now. “They are always like that, what’s different?”

“Well, they’re being asshats with Shane.” Hayden scrubs the soap a little furiously against the loofah they use to bathe the girls, and only remembers to lay off it when it’s time to bring it to Ruby’s skin. He slacks his wrist, but the way he soaps the baby up is deceptively calm, because Hayden still feels all that anger inside. “He’s being ridden too hard. But, like–he isn’t doing anything about it. He just–he just takes it.”

“Does that really surprise you?” Jackie raises an eyebrow. “He’s–” She looks like he wants to call Shane sweet, but remembers the times Hayden took issue with it when he heard it about himself. It’s hard to take it as a compliment when your whole life you’ve heard it being used on the ice like soft and weak, insults. “He’s polite,” she ends up with. “He doesn’t look like the type to fight.”

“Hockey is fighting,” Hayden complains anyway. Jackie’s face pinches, as if she doesn’t agree with it, but she says nothing. “And he should start to, because the guys f–freaking deserve it. They’re just gonna think badly of him if he just keeps taking it.”

“So it’s a test?”

“I–” Hayden doesn’t actually know. “Maybe. Probably not. I dunno–but he shouldn’t accept it. The team deserves some hits back.”

“He’s just one boy, Hayd–how’s he supposed to go against all of them?” Jackie fixes him with a long look and Hayden feels himself wilt and wither. He goes back to washing behind Ruby’s ears, soft so she won’t complain–and will continue to be distracted by the bubbles–but Jackie goes on, sighing. “Did you try talking to him?”

“Sure.”

“And what did he say?”

“That he doesn’t mind it.” Hayden feels a flare of anger again just at remembering the words, and the hangdog look on Shane’s face. “Or, worse, that he’s used to it.”

“He probably is, Hayd,” Jackie says, not without a sad downturn to her mouth. It’s worse to look at it than the simple annoyance she showed before at the team. “How many guys that look like Shane do you know in the league? It doesn’t help that he’s better than all of you.”

Hayden doesn’t counter that–Hollander probably is better than all of them. He certainly will be, if he’s given the space–and the grace–to grow. Hayden, in the end, feels pretty out of words, that unamenable discomfort back in his throat; the injustice of it, but also the helplessness. It doesn’t feel better that there’s nothing he can immediately do–just one, simple solution. “He shouldn’t have to,” Hayden insists, childishly.

He thinks of Shane, who more often than not doesn’t look you in the eyes when you talk, but who’s always earnest; who’s polite just as Jackie said. He is fucking good, and Hayden doesn’t know what it means that that isn’t enough–that it makes it worse.

Jackie sighs again–of course he shouldn’t, she means as well.

Hayden hates this. He’s always been a man of action; you play harder when you need to get better, or make up to Jackie after all the times she’s left alone at home. He isn’t as good with words, as much as he’d rather think he’s not just another jock.

“At least he knows you’re on his side. Right?” Hayden hums non-commitably; in his opinion, he doubts Shane thinks of him as more than a stranger on a good day, but Jackie seems to trust otherwise.

“Is that even enough though?” he asks, feeling doubtful. Jackie shrugs, more unsure than just uncaring, but she seems to believe–or want to–for it to be something, at the very least. Hayden is so used to thinking Jackie is the smartest person he knows, that he forgets, sometimes, that she doesn’t have all the answers–that she’s as young and unprepared as he is. She only has the better instincts: case in point.

“Just be there for him.” She reaches out to take over washing Ruby, still balancing Jade on her lap. She wiggles a little before settling back against her mother’s chest, drowsy, and Ruby gives Jackie a gummy smile at being at her center of attention again. This might be the only time Hayden thinks that babies are easier than hockey. “And stop hogging all the soap,” Jackie tells him.

Hayden doesn’t really know what ‘be there for him’ entails when Hollander is usually such a lone-life, seemingly as self-reliant as one person can be, but he tries to be there to offer Shane his roll of tape, or his extra pair of slippers when someone steal the shoelaces off his Reeboks. He isn’t half as inexpressive as Hollander manages to when all of this happens, but Hayden doesn’t try to talk with the team again, figuring that, if even Stone is in it, then the hazing is as sanctioned as it could be. Either LeComte is completely unaware of it or unwilling to deal with locker room culture, so he’s just as useless. Hayden feels pretty fucking useless too, but eventually Hollander meets his eyes when Hayden hands him extra equipment and sticks around by his locker so he can make sure nobody will take anything from Shane’s stall.

By the end of August, and of training camp, Hayden feels exhausted in more than one way. Part of it is expected–after two years with Montreal, Hayden is already used to how drained he’s left after training, almost as bad as when the season finally ends in the next year. It’s unrelenting, but there’s an ebb and flow to it too, enough Hayden never doubts he’ll make it into the roster of the next season. He doesn’t fail to do it this year, but it does feel worse than before–in part because of LeComte, who’s more lively than Montreal's old coach was, and in part because of the team, and being the crossfire of how they’ve taken to welcoming Hollander. Hayden never receives a taste of the same treatment–he hadn’t received even half of it when it his rookie year–but just being around to watch Hollander take it, and trying to soften the blow for him, takes a big chunk of his energy. He can only imagine how Shane is feeling.

After all the trying out and experiments are done for, and the roster is finished, Shane retains the same position of center he used to in his former team, and Hayden joins him as on the left-wing, along with a former linesman from the Atlantic division with the name Comeau. Hayden has taken to tapping his helmet against Shane’s before scrimmages, and by the end of the month, he’s seen Shane smile more often than not at the contact before stepping on the ice. It feels good that Hayden will get to have his back when they start playing for real. The team mellows out too–if only slightly–after the roster is locked and loaded; they’re more or less playing seriously in the camp by then, no more experiments in the line by LeComte, and Shane fits with the rest of the team. He’s a bullet readied in the chamber that never misses its mark. They have no excuse to turn him away anymore, when it’s clear he’ll be the best thing the Metros have had in years.

Stone eases off when it’s confirmed he’ll keep the C, and the team more or less follows his lead. After one scrimmage where Shane managed a hat trick, he’s the first to pat him on the shoulder when they all leave the rink, telling Shane, “Good work, Holly,”--as if Stone had ever called him that, if anything at all, before.

Shane, who’d usually loiter by the ice until almost everyone had left the locker room, actually balks at the contact. But he course-corrects: “T-thanks.” Hollander meets Stone’s eyes and recoils less the next time a player taps him on the back, repeating Stone’s example. Hayden does the same too for good measure, catching the twitch of Shane’s mouth he’s begun to recognize as his version of a smile.

It eases off after that–even if Hayden still thinks he sees Stone watching his captaincy be stripped away every time he catches him looking at Shane. There’s still an additional edge to the team interactions with Shane, but it’s easier to pretend that’s just because he’s still the rookie, tough love shown to a younger brother. Shane actually starts joining the other guys at the locker room, which couldn’t be said before. He doesn’t quite lose a sense of shyness in walking out of the common showers, but anyone would after the kind of welcome he received. Shane looks happy every time he finds his clothes still waiting for him in his stall.

The shoot Shane had taken part of a month ago finally releases by the time training camp is over. Hayden hadn’t known what it was about–honestly, he’d forgotten to ask Shane–but it makes sense that it’s for a sports brand, CCM. The top athletes are on their pay roll, so Shane should really be proud of himself–Hayden knows his parents ought to. CCM is banking on Hollander before he’s even played an NHL game, but Hayden thinks they’ll be pleased; the league doesn’t know what’s about to hit ‘em.

The team is more amused by Rozanov also being on the ad, made to pose against Hollander in, admittedly, pretty goofy-looking ‘hockey posturing’. It’s one of the guys in the team that carries a mag with the branding on into the lockerroom, showing it off like it has hot chicks on instead of Rozanov’s and Shane’s dorky side profiles as they’re made to theatrically face-off against each other in front of the camera. The ad is building on the rivalry between them, and it obviously sells; the locker room eats it up. Even when Shane is only cringing awkwardly to the side at all the attention.

“Oh, brother, do you think anyone can tell your guys’ teeth are fake?”

“I still have all of mine,” Shane tries to defend himself, but it’s drowned out by the rest of the comments on the ad. Hayden wonders if Rozanov still has all of his real teeth too–with the rate he fights other players, he’d bet against it.

“Oh, I can imagine it: thousands of teenage girls are about to put this on their wall.”

“Jeez.” Shane hangs his head, lips twitching anyway; this teasing is better than the other kind, at the very least. McGroarty pats him heavily on the back, promising, “Don’t worry, Rook–I’m sure some of ‘em will cut Rozanov’s ugly mug off.”

He looks as young as Shane does in the pictures, although Hayden doesn’t know if that’s only in his eyes. Eye of the beholder, and all that. He began having a harder time not thinking of Hollander’s age after knowing him personally. Maybe some of it rubbed on Rozanov too–Hayden knows they are the same age. Although everyone is quick to call Rozanov an asshole–Hayden included–he just looks young too; has as much baby fat in his cheek as Shane does. The whole hockey world is watching them, but at the end of the day, they’re still just two nineteen-year olds. A few years ago, they were still only highschoolers.

“How’s he like?” Hayden asks Shane, perching by his side. After his big pat, McGroarty has moved on, joining the peanut gallery that’s gathered around the magazine. The other guys are more ready to make fun of Rozanov’s cherubic hair or how he still managed to keep his resting bitch face through a photo than wondering about Rozanov in any meaningful way, but now that Hayden thinks about it, he’s a bit curious. Shane spent an afternoon shooting this ad with him. Between that, the draft, even the games they’ve already played against each other, he’s a bit curious about what he and Shane might have talked about, if they talked at all.

Shane scratches at his chin, lip pursing and pulling. Hayden thinks he might be blushing, but that might be just the heat in the locker room, or leftovers from being embarrassed by everyone. “Dunno,” Shane mumbles. He doesn’t meet Hayden’s eyes. “I don’t really know him that much.”

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-my on-going fight with this fic is trying to figure out when everything happens in canon (book + tv show). i'm keeping this show-compliant, but the book is kind of saving my ass by outright saying the year + month every scene is set in.
-in the show, the world juniors (IIHF, the irl championship for national youth hockey teams) is called the international prospect cup, because they didn't want to get sued LOL. i'm keeping the book's (and real life's) name for the competition, and for the NHL too. i still think it's really cute when hr fic uses 'mhl'. an alternate universe...
-i scratched my head for a while trying to figure out for how long shane spent in toronto for that ad with ilya, but i really think it was just a day of shooting. also, after they hook up ilya tells shane he has an early flight tomorrow and shane says he has one too, but i think he was lyingggg. fuck, ilya might have been lying too. the avoiderssss.
-i searched in a sports catalogue to try to learn what's the name for those stalls hockey players (most sports players tbh) have and they're called lockers, despite being 1) being made of wood 2) not having a door??? so i called them that too here, i swear i'm not the one making a mistake.
-i might have made other mistakes tho. i'm not beta-read. i'm also not a native english speaker. i'm sorry. i love you.

i'm punksalmons on tumblr, if you're around there. i also post hr fanart there, amongst other things, if that's interesting. thanks for reading! ❤️

Chapter 3: iii.

Chapter Summary

The first half of the 2010-2011 season, and how fucking good Shane Hollander is.

Chapter Notes

SEPTEMBER, 2010

The pre-season isn’t supposed to be taken as seriously as any of the later games, but a game is a game, and for it to be the first one in the season feels pretty fucking important, if you ask Hayden. It goes without saying what it would mean to be someone’s first ever in the NHL.

Montreal starts against Toronto in the first week of September, and more than just the team’s season inauguration, it’s Hollander’s first official game with them. Hayden remembers the first time he stepped on the ice for Montreal: which team it was against, how their colors took half of the rink, how loud everything sounded; he remembers how loud his heart was beating too. Hayden had played professionally as a junior, but it wasn’t to this caliber–he’d felt green again, shaky-legged, well after the horns had declared the end of the game. Hollander might have been in World Juniors and what-not, representing Canada, but there had to be something daunting about officially launching his major-league career. It’s an important night, pre-season be damned.

With how touch and go the team is with Shane, Hayden isn’t surprised that nobody takes the time to stop at the edge of his stall to give him a personal pep talk, but he ought to hear one–even if it needs to come from Hayden.

“Excited?” he looks at Hollander. He’s in his thermals, putting on his under-armor, and Hayden ignores his own to pay attention to him. He needn’t ask–Hollander looks like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. It’s mostly anticipation: if Hollander is nervous, he’s doing an awesome job of not showing it, but that wouldn’t be strange coming from the kid. Shane keeps everything close. And he has really, really good game focus. All the answer he gives Hayden is a hum. “Remember it’s just the pre-season. So, if we don’t win–”

“We’re gonna,” Shane tells him.

“--If we don’t win,” Hayden insists, “it’s not the end of the world. It’s going to be your first game, so nobody’s waiting too much from you.” That’s an absolute lie; everybody is, from the team and management to the fans, but they really shouldn’t. Hayden isn’t. He, very, very carefully, isn’t.

Shane looks at him for only a moment, a singular pause from the straps of his shoulder pads. “We’re going to win.”

They win.

Everyone drives out to a Montreal bar. It’s way too early in the season for them to be celebrating this much, but Toronto died by four goals. Two of them were Hollander’s–the other two had his assists. For people who seemed pretty glad to shove him around, the Metros are parading Shane as a hero; even Stone’s eyes look a little more mellowed out when he promises to buy Hollander’s first round. Quiet as ever, Shane’s cautious smile still feels pretty vibrant–even when he says, “I don’t really drink.”

He’s about to. Not only tonight–it’s kind of tradition to go out after big wins, even if it’s only to someone’s hotel mini-fridge. After big losses too, for good measure. It’s good for the team to be together also off the ice, in health and sickness and all that. Hayden is too happily married to party as he used to with Drummondville, plus he has his family to go back to, which Hayden is especially looking forward to tonight since they actually played at home. But tonight, he stays longer, if only so Shane will also be able to. It might not be his idea of enjoyment, but he deserves it after the night he had.

Shane is bought a shot by just about every member of the team, general staff included, and  Hayden makes sure to drink at least half of them when no one’s looking, lest the Metros put a nineteen-year old in an alcoholic coma. He also sticks by Shane’s side, which is to say, he stays by the bar counter–Shane just about marries it. “Not much of a dancer, eh?” he’s teased for it more than once. Shane looks like he’d rather die than to try to dance. But maybe his look of disgust is from the drinks he’s already been forced to take.

The bar’s TV is on a sports channel, volume turned up in benefit to the hockey fans and players around, and they’re talking about tonight’s winners. Boston played as well, and Rozanov, as Hayden learns, did as much for the Raiders as Shane did Montreal. “When do you think we’re going to play them?” another Metro that stayed by the bar asks, nodding towards the TV, and he might as well say when do you think we’re going to play him?

The question is directed to any teammate sitting in hearing range, but Hayden immediately glances at Shane, even if he doesn’t reply. Eyes locked on Rozanov’s headshot on the TV, right beside a photo of him in the middle of a play tonight–that asshole grin while he shoots a puck right into the net–Shane still looks like the question is the only thing in his head. He doesn’t say anything but it’s easy to imagine the answer in his head: soon. Hayden reads it as competitiveness.

He takes a taxi home with Shane. Hayden has the instinct to right his shoulders when they walk up the front steps of the porch: the rookie is a light weight, although you wouldn’t know looking at him. Shane’s balance on the ice apparently extends to how steady he walks after drinking. Hayden only really recognizes the difference because of how Shane’s back, usually ram-rod straight, is slouched into oblivion; that, and the uncomfortable twist of his mouth.

“You should drink some water before going to bed,” Hayden tells him, only a little overbearingly. Terrifyingly, he’s struck by the thought of what Yuna and David Hollander might have had to say at seeing his son being hungover–nevermind tipsy–under Hayden’s care.

“Sure.”

Hayden’s expecting the house to be all dark already, but they find Jackie at the kitchen table, lights turned on. “Hey,” he greets her, perking up immediately. Walking to his wife, he looks around, as if about to see Ruby and Jade too. “You’re still up?”

Jackie hums into the peck Hayden gives her. “I got distracted seeing what twitter had to say about the game.” Jackie preferred to watch it from home, although some WAGS were on the stands tonight. Hayden doesn’t blame her for not wanting to sit in a crowded, loud stadium when she already dealt with enough crying from their babies. “Hi, Shane–you played really well.”

“Hi, Jackie. Thank you.”

Her mouth quirks up at seeing the pinkness the alcohol left on Shane’s cheeks. “God, you’re already ruined him?” She can’t keep a smile out of her mouth.

“I didn’t drink that much,” Shane complains. It’s hard to take him seriously when he’s holding himself against the fridge as he dutifully picks the bottle of water Hayden told him to. His hair already looks like he’s slept a whole night’s worth.

“It was the team,” Hayden defends himself. “Hey–maybe eat some crackers too, just in case,” he tells Shane.

Jackie’s eyes are crescent-shaped as she glances between them, barely managing to hold her amusement in. She shouldn’t be looking so smug in mismatched pajamas, in Hayden’s opinion. “Am I going to need to put you guys to sleep too?”

“Alright, alright.” Hayden motions Jackie to get up, if only so he doesn’t have to be teased in public. He insists on handing Shane a sleeve of crackers before he leaves to his room with his lonesome bottle of water, mumbling good night, Jackie, good night, Hayden behind him. Jackie is still smiling. Hayden waits for him to leave before turning to her again. “I’m my defense,” he tells her, “I was drinking so he didn’t have to.”

Jackie entertains him, “Uhm-hum, I’m sure you really suffered through those daiquiris.” She pats him on the back, righting his shoulder like Hayden had thought to do to Hollander; he hadn’t realized his back was slouched too. “Go brush your teeth–your breath’s stinky. No more good night kisses.”

“Shane, you’re alright with giving ESPN some words?”

Shane looks to the Metros spokesperson who’d just stuck her head in the locker room with an expression too stiff to be read as anything close to ‘alright’, but he still forces his head into the motion of a nod, just what she needs to disappear again. Shane’s still halfway into his uniform, pads on display, but that kind of sells in pre-game interviews. Honestly, considering the rounds he’s making, this shouldn’t be the first time Shane’s being asked to do this for them.

“First one, kid?” Blanchard asks him from where he’s fixing his own socks. It’s just as probable he’s trying to tease him. Hayden can guess that, between junior league and all the youth competitions, Shane Hollander has probably been asked for soundbites before. But he answers Blanchard at face value.

“No.” He looks no less stiff saying it, or staring at the door leading out the locker room. Hayden gets the feeling this isn’t something experience makes easier–or more enjoyable–to Hollander. It doesn’t surprise him that Mr. Introvert doesn’t like talking with reporters.

“You’ll get used to it,” Hayden nudges his shoulder against Shane’s. “Some superficial nonsense’s alright for them. How do you feel about tonight’s game, Mr Hollander? How do you feel about playing in the big leagues Mr Hollander?” Hayden makes sure to do a funny voice, which more than anything, is probably a leftover from having to do bedtime story with Ruby and Jade every other night. He’d heard his own version of these questions once or twice, mostly when he does something interesting enough for his name to be worth something during the night, and he always just talks out his mouth–he forgets whatever he’s said like a minute after.

“He should already be used to it,” McGroarty yaps from his stall, after Shane has left. He went with as much enthusiasm as someone walking to their death. McGroarty is far more lively, as he’s wanton while talking shit. At least he–and the rest of the Montreal Metros–waited for Shane not to be around this time, before talking about him. Hayden considers that progress. “He’s made of gold.”

Hayden can’t really argue about how much buzz Shane has around him–only growing further with each game they play, and continue to win. McGroarty can’t even complain about favoritism, after how many assists Shane’s already given him the past week.

“Front office’s going to be making him do those a lot more,” Stone says. He doesn’t stop dressing into his gear, or even looks in the direction Shane went–or at any of them–but Hayden still can’t see him feigning neutrality at this. Disinterest just looks like defeat in Stone’s face. “They’ll want him to start giving the team his face.”

Everyone does the kindness of not trying to read any grief in Stone’s statement. Hayden doesn’t actually know if it’s better to hear misery in his voice than outright antagonization directed at Shane, like how he gave glimpses of during training camp; Stone, at the end of the day, is also his captain. He’s known him for as long as he’s been a Metro.

Hayden mostly focuses on putting on his gear and then, later, showing up on the ice. It’s just after, when they have another win under their belt–another showcase of everything Shane brought to the team–that someone actually pulls out their phone and finds the interview from earlier in the night. It’s low-rez, but Hayden can still make out the abject awkwardness on Shane’s face at being asked to describe how the team was feeling about the game, and how he felt to be playing for them.

“I’m proud to be a Metros,” Shane answered then, which was the truth–anyone would know how much he cared by just attending a team morning skate. Shane, somehow, still clammed up enough to sound fake saying even that. McGroarty actually guffaws at hearing him talk.

Shane shuffles quietly around his own stall, trying to ignore the audience of his own team hearing him talking about playing for them only a few meters away. After his welcome, and the shitshow it was, he’s worth more than some of the stiffness around his back: anyone would imagine them to be making fun of him again. Which, to some degree, they still were.

“Good lord,” McGroarty cries in delight at the little video on Maynard’s phone. “Is that lady holding a gun at you behind that microphone?” Shane’s holding himself as if he’s a hostage.

But the energy around the locker room right now isn’t as prickly as it was weeks ago. There’s a more friendly side to the grins the forwards and defensemen are wearing–although it doesn’t make them stop being a grin. Hayden can’t deny he fights a smile of his own at the single glimpse he gets of Shane mumbling something about his mother being a Metros fan for all her life and him wanting to make them proud. It’s all very–cute. Shane’s an adult, and a professional, but he sounds cute, the poster-boy anyone would want their rookie to be. And the interview was before he went on to score during the game. Shane’s everything the Metros could want; he just needs to stop standing in front of the camera like he’s about to be executed.

“Where’re you even seeing this?” a defenseman asks Maynard. “It’s not Sports Central?”

“It’s Youtube,” Shane says, and then immediately chokes up when around ten heads turn his way.

Maynard takes up for him. “People post these clips,” he explains. “There’s a ton from players–if they’re famous.”

“No luck there for you there, McGroarty,” someone pats him on the back. He immediately slaps the hand away, using one of his novel variations of telling someone to fuck off.

“There’s a ton from Rozanov too,” Maynard goes on. He glances at Shane again. “Dude’s been asked about you, you know? Surprised they didn’t do that with you too.”

Based with how fucking taken off guard Shane seems at just the idea, he’s probably pretty glad someone didn’t. Hayden doesn’t think it was possible, but Shane manages to look even more uncomfortable.

“What did he say?”

“No idea,” Shane answers automatically, although the question wasn’t directed at him. Everyone’s too busy paying attention to Maynard to see how on edge he seems.

“Just more asshole shit, what do you think?” Maynard goes on and McGroarty audibly scoffs by his side.

“He probably doesn’t know enough English to say anything else.” He gets cackles from a few people, but Hayden doesn’t let McGroarty keep it for too long.

“And you’re any better?” That gets more laughs than McGroarty did. He gives Hayden the finger, but it’s with less heat than not; McGroarty communicates almost entirely by pissing people off, so it makes sense he’s open to getting some back. It dissolves whatever bad air a mention of Rozanov could have brought into the room, but Shane continues to look pretty uncomfortable no matter when Hayden spares a glance to him in all the time it takes for all of them to step off their sweaty jerseys and wash tonight’s grime.

“Hey,” he knocks his foot against Shane’s where he’s sitting across his stall, keeping his voice low enough under the continued rumble of the locker room that this is just between the two of them. Hayden hopes his face looks easy enough. “It’s no biggie.”

Shane looks at him with blank eyes, with the exception of a pretty easily-read distress in them. “The interview,” Hayden specifies. Shane’s eyes clear, and Hayden wonders for a moment what on earth he had thought he might have been talking about instead. “You’ll get better at talking with the media, so don’t stress yourself.”

“Y-yeah, for sure,” Shane nods. He doesn’t lose the nervous edge though, not until Hayden looks away from him.

When they each step off their respective showers, Hollander looks normal again, stress seemingly gone with the water. Hayden figures it’s all okay then.

He doesn’t think about it anymore and would have completely forgotten about any Rozanov interview, were it not for seeing it for himself. The next time he steps into the team gym, the TV is on, and replaying Rozanov spouting something about scoring fifty goals in his rookie season–talk about an ego–and pretending he doesn’t even remember who Shane Hollander is. “See–asshole shit!” Maynard speaks up from where he’s doing a mile on a stationary bike, pointing to the screen. Hayden has to agree with him.

It’s nothing surprising considering what he’s already heard from Rozanov before. Rozanov brings groans everywhere his face pops up–some echo around the gym room even now. Hayden has one of his own in his throat, and is expecting to have to say something encouraging to Shane again, but when he turns, instead of seeing the affronted expression he’s expecting, what’s pretending to be a scowl on his face looks closer to a grin, if only for one moment. Like looking at what you thought were two dogs fighting, only to see they’re only playing with each other.

It’s gone fast enough. Maybe it was just a trick of the light.

OCTOBER, 2010

The chance for Shane to play against Rozanov comes a month into the pre-season, a game that, honestly, the media blows a little out of proportion, not aided with how their teams’ coaches immediately entertain it in the rink. Shane is spending the most time on the ice, and so is Rozanov; every time they meet, skating circles around each other and stealing pucks out their sticks, it feels like the entire crowd in the stadium comes alive. The Metros have been selling a lot of tickets, everyone wanting to witness the Hollander phenomenon, but the seats seem even fuller tonight.

The Metros are having a good season: they’ve yet to lose, a winning streak that would have been unheard of a year ago. The league hasn’t adapted to playing against Hollander yet and although they will, eventually–as much as they can fight against him, anyway–the team’s riding the high of coasting through every game. The Boston Raiders are the first real threat they’re meeting in a while. The Raiders don’t have Hollander–but they have Rozanov.

“You’re on face-off,” Lecomte tells Shane without missing a beat when he and Hayden skate to him after the play stops. It’s not the first face-off numbers twenty-four and eighty-one have had tonight. Lecomte and the Raiders’ coach seem to be on the same wavelength, giving the crowd the match-up they want. Shane doesn’t question his decision, just dutifully follows exactly what Lecomte asked of him, like all the times before.

Any other night, Hayden would feel the team is about to start feeling jealous, but they are just enraptured as the audience. Shane loses this face-off with Rozanov–although he won the first of the night–a slamming shove of the latter’s stick taking the puck to the Raiders’ side, sound as strong and sharp as the brutal crack of a whip. McGroarty actually laughs from where they’re waiting for their turn on the bench. “Holy fuck.” It’s like they’re watching beasts.

Rozanov’s a force to be reckoned with, and watching him, Hayden wonders if this is what the other teams’ feel when they see Shane across the ice. It makes sense to always try to put him against Rozanov. Who else would rise to take him on?

The Metros win 6 to 5, after what felt like a duo on the ice; when they come home (no drinks tonight–the Metros entertained Hollander by buying Ginger Ale, for once), Jackie describes it as a dance. Sounds a bit theatrical, but Hayden kind of gets it. Shane’s biggest strength is that he’s always just that one step further than the opposite team; with Rozanov, it’s like he’s expecting all of them. They kept meeting each other, even if, this night, Montreal won the draw.

It’s rare to see a generational talent, and rarer yet that this time there were two. On the bench, Hayden kept glancing at Shane and Rozanov, whether they were seated or not; even when they were across the rink from one another, they seemed ever aware of each other’s presence. The rivalry was right that they were matches–maybe they were the only two people in the world that could meet each other.

Hayden hopes Shane doesn’t hate Rozanov’s guts too much–if he does at all. It’s hard to know, sometimes, but he ought to: who doesn’t hate Ilya Rozanov? Either way, he’s sure Shane will keep seeing a lot of him.

NOVEMBER, 2010.

There’s only so long that a winning streak can exist for. Hayden isn’t surprised to see the score turning against them eventually, but he’d have to be dead not to be disappointed either way. The game is good when it’s good and bad when it’s bad. Losing is only such a bummer because winning tastes so sweet. The only thing you can do is to learn from it and do better the next day.

“You did well, buddy,” Hayden still makes sure to tell Hollander afterwards, when they’re all in the locker room. Stone had already given his post-loss talk to the team–his first in this season–but as important as a pep talk felt to Hayden before Shane’s first game, so does another now after his first loss. “We’ll get ‘em next time.”

Shane doesn’t answer Hayden, or even looks back in his direction. There’s something absolutely chagrined about him, plain to anyone’s eye, and it means more, when he usually keeps every emotion to himself. Shane had been stalked through all three periods, chances to move and score crossed out by the enemy formation, and Hayden can only imagine how frustrated he must feel right now, right off the game and its loss–the only reason Shane didn’t do more is because he physically couldn’t.

It was due to happen: Shane would have to start being marked on the ice by the other players considering how important he is to Montreal’s offense (hell, it had already begun to happen, they just managed to keep their streak before). That, and how fucking scary Shane can be when not kept in check, makes him priority number-one to any defense worth their money. But the annoyance and ensuing disappointment would be rough on anyone–especially Hollander, who, Hayden has learned to know, takes his job so seriously. It was because Shane didn’t have the space to play that the opposite team won.

There’s nothing for him to blame himself, but Shane looks like he’s still finding a way. Hayden’s lips purse, looking at him, but there’s nothing he can say. He just pats Shane’s back and hopes that, past the grief, he’ll at least feel that Hayden is still by his side.

They have several days off after that, and usually Hayden wouldn’t be sure that the break is better to team morale than something to keep their minds busy, but this time, he has something of his own to keep himself occupied. Hayden has a horrible track record with remembering dates but for once he’s increasingly aware of what else November has in store, more important than another hockey game.

“Hey,” he starts with Shane one afternoon after practice. Hayden had already started talking about it with Jackie, but with Shane at home, they weren’t the only ones this would concern. “This weekend is the girls’ one-year birthday. I know you might want to rest, but me and Jackie are going to do a little something with our families if you want to, you know. Be there. It’s going to be at home.”

Shane looks at him, skin still damp with perspiration after skating through Lecomte’s drills. He always looks a bit younger with his hair plastered to his forehead, but that’s especially true with his big eyes turned to Hayden at the offer, frowning slightly.

Shane’s still a bit off after the loss; he’s not playing any differently, but at home, he’s quieter–an achievement, considering he’s already reserved on a good day. With how Shane mostly withstands team-outings, Hayden knows a birthday party for two babies might not be his idea of fun, but he’d be remiss not to ask him. Shane lives at their house, for one. Unless he’d sequestered himself in the guest room, he’d have no choice but to at least witness the party.

“We’re keeping it to the backyard so it isn’t annoying–” Hayden starts to reassure him, but Shane blinks out of his stupor, shaking his head immediately.

“No, it’s–it’s your house. And your, uh, your daughters. That’s nice.”

Hayden smiles reflexively, thinking of his girls and how they’re already growing teeth. He and Jackie will get to feed them cake and watch them babble the almost-words they’ve taken to. It is nice. “I dunno if you’re meeting your mom and dad for lunch, but if you’re not, and you want to stick around…you know Ruby and Jade like you.”

Shane doesn’t seem to agree with that, but Hayden would swear on his life; silence might not seem too exciting from two babies, but they only quiet down when Shane is around. It goes to show how interested they are in him, the strange addition to their house that they still don’t really know what to make of.

“I don’t know what to buy them,” it’s what Shane ends up with, a non-issue if Hayden ever heard one.

“They’re babies, they don’t need anything. Half the things their grandparents are gonna buy will end up in tatters in, like, six months. Don’t sweat it. Just show up. Eat cake.”

Shane is most certainly not eating cake. “Won’t your family be bothered?”

“They know I’m housing a rookie.” Hayden’s parents have politely kept themselves from commenting if they think that was wise or not. “I told you–don’t sweat it. Just think about it, okay?”

Shane has all of one day to consider it, but he does end up having no plans for the weekend, and maybe that’s what seals the deal. Hayden knows his parents call daily–Shane talked with his mom on the phone for a really long time, the day after the team lost–but this time they didn’t plan to have brunch, or Shane called it off. That weekend, he stands awkwardly in the kitchen while Jackie arranges snacks and then stiffly shakes the hands of Ruby and Jade’s two sets of grandparents, introducing himself with the same polite veneer he uses with post-game interviews.

Aside from Hayden and Jackie’s sets of parents, Jackie’s sister comes, and some of the other WAGs she’s friends with, who bring their kids–a little older than Ruby and Jackie, but still young enough they babble more than speak, and are easily entertained by the same cartoons the girls like on TV, or the birthday balloons Hayden spent the whole morning blowing. Some guys from the team come too, mostly because their wives made them, so at least there’s some more familiar faces for Shane. Like in any other social event planned by a Metro, Stone shows up with a bottle of wine as well. It’s a more lively party than Hayden had advertised to Shane, but still casual as far as birthday parties for a Montreal Metros’ kid go.

Shane’s the one new addition to the house; even the girls, all of one-year old, officially now, have been seen by everyone present. But there were still some team wives that hadn’t met Shande before, not to count Hayden and Jackie’s extended family. Hayden’s dad is the only one of them that cares about Hockey–more than any Canadian does in general, anyway–but both Hayden’s and Jackie’s families already know of him. It would have been hard to not have heard the name Shane Hollander before.

Today he’s just a guest at a birthday party. Shane sits on the couch watching TV and failing to make small-talk, and eventually eats the plate of carbs Jackie keeps pestering him about. He watches the girls have birthday hats strapped on their little heads and lets Hayden put another one on his own, only slightly annoyed at the faces the Metros make at him. Today, he’s just Shane.

“Oh, you should take a photo of all of them,” Jackie’s mom coos. She looked like she wanted to pinch Shane’s cheek when she first saw him, like he already wasn’t worth a million, and the party hat doesn’t help. Between the WAGs, she’s not the only woman at home endeared to him; they also coo at the idea. Honestly, Hayden kind of wants that picture too.

He nags Shane until he’s sitting at the middle of the couch, only glowering slightly–Shane is still too polite to fully allow himself to be an asshole. And he looks a little bit completely out of his depth when Hayden and Jackie sit Ruby and Jade on each of his legs. They’ve gone quiet again, wide-eyed at Shane, great to wrangle them around even if Shane himself still looks like they’re two bombs sitting on his lap, now suddenly so terrified he doesn’t even seem to care about the other Metros making fun of him.

“They can sit on their own already, they’re not gonna fall,” Hayden assures him. “And your hands won’t fall either if you touch them.”

Shane’s brow pinches, but he eventually lets his hands rest on Ruby and Jade’s sides, helping them keep their balance. Ruby tries to grab his chin, to which Shane only blinks at, lips still pursed. As they finally start babbling his way, Shane keeps quiet, but Hayden sees his back slowly slouch too–not as stressed as before.

“You can take that picture now,” he tells Jackie.

It’s one of many that they take of the girls at their birthday, but it stands out to Hayden as the first picture they’re with Shane; the first picture they have of him off the ice at all. Jackie and Hayden keep a folder of photos in their bedroom closet, of which only a few get upgraded into being displayed in the house, but Hayden likes that one. He wouldn’t be able to name the emotion, but if he had to say what that picture felt like, it would be like a promise.

DECEMBER, 2010

“You’re excited to go back home?”

Hayden’s too preoccupied trying to fit a pack of beer inside their freezer to look back at Jackie and Shane, where they’re standing by the sink and washing and drying together the plates they used for lunch. Shane insists on doing chores when they concern him in any way, but dish-duty is the only one they allow him, if only because it keeps him out of the guestroom for a bit longer. After the meals Shane and Hayden get to have at home, taking care of the dishes is the most time he spends with them.

Shane makes a low noise at Jackie’s question, considering it with the serious consideration he usually brings everywhere, even something as simple as to have his answer end up being: “Yeah.” Dishes clack together: Shane must be putting them on the drying rack. “I mean, my mom and dad are looking forward to it.”

They’re talking about the Christmas break. It’s going to be the first actual chance Shane will get to go back to Ottawa, if only for a few days. The NHL schedule accounted for the American Thanksgiving, but Canada celebrated it so early in the season, it was more tricky than worth it to actually take a break; Shane hadn’t spent it with his parents. Hayden, for what it’s worth, hadn’t done it either for the last three years he’d been with Montreal.

David and Yuna Hollander still came to Montreal every other weekend, and attended almost all games in the greater Quebec and Ontario area, but it was different to be visited and to actually spend quality time somewhere. “They still live at the house you grew up in?” Jackie asks Shane, and makes an agreeable sound when he explains that they didn’t–Shane had bought them a bigger house in the city as soon as he had the money–but his parents still had the cottage the family spent summers on. “That’s nice–you think you’re spending the holiday there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not. Usually we just have breakfast and, uh, exchange presents.”

Hayden looked subtly across the kitchen, finding Jackie to have done the same back to him. They’re thinking of the same thing, a heavy Montreal sweater (of the city, not the team) that's wrapped and hiding in the coat closet. The Pikes’ Christmas present; Hayden will still have to find time to give it to Shane before he travels back home. Hollander seems too frugal to most things Hayden would think to buy to someone who isn’t even twenty, but Jackie said any Canadian would find a use for a sweater, and it would be nice to have something of his new city. Shane is almost always wearing something cosy too. He has a sweater on right now.

“Any other plans for Ottawa?” Jackie goes on before Shane can notice them. And she does seem interested in the question too; when Shane gives a neutral shrug, Jackie follows it up with, “Anyone you’re looking forward to seeing?”

“Out of my parents?” Hayden doesn’t have to look to imagine that Shane is frowning, that uncertain way he does. “Uh. Not really.”

For what it is worth, Jackie sounds mainly amused about how oblivious Shane is to what she’s trying to ask. “Isn’t there anyone else that you know there? Old friends–girls?”

Shane hesitates for a little while longer. “Not really,” he repeats himself, like a scratched record.

Jeez. Hayden finishes with the freezer and steps aside to join the conversation happening at the sink, doing a worse job than Jackie at hiding his smile; his cheeks are cramping. “You didn’t leave any girl back home?” This isn’t so different to the teasing and goading that happens in any locker room and Hayden doesn’t think too much about what he’s asking. “No girlfriends waiting for you?”

“No.” But Shane reconsiders how quickly he gives that answer. “I mean–I’ve had, uh, girlfriends. There was a girl before the draft. But she’s not…I’m not…”

“You didn’t keep in touch?” Jackie throws him a life-guard. Despite how awkward Shane looks at the line of question, she and Hayden remain entirely casual; it’s really not so serious. Hayden thinks that Shane’s reaction goes to show how young he is–although, if he thinks about it, Hayden wasn’t half as shy when he was nineteen. “Don’t you want to catch up? That might be nice–celebrate your first year as a major player.”

Shane’s mouth puckers as if he’s tasted something especially sour. He’s been doing that more–having a complete lack of face-filter, at least around Hayden and Jackie, when at home. Hayden snorts. “Oof. That bad?”

“She was alright,” Shane defends weakly; his heart’s not in it. Hayden wonders if that is to mean the girl wasn’t all that, or if Shane wasn’t all in the relationship. When he puts the next dried dish on the rack, Shane’s heart’s not in it either.

His shoulders have gone tight, as much as that was far from Jackie’s–and Hayden’s–intentions.

“It’s okay,” Jackie backs off. She’s been getting good at noticing when it’s the time to do it: practice from recognizing when the girls are a few seconds from having a meltdown. Shane’s remarkably similar to them in his tells. As if reminded of them, Jackie steps back to check into the living room, where Jade and Ruby were left to play in the new play-pen Jackie’s dad helped mount for them. “Relaxing’s better, right? You probably already have way too many girls going after you when the team takes you to those clubs.”

Shane’s face doesn’t drop the discomfort. The truth is–and Hayden hasn’t told it even to Jackie–Shane doesn’t really interact with girls in clubs. Jackie’s right that there’s some after him, and the team tries moving a few more Shane’s way, but he mainly looks as uncomfortable being made to talk with them as he looks right now in Hayden’s kitchen. Hayden, honestly, wouldn’t have expected Shane to have even had a girl back in Ottawa.

It’s good he had. Hayden wondered sometimes if Shane…you know. Not that there was nothing wrong with it! Hayden likes to think he isn’t a bigot. But he’d taken part in some less than sightly locker room talks before, mostly on the trails of some of the other guys, and he’d noticed Shane had tensed up during them; Hayden had worried he might have insulted, or hurt him, somehow. But Shane had a girlfriend once–so it wasn’t like that. He’s just a shy guy, probably. It’s a relief.

Hayden doesn’t know what to say at Jackie’s words, and Shane certainly won’t say anything, so he tries to find something to save his hide; he doesn’t like watching Shane’s body go all tight. “Hey,” he grabs and squeezes Shane’s shoulder in a brotherly instinct. “Nothing beats relaxing; your head’s on straight. This is how you’re going to take us to play-offs, eh?”

Shane’s throat clicks with a swallow, but his face slacks up again, giving Hayden a tight smile. “Yeah. For sure.”

Shane leaves at the end of the week, taking with himself half of the things he first brought to Hayden’s house; mostly still hockey gear. Of course he’s still going to find a way to play during the holiday. His parents drive to pick him up, although Hayden offered to take him to Ottawa for once, since he feels bad for Yuna and David. He helps Jackie make cucumber veggie wraps for the drive before they arrive and, after she keeps glaring at him, finally calls Shane to give him his sweater.

“Oh.” Shane thumbs at its fabric, a dark, blue wool with white markings that are the same symbols as the one in Montreal’s flag. Shane seems to like blue–he seems to like this sweater too. When he looks at Hayden, his eyes look a little bright. “I didn’t buy you anything.”

It’s the same concern as with the girls’ birthday. Hayden groans, albeit playfully. “You’re not supposed to! We’re the billet, buddy–just take it. Me and Jackie wanted to give you something. You’re going to need it in Ottawa–you probably forgot how cold’s there.”

Shane’s mouth quirks up at the corners, a bit of the roguish twinge Hayden catches from him sometimes. “I haven’t been gone for that long.” Still, he doesn’t let go of the sweater, and his face remains painfully earnest. “Thanks, Hayden. And Jackie.”

Shane has a total of twenty pieces of clothing, which all look almost identical, and feel the same. So Hayden knows that it’s a bit of a big deal when, a few hours after, when Shane leaves the guestroom with his packed duffle, he’s wearing the new sweater. It’s with it that he meets with his parents to drive to Ottawa, and says goodbye to Hayden, Jackie, Jade and Ruby, waving a little shyly from his parent’s car’s back window. Ruby and Jade keep waving back and repeating the same echoes of bye-bye they’ve recently learned, probably no more aware right now that he’s not going to be here tomorrow. Hayden’s not so easily tricked; as soon as they step inside away from the cold, he feels like the house sounds too quiet. It doesn’t make sense, he thinks–Shane doesn’t make enough noise to miss.

And yet.

Chapter End Notes

i do think part of the reason shane and hayden became friends in canon is that mr anxiety brain and a guy with young, probably emotional children got along really well. which is like 50% of my thesis statement for writing this thing. (the other 50% is hayden referring to shane as ruby and jade's big brother in the book when they're visiting the aquarium.)
thanks for reading as always. consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-the NHL does in fact take a break during thanksgiving, but i think it's just the usamerican one. they also take a break on christmas and i'm working with the idea that the metros' schedule worked out so they had december 24th right to january 1st free.
-during the first game shane and ilya have against each other with the metros and raiders they don't hook up. the scene goes from shane winning the first face-off (and the game) to ilya grumbling to himself "ohhhh i'm hollander i'm so perfect and i can speak french BOOOOO." this is great for hayden who has no idea his baby boy rookie has know ilya carnally and gets to live in peace for a little bit longer. but it does make me think if, when shane and ilya really started hooking up every time they had a game against each other, which already was only like three times a year btw, they regretted not using that chance too.
-i'd forgot to mention before but i picked the name mcgroarty from a guy that plays for the pittsburgh penguins (but he's probably not an asshole in real life. probably). the other names are mostly picked from a generator for english and french names, considering 90% of the montreal metros are probably canadian.

i'm punksalmons on tumblr, where i'm posting whatever whenever
(inclunding hr fanart sometimes)--come say hi! you can also reblog this fic on tumblr here. thanks for all the comments again S2

Chapter 4: iv.

Chapter Summary

The second half of the 2010-2011 season, and how secretive Shane Hollander also is.

Chapter Notes

me, initially: i can probably write a chapter to each episode of the show.
me, now: um.

i actually didn't plan no update this soon but i guess i really, really want to get to a point i can write about hayden's outside pov of the las vegas (horror movie sting) hookup haha.

JANUARY, 2011

“Dada, Anne,” Jade asks him while he’s trying to get her to eat lunch. It’s basically the hottest new song at home, the only thing the girls ask him about. Neither of them have really got the hang of saying Shane yet and leave out the sh sound. He’s all they want to know about.

“He’s still travelling, baby, you know,” Hayden tells her, like all the other times before. Babies don’t have a good concept of time, or how much a weekend lasts–they certainly have no concept of how long the All-Stars lasts, or what the fuck it even is. They just know Shane’s not at home, and so soon after the time he spent away during the holidays too.

“Let’s turn on the TV later, they’ve got some segments there,” Jackie suggests. She’s wrangling Ruby in front of the sink, trying to wash her face and hands after she destroyed her pureed carrots; there’s some on her hair. Jackie groans when Ruby keeps fighting away from the stream of water. “Ruby.”

They do turn the TV on. It’s always a bit strange to watch NHL programming when Hayden is part of it; almost every player that ever gets mentioned by the media is someone Hayden knows personally, and has at least one piece of hot gossip about or holds a grudge. Sometimes, even the sports commentator is someone Hayden had known, if briefly, a retired player whose new job is talking about old teammates and rivals. It’s especially weird for Hayden to watch the All-Stars when he wasn’t invited, like seeing pictures of a party that’s happening without you.

Hayden has never been called there, doesn’t expect it and, truthfully, doesn’t really want to. Hayden doesn’t care all that much for skill competitions, neither has the best speed or shot accuracy to bag one, and he’d rather spend a weekend at home than freaking Nashville, even if the temperature there seems a lot more comfortable than Montreal’s current one, chilly even with the home thermostat turned up. Still, seeing Shane get mentioned in every event makes Hayden feel like he’s missing something–even if that something is just witnessing Shane.

“There he is,” Jackie says, pointing helpfully to the girls at the programming’s B-roll, accompanied with the current commentary of what’s already happened and what the All-Stars still has in store. They are sitting on the floor in front of the TV, Jackie with Ruby and Jade on each curve of her hip, rocking them a bit in the direction of the screen. For the short duration of time Shane is displayed on it, wearing his All-Stars team jersey, the girls do babble at the television, maybe directed at him.

They’d been glad when he came back from Ottawa. Hayden can admit he was glad too. The break in the last week of December had gone great, gave Hayden time to be with his daughters and wife and even drive down to Halifax to spend Christmas with his parents. But Hayden can admit he missed Shane, the way you miss something that’s become integral to the routine. He got used to sharing every meal with him, seeing him in the morning right after waking up and bidding him good night before going to bed. Hayden went from that to not even speaking with Shane on the phone and the change was felt. The girls kept looking around the house in confusion too, the way they do after misplacing one of their plushies.

Well, their plushie is one of the main faces of the competition now, and all the All-Stars hosts want to talk about, along with Rozanov. This year the theme is Team North America versus Team Europe, which just seems like another way to say Team Hollander and Team Rozanov. Hayden has to agree with the host of a hockey radio show he caught while washing the dishes last night. “Anytime the league can figure out a way to get these two kids in each other’s faces they’re gonna do it.” The guy, for all the irony in his voice, still sounded delighted by it; nobody could apparently get enough of Shane being put against Rozanov.

It’s happening again on screen, although not currently on the ice. Jade points a chubby hand at the television when the brief shots of Shane skating finally gives way to a steady recording of him at a press room, chosen cuts of answers he’s recently given to reporters about the last year, his rookie season and what happened in the All-Stars so far–the same type of questions they direct to Rozanov, on a seat right beside him.

Press conferences are to be expected with the All-Stars, which is 80% for the media anyway, but Shane, sitting at a table with a microphone and a glass of water in front of him, looks no more glad for it; although that may be just because Rozanov is by his side. Shane’s getting better with interviews but he’s never had one alongside Rozanov, who looks no less cocky in the same type of boring suit Shane was made to dress in.

“Ilya you're having a legendary rookie season. Both of you are. You said last year you'd hit fifty goals by the end of the season and you've already scored thirty-eight so far. Are you still thinking about a fifty-goal campaign?”

Rozanov–Hayden hadn’t known his first name was Ilya–mulls the question as if sucking on a candy before slowly leaning forward to just say, “Yes.” It’s cocky as hell and the interview clip still keeps some of the chuckles that scatter around the conference room. Hayden scoffs.

“What an A-hole.”

“Hayd,” Jackie scolds.

“What? Hole’s not a curse word.” He shortened ass to an A–it shouldn’t count, he thinks. Ruby gurgles a sound somewhat reminiscent of ‘hole’, in baby speak, and Jackie glares a bit more strongly at him, so he hurriedly turns back to the interview clips.

Shane’s answers are much more subdued, although, Hayden notes, sitting beside Rozanov apparently brings him a bit of an edge. Shane almost looks a bit smug at having his goal-count–higher than Rozanov’s, if by a little–pointed out. Neither of them look directly at each other, but they seem extremely aware of the other’s presence; their elbows are almost touching on top of the table.

“Shane, how glad are you with your performance with Montreal? You were one of the most anticipated rookies of the 2009 draft and I think it’s safe to say you have been turning heads with your playing in the NHL. How is your relationship with your team and what are you guys thinking of this year?”

Shane sobers slightly, shoulders straightening. “I’m very glad to play for Montreal.” It’s not the first time he has said it, and probably won’t be the last. Shane is saying the truth too–he’s got dedication plain to see in his eyes. Even as he continues, “I’m very glad to play with all the guys from my team. I’m happy we’re playing well. I want to keep contributing.”

There’s no mention of any tension in the locker room, which Hayden wasn’t expecting anyway, but his lips still purse. The interviewer goes on, and he almost misses when he’s mentioned, if not by name, as the reporter brings up how Shane is staying with a veteran on the team for his rookie year. She’s half-wrong–Hayden is hardly a veteran. But Shane perks up at that either way, and at the question of how that’s helping in his integration with the team.

“I’m really happy with my team,” he repeats himself. Less blandly, Shane continues, “I’m glad I was given a place with someone there, and that he and his family welcomed me the way that they did. It’s been nice.”

Jackie looks back at Hayden with the softest expression on her face. Hayden can’t say he’s any better.

The reporters move on, back to Rozanov, but Hayden barely remembers to pay attention to it, still riding the–admiteddly, sweet–high of Shane saying It’s been nice. He feels almost awkward with it, jeez, and can’t even distract himself with the girls; Jackie is holding both of them. Still, he catches the question given to Rozanov, of the pressure of taking Boston to the play-offs this year, and how he flounders with it for a bit, something he didn’t even know Rozanov was able to. But Shane speaks up again, voice no less diligent than when he talked about staying with the Pikes.

“Uh–sorry, not to jump the gun here, but with Rozanov's permission…” They exchange a glance–the first of the afternoon, and much more earnest than Hayden would ever expect between them.

Shane answers the question for him. Boston has missed the play-offs for their last three seasons, but Montreal didn’t reach it for the last two either–none of the years Hayden has been playing for them. The pressure that’s on Rozanov and Hollander from the get-go is obvious; both of them were picked with the clear intent of lifting the franchises, and they are matched in this way. Shane can answer the question because he must feel the same things as Rozanov does, and he replies with none of the rivalry built between the two, as earnest while addressing the reporters as at the fact he’s doing it on behalf of Rozanov. Hayden doesn’t even know how to react.

The reporters turn back to Rozanov when Shane finishes speaking and he leans forward again. “What he said.” The bubble pops.

“Still an A-hole,” Hayden grumbles. The interview clip finishes and Jackie gets up with Ruby and Jade with a last chiding glance to Hayden, not without some amusement this time; leftovers from the levity of listening to Shane.

“That’s enough TV for daddy.”

The All-Stars end with the weekend, and with a few records broken by Shane. Hayden tried to watch most of the competitions he took part in, mostly so he could talk with Shane about it when he came back to Montreal. Most important of all, Hayden knows that Shane genuinely had fun; he was grinning for the better part of all broadcasts. If he really did feel all that pressure he said in that interview, then he deserved this break as much as seeing his parents on Christmas and New Years. Hayden goes to pick him up at the airport and is pleased to see that Shane still looks in cloud nine.

“Hey!” They don’t hug–Hayden hadn’t hugged Shane after he came back from Ottawa either, but he does what he did then, a pat and pet of his shoulder. On the ice, Hayden taps his helmet against Shane’s, but he can’t very well do the same with just their bare heads. But Shane seems to like the shoulder contact. He tenses every time someone touches him in the locker room but he doesn’t tense with Hayden right now. “Good to see you, buddy! Did you have fun?”

He picks the two bags Shane had taken with himself–day clothes and his hockey gear, respectively–before he can either ask or complain about it. Hayden makes sure to continue the conversation all the way to where he parked his car, and then during the drive home, but Shane, surprisingly enough, seems light enough that even that comes as easy. He drinks two cans of Ginger Ale during dinner–unimaginable!--and keeps smiling at himself at random intervals while sitting at the table.

Hayden notices the texting maybe one or two days after Shane comes back. The NHL returns back to usual after the weekend games, and the team immediately gets back on track, itching to do their best in the season; there’s just a little over three months to the start of play-offs. Boston is leading the Atlantic division by points, but just so–Montreal is right behind. They’ll be battling against each other for a spot, most likely, and everyone’s thirsty for blood. Shane doesn’t lack in enthusiasm either, but for the first time, Hayden thinks that’s not just because of hockey.

He’s checking his phone now–not that he never did it before, but never to this degree. His parents tend to call him during nights, when there’s no games; now, Hayden sees Hollander checking his little Blackberry through the rest of the day, once or twice, but still different enough to be noticeable. He doesn’t know if he does it more in his room, where he still keeps to himself most of the time, but if whatever’s going with his phone is what Hayden thinks it is, he’d bet he does.

“I think Shane met a girl in Ottawa,” he whispers to Jackie when they’re supposed to be asleep, spooning in bed. The house is quiet, after Jade and Ruby watched so many Cinderella sequels they went into hibernation; Shane watched one with them. He sleeps a floor beneath Hayden and Jackie’s room, but Hayden still feels–irrationaly–he has to speak low.

“His phone?” Jackie asks him, apparently having had the same thought as Hayden, because she’s awesome, and he nods against her nape.

He’s smiling a bit–he can’t help it. It’s kind of funny. It’s kind of cute too. “So much for relaxing,” he tells Jackie. She giggles quietly inside her throat. “Maybe it’s the girlfriend from before–the one he’d mentioned. You think it was us that gave him that idea?”

“He’s young, it doesn’t have to be that serious.” Hayden quite honestly can’t imagine Shane doing anything that’s not serious, but he approaches Jackie with another fallacy to her argument.

“Uh, I’m sorry, how old were we when we met? I think it started with ‘nine’ and ended with ‘teen’?”

Jackie slaps his side, turning in his arms so she can push his face away too, for good measure; when Hayden sees her through the little light that’s hiding inside the room–they keep the hallway light turned on because of the girls–Jackie’s fighting against a laugh.

“You better hope he’s nothing like us. Can you imagine–two little Shane Hollanders?” Jackie doesn’t say it without affection, but she’s right to worry. Hayden doesn’t miss the fact that he was also rooming with a veteran when he, ultimately, knocked Jackie up. And Nathan had had children of his own before the age of twenty. He hopes this isn’t a cycle set to continue.

“Well, I guess they’d be good at hockey,” he sighs at Jackie. Her cheeks dimple, amused smile softening on her face. “The league would like that, good future investment. Not sure about Ms and Mr Hollander though. They’d think it was our fault.”

“Bad role models,” Jackie continues. Hayden kisses the dip of her brow, smiling. He doesn’t say it to her, but he thinks she could never be bad.

Jackie sighs beside Hayden at the kiss, and then a second time when he moves down to her mouth. The house is quiet, the deep kind that comes with babies that’ll totally sleep through the night, and he can’t be faulted by how his head–both of them, actually–gets interested at that thought, when he realizes it. It’s hard already finding time with a baby, nevermind two, nevermind a teenager sleeping in their guest room to boot. Hayden’s only human. And he knows Jackie–he already expects what she’s going to say when he pulls back a little just to look at her and say, “Do you…”

Hayden doesn’t need to finish. Of course Jackie does.

So Shane is texting someone–possibly a girl from Ottawa. Hayden considers for a moment if there might have been one in Nashville, actually, but he finds that hard to believe. For one, Shane was staying at a hotel full of hockey players–Hayden doesn’t know where he’d even find a girl. And he certainly wouldn’t have the time to hook up with anyone. It had to be Ottawa.

The Montreal Metros have a home game against Boston just two weeks after the All-Stars and the texting increases too. Hayden imagines Shane’s getting more comfortable with whatever girl he’s talking to, and he can’t fault him, even if they really should be paying attention to ripping the Boston Raiders' skin off. Shane never plays badly so they shouldn’t worry. He’s glad Shane’s talking with someone, acting his age. He’s more than the number on his jersey. He’s still nineteen.

He gets more twitchy as the game approaches too, and Hayden can admit that, on this, he was a bit more thick to realize any reason why. Shane still spends the majority of his time at his and Jackie’s house, only leaving for games and training, and Hayden has all the meals they share at the kitchen to notice that Shane is getting more in his head. He keeps on the phone a lot, but not only texting, Hayden eventually realizes; he’s also searching stuff on the internet.

“What do you need a hotel for?” Hayden asks, reading Shane’s phone screen from over his shoulder, and he actually almost drops his phone entirely with the way he jumps. “Wow–easy there, buddy. Sorry.” You’d think he was looking at porn, not Priceline.

Shane’s still looking wide-eyed and pale when Hayden sits beside him on the living room sofa, but Hayden can’t see the issue. “You parents know if they want to come to Ottawa for the game they can stay with us, right? There’s still a guest room left at home. They don’t need to rent a hotel for the night.”

Shane flounders for a moment. “No–it’s–” When he pauses it’s with a thick swallow, a prolonged second of consideration. “It’s not. It’s not for my parents.”

Hayden blinks and then, without long, actually smiles, understanding. “I knew it! You did check some girls out in Ottawa, didn’t you, you sly dog?” Shane doesn’t lose the anxious stiffness across his shoulders, but he does bite out an estranged snort when Hayden slings an arm around his neck, squeezing him close for the second he knows Shane won’t mind too much. “She’s coming to the game? Did you tell Sully?” one of the guys at the Metros’ front office. “Because he can get her somewhere nice to sit.”

Hayden would ask Shane to bring his girl around the house, for dinner maybe, but he can’t see the idea doing anything other than just stressing Shane out further. Hayden’s not surprised now that he was searching for hotels in secret; Shane’s reserved by nature, and there’s no telling if this girl is actually serious. In a way, it’s almost worse if Shane does care about her a lot, because it’s more to lose.

“S–she’s not going to be at the game, we’re just, ah, meeting after.” Shane picks at his bottom lip, voice having gone quiet halfway through–the embarrassment is coming off him in waves, almost visible to the naked eye. There’s no need for it; Hayden remembers being nineteen and wanting to fuck anything that moved. He also remembers being super awkward about it, and can’t be surprised by the way Shane’s acting. He takes mercy on him and just pats him on the back.

“I don’t need the details,” he assures. “It’s okay–good for you, buddy. We’re gonna beat the Raiders and then you’ll go have fun. I just need to tell you: use protection, alright?”

“Jesus Christ," Shane bites out; he manages to turn even redder than he’d already been for the extent of this conversation.

“I’m serious!” But Shane looks so fucking miserable–Hayden can’t hold a smile in at the sheer despair on his face. He wonders if this was what Nathan felt when he tried to give Hayden his own version of this kind of responsible talk; Hayden remembers reacting pretty similarly to Shane. How fast does the night change. He can hardly believe that was just a little over two years ago. “You’ve got to be careful. You’re young–take it from me, okay? And my two little devils you have breakfast with every morning.” Hayden doesn’t really keep condoms at home, but he’ll go to a drugstore just to buy Shane some.

He still looks embarrassed to the point of death, but it still is an improvement to the bone-deep fear Shane had been carrying before; now, whatever remains of it cling to his face have been subdued to trepidation. It’s an improvement. Shane covers his mouth for a moment, swallowing roughly, and he won’t meet Hayden’s eye, but he does talk to him. “I’ll be careful,” Shane promises. Hayden smiles.

“That’s all I need to know.” He pats Shane on the back, before getting up from the couch again.

The game, ultimately, doesn’t happen. A snowstorm keeps the Boston team stranded outside of Montreal. The whole Montreal-Trudeau Airport is forced to stop and no planes get in–or out–for that night. Hayden is as bummed for the game as Shane’s girl who, he imagines, was probably also flying in; Shane doesn’t follow through meeting someone. He stands dejectedly in the locker room, after they’re told to pack up when the game gets officially cancelled, and stares at his phone.

It’s far less exciting, but Hayden still tries to cheer Shane up by talking about dinner. “At least we get to eat at home tonight, huh?” Hayden’s voice is made to be consoling–as lightly as he can say it–but he still keeps the volume down, lest any other Metro can know what Shane’s plan had been; he doesn’t need more teasing. And he really does look disappointed. “Don’t worry, there’ll be other nights.”

If there are, Shane doesn’t look for hotel rooms in the open anymore. Hayden doesn’t press him, fearing he’ll run, but every time he sees Shane texting or looking at something on his phone, he wonders.

It’s just a few weeks later that Hayden starts rethinking the lack of condoms at home, when Jackie tells him she thinks she might be pregnant again.

Hayden gawks at her for a prolonged moment. He’s just back from a game–couldn’t even finish taking off his shoes, sitting on bed where he’d planned to have a long, peaceful night of sleep. Well–so much for peace. He’d been checked a few times in tonight’s game, but even then none of them had left him as breathless as this. If Hayden was sleepy before, now he just feels as if he’s been zapped. Jackie doesn’t look any better standing across the room from him.

“Say something,” she urges. Hayden stammers for a moment; he’d complain she’s just sprung this on him if he didn’t know it would be the worst possible thing he could say right now.

“A-are you sure?”

“I spent nine months with my tits hurting, Hayd, I think I’d recognize it!” But the blowup only lasts a second before Jackie’s face just falls, looking exactly as scared as she must feel. “I didn’t take a test yet but I missed my period, and I feel tender, and it all got me thinking–”

“Okay, okay,” Hayden tries to calm Jackie down as much as himself. She’d gone to the game tonight, finally called that babysitter, and now Hayden is thinking if she’d done it while thinking about telling him this the whole time. Did she even pay attention to the game? Hayden doesn’t think he’d been able to. A measly OT win against Colorado feels like nothing when he has this to think about.

When Jackie found out she was pregnant with the girls, she’d waited for him to get back to Montreal to tell him. It’s been a little over two years since then, which, between sonograms, marriage, taking the girls home for the first time and then teaching them anything between blowing their nose and eating with a spoon, feels way longer, but now Jackie looks so out of her depth, the memory is all Hayden can think about. They’d become parents young and still are, but Jackie almost looks like a little girl right now.

“So we buy a test,” he tells her, infusing those words with as much assurance as he can, which probably isn’t a lot, but it’s what he has to offer. Jackie is still standing away from him, but Hayden reaches out until he can grab one of her hands and–slowly, gently–bring her in close. He probably doesn’t do a good job in seeming calm (his lower lip sure is trembling a lot) but Jackie still falls against his shoulder. “And then we see and then–and then we think about it, okay? It’s okay, baby. It’s not that bad.”

Jackie shakes her head as her breath hitches, but Hayden is struck by the truth of what he’s just said: nothing is going to be as scary as finding out they were pregnant at twenty, before even being married. Compared to that, Hayden feels a million years older, and he tells Jackie so, kissing her hair like he’d done two years ago. “You’re going to be okay,” he also said then, and Hayden repeats it now, hugging Jackie close.

They buy a test early the next day, which is going to make Hayden late to morning practice, but today’s optional. This feels a lot more important than running drills on the ice–even as he hears Shane getting ready outside the bathroom, probably just a few minutes away of asking Hayden why they’re not going.

The test tells them what Hayden was already expecting. But Jackie’s a little more calm than last night, probably because Hayden is there with her, and that’s all he can really wish for. He keeps holding her hand while they look at the two pink lines.

“What you’re thinking?” Hayden asks her. Jackie shakes her head a little bit–she’s probably not sure herself.

“The girls are so young. I was just looking forward to getting my body back.”

Hayden nods, giving her the space to keep talking. “But you were right last night,” Jackie goes on. “When I thought about it, this isn’t as bad as last time.”

They’re married and have a house, their families are cordial with each other, Hayden has a more steady space in the team, Jackie doesn’t make a marketing degree to finish anymore. “Your sister’s two years older than you,” Hayden also says, which would be the age difference between the girls and–he stops the thought.

Jackie’s lips purse. “But three kids,” she says and Hayden nods again. He feels like a bobble-head at this point.

They have options; they’d have them even if abortion wasn’t legal in Canada, with the money Hayden can throw around. That’s one of the pros of being a professional athlete, he thinks. Hayden knows the decision is up to Jackie, which is why he keeps his head carefully blank, not letting himself think about it either way. But Jackie hadn’t wanted an abortion then and she might not want another now. Her parents are catholics–Jackie doesn’t really go to church anymore, but some things must have stuck around, if only deep down.

She decides she should see a doctor either way and Hayden nods yet another time. He makes up to leave the bathroom with her, but Jackie stops him at the last second with a hand on his wrist. “But what do you want?”

Hayden doesn’t know if he wants anything; this is too early for him to have had the chance to think too long about either option, which is probably for the best. He’s still a few steps behind in the morning, thinking of making breakfast before Ruby and Jade pipe up from the nursery, so mostly he wants that. But he’s a family man too–he likes that he has children he can tell others about, and a wife; he plays street hockey with their neighbors’ kids thinking of when he’ll get to do it with his own children. Hayden is an alright hockey player, but it must mean something to be the kind of man that gets to have Jackie, Ruby and Jade in his life. And yes–maybe there’s something nice about being able to have a baby without thinking of organizing a marriage, buying a house, telling his parents. They’d have the chiller experience now.

But it doesn’t have to be now. “I want whatever you want,” Hayden tells her, which isn’t helpful, but it’s the truth. Jackie sighs with just a little frustration, but she kisses his cheek either way–so. They leave the bathroom, after properly disposing of the test, and Hayden isn’t surprised to see Shane waiting at the end of the hallway, already in his typical morning practice clothes and looking confused at seeing Hayden hiding away in the bathroom in his pajamas.

Jackie gives him a look as if to say be discreet as she leaves them, which would already be Hayden’s plan. Even if Jackie wants to stay pregnant it’s due process to wait for the first trimester to be over before start telling people, just in case.

Shane’s brow is knitted when Hayden walks to him. “Everything’s okay?” He sounds unsure if he’s even allowed to ask it; Hayden wants to sock him (gently) on the head sometimes when he acts like he’s an unsure guest in the house, but now he makes peace with just sighing and telling Shane yes.

“Jack’s just feeling a little off; I’m going to be staying home with her.”

Shane shuffles on his feet. He already has his sneakers on; Shane, who’d been raised in a house where you only ever wore slippers or went bare-footed at home, had to get used to being allowed to do that.

“I can still take you there,” Hayden tells him, because Shane won’t ask for it on his own. He’s still going to be a little late, but Hayden thinks Coach would prefer a late Hollander than no Hollander at all. He waves Shane’s polite sensibilities away before he can say anything about being a bother.

Shane remains watchful through breakfast though, looking between Hayden and Jackie, even as they eat and talk quietly–ignoring the issue–and watch the girls as if with a secret joke. Hayden’s plan is to give space for Jackie to think, and he mostly just tries to keep her company through the day, but he kind of already knows what she’s planning when it’s time for dinner and Jackie doesn’t have her usual glass of wine.

The season picks up the deeper into 2011 they walk. Hayden focuses on it instead of Jackie, who’d never liked to be hovered over and is trying to keep a low profile anyway, at least for the first two, three-ish months. The girls are too young to retain any sort of serious talk, but they decide to tell their families–and Shane, who somehow matches them in priority–after the first ten weeks, because it feels like a safe spot. Hayden actually does need something to distract himself before he spills his guts out to the first willing listener. Jackie’s doing all the work–which, now, mostly pertains to waiting and trying to get through nausea (still better than how it was with Ruby and Jackie). He might as well find an extra use with hockey.

It’s like a flip is switched as soon as they hit March. Hayden has some experience with this, at least; the stride to playoffs, a reminder that’s always hovering over them, be it by ads on TV, the extra tension in LeComte’s voice or just the constant trepidation that seems to loom over the ice. The rhythm of away-game, home-game, away-game, home-game continues until overdrive, a cycle of taking planes and buses and shooting pucks until their wrists are screaming, neverending and increasingly full of pressure–particularly useful now in getting Hayden out of his head. If he’s distracted in the rink, he can cost the team a game or get bodied onto the ice. He keeps focused; he can't do anything besides boiling tea for Jackie, but he can do this for the Metros.

Boston and Montreal steadily continue the fight for the highest place in their division standing, which does nothing to assuage both the media and the locker room of their rivalry. If there already was a historical competition between the Metros and Raiders, it picks up as nothing else before this year, and Hayden can’t lie that that’s not almost entirely because of Shane and Rozanov.

Shane rises to the increasing pressure with all the laser-eyed focus Hayden already expected from him. Hayden hadn’t experienced the playoffs before–the team had been fighting to score a spot since Hayden entered its roster–and he’s no less seasoned than Shane in the hard playing that comes into it, but they rise to the occasion together. Shane’s goal-driven and incredibly good in focusing on one single thing. Under LeComte, he might as well belong to a national army.

By April, Hayden is a map of bruises and aching ligaments, working out at all hours of the day and eating through the rest, trying to keep up the performance that is expected of them. Through it all, Shane is always right in front of him. He’s the kid that led team Canada to a silver medal in World Juniors in 2008 and gold in 2009, and he’s the rookie that has rescued the Montreal Metros from a playoff drought. He’s the draft pick everyone was looking for in oh-eight, second place be damned. And, if he already was being stalked through the ice across the season, Shane starts to get outright hunted as they make a playoff run.

Jackie hits those ten weeks. The latest sonogram shows something that vaguely resembles a baby already. They’re planning to email it to their parents, after they’ve had dinner with Jackie’s and call Hayden’s first, but Jackie touches Hayden on the wrist one night when it’s time for bed, before he can even think of the Shane of it all.

“I think we should wait until after the playoffs to tell Shane.” Jackie has that thoughtful look on her face, the one that means this isn’t the first time she’s thought about it, but Hayden can follow it as much as the thoughts inside her head–he’s absolutely exhausted. There’s a week left until April.

Hayden has to hold his head away from the pillow before he does in fact automatically fall asleep. He makes a questioning-enough noise and Jackie goes on. “I don’t want to throw him off. He’s–” Jackie struggles to pick a word. “He’s always so methodical with everything. I know it’s probably not that important to him, but, I dunno–I guess I don't want to risk it.”

The concern is more logic than outright superstition, but Hayden would accept either excuse. And he sees–past his exhaustion–where Jackie is coming from too. That day they’d used the pregnancy test, Shane had kept frowning right to dinner; he’s simultaneously weirdly in-tune to these things and entirely oblivious. It’s another thing he has in common with the babies.

“Okay,” Hayden tells Jackie, a sighed yawn more than anything. He squeezes tightly at the corner of his eyes. “I mean–it’s not as if the girls will be keeping a secret, or anything.” At most, if they get more talkative before Jackie gives birth, the most they’ll know of a brother or sister will be by asking Jackie why her belly got so big. It’s funny, really; the only person at home they’ll outright have a “there’s going to be a baby” talk is Shane.

He’s so good at caring only about hockey, but Hayden wouldn’t want to risk it either. It’s not only on behalf of the Metros; there’s a part of Hayden, hard to define, that knows Shane is being the hardest he’s ever been on himself, and he doesn’t want to give any ammunition if, god forbid, they end up not making the playoffs, or lose anyway. Shane already has too much to lose on the ice.

Two weeks later, the Montreal Metros and Boston Raiders each qualify in the sixteen-team list of playoff contenders. Alongside with Chicago, they make up the top three teams of the Atlantic division, Montreal having briefly overtaken the first place after one of the Raiders’ top defensemen broke his foot at the end of March and they fell back on wins. It doesn’t last long–Chicago races to the top spot in the last weeks leading up to the playoffs, as if their veterans had gotten possessed–but Montreal holds onto the competition with honor. No one tries to pretend it’s not because of Shane Hollander. He’s the most bruised and exhausted out of the team.

Hayden will always remember the energy in the locker room when the Metros realized they were going to playoffs: unbridled joy and pride, no longer hard-boiled athletes but players who’d dreamed of this from the first time they picked up a hockey stick at the age of six. Hayden had hugged just about everyone who’d stood a foot from him, any annoyance or outright animosity forgotten, and the rest of the Metros had done the same–across the room, Shane was being embraced by some of the guys to the point of laughter. That was their team–they were going to the playoffs. Shane led them there.

So, Hayden knows to what standard Shane must be holding himself. He doesn’t complain no matter how many times he’s checked onto the boards or straight into the ice by opposing teams, and he doesn’t do anything but nod at every instruction that coach LeComte gives him. He’s always at 100% effort, always in hockey mode, even at home. It’s the closest to the hockeybot that he’s been called before that Hayden has ever seen. But he knows who’s still down there; has shared his house with Shane for close to a full year already. He knows this rate of performance isn’t effortless, media narrative damned.

One day, in May, Shane gets a phone call from his parents early in the morning, out of place from the usual contact that they have later in the evening. The Metros have morning skate, scheduled to half an hour away, usually the time Hayden takes to drive to the practice rink. They’ve started training an hour earlier than the usual seven AM of the regular season, so early that the sky is still pinkish and Jackie stays in bed, sleeping longer now at the last leg of the first trimester, relaxed by the chamomile tea her mom has taken to sending her since receiving the news. Shane takes the call at the breakfast table, where Hayden had served both of their pre-packaged meals, and takes longer talking with his mom and dad than usual, humming sleepily to the things they have to say. Shane covers his mouth a lot, or fidgets with the sleeve of his pullover. The signs Hayden has learned to read as bashfulness.

“Everything okay?” Hayden has to ask, after the call is over. Shane didn’t let it last too long, lest they be late; after turning off the call, he gulps down the last of his morning shake, not even grimacing at the bitter taste. Shane looks alright–it shouldn’t have been bad news. He’s still looking, if anything, a bit timid.

“Everything’s fine,” he reassures Hayden. And, after a moment of consideration, he adds, “They, uh, they wanted to wish me happy birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?” Hayden can’t keep surprise out of his voice. He tries to recall the date he saw in the digital clock by his and Jackie’s bed, as if it would have had a little note saying your rookie was born today! Calendars warn when there’s holidays; Hayden would have wanted a warning today too. “I–happy birthday! You didn’t say anything.”

Shane rubs a hand at his nape, shrugging, before getting up to wash his cup and plate. He looks no less timid–more, maybe. Hayden is aware that just the fact he admitted it’s his birthday was a big deal; even as Shane insists, “It’s not that important.”

“Turning twenty is pretty important. If I’d known I’d got you a cake.” And a gift–Hayden feels like the scum of the world.

Last year, when Shane had first come to live with him, he was already nineteen. Hayden knows why now–he’s an early May-baby. The first birthday of Shane Hayden is here to see, and he almost didn’t know about it at all. “I can’t eat cake,” Shane tells him, which, yeah, Hayden knows, “and I don’t want to get distracted.” Ditto. But Hayden still feels bad about it.

When Hayden first got into Montreal, his mom had sent him a birthday gift through mail when he turned twenty, and Nathan’s wife had made his favorite meal for breakfast. He had it easier then–there were no playoffs, for one, so Hayden hadn’t needed to worry about eating too much sugar. But he feels like he’s doing a worse job as a billet. He thinks of his girls’ birthday, just a few months ago, and feels guilty for not having the same experience to give to Shane. He doesn’t even have another measly sweater.

They do need to get to the rink, so Hayden gets up, and lets Shane get back to getting ready, but he’s still thinking about it in the car, and doubts he’ll stop through the rest of the day. “Hayden–don’t tell the others, okay?” Shane asks of him during the drive, to which Hayden wouldn’t be able to say no when it’s his birthday, but the truth keeps looming over him, through chirping in the locker room, shooting drills, passing tests and bag skates. When LeComte keeps telling Shane to do more, skate faster, last longer, the only thing Hayden can think of is that Shane turned twenty today.

Hayden tries keeping his head in the game, before coach–who’s just getting more intense the longer they last in the playoff run–gets the idea he’s slacking off, but it’s a close thing. They leave practice as exhausted as it’s become the baseline these days, knowing they’re still supposed to go to the gym later today, for strength conditioning, but Hayden still finds the energy to ask, “Can I at least tell Jackie about today?”

He waits for him and Shane to be alone in the rink’s parking lot before he asks it. Shane looks so tired it actually takes a moment for him to remember what’s even different about today, frowning. His face does the opposite of clearing when he does. “She can throw some steaks,” Hayden can’t help but go on. “Maybe buy some Ginger Ale?”

Shane had outright told them to forget about it in the last grocery run, stating he shouldn’t be drinking that during playoffs. He argues the same now, lips pursed. “I’m not supposed to eat red-meat or drink soda.” Shane’s face actually hardens before Hayden can start to argue. “Hayden–this is why I didn’t say anything. I’m not throwing the playoffs off just because of a stupid birthday.”

Hayden can’t even be happy that Shane is allowing himself to be mad with him. It’s not a stupid birthday. “It’s not a stupid birthday,” he says as much, but he backs off when Shane’s expression just clouds further. “I know where you’re coming from and I’m not going to force you to do anything. But I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Shane shakes his head either way. “Playoffs’ more important.” And–sure. Hayden can see that as an objective truth. But it doesn’t mean he stops feeling some kind of sadness.

He wonders how many birthdays Shane has let go off over the years in the name of being the best he can in hockey.

He drives Shane home and doesn’t press the issue anymore; he knows when to back-off. “You can tell Jackie,” Shane tells him in the car eventually, no less bashfully, and Hayden does, as soon as he gets home. Jackie’s smarter than him and doesn’t force onto Shane anything different from his tight ship of routine, but she does wish him happy birthday before the end of the day, which is something Hayden didn’t even get to.

“I’d have the girls draw you a card, but I don’t know if scribbles really count.” They’re at the ‘drawing a lot of crossing lines’ phase. Shane’s mouth still quirks up at Jackie’s attempt of levity. She knows as much as Hayden that he’s not the type to hug so she keeps her hands to herself–which is more that can be said about the babies. Ruby is at the stage where she keeps grabbing onto things so she can toddle between places and in her walk beside her mom, she tugs at Shane’s leg for a moment to keep her balance. Shane looks down at her, not without warmth in his eyes.

“‘s okay.”

“I know you don’t want to get distracted from the playoffs, but when you win the cup,” Jackie says it as an absolute certainty, “let me and Hayden make you something, okay? There'll be two things to celebrate.”

Three, Hayden thinks quietly. Jackie looks at him with a smile in her eyes, and he knows she’s thinking of the same thing as him.

Shane thanks her quietly, but Hayden knows there’s a spring to his step. When you win. It’s hard not to imagine that as a reality, floating down the enthusiasm that takes them by the simple fact of being in the playoffs. They’re players in the National Hockey League, at the most professional level, the best of the best–their season standing proves as much–and the sky is the limit. When they win the cup. When they win.

They don’t win. The Metros lose during the second round, in the overtime of game seven. Their pucks don’t get in and the opposite team is just that little fast, that little stronger, and the horn doesn’t scream on their behalf this time. They stand on the ice while the other team and their fans celebrate, and Hayden looks across the rink where Shane had tried his goddamn best in the Metros zone, but couldn’t intercept the puck in time. After a month of the highest level of playing, hurting everywhere and perpetually tired, the rink’s lights are almost blinding, stark blots in Hayden’s vision. It quivers, misshapen where Hayden’s eyes water. He doesn’t skate to where Shane is standing, still heaving from his last attempt at a play. Shane’s body and face have gone tight again. It’s always when it’s hardest that he hides.

The Metros go through the handshake line and simmer in defeated silence when they get back to their locker room. Stone doesn’t speak. “You played well,” coach LeComte takes that responsibility, even as his voice sounds disappointed; in his sadness, his quebecois accent slips through for the first time Hayden has heard it. “You gave your hardest, boys–nobody can take that from you.”

The hardest still wasn’t enough, and Hayden can’t help but wonder what it’d even be; if they could even reach that level. It’s good when it’s good and it’s bad when it’s bad, Hayden thinks again. When they’ve been booted from the playoffs, there’s just the bruises left. Hayden’s body stops pretending they didn’t hurt.

Shane’s parents drive to Montreal the next day. Hayden gives David Hollander a tight smile when he says they played well, and gives them space to talk alone with Shane. He hopes that, at least, Shane’s parents get him to speak. Shane can’t leave Montreal just yet–he still has some media appointments, with and without the rest of the team, a loser’s walk if Hayden’s ever heard of one–but his parents rent a hotel to keep him company in the city until then. Shane keeps staying at the Pike’s house; even if he won’t really say anything.

In the end, the Boston Raiders lost in their second round as well–poetic, in a way. Like if they and the Montreal Metros aren’t going to meet each other in the competition, then there’s no point in continuing. Hayden wonders if Rozanov is taking his own loss as badly as Shane; he knows the media’s probably just as interested in hearing what he’s feeling.

Hayden gives Shane a few days of moping–mopes on his own too–and finally cracks that gift, lousy as it is, before Shane moves back to Ottawa for the summer. Shane’s always in his room, or out of the house, with his parents, these days. Hayden has almost never stepped inside it since Shane moved in, but he opens the door today, after a careful knock; he doesn’t wait for Shane to answer.

It’s strange to find their guest room still entirely recognizable; as recognizable as a sparsely furnished room could be, anyway. Of course Shane wouldn’t change it top to bottom–Hayden hardly modified his own room at Nathan’s house during his time as the team’s rookie–but he doesn’t know; maybe Hayden had been expecting the same type of personality he had in his own childhood room. Not that Shane is a child–or that this is really his room, in the grand scheme of things. All the walls are bare and Shane hasn’t left anything outside the drawers; there’s just a single book on top of his bedside table. Hayden doesn’t know why he’s surprised to see that the cover displays an ice skate.

Shane’s on his bed, wrapping and unwrapping a hockey stick–probably just for the repetitiveness of the movement, considering it’s been a week without stepping on ice, game or no game. It seems not even Shane’s obsession with hockey has won over the blues of dropping off the playoffs; he hadn’t wanted to go skating. When he looks up at Hayden, it’s with a questioning knot between his eyes.

Hayden produces the single can of ginger ale he brought with himself. He’d have found Shane a slice of cake too, were he able to believe he’d eat it. There’s no more point to a performance diet, but Shane has, if anything, eaten less. This is as big a gift Hayden thinks Shane would allow too; he knows he’ll stay sad anyway. But Hayden bought a pack a little after he found out about Shane’s birthday and had been keeping it at the back of the fridge–Shane might as well drink it.

Hayden sits at the foot of Shane’s bed and reaches the can out to him. “I promise it’s not alcohol.” Although, if Hayden had lost the playoffs as a rookie, that’d be what he’d rather have, honestly.

Shane has probably already recognized the label from the moment Hayden first held the can out, but he still looks at it from a distance, hands to himself. “Belated birthday gift,” Hayden explains, if only to cover the silence.

Shane’s mouth thins quite childishly, if Hayden had to say himself, but that’s probably for the best–Shane didn’t get to act his age for the last full month. Maybe the entire last year.

“You didn’t let me give you anything on the actual date!” Hayden defends himself;

“There still isn’t anything to celebrate,” Shane complains–but he takes the can. Shane holds it gingerly, not actually drinking.

“You did well.” Shane has heard a version of it from their coach and, Hayden imagines, his own parents, and Hayden probably makes the least valuable version, but he still has to say it outloud, force Shane to listen to it. Montreal wouldn’t have made it into the playoffs at all if it wasn’t for him. “If the NHL is worth any money they’re going to give you Rookie of the Year in June. I’m serious; do you think I was half as good during my first year?"

“You weren’t drafted number two,” Shane grumbles, which is kind of an insult when you think about it, but Hayden knows what Shane means–he’d be endeared by the slander either way, if only for its novelty.

Shane probably didn’t like being drafted number two. Shane wants to be the best–is the best, where Hayden is concerned, but maybe he isn’t always recognized as it. He’d taken a silver medal as a junior and then was the second draft pick; he’s always running after the competition. It mustn’t be that much of a comfort for him to know that number one isn’t going to win the cup this year either.

“Shane,” Hayden still says, and he tries to instill as much certainty in his voice as he feels about this. “This was your rookie year–it was your first time playing for the team, under a new coach, working with the guys. You did a lot. You’re just going to get better. Next year, for sure.” And if not the next, then after, and after. “Montreal was ranked fifth in the division last year. Do you know how much shit you managed to do for us?”

Shane’s face doesn’t stop looking sour, but Hayden goes on anyway. “You’re going to, when you get Rookie of the Year. Because you’re gonna get it. I’d bet you on it. In fact–let’s make a bet, right now. I bet that can. If I win you have to drink it; I’d do it already if I were you.”

The corner of Shane’s mouth can’t help but quirk up. “You’re as stubborn as your one-year olds.” Hayden preens at the complaint–still light–in his voice; it’s a compliment to get Shane to drop the golden-boy persona.

“Don’t feel bad about this year, okay?” Hayden speaks a little more seriously. “Just be excited about next season. You’re going to do even better. Anyone’ll tell you as much.”

Shane doesn’t call him out on it, which is all the victory Hayden can ask for; he’s telling him the truth. Still he hopes it means something especially good to be hearing the same thing from him.

They tell Shane about the baby in one of their last dinners before Ottawa and the summer break, joined by the last Hollanders this time. David and Yuna might as well hear it–they’d trusted Hayden and Jackie with their own son. They’re predictably happy at the news, if in the subdued manner they’d have to expect from, at best, acquaintances, but Shane’s eyes actually bug out, the biggest reaction Jackie and Hayden have gotten until now.

Shane looks and sounds more taken off guard than anything. He’s an only son, like Hayden–he hadn’t witnessed the addition of siblings to any family. It’s Hayden’s first time too, kinda, considering Jade and Ruby came as a two-for-one deal. Shane doesn’t seem like he knows how to react, but the earnestness Hayden can see of him is a good sign. As is the quiet way he asks Jackie if she’s feeling okay.

She indulges in a big, endeared smile when she answers him. “I’m great.” Hayden would have to agree–playoffs be damned.

JUNE, 2011

Hayden does feel some amount of smugness when Shane predictably wins the award for Rookie of the Year. Personally, he wouldn’t look half as bashful as Shane does receiving and then carrying his block of thick glass down the stage, but Hayden keeps that to himself, and his big-ass celebration, letting Shane soak on the feeling of at least being proved something, showing off the trophy to the venue’s attendees as he’s flanked by his parents. Hayden only lets himself grab Shane by the shoulders and shake him around a little bit after he’s back down in the hotel area the league rented for the afterparty, and then he really shakes him; Shane, more open than usual, laughs. Hayden’s glad to have taken tonight’s invite.

“What did I tell you!” He wants to pick a glass of ginger ale off a waiter’s trail to give to Shane, for the principle of the thing, but they probably don’t have any of it; the closest thing will have to be a Shirley Temple. He’s not going to make Shane drink a Shirley Temple. “Let me see how shiny that thing is.”

Shane indulges him, even as Jackie tells him he doesn’t have to. She’s just starting to show in the neat dress she picked for tonight, but she’s relaxed enough that she isn’t picking at the fabric wrapped around her stomach, and Hayden could get drunk on that ease. He feels good, even unnominated and without any award. Hayden didn’t expect anything past a night off from today; he’s just glad to see Shane get his flowers.

Hayden and Jackie chitchat with the Hollanders for a while, while Shane is made to mingle; there’s fellow players that want to congratulate him, as well as franchise officials, and the Metros that made to tonight also give some back-pats of their own. Shane only looks somewhat more at ease interacting with them as he does total strangers, but he does seem particularly pleased with himself at being congratulated by his teammates; as if he’s proved himself (which Hayden doesn’t think he’d have to–but Shane deserves the attention anyway). He’s a famous man tonight, always someone new to speak to, which is probably Shane’s idea of a nightmare, but he deserved to have the spotlight shined on him.

His parents keep telling him every time he returns to the table–several–that he has the go-ahead to stick around the party for longer; they plan to call the night sooner than the afterparty is supposed to close, but Shane, if anything, is obligated to linger. Shane’s even allowed to drink, although it’s technically illegal for him to do so, as they’re in American territory. He keeps to non-alcologic beverages anyway, until some veterans drag him and the other rookies to do shots at the bar.

The group is missing Rozanov in the rookie side, which makes Hayden raise his head and look around the people intermingling through the party for a moment. “You think Rozanov’s already left?”

Shane’s parents stepped away to speak with some league officials, so Hayden allows himself to act a little gossipy–and a lot smug. The Metros had the best rookie, officially; take that, Boston Raiders.

“Hayden,” Jackie admonishes.

“What! I’m just curious. Feels like bad sportsmenship. Sportsmanship?” Maybe he should lay off the alcohol. He’d allowed himself some glasses of bourbon recently, but maybe his solidary sobriety to Jackie has made him more of a light weight. Hayden shakes his head. “Anyway–he shouldn’t run off the party just because he lost. God knows if he’d won he’d be dragging it all over Shane’s face.”

“And you wish Shane was doing the same to him?” Jackie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Hayden retains his innocence by not answering at all.

He knows Rozanov is just a twenty-year old too. He’s just one that’s a lot less endearing–and with too much of an attitude.

Shane shows up by their table again, cheeks just that little more pink to show he’s accepted maybe too many shots from those veterans; Hayden keeps his mouth shut at the sight, but he does hide a smile in Jackie’s direction.

“Hey–did you see mom and dad?”

“They’re still around,” Jackie answers him. Shane nods, as if already expecting that but just making sure. He doesn’t look like he’s ready to call a night, which Hayden hadn’t expected. “Are you looking for them?” Jackie asks.

Shane shakes his head, maybe a little too fast. Jackie tilts her head, a question in her eye. “I, uh. I’m just going to walk for a bit. So. If they ask.”

“We’ll tell them,” she promises, only a little too indulging; Jackie can’t hide a smile either.

Hayden and her wait for Shane to make for the elevators before speaking, but it’s a close thing. “Oh my god,” Hayden deadpans. He must be tipsy–he almost feels nauseous at the realization Shane might be about to have an honest to god hook up. “Is he about to meet someone.”

“Let him,” Jackie chides Hayden, but she sounds way too giggly about it. “Maybe it’s the girl from Ottawa.”

“Is she a fucking spy?” Between a secret meeting that one time they were supposed to play Boston at home and now this, Hayden is just as willing to believe she’s a foreign agent.

He sticks around the party until he’s sobered up with a glass of water and Jackie can eat all the canapes she wants, and then they call a night; they might be free from their daughters tonight, but their circadian rhythm still adheres to their little rule of terror. Hayden can joke but, truth be told, he misses Jade and Ruby. They left them with their paternal grandparents before flying to Nevada, but Hayden is thrown so off rhythm by not following the usual night routine of baths and bedtime stories, he almost feels sick with it.

He admits as such to Jackie while they’re brushing their teeth–”Oh my god, me too,” Jackie says back–which is how they end up cuddling in bed with Jackie’s Ipad, videocalling Hayden’s dad so he can show the girls sleeping.

Hayden is ready to fall asleep like that, just a little bit tipsy still, more importantly full of contentment, but a knock comes at the door of their hotel room, out of place even if already wasn’t upwards to eleven in the night. Jackie raises her head first, but Hayden beats her to the punch before she can get out of the bed–he’s a gentleman, and she’s carrying his baby. Although Hayden does admit he stumbles a bit in the first step.

“Hayden,” Jackie calls and Hayden waves a hand back to her. He walks to the door, wondering if there’s a service the NHL paid for that he doesn’t know about (he’s thinking trinkets) but is surprised instead to open a little smidge of the door and find Shane standing dejectedly on the other side.

His hands are in his pockets and his shoulders are to the height of his ears. His cheeks are still red; his lips now are too. But his hair is all messed up and his eyes look so freaking dejected, Hayden’s first thought is, nonsensically, that someone must have stolen his award. But no–he’d left it with Yuna. “Shane?” he asks aloud and opens the door–both to Shane’s benefit and Jackie's, so she can see him too. Shane shuffles on his feet, still standing in the hallway. “Hey–what’re doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Shane pronounces the whole syllable, in a very not-okay way. But Hayden looks at Shane and only seems discomfort; he won’t press him about this. Instead, he steps aside and, when Shane doesn’t move in on his own, starts patting Shane on the back, the way you might herd baby sheep.

“Didn’t you find your parents?” Shane has a room of his own–Hayden has no idea why he’d end up in Hayden and Jackie’s instead. When he catches Jackie’s eyes, already off the bed too, Ipad abandoned on the mattress, she seems to be carrying a similar question. Hayden already asked if everything is okay, but he repeats the concern anyway. “Did something happen?”

“Can I stay here for a little bit?” Shane asks instead of replying. He doesn’t look any more content in speaking up–he still barely meets Hayden’s eye.

“Sure you can,” Hayden tells him immediately. He remembers Jackie at the last moment, but when he glances at her he’s relieved to find she just looks somewhat concerned too, not bothered by Shane’s arrival. Hayden keeps patting Shane on the back until he walks and sits at the foot of the bed, hands still hiding in those pockets. “I thought you had plans?”

Jackie catches Hayden's eye with some reproach. Shit–was that a secret? But Shane isn’t looking back to Hayden anyway and Jackie, after a sigh, walks to sit by his side. “Hi, Shane.” Her voice remains soft with him, how she uses it the girls and, recently, her pregnant belly. “We were checking on Ruby and Jade,” Jackie changes the topic entirely, reaching back to pull the Ipad and with it the faint image of the girls’ bedroom in their grandparents house, just a night-light to bright the screen for them and, now, Shane’s sake. “It’s three AM in Halifax. Hayd’s mom and dad have them.”

Shane nods slightly when all Jackie has to say relates to Ruby and Jade, and not the reason he is standing here at all–not in the party or what had first pulled him from it to begin with. It’s all Hayden can do not to keep pressing the question, but he manages–he sighs instead and sits by Shane’s other side, thinking of the early flight he and Jackie have tomorrow, the hotel room Shane has waiting for himself, and choosing to ignore all of it to give Shane what he might have been looking for to have ended in front of his and Jackie’s room for the night. Shane always did well with silent companionship.

Sitting down, it’s easy for Hayden to remember he’s sleepy and forget about everything else. He figures he and Jackie can spare Shane the few moments he must need for company. Still, he does wonder where Shane might have gone before, or to who; he wonders why it didn’t work out.

Chapter End Notes

thanks for reading, consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-my first draft of chap 2 was supposed to go from training camp all the way to the rookie awards (here) which, lmao. did not happen. i've got too much to say!!!
-the all-stars happens on february on the show, but i kept it to january here. in the book, both montreal and boston are mentioned to have been out of the playoffs for the past 3 seasons; in the show, it's 3 for boston and 2 for montreal, which i'm keeping, with the added information that montreal's last qualification to the playoffs was by the skin of their teeth. all of this is to say, the interview question at the all-stars is a mix of show and book dialogue.
-in the book, shane and ilya manage to hook-up when they meet after the all-starts (the game doesn't get cancelled because of snow). shane does it by getting a room (!) at the same hotel the raiders are staying. it's what he'd have done here too (because he lives with hayden 💀)
-canada's largest religion is christianity, mostly composed by catholics (my latin ass did NOT expect that). i chose to make jackie's family catholic as a way to justify why she wouldn't have abortions.
-the award for rookie of the year is actually called the calder memorial trophy irl, but i kept the show's name because who the fuck knows what a calder is.
-there's actually ginger age in shirley temples, which was a fun surprise when i googled it to double check for this chapter.

i always write way much than i originally plan to, so i honestly hope that i'm not boring you guys by taking too long with the canon timeline.
as always, i'm punksalmons on tumblr (
(i also ocasionally post hr fanart there). you can also reblog this chap here.

Chapter 5: v.

Chapter Summary

The 2011-2012 season. The team starts to change. Hayden’s house changes too–except Shane stays.

Chapter Notes

kind of a filler chapter in the sense that i'm just walking through the timeline to the thing that i'm really looking forward: the 2013-2014 season, shane and ilya's first real time, the olympics and the DISASTROUS vegas hookup. those are all next chap (which i'm hoping i'll be posting sooner rather than later). before that, you get a bit of pike family fluff ^^

JULY, 2011

Season breaks are short by nature, and shorter yet when you have to take care of two little girls–and, soon, a boy. Hayden and Jackie find out they’re having a son in her 20-weeks OB appointment, which is great to figure out a room color (their second, empty guestroom is finally going to get a use) but fruitful ground for new worries too. Having once been a boy doesn’t fill Hayden with confidence he’ll actually know how to take care of one, and Jackie has the exact opposite worry–which maybe goes to show they’d worry either way. Probably.

It’s impossible to believe they’re ever going to be ready. Hayden and Jackie are as exhilarated to think of a little blonde baby boy (Hayden’s mom sends photos of him as newborn, as if to set the stage) as they are absolutely terrified, but that’d be the truth even if they’d find out Ruby and Jade were going to have a little sister.

Suffice to say, Hayden’s July vacation flies by with how much time he spends stuck in his head. It’s why he’s also glad to meet Yuna Hollander in the last week before August, after she contacts him saying she’ll be in Montreal for some meetings on behalf of Shane and invites him and Jackie out for dinner; a useful distraction for both of them.

No seafood or alcohol are allowed to Jackie, and, by extension, Hayden, but Yuna Hollander insists on being the one to pick the bill, in thanks for them having housed Shane last season.  After having spent more or less a full year living with Shane downstairs, Hayden doesn’t really think thanks are needed–it was just Shane. It was so natural to house him, Hayden’s almost bummed out to think of him not needing it anymore past his rookie year.

He still has a mostly cursory relationship with the older Hollanders, but Yuna is Shane’s mom, so likeable by principle, and Hayden wants to know how Shane is doing. To no one’s surprise, he is terrible at keeping in touch on the phone–with how much Shane texted his Ottawa girl, Hayden expected more of him–and although Hayden talked with him a handful of times, ever since he went back to living with his parents, it’s a stark difference from when he was living just down the stairs. Hayden wasn’t the only one to notice his absence; the girls still ask for him, in their garbled baby speak, and Jackie almost always cooks too much food, accustomed to feeding a second hockey player. Not that she’ll be cooking for very long–her feet are already starting to swell.

Yuna Hollander’s eyes fall on Jackie first when they meet in the restaurant, and she sounds genuine when she tells her how good she looks. All Hollanders, Hayden thinks, are extremely good-natured. He’s immediately glad to have taken Yuna on her invitation, as she shares pregnancy stories from her own time with Shane with Jackie; besides her mom, there’s not a lot of people that Jackie can have these kinds of exchanges with. Hayden’s even more glad when Ms Hollander talks about Shane in these past weeks, how he’s taken to the NHL break, if he’s still sad about the playoffs, still happy about his award, how he’s looking up to the 2011-2012 season.

“Actually,” Yuna Hollander fixes her hair, and she looks more serious for a moment, “it’s because of Shane I wanted to see both of you.”

Hayden and Jackie exchange a glance.

“You know me and David are extremely thankful for you to have welcomed him in your home last year. Shane–well. You know him too. He keeps a lot to himself, so we’ve always worried when hockey took him far away from us. He had a really good first year in Montreal, and that’s partly because of you two.”

“Oh,” Hayden hedges politely away from the compliment, as he’s done every time before. “It really wasn’t a bother.” But he can admit he preens a little under Yuna Hollander’s eyes.

“Shane really is a good kid,” Jackie assuages her. “We’ll be very lucky if this little one is anything like him.”

Yuna’s eyes crinkle as Jackie points to her belly, and a little bit more when she probably thinks of her own son. “Still,” she shifts in her chair. They’d already received their food, and had been eating for some time, but Hayden finally notices that Yuna stopped touching her own for this whole exchange. It’s a serious talk, he realizes. “He seemed to acclimate so well to Montreal under your two’s watch, me and David wondered if you might be open to the idea of billeting for a little longer.”

It’s not an outrageous idea, so Hayden doesn’t have a reason for being taken off guard; he doesn’t know why he flounders. “It’s just an idea,” Yuna is quick to ease them, misinterpretinging both their sudden silence. In her anxious hurry, Hayden seems an additional resemblance to Shane. “Of course, you have your family to think of–and you’re about to have a little boy. I understand if you might not have the space or time–”

“No, no,” Hayden shakes his head. Beside him, Jackie does the same. She’d been struck just as dumb, but, if she’s feeling anything like Hayden, she’s not against the idea either. “It’s like we said, Shane wasn’t any trouble.” But Hayden can’t tell Yuna he expected this.

She seems to pick up on their confusion. “You were both really good hosts. Shane doesn’t like disrupting routine, but he transitioned well between home and here. Actually, it’s because of that that me and David wondered if he might stay with you two for a little longer. He’ll be a lot more comfortable staying in the same house as the past year than moving out on his own.”

“And…Shane also said this?” It was one thing for Shane to have felt well in their house and another thing for his mother to say so; Hayden believes the first, sure–he knows Shane had started feeling comfortable with him and Jackie by the end of last season–but Yuna might be saying this for her own sake too, mother’s worry and all that. Hayden sure as hell wouldn’t want her little girls living alone either, even as their eighteen years feels so far away from now.

Yuna smiles at him with something like an internal joke, and maybe Hayden had been wrong in doubting her. “It’s like I said–Shane keeps to himself. But I know him. He had to room with teammates in juniors, for one night or a week, once or twice, but he never got as comfortable with them as he did with you two. I don’t say this lightly.”

Hayden’s throat suddenly feels too tight to wave her compliment away again. “Shane might not say these things outloud, but he still shows them,” Yuna goes on. “And he doesn’t like sudden changes. He’ll have to find his own place here, of course, and he will, he’ll want to, but Shane is going to have a much easier experience if he doesn’t have to do it with a final date looming over him, like if he has to pick somewhere until the end of the month.”

Yuna is making sense, of course; her reasoning wasn’t even that sentimental, if you looked at it from a certain angle. Hayden’s own experience of finding his own place, of course, was under a lot more stress–Jackie was pregnant, and they were getting married. Anyone would have had an easier experience doing it in their own time. It’s the way children usually leave home, Hayden thinks, belatedly. And he wouldn’t turn Shane away; he had trouble even imagining Jackie being able to do that either. They left Shane’s room–it already stopped being just a guestroom by the time he left–exactly as it was at the end of the season.

“But me and David understand–” Yuna starts to backtrack again and Hayden doesn’t let her finish; by his side, Jackie is shaking her head too.

“Of course we’d be happy to take him.” It feels like a relief to be able to say it.

Shane moves back in a week before training camp–he brings more bags with him this time. They’re still very spartan of his part, but Hayden knows, by now, that’s just how Shane is. If he closes his eyes and tries to imagine how Shane’s room looks like in his mom and dad’s place, it probably resembles a little soldier’s quarters, with the additional hockey memorabilia. He probably has more championship trophies than actual, personal belongings.

The girls can walk better now and they wrap themselves around his legs. It’s a testament unto itself that he has stuck in their memory, but maybe that shouldn’t come as such a surprise; in the last year, Shane has spent more time in their house than not. He doesn’t even react badly to the baby mob–just holds the bags in his arms a little tighter so they won't knock against Jade’s or Ruby’s little heads.

Shane doesn’t hold his reaction as much at bay when he sees Jackie. Shane kind of gapes; it’s the first time he’s seeing her since the NHL awards, almost a full month, not that long a time in the grand scheme of things, but massive in the second trimester of a pregnancy. Hayden can’t fault Shane’s surprise at the difference between weeks eighteen and twenty-three; Jackie is starting to look like she swallowed a basketball.

Shane, thankfully, doesn’t tell her that. He doesn’t stop gawking though. Hayden wants to tell him it’s rude to stare, as a joke, and he’d say it to any other rookie (not that Shane is rookie anymore–what a thought), but with Shane, Hayden initially rethinks it. Except if Shane isn’t any other rookie, and that translates to more familiarity too, not only overt care.

“Gawking’s not polite, bud,” Hayden tells him after all, taking some of Shane’s bags, and he does sputter for a moment, but not as badly as Shane would have done with a stranger; he's in on the joke too.

Shane still asks Jackie how she’s doing, and his greeting hug is given more gingerly–carefully. Jackie indulges his concern, which she wouldn’t have done to just about anyone either. “I’m okay. You’re not the only one who gets mobbed by Ruby and Jade.” Which is to say, Jackie can take a measly hug. She waves the girl away from Shane so he can actually walk, instead of tread as if stepping over eggshells, if they were twenty-one month old, over-excited toddlers. “Ruby, Jade–do you want to show Shane that thing you drew?”

They actually can’t understand requests that complex yet, and they still can’t really draw, if you ask Hayden, but those lines they scribble are starting to get a little more straight, and Jade is starting to get really ambitious with spirals–although they look really wobbly still. Jackie gets the girls to wave their latest scribbled pieces of paper in front of Shane, eventually, and they don’t look that different, but Shane still looks pleased, for the principle of the thing. Hayden and Jackie have taken to sticking some of those pieces of paper on the fridge too, if only because the random mixes of crayon color, like everything Jade and Ruby do, look extremely cute.

There’s a photo of their one-year birthday displayed with a fridge magnet too. Hayden picked the one with Shane in it. Shane doesn’t mention it, but Hayden knows he looked.

SEPTEMBER, 2011

With the start of Shane’s second season with the Montreal Metros a month later, a number of things make themselves clear. For one, Shane continues to text on his phone as much as he did before–so whatever happened with the Ottawa girl (if anything happened at all) during last season’s awards, it couldn’t have been too serious. Unless it’s a new girl–which Hayden seriously doubts. The second thing is that Shane is even more of a scared-cat about his texting than before, so Hayden makes sure to never, ever talk to him about it, for now, at least. Hayden can be discreet when he wants to. Let the twenty-year old have his fun; not that Hayden knows if Shane is having fun. As far as he knows, there’s no other attempts to meet. Not for a while.

The third thing that makes itself clear is about hockey, and this one Hayden makes himself free to be as concerned about as he wants, his prerogative as Shane’s host hockey family. It’s immediately clear, as soon as the first skate practice, that coach LeComte has some rebuilding plans regarding the team’s roster, be them personal or something required from higher-up, and they’re all centered on Shane. LeComte is interested in further establishing him as the one of the primary cogs of the team, after the success of his first season, and that, somehow, has led him to offering Shane the A.

It makes sense, of course. Shane was a captain in the junior league–and international competitions–and an A before that. LeComte wants Shane to have more weight in the team, but for that to actually work in the ice the guys need to be a little more obligin. No one is freezing Shane out–they’d be stupid to–but they aren’t exactly deferential either, which is what coach LeComte is probably hoping to fix by putting Shane a little higher on the totem pole. Hayden just isn’t sure how it’s going to work out.

It’s not unheard of for someone in their second year to receive an A in their sweater, but every time it’s been done, it wasn’t without some criticism. Something similar happened with a guy in the Metropolitan division a few years ago and even while in the junior division, Hayden heard how much complaining there was about that. It can be read as disrespectful to give new blood this kind of power. Hayden is just surprised that–from what he sees himself, at least–the team captain, Stone, doesn’t take it too badly when the decision is announced.

The main roster doesn’t change too much from last year–beyond the addition of Shane’s new position, and a trade in the third line–but Hayden already smells the rebuild the front office is cooking up. A lot of the guys in the team are in their last years–veterans when even Hayden had first got here. Weight is going to be shifted around with that, and LeComte is getting a team ready that’ll have Shane at the helm, be it in a year or two. There’ll certainly be growing pains, but they at least start well from the pre-season.

The Boston Raiders take a week less than the Metros to publicly announce that Rozanov is also going to be taking his own position as assistant captain, so Shane, funnily enough, escapes the biggest part of the media attention. When it’s his turn, the spotlight is still partway divided with Rozanov, which takes some of the heat off too. There’s some chirping around the ice that Montreal is just imitating Boston–it’s bullshit, both of the team’s decisions were thought months before this–but mostly, the media just continues to be engaged in comparing Shane with Rozanov and vice-versa at every turn. They’re cursed to be haunted by each other.

Montreal takes some wins against Boston and Boston takes some wins against Montreal; Shane wins some face-offs against Rozanov and Rozanov wins some face-offs against Shane. It happens with every team, every player, and most rivalries are born and sold by the media, but Hayden will admit there’s something different with Rozanov and his Boston buddies. Hayden doesn’t think he cared so much about them before Shane came around, which is crazy–now he feels like he’s swallowing his own teeth every time they lose a match, or get left behind in the points race.

The few times he personally went against Rozanov on the ice by now left him wanting to pummel the little shit. He pretends he doesn’t remember Hayden’s name every time, despite it being in his fucking jersey, and calls him by Tyke once, in their first game in the regular season. Which is bullshit–they have the same fucking height. It doesn’t even make sense why Rozanov even knows that fucking word, considering he doesn’t even use articles most of the time. It’s like his knowledge of English is entirely dependent on how much he can use it to piss someone off. So Hayden can only imagine how Shane feels, being put against the guy every time.

“There’s something Rozanov wins over Hollander,” McGroarty chirps post-game once, and it would be tantamount to betrayal–not over Shane, just the team’s anti-Rozanov sensibilities–if he didn’t follow it with: “He fucks more.”

Half the team groans while the other laughs; it’s typical lockerroom-crudeness, and beyond that, extremely McGroarty. A guy throws a jock-cup at McGroarty’s head, still while he hollers over everyone to defend himself; Shane looks like he wants to be dead. “I mean it! Do you see how many chicks he’s with in those gossip mags–”

“Why are you reading gossip mags, bro?” someone taunts from the back, and McGroarty tells him to fuck before continueing. “Hollander, I’m serious,” he turns to Shane, and puts as much dead-seriousness in his voice as he can manage while talking about another man’s sex life. “If not for yourself, the team–you can’t let Rozanov win!”

“Why don’t you try to win over him,” Maynard chirps him from the other side of the stalls and the team hollers when Stone, calmly, responds with, “You think anyone wants to have sex with that guy?”

Half of Hayden is just as ready for McGroarty to fuck off, but half of him wants to defend Shane too. He knows he does meet girls–has one he meets, at least. He just doesn’t do one-night stands, apparently. But Shane’s girl is kind of a secret, for whatever reason, and Hayden doesn’t know if he’d actually take well to him airing his laundry. Shane has kept quiet through the whole exchange, huffing or snorting as the guys continue to badger McGroarty, so Hayden shouldn’t be the one to pipe up; not about this. He bites his tongue.

Shane doesn’t plan to meet his secret girlfriend the next time the Metros have a home game against Boston, like almost happened a season ago, before the snow storm, and he doesn’t plan to meet anyone at all, not under Hayden’s watch, but Shane never stops texting, and hiding the fact he’s texting. Hayden doesn’t know what it all means–but it sure as shit has to mean something.

DECEMBER, 2011

Jackie’s estimated due date ran a week overdue, then two, and by the time the Metros travel for a series of games in the Eastern Conference, she’s moved back with her parents along with Ruby and Jade so they can keep an eye on her and the baby. From the second Hayden is woken up in the middle of the night with the caller ID flashing the name of Jackie’s father, he knows it’s go-time.

Hayden repeats ‘okay’ a lot of times to his father-in-law and ends the call feeling like he’s still dreaming, knees weak despite the fact he’s still sitting down. Shane’s been rooming with him for every hotel the past few days and is a light sleeper by nature, so he’s already blinking drowsily at Hayden by the time he’s putting his phone down and forcing himself to his feet, but Hayden still has to say the words out loud for Shane to get it. “Jackie’s having the baby.”

Shane’s eyes lose all the lethargy, and he gapes at Hayden. He leaves Shane to process it in his own time–he needs to get his bag ready, and find a flight.

“Uh–now?” Shane stammers. He’d said goodbye with Hayden when they left Jackie and Montreal; even if Shane hadn’t looked as on-edge as Hayden about the missed due date–nonetheless more than the girls, who hadn’t understood nothing at all–he still looks unfairly young right now, hair mussed up and gaping at Hayden in his pajamas. Hayden doesn’t have time to calm him down though–he’s not calm himself.

“She went into labor like twenty minutes ago.” It’s still going to take hours for her to actively begin pushing, probably, like it did with Ruby and Jade, but Hayden needs to be in a flight pronto. “So I’m–” Hayden points uselessly to himself; getting into day clothes and putting shoes on.

He didn’t keep even a single piece of clothing out of his bag in preparation for something like this, so at least there isn’t a mess to put away again. He shoots a quick text for coach and the team officials and only belatedly looks back to Shane, who’s not looking even a smidge calmer.

Shane doesn’t like surprises or things out of his control. “It’s okay,” Hayden tells him, although he’s feeling pretty panicky himself–deserved or not–because it’s what he’d say to Ruby and Jade if they were freaking out like this. “She’s with her mom and dad, and her doctor was already under watch. We’ve done this before.”

Or Jackie did, at least; the hard work is all under her. Hayden hopes he’ll get there in time to at least keep her company.

They have a game tomorrow–or this morning, depending on the time. Hayden’s going to miss it–he doesn’t even give a shit about it anymore–but Shane is still supposed to go out on the ice. “Score some goals for her and the baby, won’t you?” Hayden tries to lighten the mood. “We’ll make sure to watch it on TV.”

Arthur Pike is born with two inches on his sisters, partly because he’s not a twin, partly because he’s an overdue baby. Hayden is not going to feel his hand for a week, at least, with how tightly Jackie squeezed it through the last pushes, but he got off easily, considering she’s not going to be feeling her own lady bits for upwards to a month. It’s all worth it, looking at the baby who, despite everything, seems so tiny and fragile in her arms. Hayden had wanted to name him Rock, to continue the theme of gems and minerals that Jackie had started, but she threatened divorce, so they settled on Arthur, her grandfather’s name. He has Jackie’s nose. He has Hayden’s whole heart.

It takes longer than a day for him to check out the game’s results; Hayden, of course, couldn’t have kept his promise to Shane about watching it live. The Metros lost, which is a bummer, but it happens, and Shane didn’t even do that badly, but he still took less points than usual. Hayden has the next seven games off minimum, to help Jackie with Arthur, and it still takes four extra days for the Metros to come back to Montreal with another game under their belt, so it’s actually a while before he sees Shane again in person, and can understand why he might have performed less strongly than usual.

For someone who’s usually so composed and who’d already received good news, texts and even a few photos of Arthur, Shane still retains some of the fear in his face from that night in the hotel when he’s back home again, as nonsensical as it is. He stares at Hayden and Jackie and a lot at the baby, like he can’t really believe what he’s seeing.

“They did tell you when he was born, right?” Hayden asks, mostly joking. He asked coach to keep Shane updated and immediately texted him the good news when both Jackie and Arthur were safe in the hospital private room; Shane would be playing, no phones on himself, and coach needed to relay the information. Hayden called Shane personally after the game was supposed to be over, sent him a few pictures, but he’s still half-convinced, nonsensically, that this is Shane’s first time with the news.

“Sorry,” Shane apologizes and tries to feign some normalcy, which isn’t what Hayden had been asking for. He just sighs and waves Shane closer so he can meet the baby. The girls, after seeing him for the first time and learning he’s little more than a glorified potato at this moment, lost their interest quickly. Shane can have all of Arthur’s time.

He was awkward holding Ruby and Jade for the first time, even as grown babies, so Hayden isn’t surprised that even the thought of holding a newborn makes Shane keep a perpetual step away. “He doesn’t bite,” Jackie teases, but she’s just as helpless to get Shane to relax completely; you’d think Arthur does have teeth.

Shane is right to worry, of course–newborns can’t hold their own head, or their own anything, really. They’re fragile little things, and with hockey, Shane and Hayden are so used to not being delicate. But Hayden can barely put Arthur down, he wants to have him in his arms all the time. Jackie is no better, the one who actually had been carrying Arthur for months until now, but it’s her that insists Shane to sit down and hold the baby for a moment.

“It’s good for you to know how to do it–we might need a hand.” Jackie holds Shane’s hands where they’re coming into contact with Arthur and moves them around like a little marionette, helping settle him in Shane’s arms. He’s still newborn pink and squinting at the world half the time, but Arthur has been an easy baby until now, maybe making up for how much trouble he gave his mom the last weeks of the pregnancy. Arthur doesn’t fuss in Shane’s arms, settling easily, although Shane never stops looking at him like a ticking bomb. “There you go: it’s not that hard, right?”

“He’s…light.” Hayden knows what Shane means–the first time he held Arthur, it was like he weighed as much as paper. Ironic, considering he’s worth the whole world.

“He’s actually on the heavier side,” Jackie tells Shane. “He’s a big baby.” Hayden wants to wince just hearing it, although Jackie says it now with a smile; she hadn’t been smiling a few days ago, having to push him out.

“He’s going to be with us upstairs, so don’t worry too much about noise,” Hayden says. It’ll be some time before Arthur won’t need them so frequently through the night that it’s a waste to put him a room away. “But he’s a newborn, so you’ll probably still catch some cries some times. Sorry.”

Shane shakes his head, as if to assuage Hayden’s concerns. The attempt isn’t quite effective, considering he’s still gawking at Arthur. When he yawns, stretching his little body out, Shane almost jumps off his skin.

Hayden hides a smile. “Okay, okay.” He takes Arthur off Shane’s hands, settling him back into Jackie’s arms; she doesn’t look any less amused and endeared. “That’s enough time with uncle Shane. Don’t worry–you still did better than the two-year olds.”

Shane gives him a long-suffering look, but he still looks more relaxed now that he isn’t holding someone who’s been alive for all of four days. Shane continues to look at Arthur either way. Safe in someone else’s arms, Shane looks more relaxed to admire him.

It takes a moment for Hayden to realize that Shane looks relieved; not about not holding Arthur anymore (although that too), but for seeing both him and Jackie safe and healthy. And then Hayden is kicking himself for not having done a better job in calming Shane down that night in the hotel room, before he left to see his wife and meet his son. Shane is as much as Hayden’s responsibility as his own children; Shane’s mother entrusted that on him.

It’s humbling more than anything that they’ve reached a point with Shane that he cares enough to–seemingly–be off during a game because of worry. Of course he’d been concerned about Jackie; Shane likes to have oversight and direction, and he’d had no eyes on her or a direct means of communication. It all happened suddenly and out of any careful planning on his part. Hayden was taken off guard too, but he’s not the one that likes routine so much he willingly decided to continue living in a house with two–now three–kids under the age of three.

Hayden tries to make up for all that uncertainty from before, for all that it’s worth. “I’m going to take the next few games off because of this little guy,” a continued disruption to Shane’s routine, but one Hayden can give him a deadline, “but it’s probably all smooth sailing from now. Newborns sleep basically all the time.” When they’re not sleeping, they’re pooping or eating; but Hayden keeps that part to himself. The important thing is that, aside from inopportune crying, there’s nothing unexpected looming over them; there’s nothing unexpected looming over Shane. “Do your best with the guy they’re supposed to be bringing to the right wing, but try to not get used to playing without me, alright?”

“I won’t,” Shane answers seriously, and Hayden actually wants to shake his head in fondness at him.

“There’s a tradition some guys do,” he goes on instead. “Newborns fit inside the Cup, so everyone tries to win while their kids are still young. When Ruby and Jade were born, the team was still in a playoff drought,” and Shane-less, Hayden thinks, “but now that we’ve made it past the first round last year…”

Hayden is mostly joking, but he’ll admit it’s a cool thought.  They’re closer to what reality now, which feels out of the world, and pretty fucking enticing; Shane must think so too, competitive to the bone, and he nods with the solemnity Hayden already expected from him, as if he’s already prepared for the playoff run, nevermind they’re still in the regular season. Hayden knows this energy will hold Shane for a few more games at least–he won’t be off like last time.

JUNE, 2012

They don’t win the playoffs, or even make it to the first round this next year, but Hayden can’t say he’s surprised. With new blood in the team coming through the season, being shuffled around and put on hold with the expectation of so many retirements and trades at the end of 2011-2012 run, there’s too many moving pieces for Montreal to even attempt the playoffs–try as Shane might.

The media might say last year was an isolated string of luck and that they’re fated to always miss it, Hollander or no Hollander, but they’re always talking shit. Shane wins the Hart Memorial Trophy and the Ted Lindsey at the awards in June, which goes to show that he’s still playing his best game and serving Montreal well, even if they didn’t get much farther than the regular season.

The day of the locker clean out there’s a bittersweetness to the air. There always is, probably always will until they finally do get the Cup, but it’s a little different this time; the team will be fundamentally different next season, no Stone nor Maynard, another goalie in the roster, three trades in the line formations. It’ll be their future, but it’s hard not to miss the past a little bit; even as you see it for the last time.

Stone packs his stall early in the morning, as if trying to escape a prolonged goodbye. It’s partly useless; there’s still going to be a team dinner later in the day, and Stone’s wife has a little get-together organized for the last week of June, before their family makes the move to the States. They’re still going to see a little more of him, but maybe Stone doesn’t want for it to happen in the building he made his career and lead Metros through more than half of it.

Hayden is a father of young children though, and six o’clock might as well be the most peaceful time he can get out of home. His and Stone’s car are some of the few already at the Bell Centre. When Hayden gets to the lockers, Stone has already finished cleaning out his, but he’s still in the room, maybe loitering in his goodbyes. When he turns to Hayden, it’s just as easy to remember the first time he stepped here, when David Stone’s hair had a little more color, and his face a few lines less.

It was David’s last season as Montreal’s captain, after seven long years with the title. He’d asked to be traded to Colorado–Stone’s in the twilight years of his career, and wants to spend the rest of it in his hometown team–but it’s still sad to see him go. This was the guy that welcomed Hayden to the team, even if he couldn’t extend the same grace to Shane, two years later. Hayden knows his wife’s name, all their children’s, and only how to follow him in the ice. In the end, he only wishes Shane got to have that experience too, instead of being the lonely man in the locker room. Stone was a good captain. Hayden wished Shane got to know him too.

Shane’s in the building too; he went to talk with the gear people though, a repeated complaint about the laces of his skates. Hayden’s glad for his pedantry now, in part so he can see Stone out alone, in part so he doesn’t have to see Shane. It’s not official as of now, but Shane’s probably getting the C on his jersey this September. He did well as an Assistant, and he’ll do well as a full Captain; Hayden will be glad to follow him, easier to do so on the ice than at home, where Shane refuses to processed sugar and brussel sprouts, but Hayden thinks it’s better that Stone doesn’t see his replacement when they’re virtually alone in the arena building.

He shakes his hand and reciprocates the half-hug that’s acceptable between male athletes. “Take care, won’t you, kid?” Hayden doesn’t point out to Stone he’s not really a kid anymore–has as many children as Stone does–or that their next meeting on the ice won’t be as friendly. Colorado’s team isn’t in the same division as the Metros, nevermind the same Conference, but they’re still opponents. It’s going to be weird to see Stone in the opposite zone.

Hayden makes sure to tap his back extra hard while they’re still standing in the same locker room. “Won’t be the same without you, Cap.”

Stone allows him the nickname a final time, although, technically, he already isn’t Hayden’s anymore. Because life is a comedy, for the first time Shane’s issue with his laces takes less than an hour to resolve, because that’s the moment he comes into the locker room as well, carrying the empty duffle that’s supposed to bring his gear home with him.

Hayden feels a pinprick of panic, as if Stone will jump on Shane like a mountain lion now that there isn’t a C on his chest marking them as allies. But Stone just steps back from Hayden and offers a handshake to Shane next, while he’s still frozen at the mouth of the room.

“It was nice to play with you, Hollander.” His hand hovers alone in the air for a moment, before Shane shakes himself into taking it, no less taken off guard than Hayden. It’s hard to read Stone, but there’s seemingly none of the disparagement he only managed to partly hide when Shane first got into the team, and he sounds almost genuine.

“...You too.” He shakes Stone’s hand steadily. It’s not a lie from his part; feelings off the ice aside, Shane’s always glad to play alongside someone as long as they can pull their weight, which Stone always could. He’d probably like being in the same line as Rozanov, as much of an asshole as he is, if it meant they’d play good hockey.

Stone nods once, as if to himself. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you on the other side on the ice.” And this is a little more teasing, a bit of a challenge in it. Shane blinks as Stone cocks one hip, apparently as genuine as one can about playing against Shane fucking Hollander, and he allows himself the suggestion of a smile for the first time he stepped into this lockerroom with Stone already standing in it.

“You shouldn’t.” Shane’s not even trying to intimidate–he’s just being completely candid. Stone actually laughs, cordial for once. He’s still grinning as he lets go of Shane’s hand, shaking his head to himself.

“Good luck with this one, Hayden,” he throws behind him, as if Hayden is the one that’s going to be in charge, not the linesman that’s just supposed to follow Shane. But there’s no derision in his voice; retirement close-by, he must have realized Hollander just isn’t his problem anymore. You can’t threaten someone who’s no longer part of the same game. Hayden doesn’t know if that’s peace or defeat–but Stone walks out the locker room with his shoulders standing straight.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

i actually got a few comments already wondering/predicting some things that'll happen because of the changes to canon, which is kind of funny haha. billets usually last as long as rookie's first year, but to some players (especially international ones) it can stretch further. my plan was always the latter for shane. sidney crosby quite famously lived for a pretty long time with his captain/the penguins owner mario lemieux when he started on the team (five years!) which always seemed like such an interest dynamic to me (also, if you're into the rpf side, the first time sidcros met who'd become his biggest work husband/geno was when he was brought to have dinner in lemieux's house, which is such a fanfic thing to happen lmao).
in the book, shane's internal monologue says he's glad to live alone (different from other rookies) because of the jealousy that can happen with teammates (👀) and because he likes having his own space, but i also could see mr austism 3000 taking issue with suddenly having to be entirely on his own. i CERTAINLY could see ms yuna hollander being worried about him and that. this is great except now shane has an ever harder time meeting ilya. which i'm getting to next chapter 😎

additional notes:
-the "guy in the metropolitan division" that hayden mentions having received the assistant captain position during his first years is a cheeky reference to sidcros, who got his in his 1st (!) season with the penguins. i actually don't think rachel reid based shane on him apart from the angle of having a big rivalry with a russian player, which is shame, because hudson absolutely read him to filth when he used him as an inspiration in the autism and perfectionism side.
-in the starting montage in ep 2, ilya sends shane a text text saying 'playoffs are fun why aren't you here?' which i'm taking to mean montreal didn't make the cut that year but boston did. as a sidenote, ilya's idea of flirting is so fucking funny lmao.
-the hart memorial trophy is given to the most valuable player in his team and the ted lindsay award is given to the most outstanding player in the regular season. the implication here is that montreal is a little bit flaky during this season because of all the shuffling around, but shane is still hitting it off the mark.

i'm punksalmons on tumblr (
where you can also find hr fanart). thanks again to everyone who's been leaving a comment, i love hearing ur thoughts S222

Chapter 6: vi.

Chapter Summary

Shane Hollander goes olympian.

Chapter Notes

i committed the rookie mistake of saying 'hope i'll update this soon :)' in the author notes bc immediatly after i got soooo busy, which is why this chapter didn't came a few days earlier. my classes are back, and i work full time as well, so sorry if updates are a bit slower now. thankfully, i wrote something long again (this was one of the canon moments i was most excited to write about 🥰)
watch out for a little time jump. we're going straight to the 2013-2014 season (kill bill sirens).

NOVEMBER, 2013

Hayden skates to the benches to stuff himself with water after the end of the game with New York. Usually, the post-win giddiness lasts a lot longer, but no one in the world is surprised that the Admirals lost tonight; they’d already played badly in Boston yesterday, and Hunter has played badly for the entire year, basically. Tonight, a 5-1 win for Montreal, isn’t even embarrassing for New York, just boring. Hockey podcasts don’t even have anything new to talk about.

Andropov, a rookie defenseman that the Metros acquired last season, parks himself by Hayden along the partition, cheeks flushed pink with exertion and elation. He’s just a few years younger than Shane, but has about an extra 300 volts of energy, bursting off him even now, immediately post-game.

“Ohh–what a loss.” Andropov is one to say it–he’s half the reason New York just scored once tonight, stealing the puck off them every time they’d as much as grazed into the Metros zone. He was an early acquisition from Boston, a low-pick rookie that hadn’t mashed well and then was passed around franchises, but surprisingly enough the Raiders didn’t manage to infuse him with their evil for the one season he played for them. Even talking about the Admiral’s loss he still sounds friendly. “Sucks for Hunter.”

Hayden snorts. “Andy, he wouldn’t be half as friendly about  you if you skated to his side right now.” More than a few of those stolen pucks came from Hunter’s own stick; he looked like he just about wanted to throttle Andropov every time it happened.

“Why do you think I’m here instead?” Andy raised his eyebrows, shrugging slightly. “Holly’s going there though.”

He points to the center of the ring, where Hunter has been leaning over his knees, trying to get his breath back–or maybe his honor–for the past full minute. Shane stops on his skates a few meters across from him, and Hayden glances away to take another big gulp of his water. Except Andropov’s eyes bug out.

“Wait–holy shit!”

Which is how Hayden ends up having to throw his water bottle away and haul ass to the center of the rink before Shane and Hunter could start pummeling each other.

Fights aren’t unheard of in hockey–Hayden has thrown a few hits himself, mostly coming into defense of a hurt teammate–but between it happening after the end of a game, and with Shane and Scott Hunter of all people, Hayden is the one that feels like he’s got his head knocked around.

“What the fuck!” He grabs Shane by the midsection and pulls him back, feeling deafened by the shouts of the arena, in and outside the ice. Shane’s shouting too; he’s calling Hunter a pussy. Hayden doesn’t think he’s heard Shane say ‘pussy’ ever.

He’s pulling Shane back, with the assistance of another player and a ref, but he has half a mind to throw himself at Hunter too. Hayden is far from an impartial party–Shane still sleeps in his downstairs bedroom, for one–but he can’t believe Shane would get into a fight, his first fight, in hockey or otherwise, without good reason.

“Fuck off, dude!” he throws in Hunter’s direction, from where he’s being pulled back by his own teammates, for the principle of the thing, before knocking his chin against Shane’s shoulder again, still holding him away. “Buddy–let it go!” Before the refs really did fuck him over. Although Hayden doesn’t really know what they can even do, when the game’s already over. 

Hayden still doesn’t know when they manage to pull the fight apart, and then drag Shane off the ice. He still doesn’t know why the fight even happened, and is starting to doubt he’ll ever learn. Shane’s face is set into something angry and harsh–even as their teammates pat him on the back as they all step back into the locker room, cursing Hunter and congratulating Shane in the same breath.

“Who knew.” McGroarty shakes his head, as if in disbelief. But he does look like he respects Shane about 20% more after that fight. He’s not the only one; old Metros and new ones alike. “What did the son of a bitch even say to you?”

Shane doesn’t reply. There’s an angry mark on his cheek from where Hunter managed to graze him, but it still doesn’t look as red as Shane’s face had, indignant, fifteen minutes ago. Now, shame is starting to take its place. Shane looks defeated and, worst of all, close to humiliated. Hayden gets the feeling it’s not just because he lost his temper, but what led him to lose it at all.

“Not talking about it,” Shane says as soon as they get into Hayden’s car. Hayden raises his hands in surrender.

After such a big win like tonight, the Metros would usually go out to celebrate–homegame or not–but Shane looked like couldn’t wish for anything less. He already has a driver license, but no car (although David has been talking a lot about jeep costs, the last time Shane’s parents visited), and Hayden continues to be his selfless chauffeur. It would feel like a waste of gasoline to drive apart when they live in the same freaking place.

“Alright-y.” Hayden leaves Shane to his heavy, defeated silence, and starts up the car. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as good at giving someone space until Shane started living with him and Jackie.

She didn’t watch the game live, but Hayden fills her up in all that happened before it’s time for breakfast the next morning. She wouldn’t have needed to hear from Hayden that Shane got into a fist fight though–the red mark from last night purpled over the time they were asleep, looking more rugged on Shane’s face than his short scuffle with Hunter probably deserved as Hayden and Jackie see him again.

Jackie grimaces when she first looks at it, rocking Arthur alongside the curve of her pregnant belly, but Shane pulls his face away before she can take hold of his chin and look at it any closer. Six months ago, when Hayden had to tell Shane that Jackie was pregnant another time, in a much awkward conversation than the one he had had with his two daughters, Shane had asked, “Again?” with as much earnestness as only someone who has no idea they’re being an asshole could show. Shane’s not being earnest now though–he won’t meet either Hayden’s or Jackie’s eyes.

“It’s nothing.” Shane just looks more embarrassed at the attention; worst of all, his hackles are already raised, despite it being the first hour of the morning. He curls over himself at the kitchen table, as if posture is going to hide the mark on his face–or that he fought at all.

It’s not as if Jackie is going to berate him for it–she married a hockey player, for goodness sake. Hayden wonders if Shane’s parents would, if they were the ones sitting across from him. Probably. “Did you put ice on it?” he asks Shane instead. Hayden had left him with a cold pack last night–as much overbearingness he could allow himself when Shane clearly hadn’t wanted any mention of the fight before going to bed, but now he doesn’t know if Shane actually used it.

He still doesn’t want any mention of the fight even now. “It’s nothing,” Shane insists again, just a tad bit more annoyed. But Shane’s in tough luck; the bruise is all the girls want to look at, ooh-ing and ah-ing from their boosted seats at the table. Hayden can imagine they’ll probably be using a lot of purple in their next drawings. Arthur might too, even if he’s not following one bit of the conversation, drooling sleepily on his mother’s shoulder.

“What did Scott Hunter even say to you?” Jackie asks before Hayden can finish pantomiming a clear warning of ‘no! stop!’ across from her, mimicking slashing motions as much as he can without bringing any more attention to himself; not that Shane even looks at him, just curling further into himself at the question.

Jackie’s not accusing him of nothing–she’s not even accusing Hunter (yet). She, more than anything, sounds confused; fights aren’t Shane’s thing. It’s a point of contention with hockey pundits, who seemingly can’t decide if Shane’s the example or all-canadianness or too soft to play the game.

Hayden can’t understand the fight any more than Jackie, but he’s still quicker to emotion, which is why he’s as ready to turn his eyes into Hunter right now, during breakfast, as he was last night on the ice.

“If he said anything about,” Hayden hesitates, but bites the bullet, “your race–”

“Jesus!” Shane lets his head hang onto his hands. But Hayden had to ask. Shane has been very careful in staying away from the internet from the moment he started to play professionally, but Hayden doesn’t have that kind of self-control; he’s seen the kind of shit people write about Shane sometimes. “He said nothing,” Shane still insists, “the guy’s just a sore loser. Can we just eat, please.”

Hayden raises his hands in surrender like he did in the car last night. Jackie doesn’t look any more ready to let it go, but she listens to Shane, if only for now.

“Fighting’s bad, Shane,” Jade still tells him judiciously over her plate of cut-up fruit. This judgement he doesn’t immediately bat away, at least; not that Shane stops looking any less miserable, hearing that from her.

“Yeah.”

“We’re not allowed.’

“I know. Sorry.”

So Hayden lets that be as much as they’ll talk about it in the morning.

It’s still one of the hottest topics of conversation for a week, minimum. Were Shane any other player, as soon as the next scuffle happened, it would be old news, but that was so novel coming from him, Hayden still catches some mentions in the hockey podcasts and sports channels that he likes. It’s all the guys want to talk about in the locker room too.

A season into his captaincy and with new blood all around, Shane still didn’t lose what’s an awkward position in the team, clearly the best of all of them, but also so distant that the Metros don’t seem any closer to seeing him as a real person than the general public does. The bruise in his cheek is superficial enough that it disappears in a few days but the esteem it brings to the locker room lasts a little longer. Hayden doesn’t know what it says that it was trying to punch Scott Hunter that has endeared Shane to his team.

“Of all people to pop someone’s fight cherry, I’m surprised it was Hunter instead of Rozanov,” Comeau says when Shane’s not in the locker room, staying a little longer on the ice with LeComte after practice like he’s used to. Hayden gives him the stink eye.

“We’re playing him soon so don’t count that out just yet,” Blanchard answers. The things he says are usually harmless–Blanchard’s certainly the most civil out of the old guard where it concerns Shane–but Hayden has been so edgy about keeping tension out of the team, he objects to the talk anyway.

“Guys.”

Comeau turns to him with a guiltless look. “I’m just talking!”

“Just because the guy lives in your house you don’t have to baby him, Hayden,” McGroarty complains, shucking off his protective gear. It wouldn’t be the first time Hayden has been accused of being too watchful about Shane; it hasn’t helped Shane’s standing–or Hayden’s, for that matter–that he still lives in the Pike house, captain or not.

Shane comes back to the locker room before Hayden manages to think of a comeback, and the talk dies anyway.

This is all still an improvement, Hayden knows. Nothing is going to be as bad as that first training camp, when Shane could barely leave his things in his own stall without them getting stolen, thrown away or hidden; that’s one of Hayden’s comforts, at least. Shane has awards under his belt, despite his very young major career, and he’s taking the Metros closer and closer to the cup, so the team would be crazy not to respect him. Some of the new guys may even like him–the way you like an action star, distant and not quite human.

Hayden knows he’s in an awkward position too; McGroarty isn’t entirely wrong about him being overprotective. It’s par for the course, when Hayden has spent the last three years sharing a house with Shane and watching him grow, but he knows he ends up sounding a little too much like an older brother nagging his friends; it doesn’t win Shane any favors. But what is he supposed to do?

After the talk with Yuna that led to Shane staying in the Pike house, nobody has revisited their arrangement. Hayden is no more willing to be the one to start that conversation–he likes that Shane lives with them. Shane watches movies in the living room with the girls and lets Arthur fall asleep on top of him every time he uses him as a chair. He helps Jackie with chores and running errands, especially watchful now that she’s pregnant, and plays street hockey with Hayden on the weekends when they have no games. He’s been in their lives almost as much as Ruby and Jade have–kind of a scary thought–and it’s hard for Hayden to think of him just moving out, even as the house gets more crowded.

Shane found a property in the city last season, which has seemingly been in development ever since, and Hayden thanks the heavens every day that Shane is so picky he still hasn’t been happy enough to live there already.

So, yes–Hayden might have a different relationship to him than the other guys in the team. But they’re the ones that are missing out. They don’t know that Shane is a bit of an asshole when nobody is looking, and is so competitive he barely if ever lets the kids win in the fucking snakes and ladders. They don’t know he won’t eat his food if the wet stuff touches the dry stuff. If they knew any of it, they’d probably just tease him about it–which is the scariest part of it all.

There’s not a lot Hayden can do when that’s just the spirit of the game inside locker rooms; Shane has lived with it long before he moved into Hayden’s house. He can only play the game and check opponent players onto the boards when they get a bit too fresh with Shane. You can’t do that with your own guys.

But the next time Hayden steps into an airport store and finds players jerseys being sold, a few of Hunter with the number 21, he can hide them a bit further in the rack too. So take take, Hunter.

DECEMBER, 2013

They have a last game against Boston before the Olympics break. Both Rozanov and Shane made into the national teams, because, of course. Shane’s not the only Metros player that is going to Sochi in February–Miitka, their new goalie, was called up by the Slovakian team–and a good deal of the Boston players made into team USA, from what Hayden knows, but he can’t say the same about himself and team Canada.

He doesn’t care too much about it; in February, Jackie will either be immediately post-partum or about to give birth, so Hayden would rather stay home with her. If he’s honest about it, he’s kind of looking forward to a full month without games. But he still–non-sensically–worries about not being there to watch Shane; as if he’s not there to captain Canada’s national team, and would need a chaperone at all.

That’s still months away, but there’s already a farewell sentiment tonight. Everyone can’t seem to get enough games between the Boston Raiders and the Montreal Metros, mainly because of Shane and Rozanov. After tonight, they’ll just meet again during the Olympics, which Hayden is sure everyone will also love. He can’t say he’s that excited. Rozanov is always way too physical with Shane on the ice.

They’ve played a lot against Boston in the last few years. It’s always high-pressure games, even if they’re in the pre-season; the whole league wants to kick Boston’s ass, Montreal most of all. They’re always so smug when they win that, no matter which team they’re against, Hayden always wants them to lose instead–which doesn’t happen all the time unfortunately, but when it does, the Metros are always on cloud nine. It’s after wins against the Raiders that Montreal celebrates the hardest. Hayden even breaks his no-drinks rule when they go out post-game.

Tonight is a home game, which is just going to make the win taste even sweeter–and they’re going to win, if Hayden has anything to say about it. He straps his pads as if going to war. He tells Mitty off after he mentions that Metros fans are burning a Rozanov dummy outside, but honestly, he kind of wants to get a glimpse, just to set the mood in his head.

Shane leaves for a pre-game interview and comes back to the locker room to finish getting dressed, quieter the closer they get to stepping on the ice, as he tends to. Silence helps Shane focus; the locker room continues to be loud, but it’s as if Shane sequesters himself away in his own head. He’s played against Rozanov and his henchmen a lot before and there’ll be many more times after, after the Olympic break–he’ll play against Rozanov in the Olympics–but Shane always plays like he’s trying to prove himself. Especially when it’s against Rozanov, whom he’s always getting compared to.

Hayden wonders if this is what is bothering Shane tonight. It’s like he’s even more distant than before–flighty and flustered. He keeps looking at his phone a lot, but if it’s an attempt to distract himself, it’s not working, because Shane just seems to be getting even more scatterbrained the longer he looks at it.

“Hey,” Hayden calls by his side, and Shane almost drops his phone. He looks caught when he turns his face–wide-eyed, and just a bit flushed; probably hadn’t wanted anyone to see him get this nervous. It’s okay, Hayden makes sure that his voice is quiet, practically invisible in the noise of the locker room. “Don’t worry too much about tonight, okay? The game is not that high-stakes. Don’t let Rozanov get to your head.”

Shane’s eyebrows climb on his face, until he’s looking at Hayden with an expression that’s hard to read; he’s still looking pink though. “S-sure.”

Hayden pats him companionably on the shoulder, pleased with himself.

Montreal wins, and Hayden can admit that stakes or no stakes, he really wanted that to be the way the night ended. He exchanges fist bumps with the guys on the ice and breathes in the sheer satisfaction that is wafting off of all of them. Hayden won’t spend too long out of the house tonight, but he’s ready for a big glass of beer, already feeling drunk.

In the other zone, Boston is skating out of the rink, walking down the tunnels to their own locker room in the Bell Center and the loss they’ll have to bring home. Hayden indulges in a single glance at Rozanov, tapping his players on the back, the pillar of strength, despite being younger than most of them and looking annoyed himself. They’d lost 4-3.

Rozanov’s a young captain, just like Shane, and by that comparison alone, Hayden empathizes with him sometimes, entirely by accident and more than he should. Sometimes, the arena’s lights make it exactly clear how young Rozanov really is; not that he lets it last long.

“Good game,” Hayden tells him as Rozanov skates to the exit, behind his team, and all that compassion might as well just die in the single second Rozanov blinks aloofly back at him, as if he’s forgotten Hayden's very existence despite having just played against him.

“Yes. I’ll see you at Olympics.” And then Rozanov tilts his head exaggeratedly, making a show of thinking about it. “Ah–but you’re not there.”

He makes it really fucking easy to hate him.

Hayden tries to forget all about Rozanov when he gets back to the Metros’ locker room, immersing himself back into the win. The team exchanges ideas of where to go, how to celebrate, and Hayden would rather think about that glass of beer, and maybe several others, than about Rozanov being a jerk; Hayden shouldn’t have even tried. And he does manage to distract himself: the Metros are fucking soaring. Everyone in the Bell Centre that’s not from Boston are happy.

Except, maybe, Shane. Although unhappy isn’t the world Hayden would use–he’s nervous, more like. Shane keeps standing to the side as the team steeps in their win, seemingly no less stressed than before the game, although it’s already over and they’ve won it. Shane goes back to his phone and looking shifty, and Hayden doesn’t understand why until he actually goes to talk to him.

“Hey, if you’re not feeling up to going out…”

Shane hides his phone against his chest again, posture fidgety; he doesn’t let it slip out of his hands another time, at least. “No. I mean–it’s okay.” Shane’s throat shifts underneath the high neck of his pressure-shirt. He’s pink–but it isn’t from the game. “I’m fine. But I, uh. I won’t, ah, be going with you guys.”

Hayden already knows this sight, remembers it very well, actually: Shane looking nervous and acting as if he has a big secret on his phone that no one can know about. It’s very adolescent and endearing, when Hayden does actually recognize it, and knows Shane’s only looking nervous because he’s talking with someone. Shit–he’s meeting someone.

“Alright,” Hayden says, drawing out the sound in his own giddiness, and completely fails in hiding a smile. Shane looks completely mortified in Hayden’s recognition; but relieved, too, when all Hayden does is give him a congratulatory pat and squeeze on his back. It’s silly–how did he even think Hayden would react? It isn’t as if it’s a crime to meet a girl to fuck.

Hayden doesn’t want to bring any more attention to Shane when the guys will probably only chirp him about this, so he keeps quiet, although it’s hard not to show some appreciation; like seeing your little brother go on his first date. It’s the first time Hayden is seeing him go out, for real–Shane deserves it. Hayden feels like he’s sending a child to college. “Go have your fun, casanova. You getting a lyft? Should I expect to drive you back?”

Hayden is only partly joking, but Shane looks like he’d rather die either way. “Alright–no rides.” Hayden hides another smile. He just pats Shane’s back and shoulder again, letting it go, even though what he really wants is to continue to tease the hell out of him. He can’t wait to tell Jackie about this. After the defeat from that snowstorm, two years ago, Shane really, really took his time to try again.

“Just remember to use protection,” Hayden tells him, and he’s not even joking; he has three kids under the age of five, and one more pending. Hayden has condoms in his bag too, and almost reaches for them to give Shane, but he runs off before Hayden can, and Hayden has to fight a full-on laughter this time. But it’s Shane, Hayden figures; if he’s so overzealous about everything, he’ll probably have bought a whole box in preparation.

Hayden doesn’t know where Shane goes for the night, but he has some guesses: a hotel, the girl’s place (is it someone other than the girl from Ottawa?), the property he owns in Montreal. Shane insists that it’s in development–says that’s why he hasn’t moved out–but Hayden knows it’s already finished renovation; maybe Shane will take his date there. It’s hard to imagine him meeting someone outside of his own terms; Shane’s a bit of a control freak. Hayden was much more haphazard about his own love life, but no one needs to say aloud where that got him: it’s probably for the best that Shane is, in contrast, so careful. Although he could stand to be a bit less shy. There’s nothing for him to be ashamed of–what twenty year old doesn’t hook up?

Shane is already back home when Hayden gets up the next morning. The night, for once, must have been a success: there’s of course no physical remnant in Shane’s body, but he seems looser and happier for once. Shane looks his age, just another twenty-two year old who’s also allowed to have a girlfriend, or a hook-up (Hayden still isn’t sure what’s the case with his girl–he doesn’t know if it’s even the same one from all those seasons ago). Hayden doesn’t ask him questions outright–although he wants to–but he knows he’s had a good night. He deserved one.

“Did you and your friend have fun?” Jackie asks him from across the breakfast spread, soft food for Arthur, who’s still teething, and things Jade and Ruby can eat with their hands, because their pediatrician said it’s good for them to practice independence. Hayden still helps them so they won’t make too much of a mess, and Jackie takes care of Arthur and his pureed baby food, but both of them are–unabashedly–hanging on to whatever Shane has to say. This is as much novelty as they get in their boring lives. It’s this or watching a soap opera on CBC.

Hayden doesn’t miss Jackie’s word choice: your friend. Shane’s ears still go pink, no matter what word she used, but he doesn’t hide away; last night was so good, apparently, that he’s a little more willing to bask in it, even in front of them.

“Yeah,” Shane says, trying for aloofness, but he can’t hide the way his mouth twitches, or how his eyes brighten just that tiny bit more. He hides by taking another bite of his whole-grain, high protein goop, and hearing what Jade has to say about the dream she had last night–something with unicorns, and the house next door–but Shane can’t pretend he’s not happy. He looks, for once, peaceful.

Hayden and Jackie exchange a furtive look, no more successful in hiding their own giddiness; Shane looks so pleased. He had sex, he mouths to Jackie, just to be a child–it’s not like Shane or any of the kids are looking–and she kicks him underneath the table, but she fails to hide a smile too. Whatever Shane did last night, he clearly had a good time.

Good going, Ottawa girl, Hayden thinks–if she even was the one. Either way, it’s better than whatever happened that night in Vegas, or what didn’t happen because of that snowstorm, after the All-Stars. Hayden doesn’t know why Shane apparently has so few opportunities to go out and meet a girl, but it has to be someone worth a while for him to go through all this trouble–for him to go out at all. Shane doesn’t do things by halves, and generally doesn’t really leave his comfort zone. Hayden’s glad he’s managing to do it, with whoever this person is.

FEBRUARY, 2014

Safe flight remember to tell us + your mom and dad when you land!

Landed.

👍

Try to sleep a lot tonight to get rid of jet lag

Jackie said Sochi is a resort city. Idk if it looks as bougie as Moscow, but
send her some pictures if you and your team ever sightsee

Do you already know who you’re rooming w?

Barnet

From Toronto? That guy’s backhand sucks idk how he made into the team

I hope he’s a better roommate than a player

Or better playing w Canada than the Guardians

At least he’s not that Kent asshat

Sorry for replying late, overslept

Barnet snores

Sucks!!!

Great game in prelim, buddy! Congrats on your first olympic goal!!!

Me and Jackie are going to wake up at 4 in the morning
so we don’t miss any more of those

You don’t have to do that

No, it’ll be good practice for when Amber is born

Do you even need any more practice?

Mean!

[Photo attachment]

Cheering for you 😃

Are the kids even supposed to be awake this early?

Don’t worry, they fell asleep against Jackie
before the puck even dropped

R and J’s preschool made them do little canadian flags for the
games today, they said theirs are for you

[Photo attachment]

I’m putting them around the house

They look nice, tell Ruby and Jade they’re really talented

Is there any time to walk around Sochi? Or are you guys
training all the time you’re not playing?

The team went for dinner yesterday, but I stayed behind

Live a little

I won’t

🙄

That goal was a beauty. I’m going to tell Jackie instead
of Amber to name the baby after Perry

Don’t do that

What, does he snore too?

Is Russia any cold at this time of the year?
Worse or better than Quebec?

I hope you’re keeping yourself warm. Don’t let yourself
get a cold during the olympics

Great game!

I’m not really watching the other teams live, but Russia lost
theirs. Did you see a replay already? It was really, really bad

I guess you’re not going to go against Rozanov for
the gold medal at least

Rozanov’s not going for ANY medal

Small mercies!

He’s not that bad

Shane you should have been a diplomat

I see Canada is moving along the team placements :)

Your guys are for sure making the finals

Do you have any prediction who’s going to be against? For the semifinals
too, and the quarters. Pretty sure everyone wants it to be Canada vs USA
for the gold medal, but Finland’s going pretty well

USA isn’t doing as good. Must be the Hunter curse

Still doing better than Rozanov

Hayd

Okayyyy I won’t talk about your best friend Ilia Rozanov
who is so kind to you

Shane is typing

Shane is typing

It’s Ilya

Okay, buddy

McGroarty is making a pool with the rest of the team to bet about semi
and finals predictions, or trying to. It doesn’t really work when everyone
wants to pick team Canada

He doesn’t even like me

Hey, that’s not true. You’re the captain

Everybody likes you

Shane?

Okay

Is Russian food treating you well? I went to look up some recipes and
those are full of carbs. You better be still eating!

Hey, Sportsnet showed a pic of you watching men’s figure skating!

[Photo attachment]

That fleece jacket is pretty cool, do you think they’ll let you keep it?

I don't know if you get any time to watch other sports there, but have you
seen speed skating? Their blades are SCARY! I get nightmares just thinking
about any of those people falling on each other

Don’t fall either

You’ve been pretty quiet, so I’m assuming you’re trying to focus
on the games. We’re cheering for you bud!

Good luck in the finals!

Thanks.

Hey it’s supposed to be the middle of the night there, go to sleep!
You’re supposed to win tomorrow

Won’t you be awake in the middle of night yourself
to watch that

GO. TO. SLEEP.

SHANE! CONGRATS!!!

Me and Jackie woke up all the kids with our screaming!

[Photo attachment]

That’s my captain canada!

Jackie’s going to send you a lot of mushy messages,
she’s super hormonal right now

You deserved this one so much buddy, you did so well!!!!

Fuck I’m feeling hormonal too

You better drink w your teammates or I’m flying there myself

Thanks

[Photo attachment]

FUCK it looks even more gold from up close

Enjoy yourself 😀!

I feel so bad about drinking in front of Jackie rn but I feel like
I should be popping champagne for you

You’re an olympian now!

I hope that’ll show all those fuckers that keep
comparing you to Rozanov

Shane is typing

Shane is typing

Shane is typing

It’s just a medal

A GOLD one!!! Take the win for once buddy!

Me and Jackie can’t wait to see you again 🙂 the girls and Arthur too

You’re seeing your parents before coming home right? I know they
must be super proud of you too

Party on your last night! After you get back we’re winning the cup 💪

JUNE, 2014

They aren’t winning the cup; Montreal leaves the playoffs at the second round, ultimately losing against Minnesota in game 7, after fighting neck for neck for what felt like an eternity. It’s farther than they ever came in the playoffs, which Hayden is proud of, but he really wanted the Cup this year, if only so Shane could win it back to back to his gold medal. The narrative alone would be incredible; but this is how it goes with sports.

What is more unexpected is how well Boston takes the competition this year, Rozanov most of all. After how much Russia’s hockey team embarrassed itself during the Olympics, Rozanov came back to the NHL season like a man possessed. Boston’s standing was already alright in its division, but it exploded in points when the break was over; Rozanov hadn’t scored this much since his rookie season and either his team was encouraged by it, or Rozanov was striking the fear of god in them if they didn’t keep up with the same performance. They’re still playing frightfully well–Hayden almost feels bad for San Francisco.

Some of the guys get together to watch Game 6 of the Playoffs final. They are, in a way, rooting for San Francisco–if only so someone keeps Boston away from the Cup. But it’s a halfhearted effort; Hayden already has a feeling in his gut of how this game will end. Half of the Metros misses his invite to his house, probably also seeing the writing on the wall, but really, Hayden just wants his team to relax a little bit. It always sucks to lose in the playoffs, but Montreal had had bad luck with a series of injuries of their top-players; even Hayden ate shit and almost broke his nose during one of their last games. He’s welcoming people into his house with his face still bruised. The girls keep saying their dad got a bad sunburn on his nose.

“Keep the noise down,” he says for the tenth time at the last arrival, which he knows it’s kind of a fruitless effort–they’re hockey players, about to watch a hockey game in the Stanley Cup final. It would be easier to teach fish how to fly. But Jackie would divorce him if he didn’t at least try. Although Jade and Ruby are happy doing cartwheels–or so trying–in the backyard, and Arthur is quietly accompanying them in their games, as he does, Amber was just put to sleep. She’s still young enough that even a breath wrong wakes her up.

Shane is sitting on one of the armchairs where he can both see the TV and the windows out to the backyard, and he looks like he’d rather be doing cartwheels too. Hayden doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want to watch Rozanov, or doesn’t want to do that while surrounded by eight of his teammates. It’s the first time in four years that Hayden has seen him look so uncomfortable at home. Maybe he should have reconsidered this idea.

“Hey, Hollander. When do we get to see your bedroom?”

Hayden slaps Wilson on the back of the head, although it just leads him to laughter. He stops pretending to have been looking into the hallway as if searching for the door to Shane’s room, sitting down amongst the rest of the guys, but it’s nigh impossible for all of them to lose the awareness that, beyond Hayden’s house, they’re also where Shane lives. Hayden would be more partial to that sort of chirping if he didn’t hear some assholes in the radio discussing if Shane is mature enough to lead a team if he can’t even live on his own. And Shane’s already acting weird enough.

Rozanov’s surprising come-back story wasn’t the only thing that awaited Hayden after the Olympics. He got the house ready for Shane’s return from Ottawa–a visit to his parents, and an interview with his hometown’s new station, before he came back to Montreal–and he expected to chirp him a lot about having so many accolades, and bragging to whoever’s willing to listen that his best friend had just won gold in the Olympics, but Shane came back quieter than when he left. Shane was the one that took the gold medal, and even then, he returned looking defeated.

Hayden had no idea why, and still doesn’t. Shane swallows things down; Hayden doesn’t know if he even tells his parents if something is bothering him. He sure as hell told nothing to Hayden and Jackie, so they just acted as if everything was alright too, until it became so part of the norm that might as well be true. Shane focused back in the game again, which might have been a good sign, but he didn’t reach the same height of looseness and happiness from that morning in late December, giddy after meeting someone. He’s not texting anyone anymore–Shane, most of the time, seems to leave his phone back in his room, a bad sign as any–but Hayden doesn’t know if he’s sad because of the girl, or if he’s stopped talking to her because of the sad.

He’s never going to know if the Stanley Cup would make him feel better; they missed their chance this year, and now fucking Rozanov is about to win it instead. Maybe Shane should go do cartwheels with Ruby and Jade in the backyard, but he might as well have parked himself in the middle of the couch, not moving for anything–not even the team’s pushy chirping. He’s determined to watch Rozanov’s game, for whatever reason that might be.

Jackie hands Hayden a can of Ginger Ale and, wordlessly, he brings it back to Shane. The guys have all been attacking the trail of snacks they’ve put around the living room, but Hayden hasn’t seen him eating even a single piece of nachos. He’s not going to take a beer either, but Hayden is happy that, at least, Shane accepts the Ginger Ale, mumbling a quiet thanks back.

Boston is up to two goals during the third and Hayden actually groans as they score a third against San Francisco with three minutes left. It has Rozanov’s assist. The one before was all his.

“I can’t believe that asshole’s about to win the cup.” Rozanov is a good player, but that almost makes it worse; he’s smug as hell about any of his accomplishments. Losing during the Olympics won’t mean anything after today. Hayden can already imagine the type of things he’ll be saying in interviews, or while on the ice.

On another day, he’d remind Shane that he also hates him–has all the reasons for it–but he keeps his mouth shut for once. Shane doesn’t advertise when he doesn’t like someone, and he certainly won’t let himself look petty when he’s surrounded by his own players.

“He’s very good at hockey,” one of the guys allows and Hayden gives him a long-suffering look.

“Probably the best,” Shane mumbles. This time, Hayden actually physically reaches out to where he’s sitting at the end of the couch to shove Shane’s shoulder, so he’ll shut up. He’s glad that he’s not the only one to disagree with Shane about that position–JJ, a fairly new defenseman, actually turns around despite his fucked-up shoulder just to point at him and say, “No–you’re the fucking best, Hollander.” Not that Shane seems to listen too hard.

There’s something weird about his face. He has a single minded focus on the game, even as Boston does win, celebrating in the television while the Metros groan and scoff, getting up to find something new to distract themselves with. Hayden is firing up the grill this afternoon, so they at least have something nice to eat, but Shane stays on the couch; he keeps watching the transmission, as the Raiders celebrate, as the officials bring the Cup to them, as Rozanov heaves it up his own head. Hayden doesn’t want to watch him celebrate, but just one offhanded glance is enough to show that Rozanov is crying, more emotion that he’s ever seen from him, and that just about stops Hayden on his tracks. As nonsensical a thought it is, he might as well have believed Rozanov was incapable of crying.

The emotion makes Hayden feel like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to, so he looks away–but Shane doesn’t stop watching the transmission. Somehow, glancing at him makes Hayden feel like he’s also seeing something he’s not supposed to.

He pats Shane on the shoulder, although he’s unsure if he should, calling him to the backyard. The girls are screaming outside, the shouts drifting inside the house now that the patio door is open as the team changes rooms. Amber is going to wake up in a second. There’s something glassy to Shane’s eyes when he glances at Hayden, and he tries to pretend he’s not seeing that, saying instead, “Hey–next year, huh?”

Shane looks, out of anything, incredibly exhausted for a moment, as if Hayden couldn’t have read him any more wrong. He doesn’t know what it means. Hayden, for a second, is struck by the thought that he might not actually know Shane, something far more defeating than watching Boston win the cup.

“Okay,” Shane says, sounding no less defeated, and the moment is over. Shane gets up and turns away, and when he wipes at his eyes when he thinks no one is looking, Hayden has to consider that the Metros aren’t the only people Shane feels like he has to turn away from.

JULY, 2014

Hayden doesn’t attend the NHL awards this year. Amber is still too clingy to spend entire days away from Jackie, and Hayden doesn’t think he’s ready to travel with three young children just yet. He is no less ready to leave Jackie alone with them, with or without a babysitter’s help, or her parents’. With each additional kid, Hayden promised Jackie he wouldn’t leave her on her own and he’s trying to make good on that. Also–and this might be a little smug–he already knows how these awards go. Shane almost always brings something home; he’s the only one that the NHL really needs to have there.

Hayden watches the show broadcast with Jackie, holding Amber through a nap while Jackie has Arthur on her lap, no less clingy than his younger sister. Amber’s addition has made Arthur a little more attached to his mom; it’s way past his bedtime, but he dozed as soon as his head hit Jackie’s shoulder, so Hayden figures it’s not like he’ll miss on any sleep. He still leaves the TV volume turned low though, just enough to barely make out the awkward script Shane and Rozanov have been given to present the award for most sportsmanlike player.

“Thank god they’re not actors.” Jackie steals the words right out of Hayden’s mouth. She shakes her head fondly at where Shane is speaking as stiffly as Hayden has ever heard him. The bar for screen presence with hockey players is already on-the-ground low–Hayden has seen way too many bad commercials with someone from the league–but with how many sponsorships Shane does, Hayden expected him to be a little more loose. He doesn’t really speak on those though. Hayden guesses he knows why now.

To be fair, Rozanov isn’t much better–but the grin on his face comes out as more natural, considering he’s making fun of someone all the fucking time. He’s been nominated for something tonight too, MVP, and Hayden dreads the moment the winner will be announced. After the way he and his team came through at the last stretch of the season, right to their Stanley Cup win, Hayden already has a feeling Rozanov will walk out of there tonight with a new thing to gloat over.

He distracts himself by taking a picture of Shane–he crops out Rozanov–and texting it to him, with a teasing soon you will be at the oscars and a smiley face. Shane won’t see it for some time, even if he has his phone with him (he keeps it silenced during events and refuses to check it out because his mom ingrained in him that it makes him look bored), but Hayden is in no hurry. Shane already went back to Ottawa for the summer and Hayden is in no-Shane mode, or, at least, less-Shane mode. He’ll be glad to get any message back at all.

Hayden almost considers walking out of the room when it’s time for the MVP winner announcement, but he wouldn’t bother Amber’s sleep just to be petty, so he stays put, although scowling. He thinks about taking another picture, of Rozanov and sending it to Shane with a row of thumb-downs, but Shane probably doesn’t need any more reminder of that guy; he’s already shared the same event with him, and watched him get one of the hottest trophies of the party.

Hayden settles in congratulating Shane for the night instead, and telling him to enjoy his vacation–if Shane takes any break at all while he’s in Ottawa. The rest of the show wraps off with the last awards of the night and Hayden and Jackie start getting ready to bring the kids upstairs, and go to bed themselves.

There’s still an afterparty after the event, and Hayden is aware of the difference between him and the attendees; he’s putting his kids to sleep while they’re off drinking more champagne, and mingling like socialites. Hayden will take any night on his own bed rather than trying to get comfortable in a hotel room though, even if he’s still sharing the room with Amber.

He’s expecting his messages to go unanswered for at least until tomorrow morning (maybe even later), all the one-sided contact he and Shane will be having until the next time he braves into his phone’s notifications. A text good night would already be a surprise–Shane hardly sends them, even when Hayden says it first–so he really isn’t expecting for Shane’s caller ID to flash on his phone’s screen as he’s pulling his and Jackie’s bed covers back, after he and her had finished their rounds and finally got to their own bedroom.

Hayden has parents old enough to get heart attacks, so he never puts his phone on silent; Amber whines in her bassinet at the chirpy sound of his ring tone, partly stirring, and Hayden just gets a lateral glimpse of Jackie leaving the bathroom–where she’d been brushing her teeth–to get to her. His eyes are still on the phone. “Hayd,” Jackie admonishes the noise. He turns it silently to her, and Jackie’s face turns into something more confused as he reads Shane’s name too.

Hayden picks up the call, no less puzzled. He wonders if Shane has read his messages, or what might have led him to buzz Hayden at all, in them or otherwise. “Shane?”

Shane doesn’t really do phone calls, and Hayden struggles to think of even one reason why he’d call him now, in the middle of the night, when he’s supposed to be celebrating in Las Vegas. There are no party noises on the other side of the line though, so Hayden knows that Shane is alone, at least, and away from the afterparty. That’s not necessarily a surprise, but the silence settles weirdly in Hayden’s chest, even more as Shane takes a breath, shuddery, before making that uncertain sound he does when he doesn’t really know how to start a sentence. “Hey.”

Shane doesn’t sound particularly good. “Hey, buddy,” Hayden sits up on bed, frowning; he looks at the phone as if he’ll see Shane and however he looks right now. He sounds–a little bit–drunk. And somehow hungover at the same time. “You’re okay? It’s kind of late.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no,” Hayden shakes his head, not that Shane can see him; the last thing he wants is for Shane to think he should hang up. “I don’t mean it like that. But aren’t you supposed to be at a party? Did you drink too much?”

It’s past midnight now, but the NHL afterparties always last for a good bit. Honestly, Hayden would have expected Shane to have already been in bed; he wouldn’t have expected him to drink at all.

“No,” Shane mumbles, but he corrects himself just as soon. “I mean, there was just one glass, but–but I didn’t, it’s not–”

He tapers off in frustration; Shane sounds even more scatter-brained than usual. “It’s okay,” Hayden tells him; even if Shane did drink, enough to, somehow, call Hayden while drunk, he’d rather get this call than for Shane to be alone. Jackie sits by his side and she looks just as concerned, even without hearing Shane’s side of the conversation. “Drinking’s what you’re supposed to do at those things, right? Where are you–did Yuna and David already leave?”

“‘m not at the party.” Hayden already assumed that, but he extrapolates the information, trying to imagine where Shane might be instead, and if he really should worry. “I just left–” he stops himself, “I’m in the hotel.”

“Okay.” A beat. Hayden looks at Jackie –’what is it?’ she’s mouthing–but there isn’t a guide for this. “Isn’t anyone else there with you?”

Shane’s breath stumbles. Hayden feels it in his stomach; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard Shane sound like this, and now that it happens, they’re not even in the same country.

“Okay,” Hayden repeats himself when Shane doesn’t offer any other answer. It’s not, really, and he doesn’t know what he can even do about it, when he’s talking to Shane on the phone, but Shane doesn’t have to think that. “It’s really late–you should be getting to your room, don’t you think, buddy? These events are way too long; I’m surprised you lasted awake until now. At what time are you flying tomorrow–morning?”

“Afternoon.”

“Cool, so you can oversleep! You should get going on that. I’m going to walk with you to your room, now, okay,” Jackie nods in encouragement by his side, and Hayden flies on, a thread to hold, “so you can go to bed. Come on, it’s way too late for you to be awake–what were you even doing?”

“You’re awake too,” Shane mumbles, bypassing the question entirely, and Hayden snorts.

“And thank god I am, right?” He makes sure the words sound teasing and not like a guilt-trip. “Are you going to your room already?”

Shane’s in an elevator, but he presses the button for his floor under Hayden’s continued instructions. Hayden doesn’t know what he was doing in it, just waiting around, but now that Shane’s moving to his room, and he’s not going to be alone in the middle of a hotel’s public space, it’s a little easier to pretend things are alright.

Walking Shane to his room–if via phone–Hayden is reminded, suddenly, of Shane’s first award season: of opening his hotel room for him, after Shane went back to him and Jackie. But they’re not in the same building anymore, and it feels like a cheap imitation to try to offer the same type of security through a phone call.

Jackie presses her thigh against Hayden’s, in the same boat as his, and they wait with batted breath as Shane makes his way to his room, so much quieter than usual. Hayden hadn’t realized Shane had started talking more until it suddenly stopped, just shaky breathing on the other side of the line. He hadn’t known what led Shane to his hotel room three years ago, and he doesn’t know what made him call tonight, but he hates, suddenly, that he’s not there, when just ten minutes ago he was happy he was going to sleep in his own bed. He’d take the detached feeling of hotel rooms, if only Shane wouldn’t be met by one of his own alone.

Shane’s keycard clicks and a door opens and closes, all the notice Hayden has that he’s finally reached his room. “There we go,” he tells Shane, although he keeps quiet. “You should brush your teeth and wash your face. Make sure to leave a bottle of water by the side of your bed too, huh? Are you feeling nauseous?”

Shane makes a vague sound, indistinct either way. Hayden forgets all about nausea when what he has to say is, “Sorry for calling.” A bed shifts from the other side of the line–small mercies–and Hayden dashes to correct Shane.

“Hey, none of that. c’mon. This means I get to tell you good night for real–Jackie too.”

He angles the phone so Jackie can speak into it too. “Hi, Shane.”

“If you met me a few years ago you’d have to walk me drunk on the phone too,” Hayden goes on when Shane only makes a low, offhanded sound in greeting. He lets out a hard breath now, hard to read, but otherwise doesn’t try to correct Hayden whether he is drunk; Shane sounds more defeated than anything about it though, and it’s hard to believe that this is all that it is.

“Are you in bed already?” Hayden asks Shane when the quiet stretches for a bit longer, and he gets another tiny mumble again. “Good. Remember to take your shoes off.”

“At the door.” Of course; Hayden shouldn’t be surprised that, even like this, Shane would have the muscle memory to get rid of his shoes before walking into a room. He feels that fondness again, bittersweet when Shane is, nonetheless, alone.

“Turn off your alarms too.” Hayden doubts that Shane will, doesn’t know if he’ll sleep at all, but at least he has the reassurance he’s in a bed right now. “Try to get some sleep, alright? I’m sorry you felt bad about tonight.”

Shane neither denies or confirms that it was the awards that left him this way, just continuing to breath shakily. There’s a big question mark inside Hayden’s own head, jutting out against the skin of his nape, and if he’s always frustrated when he can’t do anything, it’s the same thing with not knowing something, like an itch going unscratched.

Shane doesn’t accept when Hayden and Jackie offer to stay with him on the line. One of the repeating thoughts Hayden has, after, when he’s retreated to his own frustrated night of sleep, is, nonsensically, that he wished he also had a camera to Shane’s room, like he and Jackie did in Las Vegas with the girls, three years ago. The end of summer never felt farther.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

the first time i planned for the fallout from the vegas hook up was when i was plotting out chapter two so it's crazy that it took this long to get to it lmao. what can i say, i'm obsessed with writing little scenes between the pikes. the 'developing relationship' tag works here too, but the relationship would be hayden and jackie adopting someone who's just three years younger than them

additional notes:

-andropov and wilson are names you can see on some jerseys in a montreal locker scene in episode two. the guy who's supposedly andropov is the one that offer to show shane a dummy of himself being burned in boston (why i decided he played there before). he's also in the watch-party in hayden's house later in the episode. he has no accent (for contrast, another player who's supposed to be swedish kind of tries one) so i'm assuming his lastname it's just like that.
-i know there's code to simulate text conversations on ao3 but i cannot make head or tails of that thing no matter how much i try, i just can't
-cbc is a canadian tv channel. idk if there's actually soaps there tho.
-the toronto guardians is the in-universe toronto team in the game changers universe (irl the team is the toronto maple leaves, you might have heard of john tavares and his magic amulet). the 'kent' that hayden refers to is dallas kent, who's in another book in the series, role model, and is a rapist piece of shit. i haven't read the book personally though because the way it deals with hockey rape culture is...not that good.
-shane's sex condo continues to live!!!!!!

i'm punksalmons on tumblr. i keep telling myself i'll make new posts for each chapter of this fic but i never do though (but follow me there anyway if you want to see art every 3000 years, a lot of tv shows, and me freaking out over the pittsburgh penguins).

Chapter 7: vii.

Chapter Summary

The 2014-2015 season. Hayden thinks Shane’s girlfriend–if she’s even that–is not that good. Jackie doesn’t think it’s a girlfriend at all.

Chapter Notes

you might have noticed i finally set down the chapter count (12 total). i finished my rough plan of the rest of the fanfic, and prettyyy sure it's going to work out this way. i also thought it might be a good addition for other people who don't really read wips because they're afraid of it going unfinished.
as always, thanks for giving this fic attention <3. i really can't say how much incentive every comment, no matter how small, gives me; it means a lot to know your thoughts and that this is as engaging for you to read as for me to write.

edit: if you saw this before i actually remembered to format it no you didn't ❤️

AUGUST, 2014

Hayden is fighting a losing battle between Ruby and a pair of shoes first thing in the morning. More or less everything is a learning curve with the kids–Ruby most of all–if the curve dropped suddenly, sometimes, aligned when Ruby decides she’s above footwear, or eating in the morning, or sleeping eight uninterrupted hours. It isn’t even that she’s a fussy kid: Ruby’s just very headstrong. Jury’s still out if she got that from Hayden or Jackie. Hayden, shamefully, gives up the fight half the time.

“Baby,” he sighs; it’s always better to breathe out tiredly than to outright groan at the kids. Ruby runs away from him the second he’s not holding on to one of her calves. “Come on,” he calls after her. “We need to get to granny and grandaddy! Don’t you want to show them your kick-ass boots?”

“Hayden,” Jackie admonishes. Kick-ass shouldn’t even count as a curseword–Hayden does groan this time. Jackie’s got the easy part; Jade and Arthur are already fully dressed, no rebellion needed. They’re the nice kids.

Jackie is getting Amber’s diaper bag done. When Hayden tries to steal that job to himself, she just nudges him away. “It’s your turn with her.”

“Can’t we just let her go like that?” Shoeless has a certain style to it. Jackie doesn’t agree.

“Not in front of my mom.” Jackie keeps elbowing him off the diaper bag until he has no choice but to go after Ruby and her new favorite hobby of running circles around the living room couch. Hayden has never missed the toddler age as much as when she learned to sprint.

To buy time–although it doesn’t really buy him peace–Hayden does his own new favorite hobby, checking his phone; a glance at the text conversation that, just like the last time saw, remains unanswered. It’s less than a week to training camp, but Hayden was wrong to hope that Shane’s communication drought would have eased up.

Maybe he should find comfort in Ruby’s overt talkativeness (now, running, she babbles like there’s no tomorrow). But you can’t really fill an absence with an entirely different thing. Hayden has failed in distracting himself from the kids with Shane, and distracting himself from Shane with the kids; he’s found that he’ll worry–or be annoyed–anyway. He’s especially been worried after that phone call in July. Shane had never been quite as uncommunicative as he became right after.

Hayden grabs Ruby under the armpits and picks her up, although she makes a valuable effort in trying to kick him in the stomach to escape, lamenting her capture with a whining, “Noooo, daddy.” You’d think a pair of shoes is a novel new method of punishment. Alas, Hayden has to be the torturer today.

“You know how it is, sweetie,” he tells her.

An hour later, when they get to Jackie’s parent’s place, Ruby proudly shows how bright her new pair of shoes are to her grandmother, as if she hadn’t protested the whole time Hayden put them on. He supposes he should be relieved that children’s emotions are so fickle. His stick to him like glue; he tries to enjoy the early breakfast with his in-laws (it’s even more serious when Jackie’s sister is there, who, Hayden has always thought, never liked him very much) but he’s still stuck in his own head, thinking about camp, Shane, the approaching new season, Shane.

There’s only so many times Hayden can check his phone with company before it seems like he’s bored of them–which he’s not, although he’d deserve to. Jackie’s parents are both retired university teachers, and their favorite topics of conversation are their previous teaching subjects; Hayden has never even been to college.

They were pretty good at their jobs though, so he kind of likes hearing about health statistics and Canadian law–usually. Hayden tends to be as easily distracted as his children, but these days, it’s like half of his head is in Ottawa. Hayden feels strangely reminiscent of when he’s on the road with the team, and keeps going back to calls and texts with Jackie to hear about the kids. He really can never win.

Hayden’s text history with Shane–excluding the failed attempts of trying to learn what had happened in July (Shane ignored him for a week after that)--include way too many photos of the kids, attempts at getting Shane’s attention, very direct mentions of camp, and as many times as he could ask Shane ‘hey, how you’re doing?’ without seeming blatant; which he must have failed anyway. Hayden never agrees with everyone else that Shane is hard to communicate with, until he has that hardness turned back to him. He hadn’t noticed how talkative Shane had become with him–in his own, Shane way–until it suddenly stopped.

Hayden abandons his phone with another suppressed sigh on the way to the kitchen, where he finds Jade loitering alone like a little cloud of sorrow by the edge of the sitting room. “Hey, you,” he nudges her close until Jade is hiding her own face against his pantleg on her own accord. “Why’re you alone like this, hm?”

Hayden has to prod her until she can confess she wanted granny to compliment her shoes too. Hayden lets out a breath. He leads her to her grandparents and very proudly declares, “And would you look at this little girl!” At least with this set of kids all the problems are quick to resolve.

Shane always comes back home a few days before training camp, but this time he leaves it to the weekend right before, taking a Saturday afternoon flight. Hayden feels almost wistful for the times his mom and dad would drive him right from Ottawa, and Shane would slink out of their backseat with his overfilled duffle. This time, he waits in the arrival terminal with Arthur on his lap–he insisted he came (Ruby and Jade chose to watch their copy of Frozen instead)--and tries to find Shane’s goofy disguise as he leaves his flight.

Hayden only really gets recognized when he’s around the Bell Centre, right before a game, when, conveniently, there’s posters of him and the rest of the team around. He supposes he has a pretty common face–it’s that, or accepting he’s too boring for Montreal fans. Shane’s the most recognizable man in Canada though, aside from, maybe, the prime minister, and as the years went on, when he goes out in public (which is almost never) it’s with a ball-cap and a non-descript hoodie. Sometimes he even dons a pair of sunglasses. Hayden’s somewhat glad to see he’s wearing his prescription glasses today instead when he finally shows up.

Hayden pokes Arthur’s stomach and points to Shane; he’s seen him first. “Remember–” he repeats to Arthur, low, and Arthur dutifully says the other part: “No shouting.” Nothing would be as conspicuous as yelling ‘SHANE!’, or better yet, ‘SHANE HOLLANDER!’ in an airport in the middle of the weekend, right after summer break.

Instead, Arthur gets up on Hayden’s lap and waves his little arms for all he’s worth, until Shane’s head finally turns their way. Hayden tries to focus on the joyful recognition that flashes shortly on his face–not the stiffness that returns right after, when he’s seemingly reminded of Hayden.

He drags his bags towards Hayden and Arthur, hockey equipment included (it’s like it grows and grows with every year), stopping when Arthur clumsily climbs out of Hayden’s lap so he can hug Shane’s knees. Shane allows it, which, from him, might as well be a hug back. “Hi,” he tells Arthur and, looking up, repeats the same thing to Hayden. “Hi.”

Hayden forgets all past weeks and even month, and just gets up to knock his head against Shane’s ball-cap covered one, like they’d do in their helmets. “Hey, you.” Hayden fixes the cap for Shane after it gets lopsided, pushing it just a little bit too down; Shane huffs, and for a moment seemingly forgets to be awkward. “Good flight? No one died back there?”

He picks Arthur up while Shane answers, “Good flight.” It’s a short distance by plane, so Shane doesn’t look as miserable as he tends to when he has to be locked into a highly-pressured metal box with tiny seats; maybe he’d even caught a nap today. Hayden picks one of Shane’s bags too, before he can complain, and he leads him out of the airport before he gets recognized. Even in his unremarkable clothing, Shane already looks nervous just to be standing around in public.

Hayden won’t ask him. Jackie made him promise he wouldn’t ask him, during one of his many freakouts after the last NHL awards, and he’s not going to do it, he won’t. He didn’t promise not to mention Shane’s more recent silence though, and Hayden’s asking himself if he can ask that, while they make their way to his car. Maybe not right now. Instead, he asks Shane, “How was summer?” trying to pretend he wasn’t trying to learn about that through the last weeks too, and being consistently ignored.

Shane shrugs, before reminding himself to give vocal answers. “Okay.” Okay can mean a million things, but if this summer went like any of the others before, which Hayden hopes, after how lost Shane sounded in that phone call, then he spent it working out, testing new hockey drills, and doing sponsorships at the behest of his mom. Hayden saw some of those commercials; ever since Shane travelled out of Montreal, after the last season, the only time he actually saw him was on the screen, advertising a brand of wealthy perfume.

“We visit grandma and grandpa,” Arthur tells Shane. He means Hayden’s parents; they spent a few days in Halifax too. Hayden also checked his phone a lot there. Shane nods to Arthur and doesn’t really look at Hayden.

The silence feels like the cold war, which is pretty fucking unfair, because Hayden didn’t act even close to Russia; he didn’t even do anything. Shane was the one who called him in the middle of the night, and freaked out after. It’s not even that novel–he went to Hayden and Jackie’s hotel room a few awards ago, and that was okay. Hayden doesn’t know what could have been so different from what led him to that, and then what made him call him from a hotel elevator.

The twins mob Shane as soon as he steps inside the house, and Arthur keeps attached to his leg as he moves on, greeting Jackie too, and then Amber, just that tad bit bigger and brighter than when he left her two months ago. Hayden is planning to get some renovations done in the house, a new bedroom so he’ll still have a guestroom without depriving Amber of her own room, when she can finally sleep alone, but that’s on standby, so Shane wouldn’t find yet another thing to freak out about; he hates change. Hayden wonders what Shane might have considered a change to have called Hayden’s number instead of–what–suffering in silence.

Shane already ate before the flight and refuses any other food, but he does get a glass of water to hold gingerly between both hands, as the twins drag him around to see all the things they made through the summer break. Arthur follows them as dutifully as Shane does, and then Hayden and Jackie are alone. She brushes her hand across his shoulder, as if silently saying ‘give him time’. Hayden knows that; but he already gave Shane a month.

Each year, Shane brings less personal belongings. It’s because he’s already acquired so many; these days, when Shane goes back to Ottawa, he barely if ever takes his things with him. They already belong to his bedroom in the Pike house. Its drawers are full enough that there’s no need for further additions. The only thing he only drags with himself it’s his hockey gear, which Shane is painfully picky about. He keeps every stick, a growing collection, although he usually only really uses one, which might be as old as the twins.

By the time they’re done with him, Hayden has already brought Shane’s things–sticks and all–to his room, leaving the bags on his bed so he can pack them away, and Shane appears at the door with something awkward on his face.

“You forgot this one here,” Hayden nods to a book left since the end of June on the bedside table, something on the physics of ice skating, sticky paper poking out from between the pages. Shane left two pairs of socks in the laundry too, and way too many ginger ales in the fridge; he’s the only one that drinks it, but Hayden always leaves the kitchen stocked. Every summer is like this, bits and pieces of Shane left as memory, what the Pikes get to keep while he forgets how to use his phone, but Hayden never felt reason to worry before. Not until this time. It’s never left him feeling this apprehensive.

Shane shuffles inside his room, hands digging awkwardly inside his pants pockets. He hadn’t looked like this with the kids; no matter how much time Shane spends away, back to his home town or travelling for sponsorships or games, they always welcome him as if no time has passed by. Hayden wonders if, when they grow up, it’s going to become harder, like it is with him.

Hayden promised he wouldn’t mention Las Vegas, but Shane so clearly looks like he’s working up to saying something, miserable the whole time, he thinks it’s not the same thing right now.

“You know you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Hayden would like it, and feel a lot more reassured, but he won’t force Shane. Even before any prodding, his first response was already to hide away the morning after the NHL awards. For such a fast ice skater, Shane moves at glacial speeds out of the rink, and he either rejects or avoids–usually both–things he’s confronted with but doesn’t know how to work through. That call in Las Vegas surprised Hayden so much because Shane had been the one to make it. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“You’re your own person, and an adult,” even if it’s hard for Hayden to remember that sometimes. He met Shane when he was eighteen, and even then he always thought of him as a teenager, a kid. Shane’s already twenty-three, and Hayden is no closer to remembering he’s not one. “You don’t want me nagging you, right?”

Hayden is, in part, trying to convince himself. He wouldn’t call concern nagging, but maybe that’s how Shane sees it; why he makes such an effort to run away from it.

Shane still looks somewhat guilty, no more reassured by Hayden’s choice of words, and he takes a bet and takes one step closer, reaching out to squeeze Shane’s shoulder. The next part is the whole truth. “Buddy, I’m never going to put you on the spot. You know that. Have I ever done it before?”

Hayden hopes not, and he’s relieved when, eventually, Shane gives a slight shake of his head, just a flicker of his chin. Hayden knows he’s louder and more conspicuous than Shane, but it’s a consolation to know it never wore on him, not until now, at least.

“There you have it.” Hayden squeezes Shane’s shoulder again, before letting it go. The last thing he wants is to force Shane to work at a speed he can’t; even if, one of the first things Hayden wants, is to know what’s going on with him.

He steps away again and tries to find reassurance in the fact that Shane does look relieved; he loses the hangdog look he’d come to his bedroom with, so out of depth to talk with Hayden. Hayden can make peace with not knowing what happened–if only because he doesn’t know if there’s an alternative.

It’s all water under the bridge and Hayden, quite forcibly, is not going to look back. The important thing is that Shane is back here, he tries to tell himself. He might need to repeat it a few times.

OCTOBER, 2014

The first game against Boston post-Summer break is brutal. Games in the pre-season can be hit or miss, teams trying to get reacquainted with each other and the ice, but there’s something sharper tonight, almost bitter. It doesn’t help that Montreal is playing at home and losing in front of their home crowd. Shane’s not entirely off his game–he’d be able to play through a broken rib–but he’s not fully in either; all the times Hayden tries to meet his eyes from across his visor, he’s looking smaller than he does while on the ice.

Rozanov is scoring like crazy, usually right after stealing and keeping the puck from Shane, practically hunting him on the ice. Hayden doesn’t know if he’s had a good vacation, buttered up after his first Cup win, or if Rozanov is just purposefully being a bully, but either way, Shane isn’t very recognizable on the ice. He’s playing as if through an unsure daze.

“Is Rozanov fucking with you?” Hayden asks him the next time they pass each other. He’s being sincere–Rozanov opens his mouth every time he skates past Shane, checks him into the boards, or meets him at faceoff, and Hayden can only imagine what he might be saying–but Shane just looks more uncomfortable. LeComte sends him to the next faceoff against Rozanov, again, and Hayden barely holds back from protesting outloud, ever aware that Shane hates nothing more than to appear–in his own head–in need of defense. He loses that faceoff too, again; Rozanov’s jaw moves through a smug chewing of his mouth guard and some sort of taunt, forcing eye contact, and four minutes later, he scores his third goal of the night.

The home crowd has been increasingly frustrated since the 2nd, and loud about it. It’s no comfort, defeated or otherwise, to know they’re not going to be winning this game.

The Boston Raiders do a victory lap on the ice when the night is done, celebrating underneath the arena’s booing, and Hayden tries to catch Shane as they leave the ice. It’s a challenge, when LeComte is fighting for his attention too–looking much more angry than Hayden–and all of his teammates will have their own words to say, although Shane isn’t the only one responsible for carrying a game. Losses happen, losses at home happen, and as much Hayden felt a difference tonight, be it in the air or how Shane moved, he couldn’t possibly be to blame–not entirely. He’d be more worried about Shane than annoyed if that even happened.

Shane continues not to meet Hayden’s eyes and suffers through a quiet yet hard talking down with LeComte, standing outside the locker room while everyone else is allowed to go inside to step out of their sweaty gear and uniform; Hayden loiters at the door, no more ready to leave Shane alone, but he’s eventually pulled inside. He might be one of the As, but apparently, LeComte’s no more interested in talking with anyone but Shane.

LeComte, all things considered, is a good coach: Hayden has played longer under him than the other coach from when he first joined the Metros, and LeComte’s usually quite balanced where discipline and trust are concerned. From the very first training camp, Hayden gets the feeling he pushes Shane because he wants to see how far he can go, testing a new state-of-the-art toy, but he isn’t as rough as Hayden knows other NHL coaches can be. He’s been getting them to playoffs, but never into the finals, and Hayden wonders if LeComte’s time with the Montreal Metros might be coming to an end, after four seasons coaching the team. After the Raiders’ win, their biggest rivals, Hayden can only imagine how hungry upper management might be for their own time with the Cup.

Hayden knocks his knee against Shane when he finally joins them at the player stalls, but Shane still barely meets his eyes. His jaw looks tight, and with his hair sticking to his forehead, Shane looks very defeated. He’s usually incensed when Rozanov’s on the ice, just as competitive as him; tonight, he looked out of step instead.

“We’ll get them next time,” Hayden reassures, but Shane doesn’t pay a lot attention to that either. He’s robotic in taking off his gear, and Hayden just has to accept that this will be another one of those times he has to give Shane space.

It took less than a week since Shane’s return to Montreal, and then, the training camp, for Hayden to notice all the texting had stopped. Well, no–the texts are still coming, if in fewer numbers than before. It’s Shane now that doesn’t really pick up his phone.

The first time it happened–or that Hayden noticed it happening, anyway–was when they were all eating at the table (Amber’s starting to eat solids, an evolution Hayden never gets tired of witnessing), and it was easier to pretend then that maybe Shane just didn’t want to seem as if he wasn’t paying attention to the meal, or their company. Before, he used to take glances at his phone all the time at the table, but who knows–maybe he was trying to get better at that. But then there was another text, hours later, and yet another, when they were watching a movie, spending time in the backyard, and in none of those times Shane looked at his phone.

No–that’s only partly true. Shane did look at his phone; at each time, he glanced at it as if the notification had sounded like a gunshot. But he never picked his phone. Hayden used to find some irony that Shane was so bad at keeping in touch at long distances except with the girl he was texting, but then, it seemed that that started to extend her way as well; maybe Hayden hadn’t been the only one he’d been ignoring during this summer break. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to touch his phone at all.

It’s another thing Hayden doesn’t know if he should mention. Shane already looked like he was committing a crime by texting someone, and Hayden couldn’t imagine that that topic of conversation became any more welcome now. Exchanging unsure glances with Jackie is all that he can really do, another feeling of helplessness to add to the pile.

The next time the team goes out after a win, McGroarty flings an arm around Shane and presses close. “Alright–you can’t possibly ignore that girl.”

Not all the Metros are at their club table, instead mingling with the rest of the drinking people and dancing bodies, but there’s still enough around to turn in unison at the woman McGroarty’s pointed out. Hayden has half a mind to pull him off Shane, but they’re not sitting side by side for once; he can’t reach out farther enough across the table. Hayden’s sigh gets eaten by the loud noise of the club; he doesn’t know how Shane’s bearing it.

That girl is at the other side of the room, sitting with her own friends and nursing a single glass of something colorful. She must be Shane’s age, although it’s hard to know for sure under the club lights, and she’s looking in his direction every other time; Hayden doesn’t know if it’s because she recognizes him or if she’s just found him cute, but she looks interested either way.

Shane doesn’t do hookups though. He barely if ever speaks with women when they approach team outings, and seemingly only does it to be polite. All this time, Hayden thought if it might be because he already has a person he’s interested in, but it’s hard to be sure that that continues to be the case with his current texting embargo. Hayden is still ready to tell McGroarty to fuck off in Shane’s behalf, but McGroarty is speaking over both the jeers of the team and the club’s music, and Hayden can’t even get him to look his way.

“She’s been eyeing you the whole night! Please, what are you, blind? You know how jealous you make us old guys feel?” McGroarty is barely old, still in the first half of his thirties, but the players around him laugh; Shane looks no less uncomfortable with him shouting at his ear. “Live a little! You did a fucking hat trick tonight!”

“Ooooh, you should tell her that!” the peanut gallery of hockey players adds, before countering, “If she already isn’t a puck bunny.”

“We never see you with a woman,” McGroarty keeps pressing, and Hayden really wants to stomp on his foot underneath the table. “You make it way too easy for people to start speaking shit about you, man.”

Hayden is about to argue that Shane already has a girlfriend–even if he might not have one anymore–or maybe scream that there is a fire, anything to stop this conversation, but for once Shane beats him to the punch. His face sours and sours under McGroarty, until something new takes it at the end, and he sighs with something like defeat. Shane downs the glass of alcohol he’s been ignoring for the past thirty minutes in one go, and shuffles from underneath McGroarty arm so he can get up from the table and walk towards the woman he’d been talking about. The table cheers in one singular note.

Hayden doesn’t take part in it; he watches Shane, the stiff shape of his spine and how unnatural he looks approaching a girl, even one that seems so open to him. Hayden can’t hear whatever he says, or what she answers back, not across the distance and under the club’s songs and his teammates’ stupid fucking cheering, but the girl is smiling. Shane’s face looks closer to a grimace.

He walks with her to somewhere more private, and Hayden loses track of him in the crowd, try as he might. He’s dragged away by Blanchard later in the night before he can go searching for Shane so they can go home, teasingly told, “Let the kid live a little.” They don’t know Hayden has never stopped him–but the times before, it never happened because of McGroarty in Shane’s ear, and all his teammates jeering at him.

It’s not the first night Shane spends out of the house, but it’s the first one that doesn’t happen out of his own initiative. Hayden is immediately struck by a wave of relief when he gets down the stairs the next morning and finds Shane sitting in the living room, alive and well, so relieved in fact that he almost doesn’t compute that he’s on his phone again; seemingly considering something to write.

Hayden thinks of the girl, a night spent away, and gets to the conclusion Shane might have got her number. He tries to comfort himself that maybe McGroarty’s annoying stubbornness hadn’t been all for bad then; Shane might have left the night with a new girl to talk to, hopefully one that doesn’t only meet him every fortnight in secret and leads to such a bad ending he ignores his phone for months on end. Shane was already a little off after the Olympics, only getting worse when he left for the Summer, and maybe this might be a fresh start. And Hayden has actually seen this girl, for once; although he still doesn’t know her name.

They eat breakfast together, like they always do, and Hayden tries to learn it as gingerly as he can.

“What was her name?” He pretends he’s not putting much weight in the question by looking at the plate of fruit he’s cutting for Arthur instead than at Shane. His offhandedness works against him though; when he finally glances up, there was so little weight in the question, Shane doesn’t even properly get it. He’s looking confusedly at Hayden. “The girl from the club,” he specifies.

“Oh.” Shane’s hands twitch over the table, a beat of unsteady silence. Jackie quietly waits for his answer as well; the kids are more occupied with eating breakfast. “Jessica. Or Jesse. Jessie.” It’s probably not a good sign that Shane doesn’t even remember her name, but Hayden is nothing if not a positive thinker.

“Are you thinking of seeing her again?” Shane frowns, as if that idea couldn’t be possibly farther in his mind. “You know,” Hayden fumbles, out of step, “because of her number.”

Shane doesn’t look any less confused. “I, I didn’t get it.” He sounds a bit uncomfortable just at the idea, although maybe that might be just from the reminder of last night. Hayden lets it go, if only so Shane doesn’t look like that anymore, but he’s got a ball in his stomach, as if he missed a turn in the conversation, or the last day as a whole.

Shane’s phone pings again, and, this time, he picks it up; turning it just slightly from where it is resting face-first against the table, just a sliver of vision so he can see whoever texted him–like he used to, with his last girl.

Hayden doesn’t know how bad a night has to be for someone to seemingly decide to start reading what an ex might have to say; Shane certainly doesn’t look as happy and light as that morning after he met her after a game. Hayden doesn’t know if this is a happy ending either. He doesn’t know if he likes that girl anymore, overbearing as that makes him feel. Hayden used to feel everything moved so slow and out of sight because Shane is such a private person, but now–after an uncomfortable, unconsolable Shane, after he seemingly started to ignore his phone as a whole, if only because of just one contact number–he’s hit by the thought that it might be Shane that’s being led around by someone.

JANUARY, 2015

The Montreal Metros’ front office takes advantage of the Christmas break to change their coach; Hayden doesn’t know if that was already in talks before December and if it’s just now that it’s taking effect or if LeComte is just as blindsided as them. He hopes for the former, even if he can’t say he loves the guy–Hayden still spent longer under him in the NHL than any other coach. LeComte’s initial three seasons contract had already ended by last year, so he was only under an extension, but that doesn’t stop Hayden from being taken off guard when he gets forwarded the official email with the news.

That front office waited for the team to be with their families to let them know about it says that they might have expected some dissatisfaction back. It wouldn’t be necessarily out of affection–it’s always risky to change coaches in the middle of a season, when they’re already in the game and spent an entire training camp trying out LeComte’s formations. Metros’ management must be even more impatient for the Cup than Hayden previously thought. He wonders how much the Boston Raiders’ win last year impacted their choice.

Their new coach is Jean-Patrick Theriault; the email doesn’t say much about him, and Hayden doesn’t try to do a search of his own, so he only learns anything about him when Theriault sees to the team for the first time in the first week of January. Theriault is a little younger than LeComte, but seemingly more old-school, which seems ironic; he coached for the french league before moving back to North America, but although he’s french-canadian like LeComte, he looks a little rougher around the edges. Hayden supposes he has a lot to prove.

Theriault might as well get a trial by fire. One of the first teams they’re set to play against after the break is Boston, the first game in a short travel itinerary, and Hayden couldn’t pick a worse team to start your coaching career against, nevermind while in Boston’s home turf. He rooms with Shane–like always–and tries to focus more on facing the Raiders again than Shane texting while laying in bed, phone safely angled away as if protecting state secrets. Hayden never likes playing Boston, unless they win. He does his very best for the Metros to get two points in their division standing, but Boston takes the win of the night this time; it tastes a thousand times bitter when they have the whole stadium booing at Metros when the horn sounds for Rozanov’s team. Boston is nothing but loud.

It’s particularly cold at this time of the year too. It’s good for them to go out as a team after losses, recuperate and, most importantly, drown their sorrows in beer, but the air is icy cold outside the Boston arena, and they probably shouldn’t be out and about in Raiders’ territory anyway. Hayden gets ready for an early night in his hotel bed, maybe a video call to see the kids, even if they’re already asleep, but he certainly isn’t expecting to be alone in the room tonight. Hayden and Shane get as far as travelling back to the hotel with the rest of their team, hunkering in their team bus while Raiders fans jeer at them all the way from the arena’s parking lot, so Hayden really is taken aback when Shane lingers uncomfortably at the door after they get back to their room, before announcing he’s leaving again.

Hayden stares at him for a good while, unsure if he got it right. “...for Boston?” is what he ends up asking; it’s a surprise for Shane to be going out at all, but Hayden certainly wouldn’t have expected it to in this city, of all places. Does he have a death wish?

Shane’s face colors; with him, embarrassment always comes with a bigger side of shame. “I’ll be back,” Shane tries to defend himself. Hayden didn’t even know the opposite was in the cards; the last time Shane spent the night away was in Montreal. Hayden knows what it was for, too–who it was for.

He has to consider that his girl isn’t from Ottawa, after all. Hayden doesn’t think Shane couldn’t have picked someone from a worse place.

“Sure you will be back–do you want to be mobbed in the street?” Hayden is used to poking at Shane, but he seems more thin-skinned tonight; he sticks by the door, for one, and looks more uncomfortable by the second, no help from Hayden’s bewildered look, or his teasing. It’s different from how he looked the last time he went out to meet a girl of his own volition, awkward in a mostly young way, not with as much humiliation plain to see on his skin. He’s more insecure this time around.

It’s that what makes Hayden shut his mouth, even if he really doesn’t think it’s a good idea to go out in Boston–alone, most of all. There’s no way Shane’s letting him give him a ride to a booty-call, though, so he has to let him go, no less comforted for it. “Text me when you get there–wherever there is.” And because he wants to lighten the mood, he adds, “Remember not to talk with strangers, and come home right away–”

Shane turns away from him, a new kind of embarrassment making his shoulders raise, but one that’s lighter at least. “I’m leaving,” he tells Hayden, running away from any more teasing, but he’s got his room key with him, his phone and a big coat on (not Montreal merch, thankfully), which is all Hayden can ask for. Shane didn’t really step out any of his clothes when they got to their room, so he’s still ready to go out; Hayden wonders when he planned this, if he had been looking forward to it from before the game. But he can’t say Shane is really looking forward to anything–he seems more resigned to the night, as if he lost a fight with himself. Hayden preferred how he looked a year ago.

It’s a lot later when he catches a glimpse of the contact name of the girl in Shane’s phone; easier, when he’s back to texting so much. That time in Boston isn’t the only night Shane goes out to meet her, which, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t that common, considering they only play against the Raiders in their home turf every once in forever. It makes sense Shane might be covering the distance with a lot of texting; it’s the quantity that allows Hayden to catch glimpses, including of the name LILY.

She texts but never calls, and Shane almost always answers. He meets her in Boston and, maybe, Montreal, but only ever when they’re playing against the Raiders, which more or less confirms she’s got to be from that city–and a Raiders fan too. Hayden would ask Shane if he couldn’t pick anyone else, if he ever felt like he could mention Lily at all.

MARCH, 2015

A month before the official start of playoffs, the last stretch of March is always a little crazy, teams fighting to clinch a spot of their own. Hayden’s already starting to feel exhausted by then–nevermind when the playoffs actually start–and under Theriault, he feels like a workhorse. It wouldn’t be surprising for the Metros to be a little slower this year, considering the coach change, and no one would judge them for leaving their playoff run to next season–it’d be recommended, maybe–but that’s clearly not Theriault’s plan; most surprising of all, it’s actually, somehow, working. The Metros are holding second place in their division standing–and they’re only five points behind Boston.

It’s not without genuine hardship. Every time Hayden lays down, he falls asleep immediately, and he thinks his left knee has been aching for the last three weeks straight, ever since he fell straight into an opposite team’s post; it hadn’t helped that they had rushed to kill him for getting close to their goalie (even if accidentally). It’s these days that Hayden thinks that he’s getting close to his thirties, or so he would, if had any time to dedicate to thinking; if he’s at home, he’s helping Jackie with the kids by muscle memory alone, or napping. It’s why he takes so long to notice she might be trying to tell him something.

He blinks to attention, feeling like he lost a turn somewhere in the conversation; honestly, Hayden feels like he lost a turn in the whole month. The only place he doesn’t feel like he’s running late is on the ice–if even that.

They’re having lunch in the backyard patio, for once Shane-less; his parents came to take him out to lunch this weekend. Ruby and Jade are playing on the grass, some elaborate story about princesses and castles (Arthur is the dragon), and Amber is currently babbling on her high chair, more preoccupied in smacking her homemade hummus with her baby spoon like a bongo-drum than actually eating it. There’s a lot of things to be distracted with, which is why Hayden asks Jackie, “What are we talking about again?” earnest in his confusion.

He’d mentioned one of the team wives and how Wilson seemingly always has an argument going on with her, and that, in comparison, maybe it’s good that Shane has nothing to talk about the girl he’s seeing. He lost the thread of the conversation when Jackie pursed her lips in discomfort and started talking about assumptions, and taking hunches too quickly. Hayden frowns. “Is this still about Wilson?”

Jackie looks at him like Hayden is the densest man in the world, so he’s got his answer right there; he really isn’t that dense. There’s always a fondness with her–Jackie wouldn’t have married him if there weren’t, unplanned pregnancy be damned–but now, there’s something harder to read on her face too. It looks like trepidation.

“I said, maybe you shouldn’t be saying it’s his girl.”

Hayden blinks. “What, is that sexist?”

“It might not be a girl, Hayd,” Jackie tells him, after she finishes letting out one of the heaviest sighs in the world. Hayden still doesn’t really get it, is ready to argue he only says girl because he also thinks of Shane as boy, perpetually a kid in his eyes even if he’s not really that younger, until he realizes Jackie isn’t fighting for him to say woman instead; she isn’t sure if it’s a woman at all.

Hayden’s heart jackrabbits as if he’s just watched the opposite match their goal score. He still is hit with more bewilderment than anything. “What–you think Shane is…”

“Gay,” Jackie deadpans when he doesn’t finish the sentence, more blunt than he’d be with that word. “It’s not a slur, you can actually say it.”

Hayden wouldn’t necessarily agree; with the way he’s been hearing guys throwing that word around in the locker room for his whole life, he might as well be hearing something that starts with f instead. “Jacks, it’s not like that.” He can barely believe he even needs to be arguing with Jackie about this; of all the people he had to vouch for Shane, when the whole world had been ready to call him too sensitive, too touchy, too delicate, he didn’t expect her too. She’s known Shane as long as Hayden has. “Shane’s not like that.”

“I’m not insulting him,” Jackie frowns. And–sure. It’s not like it’s a bad thing to be, Hayden guesses (depending on who’s calling someone that). But that’s not what Shane is. He stopped considering that possibility four years ago, and he’s not going back.

“He’s literally seeing someone.”

“And I’m just saying that, you know, do we even know she’s–they’re,” Jackie corrects herself, “a girl? You’ve never seen who they are. Shane’s keeping it a secret.”

Hayden’s first instinct is to sputter, something uncomfortable blooming in his chest. It’s partly for the uncharted ground of the conversation, but he can’t deny that the idea that Shane might be keeping something from him, from them, leaves him feeling out of step. “It’s–her name is Lily?”

Jackie gives him a long look. “Did you see her birth certificate?” she deadpans. Hayden does sputters then.

“What–where is this even coming from?” They were eating steaks like ten minutes ago. Hayden feels like he’s been transported to an alternate reality without his notice; watching the kids playing just a few meters away couldn’t feel any farther. When did this even come into consideration? “We’ve known Shane for years. You remember his girlfriend from Ottawa. Also, he went home with a girl from a club once.” Jackie opens her mouth, but Hayden is on a roll now. “And it’s Shane. Do you remember Shane? Shane Hollander? Our Shane? His life consists of reading books, working out, playing hockey and shooting ads.”

“What, he’s too boring to be gay?”

Hayden can’t help but have his fight or flight impulse activated every time she says that word. “No!” he defends himself, whisper-shouting, lest the kids hear what they’re talking about. Amber is making a mess of her high chair and herself, but Hayden can’t turn away from Jackie to catch her chubby hands. “I just mean–where would he even find time to keep a big secret?” Hayden doubts Shane would be able to keep a secret at all.

Jackie looks no more impressed. “When does he find time to meet his “girl”?” she hits back.

Hayden falls back against the back of his chair, opening and closing his mouth. In the end, he can only repeat himself. “Where did you get this idea?”

“Hayd.” This time, Jackie speaks a little slower; Hayden doesn’t know if the diligence on her face is for Shane’s sake, or Hayden’s own. “We’ve known him since he was eighteen. He never brought any girlfriend home. I doubt he’s done it with his parents.”

“Because he’s reserved!”

“You said it yourself that he never, ever shows interest in girls when you guys go out.”

“Because he’s reserved,” he says again, and Jackie’s face clouds.

“I don’t like that you think this is something you have to defend him from.”

“It’s not like that.” Hayden won’t take even the suggestion; it makes the discomfort sticking to his skin just feel heavier. “It’s–It’s just–”

“It’s Shane; wouldn’t you want to know, if he was?”

“Of course I would.” Hayden doesn’t even have to think about it. There’s nothing about Shane that he wouldn’t want to know; just the idea that he might have kept a secret because, what, he doesn’t trust them, him, makes Hayden feel as queasy as when he drank too much as a teenager, or all the times he put on scrubs and walked into a birthing room with Jackie. But– “But he’s not,” Hayden says. Jackie sighs soundlessly, less angry, but still tired. “I’m not trying to, to be, like, homophobic, or something. I just don’t think he is, I really don’t, Jackie. He never gave any sign.”

Although that shouldn’t be true, if Jackie, seemingly, has been led to suspect something. She’s always been smarter than him, but there’s something to the idea that Hayden might have missed something, something this big, that still makes the nausea stick to his stomach. He can’t consider it–he just can’t. After Jackie, Shane is his best friend; Shane is his family. We’ve known him since he was eighteen, Hayden hears again in Jackie’s voice, and he remembers all the times he’d spoken for him, spoken to him. Hayden’s the guy that was supposed to be taking care of him in Montreal. For all his reservations, Shane wouldn’t have kept something like this from him.

Jackie, either way, just looks at Hayden with something resigned in her face. If this was an argument–which Hayden hopes it wasn’t–he can’t say either of them won it. Hayden cleans Amber after all, and then takes the dishes the other kids left at the table, and he accepts this conversation as over.

It’s easy to change gears and focus on something other than that conversation when the playoffs finally start. The Metros make it as one of the top three teams of the Atlantic division and Hayden is playing to win; he doesn’t have the time. He’s no more ready to believe in it, anyway, but there’s a part of him, flighty, that is relieved that he has an excuse to think of something else. He needs to focus on passing pucks to Shane, not thinking about his sexuality. He stuffs it away, locks the box, and just doesn’t think about it.

JUNE, 2015

They’re going to win.

Hayden has been repeating that in his head for the last three hours, from the moment he first stepped on the ice for the Game 7. He’s not a conceited person, and he doesn’t like celebrating victories before they come his way; that affirmation is, if nothing else, a prayer. Hayden’s not a religious person either, but maybe if he says it enough times, it’ll become true. He can’t allow anything else.

They’re going to win.

They’ve been stuck in the defensive zone for what felt like an eternity. Usually, Hayden can track game seconds on the back of his head, no matter what’s happening, but that’s just another thing that the playoffs have slowly chipped away from him–he might as well have been a bruised, aching husk of a player when they started the Finals. There’s twenty minutes in a period, but Hayden has felt like he’s lived twenty days in the past 3rd and twenty years since Chicago took the Metros’ zone after a stupid penalty kill. They haven’t left even after Comeau ran back from the box, and the whole team may as well have become defensemen to keep Chicago from scoring. They’ve been tied since the 2nd, and Hayden takes the second puck to his body too as he slips and slides on the ice to keep it that way.

They’re going to win.

Gagnon takes the puck as it ricochets off Hayden with an unintelligible shout–all their shouts have become unintelligible–and it almost slips off his stick, a heart attack, before he catches it, sending it at the last moment to Comeau. We’re going to win, Hayden repeats to himself, as one of the Chicago linesmen tries to rush him and take it back, we’re going to win, when Comeau almost trips after a body check, but catches himself at the last second, we’re going to win. Comeau can’t catch the puck, and there’s no Gagnon this time, just what feels like a lot more than five opponent players, but another flash of blue rushes towards it, makes a steal before they can reach it. We’re going to win, we’re going to win, we’re going to win.

They’re going to fucking win.

Shane breaks-away, way too fucking slippy for anyone from Chicago to catch him before he crosses the blue line. Hayden can barely hear anything past the shouts of the crowd, the shouts from Chicago and the shouts from Montreal too–shit, he might be screaming–but his vision fixes on Shane’s run, a tracking missile where the opposing goalie is alone. He doesn’t stand a chance.

Hayden can’t hear the slap of Shane’s wristshot, but he sees it strike the back of the net. He’s for sure shouting then too, dashing across the ice where Shane is smiling in a celly, too fucking happy to not be smug now. Hayden grabs him by the shoulders and screams nonsense into his face, the first fresh breath he’s managed to take in too long a while, but he doesn’t know that that’s going to be the winning goal until he looks at the score and sees the time. 00:43 left.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

It’s an out of body experience to play the last seconds of the game. It, somehow, still doesn’t feel as long as being stuck in the defensive zone had; Hayden hates overtime so fucking much, just the reassurance they might win before it carries him. He’ll do anything to keep it that way. The puck zooms right and left, but no side manages to keep possession for too long. Chicago needs it more though. Montreal can just keep sending it away before it clears their zone; they have shorter fourty-three seconds.

Hayden’s already smiling when the bell rings. He’s been playing hockey for 20 years, has been in three different leagues, won junior championships, but nothing feels as good as this–maybe only each time he’s first seen his children. His heart feels like a balloon, and he barely believes he’s not just floating away, over the ice and right to the arena’s ceiling. They won.

“We won!” he shouts, and hugs Shane a second time, keeps hugging him, because they don’t have fourty-three seconds still left anymore; this time, they get to celebrate for real. They’re Stanley Cup champions.

The rest of the team takes the ice, the lines that kept changing throughout the game and the ones that didn’t get to play because of injury, but were watching from the tunnel; in a few moments, their families will come too, the officials and then Cup, the thing you’ve always dreamed of from the moment you first held a stick. Hayden’s name and his family’s will be in that trophy; from this year onward, he’ll belong to it as much as it had belonged to him.

It’s not a win from just one person, and Hayden is proud of each and every Metro, in that moment loves even the ones he kind of hates; even fucking McGroarty, who made so many saves in the 1st, who checked a guy that tried to slash Shane. They've all been his brothers from the first day Hayden wore the Metros colors and after this win, they always will be.

But it’s Shane that Hayden keeps wrapped around, as if he’ll float away too. It’s Shane that Hayden screams “We did it, buddy!” to, although he might not be able to hear him, with all the noise across the ice. Shane keeps smiling and laughing anyway, no matter how much he hates noise, no matter how much he hates crowds or touch, grinning as his entire team mobs him in a crushing hug.

He’s the Montreal Metros fucking captain, he’s the one that got them the Cup in sixteen-fucking-years, and they better no ever forget about it, but it’s Hayden’s friend that he’s hugging, patting his head, pressing the sides of their helmets together. It’s Shane, not number 24, that Hayden tells, “You fucking did it!”

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-i picked the subject of jackie's parents' old professor careers from université de montréal's online program list, since i made her (and her family) from montreal).
-hockey teams have different jersey colors depending if they're playing at home or not. the first game between montreal and boston in this chapter happens originally at the start of episode 4 (probably at a different point in time tho) and i based myself in the boston bruins' jerseys (boston's irl hockey team) to figure out if that game was happening in montreal or not. white is for away games for them, so shane lost in montreal territory (and the next time their teams meet, and him and ilya fuck again, it's in boston. shane immediatly gets in too deep again.)
-puck bunny is a derogatory term for hockey groupies.
-couch leclaire only shows up in the long game, and he doesn't have a first name in canon. i picked one for him from a list of the most popular french names in 1990.
edit: i somehow confused leclaire and theriault??? idk what that was about. anyway, theriault is supposed to be the montreal coach. sorry about that.

i'm punksalmons on tumblr
(i also ocasionally post hr fanart there)

Chapter 8: viii.

Chapter Summary

Birds leave the nest. Birds come back to the hotel room wearing other people's clothes.

Chapter Notes

sorry for the wait--was it a wait? this chapter was actually supposed to be shorter (which i was already kind of unsure about) but my last edit through it kind of upped the count. this is the part where kind of off-handedly taking care of your past-rookie/kid brother/pseudo child and watching from afar starts to blow-up on your face (it's still not as complicated as shane's own life. oof, buddy.)

JUNE, 2016

“You’re good players.”

The locker room is quiet; it’d feel criminal to break their self-appointed silence, with the way Theriault is looking at the team. He takes the time to glance individually at each and every one of them, and had Hayden played for Montreal a few years less, he’d probably look away. They didn’t do anything wrong–yet–but there’s a distinct feeling of admonishment with how Theriault is looking at them and speaking. It’s a preemptive measure. They’re about to take the last game of the Finals, for the second year in a row. They have the chance to be the first team in twenty years that take the Cup in back to back wins–if they can only get it right.

Shane looks subtly at his phone, only taking it a smidge out of his pocket, just enough to light up the screen and see whatever it was that had made it chirp quietly underneath Theriault’s voice–see whatever it is that makes the edge of Shane’s lip twitch in a barely concealed smile now. Hayden nudges his elbow against his before Theriault catches sight of the same thing, and juts his chin out to where he is still speaking, no less somberly than before. Shane lets his phone go and pays attention.

“You’re all good players,” Theriault repeats. He looks around the room, and it’s a good thing that Hayden nudged Shane: his eyes hold on to him for a moment, more pointedly–expectant–than he’d been with anyone else, before moving on. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. You wouldn’t have won against Chicago last year if you weren’t.”

The 2014-2015 finals, somehow simultaneously recent and yet prehistoric in Hayden’s head. He presses his shoulder against Shane again, no admonishment in it this time, only the reminder of hugging him tightly as they became Stanley Cup champions–maybe the chance that they’ll do it again. Shane straightens up a little more, but it’s not with the stiffness that Theriault has instilled in them in the last two minutes. He presses back against Hayden.

“But last year was last year,” Theriault goes on, “and there are thirty-two teams in this league. No one would be in the NHL if they weren’t good players.” There’s something to the heaviness of the moment that not even McGroarty takes the chance to chirp Vancouver. No one does anything other than listening soberly to Theriault. “What really matters now is who are excellent hockey players. Who are Stanley Cup-worthy hockey players.”

He looks around the room again, and Hayden realizes it isn’t a rhetorical question this time. “We are,” Blanchard takes the bullet of answering for all of them, the eldest player beside McGroarty, and Theriault fixes his eyes on him, something glinting dangerously–but promisingly–in his eyes.

“Are you?”

Hayden feels like he’s in a school classroom again, walking on eggshells while trying to understand what a teacher wants them to say. But hockey players are nothing if not smug–if Theriault is challenging them, it’s with the understanding they’ll hit back.

“Yeah, we fucking are,” McGroarty pipes up from Blanchard’s side, holding on to the shaft of his stick between his knees as if it is a warrior’s sword. Some of the Metros cheer him on from the wings, and Theriault finally allows himself to be blatant about the smirk on his face.

“Did all of you miss your breakfast today? What did I fucking ask–are you Stanley-Cup worthy?”

“Yes!” the team answers more strongly this time, and Hayden looks at Shane, one of the strongest voices in the chorus. Theriault looks at him a second time too, and the challenge–and its danger–is only stronger in his eyes.

“So what about you people show me–and the stadium–that.” The Metros jeer, a little more enthusiastic by each word, and Theriault steps away from the center of the room. He nods at Shane, giving him his time on the stage, some words of his own before they all step on the ice for the second time in two years, luckily for their second win in the Finals as well. “Your turn now, Captain.” And Hayden can’t help but think that that challenge extends to the ice as well.

Later, a lot of people would ask Hayden, or any Metros player that they could get their hands on, A or otherwise, if winning the Stanley Cup for a second time tasted any better or less interesting. They might as well have asked a single organism–the team always answered the same: it only felt better each time. Hayden couldn’t wait to snag that trophy a third year.

They don’t celebrate any less in the locker room than they did last year; there’s a chance they actually celebrate more. Theriault’s speech did its job, because the team keeps repeating its question to each other now, undeniably smug this turn: yes, they are Stanley Cup-worthy, and for two times. They fucking rule. Hayden drinks champagne straight from the cup, and it tastes as good as it did last year.

The cleaners will have a hard time taking care of the locker room after today; Hayden, unfortunately, can’t say he cares. There’s something giddy in him, jovial; he wants to scream and shout and drink and dance for the rest of the day, and he’s going to, with the rest of his team. They open bottle after bottle in the room, shaking it enough beforehand to spurt champagne in all of their faces, and of course the Metros make sure to shower Shane most of all.

He’s back on his phone again, by then, which really shouldn’t surprise Hayden; if he thought Shane texted a lot when he was in his early twenties, Hayden had another thing waiting for him. At any other hour, Hayden might have been a little more annoyed at that; he still doesn’t really know what he feels about Shane’s girl–hookup, whatever–on a good day. But it’s undeniable that Shane plays better when they meet. Hayden wonders if they did it before today–if it was one of the reasons behind Shane’s goal in the first period, what set the stage for the rest of the game, and the second he did in the 3rd, an insult to injury to the opposite team. He wonders if they’ll be meeting up after. If they do, Hayden can’t deny Shane will have deserved it.

More than one Metro douses Shane head to toe with champagne, first when he least expects it, but he doesn’t fight that kind of celebration either way–Shane’s smiling, openly and happy, the way that’s rare to see from him, especially in public, even between his team. He looks as happy as he did last year, as proud of himself and of them. But he’s still holding his phone, and Hayden wonders how much of his smile is directed at it, instead of them; how much of the celebration he’s sharing with the person at the other side, and not with the roomful of his teammates.

The Metros’ wives and families came on the ice when they brought the Cup, but–beside his parents, proud as always, and Hayden and Jackie, and all their kids, hugging and twirling around Shane–he’d been alone. Hayden wonders how much he’d have liked to have Lily right there with him.

OCTOBER, 2016

“--and I said he didn’t know anything about how to play princesses and boys are jupiter-stupider and I didn’t even like him anyway–”

“Ruby,” Hayden scolds from the driver seat, dragging the last syllable out, and she squeaks in argument where she’s sitting behind him. Shane, beside Hayden in the passenger seat, but watching Ruby from the rearview mirror, doesn’t bother hiding how amused he is.

“I was right!”

“But maybe don’t call your friends stupid.”

“He’s not our friend,” Jade comes for her defense and Ruby nods so much in quick succession Hayden doesn’t know how her head just doesn’t start flying away.

“Well. Maybe don’t call your acquaintances stupid either.” Jackie wouldn’t like it either way. Hayden, honestly, calls guys from opposite teams a lot worse, so he feels a bit of a hypocrite for having to argue this point; from what he hears about Kyle from Ruby and Jade’s first grade class, he kind of does sound like a little prick anyway

“What’s a akwantace?” Arthur asks from his own car seat. Amber, repeating the word, manages to botch it even more.

“Acquaintance,” Shane corrects both of them gently. When Amber lets her tiny plastic elephant fall from her hand, he folds on himself so he can grab it from the floor again to return it to her little hand. Arthur doesn’t manage to say ‘acquaintance’ any better the second go around.

“It’s someone you know, but not that well,” Hayden tells him. He tries to take a turn and bites an expletive back when a shithead merges first without even turning the car’s blinkers on; Hayden would really be a hypocrite if he called that person what he wants to (a lot worse than jupiter-stupider) with his kids in his car. Jackie and Shane are like Genghis Khan with their curse jar.

“Like Annie and Lucas?” Arthur asks–the kids of one of their neighbors. The kids play with them sometimes. Ever since Hayden had a concussion scare last year, Jackie’s squashed any dream of them being any more serious about hockey than just playful scrimmages on the street, or the rare visit to an ice rink, but the Tremblay siblings are alright; they don’t even pretend to play-fight. More than street hockey, Ruby likes riding her bicycle with Annie, and Jade rollerskates down their shared sidewalk with her brother, Lucas.

Jade already disagrees with Arthur’s example of them as only acquaintances. “They’re my friends,” she corrects him, shaking her head; and adds. “I’m going to marry Lucas.”

Ruby screeches a big, “EW!” at the same time that Hayden asks, “What?” looking in bewilderment–and a good deal of amusement–at Jade from the rearview mirror. He holds himself back from outright laughing; Jade sounded serious enough that she’d probably take issue with it. “Where did this come from? You’re a bit too young for marriage, baby.”

“You weren’t that older,” Shane chirps and Hayden gives him the finger without taking his hands off the wheel.

“He’s nice,” Jade says. That’s a lot for six years old boys, sure–but Hayden would hope his daughters have higher standards.

“He’s gross,” Ruby fights Jade, and Hayden throws a hand back into the backseats before they can start slap-fighting each other.

“Alright, alright. Nobody’s gross–or marrying someone. You need to turn thirty before, that’s a new rule I’m making.”

Ruby and Jade quiet down, but not without some amount of bitterness directed to each other. It’ll be okay–Hayden is yet to see two people change opinions about each other and get over fights faster than them. It’s kind of like Jackie and her sister, actually; so maybe that’s how all sisters–siblings, really–are.

Arthur doesn’t lose the look of curiosity on his face though, and he looks at Hayden and Shane in the front seats with it again.

“That’s why you’re not married?” he asks Shane earnestly. Hayden prefers not to think about how his son apparently thinks he’s over thirty–he has bigger fish to fry.

Shane has expectedly froze up at Arthur; he’s no better receiving those kinds of questions from family than complete strangers. Hayden always worries if that’s indicative of something bad–insuficient–about their relationship with him. But the only thing he can do about it, aside from hoping otherwise, is save Shane from the questioning.

“No,” and he tries not to look at Shane–although he wants to–pretending he doesn’t wonder about the same thing Arthur is asking. “He just hasn’t met the right person.”

“‘s okay,” Arthur tells Shane after he nods considerably to the Hayden’s answer. “We like you home, Shane.”

Shane doesn’t ease back from his stiff posture. Hayden holds back a sigh–that one, he has no hope in saving him.

They went to the aquarium last week, in their weekly, take-the-kids-out-of-the-house-and-give-mommy-a-break outing (Shane’s usually included in them–he’ll stay at home forever watching game tape if no one drags him out), which had been Ruby’s picking. Today it’s Jade’s choice, which is why they’re in a plant nursery instead. Jackie’s having morning margaritas with some moms from her aerobics class.

There’s a part in the nursery entirely dedicated to visiting, and Hayden makes his kids walk in a little line so he can manage to keep track of all of them while they walk between jars of ferns and ceiling-high flower trellis. Jade and Ruby go yapping in the front, holding onto each of Arthur’s hands because Hayden asked them to. He takes care of Amber: walking with her in a carrier bag. Sometimes, he feels so domestic he almost cringes when he remembers he used to party all night to club music.

Shane’s walking by his side–which, in a way, is a self-prescribed condemnation. After that talk in the car, he has to know what Hayden is going to ask him. Usually, he’d be just as ready as Arthur to pester Shane about his love life; he’d done it last week in the aquarium, trying to show Shane the Insta page of a woman he barely even pretended to consider, but one that Hayden knew the name and was at least ½ sure would be a safer match than someone from Boston, and a secret relationship. But romance couldn’t matter less to Hayden when the new worry with Shane is of him eventually moving out.

“You know, if you’re serious, you’re the one that’s going to have to tell them.”

Shane sighs–but he doesn’t fight Hayden on it.

It’s so common to see Shane tapping at his phone these days, that Hayden hadn’t even considered he might have been talking with anyone beside his pre-established booty-call. Shane still calls his parents, and sees them every other week, when they come to visit, sometimes even having lunch in Hayden’s house, and it’s only because of Yuna, and one of those communal lunches, that Hayden learned Shane has been talking with real estate.

He almost choked on chicken salad then. There’s no food now, but Hayden still feels something lodged in his throat at the thought of Shane leaving his house–their house. Maybe he had choked after all.

During the past two summers, Shane had been building a cottage on a lake close to his parents’ own family cottage in the outskirts of Ottawa; he hadn’t hidden that one from Hayden, and he’d even been kind of amused about it. Shane’s a deeply private person, and Hayden thought it was right up his alley to have a Fortress of Solitude, except with summer-fishing instead of being surrounded by ice (Shane still had an artificial ice rink in his basement for skating–of course). Hayden had been happy about the cottage–what he hadn’t expected was for Shane to talk with the same contractors about fixing him another property, or finding an already built one, in Montreal.

He never moved in his development apartment, but this one feels different: all-purposeful and final. There isn’t only an actual chance he’ll move into it, but a real plan. Hayden doesn’t get it at all. Not only did he never give Shane the idea that he wanted him to move out, he got the house remodelled so they wouldn’t be lacking in extra bedrooms, even with four children and one Shane. If noise was the problem, Hayden would be just as ready to build a quiet room just for him.

“They’re going to be really sad.” Hayden is going to be really sad, but no one really teaches men how to say that outright; it’s easier to hide behind his children. “Everybody likes that you’re there. Nobody wants you to move.”

“I want to move,” Shane says. He isn’t looking Hayden in the eye. Hands in his pockets and shoulders hunched, he’s not even pretending to be paying attention to the plants. “It’s time, Hayd. How long did I stay with you guys?”

Six years and six seasons. Not long enough. “There isn’t, like, a time limit,” Hayden tries to argue, but Shane doesn’t let him finish.

“Maybe it should.” And Hayden knows that Shane is partly saying other people’s words. Getting the Cup didn’t make the public–or the league players–leave Shane alone; in a way, it just made them talk about him more, for the best and the worst. After two Championship wins, Hayden heard more than once some version of ‘Shane Hollander can win the Stanley Cup twice, but not find a place to live on his own.’

Hayden shuffles on his feet, something ugly and stubborn clawing at his throat. It hadn’t helped that Shane was keeping it a secret, until his mom let the cat out of the box; he’d even kept it a secret that he was keeping it a secret. Yuna thought they already knew about it–that’s why she mentioned it so lightly.

Hayden never felt in competition with Shane’s parents, but he never thought he should either–that Shane could seemingly trust them more than him. Shane’s pretty fucking awful in saying things if he doesn’t know how, or is scared of doing it, but it was hard for Hayden not to feel pretty fucking insulted. Most of all, he felt hurt and sad.

He’s not going to show that in public, and in front of his kids to boot. Amber’s on his chest, stuffing her hand in her mouth while she ogles the plants around them, and Arthur comes back their way too, officially ending the conversation. He raises his arms to Shane silently, and Shane steps away from what had almost been an argument with Hayden so he can ask Arthur, “Do your feet hurt?” more or less a rhetorical question.

Arthur doesn’t like walking for too long–it’s kind of like Shane when he was his age, from what Yuna says. Shane picks him up when Arthur nods and holds him awkwardly against his hip; he really never got how to hold children, or babies. He holds the Pikes’ anyway.

Hayden would rather keep talking–lord knows it’s already a challenge on itself to ambush Shane in a conversation about this–but he has to think of the kids. “Ruby, don’t touch that,” he speaks ahead when she shows a lot of interest in a plant colorful enough to appear venomous. Hayden has to walk ahead to make sure she’s not going to touch it, but he regrets having to do it; he doesn’t know how long he’ll get to keep Shane close by his side.

It might be harder to get Shane to go out when he’ll be watching game tape from the privacy of his own home. It might be harder to know about anything that’s going on with him–already a challenge in itself–when Hayden isn’t sharing a roof with him, and getting clues on his own.

Life as a parent means that Hayden is never, ever, alone at home. He hadn’t really considered why his parents had been so dutiful in only ever having one kid until he found himself with two–and then three, and then four. Ruby and Jade are starting elementary school now, and Arthur has had preschool since last year, but Amber’s still got a while to go for her own turn–she’s always at home, with either Hayden or Jackie, or then with her grandparents.

Hayden is going to have at least one of his kids hanging around him for the next sixteen years, minimum, until Amber goes to college–if that’s what she decides to do–and maybe that would feel stifling, but Shane’s future vacationing of his room at the Pike home suddenly has Hayden not even wanting to take his kids out to spend their weekly afternoon hangout with granny and grandaddy.

He takes them there anyway, of course. Jackie hasn’t been struck with the same panic, or she’s been dealing with it much better than Hayden; she always makes a point of having a free afternoon with an empty house, and this time is no different. Shane’s out of home too, in one of the crazy workout plans he has with his personal fitness coach, and with every bedroom outside of Hayden’s empty, the house sounds frightfully quiet. He can’t see this as anything like respite.

Maybe Hayden is so bothered by Shane moving out because it feels like a bad omen for his far future. Eventually, each and every one of Hayden’s kids will leave too, as if he hadn’t held them from the very day they were born, and that’s certain to hurt twice as much. Hayden met Shane when he was already, technically, an adult, but he looked barely past his teen years, and look where that got Hayden.

Between being a rookie and living under his roof, it was hard not to consider Shane a kid. His kid, at least in some meaning of the word. A kid brother, or the team’s kid that, since no one else would as much as extend a hand to, Hayden had to take care of. The Metros front office trusted Hayden–a good thing, since their players wouldn’t give Shane a chance at the start even on a good day–but most importantly, the Hollanders trusted him too; and Shane came to trust him. Or so Hayden has thought for the last years. Shane was always independent, but he was always close too, if only physically so. Hayden doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now he won’t have even that.

For now, he drinks–even if it’s only two hours past noon. The team’s next game is only at the start of next week, and by the time Jackie’s parents will bring the kids home (by the time Shane will drive home with his Jeep too, because he’d also grown out of needing car rides), Hayden will have already sobered up. He feels too pathetic to get actually drunk, pathetic enough that Jackie takes one look at him, sitting at the porch and watching birds on the street’s power lines in dejected silence, and she actually grimaces.

“Oh my god. You can’t be this serious.”

Hayden feels something sensitive tighten in his chest. He holds his single can of beer close to himself, fighting the urge to actually pout. What is he supposed to do? He can’t actually talk with Shane, or work through this in any way other than drinking his woes away–even a suggestion of conflict any sharper than a friendly, Hayden-branded type of chirping, and Shane runs for the fields.

He tries voicing some of that to Jackie, but she doesn’t let him get much farther than the threat of driving Shane further away. “I hope you’re going to be a little better than this when Ruby and Jay decide they’re preteens that want a life outside their dad,” she deadpans.

“Oh, come on,” Hayden complains. He’ll admit to some defensiveness too. Funnily enough, it was easier to talk with Shane when Hayden cared less about him. That’s clearly not the case anymore. “I’m the only one feeling down about this?”

Jackie had been no more ready than him to have that bomb dropped on her lap during family lunch; when she and Hayden exchanged glances, both their faces had been similarly dazed. Of course Shane wouldn’t have lived with them forever–in the original plan, that wasn’t supposed to last longer than a year–but they thought they’d at least get a heads up. A heads up from him, most importantly.

Jackie’s face does something complicated, resigned as much about Shane as Hayden. “I guess I already made my peace that he might want to keep some distance, and have some things that he doesn’t like telling us,” she tells him.

Hayden bites back an exhale–or, more accurately, a sting of breath. They hadn’t gone back to that topic of conversation, try as Jackie might have at the start. Hayden hadn’t lied that he was too busy to consider that Shane might be anything other than straight but shy, all those years ago, but out of playoffs, off a Cup win, then two, and two years counting from that conversation, he still doesn’t think it’s a thought that he should be considering.

Jackie just skirts the topic’s edges these days, not as much because she isn’t willing to argue with him, but because she just stopped trying. Hayden still feels something uncomfortable jutting against his stomach at the reminder.

Jackie takes a seat at the arm of Hayden’s plastic chair, more close than she’d be if she was actually annoyed with him right now. Hayden puts a hand on the knob of her knee, throat working as he tries to pull words into order. In the end, it’s easier to talk about what he actually knows, the feeling in his chest.

“It’s weird, right? It’s weird that, like, the room’s going to be empty.”

When Shane first got to Montreal, the whole house might as well have been empty, still new to Jackie and Hayden’s ownership and life as parents and a married couple. There weren't photos on the walls, and the furniture still lacked personality. The house had grown alongside Shane and the rest of their family; he’d become just as natural a part of it as the scratches on the wood flooring or the height markings that Jackie has been keeping track of the kids at the kitchen door. There’s kids in the neighborhood that were born long after Shane already lived with them. Shit–most of Hayden’s own kids were born when Shane already lived with them. They don’t know another version of life. Hayden kind of doesn’t, either.

“Of course it’s going to be weird.” Jackie drags a hand across the hair at Hayden’s nape, neat nails scratching against his scalp. She sounds sad too. “But it had to happen.”

Hayden doesn’t know how to be as seemingly resigned to it as Jackie is. “What did we even do that he thinks he can’t do whatever he wants here.”

“Oh, Hayd.” She looks at him a little hopelessly. Hayden wants to say that if Shane is gay, he’d tell him he knows and it’s alright with it–would always be alright with it–if only Shane would still stay living at home; but the problem can’t be something so straightforward as this. Shane always worked at the beat of his own drum, and Hayden was always alright with that, more chill than hockey parents and less uncompromising than coaches, GMs and franchise owners, but he hadn’t realized that still wasn’t going to be enough to get Shane not to keep distance from him.

Jackie keeps scratching at his hair–probably because that’s the only thing she can actually do about this. Hayden thumbs at her knee, mutual in that feeling. “You know,” she starts, “sometimes I remember how I was with my mom, and I feel so scared about the girls–because I felt she’d never get me. And now there’s the chance my daughters will think the same thing.

“But there was nothing she could do,” Jackie goes on. “I think I just had to get over myself on my own. It’s scary, but it’s probably the same thing that’ll happen with the girls, and Arthur.”

And Shane, Hayden hears go unsaid. Maybe Jackie does have the most experience between either of them about this; out of the two, she’s the only one with an actual sibling too. An older sibling, even.

“We can only give someone company, and space, and hope they’ll come around,” Jackie finishes the thought, letting her temple press against Hayden’s. It’s a pretty unsatisfying plan, in his opinion.

“And what if that’s not enough?”

Jackie’s breath stutters a little in uncertainty on the way out, and maybe she isn’t that more experienced than Hayden likes to think sometimes. “I guess we hope they at least visit on the weekends,” she answers him.

The first game of the week is against Boston, on the road. They’ll have to travel to Florida, Miami, Dallas and St Louis after, a long road trip if Hayden has ever heard of one, and he kind of already felt tired just looking at the itinerary. It’s the spectre of his thirties, maybe. He prefers getting sent chin first onto the ice or the boards than flying several times in the same week.

But he’s going to be away from home, while Amber is going through teething of some of her molars, so he’ll at least be having a full night of sleep. It’s weird sleeping alone when Hayden has spent almost his entire adult life sharing a bed with Jackie, but he’ll get through it as he always does: by calling and texting. It might be a good chance to work through his feelings too; Jackie sent him off with an echo of their shared words, giving space and holding onto hope (which might be a sort of trust in itself, maybe). Hayden, as always, is sharing hotel rooms with Shane, so he certainly has the space to try to be a supportive person.

They get to Boston late Monday afternoon, but the game isn’t only until the next day, in the afternoon too. Theriault already rode them for all they’re worth through weekend practice, so they, supposedly, have the next twenty four hours free, for all that’s worth, in a place as freaking antagonizing as Boston; Hayden might get actually poisoned if he tries as much as visiting a coffee shop. He’ll probably just jerk off in the shower without worrying about getting out in five minutes, and have an early night, or watch a movie on the TV; hotels have the best array of channels. He already expects what are Shane’s plans too, of course; they’re in Boston, after all.

Hayden doesn’t even finish putting his luggage away before Shane is lingering by the room’s door, somehow still as inexperienced in saying he’ll be off after years and years of meeting someone.

Hayden isn’t particularly endeared to Lily, but he’s not ever going to hear more about her–about Shane’s life in general–if he can’t put on a nice face. He can be supportive–he will be supportive. Today, he acts as much, chirpy when Shane struggles through some of the worst attempts at goodbye Hayden has heard from him.

“I won’t wait up,” Hayden tells him. It’s not the first time he’s said a version of this, and Hayden would be physically unable to not be at least a little bit teasing, but he’s being 100% honest right now. He’s not going to wait up–he’s going to be completely chill.

“It’s not like that,” Shane tries to defend himself, and Hayden still affords himself a bit of leeway to give him an unimpressed look.

“So Lily’s just a buddy?” Teasing’s still allowed. Shane likes teasing–kinda. It helps him feel like he’s a normal person, or so Hayden has thought for the past six years.

Jeez–did he also blunder through that assumption? But no, probably not; Hayden hopes not. It will do him good to know Hayden’s aware there’s a Lily. And that it’s fine that there is a Lily. So fine, in fact, he can even joke about it.

“Chill. I know that you text a Lily,” Hayden tells Shane when he seemingly can’t get past doing much more than just opening and closing his mouth like a fish.

“I don’t.”

“Okay,” Hayden says, not even pretending to be convinced. “Go get laid, weirdo.” And it’s fine that Shane is a weirdo! “Or don’t,” Hayden adds for good measure. “I don’t care.”

Shane tells him to go fuck himself when he says he hopes that’s the case, since Shane plays better after–which isn’t even a lie. As much as Shane tries to pretend he’s above human performance, he’s still a guy in twenties. It’s a good sign he’s telling Hayden to fuck off–that’s when Shane is being the most honest. Hayden keeps pulling on his pigtails until he finally slinks off the room, at least a little less artificially than a minute before.

Hayden watches half an episode of a soap, eats a few of the candies in the room minibar–the team always foots the bill–and then naps straight into actual nighttime when, predictably, Shane doesn’t come back. He texts a bit with Jackie and then actually calls her in the next morning, after a shower that was certainly longer than five minutes and a visit to the breakfast buffet. “I told Shane I know about Lily,” he tells her, after some preamble.

Jackie makes a non-committal sound, like she isn’t sure what she feels about that. Sure, part of it might be because of their disagreement about Lily, but that’s the name on Shane’s phone; if they wanted to be called Juan or something then Shane should have written that down. “I didn’t say anything,” Hayden says before Jackie can have the first word.”I just, you know–made it clear that I knew about her. Them. Whatever.”

“Uh–why?”

“What do you mean why? I’m showing him that I’m on his six; that I’ve always got his back. That he doesn’t have to feel he has to hide things.”

“Okay,” Jackie says slowly; she doesn’t sound any more sure. It’s better than an outright disagreement either way. “And what did he say?”

“Nothing. He just left–he spent the night away.” Jackie laughs, immediate and unbinding; it’s Hayden's turn to sputter, sounding dangerously close to how Shane had a day ago. That kind of just makes Jackie laugh more. “What?” he asks defensively. “The ball’s in his court now!”

Hayden can’t see Jackie, but experience has him imagining her wiping at the corner of her eyes–one-handed, still holding on to her phone–and shaking her head fondly back at him. “Don’t let anyone tell you you don’t have good intentions, Hayd.”

He isn’t 100% sure that’s 100% a compliment, but he’ll take it; his hackles fall again, only still a little rumpled. “I’m just trying to let him know I’m supportive,” he tells Jackie. And Hayden is going to be; god knows how, but he’ll be.

You learn with practice, right? Hayden, if nothing else, has been good at practice: marrying in a court of law, buying a house, assembling a crib, changing diapers, talking with pediatricians, babysitters, teachers. He’s learned everything that he knows as he went along; he can learn a few things for Shane too. Hayden has been doing that from the moment he first got to them.

He workshops with himself different ways that he might mention Lily again after he puts the phone down, call over. He thinks up several things that he might tell or ask Shane when he gets back, and when the hotel door opens and clicks shut, a few hours into the morning, Hayden feels almost giddy with possibility, proud of himself but also just excited to–hopefully–find a way to talk with Shane. He turns his head with a nice chirp ready to be said, but instead of finding the same Shane he said goodbye to the last day, Hayden finds him in different clothes, and sporting one of the most miserable faces he has ever seen from him.

Hayden’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach, reaction as immediate as when he sees a Metro being thrown violently onto the ice or one of his kids stumbling to the ground in a run. Whatever giddiness he might have felt dries up immediately; this wasn’t in any of the plans he had to meet Shane again.

There’s dark rings around his eyes, a little red too; he might have cried, or fought against it, before he got back here. Hayden finds himself getting out of his bed before he’s even aware of it.

“Shane?” His voice comes out a little bewildered–this wasn’t the Shane that he had been expecting. In a way, this isn’t a Shane he even recognizes; the closest Hayden has come to seeing him in some way like this was after tough losses on the ice and–Hayden feels something inside him flinch at the memory–five years ago, after Shane’s first NHL awards, when he came to Hayden and Jackie’s room. He looked despondent then. Now, he looks downright distressed.

Shane’s body holds steady at Hayden’s voice, but only because it’s being held so tightly–he’s standing ramrod straight. The extreme absence of any flinch might as well count as one. Hayden stops halfway to him, because he suddenly doesn’t know if Shane even wants to be touched.

He left the hotel yesterday with a brown jacket, white shirt and black jeans; of that outfit, the only thing Hayden recognizes is Shane’s shoes. Everything else is new and doesn’t look like it even properly fits him–the new shirt is a size too big. It doesn’t belong to him. “What the fuck happened?” Hayden asks, and he shouldn’t be so harried with his words, but suddenly he has every worst possibility running through his head.

The meat of Shane’s jaw flexes painfully before he just picks up his hands and covers his eyes with them, hand over hand and nails gripping tightly onto the skin. Shane’s uncovered chin wobbles in the unmistakable sight of someone holding back tears. Hayden has seen it a thousand times with his children, and it’s almost muscle memory that has him saying, “Oh, buddy,” finally taking the last steps towards him.

Shane doesn’t like crying–in public or otherwise, Hayden always thought. In all the years he’s known him, he hasn’t watched Shane shed a single tear. He wonders if his own parents have, and how many times if the answer is yes. Of course it would be few–Shane’s fighting himself from shedding tears even now, looking as miserable as Hayden has ever seen him, and he’s seen Shane look miserable: tired, overwhelmed, angry, defeated, beating himself up. Nothing has managed to make Shane look this openly frayed. Part of the misery wafting off of him must come from just failing to fight it.

“Buddy,” he says again, helpless. Hayden feels like someone has punched him on the stomach? “What happened?”

Hayden’s hand hover over one of Shane’s elbows; he doesn’t know if he should be touching him. Shane shakes his head, lips forced shut, but Hayden doesn’t know if he’s answering, or only shaking his head to himself.

Hayden bites the bullet and just takes Shane gently by the arm, apologizing for the way he flinches and leading him to his half of the hotel room, until he’s sat on the bed; at least this way he doesn’t have a risk of falling.

Shane looks like an overworked computer, unable to start any other processes, and struggling through the ones he’s still working with. Sitting down won’t bring him back from a meltdown, but at least it’s one muscle less for him to hold up.

Shane hasn’t stopped shaking his head from the moment Hayden asked him what happened. There’s a sense of defeat to it; Hayden feels, suddenly, that Shane isn’t answering his question after all–or refusing to answer him, anyway–but replying to Hayden’s very presence. Part of the defeat pressed into him is just by the fact that Hayden is seeing him like this. It makes Hayden’s chest hurt.

“Hey–come on.” Hayden keeps his hand holding lightly onto Shane’s elbow, although what he really wants to do is bring it up and down his back. “It’s alright. We’re okay. Take a breath. Whatever happened–it’s okay.”

He settles by squeezing him in what he hopes is a comforting way. Shane shakes his head again, throat choking down mutely onto what might have been a sound, and Hayden really wants to freak out, now, but he forces himself not to. Not different from the times Jackie went into labor or, last year, when Jade had an ear infection, Hayden needs to let him be the one to freak out; if Hayden does too, that’s when everyone will be really scared.

Instead, he makes do with swallowing down a dry throat and continuing to hold Shane’s elbow, thumb running small circles. Las Vegas, five years ago, and then that phone call, a few years after, had been as similar to this as different; Hayden felt the same worry, but it’s intensified now. For one, in just one of those experiences he had been actually able to see Shane. But in either case he hadn’t been this outright distressed.

Hayden doesn’t know if that’s just because he had been able to hide it better before–a distressing thought in itself. Shane had been hiding even when, supposedly, he came for Hayden and Jackie for comfort. And now, whatever happened, it was worse than all the times before. And Shane didn’t even come to Hayden after help–he came back to the hotel because that’s the only place he’s got. Hayden wishes he had Jackie with him this time too.

Shane lets his hands fall on his lap eventually. It might have taken anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Hayden keeps him company through all of it, feeling as useless as one of the bathroom towels. Shane didn’t cry, after all; he must have already done that on the whole way to the hotel. His eyes are still red-rimmed and glistening, tears held back by the skin of his teeth, refusing to let them fall anymore. Hayden wonders if that’s because he’s here, and feels absolutely awful for it.

Shane grinds his jaw, muscle tight, and he still looks overwhelmed, and even more frustrated with himself because of that. It’s, personally, an awful sight. Hayden wouldn’t feel half as bad if Shane didn’t look so guilty right now–and for what? How many times has he seen Ruby, Jade, Arthur or Amber crying? How much different could this be, and how would it be any worse?

Hayden lets go of his elbow with a last squeeze. Shane’s chin still wobbles a final time.

“Do you want a cup of water? Do you want Jackie?” Hayden is just as ready to call her number. Shane says nothing, and, already guessing what’s going to be the answer to the next question too–or the absence of one, anyway–Hayden can’t help but ask, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Shane shakes his head; Hayden doesn’t actually know if it’s directed at him, or Shane himself again, defeated as it looks. There’s a drop of wetness hanging from one of Shane’s eyes for however long, refusing to fall, and Hayden’s not above feeling some panic of his own too.

“Shane,” and he doesn’t want to give him any more reason to worry, but he’s fucking distressed too, “you’re really freaking me out right now.”

“I’m fine,” Shane croaks. It’s a bad fucking lie: his voice quivers right as he says it. Hayden looks unbelievably at him; does even Shane believe himself right now?

“Dude–you don’t need to tell me what happened,” Hayden will make peace with not knowing, he will, “but I have to know if you’re okay.” As okay as someone looking like him right now can be. The sleeves of Shane’s new shirt are hanging from his biceps, like he was given it from someone’s lost and found. Shane looks like he is right out of someone’s lost and found.

“And don’t fucking tell me you’re fine,” Hayden says, before Shane has the chance. His voice quivers a bit on its own too.

Shane hasn’t looked directly at him from the moment he first got back into the room, but now he looks away from his own lap too, turning his face, and head, away from Hayden, and Hayden is ready to scream, he is. Shane’s shoulders rise and fall shakily from underneath his baggy shirt. “I made a mistake,” he croaks, finally. Shane’s voice breaks through each and every word. He can’t turn it away from Hayden too.

“That’s okay,” he urges Shane to believe it, hand hovering beside his elbow again. “Whatever happened–me and you can fix it right up, okay? Doesn’t matter what, I’m right here–but I need to know. I need to know if I have to help you, buddy.”

Shane shakes his head again. “Doesn’t matter anyway,” he mumbles, the words only barely making out. Shane sniffles loudly and his jaw tightens a second time, looking resolutely away from Hayden. “‘s over. Shouldn’t’ve happened at all.”

What’s over? What shouldn’t have happened at all? Hayden wants to take Shane by the shoulders and shake him, until he knows, except that or anything at all, besides Shane deciding he wants to tell him, won’t make him know.

“Can you at least tell me you’re not hurt?” he asks him, only a bit desperately, and Shane nods, as unsteadily as the other shake of his head. He’s physically unhurt, at least–but even that is a sorry comfort.

“What about Lily?” Hayden asks next. It seems a million years away that he said that name, for the first time, to Shane, only yesterday; he didn’t even get to learn the shape of the vowels, or try any of his other ideas to mention her.

Shane’s breathing stumbles again, and he shakes his head, just a twitch of his chin, before telling Hayden again, “‘s over.”

How it is that Hayden always feels so far behind. “Oh, buddy,” he says, words as useless as he always is, before throwing caution to the wind and grabbing Shane’s shoulder.

Shane doesn’t wipe at his face, no matter how much he threatens to cry; he doesn’t want to call attention to that, or maybe, in his head, that counts as crying, and if he doesn’t touch the tears then they don’t exist at all. They sit in silence for one miserable moment, stretching in Shane’s defeat and Hayden’s complete inability to know where to go, before Shake is working his jaw, getting ready to move on as he always does, like this was nothing at all.

“We’ve got to be at the arena at four.” That’s hours away–but it still is the excuse Shane finds to turn the page, as if he hadn’t spoken quietly, and still with a shake in his voice. Hayden wants to shake him again.

“You can’t possibly be thinking of playing right now.” But Shane doesn’t answer, and he must be. He’s played through the flu and broken bones, and apparently, he’ll play through a broken heart too. Hayden never knows if hockey is what keeps Shane going, or if it’s just another thing that pulls and cuts at him.

“Shane–no,” he fights against it. He can’t let it happen. Shane’s hands are still curled up on his lap, unsteady and dejected; he’s still sitting hunched over. He’s still refusing to look at Hayden directly, jaw tightening now in anger, because Hayden is being the rational one and seeing that hockey is the last thing Shane needs right now. Especially in a game against fucking Boston. “You can’t be serious. Look, let me call Jackie–”

“I’m the captain,” Shane grits out, and maybe it would have been a good sign that he still has the depth of emotion to feel angry, but there’s still defeat in the shape of his voice, in the outline of his body. Belatedly, Hayden thinks that this is the first time he’s ever held that title over someone.

“The team’s not going to die a day without you–”

“You can’t make me do anything, Hayden,” Shane bites. His voice doesn’t raise, but it still feels like a slap–enough that Hayden’s hand lets go of Shane for a moment.

Of course he knows that–if he had any actual power over Shane, he’d have already made him say who the fuck is Lily years ago, and saved them all of all this running in circles. He wouldn’t let him move out because of a few fuckers on the radio.

It takes a while for Hayden to get his voice under him again. “I’m not going to keep you off the ice,” Hayden says, when he does; he never would. That’s not the type of person Hayden is, or the way he wants to treat Shane, or anyone Hayden knows. He’d hope Shane would know that, or at least enough not to see Hayden as an enemy

Shane doesn’t look at him, so Hayden doesn’t know if he’s any more guilty for suggesting that. He doesn’t challenge him on it now.

“But I know you know you shouldn’t do that,” he says instead, about what’s more important. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

Shane doesn’t say anything, but his silence is a pointed answer on itself. Shane wipes at one of his eyes after all, but only in the side farthest to Hayden, the side of his face that, turned away, he can’t look at all. Hayden sees the hidden joke, of course, the irony of what he’s just said, why that isn’t a worry Shane even considers. Shane’s already hurt.

“I’ll call Jackie after the game,” Shane mumbles. It’s an empty concession: he’ll be playing and he’ll be moving through this as if nothing has happened. They’re not really going to know anything about Lily even after she’s already old news. Shane’s just going to call Jackie so Hayden won’t.

He doesn’t know if he’ll always be playing catch up with Shane’s life, a yard away, watching from afar. He can’t get close enough when Shane is even sitting at his fucking side. But what can Hayden do–he’s not actually his dad.

They play the game against Boston. The Metros lose; 2-3. Hayden’s too worried to pay attention that Rozanov also plays like shit.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-not to ruin the sober feeling post this chapter, but you cannot understate how gay hockey sounds lmao: 'holding on to the shaft of his stick'. PENIS??? (i swear that's actually the proper terms)
-the children's ages are a bit older than canon here (this happened by accident, but whatever) since hayden had them earlier. i considered having the scene at the aquarium, redux, but i ended up just writing another thing to kind of parallel it. but shane still is made to hold arthur lmao.
-i don't know if this is actually explicit, but with the dialogue we have, i'm pretty sure shane and ilya played against each other right after the tunameltdown. there's no actual scene of it, which i wish we'd got. i don't know if it would be worse or better if ilya was super agressive in that game, or couldn't/didn't bother even getting close to shane.

thanks for all the comments <3
you can find me as punksalmons on tumblr (i also ocasionally post hr fanart there)

Chapter 9: ix.

Chapter Summary

A rose by any other name.

Chapter Notes

i'm so late! i'm genuinely sorry for taking so long to get this out. ten days might as well be several weeks for me. usually, i write a little every day and then finish all scenes on the weekend, but last week was kind of all over the place for me. i'm hoping that i'll get a break this time--especially because things here are about to get diceyyyyy.

NOVEMBER, 2016

Hayden wanders through the apartment’s open concept, still with that slight odor of paint in the air. It smells new, artificial and just that little bit sour, exactly what Hayden thinks of Shane’s new apartment. It’s not as empty as he had expected it would be; Shane hired an interior designer.

Everything’s already furnished and decorated, although Hayden can’t quite say it looks or feels full. He isn’t sure the meager belongings he’s helped Shane bring from his room at the Pike house, the last pieces to say he’s officially moved in–and moved out–will correct any perceived emptiness.

“Looks good,” he still tells Shane, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when your friend brings you to their new place for the first time, and is standing at the corner in bated breath with hands in his pockets.

Hayden taps a finger at some of the abstract paintings displayed on the walls so he doesn’t have to see how Shane relaxes at his lie. The painting is as incomprehensible as anything you’d find in a rich man’s house, but it doesn’t make it look like Shane’s home. It’s too impersonal. Everything here is.

“Kinda big, huh?” Hayden asks him, because he can’t help himself.

There’s a second floor, which Ruby and Jade already went running up to, as soon as they saw the blocky, spiraling stairwell leading to it. The glass walls look kind of scary in Hayden’s opinion, but they mustn’t for Shane–he just nods.

“I bought the property that was on top and the one right next door. Converted everything into one apartment.” It all seems very unnecessary for someone who lives alone and is, once more, seemingly single, but Hayden keeps that to himself. “It’s a pretty good building. Very secure. There’s some other sports people living in it, and uh, I think a banker, so. Everything’s pretty private.”

“Very spy thriller,” Hayden says, nodding, because this conversation is supposed to be a chill one, and Shane’s mouth predictably twitches upwards, just that bit more relieved, before he answers him.

“Shut up.” It’s good natured; more that Hayden can say about how Shane’s been acting recently, hot and cold. Hayden could just about cry at the mildness.  “We can’t all have nice suburban neighbors.”

Hayden isn’t that sure–he’d have liked Shane to at least try. But then, Hayden probably wouldn’t have liked whatever new place Shane would have found with a green lawn and a white picket fence either.

Hayden can hear the girls talking a mile a second upstairs–he hopes they’re not making a mess of Shane’s minimalist decor–and from up Shane’s shoulder, he catches Jackie’s eye, standing at the other side of the room. Her face is composed as his, but he knows she must have a few thoughts of her own. The last few days–weeks, really–were a tango of trying to workshop how they were handling this; how they were handling Shane as a whole, really. It’s hard for Hayden not to feel they’ve failed somehow–they’re standing under a ceiling Shane lives underneath, and it’s no longer their house.

Jackie asks him about the windows of the room, overlooking Montreal’s skyline. Shane’s ready to answer everything related to constructions and contractors; he certainly prefers that to personal talk, about the apartment–which he already wasn’t excited to talk about, obviously, by how he kept it a secret from the first time he thought of moving out–or relationships, still ongoing or otherwise. Hayden would have felt more fondly about Shane’s control-freak tendencies translating into him being really into real estate, if those last few weeks hadn’t been so frustrating.

In another person’s house, they’d keep the kids close, but they were set loose–Shane didn’t seem to mind. Aside from Ruby and Jade, Arthur and Amber are taking their own uncertain steps into the rooms on the same floor they are (Amber much more slowly, of course). They don’t care too much about the apartment–probably because it still hasn’t fully computed into their head that this new, interesting place is also where Shane is going to spend the majority of his time now. They still ask when he’s getting home for dinner. Shane has come around once or twice, ever since he moved out, but that can only last so long: he’s already a busy man as it is.

The electric outlets in this place are all childproof, which might be the only specificity that Hayden has found in the apartment–nice of Shane to do it. Hayden assumes it’s for his kids, since Shane doesn’t know other children; he certainly doesn’t think the other kids from the team will be seeing this place any soon. It should comfort him that Shane has opened up a space for the twins, Arthur and Amber, but it just makes his decision to move out feel more final.

Usually, this would be the point Hayden would tease Shane if he’s doing some family planning of his own, but the attempt would fall flat on the coattails of whatever had gone between him and Lily. That conversation might as well have been washed away with the clothes Shane had brought back with himself that afternoon; Hayden doesn’t know what happened to them, hasn’t seen any of those articles of clothing since the last–and only–time. It’s a good summary of the event as a whole.

Shane hasn’t mentioned it or his reaction anymore than he’d already been short on words when it happened. Hayden might not have helped; at the start, he’d been so shaken to have seen Shane that way, he hadn’t wanted to touch the bruise. He thinks he’s going to remember how shaky Shane’s breaths had been, as if on the edge of a full on panic attack, until the end of his life. Now, he’s just frustrated with himself–he should have confronted him when he had the chance. A few days after the team got back from their road trip, Shane said his apartment was done, and he moved out.

Shane’s breathing isn’t shaky now; it’s measured and controlled, in a mechanical way. Not truly an improvement. Shane’s been threading the edge between uncertain and uptight the last few weeks –jeez, Hayden wonders why–and he can see that fight right to the way he hasn’t taken his hands off his pockets for the last thirty minutes, as if Hayden, Jackie and the kids are strangers, not his family.

Hayden’s glad to finally get to see the apartment–Shane clearly cares a lot about what he thinks of it, with the way he’s holding his body–but it hasn’t felt worth it that, for it to happen, Shane bumped up when he moved in. Hayden wonders if that was also because he had seen him cry; if Shane is overcorrecting with distance. He might as well, even if, now, he’s holding on to Hayden’s words, and Jackie’s.

“I think it’s nice,” she tells him, after he’s finished with his spiel about laminated glass, looking at her expectantly. Jackie puts a little more effort in her words than Hayden had, but she’s a little more honest too; she frowns a little, although she keeps her smile. “The whole apartment is. But it seems like a lot of space to keep from getting cold.”

“The building’s central heating is really good,” Shane either misreads her concern, or purposefully barrels across it. Jackie’s mouth purses a little.

Hayden feels antsy just standing up. “Do you have an indoor rink here too?” he asks, because he’s just as allergic to conflict as Shane is, apparently. Push and pull; he’s more glad than he should be when Shane goes back to empty stock talk.

“The property’s not that big. The Bell Centre is twenty minutes away, fifteen without traffic. I already talked with Coach about getting there earlier, for some additional reps with my own trainer, so…”

“I don’t think you need more training,” Hayden can’t help but begin, and it’s little seeing two dogs get too close to just one bone; he knows he’s a step away from an argument even when he’s the one approaching it, and doesn’t even want one. Shane expectedly stiffens, hands tighter in his pockets.

“With my performance two weeks ago–”

It’s not the first time they ran these circles.

Jackie steps in the middle of it before anything can actually start. Expertedly, she just sidesteps the issue; “Do you have a private gym here? You always complained that we didn’t really have one at home.”

Shane’s shoulders fall again. Hayden knows the fight has run off him when he turns his nose as if it caught a sour smell–an entirely different expression from the hard lines he’d show if he started arguing with Hayden again. Instead, Shane’s expression almost looks childish as he kind of whines to Jackie, “I didn’t complain,” still more earnestly than he’d do if this was an actual argument.

He goes on to answer Jackie. Of course the apartment has a gym–Hayden already can imagine Shane spending more time than he should in it, this week and all the others after. Overworking is all he’s been doing recently. At first, Hayden had thought he just wanted to have an excuse to avoid Hayden, but it turned out even worse, because Shane actually thinks he needs to improve after his last game with Boston–as if he hadn’t played badly because he’d been crying just a few hours before.

There were no more tears, and if Shane has his way, there probably won’t ever be. He had called Jackie after the game, of course–Hayden would have kept him hostage in Boston if he hadn’t–and, later, Hayden was ready to fill all the blanks his private call with her in the bathroom had left; not that he knew a lot more. Jackie didn’t say what Shane talked with her–it was private–but she didn’t necessarily know more than Hayden. There was a fight, or a misunderstanding, and Shane ran out of wherever he was with Lily–and he refused to believe there had been any other option, or that things didn’t need to be over.

Shane has been upset ever since, even if he has tried to hide it. Hayden isn’t the only one that got some flack; seemingly, Shane has had short answers even to his mom. Hayden can’t say it’s a privilege that he knows this was because of Lily, when Yuna doesn’t, because he can’t actually do anything about it: just watch Shane throw himself ever harder in training, and games, and eating less and spending more time away from home. And now, no time at home at all.

It’s a sorry comfort to bring his belongings back to him; for one, Hayden actually gets to see his new place now, but he feels like he’s cut the last connection Shane had with them. It should be a ridiculous thought–Shane lived with them for years, surely it hadn’t meant so little, and Hayden still plays in the same team as him, they’re still bound to be around each other–but he just doesn’t know.

The thing about Shane, is that he’s such a chill guy, you don’t know there’s a problem until he’s back to the hotel room with a stranger’s clothes and tears in his eyes; if he gets his way, you don’t even see him like that at all. Is Hayden going to know if he really had reason to worry about Shane moving out? Worse yet–is he even going to have a chance, when Shane’s not living with him anymore to begin with?

It’s a mess–it would be a mess even if they hadn’t had the Lily of it all. Hayden drags a hand across his chin while Shane is distracted with Jackie, trying to pretend he’s not exhausted as he feels. Four bags of stuff–clothes, hockey gear and books and mementos Shane had accumulated in the period of six years–shouldn’t have felt quite so heavy. Hayden looks at them, still waiting by the front door, and he just feels sad at the deja vu of the first time Shane stood in home, bags on his shoulders. He hadn’t thought watching the reverse would feel so much like defeat.

“It does seem like you’ve got a well-prepared place,” Jackie says when Shane is finished again, diplomatic. She squeezes Hayden’s wrist when she passes by him–more arguments. Hayden stuffs his own hands inside his jeans too, feeling his jaw twitch.

“The people that did all the work were really good. If you guys ever want to, uh, add anything else to the–to your house, I can give you their number.”

“Sure,” Hayden says indistinctly. Still with an arm wrapped around him, Jackie squeezes again.

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence. It’s not really comforting that Shane’s just as out of words as them.

“So.” Hayden shuffles on his feet. “Which of the rooms are yours?”

His short walk around at the start introduced Hayden to several. “I haven’t picked out yet,” Shane says, without realizing how depressing that is. He’s slept in this place for the past week. “I’ve been staying at a different one each night.”

“Cool,” Hayden says. It’s only marginally better than will you please just talk?

“Daaaaad,” Ruby runs down the stairs. She’s down before either Hayden or Jackie–or even Shane–have the chance to tell her not to do that. “A TV has a whole room upstairs.”

“That’s the TV room,” Shane tells her, but that just gives Ruby more ammunition.

“I don’t have a Ruby room.”

“Hey, maybe Shane can have a sleepover some time, right?” Jackie suggests–she might be partly just indulging Ruby, before she does make them do yet another renovation in their house just so she can sleep in a different room than her twin. But Shane looks disproportionately dreadful of the thought. Hayden wishes that didn’t make him feel quite so defensive.

He holds back from asking–what, you changed their diapers but now you can’t have them around for one night, which would already be unfair. Shane’s uptightness must have been bleeding on him. It’s still a near thing for Hayden, when Shane answers, “Sure,” as clearly lying as anyone could.

Ruby doesn’t notice–although Jackie does–which is really what should matter. She just reclines against her mom’s side with a remainder of a pout before her sister also comes back down the stairs.

If only you talked, Hayden thinks, in repetitive intervals, as they get through bland small talk, as if that was what they’d ever done with Shane, and then said their goodbyes early, because Shane had an appointment with his personal trainer before dinner. If only you talked–like when Ruby and Jade were still really, really tiny, and started fighting over toys and their parents’ attention, and he and Jackie sat them down and spoke about how instead of letting everything blow out, they could just take a moment and talk. Like siblings that loved each other should. It was such a simple lesson–Hayden wishes he also had a kindergarten way to tell Shane, and have him listen, that if he only talked then he’d feel better. No anger crowding at the borders, no need to feel he needs to run away. Hayden doesn’t know why he just doesn’t do it. He can’t imagine a single thing Shane could do–or a person he could date–that would justify this length of withdrawal.

When they go back home, kids stuffed in Hayden’s stupid dad Van, Jackie reaches a hand out to touch where he’s holding onto the steering wheel, as if to say ‘I know’. She’s got to have her own frustrations too. Hayden wished they could know all the rest too.

And then, a really fucking weird thing happens.

It’s after a few days of continued stiff and standoffish half-conversations. The team has an afternoon practice since they’re not playing that same night–only the day after–but Hayden doesn’t attend it. He’s got a really bad twinge in his left leg, worse whenever they get closer to winter, and it hadn’t helped that he got a puck right where his knee pads ended in the last Metros’ game. He’s not in injury reverse or even just tagged as day-to-day, the team medics just told him to take the break if he felt like it, and Hayden certainly felt he could.

He stayed bored at home, no team practice and no dinner with Shane sat across the table eating his weird, dietician-approved food. And then, the next morning, Hayden woke up to a series of Instagram updates from J.J. Boiziau about a party the night before, shots of several of his friends–hockey players or otherwise–platters of nice food and a lot of drinking. It should have prepared Hayden to hear him talking about it in the next morning skate–except the pictures hadn’t included–

“Shane?” Hayden frowns, mouth left open–and, really, he might be hurting Shane’s reputation right now with his bewildered reaction, but there’s a reason for it. Shane–the guy who doesn’t drink and barely eats, went to a party at a restaurant, where he didn’t know anyone? Because J.J. invited him?

“Oh, the credit is not mine,” J.J, says, smirking. He still looked pretty fucking proud to say Shane was at his freaking party. “I told him the cast of X-Squad was there. Including Rose Landry.”

It shouldn’t necessarily surprise Hayden that Shane was hidden from J.J.’s Instagram posts; for someone who has a lot of brand deals, Shane hates being in pictures. He’s only ever let Hayden include him in family photos when it’s in the ones that aren’t posted anywhere. It also makes sense that there weren’t photos of all the attending actors, for the same reasons. But Hayden doesn’t feel like he’d have felt more prepared for what J.J. is saying even if there was photographic evidence.

“You’re fucking with me,” Hayden tells J.J., and he immediately feels bad when McGroarty–who’d eavesdropped on the conversation until just becoming a part of it–reacts in a similar way. He’s not the only Metros that can’t believe Shane and Rose Landry lingered with each other; a few of the other guys jeer from the side instead of focusing on putting their skates on. They all come from a very different place of affection than Hayden.

“They spent the whooooole night together. It was very cute.” J.J. isn’t speaking with derision; he and Shane get on well. J.J. struggled with English when he first got to the team, but was always a chatty guy–Shane was one of the few Metros that listened to him, taking the time to try to understand what he had to say, be it in French or English. J.J’s smiling now like he’s seen his kid brother have his first kiss. Shit–did Shane and Rose Landry kiss? “Maybe we’ll see more of it. Her movie’s filming here.”

Hayden doesn’t really know what to think. It’s a childish thought, but he wishes he could have heard about all of this from Shane’s own mouth–even if Shane is the last person in the world that would willingly choose to talk about this kind of thing. It doesn’t stop Hayden from feeling out of the loop; the last thing he wants proved to himself, right now.

Shane gets to morning skate late. So much for living fifteen minutes away from the Bell Centre. Hayden wants to grab a minute to speak with him, but Shane doesn’t have even that. Theriault always goes extra hard with him in training, and even before they get on the ice, he already has something to talk about with Shane. People from the front office wait by the wings, with their own waiting conversations, and all of Hayden’s opportunities to skate by Shane and have some time of his own with him keep slipping away.

He’s lucky he even gets to leave the ice right behind Shane when practice is over, a minute when they walk together to take their skates off, far from private when they’re surrounded by the usual noise that follows the team.

“Hey–you’re okay?” Hayden asks him. It’s the only opening he has to attempt to start a conversation. Shane raises his eyes from where he was sitting to unlace his skates, and although they’ve been in a weird place with each other, his shoulders still relax a bit when he sees that it’s Hayden talking with him. Shane nods.

Before Hayden can ask about last night, and what persons Shane may have seemingly met, Theriault is coming back with a tablet in hand and the GM behind him. “Hollander–you’re up to review game tape? There’s some pointers on Detroit we should see before tonight.”

Shane looks away from Hayden and nods. Moment over.

He still knocks a socked foot against Hayden before getting up, but it’s not the full conversation Hayden had wanted. “See you tonight?” Shane asks him, before going. They’re playing against Detroit tonight, and it isn’t like there’s a chance Hayden won’t be there, but he understands what Shane is trying to do is keep a channel open, so he nods. Hayden wishes he could believe he could find some time to speak alone with Shane before playing against Detroit.

What he hadn’t expected to see that night–who, actually–was Rose Landry, sitting in a private section of the stands, and wearing a Hollander jersey of all things. The game hasn’t started yet–they’re just stretching and warming up right now–but the mixed crowd of Montreal and Detroit fans reacts as if one of the teams has just made an extraordinary goal (or had one scored on them). Hayden’s ears almost hurt as Rose Landry gets up just to show her jersey–the jumbotron focusing on her, and the view of Shane’s number and name displayed on her back. Hayden almost feels dizzy. He heard about her and Shane just this morning, and she’s already attending his games?

But the dizziness, the confusion, the concern fizzle away when Hayden looks at Shane, kneeling on the ice as he stretches his hips. Shane doesn’t like noise nor attention, but it’s like he isn’t computing either of those–there’s something pink on his cheeks, distinct from any color that might come from the coldness of the ice, but he looks pleased, not embarrassed at seeing Rose Landry seemingly publicly profess her loyalty. He looks really fucking happy. Free of weight, for the first time in weeks. How can Hayden see that, and not believe that whatever is going up on the stands is a good thing?

He glances between him and her again. The cheers of tonight’s attendees disappear as background noise. Hayden skates by Shane and when he gets to his side, sharing a look for the first time in what feels like forever, he can do nothing but tap Shane on the shoulder with a little bit of pride. Shane’s not standing crying at a hotel room door. He’s not having clandestine meetings with someone. Hayden knows Rose Landry’s name and can see her with his own eyes right there on the stands–the Bell Centre’s entire seating capacity can see that. This isn’t a development Hayden is going to stand against.

DECEMBER, 2016

Hayden gives Jade a stack of plates to take to the backyard patio, and help her mom set the table; past the open windows and door leading outside, he can just barely make out her speaking with Amber, who can’t–and shouldn’t–help with anything, but likes to feel included anyway. Still inside the kitchen, Shane takes the glasses, which are the most breakable anyway. He has to walk around Ruby, zooming through the kitchen after spoons and forks, and barely breaks his stride as he passes her. He frees up a hand to steady her shoulder when he walks by, contact almost unconscious, and so casual Shane doesn’t give it with the tight-jaw he usually shakes the hands of officials and other strangers. Hayden, privately, smiles.

He thinks he gets his parents now. It’s not a new thought; every few weeks, Hayden feels like he goes through something that makes him be just that little more understanding of his mom and dad, and terrified at the fact he’s getting old. From the moment he first had a little family of his own, they’d begun asking him to come visit them in Halifax, easier said than done, even without considering that Hayden only barely has a month free a year. But he understands it now: every time Shane takes a few hours to come visit them–easier, when they live in the same city–Hayden feels as giddy as his own children.

They set the table. This part is familiar: part of the routine Shane left behind when he moved out. He’s quietly compliant with everything Jackie asks, and just a little bit cheeky when Hayden chirps him. With how his nerves seemed fried just a few weeks ago, annoyance coming to the surface at the drop of a hat, this return to normalcy–a new kind of normalcy, at least–feels nothing short of ecstatic.

Hayden likes having a big family; it’s very different from how his own childhood was, just him, his mom and his dad sitting at a table for every meal. This is a lot noisier, but Hayden has found he prefers it, barely being able to follow each different line of conversation his kids have going on around the table. Even Amber is talking–in her own two-year old way. She’s been really into repeating please and thank you at, respectively, pointing at something she wants and then getting it. Shane helps her get a serving of mashed potato.

Jackie’s smiling too, but there’s something different about her; maybe not as easily satisfied as Hayden. There’s a tightness at the corner of her mouth and eye whenever Hayden talks about Shane and Rose, although every time it’s gone so soon, Hayden doesn’t even know if he’s really seen it.

The flash happens again now when, between passing a plate of peas across the table, Hayden starts, “This is nice. It’s been a–hey, no, Amber, you’ve got to chew that more. It’s been a while; we should do this more. Ever thought about bringing Rose around too?”

His eyes are focused on Shane; in the way he goes flustered, just a little bit, still light enough that it doesn’t turn into him closing himself off outright. Hayden doesn’t really pay attention to the slight tightness between Jackie’s brow.

“Oh, uh. I don’t know.” Shane hides his eyes in his plate of carefully-portioned food–but he’s smiling. He tends to do that, when someone mentions Rose. “She’s pretty busy.”

“Who’s Rose?” Arthur asks, at the same time as Ruby’s a lot less subtle question, “Is Rose your girlfriend?”

Shane covers the smile that takes his mouth with only some abashedness to his body language; he still seems more pleased than terrified, which could never be said about any past relationship. “She’s, uh, she’s a friend of mine,” he says, only outright answering Arthur’s question.

“She’s an actress,” Hayden adds, the most exciting detail. The kids listen to him with wide-eyed interest. “You remember that movie that was playing in theaters a few months ago–that girl with the bow? She’s the girl with the bow.”

They–expectedly–answer with some amount of buzz, although Hayden can’t be sure if they actually remember the movie he’s talking about or if the reaction is just due to the presumed importance of an actress. The kids are old enough now–well, aside from Amber–to recognize that actors are kind of a big deal. Although fame’s still kind of an awkward subject with them, when they personally know Shane. Once, Jade asked a kid next door if a family member also had their photo displayed on the mall, because she saw a brand deal with Shane there and just thought everyone did that.

“Maybe she’ll come here someday, eh?” Hayden suggests, between that space of genuine suggestion and friendly teasing. He would like to know Rose, of course; she’s a part of Shane’s life. It’s, seemingly, a good part. “Don’t worry–the kids are going to be on their best behavior.”

The kids nod rigorously to Shane. Jackie interrupts them. “Is she still shooting a movie here?”

She’s looking at where she’s helping Arthur cut some food, so Hayden can’t see her eyes–but he swears that there’s that tightness to her posture again.

“Yeah,” Shane says. “For a few weeks more.”

“Sucks she won’t get to watch any game on a road trip,” Hayden says. They’ll have to travel for two games in the Western Conference in just three days, before coming back home for another two on their home turf. “I mean–if she likes hockey.”

So far, Rose Landry has shown up to almost all games they’ve played at home, but Hayden doesn’t know if she likes them, or just Shane.

Maybe it’s both–Shane’s smiling. “She’s from Minnesota. I think it’s kind of big there.”

“You talked about that?” Jackie asks, and clarifies: hometowns, childhoods... When Shane nods, taking a forkful of leafy greens, her face does something complicated, as if working through something; Hayden doesn’t know what conclusion she got to. “That’s…nice. You talked about Ottawa too?”

“A little bit.” Shane shrugs.

“I mean–I’m sure you two don't need to know everything about each other right away,” Hayden says, looking between his wife and Shane. To the latter, he knocks both their elbows together in a conspiratorial way. “You can just have some fun, right?”

Hayden has never known Shane not to be absolutely serious about every single thing he does, but he’ll take a change in program at this point. Shane would have deserved one, after Lily–even if Hayden doesn’t actually know if he’s actually going through one.

Shane looks like he’s having fun. He looked like that when Rose attended his game, the first time, and then all the others after, and he looked like that in the paparazzi photos that hit the internet a few days ago, a few dates across town that Rose took him to. Shane isn’t the type to go out, but he seemed like he was having fun. He was holding Rose’s hand; smiling; talking with her friends; talking with her costars. He was socializing, and–publicly–getting to know a woman his age. In one picture, Shane was even eating cake.

His shoulders are bunched up now, sitting between Hayden’s family and getting asked about said woman, but just by the typical fluster you’d expect from a teenager talking about his first girlfriend. Hayden is ready to forget about his Ottawa girl, his Montreal girl–they’ve never really got Shane like this. Well, no: Shane never let himself appear this way, or any way at all, when it was related to them. Hayden remembers furtive texting and a lot of smiles hidden behind Shane’s hand. Now, he texts Rose out in the open. Hayden takes this as nothing but a good sign.

Even if Shane doesn’t really have a lot to say when Hayden tries to ask him about Rose–what is she like, what does she like, what does he like about her. Shane’s pretty short on words in general, so maybe that’s why he never really seems to know what to answer; what makes him click with Rose, that same something that was so effortless for Hayden to recognize in Jackie. That the same reply doesn’t come as easily to Shane doesn’t need to mean anything bad. Hayden doesn’t believe that it does. Even if Jackie looks a little doubtful every time Rose is mentioned.

“It’s good to talk about real things,” she disagrees with Hayden. Sometimes, it’s like she’s worried Shane’s going to be married off to a loveless marriage. “It’s how we know it’s a real relationship. But anyway–if she has time, we could maybe do something, just us grownups. Like a double date.”

Arthur’s face does something sad, like an abandoned puppy. “We aren’t invited?”

“Oh, buddy.” Hayden ruffles his hair before he gets into a mood; he can’t help but have to hide an amused smile at how seriously he takes it. “Sometimes adults have got to have some fun of their own.” He doesn’t say that it’s also probably a lot less nerve-wrecking for Rose to meet Hayden and Jackie, Shane’s friends, than the Pikes, a six-piece joint deal, and the family that personally housed Shane.

“I wanna meet an actress,” Jade whines, and Hayden pets her hair too.

“You’ll get your chance too. Right?” And he asks the last part to Shane. Hayden is honest enough to admit that he’s no less excited than his children to get Rose to meet the entire family unit; solid assurance of how serious that relationship might be.

Even if he’s the only one that seems to be hoping that it is serious.

Later, Hayden and Jackie stand in the kitchen together, washing the dishes from today’s lunch. Shane couldn’t stay; Hayden waved away the guilt in his face from leaving him and Jackie to do the cleanup alone–the kids can’t really help yet. Shane already washed so many dishes in this kitchen, Hayden figures he’s allowed to abscond from a few ones.

The food and afternoon has settled well in Hayden’s stomach. He feels good and comfortable, even with his elbows up to soapy water, rinsing each dish before arranging them in the dishwasher. With the muffled sound of the kids entertaining themselves in the playroom, Hayden can almost pretend this is another weekend from months ago, and Shane’s squirreled away in his room, making up game plans.

He doesn’t think there’s anything to discuss and doesn’t expect anything of note when Jackie starts a conversation about Shane and Rose; if anything, it should be a review of their talk with him. Hayden and Jackie have shared a million reports with each other after meeting friends and family, but Hayden isn’t expecting any kind of real scrutiny to be pointed at Shane–thinking of him and Rose just makes Hayden feel kind of proud. He’s not proud to say that it takes him hearing a lot of Jackie’s close examination to realize that maybe she doesn’t feel the same.

“Wait.” Hayden pauses with his hands still full of soap. “You don’t–don’t we like Rose?”

He lowers his voice at the end, like this is a clandestine conversation. It’s not as if the kids have any chance of hearing them–they seem pretty interested in their game of twister–but just the thought that this turn in a conversation might make it back to Shane makes Hayden’s stomach wrap itself in knots. The last thing Hayden wants is for him to think he doesn’t support him. Jackie sighs.

“I don’t feel any way about Rose Landry–except that she should find a better movie agent, maybe. I’m just not sure if Shane’s being totally honest to himself about her.”

“What do you mean? He looks super happy.” Hayden thinks back to that game against Detroit, and Rose Landry wearing a Hollander jersey–how Shane had looked. It seemed like such a simple conclusion that this is a good thing for him, Hayden can’t see where Jackie is finding some issue. Aside from, maybe–Hayden startles at the reminder–her old suspicion of Shane not being straight.

Jackie interrupts the thought before it can take any proper root. “Nevermind.” She seems a little frustrated–although Hayden is fucked if it’s with him, herself, or even Shane. Jackie shakes her head, and even that question mark is dispersed. She does look like she’d rather pay attention to cleaning up after lunch.

But some roots have grabbed Hayden, if just by a little bit. Years ago, Hayden had–just for a little while–also considered that maybe Shane wasn’t really into girls, before putting it away after the reassurance he had had a girlfriend in Ottawa, and then the further backing that Shane was meeting someone again, if secretly. He must have been right to assume it was another girl, because Shane is surely dating one right now.

Hayden doesn’t think Jackie would outright minimize the relationship just because it’d go against a previous suspicion; she wants the best for Shane. But Hayden doesn’t know what he should think instead.

“He looks super happy,” Hayden repeats himself uselessly, and he also doesn’t know if he’s saying that to Jackie or himself.

“Sure. And I’m happy for him if he is. I just, you know, wonder if he’s more happy about being in a relationship than actually being in one. But you’re right–we should set up a date with both of them. It’d be fun.”

She finishes putting away the leftovers and comes to Hayden's side to kiss him on the cheek; an argument breaker if Hayden has ever seen one–not that this was an argument. Jackie didn’t leave it the chance to become one, intentionally so, in the same non-confrontational manner she didn’t outright question Shane, but just stood back to watch him.

Hayden blinks, just feeling more lost in the conversation–and now, left behind as Jackie leaves the kitchen area to follow the kids’ noise. That the conversation never really started, like it did years ago, when Jackie made him question if Shane could be something other than straight, doesn’t feel like an improvement; Hayden had felt taken off guard then, and he certainly feels off guard now, except Jackie didn’t even stick around to poke him into submission. Hayden doesn’t know what it means that he’s seemingly being treated with the same kids gloves as Shane. He, suddenly, doesn’t know if there should be anything else for him to think about Shane's relationship with Rose.

But he looks happy. The Montreal Metros leave for a road trip, win one game and lose the other, and Hayden keeps thinking–but he looks happy. In the years Hayden has known Shane, he’s learned him like an animal wrangler, and he knows a happy Shane Hollander. Shane’s happy when Rose comes to watch his games and he’s happy when she texts. He looks light and relieved, almost, like a weight has come off of him, and Hayden isn’t so stupid he doesn’t catch the parallel.

Shane’s relaxed smile when he gets a text from Rose and how stiffly he’d hide the phone against himself when it was Lily. Shane talking about Rose, awkwardly, but still outloud, and how Lily was a badly kept secret. But, even while hiding the phone, Shane would look happy with Lily too–privately so. Hayden doesn’t have any useful point of comparison, because both contacts had come from such different standings. He doesn’t know why they had to.

Shane’s not happy now. They’re playing at home again in Montreal, but not only is Rose Landry missing from the stands, they’re up against Boston, and it feels like a quintessential game in how fucking brutal they’re acting.

Well, their captain most of all. Rozanov always had a reputation as a brute bastard, but usually he’s careful enough to not stray too far away from the line of clean hits. Tonight, it’s like he’s personally decided to walk all over it–or, more precisely, walk all over Shane. Plays between both captains are usually vicious, the way only two matched players are capable of, but Hayden wants to say Rozanov is being a fucking asshole right now. He far preferred the last time they played against him and his team in Boston, although the Metros lost that night; at least then Rozanov hadn’t seemed like he even wanted to get close to Shane.

He slashes him, and this time, at least, the refs call Rozanov out on it. It’s a delayed penalty as not to interrupt the play, and Shane has to fight with Rozanov on his coattails right to the Raiders Zone, zooming and droning around him like a killer bee. Shane passes to Comeau before Rozanov can actually steal the puck from him–or barrel Shane onto the ground–but the Raiders’ goaltender catches the puck when Comeau one-times it. It stops the play and the refs start barking at Rozanov to get his ass to the penalty box; he goes complaining the whole way.

Hayden skates by Shane, glaring at Rozanov as he does. Shane’s looking to the ground–he fusses with a glove where Rozanov’s stick made contact with his wrist. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What a fucking asshole.” He’s been up on Shane the whole game. It’s gone way far than it usually does with those two. “What bug bit him? He needs way more penalty time–the refs know he’s been targeting you.”

Any hockey player worth their money is going to start a fight if someone acts the way Rozanov is acting around their captain, but it’s complicated when Rozanov also has a C on his chest–the Raiders would hit back at any response under the same spirit. Hayden doesn’t know if it is worth it to start a rink-wide brawl, but he’s starting to consider it.

Shane shakes his head, stopping anything before it can start. “Hayd.” He looks so forlorn about it–not only apathetic that it isn’t worth it, but something else, hard to put into words. It’s how he looked like when he played right after finishing things with Lily. His performance tonight is as shaky as it had been then. “Let it go.”

The play restarts and Shane skates to take the faceoff in Raider territory. Rozanov, when Hayden looks at him in the penalty box, is fuming. He’s not looking at Shane anymore, at the very least; his eyes are on the ground, although, from the distance across the ice, Hayden still sees that they look no less displeased. He’s such a prick–what does he even have to be mad at Shane about?

They don’t manage a goal on 5-on-4; the energy on the ice is all over the place tonight, and Hayden can only be happy that the Raiders are also kind of playing like shit. There isn’t any improvement when their captain is finally out of the box–he’s still playing as if you get goals by how many times you check an opposing player, not by shooting pucks onto the net. Hayden tries to get between him and Shane a few times, but it’s just more frustrating that Rozanov doesn’t even give him the time of the day.

The Metros win, although it doesn’t end up feeling very victorious. Sometimes, 1-0 can mean both defenses were really on point, but Hayden has to say everyone’s offense sucked tonight. Off games happen a time a dozen, so it doesn’t have to mean a lot, but they’re not in the pre-season anymore, and it’s always different when it’s Boston; the team feels as frustrated with their performance as the fans must’ve had from the stands.

Hayden isn’t looking forward to post-game media, but he’ll pay his Assistant Captain dues tonight and take it for Shane's sake. He doesn't want him to be hounded about his performance–Shane is already hard enough on himself, he doesn't need five different reporters to help him. It's only some comfort that the Raiders will also have to talk about how they played tonight. At least Hayden gets to say that they won at the end.

Shane walks off the ice with weight on his shoulders. After these games, you also feel tired emotionally. Hayden cuts up the line of Metros to get to him before they all file into the Bell Centre’s locker room, but he only gets a hand around Shane’s arm and half a syllable out in his mouth before Theriault shows up, apparently with the same idea as him.

“Hollander,” he speaks over Hayden. Shane’s shoulders visibly tighten up, at Theriault’s voice, and then the sight of him.

“Coach.”

“You know what I have to say?”

“Yeah,” Shane says in dejection. Hayden squeezes his arm reflexively.

“Great, so we don’t have to waste so much time. Come on, we need to talk about what the hell happened tonight. With all of you.” Theriault points his finger at the players entering the locker room; each of them grimaces with no lack of shame. “You too, Pike. What turnover was that during the third?”

“I wanted to get between Shane and–”

Theriault makes an angry buzzer sound; it’d be more funny if his face didn’t look so sour. “Wrong answer. You shouldn’t lose the puck, ever. We’ll talk about that too. Lord almighty–almost losing to Boston on home ice. Jesus. It’s like you all forgot this is your day job.”

Both Shane and Hayden open their mouths, but Theriault closes his with a clack of teeth and just with that, they’re shut out. He was a goalie during his play days, Hayden is suddenly reminded; playing gave him an ice-cold heart, and then coaching made him even meaner. Hayden would be more comfortable facing off against a top-league goaltender during a shootout than talking with him right now. “We’ll talk inside,” Theriault says, and there’s no room for argument. “There’s no point repeating the same thing with each of you. Come on.”

One of the media reps that were in charge tonight comes by the door before Theriault can drag them all inside. Before she even smiles apologetically Hayden already knows she’s here to get one of them to do a post-game interview; he’s just glad that it’ll mean Theriault won’t completely chew them out. If he gets too loud, there’s a chance the cameras and mics in the hallway will catch it.

“Shane,” she singles him out right away. “Do you have five?”

Hayden answers before he can. “I can do it.” He isn’t sure what’s actually more merciful, between listening to Theriault’s post-game criticism or having to act upbeat to a camera after playing a full period of hockey, but at least there’s somewhere to sit in the locker room. Hayden squeezes Shane’s arm again before letting go. “Where do you want me?”

“I’m still going to talk with you,” Theriault threatens severely–still with that finger–but Hayden nods with sufficient defeat for coach to take off. He calls Shane into the locker room with him with a nod, and after Hayden and Shane exchange glances–reassuring from his part, Hayden hopes–Shane goes.

It’s a little more after five minutes when Hayden is done. He tries to fill all media availability by himself so nobody else from the team will get hounded (Shane, most of all) so he ends up repeating the same thing over and over. We kept our ground, there’s always more room for improvement, we’re still leading in the regular season, no, I don’t know what was up with the Raiders’ captain, yes, we’re thinking of the playoffs–etc, etc. When Hayden is done, the sweat has cooled off and settled on his skin like a cold. The hallway back to the Metros feels too quiet.

Half of the team is getting on their street clothes when he’s back in the locker room, done with their showers, and the rest must still be washing off the grime from the game. Theriault’s nowhere to be seen–unfortunately, neither is Shane.

“They went to the media room to break the game down,” Blanchard fills Hayden in. Of course–he suppresses a sigh. “But it’s supposed to be a quick thing. Hollander’s going out?”

With the way Blanchard says it, he’s not sure himself. Nobody would, considering it’s Shane, and he’d have had said something for anyone to even consider it. The team certainly isn’t going out tonight; there’s not a lot to celebrate. Hayden didn’t know Shane had any plans of his own.

He doesn’t tell Blanchard about that, of course. Whatever Shane’s plans are, if Hayden is quick enough with his shower, he might still see him before he’s out of the stadium, and then he’ll finally be able to properly check on him. Thankfully, with years of parenthood in his belt, Hayden is more than great at getting in and out of the shower in under five minutes.

He’s patting himself dry before Blanchard has even finished putting his things away. Hayden leaves the locker room to look for Shane before anyone else has the chance to strike up a conversation. He’s not planning on interrupting Theriault and Shane’s meeting, for no one's sake but Shane’s own; the last thing he needs is to seem like he’s not in charge of himself. But Hayden can’t really wait by the door to the media room either, unless he wants to catch that lecture as soon as coach is done with Shane. Hayden’s plan is just to walk very slowly, but he ends up distracted before he gets halfway there. Smoking isn’t allowed inside the building, but the stench of cigarettes is unmistakable as he passes by an employee exit.

Nobody on Montreal’s team smokes–any athlete would be dumb to. But Hayden has seen enough photos of Rozanov in clubs and out and about to know he drags a cigarette around sometimes: he knows Rozanov is that dumb. He has no idea why he’d be in this service area though–it’s closer to the part of the building dedicated to the Metros than the one sectioned off for travelling teams. Rozanov would be in enemy territory while already inside enemy territory. Like a Russian spy in the house of Canada's prime minister, as if Ontario wasn’t dangerous enough.

The exit door, more discreet than the one in the private arrival terminal, where the players get their pictures taken by media when they walk in for a game, is open an inch: how the cigarette smoke has drifted inside. Whoever is smoking left it propped a little open–maybe scared to be locked outside. Or unwilling to have to ask for help if that was the case.

There’s got to be a really big statistical number of how many smokers there are in Canada, or North America as a whole, but Rozanov might as well be the only one in Hayden’s head. He knows it’s a big assumption to make, but, call it a hunch, he just knows it’s him, like an ache in his teeth. Hayden also knows it’s a terrible idea, but he interrupts his plans and destination to follow the smoke out before he really even knows what he’s doing.

There’s something almost as bitter as the smell of smoke in Hayden’s chest, when he remembers how Rozanov treated Shane on the ice tonight. He’s under no illusion he’d win against him in a fight (during hockey or otherwise–Rozanov is built like an attack dog), but at least now there’s no chance of him skating away if Hayden tries to give him a few words; or that his goons are going to show up.

Hayden opens the door completely so he can walk outside, and it makes a big, rusty noise. The smell of smoke is stronger outside, but the cold too–Hayden almost forgets about the former when the first breeze of pure ice hits him. He didn’t put his outer layers on before leaving the locker room, only planning on finding Shane, and his hoodie is close to useless against the December night air. Hayden wishes he could loom in front of Rozanov, but he has to hide his hands inside his sweats as he walks towards him, instead.

Rozanov isn’t very far from the door, or the building. Hayden’s hunch was proven right–somehow, he still doesn’t feel particularly victorious. Rozanov is dressed in all black, including a leather jacket, which should be as useless in the cold as Hayden’s jumper, but he’s found a way to tough it out apparently. His hair is matted to his face, as if it was still wet when he came outside–has he never heard of pneumonia? Most importantly, Rozanov takes one look at Hayden coming his way, after the noise from the exit door, and physically throws his head behind, doing nothing to contain a very loud, very long-suffering groan.

The curly-haired back of his head drags against the building’s outer wall. Defensively, Hayden just feels himself grow more bitter–he didn’t even say anything yet!

Rozanov stops him before he can, looking at the cloudy sky with more self-righteous irritation than he’s worth, considering he’s in Hayden’s stadium, after losing to his team–and after being an asshole himself. Rozanov doesn’t deign Hayden with even stopping smoking. “Go away, Pike,” he drones, long-suffering; the smoke blows out of his mouth and nostrils as if just foggy air from the cold. Between the cigarette and the cold night air, his voice sounds more grave than usual; it makes his accent roughen.

Go away, Hayden repeats bewilderedly in his head; he doesn’t know if he should be more offended or stunned. He certainly knows he shouldn’t be stunned to feel offended. It’s fucking Rozanov. “Wh–H–Where do you get off?” he barks out when he can get a word in order. So much for not being immediately on the offense.

Rozanov keeps looking ahead, cigarette dangling from his lips. He grumbles something for a moment, but it’s too low–and possibly russian–for Hayden to understand anything. “Congratulations,” he starts, voice entirely devoid of emotion. “You won. How will Boston Raiders ever recover. Go be with your team and try to remember how to win instead of interrupt me smoking. I’m too tired tonight for your face.”

“Fuck off! You’re in my city, asshole.”

Rozanov’s face darkens. “Yes–I did not manage to forget that yet.”

His teeth drag together before he takes another drag, as if smoking would be the thing to make him burn less–whatever the reason he’s so particularly angry may be. Rozanov doesn’t look surprised that nicotine fails its mission. His face remains exactly as angry and defeated as it started as. “Montreal is already fucking awful alone,” he says. “Go away, Pike.”

His voice is harsher when he repeats himself. He looks and sounds so self-righteous, after the way he behaved tonight, as the way he behaved every night he’s ever played, Hayden just hates him more.

“You have some nerve acting as if you own this place after tonight.” Rozanov groans–Hayden boils. “Shut up, you shouldn’t be allowed to say anything! This is my turf, you piece of shit, and that was my captain you were hounding on the ice. Do you get off on being a bully too besides an asshole?”

Rozanov finally looks at him, and if Hayden didn’t feel quite so angry, maybe he’d find it in himself to be a little scared of how hateful he looks for a moment; enough to even finally forget his cigarette. Just a mention of Shane, and it’s like Hayden has personally insulted Rozanov’s mother. But Hayden’s furious with Rozanov himself–he couldn’t care less for what reason he’s offended.

“You’re playing hockey, in case you forgot,” he tells him, and okay–maybe he’s feeling a bit self-righteous too. He’s spent the last six years of his career and life trying to look after Shane; he couldn’t tell his own teammates to fuck off, and he couldn’t act too protective on the ice without the league deciding Shane couldn’t take care of himself and calling him a wimp, so maybe a part of Hayden is rejoicing that get gets to do this now. There’s no reason to feel bad that, incidentally, it’s happening with Rozanov. “You’re supposed to follow the puck, not Hollander. Stay the fuck away from him.”

Rozanov lets out a big breath. For a moment, it almost sounds like a snort–but no. It’d be closer to the first huff of a dragon.

Hayden doesn’t know if Rozanov is trying to calm himself or just getting more angry, but his knuckles are white as he pinches his nose. “You do not know anything, Pike,” he grits out, teeth tight. It doesn’t jibe well with Hayden’s protectiveness.

“Fuck you! I know enough that there is no way what you’re doing is allowed. Maybe your team sucks, but don’t take it out on my fucking captain.”

Rozanov’s jaw flexes painfully. He throws his cigarette to the ground, although the cherry is still only halfway through it. He gives it just one big stomp and then he’s walking around Hayden, making to get back inside without any other word–discussion as good as over. As if Hayden isn’t talking right now.

Hayden’s first instinct is to sock him, he’s so angry, but he wouldn’t be a father if he didn’t know how to keep his emotions in check. He raises a hand, but it's just to wave it and a bit of the fury he’s feeling around; something to get Rozanov to look at him, to stay and listen, and leave Shane alone. But Hayden doesn’t get through even the first word of, “I’m talking,” hand grazing Rozanov’s shoulder, before the Russian is surging back on him, slapping Hayden’s hand away as his nostrils blown wide in anger. Rozanov has never fought him, but Hayden is suddenly hit by the thought if that’s about to change.

“Fuck you!” Rozanov shouts over what he had been trying to say. Hayden has seen him fight across the ice, or through a screen, but he has never quite seen him this riled up in person; for an instant, he’s not sure if anyone has.

But Rozanov does nothing more than bat Hayden’s hand away, and then loom over him for a second–even if he clearly wants to punch something. Someone. Possibly Hayden. Hayden doesn’t know what’s stopping him.

The moment feels longer than it is, but he knows it’s just an instant that has Rozanov showing his teeth, posturing with all the intimidation he’s known for on the ice. His real interest is still in leaving–Hayden’s fucked if he knows why. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Rozanov back away from a fight.

He’s still not as peaceful that he isn’t grinding his teeth together right now, eyes no less full of something than they’ve been for this entire confrontation. “I’m only not hitting you because of your fucking captain.”

It sounds like a threat, although it clearly has the shape of a concession. Rozanov is following back to the door before Hayden can properly process what the fuck was that.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he barks at Rozanov’s back, but he doesn’t turn again. His shoulders lack no amount of anger; Hayden wonders who might get punched tonight instead of himself. He’s no less devoid of anger than Rozanov clearly is, but his head’s all tied in knots now too, enough to leave someone motion sick.

Rozanov doesn’t answer him–not properly. “Say Ilya did him a favor,” he tells Hayden, and he leaves. Rozanov lets the door bang behind him on the way out.

Hayden stays standing alone in the cold for a moment. He even manages to forget about it: the sting on his bare cheeks, or how his legs want to start to shiver through his sweatpants. Twenty seconds ago, he’d say it was anger that was warming him up from the inside, stopping him from feeling the cold, but now it’s a different kind of turmoil.

Hayden feels somewhere between bewilderment and confusion; he has no idea what Rozanov was talking about. It left something with a bad taste in his stomach.

Sometimes, as a child, Hayden’s parents would act distantly with each other, although swearing everything was fine, or his school friends would look a bit too shifty, whispering together but then stepping apart when Hayden came close, and he knew, each time, that it meant something was being kept from him. It settled like a stomach ache with Hayden, heavy and sour, and he feels that away again, as if there’s something happening just a little to the side, purposefully kept apart where he couldn’t look.

The cold comes back before he finds any answer. Hayden walks back to the exit door with a knot in his chest, only slightly assured when he finds that the door didn’t lock after all. Rozanov is nowhere to be seen back in the hallway, probably back to his own locker room, but all he said stays with Hayden. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say that, whenever Rozanov spoke of Shane, the anger in his voice was personal.

It couldn’t be. Shane and Rozanov’s careers started simultaneously to each other, but out of the ice they’d have to be strangers. Right? Except, well–no. There was that promotional shoot, years and years ago, Hayden remembers, face tight; when Shane was just starting out, a joint ad with Rozanov for CCM. Shane didn’t make it seem like he and Rozanov talked a lot then, but–they’d have to. At some point, they’d had to have talked, for Rozanov to have sounded so broken up and resentful when he just talked about him. Hayden doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know if he should even be thinking.

There’s an instinct in Hayden that tells him to back off. That, more than anything, is what’s most scary. His parents never divorced, and his school friends were never so close they pushed him away, but Hayden feels like, this time, there is an actual truth he isn’t seeing–something that, whatever it is, at least to some degree, it’s threatening to life as he knows it. A part of him doesn’t want to break the farce.

But it’s Shane. The same Shane he’d gone to confront Rozanov for to begin with. Hayden thinks back to Rose, Lily, all of those tiny pieces he has of him; he always said he wanted to know everything about Shane. Now, Hayden isn’t only struck by the brief heartache of there might be something he’s not telling me, but also the dread of thinking of what the fuck that might even be.

Hayden walks back to the locker room, prior path forgotten. He doesn’t know if he has the emotional bandwidth to deal with Theriault, if they cross paths. He doesn’t know if he has the bandwidth to even talk with Shane, when there’s this pellet stuck in his throat as he thinks about him and Rozanov. But life has a sense of humor; Hayden has struggled to find himself alone with Shane for even a minute today, but now he takes a right and there he is, hair washed and wearing the same clothes he came to the Stadium with, right as Hayden is getting back to the lockers.

The pellet in Hayden’s throat juts out. He remembers he was worried about Shane earlier, about how he felt after the game, and he finds that he still is; the thought is followed by the less welcoming what else don’t you want me to know.

“Hayd.” Shane starts; he also hadn’t expected to see him turning the corner. Hayden wonders if he was after Hayden, like Hayden–before finding Rozanov–was also after him. “Blanchard said you were looking for me.”

Hayden had a list of pre-packed questions to try to understand how Shane might have been left feeling after the game, and how to get him to answer, but he lost that list somewhere around the way out of that exit door. Instead, what he asks is, “You’re going out?”

Shane blinks, a little taken aback. “Yes. Uh, Rose invited me, shooting just wrapped up for the night. Sorry, I didn’t mention it before.”

Hayden shakes his head, but there’s a part of him, however stubborn, that wants to grab and hold on to what else Shane might not have mentioned to him. “No, it’s alright.” He forces himself to be a normal person. That pellet keeps stuck in his throat, and his stomach aches. Hayden clears his throat as if that will clear everything, and rid himself of every doubt too. “That’s nice. You should have fun. You’re going to drive?”

“Shit–I shouldn’t, right? Rose will probably want to drink.”

Shane doesn’t drink–but Shane doesn’t go to clubs either. This is the time Hayden is supposed to feel proud of Shane for going out of his comfort zone, but he keeps getting stuck on how his knowledge keeps getting proven wrong. Shane is his best friend. Rozanov is just a fucking asshole, has always been one; Hayden shouldn’t be even paying him the time of the day. And yet–and yet–

“Maybe I’ll Uber, and I can drive the Jeep from the parking lot tomorrow,” Shane is still talking. Hayden tries to pay attention to him, but he’s a little too late on that; Shane frowns when he stays silent for too long. “Hayd?”

“Get an Uber,” he forces out–his throat feels dry. “You shouldn’t drive after drinking.”

Adult advice comes as a muscle memory, at least. Hayden is a lot worse with direct, honest questioning. He’s tried, but maybe he never got more emotionally intelligent than all the other guys he plays with.

Hayden doesn’t manage to quite fool Shane–his face doesn’t lose the small knot of worry he’s looking at Hayden with–but Shane’s phone chirps from the inside of his hoodie’s middle pocket, and that concern gets promptly interrupted.

Hayden has witnessed Shane go through three phones across the years, minimum, and he never changes the pre-set sound notifications they come with; now, it’s the most recent ring tone, but Hayden hears the echoes of all the notifications he was present for, through the years. He’s watched Shane text people for six years, always following some kind of ping. Now, Shane picks the phone and for a second, the confusion and concern in his face soften as he reads whoever’s text he’s just received.

“It’s Rose,” Shane says. “Sorry–she just wants to let me know she got to Ultraviolet already. It’s, uh, the name of the club.”

“You should get moving,” Hayden says, but he’s thinking of Shane’s phone–all the other texts he’s received and sent before, the private conversations Hayden was on the outside of. He’d get ideas, but now the wrongness in Hayden’s stomach is suggesting all the ways they might have been mistaken. Hayden’s head has to work in overtime to keep track of the conversation happening in front of him. “Don’t leave your girlfriend waiting.”

Shane doesn’t go right away. “Are you okay?” he asks, frowning a little again. Hayden has to be doing a pretty bad job of keeping his emotions in check, not only for Shane to notice them, but to decide something is serious enough that he should ask Hayden about it.

Something bittersweet grabs him on the chest at that concern. Hayden nods mechanically. “Go have fun.”

Hayden doubts how convincing he’s managed to be, but it must be enough for Shane, at least to some degree. He watches Hayden for a moment, before either deigning he’s being honest, or deciding he shouldn’t challenge him either way. Rose’s texting helps Hayden’s case–although the chirps of Shane’s phone make that weird feeling tighten in his gut. The texts keep coming, and eventually Shane steps away from Hayden, and any suspicion, to get back to his girlfriend.

“Tell everyone I said goodnight,” Shane says. He could just as easily be referring to their teammates, in part still at the lockers, but Hayden knows Shane is talking about Jackie and the kids; he nods.

Everything should reassure Hayden of how close Shane is to his life–how close he is to Shane’s–but he keeps tripping on that weird feeling, intrusive from the moment Shane left their house, that there are things he doesn’t know; things Shane doesn’t want him to. It feels out of place when Shane is still right in front of him, and looking so earnest, but it sticks to Hayden’s head like gum.

He watches Shane step away, phone still in hand. The same phone he texted Lily with, and however many other people. I'm only not hitting you because of your captain; say Ilya did him a favor. Rozanov, the asshole, is so crystal-clear in Hayden’s head, just hearing his first name threw him out of gravity; not that it was the first that Hayden heard it. Has Shane heard it before? Would it be that much more recognizable for him?

Hayden doesn’t know what exactly nudges the pieces into place, but they come together like a bad mathematical equation; Lily, Ilya, a big, Boston-shaped elephant in the room. Hayden has known about Lily for years, but he never found it suspicious that she–they, he–lived in Boston; where Shane had never gone out on his own prior to his hookups with her–them, him–and would never have had the opportunity to meet someone. Not unless it was someone Shane already knew, and had had chances of meeting alone from the moment he was eighteen–jesus christ, from the moment Hayden first met him–and posing together for a sponsorship.

The idea seems so incredulous, Hayden has to be wrong; it would be a bad joke. Shane and Rozanov have to be oil and water–they just don’t mix together. And yet, Hayden suddenly feels so nauseous at the thought, it only has the weight of truth. He’s only glad Shane has already gone; he doesn’t have the chance to see how Hayden has gone pale all of the sudden.

That pellet in Hayden’s throat feels like it’s going to get thrown up at any moment. Ilya, Lily. It‘s over–shouldn’t have happened at all, Shane said, last time they were in Boston, when he had tear tracks on his cheeks and was wearing someone else’s clothes. Men clothes. Right before they played a game against Boston, and both Shane and Rozanov were all over the place. All over the place like they also were tonight.

Fuck.

“Fuck,” Hayden croaks. The hallway is empty aside from him; there’s no one to hear him.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

additional notes:
-between the name 'x-squad' and rose being painted blue (with a red wig seen in the background) i'm fairly sure they were making fun of x-men. 'the girl with the bow' is, of course, making fun of the hunger games, since rose is the in-universe jennifer lawrence. which is really funny. imagine if she started dating a hockey player out of nowhere.
-5-on-4 refers to when a team is playing with full capacity while the other has a player less because of a penalty. this is also called a power play (to the team with full capacity) or penalty kill (to the team paying a penalty).
-a one-timer is a a puck shot that happens right after a pass. they're really strong, but not as cordinated.
-hayden's realization happens in the same night that shane and ilya, later, will cross paths as tatu plays. so everyone is having a an awful time.

you can find me as punksalmons on tumblr (i also ocasionally post hr fanart there)

Chapter 10: x.

Chapter Summary

Hayden knows. Jackie knows. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

Chapter Notes

i was in no way expecting to be updating this again so soon, but i might as well have been possessed the last few days because i wrote this whole thing in like fourty eight hours (not consecutively, but it got pretty close tbh).
i added another chapter to the chap count as well, because this part ended up being a lot longer than i expected (no surprise there). we're still pretty close to the endgame here, which is making me run into circles like an anxious dog. oh, my shane. oh, my hayden.

i usually do my additional notes at the end, but these are corrections to early chapters, so i guess it's more useful to put them here:
-idk what microorganism had contaminated my brain but i confused the names between montreal's and boston's coaches. leclaire is supposed to belong to the raiders. the real name of montreal's coach (as of tlg, bc he's never mentioned by name in the first book) is theriault. i guess it's kind of funny that it took me so long to catch than and correct it after the fact. and it took ur guys too!!! we all suck at names.
-i also got drapeau confused. i first mentioned him as shane's right winger, but he's actually supposed to be a goalie--the guy i was thinking about was comeau. i also fixed that. i can't believe my extensive note-taking of names and dates betrayed me this way...

thank you for every single comment! i loveeee discussing things with you guys. one of the best feelings in the world is to be running errands and getting home to new emails saying you got some comments. i'm typically the type of person that writes a whole big before i start posting it bc i get too anxious about taking too long to update, but i've had such a good time writing and posting as i go. getting comments gives me a huge boost, and also gives me a few ideas of things i hadn't initially thought to add. this has been a really nice experience <3

Hayden drives home after the game like a sleepwalker, only as present as he needs to make his way back to his house. He doesn’t speed, on the contrary, Hayden doesn’t think he’s ever taken this long to drive from the Bell Centre back home, traffic or no traffic, which tonight there is almost none. His head keeps going into circles, between how, when and why–although really, you can’t really answer why to a relationship, can you?–and when he finally parks in his house, he’s no closer to any kind of answer.

Jackie has Jade hoisted up in her arms when he gets inside, deeply asleep with her head resting on her mom’s shoulder. She and her sister are a lot bigger than when they’d carry them around as babies, not that it’s stopping Jackie; she’s halfway out of the living room when she sees Hayden.

“Hey.” Jackie keeps her voice soft for Jade’s sake. She walks up to Hayden to kiss on the lips and, without fanfare, plops Jade right onto him. “I was just carrying her to bed. Ruby’s still on the couch. Welcome home.”

Ruby and Jade are old enough to be more aware of what their dad and Shane do for a living, and once in a while they get interested enough in hockey to try and watch their games–not that they usually manage to get to the end. Jade’s lax enough in sleep that she must have conked out in the second period; it’s just muscle memory that has Hayden settling her in his arms so her head doesn’t roll back. He is still offline–stuck standing in that hallway in the stadium, doubting all the years that he’s known Shane.

Jackie must see something on his face, because hers knit for a moment. “Hard game?”

She watched it–Jackie knows firsthand that it was kind of a shitshow. But she has no idea that Hayden has bigger fish to fry.

He doesn’t even begin to know how he’s supposed to talk about this. Hayden hasn’t really been able to string two words together since Shane left him standing alone, secretly freaking out. He’s no close to it right now.

But he’s not about to start talking about Shane’s possible big secret affair with his kids in hearing range, asleep or not. He gestures at Jade to table this conversation and walks upstairs to put her to bed; soon enough, Jackie follows him up carrying Ruby, as hopeless to last the entire game as her sister. Hayden wishes he could say the extra time helps him find his words, but he’s hopeless too. He’s no more close to an explanation as to why he looks like he’s seen a ghost when he and Jackie are alone, stepping outside of the twins’ room.

Hayden’s throat clicks as he tries to work somewhere to begin with Jackie–understandly–watching him. There’s things to be put away downstairs, and he doesn’t know if he’d rather have that clean up to partly distract himself or not, aware he doesn’t have the mental bandwidth to get anything done and speak at the same time.

“You might have been right,” Hayden finally manages to get out. Jackie frowns a little more.

“...about?”

Oh, for goodness sake. “You know.” Hayden’s throat clicks a lot more. He suddenly doesn’t remember if he’s drunk even one glass of water since he left the showers at the Bell Centre. “About, uh.”

Jackie has just been in charge of managing four kids alone for the night, she clearly isn’t logged in on a conversation they had literally years ago. Hayden says fuck it and does the equivalent of throwing up the words lodged in his throat, blurting out, “It’s Rozanov, Lily’s Rozanov.”

Hayden says it all at once, so Jackie takes a second to space the words out in her head, and then a few more to properly process them. She visibly blanches as she does–Hayden had hoped that, between the two of them, she’d been the one that would manage to keep her wits about at this development.

“What?” Jackie whisper-shouts. They’re standing alone in a dead silent hallway, surrounded by their sleeping children. Hayden’s aware of the absurdity in the moment, but if you ask him, you really can’t get more absurd than Shane hooking up with Ilya fucking Rozanov.

Hayden’s aware he doesn’t exactly have indisputable proof, but he walks Jackie through all the tiny pieces he’s found tonight: the way Rozanov was acting on the ice, the way he acted the last time they played in Boston, right after the disaster between Shane and Lily, the things he said to Hayden by that service exit, the logic of it all, Lily-Ilya, hookups that only ever happened when they were in Boston, or the Raiders flied out to play in Montreal.

Jackie opens and closes her mouth a lot through the explanation. They found their way to their bedroom by its end, but Hayden feels no better sitting at the foot of his bed and seeing as his wife takes this mindfuck of a revelation no better than him. Hayden had hoped she’d have made more sense of it all than him–she usually does.

“Wow,” Jackie says, dazedly, when he’s finished. She looks away, blinking a lot–like she was just rear-ended by a truck. Hayden gets the feeling. “I–all those times?”

Hayden’s sure that if he goes through the list of every time Shane left “to meet someone” he’d find new things to point to Rozanov. There were probably other times that Shane didn’t mention at all. He nods. Jackie’s face goes through a quick array of emotions, before settling into an even deeper frown as she realizes something else. “Oh–that time. In the NHL awards.”

Hayden thinks she means the one in 2014, but Jackie manages to send him into an ever deeper thought spiral when she says, “When he went to find us in our room.” And fuck. That was at the end of Shane’s–and Rozanov’s–rookie year.

Hayden buries a deep groan in his hands. Thinking about it, he hadn’t seen Rozanov at the afterparty–before Shane left to find someone. That was in 2011.

When he looks up again, it’s to see that Jackie doesn’t look any less astonished than him. But there’s something else in her face too, Hayden realizes–a pitying kind of sadness.

“Why are you this surprised?” Hayden asks her, and he can’t help but sound a little accusing. “You were the one that figured out that Shane was–” Hayden does a vague gesture, as if a wave of his hand could mean gay in any way. He knows it’s not a bad word, but he can’t quite get his throat to open up enough to get it out; it still tastes like a slur.

“I suspected that he might not be straight, this is another beast entirely.” Tell Hayden about it; he hides his face in his hands again, digging his fingertips against his temples. “I thought Shane might have had some kind of puppy love going on in Ottawa, or was, I dunno, using Grindr. But Ilya Rozanov? They’re so different–I mean, I guess that a lot of it is marketing but–”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Rozanov’s a fucking asshole in real life too,” Hayden gets out. Jackie makes a slightly admonishing noise. “What?”

“He’s clearly not enough of an asshole for Shane not to like him,” she says. Hayden finds that hard to believe, evidence be damned. He wishes Jackie had been right about puppy love in Ottawa–in his opinion, Shane can do a lot fucking better than Rozanov.

Figuring out that this was the reason Rozanov was acting the way he was in the ice just makes Hayden feel angrier, in a way. He doesn’t know what specifics happened in Boston, all those months ago, before Rose Landry–fuck, Rose Landry–and Shane struggling not to cry in a hotel room, but Hayden doesn’t think that anything would justify Rozanov checking Shane, or hitting him with his stick.

“Stop that,” Jackie says, before Hayden gets into the worst of that spiral, and she still has some reprimand in her face. “You have to think that, if Shane had this going on for so long,” her voice breaks a little, and Hayden knows he’s not the only one doubting if he’s ever been as close to Shane as he wished and thought, “then he would have a reason. Both of them would have a reason.”

“Of course Rozanov has a reason–it’s Shane.” He’s a one of a kind player on the ice, impossibly hard-working, funny, a bit of a grouch and so earnest, despite everything that the media and league has put against him; what is there not to love? Hayden struggles a lot more to understand the reverse.

Jackie must expect what he’s thinking; she doesn’t lose the same expression on her face that, with their kids, would follow Jackie telling Jade and Ruby to play nice, or apologize. “They have a big thing in common,” Jackie points out, and Hayden thinks of being drafted in the same year with high expectations, carrying their franchises on their backs and captaining a team from a young age, but what Jackie says instead is, “They share the same secret.”

She might mean the entire affair, or their sexualities at all; both. Whichever direction, Hayden’s stomach tightens up either way, feeling the same kind of hurt he was always struck by when he looked into the locker room, during Shane’s early years, and watched him stand apart and alone from the rest of his team. Hayden had thought that, at least, he was there to stand right by him. But even with that he was wrong; from the start, Shane was a lot more alone than Hayden could have ever thought.

“What are we supposed to do?” Hayden feels himself tear up a bit. He’s too sad to feel embarrassed; he just drags a reflexive hand at the corner of his eye. “I mean–all this time…” Hayden shakes his head.

Jackie’s eyes glisten with some wetness too, but her face retains a lot more control. She’s dealt with this possibility for a longer time, Hayden realizes; she hadn’t gone to Shane with her suspicions because she was alone with them, but because she was purposefully giving him space. Even if Hayden had agreed with Jackie from the start–fuck, they’d have saved so many years–she probably wouldn’t have come out swinging; but that’s all Hayden knows to do. He never knew subtlety.

“You know Shane–you can’t just come out and say something to him. He’d freak out,” Jackie says. Hayden thinks back to Shane coming back to their hotel room, after breaking up with Rozanov, and wonders if that was what happened too–Rozanov moving too fast and overwhelming Shane with motion sickness.

Hayden thought Lily had broken up with him, but with how sore Rozanov was acting, he isn’t so sure now. Rozanov was acting childishly, but he must have been hurt too. Hayden wonders if he had looked as pained as Shane had the day after–if Rozanov had someone waiting for him in his own hotel room.

He shakes his head, dispersing the thought to come back to the matter at hand. “So, what?” he asks Jackie. “We can’t let Shane live like this.” In secret, Hayden means. He isn’t so innocent he thinks Shane wouldn’t be mauled alive if this thing came out publicly, but Shane has friends and family–he shouldn’t need to hide everything from everyone. Hayden doesn’t know how he still hasn’t suffocated.

Jackie finds his hand, squeezing it. Reflexively, Hayden does the same.

“We do what we always did–show him we are on his side, like we always were. Now we just know something else. And, eventually–when the time is right, and we know Shane isn’t going to run away…then, we say something.” Jackie shakes her head a little bit, but it’s only to herself–something a little fond and a lot sad on her face. “I don’t think he’s ever going to come out and say this to us out of his own volition. The first step is going to have to be ours.”

“I’m going to have to keep this thing?” Hayden barely held it together for a whole car drive before blurting it out to Jackie.

She gives him a long look. “Shane has been keeping it for at least five years,” she points out.

Hayden covers his face again, slipping his hand off of Jackie’s to muffle the groan that comes out of him. He hates this. “I know,” he says, before Jackie can chide him for it. Everything she said is right and makes sense. Of course–Jackie is always right. But Hayden can’t help but hate this: knowing something that Shane has kept a secret like it’s life or death, and not being able to just tell him he doesn’t have to hide it from him anymore. “I just…” Hayden makes an aggrieved sound.

Jackie’s face looks sad again when he looks back. “Yeah,” she agrees wordlessly. When Jackie takes his hand again, he doesn’t pull it back.

Being a supporting influence in Shane’s life is, of course, easier said than done. Hayden thought he was already doing that, and now has found he needs to learn all the steps again; it takes a lot of mental power, especially when he realizes he can’t just bad talk Rozanov in front of Shane anymore. He still isn’t sure about that guy, even if his life must be as miserable as Shane’s–keeping this big a secret, and nurturing a heartache without being able to share it with anyone.

Hayden has thought of Rozanov as enemy number one for years–for Shane’s sake, he initially thought–and it’s kind of muscle memory to call him an asshole. If he hadn’t found out what he did, the first thing he’d talk with Shane again was how Rozanov had treated him last night.

Hayden doesn’t, not that there is a lot to talk with Shane at all. He doesn’t say anything about it–Hayden thinks it’s pretty clear by now that Shane doesn’t say much at all–but his date with Rose mustn’t have gone well. The day after, he’s back to stiffness and quiet, and Hayden has to wonder how much of that is about Rozanov in some way. He has to wonder a lot about a number of things, these days.

Question number one is, of course, Shane’s relationship with Rose Landry. Hayden had thought it was doing pretty well, but he also thought Lily was a woman, so, well. Hayden doesn’t really know what’s the deal with Shane, if he likes men and women, but as Jackie shares her thoughts, in what he’s begun to dub ‘late-night-Shane-talks’, she thought Shane looked more happy about dating Rose than actually doing it; a new heartbreak for Hayden to hear about.

He thought Shane was happy–Hayden was happy, proud and overjoyed that Shane was dating someone, a girl that was so pretty and seemed so nice and funny, and Shane looked so content with her. Hayden kind of has to grieve that idea–in part because, regardless of how truthful Shane’s relationship with Rose is, Hayden’s daydreams about it are never, ever going to be 100% true. With Rozanov, Shane’s looking at a life and relationship a lot more difficult–and dangerous–than the one Hayden imagined for him with Rose, not for any fault of Rozanov’s own, but the world they’re part of.

Suffice to say, Hayden feels like he gets hit on the face with new realizations every fucking day now, and most of them sting like nothing else; partly because it makes him realize how oblivious he was. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Hayden so much then, with how out of the loop he really is, that, in a few weeks time, Shane shares that he and Rose broke up; but Hayden had been reconsidering years and years of history too strongly to pay much attention to the present at hand.

“It wasn’t really a breakup,” Shane says, nose twitching, after Hayden acts sufficiently shocked. It wasn’t an act–he really hadn’t expected this. Shane had looked happy. He must have been, to some degree; even if only by the relief of not having to hide a relationship, for once.

They’re doing groceries–Hayden is helping him stock his apartment, seeing as Shane was never completely in charge of himself before–and he wishes he could abandon the cart and look deeply into Shane’s eye, see if there’s a new emotion he’s missing again. But no–Shane, surprisingly enough, doesn’t look too anguished. He certainly doesn’t look as worse as he did after Lily–after Ilya.

“We’re still going to be friends,” he shares with Hayden. Hands in his pockets, he looks pretty okay. More okay than after that date in the club. He had dinner with Rose this week–they must have ended the relationship then–and whatever they told each other, it did away with the discomfort that had taken him once again. “I still really like her. She’s a good person.”

Hayden still feels pretty off guard, lost in the new developments in Shane’s life, but that should already be the new state of things, if he’s being honest. “So it was mutual?”

Shane’s face goes through a short ring of emotions before he just nods, a little vague. “She’s a good person,” he repeats, out of new ways to explain it. Hayden hums something in the affirmative, if only to show Shane he gets it–even if doesn’t, really.

Arthur, sat in the shopping cart’s child seat, bunches up his bottom lip. “We’re not gonna meet an actress?”

The ‘r’ in ‘actress’ makes him work for it, but Arthur makes a valiant effort; he does look very sad about it. The kids were really curious about Rose, especially the twins, after they searched for a photo of her on Jackie’s smartphone. They thought Rose was very pretty. Hayden wonders what they, and Arthur and Amber, would think of Rozanov instead.

“You can still meet her,” Shane says, trying to comfort Arthur, but still looking a bit amused at the abject misery on his little face. Funnily enough, he seems more comfortable with the idea of Rose meeting the Pikes as his friend than how he had when she was his girlfriend.

“We’d like that,” Hayden says, because she’s still a part of Shane’s life. He’s doing the best of what he and Jackie agreed on, in making Shane see them as safe spaces. They’ve already been doing some version of it for years. “Are you still going to take her to Tampa? For the All-Stars thing?”

This time, Shane curls his nose a little more. “Oh, that was never happening. Rose’s way too busy. And the All-Stars is way too…”

He drifts off, but Hayden gets it. He’s never been invited, of course–bastards–but he can imagine that a bunch of hotshot hockey players and day drinking is the last combination you want to take your girlfriend to to impress her.

Hayden has a new thing to worry about the All-Stars, because Rozanov is also supposed to be there. Shane and Rozanov are staples; the only times they haven’t gone in the past few years was when one of them–or both at once–had some kind of injury to take care of. Once, in 2015, Shane had a partial tear in a wrist ligament, and he had to sit it out: quite literally. He spent the All-Star weekend watching it from TV while the girls played hairdresser with him. He’d looked quite longingly at the games on screen; Hayden had thought he missed the games, but now he wonders if he was missing a chance to be with Rozanov instead.

There’s not a lot of longing between Rozanov and Shane right now, though. It’s been a few weeks since their last game with the Boston Raiders, but Hayden doesn’t know if Rozanov is going to meet Shane on the ice during the All-Stars with exactly as much hostility as he showed before.

Shane doesn’t seem as worried. Even now, talking about the weekend, he seems more concerned with searching for the brands of organic food that he likes. Hayden doesn’t know what to make of it.

All he can really do is make sure Shane isn’t going to starve in his apartment, so he at least makes good on that. Hayden helps put the groceries away in the back of Shane’s Jeep after they’re done, and then straps Arthur in the car seat he brought with himself when they left with Shane for this errand. Hayden had been so relieved to have a chance to check on him–discreetly–after what felt like an increasing distance between them, he’d be happy even taking Shane to the DMV. He doesn’t want the moment to end.

“Hey, what do you say about having lunch together? You can prove you actually know how to cook. Me and Arthur will even take eating your weird food.”

“Ew,” Arthur’s face scrunches up in the backseat. Shane’s momentarily shows a similar kind of displeasure, if only directed at Hayden; he’s oddly defensive of his terrible, unappealing diet. But then Shane is looking apologetic, and Hayden knows before he’s even said anything that he’s about to refuse.

“I can’t.” Shane, for what is worth, does look sorry; it’s better than the other recent times he blew Hayden off with what were clearly excuses. “Me and Rose scheduled a thing together for the afternoon. She’s, uh, taking me to see a stylist.”

Hayden’s eyebrows climb on his face. Shane gives him a long look from the driver’s seat, as if telling him to choose his next words carefully. Hayden just raises his hands in surrender; he wasn’t even about to say anything, there’s hardly anything he could tp this new piece of information.

Shane clearly hadn’t been lying about keeping contact with Rose–Hayden just hadn’t expected for this to be one of the things they’d do together. “Are you starring in a movie too?”

Shane can’t tell Hayden to fuck off with a five year old sat in the backseat, but he looks at Hayden with a sufficient glare. “No, it’s awesome,” Hayden tells him, and he does try to sound supportive this time. “I didn’t know you were thinking about that.”

Hayden has never really cared about what he wore; Shane seemed to be in the same boat.

Or so he used to. He shrugs now, focusing on the road so he doesn’t have to meet Hayden’s eye. “I’m trying something new.”

So it seems, Hayden thinks.

JANUARY, 2017

It turns out the All-Stars’ theme of the year is going to the East vs West (the conferences, not continents), which means that Shane and Rozanov are going to be playing together this time around. Hayden does freak out exponentially more when he learns that tidbit of information, but by the time the league publicly announced this year’s feature, Shane was already in a plane to Tampa Bay with brand new clothes, and Hayden didn’t have any way to know how he was feeling about that. Hayden hopes Rozanov is going to at least play nice while they’re in the same line.

The nice part of the All-Stars interrupting the usual game schedule–aside from a weekend at home–is that Hayden actually gets to watch its competitions alongside his family. He feels oddly nostalgic for the time he and Jackie still only had Ruby and Jade, and they watched Shane during his first invitation to the All-Stars–before the twins even knew how to properly say his name, or much of anything. Hayden should have filmed that, if only to show Ruby and Jade now and watch them squirm in embarrassment (what for! They were so cute).

They–and Arthur, and Amber–still point at the screen in as much excitement as before every time his name and headshot show up. Shane wasn’t only chosen as the captain for the East team, but he also got to keep his position as center; Rozanov was put on his wing. It’s two different kinds of demotion, and Hayden did wonder if the League was trying to poke the bear with that to inspire some kind of conflict (it wouldn’t be the first time they put Rozanov and Shane against each other for entertainment) but they’d have to be sorely disappointed. When the first game starts and Hayden sees Shane and Rozanov stepping on the ice as the same line, they’re two perfect pieces, matched together.

The media and the hockey world as a whole spent so much time talking about how Rozanov and Shane were the only two players in the same skill level that could match each other on the ice, that they forgot to consider all the ways their plays could be complimentary, if only they were playing on the same side.

Hayden doesn’t know how he didn’t think of that either, watching Rozanov and Shane pass the puck as if with an almost precognition level of awareness of where the other is. Their harmony works out a play that ends with Rozanov feeding Shane a shot that goes right where the West-conference goaltender isn’t expecting, fast and hard. Shane is doing a celly across the offensive zone before the goalie even finds the puck, dug deep into his net.

The camera in Tampa’s rink pans along with Shane’s skates, slowing down just when he does. Shane doesn’t get a closeup, but Hayden knows enough of his face to recognize when he’s smiling even from a distance, even more one small as this one; and if he didn’t, he’d know Shane was happy just by the loose shape of his shoulders. Rozanov skates from the other side of the offensive zone towards him, and this time he doesn’t meet Shane with a check, but arms around his body, angling his head from under his helmet until he’s got the lower part of his face pressed against the side of Shane’s visor–where his temple would be. Hayden recognizes a kiss from a distance too.

He freezes on the couch, and feels Jackie do the same by his side. The kids are none the wiser; Ruby ews at the perceived cooties of something as chaste as a kiss onto someone’s helmet (Hayden doesn’t think he’s ever considered anything chaste to have come out Rozanov before) but, mostly, they just keep the same half-engagement they show when watching a broadcast game with Shane or their dad in it, interested in them, but not as much in hockey. They’ve watched enough of it–from the wings, even–to sustain a lifetime. They wouldn’t know of Rozanov aside from, vaguely, his name; they certainly wouldn’t know the significance of the moment.

Hayden and Jackie do–more than the people watching the game in person, or the broadcasters that were chosen for this year’s All-Stars. They’d been making jokes about two rivals making nice together, and now weave something cheeky about the kiss, but Hayden and Jackie know better. It feels, suddenly, impossible that they are the only ones that do.

To some degree, Hayden couldn’t have been 100% about Ilya really being Lily short of him giving Shane a truth serum, or trespassing his phone. Hayden would do neither–he doesn’t think the FBI are quite there yet with a serum, and he doesn’t know Shane’s password, but most importantly, it already feels like a breach of privacy just having the idea that Rozanov has been the person Shane was seeing all along, when Shane went through such great lengths to keep that a secret. Now, just with three seconds of a kiss against Shane’s helmet, Hayden’s sure it isn’t just an idea anymore.

“How did we take so long?” Jackie takes the words right out of Hayden’s mouth, low beneath the kids talking between themselves and the commentary on TV. He feels something bittersweet again, even while Shane’s image on the screen is one of him smiling; lingering beside Rozanov, maybe for the first time publicly. They hadn’t had any other chance before. It’s the only way to make sense of how they kept this thing hidden from so long; Hayden doesn’t think anyone would have been able to sell a story of a rivalry if this was the way they were allowed to stand beside each other.

Shane flies directly to Toronto, where the Metros are going to have a game, after the end of the All-Stars. Hayden and the rest of the team are already on their way there by then, and they meet in the hotel hall. Sufficient Metros welcome Shane back with pats on the shoulder and some congratulations for the weekend–the East team won–thankfully with no mention of Rozanov past some of the crazy assists he fed Shane, and vice-versa.

“I hope you’re excited to play with these losers again,” Miitka says, smiling despite his words. “I’m not.”

He only gets some amount of heckling for that; he’s a goalie, so he gets to complain. Hayden can admit they’ve made him and Drapeau, their alternative, suffer recently, although it still hasn’t cost them points in the standings so far. The goalie on Shane’s All-Stars team probably felt blessed by god; the puck barely entered the defense zone.

“Was Tampa why you got yourself a new wardrobe?” Blanchard teases Shane. He picks at the lapel of his current suit, something Shane wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside of official events. For what it is worth, Blanchard doesn’t sound mean about it–Hayden personally would be a little more, considering Shane actually flew wearing something as fancy as this.

“Yeah, cap–did you manage to impress some Florida girls?” Andropov asks. The mention of women curdles the humor in Hayden’s stomach a bit, but it slips off Shane’s back like water; he had practice with this, Hayden thinks a little sadly.

“I was more focused on actually winning a game,” Shane tells Andropov and the rest of the guys, not without a smile; they immediately start heckling, but Shane’s not done. “I hope you guys can do that too?”

The slight makes the guys fraction between jeering and laughing, all in good humor. It’s not often that Shane gets to have these kinds of exchanges with them, which is a shame; he keeps to himself, thankfully more of a sober captain than the excluded rookie he used to be, but it is still less than what he deserves. Shane must have really had a good time in Tampa to be putting himself with the rest of the team like this. Between that, and the neater clothes hanging off him, he looks like a new man.

Of course, Shane changes back into sweats as soon as he gets to his and Hayden’s hotel room, getting ready for the night. Hayden shouldn’t be so surprised–he bites back a snort. Shane settles back in his side of the room, texting someone. Hayden doesn’t know who it would be from the list of usual suspects; Shane has retained almost the same amount of contact he had with Rose Landry when they were actually dating, and he and Rozanov clearly made up, although Hayden is as oblivious to what knit them back together as whatever ripped them apart. Shane might be back to texting ‘Lily’ again.

Either way, this is the first time Shane and Hayden are properly alone together since arriving  in the same city, and he’ll take the chance of talking with him without the chance of any Metro listening close by.

“Hey.” Shane looks up from his phone, glancing at Hayden from where he’s already cozy in his bed, sat with his legs crossed and his classic socks on top of the covers. “I meant to say this before, but I watched your game. I mean, the one you played with Rozanov. You, uh, you both did really well.”

Shane looks at him with what is clearly suspicion. Which, okay–rude.

“What are you talking about?”

“What–I can’t compliment my friend?” Hayden defends himself. Shane still looks more confused than anything, so at least he hasn’t sniffed out any reason why Hayden is also extending that goodwill to Rozanov.

“Not when Rozanov is involved,” Shane says, mildly. He doesn’t stop frowning, staring at Hayden as if that’ll give him all the answers.

“Okay, I might not like the guy, but I can recognize a good player.” Hayden’s trying not to insult Rozanov here, so he’d prefer if Shane wouldn’t so clearly try to get him to prove his distaste; he’s trying to be a good, supportive presence in Shane’s life–regardless of his taste in men. “I didn’t expect you two to pair so well–which I should. You’re both on each other’s levels.”

“Don’t let Rozanov hear you say that–he won’t let you forget you did.” But part of the suspicion dissipates from Shane’s face. He settles back into bed, both thumbs fiddling with the sides of his phone. “Thank you,” he adds, belatedly.

“Don’t sweat it,” Hayden says. He settles on his own bed too, propped on his side so he can keep looking at Shane. His next questions are genuine too, things he actually wondered in his head, but wasn’t so sure he’d get to ask. “Was it weird, playing with him? I mean–wearing the same colors and all.”

“Don’t worry, Hayden, I won’t replace you in my wing.”

Hayden fights against the urge to throw a pillow at him. “Shut up, asshole. I’m opening up my heart to earnestness here.”

Shane shakes his head to himself, but he’s smiling. “It wasn’t that weird,” he answers at last. “But I can play with anyone. I don’t know if–if Rozanov is really special in that.”

It’s not a particularly humble thing to say, but it’s not a lie either; Shane is outstanding in making his type of playing pair up well with whatever person he’s matched with. Theriault has made a habit of making Shane his guinea pig for new lines and play attempts with rookies. Shane is as good on the ice with a spotlight on him as boosting someone else. But Hayden still disagrees with him to some degree–if you ask him, it was pretty clear it was something else, new and more, to get to play with Rozanov, instead of against him. It was almost a shame for it to be short-lived.

But Hayden is selfish enough to be happy he gets to keep taking up space on Shane’s line. Rozanov can get to have the other parts of him; if he behaves.

FEBRUARY, 2017

Weeks, schedules and games continue to fly past them. They win against the Toronto Guardians at their arena, but then lose at home when they travel back to Montreal to play against the New York Admirals. Scott Hunter has some energy bubbling up from him, which Hayden is hopeless to either understand or recognize, but he kind of hates it anyway for making Hunter and his team play better. There are very few things in life that you can count on, but usually, the New York Admirals burning up from both ends was one of them. Hayden still harbors a grudge on him from that time he fought with Shane.

Things follow in that rhythm; there are home games and roadtrips, some wins and some–still fewer–losses. Through it all, Hayden tries to keep up the effort of inviting Shane for meals at home or then dragging his whole family to Shane’s cold apartment so they can hang out there. He’ll keep Shane in his family kicking and screaming if he has to, but Shane has shown very little resistance, which, if nothing else, shows how his mood is better from weeks ago.

Shane still seemingly spends a lot of time on his phone, although Hayden is only present to the smaller part of it these days, since Shane makes an effort to be a good guest or host. Hayden learns that Rose likes calling better, so all the time Shane spends texting can only point to someone else. The first time Hayden sees the name Lily on Shane’s phone again–an unintentional glimpse–he actually has to take five to remember he’s not supposed to know who that is, or care either way.

It’s weird to think that, whenever Shane is smiling at his phone, he’s probably talking with Rozanov, who Hayden can see bodychecking someone to oblivion every time he turns on SportsTV. But it’s high time Hayden accepts he’ll never really get what Shane saw in him.

They take a plane to Boston at the end of the week. The last time they played against the Raiders, Shane was tense long before puck drop. This time, as they fly on air and then step into the arrival terminal, there’s a different kind of anticipation in his posture, and no tightness at all. Shane kept tapping his foot on the plane, but he looked excited most of all.

Hayden feels a spy in some ways, aware of things others aren’t, most of all aware that he’s aware, possibly the only one aside from Shane and Rozanov that is. He wonders for a moment, while Theriault and their GM is organizing transport to the hotel, if Rozanov’s metaphorical tail is wagging as much as Shane’s, wherever the Raiders must be right now, and he almost gets dizzy with the existential crisis of it all.

Hayden can only wonder what changed between them, from an illegal stick to Shane’s wrist to chirps from his phone, new texts from Lily while he’s washing his face after they get to their hotel room. Hayden’s going to go insane if he’s any more aware of how out of the loop he is–or the ways he’s not–which is part of the reason he makes the executive decision to go for a run, even if he’s technically in enemy territory. He hopes Boston’s fans are as unfamiliar with his face as the Metros’ can be.

“Boston Lily is texting you,” he tells Shane when he passes by the open bathroom door, and he only gets some of Shane’s affronted stammering before he’s closing the hotel room door right behind him.

He didn’t see the contact name this time, but his suspicion of it being Rozanov–Lily–only gets proven by how suddenly abashed Shane had sounded; it was how he used to, before the last time they were in a hotel room like this. Hayden has to actually take a breath at the memory, pressing his back against the hotel room door. He doesn’t really believe in god, but he throws out to the universe, the hockey gods or whatever, to please not send Shane back here with tears in his eyes again.

He breathes a second time for good measure and, before finally going, tells himself, “Okay.”

Later in the night, Rozanov scores a hat trick–of course. It would only follow that meeting someone doesn’t only make Shane play better, but Rozanov too, the bastard. Hayden can’t complain too much, because Shane gives as much as he gets; it’s just that Boston’s defense is more on point tonight. Not that Hayden would ever tell that to their face.

“I see bag skates in our future,” McGroarty complains with feeling in the locker room, after. They didn’t play badly, per say–sometimes a loss is just a loss. Theriault takes all of them personally though, which, to a certain degree, they all should. Hayden could do without bag skates though.

They have an early flight the next morning–pratically still dawn–and just a meager five hours to recharge before afternoon practice. Theriault does make them run bag skates, but he has them practicing puck handling most of all, which really was what cost them last night.

It’s more physical effort than Hayden would prefer under forty-eight hours either way; the reason why he refuses to dedicate any higher faculty to anything else. His only plans are an early night in when he gets home, so he’s not paying attention to news or rumors. Which is why he’s as oblivious as Shane when J.J. informs the entirety of the locker room that Rozanov has missed his team flight to Nashville.

Hayden’s eyes instinctively turn to Shane–where he’s looking at J.J. with barely concealed concern. Now that he knows what to look for, he can’t believe he–or anyone else, for that matter–hasn’t figured Shane out before. He’s a lot more interested in Rozanov’s whereabouts than a rival would be.

“Maybe he’s sick,” Hayden suggests, mostly so Shane isn’t the only one methodically going through possible reasons why Rozanov isn't going to be playing, or travelling with his team at all.

“He’s not,” Shane says, immediately, before he catches himself. “I mean–he didn’t seem sick.”

J.J. says something short in French, which Hayden’s barebones knowledge says that included at least one curse in it, before adding, “ESPN is just saying he did not go to Nashville.” He doesn’t look particularly worried–none of the Metros do. Shane is the only actively concerned with Rozanov.

He’s polite enough that maybe this can be read as him only being a bit of a bleeding heart. J.J, when he walks a bit closer to Shane to put his jersey away, speaks to him something offhanded but reassuring in French, his own version of trying to calm him down. Shane can feign disinterest when he catches himself, but Hayden still recognizes the tightness of his posture as he goes to fish his phone out of his pocket, typing something quick into it. To think of it, Hayden hasn’t heard his phone chirp all day. Rozanov hasn’t texted him.

He tries to get Shane to come home with him with an excuse for dinner, but really, he shouldn’t be surprised when he says no: Shane is probably going to park himself by his phone until he hears a word back. Hayden doesn’t actually know if he does, but within the next day, there’s an official statement from the Raiders’ front desk excusing Rozanov’s absence from future games on account of a ‘family matter’.

Hayden is fucked if he knows what that means, but in a few days, when it’s eventually revealed that Rozanov’s father passed away in the night Boston and Montreal played together–it must have been morning, in Russia–his questions get answered in quite a bitter way. By then, Shane is already excusing himself quite a lot of times to take some calls. Hayden supposes now he knows who they’re for.

Hayden nods the next time Shane slips away from their hotel room as he gestures a bit uselessly to his phone. Hayden doesn’t know who Shane might even pretend he’s calling so much, so maybe it’s for the better that he doesn't try to explain it in any way. He waits a few more seconds after the hotel room door clicks shut, making sure Shane is off his way, to return to his own phone, and the video call he was in the middle of with Jackie.

“Did you hear about Rozanov’s–”

Jackie nods, a little more somberly than ten seconds before, when they were talking about a future recital the twins are going to have in their school. Parental death is a topic of conversation a lot more serious than the type of linen they’re supposed to buy to sew animal costumes. “I saw it on Twitter this morning. I guess they tried to hold it back for as long as they could.”

This is one of the parts where it really sucks to be a public-facing figure. “Poor guy,” Hayden says with feeling. He doesn’t need to like someone–or their parents–to feel bad about their dad dying. The Raiders’ front desk didn’t give any specifics, which was for the better. It’s already pretty fucking hard to have the whole world know you’re probably in the middle of a funeral right now.

“Has Shane–well, I guess it’s not like he can say anything, but…”

Hayden gets what Jackie is trying to say. “He’s been on his phone a lot. I mean–more than usual. A lot more calls than texting.” Which is something that can’t be undervalued; if Shane’s already pretty bad at long-distance communication, he absolutely hates calling people. So far, his parents, Rose Landry and–seemingly–Rozanov are the only ones he actually goes through the trouble for. “It’s hard to get privacy on the road, of course, but…”

“He’s trying,” Jackie finishes for him. She already looked sad, talking about Rozanov’s father, but now, something even more bittersweet takes her face. “I guess this confirms they’re a serious deal, huh?”

It doesn’t get more serious than witnessing each other’s grief. Hayden’s lucky he and Jackie aren’t there yet.

“Yeah,” he breathes. He looks at the door where Shane left, feeling pretty fucking bittersweet too for a moment. He has to clear his throat when he looks at Jackie again. “Well–what were we talking about the kids again?”

Jackie lets him change the subject. “You need to clear your schedule,” she tells him, after they discussed the merits of glitter on clothes enough. “You and Shane. If you don’t come to this thing Jade said nobody in school is going to believe her dad and uncle are hockey players.”

Hayden scratches at the patchy stubble coming in on the underside of his jaw, mostly to pretend he’s not super fucking giddy that Shane got called Jade’s uncle. “All the parents know we play hockey,” he tells Jackie. He’d know–he took a few pictures with fans when he went to sign Ruby and Jade off, once. At least some people recognize him. “Can’t the kids ask their mom and dad?”

“Apparently not. They want living proof.”

“Jeez–are they going to cut us to see if we bleed too?”

“Maybe Shane. You know how seven-year old boys feel about him.”

“Incandescent with envy?” Hayden asks; he smiles a little more when Jackie does her honking laugh.

“I’ll talk with Theriault,” he says, when she’s done. “I can’t promise anything, but we’re still pretty early in the season so–who knows. Maybe the schedule is going to give us a break.”

She makes a soft sound. “I hope it gives Rozanov a break too.”

Hockey won’t. He’s back into the NHL schedule–and on North American soil–before the end of the week, his first game being against Montreal, just at the start of March. There’s something poetic about that, maybe, considering that his last game before leaving the continent was also with them; Hayden just hopes another one of Rozanov’s relatives isn’t going to die before the end of the night because of them.

It never stops being weird seeing him in person. It’s weird seeing him anywhere, be it on a screen or not, with the knowledge of what he and Shane get to behind everyone’s backs, but the truth seems even more stark, somehow, when he’s across the ice from Hayden. They didn’t talk again after that slight confrontation behind the Bell Centre–Hayden really hopes Rozanov didn’t mention it to Shane after they made up with each other–and if Hayden has his way, he’s not going to have one-on-one time with Rozanov any time soon, but it’s harder to see him as just the NHL’s very famous, very fashionable black sheep when Shane is sleeping and, to some degree, having some sort of relationship with him.

The man has to have some interiority to have captured Shane’s heart in some way. Shane hates risks and anything that is even slightly out of his comfort zone; surely, only sex–and Hayden really hopes he never has to think about that between those two–isn’t the only thing keeping them together. People wouldn’t call each other from a parent’s funeral if there was only sex between them.

Hayden doesn’t think he’s ever going to completely like Rozanov, but he sees him more as a person now than he did a year ago; he certainly sees him more as a person following the recent news of his father’s passing. Hayden can’t even think of losing his dad without getting a bit choked up, for all the ups and downs they had when he was still a kid, and was too strongheaded and stupid–he can barely imagine getting through a funeral and then coming back to play before the end of the week. He’s not ever going to take it easy on him on the ice–Rozanov certainly won’t–but he’ll look away for a little longer, and keep his and Shane’s secret until Shane is a little more ready to be asked about it.

Shane skates to center ice, where Rozanov is stretching his legs right over the sprayed Metros logo on the ice. Usually, travelling players keep to their own zone during warmups, but of course, Rozanov isn’t usual. Hayden can’t really hear what they say to each other from where he’s standing by the boards, but he pretends he hadn’t even one smidge of interest when Andropov skates by him, glancing curiously at Shane.

“You think Holly’s sad about Rozanov’s dad?” And before Hayden can answer, he goes on. “You think Rozy would feel bad if Holly’s dad died? He’s got a pretty slavic hold on his emotions. You think he’s sad about his own dad?”

Hayden has a number of questions he can ask, anywhere between where does Andropov get his slavic information (by his family’s name, he can guess), why is he’s planning Mr. Hollander’s death, and why he’s asking any of this to Hayden at all–it was him that played under Rozanov, if only for, like, three months. What he ends up saying is, “What is this–twenty questions?” before pushing Andropov away, so he’ll actually finish his warmups. It’s just in time for Shane to come back, none the wiser, Rozanov still right where he’d met him.

Hayden tries to look and sound casual when he asks Shane, “What was that about?” Rozanov is giving him a pretty dry–and frankly unnerving–look the longer Hayden has his eyes on him, so he turns back to Shane; where he’s pretending to be more interested in his own skates (as if they’re a new view) than Hayden’s question.

“Oh,” Shane shrugs a little. “I just offered my condolences.”

He reaches for his water bottle. And–oh, right. “Oh yeah,” Hayden says, stupidly. He has spent so much time thinking about Shane and Rozanov’s big secret he actually forgot that’s something people do; that they’re encouraged to do, even. “That’s nice. Fuck. I should have done that.”

Shane hides a smile in his water bottle..

“...So.” Hayden can’t help himself in wanting to know. “What did he say?”

“Told me to fuck off.”

“Jesus.” The thing is, Hayden has no idea if Shane is fucking with him or not. Rozanov could just as easily have answered that.

Hayden glances between where he still is on the ice, no more inconvenienced by passing-by Metros who glare at him, and Shane, still standing by the boards by Hayden’s side. If he considers all the ways that being with Jackie changed him–for the better–and how he was before he knew her, he doesn’t think his essence was necessarily reshaped. He’s always been Hayden; Rozanov, he thinks, is always going to be Rozanov. He’s probably not that much different in private. Hayden hopes he’s just a bit gentler. Hayden–grievously–has had to come to consider that even Rozanov’s prickliness might be part of what made Shane like him. He shouldn’t be so surprised, really; Hayden knows Shane’s parents. He should have guessed that the Hollander men kind of like them a bit intense.

He still calls Rozanov a dick in front of Shane–because he still thinks he’s one. On a good day, Hayden still doesn’t know what to make of this relationship; Shane could do a lot better. Shit–if Shane had trusted Hayden with his sexuality, he’d have been his matchmaker himself. But it’s useless now. Even in this moment, Hayden sees some fondness on Shane’s face as he defends Rozanov from him. “He’s not that bad. It’s mostly an act.”

“A pretty convincing one,” Hayden says. Shane’s lip quirks up.

“Yeah, well–let's make sure we win one, right?”

“Fucking right,” Hayden tells him, and hits both their helmets together, as they’ve done since Shane’s first training camp with the Montreal Metros.

He’s more aware than ever of all the ways he’s changed, skating away from the benches to get ready for the game with the rest of the team. To some degree, Rozanov has also had to watch some of that, if he’s known Shane for as long as Hayden thinks he has. All the time Hayden thought he was such a lonely, young kid, he had this whole other, completely secret life going on the side. It was no less lonely; but lonely with Rozanov.

Shane takes the first faceoff, and Hayden stops thinking about him, or Rozanov, or anything at all past tonight’s game. He focuses only on being the first line’s left winger, and having a better performance than the last time he played against Boston–and any other times he lost before tonight, for that matter. Being a hockey player–any kind of player–really, is a game of compartmentalization; you bring nothing with yourself onto the game, nothing that’s not going to make it better.

Shane’s the best Hayden has ever seen in that; it shouldn’t have surprised him he’s got such a good hold on lies, past being able to tell them straight faced–which he is mostly completely helpless at. Shane’s so good at only bringing certain things with himself, and leaving others behind, he’s probably all mental boxes out of the ice. Except they bleed out sometimes. Walking to Hayden and Jackie’s hotel room after his first NHL awards. Coming back to his and Hayden’s hotel room just a few weeks ago with a broken heart. You can’t keep everything locked in forever.

Later, Hayden’s not going to remember exactly how it happened–and, really, there’s really no point in trying to make sense of it. It’s not rocket science–it’s just hockey. This happens, sometimes. In the moment, he’ll only know he’d helped Shane keep possession of the puck after he wins it from the face off, skating between Raiders players to get it into their zones. Hayden has to break away before getting checked by a defenseman, but he can hear Shane with the puck: he knows he’s making his way forward, as quick and dangerous as he’s ever been. But giddy too, more openly happy than Hayden has ever seen him play; not the hockey robot, but just Shane–who loves hockey and, somehow, also fell in love with Ilya Rozanov, and playing with him.

Hayden doesn’t see it happen, but he hears it when it does–the big crash and scrape of their skates’ knives, then the resounding silence that follows, even the crowd quiet. Hayden just knows he’s skating behind a Raider, and when he looks up, Shane doesn’t have the puck anymore, or is skating at all. He’s on the ice, and he’s not getting up.

Chapter End Notes

:)

Chapter 11: xi.

Chapter Notes

The first time Hayden got into a hockey fight was when he was in Pee-Wee, and a little brute of a twelve year old defenseman–taller and bigger than all the other kids in the age bracket–hit one of his teammates right in the back of his leg, sending him onto the ice.

Fighting’s not allowed in Youth Hockey, or checking, for that matter. Any kind of violence in general is a big no-no–not that Hayden was thinking of any of that. Now, Hayden can get a bit embarrassed about how he reacted, aware that the other player was just as dumb a kid as he was, and probably just wanted to copy the games he saw on TV; but then, he was furious. He felt the whole weight of protective camaraderie in his little body. He threw his stick on the ice–he remembered that rule from adult hockey, never going at someone with your stick–and then threw himself right over the Pee-Wee defenseman.

Hayden cried after the ref grabbed them apart and then dragged each of them out the ice to their respective parents, before helping Hayden’s teammate back to his feet. In the end, he hadn’t even that hurt. Crying felt a lot less victorious than defending his friend, and Hayden feels embarrassed about that too whenever he recalls the memory.

It was an adrenaline crash–which also had made his hands and feet shake, and forced him to sit out for the whole rest of the game. His mom was embarrassed that he fought at all, but his dad, when he learned about the fight later, gave him a fistbump in secret–one of the few times he was as easily charitable with Hayden. He said it was a good team spirit to have. When Hayden joined the QMJHL, and then the NHL, he made himself remember that fistbump a lot. That’s how strongly you’re supposed to protect your teammates.

Shane’s already on the ground when Hayden looks up–on the ground, and not moving. Not far from him, one of the Raiders’ Assistant Captains, Marlow, number 7, is getting back to his feet, and looking back to Shane while saying some version of, “I don’t know what happened,” or, “I didn’t mean to.” Hayden doesn’t give a shit. He feels the same type of limb-locking fury that had him fighting as a kid, and then getting into his first brawl on the NHL for Nathan Newton. He blinks and he’s across the ice, grabbing Marlow by the lapels of his jersey and doing his very best to throw him onto the ice again.

He doesn’t remember a lot from the fight–or the ice–aside from a lot of shoving bodies, ref whistles and screaming bloody murder. Later, he’ll learn he called Marlow a motherfucker to his face and broke his nose–and, incidentally, cracked one of his knuckles. Hayden kind of always sucked where fighting was concerned. Of all the on-ice altercations he’s ever been involved in his career, the one following Shane’s injury ends up being his most successful one. He’d rather have never experienced it all, if it meant Shane wouldn’t have been hurt.

Somewhere between exchanging barely-answered blows with Marlow and feeling a sharp pain in his hand and face, Hayden is getting physically dragged back by a ref and one of his own teammates, one with an arm around his middle and another one completely blocking his line of vision. Between the blood rushing through his ears and the absolute chaos on the ice–from the stands too–he feels deaf. He gets thrown so hard onto the Metros bench, to get him out of the brawl, that he’ll have bruises on his thighs on the next day.

“Don’t get up!” his teammate–Mitty, he recognizes now, out of his goalie helmet and gloves–yells at him, red in the face. The ref breaks away as soon as Hayden is on the bench; he has other players to break apart. Mitty keeps holding on to Hayden’s shoulder as if scared he’ll try to run back into the fight, pressing Hayden down on the bench as forcibly as he keeps pucks out of the net. “Fucking hell!”

Their assistant coach is also holding on to some players of his own, those that weren’t on the ice when the hit happened, keeping them from joining the fight. Theriault’s nowhere to be seen; if Hayden thinks about it, he’s not sure if he’d be dragging his players back or throwing a few punches himself.

Hayden tries to look around Mitty’s massive frame and actually groans when he doesn’t let him see the ice. “What–!” He’s trying to find Shane, and see if he’s still as frightfully still as he was before, if there’s medics around him. Mitty doesn’t let him. “Let me fucking go!”

“Singh’s got him.” The Metros medic. He’s missing from the bench, Hayden finally notices; him and the whole rest of the medic team. Some more shouting gets close and a few more Metros players get thrown beside Hayden, a ref staying by the boards to ensure they keep there. Mitty swears at them too for good measure. “Ježiš Kristus–really fucking useful to start fighting and getting in the way of paramedics, you fucking idiots!”

He curses out a few more words, but they’re not only not directed at Hayden, but also in his native tongue; Hayden just knows it’s probably swear words by the anger in Mitty’s voice, recognizable no matter the language.

Mitty shouts a good deal at Drapeau too, the alternative goalie, which, judging by his missing helmet and gloves, and split lip, probably also joined the brawl. Mitty screams at him in French, which is a feature in itself, and not only because that’s Mitty’s third, maybe fourth language. Goalies aren’t the type of guys that get angry easily–they’d never keep the job if they were–but Mitty looks positively murderous; not at the offending Raiders, but his own team, Drapeau most of all, who’s supposed to be his baby goalie.

Hayden knows, in some nebulous way, that the game is probably going to get stopped; not only because Shane was hurt, pretty brutally, in front of all of them, but because of all of the fighting that followed it. Half of Montreal’s team is probably going to get punished in some capacity. Hayden doesn’t care if he gets suspended–if Shane’s hurt seriously, he’d fucking kill Marlow. He never thought of himself as a violent person and he’s aware, to some degree, that it was all an accident–Marlow looked as taken off guard about the hit as anyone else in the rink–but he feels so angry, he thinks it’s going to burn right out of him.

“What about Shane!” he keeps repeating and repeating to Mitty, trying to get out of his hold, until he finally gets an update through the Stadium’s cacophony, as Mitty tells him, “They’re wheeling him out.”

Wheels mean an ambulance, and something serious enough that just the infirmary isn’t going to cut it. Hayden unattaches himself off of Mitty just enough to see the paramedics going down the tunnel with Shane, and then he fights off his paws with the feverish promise of, “I just want to fucking see Shane!”

Hayden doesn’t care if all the Metros and Raiders inside this building kill each other right behind him. He follows the paramedics to the exit, not bothering to cover the blades of his skates, and almost eats shit for it once or twice as he goes down the tunnel; he cares about that even less.

“I’ve got his medical history!” he shouts at the paramedics’ backs, and then babbles a sufficient followup when they turn and try to keep him away from Shane, and behind too, thinking of copies of papers Yuna Hollander had given him, prepared for the worst outcomes even in 2010. “I’m on his record! Just let me fucking follow–”

Hayden rides in the ambulance in his socks, skates abandoned somewhere inside the Bell Centre’s tunnels. He doesn’t think about them–or his helmet, or his gloves, or any of his belongings, left behind in the locker room–or thinks about much of anything at all, really. Hayden doesn’t end up remembering a lot from the fight, and it’s kind of the same with the ambulance ride, or anything that follows it. He can live with the blank in his head, if only Shane ends up being alright.

Shane gets admitted to a private room, less for the severity of his injuries and more for his celebrity status. Someone must’ve already reported on his injury, probably right as it happened, like a play-by-play or rumors about a trade, as if this is just another piece of news in the hockey world and not Shane. For now, Hayden should just be happy that there isn’t a news van stalking the hospital’s waiting room. He doesn’t feel comfortable either way.

Shane had been confused in the ride to the hospital, awake a few, short times, none that Hayden was allowed to speak with him. He needed to give the paramedics space. They stabilized his neck and collarbone and kept checking his vitals and pupils, tapping Shane on the arm every time he went quiet for too long. With brain injuries, you don’t want someone falling asleep until you know how bad it is–Hayden’s well aware of how serious they can be. They’d cost him his veteran once. Now, he thinks if it’s also going to cost him his rookie.

It might be one of the longest days of Hayden’s life, which is saying something. Hayden feels stupid in his blocky hockey uniform, waiting to hear news about Shane while he’s wearing just thermal socks in a hospital corridor and pressing an ice pack to his bruised hand. Most of all, he feels useless, and that’s a dangerous combination to have. Since he didn’t pick any of his things before leaving the arena, he doesn’t have his phone to call Jackie, or Shane’s parents–although all of them must have probably already heard something on their own. Hayden can just sit around and wait, dutifully filling Shane’s entrance form, until finally, they’re either done with him, or someone feels bad enough about Hayden that a doctor comes out to give him some updates.

Concussion and a broken collarbone–and probably a wicked bruise on his entire left side, with how hard he hit the ice. “But he’s okay?” Hayden keeps repeating every five seconds during the doctor’s explanation. The thing he never liked about doctors is how clinical they are with their descriptions. He was so busy with hockey in school, he barely completed senior high; he doesn’t have a diagram in his head to point him to someone’s scapula and clavicle, or the grades of a fracture. “The–the concussion, it’s not bad?”

“Every concussion is bad,” the doctor says with a good deal of patience. “And with any athlete, the recurrence of them is very worrying in the long-term. But as of now, Mr. Hollander is conscious and clearheaded. He also remembers everything.”

Which has to be good news. Hayden takes his first full breath in maybe–he counts in his head–three hours. He never liked emergency medicine. As fast as everyone must have been in checking Shane for anything life or career-threatening, Hayden has felt cut away from it at length. It’s okay–he’ll take it. Shane’s okay. He falls back onto the chair he had been waiting out in the hallway with enormous weight.

“Can I see him?” he asks the doctor when he can speak again. Looking up at the woman when she is on her feet, and in neat scrubs to boot, he just feels more of a beggar. Thankfully, she must have some experience dealing with helpless people.

“In a minute. Mr. Hollander–”

“Shane.”

“Shane,” the doctor corrects herself, “was taken for imaging right now. It’s just a precaution," she is quick to add. “Orthopedics will want a few scans of their own as well. Since you’re both players, I imagine you’ll also want to know that his collarbone will take longer than the concussion to recover.”

“How long?” Hayden asks, and immediately cringes when the answer is way too long. “That’s–that’s longer than the rest of the season.”

He feels bad about worrying about that as soon as he says it; Hayden should be glad Shane’s as okay as he is, but it’s automatic for his head to process every information in the terms of missed games and what will become of the playoffs. Montreal is leading the division in points, but Shane’s their strongest attacker and–there goes Hayden thinking about it again.

“No, no, no–” he makes himself say, stopping the doctor from trying to make him understand how important it is for Shane not to be involved in any physical effort that involves his arm and shoulder at all, nevermind hockey. “I mean–I, I understand, it’s stupid to be thinking about that. I’ll make sure he understands it too.”

The doctor can’t quite hide how pleased she is at hearing that; Hayden supposes she has worse experience with other sports players. For her own good, he hopes she doesn’t speak with Shane at all–he’s the worst of the bunch.

“While you wait for Mr–for Shane to come back, is there someone you would like to call? We’ve been informed that his parents are already on their way here.” It’s a good thing that their game happened in Montreal; Yuna and David are just some miles away. “The nursing staff may have some scrubs as well, if you’d like to change.”

“I, uh–pants, maybe?” He can take his sweater and protective pads in a bathroom, but Hayden doesn’t think it’s as socially acceptable to be in his thermal leggings as his compression shirt, unless everyone wants to know how flat his ass is. The rest he can ask Jackie to bring him. Shit–Jackie. “And if someone could lend me a phone…”

A very nice nurse does, and as soon as Hayden calls Jackie–thank god he actually remembers her number, different from some of the team’s rookies–and speaks, she’s out of breath. “Hayden–oh my god, I’ve been trying to call you like crazy.”

So she knows. He wonders if it was the news or someone from the WAGs groupchat that told. Both options feel a lot more impersonal than Hayden wishes she heard about Shane. “I left everything at the arena. When Shane was taken to the hospital–”

“No, yeah, of course–you’re with him? He’s okay?”

Yes. Debatable. “He’s going to be,” Hayden answers, because that’s what matters. “He’s awake, apparently–I still haven’t been able to see him.”

“Yuna and David are on their way; they called me. They didn’t know what hospital Shane was taken to yet, so I didn’t know where to go.”

Hayden has to ask the phone’s owner for the hospital’s name so he can tell Jackie, since he hadn’t actually paid attention to that when the ambulance was arriving here. He asks for clothes too (to Jackie, not the nurse) although with four kids, who should all be in bed, he knows it might take a while for her to actually get here; she’ll have to leave them with her parents, or ask one of them to come to their house. Hayden will wait; he’s not leaving any time soon.

Hayden’s down to his compression shirt and a loaned pair of pants when Shane’s taken back to his room. “He fell asleep in the machine,” one of the nurses informs him, and although Hayden’s immediate reaction is to think there’s something wrong, the nurse is smiling, so it must be alright. “It’s just a nap–he must be tired. Concussion protocol is going to wake him again in an hour, but that’ll be past visiting hours.”

It’s already past it. The nurse is polite not to say Hayden shouldn’t be here, considering that Shane isn’t in critical condition. That should reassure Hayden, but neither his brain nor body have quite got the memo yet.

“It’s alright,” he tells the nurse. He wouldn’t want to force Shane to stay awake to see him either way; he remembers from personal experience how much a concussion sucks. And that’s without considering how much pain Shane’s going to be feeling on his shoulder. Shane should get all the rest he can. “Can I just–”

The nurse must understand that Hayden wants a peek into the room either way, and he’s also kind enough to allow Hayden that. Inside, the blinds are closed and the lights are off, and Shane’s snoring slightly, like someone in deep and restful sleep. Painkillers will do that to someone. Hayden lingers at the door more than he has to, or should, but he kind of needs the image of Shane’s chest rising and falling with only a slight uncomfortable breath–his arm and collarbone are immobilized quite tightly, enough of a reminder of his fracture–to be able to convince himself he really is okay.

Hayden’s already waiting to leave when Jackie gets to the hospital, which must be a frustration and a half for her; she probably could use a peak at Shane too. Jackie looks at Hayden’s bare clothes and the plastic bag he’s carrying, with the rest of his uniform and pads–somewhere in the hospital, Shane’s own should be waiting like that too–and she immediately focuses on the wrap Hayden was eventually convinced to get for his hand.

Jackie makes a low sound. She touches her hand to Hayden’s cheek when she’s close enough, the flesh scrapped and tender. Marlow didn’t really fight him back (the only reason why Hayden doesn’t have a broken collarbone too, probably) but he did try to shove Hayden away when he went at him; Hayden’s cheek was clipped in the scuffle. Compared to Shane, he’s brand new.

Hayden is old enough now that he doesn’t cry after fights, but he does feel more weepy than he wishes he was in front of Jackie, standing outside the hospital. She has to get the bag she brought on her shoulder–completely useless–out of the way to give him a hug, and get one of her own.

It might be a good thing that the kids aren’t at home anymore, considering how tattered Hayden feels at the moment, but he still wants–needs–to see them, so he gets his throat to work enough to ask Jackie, “Can we go to your mom and dad’s place?” exhaling when she nods.

They’ll come back tomorrow morning.

The Hollanders get to Montreal in the middle of the night, and stay at a hotel since the hospital’s visiting hours rules also count for them. In the little Hayden has spoken with them since, they kind of created a schedule to come visit Shane–David is trying to get Yuna to calm down a little before their turn, Hayden reads between the lines–so he and Jackie get there the first time in the morning, as early as the hospital will accept them.

Shane is still getting woken up every few hours as a precaution, but he’s had a good night, Hayden is told. “We had him up a few minutes ago. It’ll be breakfast time at eight, if you want to let him sleep a little more.”

Hayden nods at the nursing staff. It does feel a bit better to be in the hospital in his day clothes. He needs to field messages in his phone every few minutes–everyone from coach to the team wants updates (Hayden imagines the Hollanders got the front office, and the league commission too)--but he’s got Jackie and a cup of coffee. He’s not half as rattled as last night.

It’s not so long until the same nurse comes with a breakfast tray, smiling as if in invitation to Jackie and Hayden, and they get up more enthusiastically than perhaps they should. Shane should still be slightly sedated–or in pain, or both–so maybe Hayden shouldn’t have big expectations of meeting him right now, but he can’t help himself. Jackie’s just as hopeless. They follow the nurse inside the private room while holding each other’s hands and their own breaths.

“‘s not been one hour,” Shane slurs as soon as he’s woken up, as if already familiar–and annoyed–with that particular protocal. The nurse is gentle with him, if insistent–probably used with waking up patients, especially those under some kind of pain relief. After the night he had, Hayden just about tears up when he first hears Shane’s voice, in its sleepiness sounding almost anticlimactic after the whirlwind from last night. He still sounds strangely jolly–teasing, almost.

“It’s breakfast time,” the nurse tells Shane just as friendly–and then, she says the next part a bit conspirationally. “Also: you have guests.”

Shane squints as he turns his head towards the room’s door–Hayden doesn’t know if at the light, or because his vision is blurry in general–but he immediately perks up when he sees Hayden and Jackie. “Guys!

Hayden doesn’t think they’ve ever been welcomed as strongly and happily by Shane as right now–which makes him sound rude, but really, he’s just generally pretty carefully-contained. Now, Shane sounds almost high. Which, he kind of is, Hayden realizes with immediate delight. There’s a saline drip by his side, with some sort of combo that’s rendered Shane loose and mild, maybe for the first time Hayden has seen him.

Jackie must feel some amusement of her own too, with how her voice melts butter-soft when she tells him, “Hi.” It’s all they can do not to either outright coo or start laughing at Shane, who’s honest to god beaming at them.

“Hey, buddy,” Hayden greets him too, and–besides the humor–he could fall with how relieved he feels right now. Nothing is as assuring as seeing Shane awake, and high of his gourd. Hayden can’t believe he was described as clear-headed last night.

Shane can’t–and shouldn’t–move, but he shows enough intent that Hayden and Jackie immediately walk to the side of his bed to be closer, until Shane, thankfully, settles. “They said you were here,” he says, indistinct if it’s to Hayden, Jackie, the nurse, or even himself. “And then that you were gone! But you’re here again.”

“With breakfast,” the nurse reminds Shane. When he eughs in distaste, she just nudges the tray on the table a bit closer to him, before taking her leave, exchanging one last–slightly humoring–look with Hayden and Jackie.

“Looks bad,” Shane says of the food, although it looks exactly the same as the gunk he eats at home, in Hayden’s opinion. He sinks severely against his raised bed, head lolling back, more interested in fixing Hayden and Jackie with his dopey, dilated look. “Did we win? Nobody would tell me. I dunno if this hospital has a lot of hockey fans.”

“It’s Montreal,” Hayden says entirely endearedly. He can’t hold himself from fixing the sheets over Shane a little bit, settling it down better across his chest, heart feeling too big for his upper body. “Everyone’s a hockey fan.”

Shane makes an unconvinced sound, so Hayden answers his question as best as he knows. “They’re going to restart the game, I think. It didn’t finish last night.” Hayden, if he’s being honestly, doesn’t really care about the score anymore.

“You guys better win,” Shane tells him, with as much seriousness as his jolly, inebriated state can afford him, which is almost none. He seems physically incapable of stopping smiling, and that means something when he’s talking about a game of hockey, which he has always treated as life or death. “We have to get a lot of points, a lot, because I can’t play. The doctor said no, for months.”

“And we’re going to listen, right?” Jackie asks him, like how she tries to get Ruby and Jade to count to ten in french, or promise to behave. Shane looks very unwilling–if it’s usually 50/50 every time he tries to keep emotions off his face, then he’s hopeless right now–but he accepts it with a very somber nod.

“Are my mom and dad already here?”

“In a moment. Actually–” Jackie glances at Hayden, “I should probably wait outside for them. They’re going to like hearing you’re awake, Shane.”

“You’re welcome,” he says earnestly, and Jackie bites a smile as she briefly brushes the hair off his face.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jackie tells him, because she’s more emotionally mature than anyone in the NHL. Shane savors the words more than he usually does any kind of affection, although it only lasts until Jackie says to Hayden, “Make sure he eats,” before she takes her leave.

Shane can’t see it, but she still looks happy enough she’d probably let him get out of eating, if he only pouted a bit more. Jackie still exchanges a serious enough look with Hayden, mostly to share the relief she’s feeling too, checking out Hayden's own. He tries to send her off with enough reassurance, and he hopes he succeeds.

There are some chairs by the side of the room, and Hayden grabs one so he can sit instead of standing awkwardly by Shane’s side, careful not to let it drag noisily across the floor and make Shane’s head hurt even worse. He’d consider closing the blinds all the way too, but Shane seems okay enough. He even picks a bit at the cover over his food.

“I was really worried,” Hayden says after he’s sat down. These things don’t come naturally to him, but he’s always made the effort to be truthful with the kids, and the same rules should apply to Shane right now; even as he hums a little noise towards Hayden, confused and taken off guard. He’s forgotten his food again–fixing Hayden with all the enormity of his big, glazed eyes. “The hit was pretty scary,” Hayden tells him, and it’s all he can do to not get choked up. “You didn’t see it, but everyone from the team freaked out.”

“I think I heard fighting,” Shane considers thoughtfully. Hayden nods, trying not to feel too embarrassed as he shows off his bandaged hand.

“That was me. And the other guys.” Shane visibly perks up at the thought of his team coming to his defense. It’s a conditional kind of care–god knows if they’d do the same if they knew the relationship Shane has with Rozanov–but Hayden is glad to see that joy on Shane’s face, temporary as it might be. “But the hit wasn’t intentional, I don’t think. I don’t know. They’ll probably do an investigation.”

“Eh,” Shane’s nose curls. “Shouldn’t. These things happen, right?” He gives a big and heavy sigh. “I just wished I wasn’t out of the playoffs. And…”

He drifts away. Shane shakes his head emphatically, as if to expunge a thought, until the motion makes both his neck and head hurt, and he does a big wince.

“Careful,” Hayden tells him. Shane settles back onto his pillow with a curl of his lip, blinking slowly. Hayden covers his eyes from the light with his palm for a moment, mostly to distract Shane; once, during their first pregnancy, he’d done the same with Jackie when she had a migraine, just to pretend there was something he could do to help with the pain. It seemed to, then. “Do you want to be off next season too?”

Shane’s lips quirks up at the joke, although he’d usually be knocking on wood three times just at such a suggestion. He blinks sluggishly when Hayden uncovers his eyes again. “What were you saying?” Hayden urges him along, but Shane’s wordless now; he doesn’t unstick his dry lips from each other.

Hayden has an idea of what else Shane might have been sad to miss last night.

Of all the circumstances he had been looking for to talk to Shane about this, a hospital room might have been at the very bottom of the list. Hayden mulls with himself if he even wants to talk about this, but he’s suddenly very aware that, if Shane wasn’t wearing his helmet, if he fell just a bit more awkwardly, if Marlow was actually trying to hurt him, he might’ve not been speaking with Shane right now at all. There’s a lot more factors that Hayden had never considered; he’d rather not miss any conversation he might have had with Shane.

His throat feels really dry too, but Hayden forces himself to clear it, aware of how Shane is looking at him, still soft-eyed and with no defense around his heart.

“Hey. There’s something…there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with you. Something important.”

“About this?” Shane nudges his head slightly in direction of his hurt shoulder. Hayden shakes his head, suddenly helpless at how openly Shane’s looking at him.

He always said he wanted to have this conversation when he knew Shane wasn’t going to run away, and sure, this is technically true, considering he’s on a hospital bed, but this might be the most vulnerable Hayden could have found him. Maybe this isn’t actually that good an idea. And yet–if he keeps finding excuses, when will he say anything at all?

“It’s nothing bad,” Hayden assures, before there’s any amount of silence sufficient to worry Shane; that’s the last thing he wants. That, and any insecurity that might take him. “I really need you to know that it’s nothing bad, and I mean that, Shane. This is–this is super okay. It’s–it’s never been anything you should have worried about me, and I promise this, alright?”

Shane nods–slowly, so he won’t hurt himself–but there’s a knot between his eyebrows, only slightly more to the side of confusion than worry, if at least for the moment. Hayden takes a deep breath, and forces himself to keep eye contact.

“I know…I know about Rozanov. Ilya. I’ve known it for, uh, a little while. I know that you and him–and that you–I know. Okay? I know.”

Shane keeps looking at him in silence for longer than Hayden would ever be comfortable with. He’s just ready to start repeating–fervently–how okay he is with this, nevermind his personal opinion on Rozanov, but Shane opens his mouth first, something very measured on his face, despite the morphine.

“...I don’t know a Rozanov.” Shane–god bless him–tries to look completely serious as he says it. Hayden could actually slap himself. God–how did Shane manage to keep this hidden for so long?

He doesn’t slap himself; he does drag a hand across his face though. Hayden feels too much and too many things, impossible to put all into words. He just looks at Shane, helpless to do anything else. “Oh, buddy,” he says, despite himself.

“I mean,” Shane says, and tries to word himself with a good deal of consideration. At least he’s not crying, Hayden thinks. At least he’s not freaking out–yet. In fact, he looks so calm about this, Hayden has to consider if he’s even going to remember this moment later at all, or if he’s more high than Hayden had previously thought. “I do know a Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov. But I don’t know about that, at all. Never heard of it. So you’re wrong. Sorry.”

“I know he’s Lily, Shane,” Hayden tells him, as patiently as he’s ever gone through any conversation with his children. He’s very distantly aware that there might be a timestamp to this conversation–the Hollanders will have to get here sometime, or Jackie is going to come back–but the world might as well only exist in this hospital room. Hayden is almost surprised that he doesn’t feel stressed, even as Shane completely fails to lie. All that he has with him is the same tired, exasperated affection he’s been carrying with himself from the moment he figured things out. Now he’s got the words out, he might even feel peaceful.

The new piece of information certainly throws Shane in a loop, but he still takes a moment to go over his cards, helpless but to keep trying. “...There is indeed a Lily. And a Ilya. They exist.” Hayden sighs; since he can’t get Shane to stop, he settles in fixing his covers for him again. “I don’t know how to explain that coincidence, that one’s really, uh, strange.”

It’s not his fault; Hayden caught him in a pretty bad time to think of excuses and explanations.

“I’ve known for a while,” Hayden repeats, so Shane knows he’s already worked through all the arguments Shane’s trying to force himself to create in his bruised head. He keeps his voice soft, although it’s pretty much impossible that it’ll do anything to settle Shane when this is what he’s telling him. “I know it’s not a coincidence. I just didn’t say anything because–I mean.”

Hayden motions helplessly between them: here’s the denial he was already expecting.

Shane breathes out something very heavy and slow. Here comes the stress Hayden had been dreading. He looks at the heart monitor by Shane’s side, suddenly scared that it’s just about to go off.

“And it’s okay,” he repeats, very insistently now. “I mean, I had questions, sure–but the biggest one is why you didn’t just tell me. Jeez, Shane. This–this is pretty fucking big, buddy.” And dangerous, and scary, and all the other things Shane has to have been aware of from the very first moment he and Rozanov did anything. Hayden’s aware of that too. “I could–I wish you’d let me carry a bit of the weight too.”

The feeling of inadequacy, that Shane might not have trusted him, after years and years of Hayden believing himself to be his biggest supporter, is a lot bigger than any disagreement he might have had about Ilya Rozanov. That pales in comparison.

“Sorry,” Shane says automatically, voice small, although Hayden’s first response at that is to shake his head, and he doesn’t know if Shane’s giving up on denying it or if he’s just going through the conversation mechanically, not really following anything.

“No, I don’t–I don’t want you to be sorry. I get that this is serious. Maybe–maybe not the relationship,” although Hayden hopes that it is, at least to some degree, with how much Shane might be risking for it (and god, Hayden can’t believe he’s technically rooting for Rozanov), “but the, the existence of it–I know that it’s dangerous. I know it’s risky. But, Shane–you have to have known I’m not part of the risk.”

Hayden isn’t so sure anymore that Shane did. His face is blank, somewhere between overwhelmed and just vacant; there’s no recognition of the trust Hayden is begging Shane to say he has. He falls back against his chair heavily.

The worst part is that Hayden isn’t really offended–the hurt he feels is entirely turned on himself. He wasn’t half of a safe space as much as he liked to think of himself; and should he really be so surprised? How long did it take for him to actually consider Shane was into men? How readily he was to believe–at the slightest reassurance–that he really was straight?

Hayden’s the one that should be saying sorry. The word’s right beneath the tightness in his throat, but Shane speaks first, still as unsurely–and small–as the last time. “Everything is.”

Hayden looks up at his voice, and Shane’s face doesn’t look that much clearer in the grand scheme of things, but he’s dropped the attempt at mildness that had him trying to dig his way out of Hayden’s suspicions. It’s as much confirmation as he’ll have, Hayden thinks.

Everything is part of the risk, Shane meant. It’s a really, really sad way to live.

Hayden sighs, if it can be called that, with how shaky his breath leaves him. “Is it worth it?” His voice comes out quiet too, and Hayden doesn’t know if that’s because of the secrecy or frailty of the moment. “Rozanov?”

Shane doesn’t answer right away; Hayden doesn’t know if it’s thanks to the morphine or the enormity of the question. There’s an actual chance he’s never had to think of an answer to that before. It's too big and honest.

There’s still a blankness to Shane’s eyes from his saline drip, but even so, he grabs onto the question, and his willingness to consider it even through these circumstances would already mean something, even if he didn’t end up saying what he says.

“He…makes me forget I’m me.” Shane doesn’t have to say Rozanov’s name for Hayden to know he’s talking about him, and as clumsily as Shane picked the words, Hayden knows exactly what he’s talking about, and how much that would be worth. How else would Shane put everything on the line, if not by forgetting every requirement and promise built for Shane Hollander?

It must be as freeing as scary. But here’s Shane, days from texting and calling Ilya Rozanov while he was a continent away, who skated to talk with him before the game, even though they were surrounded by their respective teams and couldn’t do anything in public; who’s done everything he shouldn’t, and wouldn’t like, if it weren’t for Rozanov.

It’s not only Shane. Hayden wasn’t paying attention to it at the time, but he wasn’t the only one that freaked out on the ice. While Hayden was breaking Marlow’s nose, Rozanov, Hayden later learned, loomed by Shane even as the refs threatened a penalty. He was as worried–and scared–as Hayden felt.

“You really don’t do anything by half, do you,” Hayden mumbles to himself, shaking his head slightly, in disbelief, not disagreement. Only Shane, who’s never found a mountain he couldn’t climb, would find himself in a relationship with Ilya Rozanov, and make him turn out to be a half serious person. Hayden feels his mouth tug, half rueful and half mushy.

“He’s good with you?” Hayden asks quietly. Shane gives one short nod of his head, so small Hayden probably wouldn’t see it if he wasn’t sitting so close, and he repeats the notion back–although, really, he’s nodding to himself. “Okay,” he says, and repeats the same word in his head.

Hayden leaves Shane’s room after fussing over him just a little bit more. Shane’s breakfast waits for him and, soon, so will his parents; Hayden wants to find wherever Jackie’s waiting for them, if only so he’ll get some breathing room after the heart-to-heart he and Shane just had. He knows that Shane will want that just as much–although, who knows, maybe the morphine’s also going to lighten that discomfort.

Jackie’s nowhere to be seen outside the room, or much of anyone. It’s too early for too many other visitors, and the hospital was smart enough to choose an especially private room for Shane; the nurses must be giving him some space too. Hayden’s thankful for it, for the conversation it afforded him, but as he’s closing the door behind him and sees blonde hair from the corner of his eye, something tells him that by the end of the day, Shane will be thankful for it because of someone else.

Aside from league events, Hayden has never been in the same place as Rozanov outside of the ice. His first thought, after the surprise at catching him in the act of quietly walking up to Shane’s room (Rozanov looks pretty surprised to be caught too), is that he’s shorter out of his skates. Any player is–but there’s a specific kind of aura that Rozanov has on the ice, which is at least partially missing right now. He’s in day clothes and taken completely off guard, like a cat that’s just been caught trying to steal something out of someone’s plate. He was trying to sneak; of course he was trying to sneak. Which hospital in the world would allow visitation for a complete stranger at best, and professional rival at worst?

Shane’s not the only one living a sad double life. Hayden can’t imagine what it would be like to know Jackie’s hurt, but not being able to visit her. It’s that, and the leftover sense of peace that Hayden brought with him out of the room, that makes him not react to Rozanov with the usual distaste. He doesn’t even feel awkward, which maybe he should, considering the last time they spoke one-on-one. Hayden wonders if Rozanov’s also thinking of that, when he looks at Hayden as if he’s going through three different stages of grief at once.

Hayden doesn’t let Rozanov try to improvise an excuse why he’s outside Shane Hollander’s hospital room; he doesn’t look as ready for a fight as he did a few weeks ago. “Hey.”

Hayden puts his hands inside his pockets, holding Rozanov’s gaze. He doesn’t say anything more, or any explanation exactly, but there can’t be that many reasons why Hayden isn’t bombarding Rozanov with questions right now–or threats, considering whose team hurt Shane. Rozanov puts two with two together; he blinks, a little startled, and Hayden knows that Rozanov knows. Hayden’s aware of what’s between him and Shane, and alright enough with it that it hasn’t given him more reason to run Rozanov away from here.

If Rozanov’s waiting for a blessing, he’s going to leave empty-handed, but Hayden likes Shane too much not to give him the things he wants. “He’s awake,” he tells Rozanov. He doesn’t know how long it will be until the Hollanders will get here, but he doesn’t imagine that Rozanov will spend too long with Shane either way. He’s kind of stupid for even risking coming here. Hayden hates him a little less for doing it anyway for Shane.

He steps to the side to give Rozanov space. Hayden will have other chances to make his displeasures known, or to find out anything about Rozanov; Hayden’s not going to start a fight today. Rozanov gets to see Shane with his own eyes too, before however long it is that’ll they manage to see each other again. Now that Shane’s season is over, there won’t be an excuse for him and Rozanov to be in the same city, Hayden realizes belatedly. They should at least get to have this.

“Your team can still fuck off,” Hayden still says, before Rozanov walks into Shane’s room. This part is still important for him to know–in general, but especially after last night. Rozanov must understand that Hayden is thinking of that.

“For today, ’s okay,” he grumbles out. It’s more than he’d ever afford, that’s for sure. Hayden tries to feel some comfort that it wasn’t only him that really fucking hated Marlow last night.

He lets Rozanov go in after that, and stops himself from lingering by the door, and getting any glance. This part isn’t for Hayden; it’s never been for him. Shane and Rozanov only get these moments for themselves.

Hayden goes to find Jackie.

Chapter End Notes

it felt thematic to neither have a chapter summary or beginning chapter notes--hayden's in a hurry!
there's still two chapters left. the first of them goes through the very last part of episode 5 and cuts off before the cottage, because that's not really hayden's part of the story, is it? the last chapter is an epilogue so to speak that would be roughly set after the end of season 1; it's my version of 'my dinner with hayden', an extra story published in the heated rivalry book.
i hope that the conversation between shane and hayden in this chapter (which is still just a premilinary one--there's another one that's kind of funny coming up lmao) felt well deserved. ik that it and hayden finding out is what everyone has been waiting for really. now that hayden's aware of things that are happening (and is open to shane about that), he gets to watch them from somewhere closer, which is a perspective i'm really interested in showing!
as always, thank you for every bit of attention this gets, be it via comments and kudos. i like the loop of updating something and getting to see everyone's immediate reactions and thoughts; that kind of engagement is the bread and butter of anything fandom. i already liked hayden (for all his fail, heterosexual faults) but now i got even more fond and defensive of him as i wrote this haha. that's shane's best friend slash big brother. his relationship with shane (and with ilya for that matter) is so rich to me. (and about the latter: i hope you also enjoyed the little glimpse of hayden and ilya we got here c:)

additional notes:
-QMJHL stands for 'quebec maritimes junior hockey league', which is self-explanatory.
-'Ježiš Kristus' is jesus christ in slovakian, and i'm hoping as much of a international exclamation as i think it is. i mentioned that mitty played for the slovakian team in the chapter with the olympics.
-the pittsburgh penguins had a peanuts-themed night last sunday (peanuts as in, snoopy). this isn't anything related about this chapter i just thought that was really funny and i want everyone to know about it. quick, what pop culture icon would the montreal metros pick for a themed night (bonus point it is something french-canadian)!!!

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

i'm punksalmons on tumblr, where i also ocasionally post hr fanart. my april resolution is to finish some wips when i'm done with this story. *rips shirt off* I LOVE THESE CHARACTERS!!!

Chapter 12: xii.

Chapter Summary

Aftermaths.

Chapter Notes

arrives late with my hair all screwed up. so what a week huh. (it's still tuesday)

thanks for the patience for this chapter, and this fic's completion as a whole. finishing a story is always a bit bittersweet, but it feels pretty good to say you did it. as i mentioned before, there's still another chapter coming, but if this one feels like an ending it's because it kind of is. next chapter is more of a bonus than anything, and i'm hoping i'll be able to release it as soon as this weekend. thank you for getting here with me!

MARCH, 2017

Shane goes to stay with his parents in his apartment downtown when he gets discharged from the hospital, a little over twenty four hours from admission. His concussion is demoted to low-grade, which the doctors want to reevaluate in a few days time, the reason why the Hollanders just don't take him back home to Ottawa right away. Hayden is selfishly happy about that last part.

It's good to have Shane sticking around in Montreal for a while longer, even if they're not seeing each other on the ice–especially because they're not seeing each other on the ice. It’s already kind of a struggle not to have Shane at home when Hayden’s recent memories of him are of his banged-up state, even if Shane’s already been living on his own for months, and probably wouldn’t come back to be babysat now, not to anyone who aren’t his parents, but Hayden still feels a bit over the place. It would be even worse if Shane was in another province entirely.

Shane’s officially scratched from the last games of the regular season on the same day he leaves the hospital, put in the Metros’ injury reserve under an upper-body injury: his broken collarbone. It’s a downer ending for a season that was going so well, setting up for another cup run, but it’s not like Montreal is just going to sit on their laurels because their captain is out; they’ll keep putting up a fight of their own, as far as they’ll manage. Although it’s going to take a while to get part of their roster back. After the brawl with Boston, Hayden, McGroarty and a guy from the Raiders’ bench (not Marleau–the hit was ruled the accident that it was) were suspended for a few of the next games. Hayden keeps that part hidden from Shane; at least there was this upside of him not being allowed to use screens.

So, Hayden spends a few days at home, twirling his thumbs while watching games from the boredom of his couch, and trying not to text the Hollanders about Shane too much. He doesn’t know if it helps or makes it worse that his children are just as bad as him, asking when they get to visit Shane. Young kids aren’t conducive to the quiet, calm environment you’re supposed to have with a concussion, but they worry about Shane, even if Jackie and Hayden mostly downplayed his injury. It used to be that they saw him every day. Hayden gets it.

So, Hayden’s happy, very happy, when David and Yuna ask about all of them having lunch together, after Shane is two-day free from any concussion symptoms. Nothing beats seeing him in person at Hayden’s front door, flanked by his parents and not looking as bad as he had in the hospital bed, five days ago. He’s still got a sling, and a brace, but the bruising is gone from his face, along with the pained look at light and sounds.

Hayden gives Shane a half-hug, patting his non-injured shoulder as many times as he dares. He thinks he does better than Ruby, who immediately mobs Shane–”His shoulder, Roo,” Jackie warns her–and Jade, who doesn’t approach him at all, as if his arm would fall off at the barest touch.

“Do we get to sign?” Arthur asks Shane when he’s past the front door, although he doesn’t have a cast. Shane looks at the fabric of his sling as if considering the merits of writing on it with a sharpie, if only to make Arthur happy, so Jackie puts an end to that.

“He didn’t break his arm, baby–it was just his shoulder. The sling’s just helping. Right, Shane?” Jackie makes sure to glance between all the kids after Shane nods, taking the opportunity to soften the injury again. “Isn’t that better?”

Arthur looks like he’d take a broken arm just for the chance of doodling his name on a cast, but he acquiesces. Ruby grabs Shane’s good hand to pull him upstairs, insisting he still needs a doctor exam, which is just an excuse to get her and Jade’s doctor toys out, bright pink plastic stethoscope included. It was inevitable for them to make him play patient, really.

Hayden and Jackie give her–and Jade, and Arthur, and Amber, who all decided to be nurses too–ten minutes of playing until lunch time. Half of it is spent with Jackie and Hayden setting the table and talking with Yuna and David (Shane’s good, they tell them, although he’s miffed about not being allowed to use his phone–Hayden can guess why). More importantly, it gives them a chance to talk with each other.

“He doesn’t look–” Jackie makes a vague gesture of distress. They’ve slipped away to get glasses for the wine bottle the Hollanders bought, and Jackie keeps her voice low in the kitchen. Outside, Yuna and David are talking indistinctively to each other; upstairs, the kids’ voices mix together, Shane a low thrum underneath. Hayden told Jackie what he talked with Shane in the hospital, of course; without the benefit of morphine, she’d been expecting him today to look more stressed about someone knowing about his relationship with Ilya Rozanov.

Hayden agrees, and feels a pinprick of wrongness. It’s probably nothing–maybe all that Shane feels is relieved–and, anyway, it’s not like they were going to ask him more about the Rozanov of it all this very afternoon, not with Shane’s parents and Jackie and Hayden’s kids around. But Hayden thinks again about all the pain-killers, and how out of it Shane looked, and he does have to consider that maybe talking to him then might have had some problems.

They all have lunch together, exchanging friendly but mild conversation together–Shane’s close with the Pikes, but that doesn’t mean the Pikes are all that close with the Hollanders–until Hayden feels like he’s sweating ice at the end of it, out of place with the laid-back mood and comfortable weather of the afternoon. Shane doesn’t remember a thing; Hayden is sure of that. Shane looks uncomfortable when Rozanov or the Raiders–who are tearing it up without Shane around–get mentioned, but he doesn’t glance at Hayden with shared knowledge. In Shane’s head, this thing is still just his secret.

Hayden excuses himself from outright panicking at the table and gets back inside to pick another jar of juice and a little bucket of ice. In a few minutes, Jackie follows him in.

She gives him a long look when she’s out of sight of the backyard. “I thought he’d remember!” Hayden whisper-shouts in self-defence; he can hear the conversation still going on outside, Jade talking to Shane about pigeons, and Shane answering back. The lunch going on in the backyard isn’t so far that Hayden and Jackie can talk normally.

It’s not that Hayden thinks the conversation between him and Shane in the hospital wasn’t meaningful. Shane needed to hear those things and Hayden needed to say them, and that had worked in the moment. But morphine’s morphine. Things slip away, things cloud as if they belonged to a dream. Hayden wonders if that’s the length of what Shane remembers, something wispy and hard to know if it had happened for real.

“Well, you gotta do it again,” Jackie whispers back. Unfortunately, the first time didn’t really give Hayden any practice.

Jackie invites everyone to eat cheesecake inside after lunch is done, and since Shane doesn’t do dessert, Hayden takes that as a chance to make an excuse about talking to him about how the Metros are going. He’s less effective in justifying why he needs to do that as far away from the rest of everyone as the house will allow, staying out in the backyard alone and walking to the side of the fences, where the twins forgot a hopscotch pad, damp with the lawn’s dew, but Shane follows him anyway. Hayden finds out that it’s a lot more intimidating to start the conversation of ‘hey, I know your biggest secret’ when Shane isn’t lax with painkillers and smiling giddily back at him.

“Hey,” he forces himself to do it anyway. Hayden’s wearing flip-flops and the humid coolness of the grass is just making him feel colder. Shane’s rubbing at his aching shoulder absent-mindedly as he looks patiently at him, no more prepared to talk about Ilya Rozanov than anything that’s supposedly going on with the Montreal Metros. “You probably don’t remember–but in the hospital. Hum.”

Shane’s face goes through something complicated. “Oh,” he says, hand still suddenly, just making Hayden feel colder, before he looks away. His hand falls back to his side–he grabs, subtly, but not imperceptively, at a handful of his shorts’ fabric. “Yeah, uh–R-Rozanov visited me. I think his team made him do it, maybe, or something.”

Of course Shane remembered that part but not Hayden spilling his heart out. But Hayden can’t even care about that; watching Shane try to make a lie about the earnest worry of Ilya’s visit, putting an air of distance when both of them looked like they needed to see each other so much while Shane was hurt, makes Hayden’s heart and stomach wrap themselves into something tight and pained. It was this sort of lying and hiding that he couldn’t make himself allow Shane to live.

Shane’s still working through the same mask he must have used with his parents, but Hayden just stops, throat tight as he watches Shane. “I saw Rozanov,” he says, because that makes Shane stop, and it’s the truth. Everyone else learned about his visit because a sports reporter waiting in the parking lot saw his car–they didn’t respect Shane’s privacy or Rozanov’s–but Hayden was there to see the uncertainty in Rozanov’s face, how human and worried he looked, even as he pretended not to. “I talked with him when he was going to see you.”

A quick set of emotions flash though Shane’s eyes, all with some relation to panic. “Oh.” He reigns himself in, or so tries to, which is just salt on the wound; just looking at him, Hayden can feel the weight of the lie Shane is keeping together. “I mean–thank you for not punching him, the, the front office probably wouldn’t have liked another fight.”

“I wasn’t going to punch him.” Hayden tries not to feel tired as he says it. If Hayden’s tired just watching this from afar, Shane’s got to be exhausted. “I know–I know it wasn’t a captain’s visit, Shane.”

Shane looks like someone knocked him on the ice again. For a second, all he can do is stare at Hayden, mouth open, his eyes with a sheen of wetness to them, nothing like he looked when Hayden asked to talk with him five minutes ago.

It’s as much panic as Hayden has ever seen from Shane, someone who’s always tried to control everything in his hands. Hayden has cornered him, even if that was never how he wanted Shane to feel. For a second, Hayden doesn’t feel bad anymore about being kept out of Shane's life, but incredibly guilty for having figured something that Shane had taken so much care–to his own detriment–to keep hidden.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shane croaks out when he manages to speak again. Of course he knows–he wouldn’t look so scared otherwise.

“You do, buddy,” Hayden tells him patiently, painfully. He doesn’t know what it’d take for Shane not to read him as a threat right now, because he must surely already look like a wreck; Hayden barely managed to get the words out. “I know about you and him. I’ve known for a few months.”

Hayden wishes he’d thought to take Shane out of the house entirely before starting this conversation. He doesn’t think the distance to the fences is going to cut it.

“I talked with you,” Hayden starts saying, stumbling over himself, because Shane looks like he’ll explode like a panicking pressure cooker; he hadn’t freaked out this much when he was full of painkillers. “In the hospital–you don’t remember but, but we talked–”

That just makes Shane look even more distressed; at the thought of having possibly revealed something when he was drugged up, maybe, and Hayden mentally slaps himself for not realizing how that would just push Shane’s spiral of panic further.

“I thought you’d remember,” he says uselessly, because, really, a part of him had already gone relieved at the prospect of sharing this between him and Shane, one distance less, and a weight off Shane’s shoulder. But if anything, Shane just looks more heavy and haunted.

None of it works to make Shane look any better. Shane, honest to god, looks like he’s about to burst into tears. Hayden only ever saw Shane cry in that hotel room in Boston, one of his lowest moments, and he feels himself panic too when it seems Shane’s getting close to something like that again, all because of Hayden.

“It’s okay. Shane–it’s okay. It was okay then and, a-and it’s okay now and it’s always going to be okay–Buddy,” Hayden tears up a bit too, voice cracking despite himself, “how did you ever think it wasn’t going to be okay?”

Shane opens and closes his mouth, but Hayden think he’s more close to answering the start of the conversation than where they are right now; he’s lagging behind, struggling to follow in any possible way, and Hayden wishes he could just wrap Shane in a hug like when one of the kids gets overwhelmed, but that might as well be just another way for him to make Shane panic.

“Shane,” Hayden prods, desperate to hear anything at all.

He hasn’t been able to meet Hayden’s eye for a stretching moment, but there doesn’t seem to be any words to be found in the tree in the corner of the Pikes’ backyard, the grass lawn, the hopscotch pad. “Did–did he–”

“Rozanov didn’t say anything,” Hayden cuts that thought away before it can run off in Shane’s head. Even when Hayden found Rozanov in that service exit, what led him to figure things between him and Shane out wasn’t really what Ilya Rozanov said; as bitter and resentful he looked, Rozanov wasn’t cruel enough just to air out his and Shane’s dirty laundry. “I got there on my own. Way, way too late. I can’t believe that–you–”

“I’m sorry.” Shane had apologized in the hospital too, and Hayden still doesn’t want it now. He certainly doesn’t want the misery on Shane’s face, shakes his head before he can even finish.

“No, don’t, come on. Shane–you don’t gotta apologize.” Hayden can’t really hold a grudge on Shane for lying, when the stakes were–still are–so high, and he and Rozanov are the people they are. Whatever hurt Hayden might felt would be pretty fucking tiny at the sheer risk of everything that can happen with Shane if this comes out. “I can’t pretend I understand. I mean, the danger, or the, or R- or Ilya, but. I’m–You’re my best friend, Shane, other than Jackie. You–you have to know that, right? You know that I wouldn’t be part of the danger?”

He very much doesn’t, or he wouldn’t be looking like this. “Jeez, buddy,” Hayden croaks out, as stupid as it is, because there isn’t a word for how stricken he feels right now, and he crosses the distance between them to grab Shane by the shoulders after all, or he might as well die if Shane doesn’t get this right now.

“You’re my family,” he tells him, and Hayden really needs Shane to remember this part. “You’re my–you’re my actual brother, okay? There’s nothing–you could do anything, buddy, there could be anyone, and I’d never, ever stand against you. Never. I’d rather be fucking killed, okay, Shane? Okay? Never.”

Shane’s nose makes a damp noise, and Hayden pulls his head by its nape so Shane can hide against his shoulder and Hayden doesn’t see yet another thing from him that Shane doesn’t want. The damp noise comes a little stronger the next time, and the next, and Hayden squeezes Shane’s nape, his other hand instinctually moving to brush up and down against his back. “Never,” he repeats for good measure, as many times as he’ll need, and tries to swallow some dampness of his own when his throat starts closing up around the words.

When Shane pulls his head back again, immediately to wipe his knuckles against his eyes, his face looks red. Hayden doesn’t know how they’re supposed to keep that–or his own red eyes–from the people back inside the house but he’ll figure it out as long as this talk has made Shane understand where he stands. He keeps his hand on Shane’s back, still making circles, before dragging it back to his shoulder.

“This is–this is pretty fucking big right? I mean, the stakes–” Hayden tapers off, shaking his head; he still feels somewhat unbelieving even now. He’d rather have figured out things early for Shane’s sake, but not even Jackie thought that the man Shane was seeing was Ilya Rozanov.

“It’s worse for Ilya,” Shane’s voice comes out in a croak, and tiny. He still won’t look Hayden in the eye and his breathing is labored, but it’s from tearing up, not hyperventilation. “Russia,” Shane explains one-wordedly.

Hayden hadn’t even stopped to consider that.

“He called you from there,” Hayden recalls. At the time, he’d thought Shane was the one taking the risk to answer him every time, even when they were on the road and surrounded by teammates, but Rozanov was taking some of his own. “So it is serious.” He had already kind of figured, but this just confirmed it again.

Shane doesn’t look quite so sure, but he also thought Hayden wouldn’t be on his side–so. He moves on, asking, “You two haven’t told anyone?”

Shane shakes his head. They still haven’t–Shane didn’t tell this out of his own decision, Hayden was the one that figured it out first. He feels guilty again.

“Jackie also knows,” he tells Shane. It’s another hit against him, of course, but there isn’t an outcome where Hayden found out about something like this and kept it from his wife. They don’t work like that. “And she’s okay with it too–of course she is, Shane.”

She might have been even more okay than Hayden; she already had her suspicions. Hayden, for once, keeps that to himself. He doesn’t think Shane would take well to knowing there’s something about himself, whatever it is, that might have been enough to be read as not-straight to someone, despite how private he forces himself to be.

“And the kids would be okay with it too,” Hayden goes on, “and your mom and dad, you have to know that too.” But Shane doesn’t–he doesn’t stop looking dubious.

“It’s not that simple,” Shane mumbles. And, sure–but even as Hayden opens his mouth to argue, Shane doesn’t let him. “Ilya Rozanov, Hayd.”

Hayden might have had his own hangups about him, but seeing Rozanov visit Shane already did a lot to soften his image in his head; although he could do with playing hockey more cleanly too. “I mean,” he tries to argue, and it is hard, because Rozanov has been doing a pretty good job of being seen as a smug asshole in all the years he’s been playing. “Unless you’re been throwing games. Which–”

He looks to Shane just to be sure, and feels awful when he looks defeated–and proven right–that Hayden even had to ask. “See?” he asks, voice small. Hayden immediately backtracks.

“Of course you wouldn't. You’re Shane fucking Hollander–people would know that, Shane.” He’s been nothing but fair and hard-working from the very first moment of his career. He’s a poster boy–that had to count for something, if just being Shane–more than enough to Hayden–didn’t cut it to the rest of the world.

“I’ve been lying to everyone for ten years, Hayden.” The year count might as well shoot him in the chest; belatedly, Hayden realizes that this means Rozanov has known Shane for longer than even him. “You think that isn’t spitting on someone’s face?”

Not when it was for Shane’s safety. “You’re not a liar,” Hayden argues, because there’s something pretty different in keeping something because it threatens your livelihood, and if his thick head could realize that, then so could everyone else.

But Shane doesn’t look so sure. Pointedly, he looks back to the house–and everyone inside it that doesn't know about this.

“It’s not the same,” Hayden says uselessly, even if it doesn't stop Shane from looking painfully defeated.

His eyes are red-rimmed. Scraping his knuckles against them didn’t really help; maybe someone might see Shane and not think he started crying a few minutes ago, but they’d surely figure out at the very least that something was making him emotional. He looks younger, more vulnerable, and Hayden thinks of the little guy–maybe not that little–that arrived in this house years ago, carrying his whole life and future in a duffle bag along with his hockey sticks.

He had already been carrying a part of himself as a secret then, and Hayden feels for that kid. He never deserved to feel alone, even while living in a house with five other people.

There’s things Hayden might not be able to convince Shane of, and things he can’t change, no matter how much he wishes he could, but he can grab Shane by the shoulder again and at least make sure he knows this next part.

“It’s not a problem for me.” He says this measuredly and certainly, and Shane might not like eye contact, but Hayden needs him to listen now. He ducks his chin and follows Shane’s eyes no matter where he might have wanted to hide. “Hey–I mean that. And it’s not a problem for Jackie. It was never going to be, and if it was–if it was, you needed to kick the shit out of me, okay, Shane? I mean that. You wouldn’t deserve that. I just need you to be safe and happy. Nothing else matters.”

Shane’s next breath stutters out of him, eyes flickering along with it. He’s meeting Hayden’s eyes at the very least, and Hayden hopes he can see in them how much he means this.

“Not even Rozanov?” Shane finally asks, cheeky, and Hayden could smile that he still got in himself to tease him.

“Jackie said it made sense,” Hayden answers sincerely, instead of taking the easy back and forth. He’d been calling Rozanov an asshole for years now, and he’ll apologize to Shane about that too, yet another thing that must have made him feel like he couldn’t tell Hayden. Hayden might still not really get what’s between the two of them–there seems to be a lot more not in common than otherwise–but Jackie’s always been more right than him. “You’re both at the top. I guess it’d be pretty lonely.”

Hayden would ask if Shane is lonely–and to some degree, he must be, especially now, with Rozanov miles of air travel from distance–but he remembers the hospital. There’s a lot of moments he didn’t get to see, and wouldn’t have belonged to him anyway, but Rozanov had come to check on him just like Shane also took the time to keep him company with all those phone calls. It doesn't matter what Hayden might have thought of Rozanov; he came to check on Shane. That might be as admirable a thing as Hayden could learn about someone.

“It wasn’t lonely,” Shane mumbles after a moment of consideration. Hayden thinks he’s just proving him right, but Shane looks pointedly at him and–oh.

Shane’s not big on hugs usually, but Hayden hopes he’ll be patient about that today. He drags Shane for another quick embrace, breath stuttering out of him where he presses his face against Shane’s sweatshirt. Hayden can feel Shane breathing too, frail, but not to the degree when he was still panicking, and he squeezes him close. Shane hugs him back. It feels a bit like forgiveness.

APRIL, 2017

Shane goes to Ottawa when the doctors clear him. His arm is still in a sling, but his head’s officially clear of any concussion sign, so he’s free to look at screens to his heart’s content; it must be great news for Ilya, or so Hayden teases him, delighted that he gets to do this. It’s never not going to be astonishing that it’s Ilya Rozanov talking to Shane on the other side of North America, but Hayden likes that he knows now, has a face he can picture in his head, and isn’t walking blindly when he’s talking to Shane, like with Lily.

The Boston Raiders are tearing up a storm. Montreal had done so well through the regular season, raking up points, that even the loss of their captain didn’t take them entirely out of the standings, but Boston stole first place from them. They might go farther than the Metros in the playoffs, which Hayden is going to be pretty fucking bitter about, but he won’t hold as big of a grudge against Rozanov this time; he knows he’s keeping Shane pretty content while he’s resting in his parents house.

“At least I can watch games,” Shane tells him from the phone. He wouldn’t be able to if he still had a concussion. It kind of sounds like torture to Hayden, watching the very end of the regular season when you can’t take part of it, but Shane’s always in hockey mode. If he can’t play, at the very least he’ll want to keep up with it. “And mom watches them with me. I guess I missed doing intermission talks with her.”

For all that his father actually played professionally in college, Hayden thinks Shane got all the hockey from his mom. He keeps a snort to himself, focusing on taking off his skates. Metros walk past his stall, lumbering after the practice Theriault pushed them through this afternoon.

“Is that cap?” Wilson asks him. When Hayden gives him an offhanded thumbs-up, still paying more attention to what Shane is saying on the phone, Wilson hollers really loudly, as if trying to get Shane to hear him, “Hey, Holly!”

He gets shoved in line to get out of everyone’s way, but his head isn’t the only one perking up in interest at the call happening by Hayden’s ear. “The team says hi,” he relays to Shane. He hopes that counts for something; Hayden knows the Metros haven’t all been the kindest to Shane throughout his career.

“Tell Comeau he’s shooting too high.”

Hayden will do no such thing. “Hm-huh,” he hums noncommittally, hiding a smile. “Does Yuna have some pointers too?”

Shane earnestly relays him some, because of course he does. Hayden listens to it all, partly for the background noise it provides him while he unsticks his sweaty gear off him–yuck–and partly for the charity of not allowing David Hollander be the only one that has to hear Shane’s pointers (and Yuna’s, Hayden imagines) on every period and game. “And tell Mitty he’s doing alright, but his left side–”

“You should be calling Theriault with all these things,” Hayden cuts him off, more teasing than really annoyed, as he chucks his dirty socks in his laundry bag. The locker room has cleared out, only a few straggles left in the showers, and Hayden sits back against his stall, comfortable to mention this now–although he does take the extra caution in lowering his voice. “Do you talk shop with your boyfriend too, or only I get these free of charge?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Shane defends weakly. His voice always goes quieter when he talks about Rozanov; Hayden thought it was because his parents were around, but now he’s sure Shane does it even when he’s alone in his room, so used to sneaking around he doesn’t know how not to.

Hayden doesn’t know if Shane has mentioned to Ilya that he–and Jackie–knows about them. He hasn’t played against Rozanov again–the Raiders just finished up a road trip in another division–so there hadn’t been any chances to see if he’s acting any differently. Now that the games of the regular season are officially over, there’s a good chance Hayden is only going to see Rozanov again if they both move up past the second round in the playoffs.

“Are you going to travel to watch the games?” Hayden asks Shane. The Metros are going to have home-ice advantage in the first two, so really, it’d be an excuse for Shane to visit them in Montreal, but he isn’t really surprised when Shane answers no. Shane can’t drive in a sling, and he’d never been big on air travel outside of hockey. It would be a pain in the ass for him to travel with a broken collarbone, too, so Hayden doesn’t fault him for rejecting the invite. “Well, we’re going to miss you,” he still tells him, entirely honest.

“Are the kids excited?”

“Surprisingly so for people who don’t get the playoff format.” No matter how many times Hayden goes through it with them, they still ask how each round works. Well–at least Jade figured out the first one, now. They’ll get there by the time Amber is in middle school. “Blanchard’s wife ordered custom-made caps for the team’s kids too. I think Arthur’s more excited about his than the games.”

Shane’s snort from the other side of the phone is soft and muffled, and Hayden smiles reflexively at it. He sounds so at ease, that it propels Hayden to be brave enough to ask, “...Did you think about travelling to watch Rozanov play too?”

Shane’s next noise doesn’t sound as happy. The thing is, Hayden isn’t saying this to tease Shane or accuse him; this time, he’s being serious, or as serious as he thinks he can get on this topic with Shane. Shane and Rozanov–by Hayden’s count–haven’t seen each other since right after Marlow’s accidental hit. If they leave it to the NHL’s schedule, the next time will have to be when Shane is playing again, just next season–well after five months.

“Hayden…” He knows it’s complicated–he doesn’t need a lecture about that from Shane (or Jackie, or that matter). But it’s depressing.

“Are you even going to try to see each other in the offseason?” Hayden asks him.

Shane makes a vague noise. He keeps his answer to himself, but Hayden knows by the fraughtness of his voice that he doesn’t really like talking about this. “I don’t know if Ilya’s going to Russia again, since…” Shane trails off–since his father died, he must mean. He surmises, “I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”

There’s another thing Shane sounds like he’s not telling Hayden, and he wonders for a moment if Shane has actually asked Rozanov to visit him, or the other way around, before he lets it slip past him. Shane’s already being a lot more forthcoming than he’s probably used to; he doesn’t want to force him anymore.

It’s another sad thought, but this–speaking reluctantly with Hayden about Rozanov, probably while Shane’s sitting in his room, or wherever he’s got a modicum of privacy in his mom and dad’s placee–must be the one of the first times Shane has got to talk about this. Hayden is trying to get used to giving him space too; if not because Shane’s Shane, and private by default, then for how out of his comfort zone this must already be.

Shane doesn’t really do things if he’s not good at them, or doesn’t have a lot of practice. Rozanov is the first shot in the dark that Shane has made in…ever.

“If you’re worried about getting recognized, you both could go to Texas,” Hayden says. “Nobody gives a shit about hockey there.” He’s not even joking; it’s a genuine suggestion. Even if Shane doesn’t take it.

“It’s not that simple,” he repeats himself.

Hayden sighs. He lets the back of his head fall against his stall, giving out an appropriately defeated knock. He’s not frustrated with Shane; it’s just a real bitch of a situation. It feels helpless, and Hayden’s not even in the thick of it.

“This sucks,” he says honestly. Hayden can hear the showers from a distance from the locker room, and still some muffled conversations happening outside of it, the guys who are just loitering around before going home, and he feels–maybe not bitter, not annoyed, but beaten that so many of them have their own girlfriends to come back to, waiting at home or just an easy phone call away, while Shane doesn’t get to have that, not that ease. Everything’s got to happen with measured wariness between him and Rozanov, and Shane’s great at planning, and is careful about everything, but Hayden wishes he had at least this thing to be carefree and young about.

“It’s not that bad,” Shane mumbles softly–weakly, Hayden notes belatedly, sounding as if he’s trying to make an argument about this, the relationship, as if he needs to defend it from Hayden. It wasn’t his intention at all when he complained about the circumstances, but Shane’s still talking–voice going fonder when he actually finds the good he can talk about. “In the regular season, when we got games against each other–it’s, huh. It’s really fun.”

So there’s at least a part of the sneaking around that Shane finds entertaining; Hayden didn’t really need to learn that about his kind-of-younger brother. He feels somewhere between scandalized and ecstatic (Shane–what a dog!) at the new information. But he remembers being twelve; it was pretty freeing to do something you’re not supposed to. Shane probably only ever felt it with Rozanov.

“But that’s not the basis for a relationship,” Hayden has to say, as much as that makes him feel like a killjoy. He’s been married since his twenties; it wouldn’t have lasted half as much as it did if he and Jackie hadn’t made sure to build–and keep rebuilding– a solid foundation.

Shane makes a low sound, something like a heavy sigh against the receiver. “We can’t let it be a relationship,” he says; it sounds defeated even through the phone.

“But would you want to?” Hayden asks.

Shane’s quiet for a moment–but Hayden already knows the answer. If he and Rozanov already take so many risks with each other, he can only think of all the other things they’d do if it didn’t quite literally possibly threaten their whole livelihood.

“It’s still really good,” Shane argues, sidestepping the question entirely. And the thing is, Hayden does believe him, if not because of the way Shane keeps taking risks anyway, then how quietly glad he sounds even just talking about Ilya, past the defeat of their circumstances, and the annoyance at having to argue with Hayden.

But Shane deserves great. And Hayden doesn’t say it, but Rozanov deserves it too. They both deserve more than scraps.

He keeps that to himself. If Shane just has him to talk about Rozanov, then Hayden won’t spend that time making him argue for himself.

“Alright,” he says after a beat in the conversation, back to solid ground. “Is there anything else I’m supposed to suggest to coach?” It’s an easy white flag for Hayden to put forward and for Shane to receive. Shane’s beat of silence grows thoughtful, quietly thrilled, even if he has to be aware that Hayden’s just changing the subject, but he takes it either way. This part comes easy, at least; neither of them have to worry about someone listening in.

MAY, 2017

Montreal loses momentum in the playoffs, and just can’t stick around. The New York Admirals can, for some fucking reason, and Hayden feels incredulous that they manage to move to the conference finals with Boston. He’s more annoyed about New York than the Raiders, or even the broken nose that he got in game five of round two. His voice’s nasal, he has to sleep with his mouth open and the twins keep telling him he sounds like Kermit the frog, so Hayden doesn’t say this lightly.

Shane’s mom thinks Scott Hunter is going to take the Cup this year, and Hayden honest to god knocks on wood when he says that through the phone. “Don’t fucking say that,” he grimaces, miffed when Shane just snorts. From the other side of the house, Jackie shouts “Language!” Hayden makes a mental note to get a loonie out to the swear jar. “Shouldn’t you be more annoyed about who’s going to win?” he asks Shane.

Montreal has been pretty good in consistently making it to the playoffs ever since 2010, and usually, if they don’t take the Cup, Shane gets a grudge on the winner that lasts at least until the start of the next season. But now, he just makes a non-committal sound on the other side of the phone. Hayden would worry about him seemingly being more apathetic about the playoffs this year, but the better word would be ‘impartial’, now that, aside from him, Montreal as a whole is out of commission. Laidbackness is almost strange to hear from him.

“Is that Shane?” Ruby asks in the middle of going up the stairs when she sees Hayden on the phone. In a second, she’s back in the sitting room and throwing her roller skates to the side so she can crawl over Hayden like a barnacle and steal the smartphone from his hands. He didn’t even get to reply. “Hi, Shane!”

Hayden can hear a whisper of what must be Shane greeting her back. Ruby settles down, as if she hadn’t almost kneeled her poor father on the groin in her hurry. “When are you coming back?” she asks the phone, ignoring him. “I’m trying to learn cartwheels on my skates.”

“Definitely don’t do that,” Hayden tells her, as uselessly as that is. He hopes the next indistinct words Shane tells her are a better argument.

“You left way too early this year. We’re supposed to get you until June. Lucas said his brother’s going to be visiting from college during summer break but you’re more cooler than him, and you need to be here to show them.”

“O–kay,” Hayden takes the phone back from Ruby’s hands, urging her back to her feet, “there’s actually a more important conversation your dad is supposed to be having right now, if you don't mind.”

“Summer break!” she repeats for good measure, loudly so Shane will hear, before getting back to her previous route back upstairs. Ruby only remembers to retrieve her skates halfway through.

“You hear who you left me alone with?” Hayden asks the phone.

“Lucas from next door’s brother, apparently.” Shane’s not here to see Hayden roll his eyes, but he must predict it, because he makes a noise like a snort. “Is everyone else around? I should probably say a word too.”

The kids aren’t going to get phones of their own until they’re twelve, minimum, which they'll never be anyway, because they’re Hayden’s babies, and they’ll never grow up. It makes so Hayden and Jackie have to act as letter pigeons every time they have something to say to Shane when he’s not in Montreal, but they’d never keep them from him.

Hayden rather prefers handing Jade and Arthur his phone (Amber is still a little too young to understand calls that aren’t video) than being mobbed and stolen by Ruby, especially when he gets to see them get really excited to hear Shane’s voice. Hayden likes to imagine that Shane sounds the same from the other side of the line too.

“Jackie now,” he tells him, the next time he has his phone again, before handing it to Jackie where she’s trying to do their taxes in the kitchen. Jackie already heard the phone call making its way through the house, so she already has a reflexive smile on her face when she takes it. “Hey, you. How’s the arm?”

Hayden crosses his arms, settling back against the kitchen counter to watch Jackie talk with Shane; she’ll offhandedly look down to her notes, or fidget with the buttons on her phone’s calculator, but she’s looking a lot more laid back than she’d been for the past hour, smiling at what Shane’s saying.

Shane does that–calms them down. As much of a worryheart that he might personally be. Hayden can say it himself; he’s been out of the playoffs for almost five days now, sulking through the house and the thick bandage on his nose’s bridge, but he hasn’t felt like he’s in fact on a break from work right to this very moment, in sweatpants at two in the afternoon and being a carrier pigeon again to his family. Shane enters in that category.

If someone found him in that hotel hall, watching Shane play for the first time nine years ago–before Hayden was married, or even a father–and said that that lightning-flash of a player was going to come live with him and would dig himself so deep into Hayden’s family life, he’d think that was a joke; but even then, all of that would just be a superficial summary.

There isn’t really a word to describe Shane’s place in Hayden’s life, or if it is, he didn’t pay enough attention in school to learn it. Hayden knows crosscheck, bodycheck, man-advantage, every name for shots and passes, but nothing else. He used to say teammates were like brothers, when people asked if he had any, because it was an easy word, and he supposes it still works like a charm. Hayden will never be the best player in the league, but there’s worse things to be than Shane Hollander’s brother, or to watch him get there.

Hayden’s still nursing a smile when he gets his phone back. Jackie raises an eyebrow at him instead of going back right away to their taxes, but he leaves to focus on the call again without an answer; it’s nothing that would have surprised her.

“Hey–before I forget. I’ve been talking with my mom and dad about going to Halifax with the kids and Jacks before the Cup Final. Won’t be for long, but I thought if we could visit Ottawa too before driving east. Maybe that’ll hold Ruby over until after summer, eh?”

Shane never has summer plans past fishing in his cottage and continuing to train as if he has a game on the very next day. Although Hayden makes sure to check, if only to nudge Shane again. “You’re not going to be visiting anyone, right?” Shane 100% knows what he’s getting at, going by his unimpressed hum. “Just checking–we’ll just pass by quickly anyway.”

“Hayd…”

“I didn’t say anything! Just, you know, you’re probably due a vacation. And I mean a real one, not whatever training regiment you had going on for the past ten freaking years.”

“That still goes to the jar!” Jackie speaks up from the kitchen again. Hayden bites back a groan, if only to focus on the phone call.

If Shane has plans or not–if Ilya has changed his mind–he keeps it to himself. Hayden just hopes Shane might give it a chance, if anything does happen. But he shouldn’t think of Shane as helpless; he’s been finding ways with Rozanov way before Hayden learned of everything.

“Hey,” he says, when the call is wrapping around. “Here’s to a good summer, eh?” Even if theirs are starting on a technicality alone; Montreal being cut off from the post-season earlier than the Cup finals, and Shane still being on IRL. Hayden’s just looking forward to sleeping late, or at least as much as having kids allows.

Shane makes a low sound. “See you.” In Ottawa, it goes unsaid. Hayden perks up just at the thought, brief as any visit might be; Ruby’s not the only one unwilling to wait to see Shane again in August.

“See you,” Hayden tells him back.

JUNE, 2017

The Pikes are back home before the Cup Final, just like Hayden wanted. Seeing his parents softened a bit of the bitterness at missing out the Cup after two years of winning it back to back, as did visiting Shane in Ottawa for one afternoon. He’s going to watch the Finals, of course–it’s hockey–but now, Hayden’s not going to glower at Scott Hunter so much through it.

Even then, Hayden doesn’t really have a plan for the last game. It’s on the weekend, and still early enough that he and Jackie might be able to herd all the kids around the TV, but it’s not like they have a team they’re rooting for, the only thing that manages to keep the kids’ attention for three straight hours.

Jackie dips from any theoretical plan as well when she announces she has plans with her mom and sister, a gals evening out, which eventually also evolves to include Ruby and Jade. That just leaves Hayden with Arthur and Amber, and frozen leftovers in the freezer. He doesn’t have plans, but that still doesn’t mean he’s not caught off guard when he sees a message in his inbox from a contact he hadn’t seen in years.

Nate Newton is going gray at the ears when Hayden meets him again for the first time since 2008. He looks as much the same as different, which shocks Hayden doubly. He feels a little out of it when they share a bro hug at his front door, kind of a deja vu from when Hayden was still in his early twenties and living out of Nate’s guestroom. There’s new lines on Nate’s face–but there’s probably some on Hayden’s too. What a scary thought.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes,” Nate says when they step back. And, sure–Hayden might have been surprised at being contacted, but he’s not an asshole. He only really fell out of contact with Nate because it’s harder to keep up with retired teammates than guys that just got traded to other franchises; you at least see the latter ones every other game.

“Of fucking course I was going to say yes,” Hayden says, and the back and forth is immediately familiar. The house behind Nathan still looks the same as when Hayden lived in it.

“Language, daddy,” Arthur mumbles dutifully, despite his abject shyness at being around anyone who’s not his family. Both he and Amber are hanging back by Hayden’s side when he glances behind.

“And would you look at that,” Nate says at the sight of them. The new crow's feet underneath his eyes crinkle looking at Hayden’s kids, and Hayden thinks to preen for just a second, before Nate chirps him. “Your own hockey team.”

“Like you can say anything,” Hayden hits him back.

Nathan’s oldest is sixteen now, he’s told when they’re finally invited in, terrifying for Hayden to think about. He’s hanging out with friends in a soccer field right now, along with his younger brother (the interest for hockey didn’t move down a Newton generation), but Nathan’s little girl, not that little anymore, nine, is home, and takes Amber and Arthur to see her Barbie dolls in her room.

Nathan’s got the kids Thursdays though Sundays. He divorced Dana a few years back, but there’s still recent photos with her in the living room, along those from all the youth hockey and collegiate-level teams Nate has coached. He’s got a pretty good life. It didn’t end with his concussion.

Nathan hands him a beer when they settle on the couch, pre-game reporting already underway. Nate’s house kind of reminds Hayden of his parents’, in the mismatched nostalgia that it brings him, new furniture he doesn’t know mixed with ones he does. He kind of has to stop himself from looking around, although–from the times he catches Hayden doing it–Nate clearly doesn’t mind.

“The house was bigger in my head,” Hayden says, in way of explanation, or apology–although he doesn’t need either. Nathan snorts.

“Yeah, kid. That kind of happens when you don’t have a McMansion yourself.” Being called kid by anyone other than his father trips Hayden so much he doesn’t even try to defend himself. “But tell me about it. How’s Jackie? Your twin girls? It was…Ruby and Jasmine, right?”

“Jade,” Hayden corrects. Nate grimaces apologetically.

“Sorry. My head’s still…” He makes a vague motion around his ear. Hayden nods wordlessly. There’s a lot of post-its around the house, and a whiteboard with his three kids’ schedules on it; Hayden gets the idea that the reminder isn’t really for the kids. “I’m pretty good with names if I have practice though. I mean–coaching sports kind of helps. Every kid has their name on their shirt.”

Hayden snorts. “Handy.”

“Sure is.” Nate grins his gap-toothed smile. It’s so distantly familiar, Hayden doesn’t know how he got around so many years without seeing it.

“Jackie and the twins are okay,” Hayden answers when he manages to swallow back the nostalgia. “I mean–better than okay, I hope. And you saw the other two. They’re all really good kids. It’s all Jackie’s work, though.”

“Don’t sell yourself too short. From what I hear you make a pretty good influence.”

It takes a second for Hayden to get that he’s probably talking about Shane. “You mean, S–Hollander?” That one Hayden really can’t take any credit; David and Yuna were in charge for all the first eighteen years.

But Nathan’s smiling anyway, kind of smug, almost, which just trips up Hayden further. “Your baby rookie won a Calder, man. Own it a little bit. Mine certainly didn’t.”

“Well, fuck you too.” Nate laughs big and loudly. Hayden takes a swig of his beer just so he doesn’t defend his honor much further; although he can’t keep from defending Shane’s. “Hollander did all that alone. He’s–well. He’s a bit intense.”

“Yeah, I kind of got that idea,” Nathan says with some mirth. It’s probably an understatement. “But you did alright, huh? He lived with you and your wife for how many years?” Hayden’s so protective of that and used to have to come to Shane’s defense–still somewhat sad that it ended–he almost goes on guard, but Nate’s still slack and loose, smiling with no judgement in it. He’s actually complimenting him. “I knew you were going to be a good match.”

“Why did you?” Hayden asks him. He’d had some version of that question in his head for the past nine years, from the moment he first heard from Stone that Nate had been the one to suggest Hayden as Shane’s billet.

Now, he knows some things matched well: him being easygoing, mostly, so used to the chaos of toddlers that Shane was a walk in the park, and his anxiety slipped off Hayden like a duck in water (he likes to think that it also made it slip off Shane a little bit). But he doesn’t know how Nathan would have expected it, when Hayden himself had no hope in himself. In his head, he was as hopeless with his babies as a teenaged hockey phenom.

Nathan just considers the question for a moment, apparently an easy answer to give for all that Hayden still doubts some days, shrugging as he takes another sip of his beer. “You were both young. You had the kids and Hollander hockey, but the two of you were younger than almost everyone. You could’ve used the reminder.”

Hayden still doesn’t know if Shane does remember that on a good day–but Hayden can’t say he’s any better. He’s never not been completely able to stop thinking of Shane as a kid, although, really, he’s only got three years on him.

“And I thought you could use an ego boost too,” Nathan goes on, and at this, Hayden frowns a little more. “You were always more mature than you’d ever given yourself credit, Hayden. You were taking care of newborns when you were twenty.”

Hayden doesn’t know how to react, stuck feeling elated and embarrassed at the same time. “Maybe not that mature,” he tries to joke, thinking of every mistake he’s made with Ruby, Jade, Arthur, Amber, fuck, even Shane. But Nathan’s looking at him like that’s par for the course.

“Aren’t we all?” He smiles ruefully around his beer. “But we got here, didn’t we? Must’ve counted for something.

They’re sitting in Nathan’s family house, sturdy and well-lived in past all the years Hayden hadn’t seen it. His and Nathan’s kids are upstairs, too far to be heard, but not enough that they can’t call them down when the game starts, and somewhere else in the city, the rest of their families are also safe and sated. Somewhere in Ottawa, Shane is too. It does count for something, if only the sense of peace that allowed Hayden to come watch a game in Nathan’s house and drink a beer leisurely.

“Guess so,” Hayden realizes aloud, sitting a bit more heavily on Nathan’s couch. Trying for casualness, he adds, “For what it’s worth, you made a pretty good billet too. And teammate.”

He was the one that kind of sent Shane to him at all, although Hayden doesn’t say that outloud, unsure if Nathan would really get the meaning of that development, what Shane would come to mean to him. But Nathan’s smiling a little knowingly, so maybe he knows or can guess, at least a little bit. For once, Hayden doesn’t feel defensive about it.

They’ve already stopped talking when the first period finally starts; there’s only so many honest conversations someone can have. Nathan and Hayden are back to safer topics when the puck drops, which mostly amounts to their predictions of who’s taking the cup between New York and San Francisco, and a good deal of chirping about Scott Hunter’s age, although Nathan’s not that younger in the grand scheme of things. Hunter’s thirty-eight, Nathan’s thirty-five. Hayden is going to be officially in his thirties next year, which he’s trying not to think too hard about, but he can admit he’s not as anxious about that as he might have been a few years ago. Maybe he is that little bit mature.

Not enough not to groan every time the Admirals score again though, watching them get closer and closer to the cup as each period ends and the next starts. The kids have come and gone through the game; they watched the 1st on the couch and then went back to playing dolls in the 2nd. In the third period, they’re back to the living room, but only watching the TV offhandedly, more focused on drawing on the floor in a circle.

Hayden’s not half as easygoing, holding curses back only by the reminder of the swear jar waiting for him at home. Nathan’s a lot better with language, although Hayden’s memory of him in the locker room wouldn’t promise that; he must have had a lot of practice, considering he also works with kids and teens.

There’s a minute left, and San Francisco is down a point. “Should’ve betted on NY,” Nathan grumbles to himself. Hayden’s ego would be too big to do that himself.

Nathan goes to take another sip of the water he brought out after the third, or maybe fourth beer they’ve drunk, but his glass is empty. He makes as if to get up, but Hayden does that first, taking Nathan’s glass and his own too. “I’d rather not watch this,” he says, terribly serious. Nathan actually laughs at the expression on Hayden’s face. “The kitchen’s still in the same place?”

“Last I checked,” Nathan tells him. Some furniture might have changed, as did the coat of paint in most of the rooms, but the way to Nathan’s kitchen is the same as the one Hayden used to take when he woke up in the middle of the night with the sudden urge to destroy potato chips. He gets there without trouble, getting more water and another beer for himself (he’s gonna need it), asking the kids if they want anything too when he remembers to in the last second, raising his voice so they’ll hear them.

Hayden only has two arms, so he’ll have to bring things in turns. It’s the reason he returns from the kitchen earlier, just with his and Nathan’s water and his beer, after the broadcaster has announced Scott Hunter as a Stanley Cup winner and is talking about something else Hayden’s stopped paying attention to. Nathan’s paying a lot of attention to the TV when he gets back.

“At least he can retire now,” Hayden says of Scott Hunter, and when he turns to look at him on the screen, he almost lets the glasses slip from his hands.  “Holy–”

Scott Hunter’s kissing a man on live national broadcast, tiny in the faraway shots, and then very big, as much of a closeup as the cameras can possibly get, already wheeled onto the ice for the Cup ceremony. It’s a celebration alright; Hunter’s kissing the guy hard, and getting the same answer. After, when they let go to hug each other tight, Hayden thinks Scott seemed more proud doing that hoisting the Cup.

He stares at the screen, slack-jawed, not that different from how Nathan looks–although he has no idea what exactly is going in Hayden’s head, and how closer to home this might have hit. His first thought was what the fuck–the second was, Shane and Ilya.

The kids are curious, but in an oblivious way. Hayden kind of wants to sit on the floor beside them.

“Those are two men,” Nathan’s daughter says, not in any particular way other than a simple affirmation.

“Sure are, honey,” Nate tells her, looking as astonished as Hayden feels, if thankfully in a not offended way. Hayden doesn’t know how he’d react if that was the case. He’s still stuck feeling shocked when Nathan eyes his can of beer, not looking a lot better before he asks, “Maybe bring me another one of those too.”

JULY, 2017

“You’ve got everything? Phone connection, food, clean sheets, toilet paper–”

Hayden would keep listing other things if Shane didn’t interrupt him. “I’ve had that cottage since last year, Hayden.”

“Just checking! It’s not like there’s anyone close you can call if you forgot, like, an epipen or something.” As far as Hayden knows, neither Shane nor Ilya Rozanov have a peanut allergy, or whatever else, but he almost wants to check that too, just in case. Shane must predict it, because he’s already rolling his eyes, sticking things back in his overnight bag more briskly, as if he needs to leave Hayden’s surroundings right now before he forces him to undergo a scratch test.

Hayden didn’t quite manage to convince Shane that he should talk with his parents, and tell them about Rozanov right away–he keeps insisting, “Not now,” every time he tries. Hayden has a parent’s perspective, and he likes to think he knows the Hollander enough to say they’re not going to react badly–aside from, maybe, about Rozanov, and Hayden did that too anyway–but Shane’s pretty hard to change the mind when he’s set on something.

He’s not comforted with people knowing, period. That’ll have to change sometime, but Hayden’s going to give Shane this for now; the next weeks are supposed to be his–and Rozanov’s–vacation.

Jade comes back to the front door with a tupperware of cheesecake and a vibrant smile, although Ruby’s the one that shouts from the kitchen, “I was the one that cut that!” Jade goes in her tip tops so she can hug Shane around the neck–it used to be that she didn’t even reach his knees–and she gives him a kiss on the cheek too, if only because Shane ducks down enough for her to be able to. “I’m gonna miss you. You really can’t stay just a little bit?”

“He already spent the night, Jay,” Hayden points out. A visit from Shane after he already left for Ottawa is a novelty by itself, but if the kids had it their way he’d move back to his room for the rest of summer.

“I didn’t show him the jump I can do in ice skating now!”

“Jackie can send me a video,” Shane reassures her. Ruby runs out of the kitchen with the same hurry Jade had displayed just before–thankfully, she left the cheesecake knife behind–and he also dutifully ducks down so she can squeeze him in a hug too.

“I cut the slice really small since you’re annoying about dessert,” she tells him. Shane smiles at her, for all of Ruby’s extreme honesty.

“Thank you.”

Hayden’s about to shout for Jackie when she finally shows up, still checking the insides of a little pharmacy bag as she already hands it to Shane. “I bought you some medicine just in case–just in case!” she insists, when Shane’s about to open his mouth, “and we had a lot of nyquil lying around too, so you might as well take it. Also there’s, well. Some other things I put there.”

It’s a very secretive way of putting it, but by the way Shane goes all red when he looks inside the bag, Hayden would bet it’s condoms.

Shane stuffs it inside his bag before the kids can peek inside, quickly zipping everything out of view. “Thanks.” He’s only being polite, but he’s going to be glad for all this overbearingness in three days' time. Hayden was completely unprepared for the first time he and Jackie spent a weekend together during a holiday break; as far as Hayden knows, Shane and Rozanov are going to be together for a week. It’s probably going to end up being two.

Hayden hunts Arthur and Amber down so they’ll say goodbye to Shane too; they keep thinking he’ll stay if they can just prolong it. Arthur’s getting a bit too big to pick up, so Shane crouches to hug him properly, and does the same thing with Amber so neither of them get jealous. For someone who’s generally not big on casual physical contact, Shane’s affectionate with the kids, even if he’s mostly giving back hugs than starting some of his own. He does the same with Jackie, standing still as she takes an extra moment to whisper something in Shane’s ear–he gives a small, timid nod in response–before stepping back again. And then it’s just Hayden left.

“When are you getting to the airport?” He means the one in Ottawa; Shane drove here. He’ll drive back home and, tomorrow, dutifully wait in the airport’s parking lot for Rozanov’s flight. They’ll go to Shane’s lake cottage from there, two hours from Ottawa and four from Montreal, and Hayden’s house. It’s as private as Shane seems to need.

The kids don’t know about the Rozanov part (at least for now, Hayden hopes). Both Hayden and Shane–and Jackie–watch their words. “Nine. In the morning.” Shane fidgets with the pockets of his shorts. He’s pretty good at not showing nerves on the ice, but that’s hockey. Shane looks like all the times he said he was going out to meet someone, which now, Hayden knows was always Rozanov. Now he’s mostly made his peace with that, he’s just fond and amused again at watching Shane look like a teenager about to see his sweetheart.

“Have fun. Be responsible.” Hayden’s not being half as cheeky as Shane must think he is, scoffing slightly. He lets Hayden hug him anyway, fitting his chin against the knob of Hayden’s shoulder. “Take care, eh?” Hayden says more quietly, and sufficiently genuinely that Shane just nods, chin pressing against him. Before he lets go, Hayden squeezes Shane’s elbow.

They all crowd the front steps to watch Shane go. “Call when you get to Ottawa!” Jackie calls at him, and by her side, Jade adds, “Remember to put the cake in the fridge!”

“We love you!” Ruby shouts.

Amber’s waving her hand at him beside Arthur with the whole strength of her little arm, and Hayden holds her by the shoulder so she won’t lose her balance. His throat feels a bit tight, so he doesn’t say anything more. If he’s done everything right, then Shane already knows.

Chapter End Notes

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

this chapter was a labor of 'stoppppp editing everything and just get this done.' i guess story endings always feel particularly hard because you don't know if it encases everything you wanted to say when you set out to do something, but i hope this one did. hayden pike, you are my friend and patron. watch out before sending fans any videos though.

additional notes:
-françois arnaud (scott hunter's actor) is 40, and the nhl's favorite dinosaur (sidney crosby) is currently 38, so i gave the character an age around those two. scott's supposed to be in his twenties in the books which sounds fake. #not my scott hunter.
-the thing that shane saw in the plastic bag jackie gave him was lube.
-throughout the start of the fic, hayden takes 2/3 chapters to start calling shane 'shane' entirely instead of hollander, and then quite literally never does it again until he talks with nate this chapter. he got a little more comfortable thinking ilya instead of rozanov too, but not to that level. sorry ilya, you're just not quite in the category of family. i imagine saying hollander would be like calling your family member by full government name while talking with a stranger.
-i always search for poems or song lyrics when i'm trying to title a new fanfic, so i feel like i owe 'training camp' by reginald harris a shoutout, even if any inspiration would stick to title alone. it's about a father's violence through the lenses of him preparing his son for life (like his own father prepared him). hayden's nowhere near as violent, but the title stuck with me (an alternative title i'd also thought of was 'training wheels'). hayden takes up on the responsability of a billet because, really, he's struggling to see himself as a father, or a caretaker in general. accidentaly, he ends up adopting a whole ass nineteen year old though. OOPS!
-i tried to show a bit of the more unsavory side of hockey culture that i wished rachel reid had explored more in the books. i really have to shoutout the non-fiction books 'artifical ice' (ed. david whitson and richard gruneau) and 'changing on the fly' (courtney szto) for critiques on gender, homophobia and racism in the sport. watching hockey but shaking my head the whole time to show i don't agree with the nhl's political climate.
-this is a happy ending in a very partial sense, since shane's relationship remains a secret, and we have the added context of everything that's going to happen in the long game. my version of events would be: everything happens just the same, except hayden feels like he needs to die even more when he's the fault shane's outed. it would be pretty tragic with the added dynamic of shane being his little brother, who hayden's always found himself under the obligation of take care of. ouch :(. "why don't you write it?" are you kidding me? i took 100k just to finish the first season of the show. i can't be trusted.

you can find me under the url punksalmons on tumblr, and i'm going to make a post there for this fic (this time it's for real!) come check this out again when i have a link ready if you'd want to reblog it there. thanks for everyone that recommend this to other people, or have reached out in any way with comments and the like--that's the joy of creating any fandom content! thanks for being as interested in the unlikely friendship betwen hayden and shane as me <333
after i post the last chapter there's another two fics that i want to post for heated rivalry: one is a de-aging oneshot where shane has to babysit kid!ilya while they're in freaking boston and the other is a longer wip where ilya's brother dies and he has to take care of his niece, but really it's a study of the relationship betwen ilya and his brother. i'm really looking forward to writing something for hollanov's perspective for a change. hayden your head's really interesting but i need to actually write romance for the romance show.
thank you for reading!

EDIT: fic post ;)

Chapter 13: my dinner with ilya

Chapter Summary

Three hockey players and a WAG walk into a dinner date.

Chapter Notes

it’s a wrap! my apologies again for it being a day late, and i have a little more to say in the end notes, but as always, thank you for taking this ride with me! i’ll see you again in the end notes (and i hope that in other works after this one too <3)

this chapter is set around five months after the last, during the start of the season that followed ep. 6 the cottage.

NOVEMBER, 2017

Hayden considers the front door to Shane’s new house for a second too long before Jackie reaches out to the doorbell by his side. He doesn’t know if the squeeze she gives his hand –where they’re holding each other’s–is for comfort or reproach, only that it’s barely another second between Jackie ringing the doorbell to it opening up; and then Hayden is staring right at Ilya Rozanov’s face.

Me barely keeps in an “oh god” at that. Sometimes, Hayden can barely believe what’s become of his life.

“Hello,” Jackie takes the lead in greeting Rozanov. The subsequent, repeated hand squeezes she gives Hayden are absolutely reproach, or at the very least a silent ‘don’t leave me hanging out here.’ Jackie’s smiling with nary a shake to her mouth. “You must be…”

That goes without saying, obviously. “Yes,” Rozanov–Ilya–says. He’s not without his own set of nerves either, Hayden notes; Ilya also seems a bit out of his comfort zone. Hayden gets the idea that he’d probably reply more comfortably if Hayden’s reaction had been worse right away–Rozanov’s used to being on the attack. Wearing neat clothes and welcoming them inside Shane’s Montreal home like a good host makes him seem (and seemingly feel) like he’s on another planet. “Please come in.”

Hayden and Jackie do. Shane’s new place is, expectedly, neat, especially in preparation for this. Hayden stood staring at his suit closet for ten minutes before Jackie prohibited him from even touching a blazer, but he still feels like business casual is enough, even if he’s just visiting Shane. Ilya Rozanov has his own pressed shirt tucked in–Hayden doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rozanov wear anything freaking tucked in in his life.

It’s taken five months for Shane to set this date. A good deal of it was genuinely scheduling–Shane’s the busiest man alive, and Rozanov still plays for a team in another country–but part of it, Hayden is sure, was for this too: awkwardness. Hayden used to think he was one of the people that knew Shane better, only to learn that not only was there a crucial piece of information left–a six foot tall, Russian-born piece of information–but that Ilya Rozanov also went into that category. He knows that now, has known for months, but this night might as well still belong to an alternate universe.

Jackie hands Ilya the wine they brought. Hayden stands around like a dork, glancing around the house, or what he can see from the mudroom. It’s not his first time here–he visited the house with Shane when he first found the property, before selling his other ones in the city–but everything was empty then. The place’s looking decidedly more homely now. There’s a leather jacket hung up by the door that’s clearly not Shane’s.

Shane’s house is fenced off, and has a private gate as well. He moved–again–because he wanted more privacy; kind of needed it for this to work out. There’s no pictures of Rozanov on the walls, but this is clearly a place that’s meant for both of them. Whenever Boston and Montreal don’t have a game on the weekend, Shane and Ilya take turns spending it in each other’s houses. Case in point.

Shane comes out of the kitchen looking like he’s already expecting them to have killed each other. Ye of little faith, Hayden thinks but doesn’t say. It’s still early in the evening–he shouldn’t count his chickens before they hatch.

“Hey.” Shane gets a greeting kiss on his cheek from Jackie and a brief sidehug from Hayden, before he’s latching himself to Rozanov’s side. His hand hovers around him, as if unsure where to park, before Shane just lets it hang limply; Ilya’s the one to take it. Shane’s trying to hide how he’s taking a breath when he says, “So–you all already know each other.”

“Not me,” Jackie says, not un-cordially. She gives Ilya a smile. “But I’ve heard a lot about you, of course,” she tells him.

“Ah.” Ilya ducks his head, giving out a smile that looks a lot rueful. “Only bad things, I’m afraid.” It’s almost self-deprecant, not that Hayden would initially think Rozanov is capable of that, but Jackie’s still smiling.

“I meant from Shane.” She looks between them, teasing but affectionate too, and the next time Shane and Ilya share a glance (a little smile too) Hayden swears they look like teenagers.

Hayden would like to say he hasn’t said anything bad about Ilya in months, but he lets them have the moment.

“We should…” Shane nods wordlessly to further inside the house, and they follow him as he takes the lead. Shane and Ilya keep holding hands the whole way there.

Shane also has photos of the kids displayed here, along with of his parents and some Metros memorabilia. Hayden hopes Ilya doesn’t feel too bitter about them, considering Shane’s too paranoid to have any outright presence of him here just yet; for the rest of the world, Shane and Ilya are still the same rivals as always, at least until Rozanov’s contract with Boston finishes later in the season and he makes his planned move to (of all teams) Ottawa.

But there’s nothing bitter about Rozanov, or if it is, he hides it well. He’s still clearly more comfortable with Jackie (or uncomfortable with Hayden), because it’s her he mainly addresses.

“You have a beautiful family.” Ilya nods lightly to the framed pictures. Each word is measured; Rozanov’s accent is leagues better than the first interviews he gave the NHL, but now he’s really tuning it down, and stringing every sentence carefully.

“Oh. Thank you,” Jackie beams, be it because of a compliment to the kids, or Ilya’s politeness. They decided it should probably be for the best for this first dinner to just be with Hayden and Jackie, especially because of how secretive it’s supposed to be. But the kids are really excited (maybe even hungry) to know Shane’s boyfriend.

He came out at this season’s training camp, which was, frankly, a disaster–a lot of guys got very weird about sharing the locker room or showers, and now Shane’s back to being the last one out of the ice from practice, like he’s a fucking rookie again–but Shane’s always smiley when the kids ask him about who he’s dating, how he, his boyfriend, is. Shane’s smiling now, even just listening to Jackie and Ilya talk about them.

“Oh, yeah–they were pretty jealous they couldn’t come,” Hayden makes himself a part of the conversation, although he feels awkward doing it, and outright stiff when Ilya straightens up again, not as earnest as when he was just talking with Jackie. Hayden has to clear his throat to keep going. “They’re with Jackie’s mom and dad; I think they’re playing they’re having a dinner date too.”

They take some seats across the living room as Hayden talks, like real adults in a real dinner party–if the dinner party included hockey players from rival teams, two of which have a career-defining competition going on. Shane’s still looking pleasantly glad about the kids, but Hayden thinks you could wring the tension out of Ilya like a towel; he’s not under any illusion that it’s not because of him. He can’t say the feeling’s not mutual.

For as long as Hayden has known about Rozanov (since about before the start of the year, jeez) it’s still a bit weird to be sharing a room with him like this. The pap photos never included neat hair and clothes from him; he could have looked like a church boy with his cross over his shirt right now, weren’t like three of its collar buttons undone.

Hayden’s not antagonistic–he hasn’t been antagonistic in months, even last week when the Boston Raiders had a nasty win against Montreal–but, well. It used to be that every time Hayden and Ilya saw each other, Ilya was trying to anger Hayden into taking a penalty, and it mostly worked. Rozanov doesn’t look awkward at the change of gears (or ashamed for that matter) but he’s pretty fucking clearly out of his comfort zone. It makes Hayden only feel more unprepared.

Ilya fills wine glasses for all of them, and Hayden tries not to feel awkward himself as he receives his with a nod. He’s sitting alone on the couch, while Shane and Jackie have taken opposite seats in two armchairs by the electric fireplace Shane had made such a big deal about. Hayden’s acting very cool at the possibility of Ilya sitting on the same couch as him, but he perches himself at the arm of Shane’s armchair instead, such a territorial display Hayden actually almost laughs. He takes a big gulp of his glass instead, although he’s never been a big fan of wine.

“You’ll like meeting them,” Hayden hears Shane tell Ilya; they’re still talking about the kids. Shane sounds like he’ll like it when they’ve met too. It’s maybe that prospect that lets him ignore the way Rozanov’s posturing, however intentionally, like a dog with his bone.

“Yes,” Ilya answers with a nod. For what it’s worth, he seems to mean it.

Shane goes a little rueful when he glances back to Jackie. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to see them a lot. It’s just–with camp, and finding and then fixing this place–”

Since August, when Shane came back from his almost month-long stay with Ilya in his cottage, he has visited Jackie and Hayden’s place maybe three or four times. It’s less than the kids see their maternal grandparents, and more than Hayden’s mom and dad, but certainly a lot less than they’re used to with Shane. When he first moved out, Hayden still found ways to drag him–or themselves–into visits, but this time Shane is really, really busy. He’s practically living a double life, with his usual day-to-day, and then this thing under-wraps with Rozanov. Hayden really, really hopes that’s sustainable.

“I've been really busy,” Shane summarizes, finally, and Ilya adds by his side, “My fault.”Hayden doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be friendly chirping or another territorial display, but his brain still goes the way of the innuendo faster than he wishes it went. Hayden almost chokes in his wine.

The next time he looks up, when he’s escaped dying by drowning on land, Shane has a hand on Ilya’s knee in a very public display of ‘hold back a little bit’. He might as well have pinched his thigh. So Rozanov must have been showing off a little bit; if he’ll actually stop or not remains to be seen, but both Ilya and Shane’s faces are a lot more lax when they go on.

“The kids are going to like him,” Shane says, getting back to where they were; in a second, his cheeks color a little, entirely unwillingly, and everything beforehand is water under the bridge. “I mean–I hope they’ll do. Ilya’s, uh, really good with kids.”

“Will be useful with the hockey camp,” Ilya says.

“Do you already have a schedule for that?” Hayden asks. He’d heard Shane talk about his proposed project for a charity foundation with Ilya, a way they’ll be able to get closer in the public eye, but he doesn’t have all the details. Shane’s so short on words about it, Hayden thinks he’s scared that everything’s going to fall apart if he talks too much beforehand, like celebrating a good game in the second period and then losing in the third. It’s not the first time Hayden has seen Shane being paranoid like this, but he’s been reaching new highs.

“We have to announce the foundation first,” Shane says. By his side, Ilya adds, “Only after I sign with the Centaurs.”

It really has to be love for Ilya to be willing to play for that team, Hayden will give him that.

“Can you already tell us what the foundation is going to be about?” Jackie asks. She’s not pressing either of them; holding the wine glass between her two hands, she just looks curious, and maybe a bit excited. She thought the relationship between Shane and Ilya was very romantic–the secret, the lengths they still went to see each other–if sad just as much. The foundation, at least, will be something they’ll get to build together, and for charity too. “I know you’ll open a hockey school, so there’s kids, but…”

Jackie trails off, giving Shane and Ilya the floor. They still have to be in planning stages, although they’ve recruited the help of Shane’s mom, after she and David also found out about the relationship, under circumstances Shane still hasn't told Hayden (he imagines they were extremely embarrassing, or painfully heartwrenching; for Shane’s sake, he hopes it was the former). There’s a lot of types of charity work; Montreal does some too, and Hayden has wondered if Shane’s going to take inspiration from them.

Instead, he shares a glance with Ilya, as if checking he can even answer this. Hayden would joke about this being a state secret, if both of them suddenly didn’t look so sober with it; he sees Ilya squeeze Shane’s shoulder where his arm is around the back of the chair, before he nods.

“It’s going to be for mental health,” Shane answers after all. He squeezes Ilya’s thigh where it is right beside him.

Hayden doesn’t know what it all means, but he’s suddenly very relieved when Shane suggests all of them start dinner.

Shane’s cooked. “Ilya helped,” he says, quite proudly, when they’re in front of the food. It used to be that Shane couldn’t even be trusted to fry eggs (it’s like he got so good at hockey, everything else fell to the wayside) but there’s an actual, honest to god meal on the table, looking pretty good too.

Hayden wouldn’t think Mr Casanova would be any better in the kitchen. “You like cooking?” Jackie asks Ilya where she’s stuffing her plate with what’s some sort of mashed potatoes with pulled pork and mushrooms, but he just drones in a so-so way.

“It’s more fun with him,” he finishes, nudging his chin to where Shane’s sitting by his side. Shane hides a little grin at that in his next sip of wine.

Even if it is in secret, it’s pretty clear that Shane is proud to be with Ilya. He’s looking a lot more settled than he did before the summer break, when he was still trying to convince himself that whatever he had with Rozanov wasn’t a sure thing. Shane didn’t say as much, but Hayden’s pretty sure Scott Hunter’s big gay kiss might have something with it; he still holds a grudge against the guy, but Hayden will give him some credit if that’s the case. For all that Shane has looked even more nervous for the past months, with the official start of the season, he’s really happy right now.

“So,” Hayden starts, chewing on his food for a prolonged second when he actually doesn’t know how to follow up. “Uh–how long are you staying again, Ro–Ilya?”

He means for the weekend; jesus christ, he hopes they get that. Rozanov’s got to, despite Hayden’s foot in his mouth, because he’s straightening up again to answer him, if stiffly. “‘til Sunday. Boston has a game the day after."

Shane nods immediately, “California,” he says, because there’s a big NHL schedule living inside his head. “They’re in a two-game losing streak,” he adds. “Did you see that loss they had at home–”

Hayden could cry at the safety of this topic. “I did!” He’s never been so proud to have been bored of Jade’s english homework and turning on ESPN. For what is worth Shane looks a lot more comfortable talking about this too; even if it’s just him and Hayden that are like this.

Jackie lets Hayden have this moment for just a little while before she’s patting his knee beneath the dinner table. “Maybe no hockey talk tonight, huh, babe?”

Hayden might as well be hung out to dry–but Ilya’s of the same mind, sharing what looks like a pretty conspiratory look with Jackie, for all that he’s also a hockey player. “I’d like not to think of California before I have to,” he deadpans.

“Thank you,” Jackie says.

They don’t seem to have an alternate topic though, because the dinner falls back into silence for a solid twenty seconds. “Do you want to talk about taxes,” Hayden can’t help but deadpan.

Ilya gives him a long look, before saying, “Are you any good at yours?” And–what’s that even supposed to mean?

“Ilya,” Shane puts a stop before anything can happen. It’s a very mild scolding; Hayden can’t really see how Rozanov reacts, because he’s just as soon turning his face away, only a glimpse of frustration. Hayden isn’t above saying he is a bit miffed–he’s not even doing anything–but Jackie’s reigning him in too, that same hand on his knee squeezing him once more.

“I saw some pics Yuna posted on her Instagram.” She seemingly picks a conversation starter at random. “You saw her this week?”

The question is directed at Shane; Rozanov’s still looking away. “Yeah,” Shane says. “Just for a thing about sponsors.”

“Did she like how the house is coming along? She helped you find it, right?”

Shane’s face gains some lightness. “She said she’s not gonna do it again if I move another time,” he jokes. Jackie snorts.

“I’m sure you won’t,” she tells him, not without a smile. She looks subtly between him and Rozanov, only as clearly as it takes for Shane to notice. “You’ve got a good thing going on, eh?”

Shane covers the lower part of his face the way he does when he’s got a smile. And this is what had Hayden freeing his schedule, nervousness over Rozanov notwithstanding; he makes Shane happy. Hayden is willing to tolerate a lot of awkward dinners. He just hopes Rozanov can too.

He stays quiet as Shane and Jackie rotate through some small talk. Hayden’s not much better; he has no idea what to talk about, especially if it is with Ilya. He couldn’t tell you what Rozanov must be interested in if you put a gun to his head. Leopard-print shirts, club music, lanky women, vodka? Shane’s private to a fault, and Hayden’s knowledge of Rozanov starts and ends with what he saw on magazines and TV, and Rozanov is for sure not dating women now. Hayden thought about reading up on what’s going on in Russia recently to have something to talk about, but just two articles made him so depressed, he let that idea go immediately. He doesn’t think Rozanov would like that conversation any more than him. Now, Hayden can only hm and ah in addition to the things that Jackie’s saying.

She’s tapping her foot against his by the third time he does it, persistant, and Hayden feels like how Arthur must when he’s made to talk with their relatives. “The food’s really good,” he makes himself speak up. It’s generic, but not a lie. Hayden looks at Shane as he says it and, after a moment of consideration, glances at Rozanov too; they were both, after all, the cooks. “You guys must’ve had a lot of practice, huh?”

“Not that much,” Shane says. “I mean–we try to cook when we're together but, uh, that doesn’t happen that frequently, unfortunately.”

Jackie lets out a genuine sound of sadness. It wasn’t Hayden’s intention to bring the mood down, although he’ll take the genuine conversation. “That sucks, buddy,” he tries to say earnestly. Shane’s hand twitches vaguely where he’s picking at the skin of his face.

“It’ll get better when Ilya’s in Ottawa,” he replies mildly. Shane’s pretty good at waiting–it’s what makes him so good at shootouts. This isn’t hockey though, and Hayden’s not sure Rozanov has the same bandwidth of patience. Even sitting beside Shane at the dinner table, there’s something impatient to his brow.

He picks the half-empty bottle of wine, easing himself off the table with a vague duck of his chin. “I’m going to pick another,” he mumbles Shane’s way. Hayden tries not to read anything in it, if only so he can pretend there’s no additional reason for worry.

They eat dinner and finish Hayden and Jackie’s bottle of wine and something else Hayden thinks must be some sort of rum. Shane doesn’t do dessert, even in important moments like this, so they keep nursing their glasses around the table for an additional ten minutes, mostly filled by Jackie’s genuine and progressively more stubborn attempts at conversation. She’s had practice with a tough crowd, what with the team wives, and by god is she not going to have a nice dinner date with Shane; Hayden’s of the same mind, of course, but by the end of the night, he thinks he’s going to have bruises with how much Jackie’s poking him.

“You know,” she starts. “I always meant to ask this. But how did you–well. Not meet, but…”

Everyone knows how the meeting part had happened; the photo of Ilya and Shane standing side by side alongside the third overall pick and holding up their respective jerseys on draft day was the cover of a magazine. But, instead of that image, the one Hayden’s held in his head since he tried to put the pieces together himself, Shane says, “World Juniors,” a bit rueful.

Hayden’s head screeches to a halt. That’s right–Russia and Canada played in 2008. That was six months before draft day. Canada lost. Jackie’s snorting a little, as if Hayden’s brain hasn’t been moved an inch to the left, struck by the thought Shane and Ilya were even younger–like, genuinely, almost ten years ago.

“I guess there were no hard feelings?” she teases Shane. Ilya’s mouth quirks up, for once.

“There was a little bit of time in between,” he says, pretty clearly teasing Shane too. “He cooled his head.”

“So it, uh, didn’t happen right away?” Hayden feels his face go hot as he speaks up, for all that it’s got to have been something pretty PG if Shane and Ilya were still so young. He was already aware that Ilya technically met Shane before him, but it’s another thing to know how much before. Shane wasn’t even a thought in Hayden’s head by then. That’s a weird thing to realize.

“No,” Shane and Ilya speak at once, although they move on differently. “When we were nineteen–” Ilya says, just as Shane does, instead, "Eighteen.”

Ilya looks at Shane, a question in his eyes. “Oh,” Shane stammers. “I mean–I thought we were going by when there was, uh, sparks.”

That delights Rozanov. “Eighteen,” he agrees immediately, face brighter than it had been maybe for the entire evening. And then, with no limit to his smugness, he turns and starts telling Hayden and Jackie about finding Shane in a hotel gym.

It’s PG in so far nothing happens, but Hayden has the idea that the next time they met, for their joint CCM shoot, the first ad pandering to their supposed rivalry, things didn’t keep that way. Hayden almost has a heart attack again, because he already did know Shane by then. Fuck–he remembers waving him away to Toronto. “Oh my god,” Hayden says, and has to fight the urge to cover his face. “You came back so giddy!”

He covers his face after all. He’d make a gross sound–he doesn’t want to think about Shane, nevermind nineteen year old Shane, who had the face of a baby, like that–except there’s an actual chance that might come across as homophobic. Jackie’s laughing–she remembers that year too, but clearly, she finds more humor in it than him. Hayden is going to make sure to never, ever ask either Shane and Ilya to tell that story.

Still, the conversation was a good ice breaker–the mood is decidedly less chilly when they step away from the dinner table and move to Shane’s living room again. Hayden’s feeling like the night might be a win afterall, trauma notwithstanding, right to the moment Shane announces he wants to show Jackie the house, purposefully leaving him and Rozanov alone.

The ice age might as well come back again. For all that Shane’s trusty electric fireplace is putting in the work at the side of the room, Hayden goes back to feeling awfully chilly.

“So,” he struggles to think of anything at all to speak; better than to stay sitting in silence with background music playing from Rozanov’s phone. “Excited for the game with California?”

Ilya fixes him with a long look, but Hayden isn’t actually prepared to see how much derision there is in it, for once plain to see now that Shane’s not around. He honest to god flinches at the sight–they’re off the ice, but Hayden feels like he’s just been slashed. Or that he’s about to be boarded onto one of Shane’s Pantone-painted walls.

He doesn’t think he’d find anything to say to that glare, but for once Rozanov’s the one that speaks first. “Stop pretending.”

Hayden’s back hits the back of the couch as he recoils a bit. He opens and closes his mouth, and feels the urge to look around–if not for Shane and Jackie, then maybe cameras, a hidden prank to explain what the fuck Rozanov is talking about.

“Pretending to do what?” he asks, not faking confusion at all, but Rozanov groans in dissatisfaction either way.

“You play nice for Shane. He isn’t here anymore. Drop the act.” Rozanov might as well be speaking nonsense, but he keeps looking derisively at Hayden no matter how much he honestly gapes at him, just as confused as before. “You’re not a good enough liar.”

Hayden stammers for a solid second. “I know I’m not–that’s why I’m not fucking lying,” he sputters out, finally. Rozanov’s looking at him like they’re standing at opposite blue lines again, and Hayden might just shrivel up and die; he doesn’t understand a thing. “Bud, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It’s like he called Rozanov a slur; his face goes dark, pinched in something that, didn’t Hayden know any better, he might have called humiliation. He’s clearly about to insist on himself, and Hayden just keeps stammering. “I don’t!” he insists. “I have no idea what you’re talking about–or why you’ve been so testy during dinner. I’m behaving myself; why can’t you?”

Rozanov looks like Hayden has just proved him right. “I don’t have to behave,” he drags out, consonants harsh and gritty. Rozanov’s voice only keeps as low as to not travel outside the room, or go over the background music, and it more than pays in bitterness. “I don’t care what you think about me and Shane. It does not matter. Our relationship is not your business–”

“I didn’t say it was!” Hayden whisper-shouts. He glances, desperately, at the direction Shane and Jackie had left for upstairs. He can’t help it, but a part of him goes pained anyway–it shouldn’t matter, but he’s close enough to Shane that he might have hoped that Rozanov would at least try to be nice. He’d been nice to Shane’s parents. “It shouldn't matter what I think. But I don’t freaking think anything bad, asshole–I don’t know where you’re getting at.”

Rozanov glowers. Hayden’s reminded of that time they met outside Montreal’s stadium–when Rozanov was smoking in the cold. He looks like he’d like a cigarette right now. “I know you don’t like me. It just insults more that you keep pretending.”

And Hayden’s head screeches to a halt for a second time in the night.

“Wh–What?”

Rozanov looks like he’s ready to keep droning and droning the same beat, and Hayden forces himself to disentangle his mouth and keep speaking. “I don’t–when did I even make you think that?” He can’t help but add, “And your idea when you think I don’t like you is to, what, make I dislike you even more? Are you twelve?” Hayden’s suddenly not even that angry anymore; he feels like he’s talking to one of the twins' playdates.

“I don’t don’t like you,” Hayden interrupts Rozanov again when he opens his mouth another time. “I mean–sure, I wasn’t the biggest fan, considering you fuckin’ hunted half the NHL, man, but, that–that’s not the same anymore. You’re my–you’re Shane’s boyfriend.”

“You want me to believe that?”

“I don’t want you to believe anything! I’m speaking the truth.” Hayden’s answer might have been different if this conversation was happening several months ago, but he’s had a lot of time to work through all his feelings over Shane’s secret, and Rozanov most of all. He thought Rozanov would have worked through his own too, although clearly not. “I’m not an asshole.” But Hayden’s not above saying he’s hurt.

So maybe that little fight they had outside the Stadium wasn’t just a blip in the radar. Maybe Hayden should have made more of an effort not to let Shane keep hiding Ilya like a particularly priceless teddy bear. “Look,” he starts, a little more patiently, after Rozanov only keeps glaring at him, something more uncertain but no less dangerous on his face. “I know we haven’t had the best start.” That’s not only on Hayden, but he keeps that to himself for now, when Rozanov’s arms are crossed and his face is pinched so painfully. “But I’m not actually against you, okay. I know how much Shane loves you. It’s why we’re even here–you think Shane would go this distance to just about anyone?”

Hayden would have entertained any relationship Shane might have gone into, just as long as it was a good one, and so far it seemed the case–despite Rozanov’s best recent efforts.

“No one’s ever taken you to meet their family, have they?” Hayden thinks out loud, and he’s not even trying to tease or insult Ilya. He is a dog with a bone–but it’s not so much possessiveness but insecurity that has him wrapping himself around Shane’s ankles, biting at whoever gets close.

Ilya’s eyes cloud furiously and he’s opening his mouth to speak again, but he gets interrupted by someone else for once. “Please tell me you’re not fighting right fucking now.” Ilya and Hayden’s heads swerve towards the entranceway in tandem, finding Shane standing there–and Jackie, just behind–at the same time. He looks defeatingly hurt, and beneath it, pretty fucking annoyed.

“I wasn’t!” Hayden defends himself, although it sounds childish just as soon as he hears it. Rozanov’s struggling more to get a word out; he’s looking at Shane–looking in general–with an expression that’s difficult to sparse.

“You know this dinner is important to me,” Shane says, and Hayden doesn’t know if he’s addressing him or Ilya, but both their mouths open at the same time.

“Okay,” Jackie steps forward, and she has a hand touching Shane’s arm and another reaching out to the rest of the living room, like a hostage negotiator. Hayden doesn’t miss the slight glare she throws his way–not that he was actually doing anything wrong. “We should all just take a little breath. This night has been going pretty well–there’s no reason to ruin that.”

The room takes a collective second to breathe. Hayden speaks up just as soon as it’s over, and Jackie really glares when he insists, “I really wasn’t doing anything.” He tries to course correct before he ends up divorced. “I mean–it was just a misunderstanding. I thought I made it clear that I was on your guys’ side, but maybe I didn’t do that great a job.”

Ilya’s looking stiff and with his guard up when Hayden glances at him, but he visibly takes another breath, even if that’s just because Shane’s still looking at him. Hayden had thought Rozanov was young whenever he saw him on TV, during those early years–it was so hard not to think of Shane as a kid, that anyone else that had the same age as him might as well be put into the same bucket, even if Rozanov was always a menace–but he does look small right now, for all that, like Shane, he’s already twenty-seven.

Hayden might not always be the most mature person in a room, but he has experience dealing with Shane’s idiosyncrasies. He can find a way to learn Rozanov’s too.

He exhales something heavy for a moment, but when he’s done, there’s something slightly scolded on Ilya’s face. “I shouldn’t have assumed,” he allows. He looks longer at Shane when he glances at him, and more openly too. “I know it’s an important dinner.”

Shane makes a noise in his throat. But he calms down too. Even nods to himself. “There’s not a lot of people we can tell about this,” he says, walking his voice back from the strangled tone it had before; Hayden's actually physically relieved that Shane didn’t get any close to being choked up. There’s his parents, he knows (from what Hayden has heard, Rozanov tried to make a better impression on them, but whatever, this isn’t a competition or anything) but yeah; as Hayden thinks about it, he and Jackie are literally the only two other people Shane has told this to. “So I need everyone to get along. Please.”

Hayden’s already aware that Shane–and Ilya–are in a pretty rough situation, but the reminder makes him feel wretched. If one of their only nights together was actually ruined because of anything related to him, he’d kick himself. He kind of can understand why Rozanov was being so prickly too–if he could only see Jackie every two weeks, and had to spend one of those days hanging out with someone he thought hated him, Hayden would be testy too.

“I really don’t hate you,” he tells Rozanov, for good matter. Ilya glances from Shane to him, and he has to blink some emotion from his eyes–if he does it so quickly that Hayden can’t even recognize which emotion exactly that was. But the moment’s lighter, so he tries to joke anyway. “But maybe you wanna make my job just that little bit easier?”

Ilya scoffs. “Hayd,” Jackie is ready to chide him–but it was a good scoff. Almost a snort. Ilya is meeting Hayden’s eyes head on, no open derision for once.

“Deal,” he says, russian accent and all. Hayden’s ready to shake on it.

There are no further disasters. That’s not to say every drop of awkwardness was extinguished, but Rozanov didn’t spend the rest of the evening with his arms crossed, or looming beside Shane; if there was any discomfort on his face, Hayden knew it was more over himself than really Hayden’s presence. Jackie and Hayden can’t actually stay too late; they have to get the kids from Jackie’s parents–they might be retired, but they’re not free babysitters–but Hayden’s going to drive there with some sense of accomplishment.

When he makes to give out goodbyes, Ilya extends his hand to him for a handshake, the first time, maybe, that they’ve touched each other outside of violence on a hockey rink. Hayden hesitates only for a moment before he takes it. They shake on it.

The night outside is chilly and quiet; it feels private when Shane excuses himself to walk Jackie and Hayden to their car. Ilya kisses his cheek before he goes, and whatever annoyance Shane might have kept from that brief argument melts out of his shoulders, ice in an oven. Hayden only gets a glimpse before he looks away–with them, he always feels like he’s watching something that doesn’t belong to him, doesn’t really belong to anyone but each other–but it’s a good reminder of the good that Rozanov does to Shane.

Ilya seemed to get a bit calm too when he was giving that kiss; Shane’s got to do some good for him too.

Shane keeps his hands in the pockets of his pants while the three of them walk outside. His breath is foggy when he speaks. “That could have gone better, couldn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” Hayden says automatically, right as Jackie replies, “I think it went pretty well.”

Shane glances between both of them, but it’s Jackie he really looks at; Hayden looks at her too. “You know when you met my family for the first time?” she asks it to Hayden. He does; he’s still hit by a decade-old sense of embarrassment for every little blunder he made every other day. That might’ve been when Jackie’s sister decided Hayden was too much of a loser for her sister. Jackie nods knowingly at whatever expression takes his face. “Like that. Pretty much every dinner’s got something in it. I think yours just fit the category, Shane.”

He snorts out a breath of cold air. He relaxes though, especially when Jackie reaches out to give him a hug in goodbye, shoulders pressed together. “Thanks for the food.”

“Thanks for coming,” Shane answers back. Jackie’s shaking her head when she pulls back from a last kiss to his cheek.

“Of course we came. You know how long I was waiting for you to introduce us to someone?”

It’s teasingly sweet, and Shane ducks his head. Hayden meets his eyes when they raise again. “You could do a lot worse, knowing hockey players,” he tells him.

“Fuck off,” Shane slaps the joke away, but he’s smiling. Hayden’s not even kidding that much–which, really, is a testament to Rozanov. He knows how to brush his hair at least. And is willing to change teams for Shane, willing to move all his life, willing to start a charity together… “He’s really–” Shane starts and stops. He doesn’t really find any words, but Hayden gets it. It took almost ten years of marriage for him to really know how to describe Jackie, and it still takes a good day.

Hayden takes a little longer in their hug goodbye than when he got here, and he makes sure to leave Shane with very thorough encouraging pats on his back. “I really hope things work out.” Not between Shane and Ilya–they will–but everything surrounding them. Shane nods.

“Me too,” he admits quietly.

“Hey–they did until now, eh?” Hayden tries to reassure him. Everything between team rosters at World Juniors, draft picks, the trajectory of their careers, everything has kept Shane and Ilya around each other’s orbit–and they’re making the effort to keep that way. They found their way to each other for the past ten years. They’ll know how to do ten other more.

“I still can’t believe you hooked up in Toronto,” Hayden still can’t help but say. Shane groans, looking away. Jackie giggles that honking laughter of hers. “In an ad shoot? In a hotel? When you were travelling with your mom?”

“You guys can leave now.”

“You think you know someone…” Hayden shakes his head. “What do you and Rozanov even have for hotels?”

“I’m going inside!” Shane throws over his  shoulder, doing exactly that. He doesn’t exactly run back to the front door, but he sure walks quickly. Hayden keeps shaking his head–but he’s grinning by the end.

“See you at morning practice.” Monday, 8AM sharp. They have a game Tuesday and another Thursday–and the whole rest of the season in front of them. Montreal might play Boston this month again, actually; Hayden’ll make sure to find something to talk with Rozanov until then, just in case.

Shane waves a hand without looking back, “See you.”

They’ve got time.

Chapter End Notes

i first got a professional (so to speak) interest in hockey around the time i watched the two episodes of heated rivalry when they were still airing. still, it took until the beginning of january for me to actually start watching it and it's crazy how long ago that seems. i joked on tumblr that not only has this fic lived through team canada men's loss in the olympics (i'm not even canadian, sidney crosby just owns my ass like that) but the pittsburgh penguins' playoff run, and i know this was just like, between february to april, but i still feel like i lived a thousand lives. there's a lot of things i like about hockey fics (the found family dynamics, the characters study on autonomy and hockey and celebrity culture) and really, i probably wouldn't have written this fic the way i did if i didn't go full hyperfixation on hockey. i love that heated rivalry lets you play with both these sandboxes.

my primary interests with this fic was to flesh out things i felt were missing from Shane's first years in the league (establishing the homophobia in the metros, the distaste some of them had of shane, the pressure he was in, internal and external) and to flesh out hayden in general, if under this different context. i think there's a lot you can say about hockey and men with him, as a guy that cares but has a limited view in the world, so he's always a character that i'm going to like (and be protective over--#number one enemy of the 'hayden is a bad friend' tag here on ao3). i still have so many ideas i want to do with hr, but i'm really glad of what i got to make here. i LOVE found family. thanks for reading this take on it!

additional notes:
-in the book, there's still a year before the dinner and ilya's already in the centaurs when it happens. it also took an extra year for hayden to find out about him and shane. since he already knows in this verse, i moved up the timeline.
-the original 'my dinner with hayden' is pretty soon after he learns about shane and ilya's relationship and he and ilya posture a lot because of that. hayden's a bit more mature here, and i tried showing that. i felt like hayden was primarily acting out in the original chapter because he was on edge about hayden and ilya at his core is a ragebaiter, so instead here he's wayyyy out of his comfort zone because hayden isn't actually acting like he thought he would. i hope that the characterizations felt alright!

my next hr fic is probably going to be the de-aged!ilya one i talked before, but i'm going to take a break until then. i feel like i have another idea for a wip every other second lmao. my tumblr and ao3 are all over the place, but i thank everyone who's become a fan throughout this fic, i loved each and every one of the repeated commenters, and all the people that left kudos too. on that note, my last time writing this for this fic:

consider leaving kudos or a comment to keep me fed during the winter months 💬❤️

my tumblr is punksalmons, and i'll leave a link for this fic's post there here when i'm done. thanks for reading again <3 have a great one!
EDIT: tumblr link for the fic if you'd like to share it . again: i love you all. MWUAH!