Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/M, M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

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

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Jackie Pike, Hayden Pike's Children

Additional Tags:

POV Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov Friendship, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike Friendship, Spoilers for Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), Hayden plays for the centaurs, References to Depression, mentions of suicidal ideation (not detailed), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Worried Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Goes to Therapy, Uncle Ilya Rozanov, Good Friend Hayden Pike, Soft Ilya Rozanov, Depressed Ilya Rozanov, Comfort, Protective Shane Hollander, maybe ooc hayden (complimentary)

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of all lights turned off can be turned on

Collections:

hollanov for the heart <3, HR, Já li, ella's hollanov hall of fame 🏒, Painfully Sweet, ˙⟡.Hollanov˙⟡., Hollanov Fanfiction Archive 🏒, made in japan, Hollanovfics, MMG

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-18 Words: 8,339 Chapters: 1/1

contingency plans

Summary

Shane's eyes squeeze closed again. “We had reason to put rules in place. Protocol. If ever—if it got to a place where, if he was ever feeling like he might—"

Hayden’s body understands before his mind catches up. His blood runs cold for a second, stuck on the scrunch of Shane’s face, the clench of his fist, how desperate he’d been to see Rozanov—Ilya—just now. To make sure that he was okay. Here, in person.

Not hurt. Alive.

“Oh,” Hayden hears himself say distantly. “Oh, fuck, Shane.”

--

or, Ilya needs a place to go, and Hayden's happens to be the closest. It turns out to be a good thing.

Notes

HELLO have some ilya and hayden because i couldn't stop thinking about this and i love them :(

the timeline is kind of vague here, which is on purpose. ilya technically starts therapy in 2020, and shane technically signs with the centaurs in 2021, and hayden would be joining the season after shane in this fic. some details have been changed or left out (namely the engagement/marriage timeline has been shifted!!!) but assume most other major story beats between those years have taken place if not mentioned.

content warning regarding the tags is detailed in the END NOTES in case you don't want to spoil ahead of time, be kind to yourselves and please go ahead and check it if the tags could be triggering for you!

not proofread yet. enjoy! x

translations:
detyonysh -- little cub
Yantarochka -- nickname for amber, ‘little amber’
Chert voz'mi -- an exclamation of annoyance
lyubimyy -- my love
malysh -- baby

Hayden Pike has maybe three guesses for why Rozanov is standing on his doorstep at five o’clock on a Tuesday evening. 

The first is that there’s something up with Shane, which will probably always be his initial gut instinct with Rozanov. There’s not a lot of reasons they’ve interacted before that aren’t Shane related. 

The second, other very reasonable guess is that Rozanov is here for something to do with the team, because the transfer is still fresh and even though Hayden has signed all of his contracts and relocated his entire family to be here, he wouldn’t put it past Rozanov to still be searching for some reason that he can pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. Or maybe he just wants to talk strategy, or whatever. Hayden is still suspicious. 

His third guess is just what the fuck is Rozanov doing at my house. 

He settles on that one. Or, well. A hybrid of one and three, because he still has half-unpacked moving boxes in the hallways and very loud children directly in the room behind him, and he really doesn’t feel like discussing logistics right now. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” he asks. Then, because he has priorities, “Is Shane okay?” 

Rozanov, standing awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, blinks at him. 

“Shane is okay,” he says. “He will be over later.” 

Hayden frowns, patting at his pockets for his phone. “Oh. Here? He didn’t text me. I thought he had that sponsorship thing this week?” 

“Was last minute,” Rozanov intervenes. “He is driving back now. Can’t type. So I am telling you.” 

Hand falling back to his side, Hayden narrows his eyes. “O-kay. Is there a reason you’re here now?” 

His mouth opens to answer Hayden’s question, but then closes again. Hayden raises a brow. 

“Babe? Who’s at the door?” Jackie calls from inside. 

“It’s Rozanov,” he calls back without turning around, vaguely like a question, leaning a crossed arm up against the doorway. He’s still waiting for an answer, but Rozanov’s shoulders slump in something like relief when Jackie comes up behind him and peeks around. 

“Oh, hi Ilya! We weren’t expecting you today. Is everything okay?” 

“Yes. Sorry. I am supposed to be waiting for Shane. Here.” His smile is a terrible attempt, Hayden thinks, but it charms his wife all the same. 

“Well, then come on in,” she smiles back warmly, subtly elbowing Hayden in the side. He huffs, stepping aside to let Rozanov into the house. “We’re making dinner soon, you can eat with us. We’ll save a plate for Shane if he’s not here yet.” 

Avoiding his eye, Rozanov politely follows Jackie over the threshold and into the foyer, toeing off his shoes on the tile and leaving his jacket neatly on the hook. Hayden’s brows shift in the other direction. He doesn’t remember Rozanov being this… well behaved. 

Things have been mostly civil between them since the trade. He knows that Rozanov certainly isn’t ecstatic about having him on the team, but Hayden thinks if anyone has it harder it’s probably him; the new guy with a captain he knows will most definitely play favorites. Or least favorites, that is. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He was going to go crazy playing for Montreal without Shane. He wholeheartedly believes that change starts from the inside, but he won’t pretend that constantly hearing the sort of stuff he had been in the locker room wasn’t having an effect on his morale. After everything with Shane, it’s been particularly difficult to put it out of his head and ignore it for the love of the game. 

It doesn’t help that it’s Rozanov. Shane, Hayden has no issue defending until he’s red in the face. But Rozanov, even if Hayden wanted to, doesn’t really have a track record of redeeming qualities that would be convincing enough to a bunch of guys who are determined to hate both him and Shane regardless. 

Once again, it seems that Hayden is outnumbered. 

“Uncle Ilya!” 

That is also something that’s developed over the last year or so. He’s still getting used to it. 

All solid six-something feet of Rozanov crumbles to the floor as the kids descend on him, the twins under either arm, Arthur in his lap, Amber toddling up the rear for her turn in her clunky, light up sneakers. 

Jade gets to him first. “What are you doing here?” 

“Are you eating dinner with us?” Ruby chimes. 

“If you will share with me, yes,” Rozanov confirms, using a hand to ruffle her hair. She does it back to him and sticks her tongue out, and because he’s also eight years old, he does it right back. Ruby laughs, delighted. “I do not have gifts today. I am sorry.” 

“You being here is a gift,” says Hayden’s wife, the beautiful traitor. He tries to catch her eye to send her a look, and she very pointedly ignores him. “Okay, let’s clear out the hallway, please. Back to the living room until dinner’s ready.” 

As if he’s one of the herd, Rozanov stands, twins still shrieking with glee as they hang onto his shoulders, the other two at his sides. Jackie leads them down the hall and into the den, the war zone of where everyone’s been hanging out to avoid unpacking. 

Rozanov lowers the twins back to the floor on the rug, who quickly return to the game they’d been playing on the sectional before. 

“Uncle Ilya,” Arthur says seriously, taking his hand to get his attention, “we’re watching a movie about dinosaurs.” 

“He’s still in a phase,” Hayden tells Rozanov somewhat defensively. Rozanov’s brow wrinkles. 

“Dinosaurs are not a phase. They are a lifestyle,” he announces. He returns to the floor beside the coffee table, sitting with his legs criss-crossed so he’s eye level with Arthur, and pats his lap. “Tell me what we are watching, detyonysh.” 

Unfortunately, Hayden’s only pre-dinner job had been to watch the kids. He’d been having fun with it before, but now, he’s second best. Sometimes he wishes he could be trusted around chopping knives and the stove, but if their kids end up any good at cooking, that’ll be all Jackie. Hayden is much better at sitting and having eyes, apparently. Which is good, so he can see all of his children betraying him. 

With a huff, he drops down onto end of the sectional, listening to Arthur rattle off facts about dinosaurs while he points things out on the television. Even Amber has collapsed onto her little folded knees beside Rozanov at the coffee table, suddenly very interested again in a coloring page Hayden hadn’t been able to get her to finish before. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Maybe after dinner Ruby and I can show you the moves we’ve been practicing,” Jade tells him. “We’ve gotten really good since last time. Dad says we’re definitely gonna ace the tryouts this year.” 

“Oh, I have no doubt about this,” Rozanov dismisses easily. “And we will all be in the stands at your games to cheer for you with big, sparkling signs.” He tosses a look over his shoulder at Hayden, and then leans in slightly closer to the girls—who are across the room from him—to whisper loudly, “But yes, you must show me first. I will decide if you are ready, since I am most talented one here.” 

The twins ones erupt into a series of ooh!’s and snickers, and Hayden scoffs. Leave it to Rozanov to openly diss him in front of his children, sure. This is why Shane has to be here to tip the scales back the right way. Maintain the balance. 

When Arthur gets up in search of one of his toys to show Rozanov, Hayden watches the man scoot over to Amber at the coffee table. 

“Yantarochka,” he says, running a hand down her little braid Jackie had put in for her this morning. “You are okay, yes? Show me what you are doing here.” 

Quietly, she shows Rozanov what she’s been coloring. Within another minute, she’s handing off some of her crayons so that they can share them. Hayden sits back on the sofa and thinks, distantly, what the fuck is happening? 

Rozanov had come over to… what, exactly? Have a playdate with his children while he waits for Shane instead of just waiting at his place? It doesn’t make any sense. 

“You can draw dinosaurs, Uncle Ilya?” Arthur gasps when he comes back, peeking over Rozanov’s shoulder. Rozanov pulls him back into his lap and hands him a crayon. 

“Like I said, I am very talented, yes. You can keep this one, even. We can name it Hunter.” 

Hayden snorts instinctively, and Rozanov shoots him a small smirk. It’s weird. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Honey,” Jackie calls from the kitchen. 

Only mildly concerned to leave the kids with Rozanov—and mostly just relieved to leave the room for a second—Hayden crosses over into the kitchen. 

“Yeah. What’s up?” 

She keeps stirring the pot on the stove, but her eyes flick over him toward the den. “Did you know this was happening?” she asks quietly. 

“No fucking clue,” Hayden says. 

She frowns, glancing back down to the stove. “Shane didn’t text me about it either.” 

Hayden shrugs. “I mean, he likes the kids. And annoying me, so. Getting here early does a pretty good job of that.” 

“Hm.” 

When the clock hits six, they start relocating for dinner. Rozanov carries a sleepy Amber who clings even once they sit down, refusing to move into her own booster seat. For all his regular complaining, Rozanov doesn’t seem to mind much. 

When all the food is set out, plates passed around and condiments arranged accordingly, Jackie and Hayden turn to Rozanov. He glances between them, then drops his gaze as if realizing what they’re waiting for. 

“We should go ahead,” he tells them. 

It’s all the permission the twins need to start digging in, the rest of them shortly after. Hayden has to barter with Arthur to put some of the celery on his plate, which doesn’t seem like it’s going to work until Rozanov asks if they have any raisins and peanut butter so he can show him how to make ants on a log. Like the dinosaurs would have eaten, he tells Arthur. He catches Hayden staring at him afterward and lifts a shoulder. 

“Yuna showed me this once.” 

That’s still so fucking weird. 

And. Speaking of. “Not like Shane to be this late,” Hayden comments, making his own plate. “You sure he’s coming?” 

“He is coming,” Rozanov says firmly. Certain. 

Jackie eyes him over the platter of dino nuggets: Drop it. Hayden isn’t going to have any fun today, apparently. He shovels another bite of mac and cheese into his mouth and regrettably admits to himself that Arthur’s ants on a log does actually look a hell of a lot more appealing than the plain celery. 

It’s just as chaotic an affair as it ever is, the girls arguing over something at the end of the table, Arthur bringing his toys with him and inevitably getting them in the food, Hayden, Rozanov, and Jackie trying to have a conversation that mostly ends in him and Jackie talking while Rozanov nods along and picks at the nuggets on his plate. When the volume in the room gets a little loud he dips his head to speak softly to Amber, one hand over the ear that isn’t already pressed into his chest while he rubs his thumb over her temple. 

Jackie kicks him when he realizes he’s been staring for too long. 

Something is—different tonight. Off. Hayden doesn’t like it. 

When the plates are cleared and Arthur is fighting a yawn, Jackie stands and starts cleaning up. Hayden stands and follows after her, grabbing Arthur’s plate and cup on top of his own and urging the girls to help with theirs. 

“Okay, everybody wash hands, then it’s bath and pajama time,” Jackie announces. 

Hayden can’t help himself. “You want some of those too, Rozanov?” 

“No. I am much bigger than you,” Rozanov returns easily. “They would not fit.” 

Another round of laughter chitters around the table, and Hayden mutters to himself as he stomps the plates off to the sink. 

“Ilya, can we show you the new moves we practiced outside really quick?” Ruby asks. 

Handing Amber off to Jackie, Ilya follows the girls out to the backyard while the rest of them gather around the sink. Hayden kicks the step stool up to it so that Arthur can climb up, leaning over him to help him wash his hands with the soap. 

“What’s the plan?” Hayden murmurs to Jackie over their heads and the spray of the faucet, eyes darting toward the window to the backyard. 

“What plan?” she asks. 

“Babe,” Hayden pleads. “I cannot do this all night. And you’re about to leave me alone with him.” 

She rolls her eyes, wiping Amber’s fists and chin with a wet wipe. “You’re so dramatic. He’s really not that difficult to be around. He’s been perfectly nice.” 

“Perfectly is a stretch,” Hayden shoots back. He helps Arthur get a rag to dry off with, then grabs the toy dinosaur so he can scrub the ketchup off of that too. “We don’t even have anything to talk about.” 

“Maybe you could try the sport you’re both professionals in,” she blinks sarcastically at him, “or maybe the fact that you live in the same city, or the fact that you’re on the same team now. I don’t know. Something like that.” 

“Not helping,” he says. 

“And you aren’t trying.” 

She shoves the hand towel in his direction, patting his shoulder just as the backdoor slides open again, and Ruby, Jade, and Rozanov file in one by one. Hayden realizes a moment too late that it’s a gesture of abandonment. 

“I’m going to start getting the kids ready for bed,” Jackie tells them. “There’s some beers in the fridge. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like, Ilya.” 

Rozanov says nothing. Jackie nods very pointedly toward Hayden, the fridge, and the living room in a way that suggests he might very well be punished somehow if he comes to bed before Rozanov leaves. Hayden spies him typing on his phone after he says goodnight to the kids, Jackie ushering them down the hallway. He wants to ask if Shane’s almost here, but he thinks Jackie’s still in earshot, so. He’s not willing to risk it yet. 

Fuck it, he decides. Best way to get through something weird as fuck is to lean into it, right? That’s a quote from somewhere, probably. 

He yanks open the fridge and grabs two beers off the top shelf, then turns to head for the living room. Seconds later, he hears the dull echo of Rozanov’s feet following him. When he gets to the sectional he grabs the remote first, flips the television off of Arthur’s prehistoric Discovery channel thing and finds a sports channel playing game highlights, then hands Rozanov one of the beers as he passes by. 

Hayden drops onto one end of the sectional, Rozanov settling into the armchair on the other side of it. Hayden braces himself for a joke about catching his cooties or some shit if he sits too close, but nothing ever comes. 

There’s a lamp on in the corner of the living room but the rest of the house lights are off, the echo of the kids getting ready for bed upstairs just barely reaching them. Hayden glances at the stairs longingly, then sighs, moving his gaze back to the TV. 

“So,” he says when he can’t stand the silence anymore. “Is this, like. Some sort of hazing thing?” 

“Hazing,” Rozanov repeats without looking at him. 

“Yeah. Because of the transfer,” Hayden offers. He sits back a little, takes a sip of his beer. “Is this like, you dropping in to keep me on my toes? To send a message that you’re keeping an eye on me?” 

Rozanov still doesn’t look, but the very corner of his mouth twitches upward for a moment. “If you are worried enough about your performance to feel you need a babysitter, I cannot help you, Pike.” 

“I’m not really the one who seems like they needed babysitting tonight, man.” 

Like the light switch earlier, the room dips into silence again. Hayden thumbs at the edge of the label on his beer bottle, making the part that’s peeling up even worse. 

Jackie is the one who’s good in social situations. Hayden can turn things on for the cameras that occasionally aim in his direction or sit politely at a press conference, but he’s not the one that gets to know people. He mostly just blurts out whatever he’s thinking and hopes for the fucking best. It only sometimes ends well. 

Luckily, Rozanov speaks first this time. 

“Shane likes you,” he says eventually, still looking at the television. 

“Shane loves me,” Hayden corrects. 

“Yes. And also me. There is no reason why we cannot get along.”

“So that’s what this is, then,” he asks. “For Shane?” 

Rozanov inhales, takes a slow sip of his beer. “In a way, yes.”

“That’s cryptic as hell, by the way,” Hayden points out, “but—fuck it. Yeah, if it’s for Shane then, cool. Did he send you over here to make sure we’d behave ourselves this season or something?” 

“Chert voz'mi,” Rozanov mutters to himself. “Is not a test or a mystery, Pike. You are not failing anything. You can relax.” 

“I know I’m not failing anything,” he snaps too quickly. He sees one of Rozanov’s brows raise. “Ugh. Okay, fine, I’m just—confused, I guess. We don’t really do this. You know? And now I don’t even know if Shane is actually coming, and—” 

With a groan, Rozanov drops his head backward. “He is coming. I have told you this.” 

“Excuse me if I have a little bit of a hard time trusting you without Shane here,” Hayden huffs. 

The game flickers on, casting shadows over the living room. Hayden’s peeled the sticker almost halfway off the bottle now. His fingertips are both sticky and wet. It’s not a feeling he enjoys but Jackie doesn’t like it when he wipes his hands on the throw blankets. And she especially wouldn’t like it if he used the brand new sectional. He wipes it off on his jeans instead. 

“I am going to marry Shane,” Rozanov tells him plainly. “You will have to get used to me.”

Something in Hayden’s chest stutters. He glances over and finds Rozanov finally looking at him now. Hayden is struck by how exhausted he looks—he’d spent so much time avoiding Rozanov’s face that he hadn’t noticed the bags underneath his eyes, the way the lids are only halfway lifted. Had he looked that way when he arrived?

Hayden looks, and Rozanov lets him. It’s one of the only times he’s said something to Hayden without a smirk or a punchline following it, and for once, Hayden is the first one to give in. 

“You’re serious,” he says, somewhat awed. 

Rozanov blinks. “Yes.”

“Oh. Well, shit, man. That’s.” Hayden takes a breath, looks back at the TV, takes a sip of beer. It feels a little surreal, thinking of Shane getting married. Thinking of Shane and Rozanov getting married. But at least it’s something Hayden’s been through before. He clears his throat. “Do you have a plan, or?” 

“Mm. No. Not yet.” Rozanov’s head rolls back to the side. “I am waiting for… right time. For us. If Shane does not beat me to it.”

The way he says it is calm. Certain. It’s not the love at first sight that Hayden had felt with Jackie, the impromptu proposal that he’d done only months in because he just couldn’t wait. There are other reasons that it’s taken Shane and Rozanov some time to get things in order, Hayden knows, but still. Something about Rozanov not rushing into it, thinking about what’s right for both of them and not just himself—it makes Hayden feel just slightly warmer toward the guy. 

Fuck. He’s actually going to have to work at this, isn’t he? 

“I am,” Rozanov starts abruptly, tasting the words as he says them, “…trying to be better. For him.” 

In the dim glow of the lamp, Rozanov makes a face like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that. Hayden tries to think properly about his response. 

“Pretty sure he already thinks you can do no wrong,” he says, begrudging but somewhat, absurdly, fond. 

Without lifting his head, Rozanov’s eyes cut to him, wordlessly amused. “I would say the same about him, but he is friends with you, so.” 

A tense breath escapes Hayden with a laugh. “Fuck you, Rozanov.” 

“You cannot. Shane would be very angry with you. And I have much higher standards.” 

Hayden rolls his eyes. “You know what I meant, asshole.” 

“Yes,” Rozanov confirms quietly, sounding some sort of fond of his own. “Fuck you too, Pike.” 

They both turn back to the TV at the same time, and Hayden lifts his sticker-less beer up to his lips and quits while he thinks he’s ahead. 

+ 

By the time midnight rolls around, Hayden is fairly certain he’s been tricked into what might be the weirdest, most unexpected adult sleepover he’s ever had. Then again, he hasn’t had any for reference. 

Rozanov’s been dozing in the armchair for about an hour already, and thirty minutes before that the last of the conversation had fizzled and died out. He’s already busied himself with cleaning, putting the empty bottles in the trash, stacking the kid’s drawings, readjusting the throw pillows. He’s used the bathroom, gotten a drink of water, checked on Jackie and the kids. Rozanov doesn’t move. He’s running out of excuses. 

Hayden’s debating which would be less insulting between showing him the unfinished guest room that doesn’t actually have a bed in it yet versus just tossing a blanket on top of him in the chair and calling it a day when, finally, there’s a knock at the front door. 

Rozanov starts to rouse from his half-sleep but Hayden is quicker, already up and walking and eager for an explanation. He wades carefully through the dark hallway with light footsteps, flipping on the light in the foyer to open the door. 

Shane’s head snaps up when he does, and Hayden is taken aback by the look on his face; eyes glassy, mouth pinched, shoulders rising and falling fast with his breath. 

“Hey,” he breathes, eyes flicking over Hayden’s shoulder. “Is he—?” 

“Um. Yeah, man. He’s just chilling in the living room. What’s—?” 

At that, Shane seems to lose all sense of propriety as he slips past Hayden and into the house he’s only been inside of once briefly before, a determined set to his gait as he dodges moving boxes and peeks around corners. Hayden rushes to close the front door and catch up to him, but Shane gets there first. 

“Ilya?” he calls. Hayden winces at the volume, but he doesn’t hear any of the kids wake up. 

Shane stops under the archway to the living room, and from his view from the side, Hayden can see his jaw trembling. He furrows a brow. Had Shane been that concerned about the two of them being alone together? 

From the armchair he hears Rozanov murmur sleepily, “Hello, lyubimyy.” 

His best friend nearly crumples to the floor in his rush to get across the room. 

“Ilya.” 

Morbidly curious and half knowing better, Hayden steps into the spot Shane had just vacated, stopping just as Shane reaches him. He bends to his knees in front of Rozanov and presses both hands to his face, and Rozanov lets him. 

“I am okay,” he says, voice steady even when his mouth wobbles at the corner. His hand finds the back of Shane’s neck to bring their foreheads together. “I am fine, malysh. Everything is okay.” 

Shane sobs outright then, as if suddenly the strings holding him together have been cut, and Hayden’s first instinct is to step in and demand to know what’s wrong so that he can fix it. But the longer he looks at the scene in front of him, at Shane’s head falling to Rozanov’s shoulder, Rozanov’s mouth moving at his ear, arms folded around each other so tightly they’re turning pale as they rock slightly back and forth, Hayden considers that, really, he isn’t needed here. 

He doesn’t have anything to protect Shane from, the way he’d felt like he needed to all those years. Rozanov’s got him. 

Swallowing around the knot in his throat, Hayden backs hurriedly away toward the kitchen before he can be noticed. He hears Shane as he goes, a tearful I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, baby, the damp smack of lips against skin. What the fuck, Hayden thinks in a completely different tone from earlier, walking faster. Here for what? 

He goes to the far side of the kitchen where the noise doesn’t travel as easy, trying to give them some space without having to cross back through to go up the stairs. He paces around the island, stops to get another glass of water, rinses it out and loads it into the dishwasher for tomorrow. He can’t even text Jackie to see if she’s up now, his phone lost somewhere in the blankets on the sofa. 

In the end, Hayden pulls out a dining room chair and drops down into it, staring at the wood as if it’ll have any answers for him. He keeps glancing at the clock on the microwave. Five minutes passes, then ten, then fifteen before the vague rumble of voices from the other room sounds a little more steady again. 

At twenty minutes the television clicks off, and Hayden hears the creak of furniture and footsteps. Shane, evidently having remembered how late it is, speaks quietly now in the hallway, brief and low before the sound passes to the foyer. Hayden stands from the table, unsure if he should follow them out or not. 

The safety alarm on the front door—disabled for now since he’s still up, thank God—beeps once as someone exits, and moments later Hayden hears Shane’s car start up in the driveway. Just as he’s about to jog out to try to catch Shane, the front door opens and closes again, and tentative footsteps move toward the kitchen. 

The first thing Hayden notices about Shane is that he has his shoes still on. He doesn’t even look like he notices. That’s how he knows it’s bad. 

“Hey,” Shane says, coming to a stop beside the island, his face carefully blank. He’s wearing a sweatshirt Hayden thinks might be one of Rozanov’s, his hair disheveled and equally as tired. He’s still wearing slacks and dress shoes on the bottom, as if he’d left the sponsorship shoot in a rush. 

He looks so fucking hesitant that Hayden’s chest hurts. He hasn’t looked like this since—well, since Hayden first found out about Rozanov in the first place. 

“Hey,” he returns, throat dry. “I, uh. I wasn’t sure if you were coming.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep you guessing,” he tells Hayden sheepishly, thumbs hooked into his pockets. “I didn’t—when Ilya called, I just left. I didn’t have time to let you or Jackie know. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s all good, man. We saved some leftovers for you in the fridge, if you want ‘em. I know it’s late, but if you’re hungry…” 

Shane winces, then makes an effort to look neutral again. “No, that’s okay, I’m—I couldn’t eat right now anyway.” 

Hayden nods, and Shane’s head dips toward his chest, the toe of his shoe dragging against a line in the tile, and the silence builds until Hayden really starts to feel insane. He feels, again, like he’s the odd one out here, missing something important that Shane isn’t saying. 

“Shane,” he says, a question as much as it is a plea. “I’m really confused.” 

Across from him, Shane grips the edge of the island and sighs. “Yeah.” His eyes pinch closed, then hesitantly trail up to Hayden again. “I need to talk to you. About something.” 

“Sure,” Hayden agrees, and he thinks he does a pretty good job of sounding like he’s not as concerned as he is. 

In all the years Hayden’s known him, even as best friends, he can name maybe twice that he’s seen Shane get emotional about something. He’s still not used to it, the way it makes his dad-instincts go all sorts of haywire. 

“He said I could tell you, because he knows how much I trust you, and in case it happens again.” Shane swallows, looking at Hayden’s chest. “He noticed that you seemed a little confused.” 

“Well, I mean, not that he’s not welcome, obviously. But I just—yeah, him showing up here randomly and basically asking to hang out when we’ve never done that before was a little weird.” 

Shane nods. “Yeah. We’re—he’s working on talking about it, telling some of our close friends. But it’s—it’s difficult for him, sometimes, so he told me I could tell you.” 

“You’re scaring me a little, man,” Hayden says lightly, leaning up against the dining table behind him. “What’s up?” 

Eyeing the granite underneath his fingertips, Shane opens his mouth, eases in a deep breath, and talks as if he’s pulling the words from concrete. Like he hasn’t had to tell anyone else before. Hayden straightens his shoulders. 

“Ilya started therapy this past year. And it’s been going well, for the most part. He has a wonderful therapist, and we’re looking into some medication that we think will help, too. It’s a bit of a process. Lots of trial and error.” 

Hayden blinks, processing. “Oh. Well, that’s great. I mean, that he’s getting support.” He pauses, unsure of what he’s allowed to ask. “What’s, uh. What’s going on with him?” 

“He’s had these episodes for a long time. Depression. Most of the time he’s okay, but sometimes he has a bad day, or a bad week. It can—affect things.”

“The hockey, you mean?” Hayden asks. There’ve been a couple of different team events lately Rozanov’s skipped out on with short notice. It would make sense, he thinks, if this were the reason. 

“That, yeah. But also just—everyday things. Eating, sleeping, basic tasks. It’s—it can be a lot, for him.” 

He sucks in a breath. Hayden knows, in theory, that it can be like that for some people. Jackie’s made care packages for a few of her friends who struggle with it, but he’s never known what it’s like firsthand. He can’t imagine growing up in a sport like hockey, where there’s so much focus on physical health issues and nobody really gives a shit if they can’t see it. Not unless it impacts the game. 

He wonders what other times Rozanov’s sacrificed one or the other—his career or his health. He hopes things are different here. Hayden’s never been crazy about him aside from how he relates to Shane, but he doesn’t like the thought of anyone suffering alone like that. 

“Man, that sucks. I’m sorry that’s happening. He’s not—I couldn’t even tell, tonight.” 

“That’s sort of the thing,” Shane says. “He’s had this for a while, maybe genetically, but only recently he’s been learning more about it. And his therapist warned us from the beginning that, you know, things might come up for him that make all of this worse before it gets any better.” 

Nodding along, Hayden tries to scan back over the evening for any signs. Rozanov had looked tired, and him showing up at all was sort of out of character for him. But other than that, he’d seemed—fine, mostly. Playing with the kids, cracking a few jokes, if a little less than normal. Hayden had just thought he’d been on his best behavior without Shane there to defend him if he took things too far. 

“But he’s—he’s good at hiding it. So one of the things we’ve been working on lately is him being able to let someone know when he needs help. Feeling comfortable enough to do that,” Shane goes on. “Usually it’s me or my parents, but this was—this was the first time since some of the pretty bad stuff came up that all of us were traveling or out of town, so he was—he was alone.” 

Fucking great. And Hayden had drilled him about it. Had tried to make him explain himself for simply wanting some company. As a person, he feels angry with himself. 

As a father, he feels sourly, overwhelmingly disappointed. 

“That makes sense,” Hayden agrees soberly. “He’s welcome here anytime, man, seriously. I know things have always been sort of… tense between us or whatever, but that shit’s not important. My door’s always open. And even if I’m gone, Jack’s and the kids are here, and he seemed to like being around them too. They never mind the company.” 

A ghost of a smile tries to tilt Shane’s lips. It doesn’t work very well. 

“That means a lot, Hayd. Thanks.” 

He glances to the side again then, off past Hayden and into the window overlooking the backyard. It’s dark in here with only the light from the foyer spilling in from the doorway behind Shane and the moonlight at Hayden’s back, and he wishes desperately that they could turn on the lights but he knows that Shane is probably more comfortable like this. He aches to fidget with something, and he makes himself stay still. 

“Is there… more?” he asks. 

Shane nods, once, small. 

“He told me I could tell you about him, but I don’t want to share anything he’s not comfortable with. But I can say that we—there’s reason, a little, for us to be—not concerned, but to be aware of certain, um…" 

“Shane,” Hayden tries again. “Anything, buddy. You can tell me.” 

His eyes squeeze closed again. “We had reason to put rules in place. Protocol. If ever—if it got to a place where, if he was ever feeling like he might—" 

Hayden’s body understands before his mind catches up. His blood runs cold for a second, stuck on the scrunch of Shane’s face, the clench of his fist, how desperate he’d been to see Rozanov—Ilya—just now. To make sure that he was okay. Here, in person. Not hurt. 

Alive. 

“Oh,” Hayden hears himself say distantly. “Oh, fuck, Shane.” 

Shane’s shoulders drop with a shudder. “Yeah.”

“And that—he—tonight?” Hayden whispers, pulse thick in his own ears. “That’s why he came over?” 

“It wasn’t the worst it could’ve been,” Shane manages with a sniff. “We have—it’s sort of complicated to get into. There are levels. And tonight he was at the—thinking level. There’s other plans in place if he ever feels like acting on anything, but this was—this was good. It was a big step for him. He followed protocol, even when he didn’t want to. But I think—I think he was scared, so.”

A pause, and then another strangled sob breaks free of his throat. Hayden feels like he might be sick, his own stomach tied up into a knot. 

“Fuck, Shane.” He pushes away from the table. “Come here.” 

“I’m okay—" Shane presses his palms into his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, well I’m sort of fucking not, and I’m not sure your boy’s as receptive to a Hayden hug right now.” 

Hands falling away from his face, Shane blinks twice at him, heavy and wet, and then tumbles forward to meet him halfway.  

They stand there for several minutes, hugging in the middle of the kitchen until the floor feels steadier underneath them again and Hayden’s throat and eyes don’t burn so badly. 

“Thank you,” Shane sniffs into his shoulder. “For this, for tonight, for—just everything. I can’t—“

Hayden immediately shakes his head. “Don’t thank me for that shit. I don’t—I know I give you shit, but it’s not a hardship for me to be around the guy you’re in love with, okay?” 

Shane tries for another wobbly smile, cheeks wet with tears. “I love him so fucking much, Hayd,” he says, voice breaking. 

“I know, buddy.”

“And he was so—he was so calm, when he told me he was coming over here. And I was so worried, I thought I was going to be sick.” He laughs, once, tight and harsh. “I don’t know what I would do if I ever fucking lost him. It’s—he’s it for me, Hayd.”

I am going to marry Shane, Hayden hears inside of his head again. His chest aches. You will have to get used to me. 

“I know. If it were Jackie, man, I’m—I get it, no questions asked.” 

They break apart some, Shane’s hands coming up between them again to press into his eyes. “I shouldn’t be this upset,” he mutters from between his wrists. “He did the right thing, and I’m so fucking proud of him, I—I don’t want him to see me like this and think that I’m not. I should’ve been able to hold it together.” 

Hayden makes a noise. “You deserve to feel it, Shane. It’s a fucking scary thing. It always is, when you love someone. And you’ve—you’ve been handling it on your own and I should’ve—fuck. I should’ve asked more questions, I shouldn’t have been such a dick to him, I—“

“He starts it, mostly,” Shane argues lightly. 

“It doesn’t fucking matter. The second I knew about you guys, it should’ve been water under the bridge. The rest of it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re family, and so’s he. End of.” 

In front of him Shane’s shoulders slump, and he exhales a long breath. 

“He deserves that. He deserves so much. I know what he seems like, but nobody sees how fucking hard he tries. How much he wants to get better. I’m just. I’m so fucking proud of him and I feel like I never say it enough. I feel like I’m not doing enough, even though he says I am. And I trust him. With everything, I do. It’s just…” Shane shrugs, lost for the right words. 

“If there’s anything I know about you, Hollander, it’s that you’re absolutely doing so much fucking better than you give yourself credit for,” Hayden smiles tentatively. “And I bet Ilya is too.”

However tired, Shane manages one back. 

“Thanks.”

Hayden pulls him in for one last hug since it’s not something he’s allowed all the time, tight enough, hopefully, that Shane knows how much he means it. They walk toward the foyer when they separate, lingering before the door. 

“Look, put me on whatever lists you want, add my number or Jackie’s as a backup emergency contact. Anything you need, anytime. But I want more than that too. We really did have a good time tonight, and pretty soon the house won’t be full of boxes and moving shit. We should start doing weekly dinners, going places, inviting each other to things now that we’re in the same city again.” 

“We can try,” Shane agrees, teeth worrying his lip. “Like I said, Ilya has bad days sometimes. We might have to cancel or reschedule sometimes.” 

Hayden reaches for his shoulder and squeezes. “Dude. I’m here. You know my schedule. You don’t—“ he blinks back sudden tears again, starts over. “You don’t have to carry all this shit by yourself. Okay? Not you, and not Ilya, either.” 

“I know. I’m—I’m working on it too. How to be there for him and—for both of us. Me too.” 

“You’ve got a village, man,” Hayden reminds him. “I haven’t been here for very long, but I know the other guys would be supportive too. You just gotta tell us when you need us. Whether that involves an explanation or not.” 

His chin dips. “I know. Ilya knows, too. It’s just—a work in progress, I guess.” He lifts a shoulder, glances at the door and then down at himself. “Fuck. I don’t wanna go out there like this. I need to—“ he gestures vaguely. 

“Use the hall bathroom to freshen up. It’s got everything you should need.”

“I’ve already kept him waiting for so long,” Shane hesitates. 

“I’ve got it covered.” 

His head tilts. “I don’t know, Hayd.” 

“I’m not going to get into anything that we talked about. I don’t wanna make him feel put on the spot,” he says firmly. “I’m just gonna make it clear that I’m in your corner. Both of you. And it’ll give you a minute to get yourself together. It’ll be fine.” 

Shane takes another moment, then nods. “Thank you.”

“I fucking love you, man. Okay? I’m here. For you and him.” 

“I know. I love you too.” He smiles. “And maybe don’t—if you need to tell Jackie, that’s fine. But maybe no one else, for now.”

“Cross my heart,” Hayden swears. 

“Okay,” Shane exhales, steeling himself. “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Take your time.” 

He points Shane in the direction of the bathroom and waits until the door clicks shut before he steps outside. 

The night is cool and clear, the glow of Shane’s headlights aimed at the trees, bright enough that he can’t see inside the car behind them. Ilya’s car sits on the other side that he’d used to drive here earlier, but they can figure out who’s driving it back to their place tomorrow. Right now, it doesn’t matter. 

The shoes he’d slid on by the front door crunch on the gravel underneath his feet as he walks from the front steps over to the passenger side, the window rolling down before Hayden’s even fully stepped up to it yet. He slips his hands into his pockets and closes the last of the distance, lifting his gaze from the driveway up to Rozanov sitting inside. 

He still looks tired, cautious, a set to his jaw that Hayden isn’t sure is determination or defensiveness. He couldn’t blame him for either. 

“You miss me already, Pike?” he rasps, trying for a smirk. 

Hayden can see it for what it is now; the face of a man trying desperately to maintain some sense of normalcy when everything on the inside feels unsteady. 

“I did miss some things, yeah.” 

He doesn’t know if he can do the jokes anymore tonight. 

Ilya’s mouth flattens again, as if every part of his face is being weighted down by something Hayden can’t see. Something goes carefully guarded, and Ilya’s gaze shifts to the dashboard. 

Hayden knows he only has a few minutes. He’d told Shane to take his time but he’ll be nervous to leave them out here, anxious to get back within sight of Ilya again. Hayden can’t even blame him. He feels like his own image of Ilya has shifted, become more tangible and less of a caricature, and he’s so fucking angry with himself that it took something like this to knock him into gear. He can’t say too much, can’t say the wrong thing, but he can’t say nothing at all. He can’t. 

Before he can find the words, though, Ilya speaks up. 

“I scared him. Tonight.” 

He sounds so viscerally ashamed, so uncharacteristically vulnerable that Hayden wants to reach through the car window and wrap him in a hug the same way he’d done with Shane. 

But this is also a step forward. 

“You only scared him ‘cause he loves the shit out of you,” Hayden points out. 

Ilya smiles then, only a little. “Yes,” he agrees. “I am very lucky.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches as if he might say more, and Hayden has seen the same thing with Shane countless times before. He keeps himself quiet even if there’s a dozen things pushing behind his teeth, and sure enough, Ilya’s chin wobbles seconds later. 

“It was the first time since we have been serious that it has… happened this badly. I probably could have stayed home, but I—I can’t—now, with Shane, I can’t—” 

“Ilya,” Hayden says. At the sound of his name his eyes snap up to Hayden’s, and for one devastating moment, he looks like Arthur, young and scared and lost. Hayden won’t ever lose the image. “I get it, okay? I love Shane too. I’d do fucking anything for him. But that’s not why I want you to be okay.” 

“Of course it is,” Ilya argues. 

“No, it’s not.” He presses his palms against the car door, faces Ilya directly. “Look, you said earlier tonight that you’re trying to do better. For Shane. Maybe—maybe I am too. Shane can be the connecting piece, but you’ve made it clear that you’re in this for the long haul, and if that’s true, then you’re family too. You got that?” 

He steels his jaw. “Pike—” 

“You got that?” Hayden repeats. 

The porch light makes the tears in Ilya’s eyes shine. His throat moves as he swallows, and Hayden lets him sit with it for a minute. If Shane comes back out right now, at least he’s said his piece. The weight in his chest, even if he can tell it’ll stick around for a while after this, feels a little bit looser now. 

Eventually, Ilya sniffs. He shoves at the sides of his face, smearing the wetness on his cheeks until it dries. He looks over at Hayden with a familiar pinch of his mouth. 

“You should not talk to your captain that way. Is very unprofessional, Pike.” 

“Good thing I’m just talking to a friend, then,” Hayden says easily. 

It catches Ilya off guard, his eyes flicking upward for a second. They hold there, and Hayden lets him look the same way he’d looked at Ilya earlier, until he finds whatever it is that he needs. 

The front door opens from the house, and Shane quickly descends the front steps, bundled up in his sweatshirt as he walks to the driver’s side and climbs in. He glances between Hayden and Ilya, hesitating briefly. 

“Okay?” he asks. Ilya nods. 

“All good,” Hayden says.  

Shane lifts a hand, touches it to the back of Ilya’s neck. “You ready to go home?” 

“Yes,” Ilya sniffs. “I have been ambushed here by big hockey fan. I am too famous. Very embarrassing. I cannot get a moment of rest.” 

Hayden laughs, wet eyes blurring just a little as he takes his hands off the heat of the car. 

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” 

Ilya manages the biggest smile he has all night so far, and something else settles in the air around them. He rolls his head to the side over his shoulder. 

“Fuck you too, Pike.” 

Hayden steps away completely once they’ve made plans for him and Jackie to transport the car sometime tomorrow afternoon, hands in his pockets in the driveway as he watches them go. It’s lonely outside by himself once the headlights have faded, so he goes back inside, suddenly very desperate to see Jackie. 

He stops in to check on the kids first, one by one down the hallway. Ruby and Jade in their bunks, Amber safe behind the sheer curtains of her princess bed and her wall of stuffed animals, Arthur with his dinosaur-printed sheets tucked up neatly around his chin, his toy still clutched in a loose fist while he drools. Fuck. Hayden loves them so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself sometimes. 

He stands there a long time, he thinks, before he makes it to his and Jackie’s room at the end of the hallway. He strips down to his pants and socks and lifts the sheet, climbs in and wraps an arm around her from behind. She’s warm and welcoming the way she always is, her fingers finding their way through his even when she’s half-conscious. 

“Mm, he’s gone?” she murmurs, pulling him closer. 

“Yeah. Shane has him.” 

“Good.” She rolls over in his arms until her head’s on his shoulder, until she’s hugging him back. “Everything okay?” 

Hayden nods against her. “I’m glad they have each other.” 

It’s the first time he’s ever said it that way. Not just that Shane isn’t alone; not just that Rozanov should be grateful for what he’s got. He can’t say more without crying, so he holds her tighter and buries his face against her hair instead, inhaling her scent, feeling her pulse thud steady against his. 

“I am too.” Jackie stifles a yawn. “I think they’re good for each other.” She waits another moment, then carefully adds, “Are you okay?” 

He breathes in and out again. “I just really fucking love you.” 

Wriggling around in his grip until he loosens it a little, Jackie lifts a hand and presses it to his cheek, tilts his face down so she can frown up sleepily at it. It makes him laugh, which makes her smile. She kisses him on the mouth once, twice, then drops back down to his chest with a sigh. 

“I love you too.” 

She falls back into sleep almost immediately, and Hayden tries not to use the emptiness of his ceiling to pick apart the night again in its entirety. Still, certain parts find their way back to him. 

Is not a test or a mystery, Pike. You are not failing anything. You can relax.

He’s going to do whatever he fucking can to make sure that Rozanov—that Ilya—knows they feel the same way about him. 

Jackie shifts, mumbles, swats at his shoulder. “Sleep.” 

Hayden presses his mouth to the top of her head and closes his eyes. He doesn’t have to worry about it right now. Shane’s got him.