Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories:

F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Original Characters

Additional Tags:

Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, Orginal Characters, Established Relationship, New Relationship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, but nothing on screen, References to Depression, Loss of Parent(s), Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, public outing, Media Scrutiny, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, Invasion of Privacy, Hospitalization, mentions of dallas kent- he is NOT an on screen character but his name IS mentioned, Blood, but like not shown, Vomit, but again- just the word- no actual vomiting on screen, Sports Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Smoking, Drinking, Anxiety, Cancer, anticipated death of dog, NOT ANYA I PROMISE, Car Accidents, confessions while impaired, Broken Bones, Concussed Shane Hollander, talk of emergency medicine/situation, Coming Out, Coming Out to Parents, it goes well i promise, Mental Health Issues, Original Character POV, death by suicide mentioned, Not Beta Read, All mistakes are mine, Fuck AI, coding made me cry, Jealous Shane Hollander, Hurt Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is a Menace, Domestic Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Protective Yuna Hollander, Good Parents David Hollander/Yuna Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Loves Dogs, Parasocial Relationships, but respectfully, Secret Relationship, but apparently not secret enough, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But also pretty canon compliant, Partially Canon Compliant, author's first fic, Author Doesn't Know How to Use Tags, author is trying her best

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-09-13 Completed: 2026-09-19 Words: 125,324 Chapters: 24/24

The People Around The World Who Knew

Summary

This is the story about the normal every day people who found out about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov long before the world was told. This is the story of how the relationship between Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov changed their lives. This is the story of the people who knew, protected, and supported Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov... some for almost for thirteen years.

OR

Shane and Ilya were actually horrible at keeping their relationship a secret.

Notes

PLEASE STOP AND READ THIS!! SERIOUSLY!!

Thanks for stopping and reading this. Bonus points for you(:

First and foremost- I need to make one thing very very clear: while this is a story of the relationship between Shane and Ilya, and this story is ABOUT THEM, and they are in this story as characters, they are in fact not main characters in most of this work (until the last three chapters). This work is the story of original characters who are witnesses to Shane and Ilya's story. If you are looking for a story just about them, told only in their POV, and only with them in it- this is not going to be the story for you. And that’s okay(:

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this (probably incomplete) list of people who were not at all shocked when that fan mail video from the 15th best player of the Metros went viral.

ps: In terms of original content- I have only consumed the TV series. I have not read any of the books but because of the amount of overall HR content that I’ve engaged in, I know some things, guessed others, and assumed a few things about this series overall. Any accuracies and mistakes are accidental but if you want to point them out- please do! I would love to know. Also because I have only ever watched the show, I mainly stuck with that time line, series of events, and used that universe as cannon. I’m sure I mixed a few things up though.

pps:Now that’s out of the way- please read and enjoy. This is my first ever work so I am still learning everything from the actual writing, to coding, to html, to basic rules and decorum here so please feel free to leave feedback, advice, suggestions, any of that! But also know that this is just for fun(:

(pls see end notes for even more ramblings from me)

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Knows the Power of a Hand Graze

Chapter Summary

They weren’t as alone in that gym as they thought they were

Disclaimer: I know nothing about how the draft works but in this world (my fictional world) the festivities last at least three days.

Chapter Notes

I hope you enjoy(:

Date: June 2009

Location: A hotel in Los Angeles

Jenny groaned as she flopped into the chair behind the front desk. “When will it end?” she cried out to anyone who would listen.

Turns out, the only person who was there to listen was her boss, Daryl, who was sitting in the chair next to her. No bother. Daryl was well accustomed to her antics by now.

“Tomorrow,” his gruff voice huffed. “The draft celebrations will be done tomorrow. Like I mentioned. In the email I sent to you.”

Her groan echoed off the polished floors. “They’re hockey players. Shouldn’t they be like allergic to the heat or something? Why would they host the MHL draft in LA?”

Daryl didn’t even look up from the computer as he says, “Individual teams submit bids to host the draft in their cities.”

Jenny lifted her head. “LA has a hockey team?”

Daryl nodded. “The LA Kings.”

“Huh. The more you know.” She scrubbed her face with her hands. “Does this mean they won't ever host it here again. Like is this a one and done situation? Please tell me I never have to go through this again.”

Her boss finally turned in his chair to look at her. “You’re complaining a lot for a girl who has basically earned two weeks salary in the last two days in tips alone.” He paused. “They’re not giving you any trouble, are they?”

By ‘they’ he meant the MHL players, family, friends, fans and press that have been swarming around the hotel for the past two days.

“No!” she exclaimed, hands in the air. “That makes it even worse somehow! They’re so nice that I can’t be mad at them. But I want to,” she let out a dry laugh, “oh, do I want to.”

Daryl looked at her with confusion written into a singular raised eyebrow.

Jenny elaborated. “Do you know how many times room 1221 has lost his key card? Six. Six! He’s been here less than 50 hours. How does that happen? Where is he going? Is he throwing them away? Is he giving them away? What is he doing with them?

“Room 1410 has emptied out the ice machine next to his room three times, causing it to auto shut off because it thinks it has malfunctioned. Causing me to have to be on hold for three hours with the company so they could walk me through the reset procedure. I will never get ‘Love Story’ out of my head. Why does an ice machine helpline have ‘Love Story’ as their hold music, Daryl? Huh? Why?

“Room 1217 stopped me during breakfast and asked if we have anything that caters to a ‘Macrobiotic diet’. Do you know what a macrobiotic diet is Daryl? Because I didn’t. Oh, but now I do.” Jenny paused. “He was actually really nice and kind about it. Poor guy just wanted some breakfast and was really thankful when I recommended some local places that might be able to help out.”

Daryl laughed. “You should write a book.”

“The reporter in 1919 has asked me four times if I would be willing to release the room numbers of the players. That one is actually problematic. You should look into that. He gives me creepy vibes.”

“Will do,” Daryl nodded, already writing down the room number.

She sighed. “The kids in 2481 did have a blast though with the foam hockey set up we had in the lobby last night. And that player in 8124 made their day being their goalie”

Daryl grinned. “Are you sure you want to leave and go back to college at the end of the summer? I think you’ll miss this place.”

Jenny shook her head. “No dice, Daryl.”

He pretended to pout. “Okay. But while you’re still here do you think I can bother you to do your job?”

She gave a long, loud, suffering sigh. “I suppose. What do you need?”

“No one has gathered the towels from the gym for a couple hours and you know how hard it has been to keep them in stock this weekend.”

“That’s because they are always working out!” She threw her hands in the air again. “I swear if they're not at a draft event, they're working out. Don’t get me wrong, the results are nice to look at but I think some of these players are working out in their sleep.”

“Let’s hope not. If they take the nights off at least we have a couple hours to play catch up.” Daryl stood up. “You go check the gym and I’ll have a cup of coffee waiting for you when you get back?”

Jenny slapped her hands against her chest. “Really?”

He nodded. “A cup full of sugar and milk with two drops of coffee. Just how you like it.”

She tried to tamp down a smile as she stood up and walked out from behind the desk, “Say what you want old man, but if you tried it my way you’d never go back to drinking your jet fuel.”

Daryl was grumbling under his breath, something about him being a decade younger before she started working here two months ago and she finally smiled as she walked down the hall, her shoes echoing against the shiny walls.

She swiped her key card to open one of the unmarked side doors and slipped into the interconnected 'employees only' hallways that staff used to travel around the hotel faster and out of the eye of the guests. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her to do list, crossing two things off and adding three more.

Jenny made a mental note to thank Tony, her coworker who had placed at least twice as many towels as normal on the stocking cart before they left. Even if the gym was empty, Jenny would be able to replenish them immediately.

With one arm full of towels, she used the other hand to open the hidden door that would open up into the gym, specifically right into the small cubby away from the main part of the gym that held the accommodations like water bottles, towels, and cleaning products.

Her movements halted however, when she heard voices. She of course could continue with her task even if some of the athletes, because it had to be the players- who else would be working out in the middle of the night, were using the gym. But it meant that she had to be ‘on’. Personable. Helpful. Smiling. And she was running on empty. She should have gotten that cup of coffee before agreeing to this task.

Door still propped open, she stopped to listen. It sounded like there were only two people in there. And Jenny didn’t hear any equipment, no hum of the treadmill, no spinning of the bikes, no weights clanging around. They were just… talking.

Great. Maybe they were wrapping it up and were on their way out. She could wait here for a minute and then finish the job alone.

“Montreal is… is nice, yes?” She heard a deep voice ask, and she wanted to groan again. These boys were so boring. Did they do or talk about anything that isn’t related to hockey?

Another voice answered, “Yeah, it’s awesome.”

Wow. What an exciting and insightful reply. Nevertheless, the deeper voice carried on, and they chatted for a little about their schedules. She tuned them out, thinking about what she could cross off her to do list by the end of her shift.

Wait.

Jenny knew that voice. She had listened to that voice for fifteen minutes explain what is and is not part of a macrobiotic diet.

Curiosity got the better of her and slowly, so very slowly, she peeked her head out just an inch. Thanks to the angle of the mirrors, she was pretty certain she could see them, but they couldn’t see her.

And yup, there he was. Macrobiotic guy. Jenny felt a little bad, he had told her his name and even made sure to ask Jenny for hers. It really was a lovely interaction. Unfortunately, Jenny had met a hundred people in the last fifty-two hours, and she was awful at remembering new names.

She hadn’t met the other one yet. Blonde curls plastered against the back of his neck, and it was really unfair for anyone’s eyes to light up so much given the awful lighting this gym had to offer. He had an accent, but she couldn’t place it.

A long moment passed without any words, so Jenny stuck her head out to see if they had left. But they hadn’t even moved. They were in the exact same spot.

Except they weren’t really talking anymore.

Well. Out loud at least.

A lot was being said as the man in the white long sleeve shirt trailed his eyes down the other man’s throat as he took a long swig out of his water bottle. And then Jenny blinked hard, trying to clear whatever was in her eye because surely, he wasn’t actually looking where she thought he was looking. Right?!

Then the blonde held out said water bottle, sloshing it around after the first attempt of denial. Finally, her new best friend reached out to take the water bottle and…

Jenny stopped breathing. She didn’t move an inch. Her eyes glued to the reflection. It had to be a trick of light. No way she just saw what she thought she just saw.

But wait…

YUP

There it was again.

A hand graze. Not once. But twice. A 100% on purpose, no doubt about it, hand graze.

Then Jenny almost died.

Because then the blonde man winked. Oh. He knew what he was doing. And may she say… he was doing it well. Bravo blonde man. Bravo.

She bit her lips so hard to keep from squealing she tasted blood. She had to get out of there. She’d come back later for the towels. No way was she risking interrupting this.

Slowly, she backed out and shut the door centimeter by centimeter until it closed silently. She haphazardly dumped the towels from her arm into the cart before she took off running. Sprinting through the secret hallways, she didn’t stop until she crossed the lobby and turned into the breakroom.

Daryl didn’t even look up from where he was stirring his coffee. “That took you a while. How bad was it?”

“Daryl forget about the damn towels!” She yelled, bending at her hips to rest her hands on her thighs, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “I have news. Big news.”

“And what’s that dear?” He brought the cup up to his lips

She stood, taking a deep breath so she could make sure to deliver this with the reverence it deserved. “Two of the MHL players are sleeping together.”

That got his attention. Coffee went flying out of his cup, landing on the table, the floor, and on Daryl himself. Daryl, who turned an awful shade of red as he coughed, trying to force the coffee away from his lungs.

“What?” He bellowed. “In the gym? Now?” He slammed the coffee cup down and looked like he was about to charge in there and put a stop to it.

She grabbed his coffee-soaked sleeve. “No!” Well, she didn’t think so, but she guessed she really couldn’t be sure. Who knows what those two are going to get up to? “I mean, I didn’t see anything.”

“Jenny. If you didn’t see anything, how do you know two MHL players are sleeping together?”

“Well,” she let go of his sleeve and slicked back her ponytail, “I saw some things.

“Jennifer Marie Chambers if you don’t tell me what is going on I will assign you laundry duty every day for the next two months until the day you leave.”

Oh, he was serious. She came out with it. “First, there was the eye contact.”

Daryl squinted. “Eye contact?”

She nodded solemnly. “Intense eye contact. Prolonged eye contact. Insanely prolonged and meaningful eye contact.” She grinned just remembering it. “And then there was gazing at… other body parts.”

“What other body parts?” Daryl asked even though the look on his face said he already knew and wished he didn’t.

“But then, ugh” she tipped her head back and let out a groan, getting goosebumps just thinking about it. “The pièce de resistance... are you ready for it?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he whispered, his voice terrified.

“Not one… but two hand grazes,” she squealed, bringing her hands up to her mouth, biting her knuckles to at least and try to keep it down.

Daryl blinked once. Then again. And then for a third time. “A ‘hand graze’?” he said the words like he was unfamiliar with them.

“Two!” she nodded enthusiastically.

“What did the hand…graze?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “The other guy’s hand. As he passed him the water bottle. And then again when he took the water bottle back.”

Daryl shook his head and grabbed the roll of paper towels. “Jenny. A man sharing a water bottle does not mean he’s sleeping with the other man.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You are leaving out the eye contact, the gazing, and the hand grazing.”

He wadded up the paper towels and threw them into the bin. “Despite all of that hard hitting evidence,” his tone was heavy with sarcasm, “I highly doubt two of the MHL players are sleeping together.”

“I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but I have seen the soon to be classic Pride and Prejudice enough times to know the subtext behind a hand graze.”

Daryl paused in his coffee clean up. “‘Soon to be classic’?”

Nodding she explained like she was talking about something that was common knowledge, “Something that isn’t a classic yet but will be.”

“Right,” he said in that tone he uses when he doesn’t agree but doesn’t think it’s worth arguing about. “Anyways. I still don’t agree.”

Jenny shrugged. “My science is sound.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Jenny paused in picking up the coffee cup Daryl had set aside. “You think I'm hallucinating?”

His voice was soft, “I think you're stressed, and busy, and maybe... seeing things at aren’t actually there.”

“I have proof.”

Daryl’s eyebrows rose. Again. “Proof?”

She hadn’t planned on sharing that part. But she didn’t do well when people doubted her. “Well. After the first one I had to make sure I was actually seeing what I thought I saw. So, I… might have… snapped a picture.” She held up her phone.

“Okay, let me see it. Let me see this all telling hand graze.”

“No!” Jenny clutched the phone to her chest. “Absolutely not.”

Daryl looked confused. “Why not?”

“I don’t know who they are. Yes, I know they are hockey players but out of the …three hundred?”

“More like seven hundred to a thousand if you count the reserves.”

“Exactly my point,” she held out a hand and gestured towards him. “I know nothing about this sport. I don’t care to know anything about this sport. Even though this is probably the most interesting thing to happen to me in years it is still not interesting enough to make me voluntarily turn on a hockey a game. Their secret is safe with me and my ignorance. You, however, appear to know everything about this sport. You would know who they are.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’ll tell anyone! Their secret is safe with me too.”

“Ah ha!” She pointed, a smug grin taking over her features. “So, you believe me!”

Daryl’s face warped in confusion like he had no idea how he reached this point. “I- no, I just mean… well…”

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and grabbed the coffee off the counter. “Thanks for the girl talk Daryl.”

She was almost out of the break room when he yelled out, “Do you even have a picture?”

Jenny smirked over her shoulder. “That’s for me to know and for you to maybe, one day, very far from now, find out.”

12 years later

Jenny smirks as she sends the picture off in another chat. She hopes they appreciate it, and don’t find it too creepy she’s kept it all this time. When she was done, she put the phone down and walked out of the break room and behind the desk. “Benny, would you go check the towels in the gym? A guest said we were out.”

The boy nodded and stood up. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Chapter End Notes

First one is short and sweet, but i hope you liked it and it gives you an overall idea of what to expect moving forward. Let me know what you think!

ps: did you recognize those room numbers?

Housekeeping Rambling:
hiiiiii..... its me again.

One last tangent from me (hopefully): I consume Heated Rivalry content on what some might say is an unhealthy (maybe even concerning) amount. Not only have I reheated the show to the point where it’s basically charred dislike, but it takes up about 90% of my algorithm on all social media. I'm serious. TikTok, Insta, Threads, and even my barely used Facebook. I don’t just have one folder for HR on those platforms, but several to make sure that what I saved can be properly organized. That being said, I need everyone to understand that while writing this fic I tried to do my very best to separate my own personal thoughts and ideas and creations from the content I consumed from the hundreds of other creators in this fandom. I really did try (see what I did there?). That being said- I’m not perfect and I’m sure I took some inspiration from someone or something and (hopefully) ran with it and turned it into something uniquely my own. If I know I used something as inspiration and remembered where it came from, I’ve done my best tag the person if possible. IF you’re still reading this (sorry for the tangent) and something seems too similar to a post, comment, story, thread, ficlet, etc. that you’ve seen somewhere else- let me know and give me as much details as possible and I’ll try to find them. I’ll share your comment and amplify the original content and creator. Nothing in these next 24 chapters were stolen or borrowed out of malice. But it’s not your job to believe me. It’s my job to prove it.

If you stuck it out this long- you're amazing. Thank you.

Chapter 2: An Intern With A Good Eye

Chapter Summary

A film crew intern learns a lot on his first commercial shoot.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I also don’t know anything about how commercials are filmed. Or if a film crew would even have an intern. And if they did- what that intern would be doing. But here you go.

The show didn’t have a lot of info about when Ilya called to suggest they do the commercial together. I decided to make it cause as much chaos as possible and have it be like a week for the shoot.

Enjoy!

Date: July 2010

Location: Toronto

Justin Fields was having a week. He jogged across the street, two coffees in each hand and a bag of bagels somehow wedged between them. The team he was interning for, the internship that was the last requirement for his grad school program, was working out of a hockey arena today. Of course it had to be a hockey commercial. Because what better place to celebrate winter being over than a literal box of ice?

Okay now I’m just being an ass, he thought to himself as he yanked the door open. He was excited to work on this shoot. It was a great project. And an even better team. Not a lot of companies would let an intern have so much influence on the planning process of a project this big.

But when the team got word last week that they would be filming two subjects instead of the one they had planned for, it was all hands on deck. No one really knew where the last-minute change of plans came from. Probably from some higher up that didn’t really understand how much work had to be done to make sure this shoot could still be completed.

Silver linings though, because when the team was thrown into a scramble and the lead asked if anyone had any ideas on how to make this work- Justin did.

He didn’t really think his idea was worth much at the beginning, and to be honest… it wasn’t. But with a lot of teamwork, late night brainstorming session, and a concerning amount of coffee, they shaped it into something amazing. Not that Justin would ever admit it to the higher up who stole a week of sleep from him, but this shoot was way better than the original. No doubt about it.

Which is why, as he carefully jogged down the stairs doing everything he could to avoid spilling the piping hot coffee he was holding, he was trying to count his blessings and shove the grouchy asshole that was begging to be let out deep deep down.

When he reached the rink, he purposefully found his footing on the black carpets that someone had already laid out. That person, it turns out, was Lindy; another intern.

“Oh, thank god, I've never been happier to see you,” she gushed as she ran, well more liked waddled, across the ice, sliding into his side.

He skillfully moved his arm away from her so she didn’t bump into the coffee. “Lindy, are you okay? Did something happen? Is the set-” He stopped, noticing where Lindy’s focus actually was. “Oh. You're talking about the coffee.”

“Of course I am,” she scoffed as grabbed the one with her name written across the cup. “Who did you think I was talking to?”

“My man!” Jake, yet another intern came up and slapped him on the back. Seriously, he silently grumbled to himself, did no one understand that the liquid inside these cups was hot?

Kara, the quietest one in the group, walked up to him, offering a small smile of appreciation as he handed her the cup that belonged to her.

Frankie was across the rink setting up some of the lights. “I’ll be there in a second!” They yelled; extension cords wrapped around their neck in a way that definitely violated the equipment safety handling training everyone had to take at the beginning of the internship.

“None for you?” Lindy asked, noting the lack of a cup for Justin. “Please don’t tell me you actually got enough sleep last night to feel well rested. I was just starting to like you.”

Shaking his head, Justin sat Frankies cup down on a nearby ladder step and slid off his book bag. “Not even close.” He pulled out an energy drink full of caffeinated goodness and cracked it open. “I just knew that the coffee wasn’t going to be enough.”

After successfully draining half of the drink in one go, and earning a terrified look from Kara, Justin finally felt like he was ready to start his day. “Okay,” he clapped his hands together. “What still needs to be done?”

Three hours later, the five interns were putting the final pieces of the small set together. The full-time staff arrived, making approvements and adding in some changes when needed. They had almost a whole hour to scarf down some breakfast before the talent arrived.

The talent being Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Justin didn’t follow hockey, not really. But he didn’t live under a rock. And even if he did, with the amount of research he put into these two for the last three months, he was pretty sure he knew just about everything there was to know.

The point was, Justin knew how big of a deal these two were. That they were both generational talents, in the same generation. Their rivalry was legendary. It was an amazing story to work with for this project. And Justin was excited.

He realized, however, as stood around with his hands in his pockets, he didn’t really have a lot to do. Sure, this shoot stemmed from his idea. He and the other interns spent almost every waking hour of the last week blocking, and marking, and designing. He woke up at a truly ungodly hour to get here in time to make sure the set was ready. But now all that was done- so was he.

It was time for the people with the skills and experience to take over now. And he was grateful for that, truly he was. He was so excited to see how all of this came together in the hands of people who created award-winning productions. Yes, awards for commercials did exist, thank you.

So that being said, he was happy to hand over the reins. He was just also… bored.

Luckily, there was a lot going on. There was a lot to watch and learn from. He even tried to sneak in a few questions between takes when the person who he was watching didn’t seem too busy. And everyone was more than happy to talk to him. It seemed as if everyone wanted to share their expertise and help him learn. No doubt he was going to leave this internship with the skills and experience to make a real go at this.

When the crew was too busy to slow things down for him or there wasn’t anything else going on, there was something else he was watching.

Hollander and Rozanov.

Watching them started off from a professional, analytical lens. He watched them and made observations like: where to place the boom to get the best sound of their sticks smacking the ice, where to place the camera to catch the light coming through the spray of ice, where to put said light so the ice could catch the light to begin with.

Then, the more he watched, the more his observations shifted. He felt less like a crew member and more like an anthropologist studying a culture, or a zoologist studying animals.

They were… weird. Or not weird, Justin conceded. Just different. Yes, definitely different from what he was expecting. They were rivals. He was expecting them to be cold and distant with each other. Talking shit, trying to get under each other’s skin. But they weren’t.

After about the third time the director had them skate up to each other and stop in a face off pose, yes Justin spoke hockey now, he was fully invested in the duo.

The director paused the shot to check the camera and the two stayed in their crouched position.

“You look pretty,” Rozanov said, a smirk on his face.

Justin froze, his eyes darting around the small band of crew members, expecting to see someone else, anyone else, react to what he had just heard. Nothing. Everyone else was carrying on, business as usual, as if Ilya Rozanov didn’t just call Shane Hollander pretty.

Maybe he was trying to be a dick and make fun of him? He didn’t get the nickname The Russian Menace, for nothing Justin supposed. Shane apparently took it as an insult, firing a chirp right back at Rozanov.

Honestly? Justin wasn’t convinced. Sure, Rozanov had a smirk on his face that screamed ‘I won’t stop until I’m under your skin’ but there was a glint of something in his eyes that hinted at something much more genuine.

From Justin’s perspective, he just heard Ilya admit that he thinks Shane is pretty. This was getting interesting.

From that point on, learning opportunities be damned, he was locked in on the two of them and the two of them alone.

They didn’t look like rivals or even coworkers who were forced to spend the day together for contractual obligations. They looked like they were having a great time.

“Hey you wanna give it a go?” One of the photographers pulled Justin out of his observations and held out a camera. “This all started with you; you should have a clip in it too.”

Justin took the camera. He was familiar enough with the equipment but definitely listened as the photographer offered some advice and messed with the dials.

The next time the two skated towards each other, Justin was kneeling on the cold ice. He waited, waited a bit more and then finally pressed the shutter button. He took about six shots in the span of two seconds. He stayed there for a second longer, after the director called cut. Through the view finder, he watched the two of them drop the mask they both were wearing. Slowly, they both looked up. When they made eye contact the tiniest smiles broke out across their faces. Justin hit that shutter button again.

He stood up, pressing the media playback button so he could look at the photo. It was a RAW photo so it would look better in post but…

“That’s good.” The photographer said, looking down at the camera’s display screen over his shoulder . “A real good shot. You didn’t pull away when most would, you stayed for an extra second and waited for the real shot to come. A good skill to have. Great work.” She took her camera back and slid the strap around her neck, shaking her head a bit. “Too bad we can't really use it in the shoot. They definitely don’t look like rivals here, do they”?

No, Justin thought, they really don’t.

She looked back up, giving Justin a smile. “I’ll make sure to send it to you though, okay?”

Justin nodded. “Thanks.”

The shoot continued and Justin couldn’t stop watching them. The way they looked at each other, fighting back smiles and grins until they physically couldn’t anymore and broke out in a fit of laughter so hard that the director called for a break.

During the break Justin busied himself by organizing the extension cords, making sure they were properly wrapped and stored. Hopefully, Frankie could avoid using these as necklaces when they all tore down the set.

Shane and Ilya were chatting by the benches, Ilya sitting and Shane leaning against the boards, only facing him halfway. Justin tried, he really did, but he couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“When they tell you you do commercial with me and not just alone?” Rozanov asked.

What a weird question, Justin thought to himself as he shut the lid on the box. Maybe they really were rivals, and Ilya was mad that the company called Shane first? Did he really want to beat him in every single thing?

“I don’t know,” Shane responded kicking his skate against the ice, “like, two days ago?”

Ilya nodded but didn’t say anything. Great conversationalists these two, Justin silently remarked.

“Why?” Shane asked the same thing Justin was thinking. “When did they tell you?”

Ilya shook his head slightly, scratching the back of his neck. And then in the most casual of voices said, “No, they tell me nothing. It was my idea.”

Justin didn’t know whose neck snapped faster; his or Shane’s.

What?!

Ilya Rozanov was the one who decided to shoot the two of them together?

He came up with the idea and pitched it so well to a suit so high on the food chain that even Justin’s boss’s boss's boss didn’t know who approved of the change?

Ilya Rozanov was the reason he hasn’t slept in a week?

Ilya Rozanov was the reason he got a chance to pitch his idea to the team. He’s the reason his idea is being filmed right now.

Looking at Shane’s face, Justin was pretty sure they were both wondering the same thing: Why?

Before either of them got any answers, the director called everyone back onto the ice. Justin spent the rest of the time trying his hardest to be 'A Good Intern' and learn something useful.

The crew got a few more shots and clips of them together before the director put Ilya on the bench to get some solo shots of Hollander. Justin purposedly did not look at Ilya as Shane took the ice. He’s not sure if he wanted to know what he would see.

When it was Ilya’s turn, Shane left the rink with a woman Justin assumed was his mom. For some reason, Justin kept watching them as they walked up the stairs in the arena until they reached the balcony. When he followed Shane’s line of sight, he was not at all surprised to see that it landed on Ilya.

Not that Justin could blame him. Ilya was showing off. Zipping around the arena, lightning fast, sending pucks into the back of the net like he was trying to put a hole through the damn thing, doing fancy footwork that had Justin questioning everything he knew about physics and gravity because how did Ilya not fall on his face?

There was no way Shane heard a single thing his mom was saying.

Eventually the director also dismissed Ilya. The shoot was over. The day was done. All of their work was completed, and it was time for the post team to work their magic and take the seven hours of production they captured today and turn it into three minutes of useable material.

Justin was stacking miscellaneous boxes on the side of the rink when he heard the director call his name.

Justin popped his head up, “What’s up?”

“Can you go check the locker rooms? If Hollander isn’t in the showers yet, see if he’d be willing to come back out and reshoot something real fast.”

Justin nodded, already taking off towards the locker room. When he got in there, he heard the water running so he headed that way, hoping to catch Shane before he actually got in the shower.

“Fuck off,” he heard Shane’s voice echo off the tile. Damn he was probably too late. But he was a thorough kind of guy, and his boss gave him a job, so he was going to try his best.

When he stepped around the corner, Justin didn’t believe what he saw.

Well. Shane was definitely already in the shower. And so was Rozanov. With the entire communal shower open, they were standing right next to each other. And that wasn’t the weirdest thing happening in that room.

Justin wasn’t a sports guy growing up. Wasn’t his thing. But even he knows, there’s a code for the showers. You get in. You get out. And you don’t look around.

Shane was looking. Really looking. And Rozanov noticed.

Justin held his breath. Zero percent chance Justin could even hold him back if Ilya started to swing on Shane, he knew that. But he had to try, right?

Ilya didn’t swing on Shane. He didn’t start threatening him or call him names. He didn’t move to leave. He didn’t even turn around.

What he did do surprised Justin even more.

He faced him, fully and completely. Justin could only see his back now, but he watched as his arm moved from his shoulder, down his chest, over his stomach and then paused as he reached the middle of his hip.

Justin still wasn’t breathing. And then when he saw Ilya’s shoulder move in an all too familiar way, he pretty sure his head exploded all over the tile behind him.

And Shane was still looking.

What felt like a year but was actually probably only a couple of seconds, Shane got his common sense back. “Not here,” he muttered.

And with that Ilya let himself go and finally moved to turn back around.

Justin had never run faster.

He barely slowed down by the time he made it back onto the ice.

The director looked up from her clipboard. “Any luck?”

“Huh?” Justin managed, his head spinning.

“Hollander? Did you catch him?”

“What?! No!” Justin shook his head. “Of course not!”

“Okay,” she smiled softly. “No worries, we can use what we already have.”

Right. The shoot. She was asking if Justin was able to catch Hollander before he got in the shower. Not if he had caught Hollander… He cleared his throat and tried to nod. “Good. Good…that’s good.”

She nodded, eyeing him a little. “Great work with this Justin. We’ve all noticed how much work you put in.”

Justin tried to summon even the tiniest bit of normalcy. He gave her a tight smile and tried to swallow. “Thank you,” he eked out.

She nodded again before turning her attention back to the clipboard.

He felt someone walk up next to him. He looked down and saw Kara peering up at him. “Are you okay?”

He stared at her. “I’ve seen things…”

She just nodded and put her hand on his back, leading him away from the ice. “Let’s go talk.”

Chapter End Notes

Let me know what you think!(:

Chapter 3: The Observant Camera Man

Chapter Summary

A new on ice camera operator makes a few observations.

Chapter Notes

You guessed it, I don’t know shit about how hockey games, or any games, are filmed. Sorry!

Date: September 2010

Location: Montreal

“And here is Josephine, Jo, your spotter,” Maggie gestured to the woman who was busy setting up her workstation. “Jo, this is James Clarke, our new on ice camera operator.”

“Jimmy,” he insisted, stretching out his hand towards Jo. She set down her radio and headset so she could return the handshake. “So, you're my eyes in the sky huh?”

“Just call me Hawkeye,” Jo quipped.

“Jo is amazing.” Maggie boasted. “I'm pretty sure she’s actually psychic and that’s how she knows the players moves before even they do. She’s one of the best.”

Jo tilted her head side to side before a smug smirk crept over her face. “I am.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Jimmy said sincerely, his hands sliding into the pockets of his new official Montreal Metros branded jacket. “I couldn’t do my job without you. I'm excited to work together.”

Jo’s smug expression turned surprised for about a millisecond before the confidence took back over. She glanced at Maggie and then back to Jimmy. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Jimmy Clark was the new on ice camera operator for the Montreal Metros. He was the one on the ice during the game, during pauses in play of course, getting the up close and personal shots of the players and the action on the rink.

Jo was Jimmy's spotter. During the game she would be sitting up high on the upper-level, having a bird’s eye view of the whole rink. Her job was to watch everyone and everything on the rink when Jimmy was on the ice and relay all relevant information to him using the radio system. A wayward puck was making its way towards the back of Jimmy’s head? Jo would tell him when to duck. A player was skating backwards, and Jimmy was focused on getting a shot of a different player across the rink? Jo would tell him to move up half a step. She made sure he stayed safe and out of the way.

No matter how talented Jimmy was or how much experience he had, there was no way to do his job without Jo. And he made sure that he, Jo herself, and everyone else on the team never forgot about that. In fact, it was the whole reason he had the job. The last on ice camera operator forgot. He thought that he was better as a one-man show. Despite multiple warnings and close calls, the reality didn’t sink in until he collided with a player. Luckily no one was seriously injured but it was the final straw for the directors and the guy was canned.

While Jimmy didn’t relish other people’s unfortunate circumstances, he was grateful for the opportunity. He had been with his last team for ten years before family circumstances led him to move back to Montreal. There weren’t any camera operator positions open with the Metros at the time, and he had not so patiently waited for the past two years, working as a sideline shooter for the Montreal Alliance, the professional basketball team, until this position became available.

Don’t get it wrong, Jimmy was thankful for his time in the CEBL, he learned a lot and it was definitely a challenge. But this? Here, with the smell of the ice, the sting of the cold, the sound of skates scraping against the ice? Yeah, this is where he was supposed to be. This is what he’s supposed to be doing. And God, was he excited to be back.

“I think so too,” Maggie, the Television Director, agreed with Jo with a knowing grin, pulling Jimmy out of his thoughts. Maggie was responsible for the live execution of the broadcast. During the game she would be calling the shots for camera switching, directing the pacing and replays, helping create the overall story, and maybe the most challenging, leading the entire technical and production team. Jimmy would be listening to her voice in his ear to know when his camera was live.

“We’ll have a time out meeting a couple of hours before puck drop but let’s get you down on the ice on more time before then, yeah?”

Jimmy nodded and turned back to Jo. “Would you have some time before the time out to sit down, just the two of us? I want to make sure we have everything squared away before my first night out there.”

Jimmy had managed to come to the last two home games to shadow the team, learn their pace, procedure, and practice. He even came to a couple of the practices to skate around with the team and get some shots in to make sure he was familiar with the players and the rink. He would have preferred a little bit more time to get settled before covering a game, but it wasn’t fair to make Stephen, the other on ice operator, keep covering the entire rink, for the entire game, alone.

Maggie went over a few more housekeeping items as Jimmy laced up. He grinned as he pulled the laces tight, his nerves fading and a sense of calm settling in him. Even though this was just a run through, Jimmy made sure to also get his camera ready and strapped on the harness that would hold the rest of his equipment. Finally, he put in his earpiece and holstered the radio that Jo would use to talk to him throughout the game.

Maggie followed him out into the hallway, but they separated as Jimmy stepped onto the ice. She didn’t go far, taking a seat on the bench, already pulling out her phone and handling the chaos that preceded every home game.

Jimmy circled around the rink, committing every inch to memory. He planned out where to stand to get the best angles of the nets, where he would swoop behind the net to get a shot of the entire team down the length of the ice, where he would skate alongside the boards to capture the faces of the crowd during the final buzzer. It was like he could see the whole thing play out in his head hours before it actually happened.

When he felt as comfortable on the ice as he did in his own house, he skated up to Maggie who had moved into the penalty box. This is where Jimmy would be while the game was in play. During the breaks in play caused by things like time outs, goals, or penalties, someone would open the door and let Jimmy through.

“You’ll see out newest modification as you requested.” Maggie nodded towards the glass in front of her, “It matches the mockup you sent us but after tonight lets us know if there’s anything that needs to be changed.”

Jimmy hopped up into the box, setting his camera down on the bench beside Maggie. Then he picked up the other camera he had already stashed away earlier in the day. After turning it on and adjusting some of the settings, he walked up to the glass. Finding the small black knob, he pulled until a small square of the glass fell away. The lens fit through the hole and was wide enough to let Jimmy move his camera side to side so he could get angles of the entire rink.

Jimmy was only allowed on the ice while the game was paused. Meaning he spent a lot of the game waiting. He figured that while he was waiting, he could use a second camera to keep shooting from the box. This wasn’t a typical approach for people in his position, but it was something he wanted to try. And Jo was on board in giving him a little extra heads up when the game would be pausing to make sure he was ready in case he was a little too focused on the single frame he saw through the view finder.

Satisfied, he stashed the second camera in the little cubby designated for his equipment below the bench. With a smile on his face, he took a seat next to Maggie.

“We’re so excited to have you Jimmy,” she said as they both looked out over the empty rink.

“I’m excited to be here,” he said lowly, still not completely believing this was real.

“Did hockey players get nicer or something in the two years that I was gone?” Jimmy asked even though he was the only one in the box at the moment. He took the opportunity to take a swig of water, he almost forgot how challenging the physicality of this job was.

“What do you mean?” Jo’s voice answered in his earpiece.

“Well at the last game, Stephen could barely get a shot where Scott Hunter wasn’t helping, or being kind, or encouraging someone. And now these two,” Jimmy gestured towards the spot on the rink where Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander were skating up for a face off, “these two can't stop grinning at each other.”

Jo scoffed. “Hunter is known for being notoriously nice and polite to everyone. On and off the ice. We get a shot of him fighting, or hell, rolling his eyes, and we’ll be able to retire because we’d be the only production team in the league who would have proof that he actually can throw hands.”

Jimmy laughed and picked up the second camera, slipping it through the hole in the glass. He angled the camera until Rozanov and Hollander came into the view finder. Yeah, there were those grins again. The camera shuttered as Jimmy captured those intriguing smiles.

“But those two?” Jo continued, “I know you took some time off Clarke but are you seriously telling me that you forgot about the rivalry those two share?”

“I didn’t forget,” Jimmy muttered, chasing Ilya, who won the face off, with his camera. These shots obviously wouldn’t make it onto the live broadcast, but he was excited to see what he could do with them.

“Those grins are not friendly. They're probably chirping with each other. Well, Rozanov is probably chirping. Hollander is probably trying to rise above. The grin you see is probably actually a smirk. Rozanov gets that way when he knows he’s gotten under people’s skin.”

“Hollander was grinning too,” Jimmy noted but Jo didn’t let up.

“Did they not have chirping in the CEBL?”

Jimmy sighed, “I'm pretty sure they just called it shit talking.” Jo’s laugh came through the earpiece and Jimmy got a few more shots in, his focus staying on Hollander and Rozanov. “Are you sure, because-”

“Get ready,” Jo cut him off. “58 is about to get called for hooking.”

Jimmy grinned, quickly stashing the second camera and picking up the camera used for the broadcast. “You’re the best J.”

He could already hear the smirk in her words. “I know.”

It was the third period. Forty-three seconds of regulation game time left on the clock. And the score was tied three to three. Jimmy looped around the rink as the final seconds of the Raiders time out ended. He zoomed in as Rozanov threw a leg over the boards, effortlessly landing and skating over to where the referee waited for him. Knowing who the Metros was going to send, Jimmy turned and made sure to catch Hollander gliding up to center ice.

“15 seconds left on the time out.” Jo reminded him. “You have the ice crew behind you.” Jimmy moved forward a bit, keeping his lens focused on the duo. “You're clear. Ten seconds.” Jimmy already knew he needed seven seconds to get back to the box from where he was standing. He pushed himself back, choosing to keep himself and the camera aimed at the face off as he worked his way back to the box, not wanting to give up a second of this. He trusted Jo to watch his back and let him know if he needed to stop or turn around.

He watched Ilya’s mouth move. He couldn’t hear what he was saying but it made Hollander smirk around his mouth guard. Hollander shook his head once before slipping the mouth guard into its rightful place.

Jimmy was in the box with three seconds of extra time before the ref let the puck drop. Hollander won the face off, slipping the puck passed Ilya and took off like a bullet down the ice. With only… thirty-two seconds left, Jimmy didn’t bother taking out the second camera. He would be out on the ice again too soon. So instead, he just enjoyed the amazing hockey he was lucky enough to get paid to watch.

Hollander weaved around the Raiders defense like they were nothing more than toddlers standing there with their skates glued to the ice. Marlow tried to block the middle, but Hollander saw him coming and ditched the puck to Pike who was already waiting for it.

With ten seconds left, Hollander continued his way to the net, now unguarded since the Raiders shifted their focus onto Pike. He slapped his blade against the ice two times, causing Pike to send the puck flying towards him.

Six seconds, the puck made contact with Hollanders stick.

Four seconds, Hollander pushed forward once. Twice. Rozanov was hot on his heels but just half a second too late.

Three seconds, Hollander shifted his weight ever so slightly and drew back his arm.

Two seconds, he sent the puck flying. Jimmy gripped the camera in his hand and out of the corner of his eye made sure the doorman was ready to let him out.

One second, the puck slammed into the back of the net, the goalie falling to the ice in vain.

The cherry lit up and the buzzer sounded. Jimmy was out onto the ice before the whistle even blew. The crowd went insane. He could barely hear Jo over their screams, so he made sure to keep his head on a swivel.

The Metro’s dog piled on top of Hollander attacking him with affection. There were slaps on the back, helmets knocking, and good-natured kisses on the cheek. Hollander almost looked embarrassed from the attention.

Or at least he did for a minute.

But then his face contorted into something more confident. A smirk grew on his lips. And then he winked. It was so fast Jimmy barely registered it. But it was there. He turned around, following Hollanders line of sight.

And who did he find?

Rozanov, of course.

“Jo, I'm telling you right now,” he said over the roar of the crowd. “There’s something’s happening here.”

2012

Jimmy never let up. Over the years, he stood firm on the belief that something was going on between the two rivals.

“Are you seriously still trying to tell me that Roz and Hollander are… ‘together’?” Tim, the audio engineer groaned after Jimmy asked him to send him some audio clips of the game that night.

“I'm not saying what’s happening. I'm just saying that something is happening,” Jimmy held up his hands and swiveled around in the chair. After the excitement from the game, the nearly silent audio room was a nice reprieve.

Tim gave him a level look before turning back to his computers. After a couple of minutes, Jimmy heard the familiar sound of his email alert from his phone go off. “Thanks buddy.”

Shaking his head Tim powered down the systems and they walked out of the room together. “What are you even doing with all these audio clips?”

“Just working on a project,” Jimmy said with practiced casualness. He could feel Tim’s side eye, but he ignored it. Truth be told, he didn’t really know why he was still keeping up with this little hobby of his. Collecting all the videos, stills, and audio clips of Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander that made his sixth sense go off.

It was the prickling on the back of his neck. The feeling that something was under his skin. He saw things before they happened. It’s what made him good at his job. And that feeling coursed through him every time he watched those two play.

No one believed him. Even when he took the time to point out every glance, smirk, and shove. But he didn’t care. He knew what he knew.

2013

“Please tell me you’re getting this,” Jo’s voice in his ear was a mix of desperation, confusion, shock, and disbelief.

He glanced down at his display screen, making sure the scene before him was in view. “Oh, trust me I am getting this.”

Even though the clock read 00:00, players were swarming back onto the ice. The crowd was getting larger, and louder, every second. Referees wormed their way into the huddle, trying desperately to separate the two players in the middle of it all.

Those two players being Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter.

“I can’t believe that I am actually seeing this right now,” Jo practically whispered. “Shane Hollander doesn’t fight. Scott Hunter doesn’t fight. Shane Hollander and Scott Hunter fighting each other? Hunter and Hollander fighting after the clock runs out? This is not happening.”

Jimmy watched as the two men continued to shove each other around, despite the ongoing effort from the officials and their respective teammates to break up the fight.

“You’re like forty-five-years-old,” Shane yelled, his face flushed and his eyes wild, “go home and ice your knees you dinosaur.”

Jimmy cringed; Shane needed more practice with his chirping.

“Trust me,” Jimmy assured her as he skated around the hostile group, “it’s happening.”

“What the hell could Hunter have said to Hollander to set him off like this?”

2014

“I'm telling you!” James yelled, trying, and failing, to sound serious. “I am onto something here.”

Groans erupted loudly from the group that was settled in their usual spot in their usual bar. Throughout the last four years since Jimmy started, the broadcast team began the tradition that after every home game they walk over to the small bar across the street. Thanks to the post game work they had to do, by the time they left the arena, the crowds had long dissipated. A few thuds sounded as heads hit the bar top. It was Jimmy’s own tradition to remind everyone after every game against Boston that something was going on between Hollander and Rozanov.

Today’s game did absolutely nothing to sway him from his very firm standing on this particular matter. The energy was palpable as the boys chased each other around the rink. No one should be smiling that hard while shoving, or being shoved into, the boards. But Jimmy’s camera sat full of pictures that showed that exact scene.

A couple of times, Jimmy thought about taking advantage of the access he had to the two players from his position in the penalty box. Rozanov definitely spent a fair amount of time next to him. Hollander less so, but it still happened on occasion. He thought about asking them sometimes, asking them if they were friends at the very least.

But he didn’t. For one, how weird and embarrassing would it be if he was wrong? Secondly, and more importantly, it wasn’t really his business. Sure, he made sure his team was well informed about his theories but never shared what he observed with anyone outside of his team. And he knew his team, even if they did believe him, this was going to stay in house. This secret would stay between the six of them.

Lizzy, the operator that controlled the high angle cameras who started last year, held up her hand, silencing him. “I’m not drunk enough yet to hear this again.” She waved down the bartender. Luckily the bar was pretty much empty, and she got her drink in record time. She chugged half of it before turning back to Jimmy, “Okay now you can continue. Proceed with your conspiracy theories.”

“One day,” Jimmy muttered and took a sip of his own drink. “One day you will all see that I was right and you will rue the day.”

His group laughed at him, and he found that he didn’t mind.

October 2016

“Do you have the feeling that something just isn’t… right?” Jo asked over the radio.

Jimmy nodded even though she couldn't see him. Truth be told, Jimmy had an unsettled feeling ever since the teams took the ice. He couldn’t nail it down. Montreal vs Boston were usually the most intense, exciting games of their season. They were electrifying and interesting. Thrilling.

They were the easiest games to shoot because there was a never-ending supply of top tier hockey being played.

But not today.

He was scrambling to find something exciting on the ice when he was on there. He had barely reached for his second camera.

It was probably because he was having to focus so hard on doing his job that it took him so long to pin down what he was seeing.

Or in this case, not seeing.

There weren’t any sneaky grins. No quick chirps. No smirks after a particular skilled pass. No prolonged contact after running the other into the boards.

Rozanov and Hollander were acting like they were playing in two separate games. They barely looked at each other. Only doing so when they knew the other couldn’t see them.

The normal buzz of energy that typically flowed between them was gone.

“Something happened.” Jimmy muttered as he took the ice again.

January 2017

“How long do you think this is going to last?” Jo asked as they packed up for the night.

Jimmy paused. “How much longer what is going to last?”

“The rut.”

Tilting his head he questioned, “Can you call it a rut if you win?”

Jo scoffed, wrapping up her radio strap before making sure the actual unit was plugged in. “That was barely a win. And the team has been playing like shit for months,” she whispered, as if they weren’t the only two people left in the arena.

“Four months, specifically,” Jimmy nodded along.

“Exactly. Four months of this team barely holding it together.” She sighed and took a sip of her water. “So. How much longer do you think it’s going to last?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Maybe All Stars Weekend will shake some things up.”

April 2017

Jimmy never liked filming during injuries. It felt invasive. Opportunistic. Worrying about which angles would best capture the distress, shock, and fear on people’s faces felt almost vain when someone was injured.

But he did it. Because it was his job. And because the look on someone’s face as they transitioned from worry to calm, uncertain to sure, terrified to relieved, was a beautiful thing. Capturing that moment of relief in real time was as close to magic as he’s ever seen.

Except as he trained his camera on Rozanov’s face, that transition never happened. That soft release of tension when you finally believe everything is going to be okay never happened.

Because Hollander didn’t get up. He stayed on the ice, crumpled, looking way too small for a professional athlete that would tower over Jimmy.

Rozanov hovered next to him, staring down at his way too still body. He yelled something but Jimmy couldn’t really hear him over the yelling voices of the players brawling next to him. He hoped Stephen was getting some film of that, because he couldn’t pry his eyes, or his lens, away from Rozanov.

The medics finally made their way to Hollander. A collar was placed. A board laid down. Hollander was strapped onto the board and then it was lifted and carried away. When Jimmy panned back to Rozanov, the man stood stock still, drifting slightly from where the referee had pushed him a little, his eyes never losing track of Hollander.

As Shane Hollander was carted off into the ambulance, Ilya Rozanov looked like being there on the ice was the last place in the world he wanted to be.

2021

The one thing that Jimmy did not like about his job was the meetings. Meetings with the directors, producers, the league ambassadors, random people in suits. He knew, on a logical level, that these meetings were necessary. Approving budgets for equipment, personnel changes, policy changes, and so on and so forth. All of those things impacted how he did his job. He’d just rather be doing his job than talking about it.

But still, he tried his best to do his part and pitch in, or at the very least pay attention to what his boss’s boss was talking about. Because he was an adult, and this is what adults did.

Which is why it was frustrating when the room started to break out in hushed whispers. He was trying to be responsible and stay focused even if his brain was desperate for a distraction. He ignored the murmur of his coworkers’ voices, even when they started to become louder. Jimmy actually started to wonder how much longer his boss’s boss would tolerate the interruption. Obviously, no one was paying attention.

Suddenly Jo, who somehow got out of attending this mandatory meeting, busted through the doors. The man at the head of the conference table finally stopped talking. Jimmy looked around the room and saw everyone staring down at their phones. A few people were gathered in small groups, showing each other their screens, eyes widening every couple of seconds.

“You were right.”

Jo’s words forced Jimmy’s attention back onto her. “Right about what? What is going on?”

“Hollander and Rozanov,” Jo’s voice was soft, disbelieving. “Rozanov and Hollander. I can't believe you were actually right.”

Taking her phone from her outstretched hand, Jimmy looked at the screen. He saw the two hockey players he had spent the majority of his career sneakily filming fill the screen. And they were kissing. Each other. Honestly, kissing didn’t really seem like a strong enough word for what he was watching. He scrolled, another news site used a still from the video, their headline promising an exclusive insight. Jimmy scrolled by. Except for one post by her grandmother, Jo’s entire timeline was filled with pictures of Rozanov and Hollander.

“Holly shit,” Jimmy whispered and looked up at Jo.

“And they call me the psychic,” she chuckled, disbelief still shadowing her face.

Even though it wasn’t a game day, the team unanimously decided to gather at the bar at the end of their shift.

They were all sitting with their usual drinks in their usual spot at the bar top, uncharacteristically quiet. Jimmy was staring down into his glass, watching the ice slowly swirl around the edges of the cup.

“So,” Lizzy said slowly, looking at Jimmy out of the corner of her eye, “is this the day we’re supposed to rue?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” Jimmy shouted.

Chapter End Notes

Thoughts? Feelings? Concerns? How we doing?

Chapter 4: A Tumblr Fan Girl

Chapter Summary

A teenage girl spends a miserably cold day in January scrolling on her phone and because of that- seven years later she meets her husband. But some other really cool things happen in between too.

Chapter Notes

Fun thing about the pictures- I couldn't figure out how to make mock ups in photoshop so i just made a real tumblr blog, made real posts, then used screen shots. The tumblr is still live (@thathockeygirl105) so if you want to see the gifs I used actually move all you have to do is click on that picture- because I hyperlinked them to the real post. Just for fun(: (figuring out the coding was actually the worst- and the best)

Edit: because of the large amount of photos and code in this chapter, I'm finding that it takes a minute or two to fully load on phones. Or at least it did with mine. I thought the code was broken because some of the photos were missing and I had a mini melt down but then when i came back, it had fully loaded and all pictures were there. Let me know if y'all have any issues! (the code should also include an image description for programs that read those, i however don't know how to test those so i am hoping that it works!!)

This is by far the longest chapter. It's actually huge (for me and in comparison of the other chapters). I WAS NOT planning on it being this long. Really, it was supposed to be short and sweet, mostly told through funny tumblr posts. But when I sat down to actually write her story- Sammy became a very big deal to me in a very real way. She quickly became a lot more than some crazy obsessed teenage fangirl. And I wanted, needed, to tell her story. So please enjoy my 24,000+ words on how two boys touching toes changed the course of a 15-year-old girl’s life.

This one is definitely inspired by various posts and content I’ve seen online. Most notably is Taylor aka @taylorjustreads , who you should definitely check out. She’s the first one I remember giving representation to the perceptive, insightful, and maybe a little crazy teenage girls who would have definitely existed in this universe. To pay homage to her I made this character live in a state we are both familiar with and gave her the middle name of Taylor.

Date: January 2011

Location: Somewhere in Ohio

Samantha wrapped the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders and grumbled at the fact that no one has been able to invent a way to stay warmly cocooned while also being able to enjoy scrolling on your phone. Seriously, January in Ohio is miserable enough, how much is she expected to endure? Nevertheless, she perseveres, dutifully switching out her scrolling arm every so often so it could be rewarmed.

As she flipped through Tumblr, she made a mental note to never allow Michael, her brother, to borrow her phone again. His being dead, she made the sacrifice in allowing him access to hers for a small duration. Apparently, he used it to look up some sporting thing because now her feed has been infiltrated with certified Gym Bros who were way too into protein powders and mirror selfies. How did that even happen, she wondered as she quickly scrolled past two people, assumingly athletes of some kind, sitting at a press conference table.

Wait.

She scrolled back up and clicked on the video, causing it open and fill her screen. She rewound it a few seconds, rolling her eyes at the journalists long winded question; seriously had the man never heard of a run on sentence before? The question was meant for someone named “Ilya” which was the blonde on the left if the name plate was to be believed. As the question ran on, the man adjusted his collar, and Samantha clocked how his eyes were shifting side to side. His last name was Rozanov, and Samantha didn’t want to make any assumptions, but she was having a hard enough time following along as a native English speaker. She wondered if maybe there was a translator available to help the guy out.

The guy next to him, whose name plate read Shane Hollander, nodded along as the question finally ended. There was a long, silent pause as the room awaited Ilya’s answer. It was just long enough for Samantha to start getting the sour feeling in her belly like when something embarrassing happened to her when the Shane Hollander guy started speaking, seemingly taking the question from Ilya. There was a slight nod from Ilya, and then Shane continued to answer the question.

She hit the rewind arrow, right at the point where Shane stepped in. Then she zoomed in, focusing on the bottom of the table. She grinned, knowing she saw something. She rewound it again, zooming in even closer; the image was of course getting a little distorted at this point, but she could still see what she needed to.

A foot tap.

Quick. Barely visible. But definitely there.

She started the video all the way over, this time focusing on the bottom of the table the entire time.

Three foot taps in all she counted. And the last one really wasn’t a tap. It was more of a… lean? Is a foot lean a thing? Either way it was incredibly cute.

She reblogged it with a comment that made her grin and went to scroll on.

But something stopped her. A little tingling in the back of her brain like she was looking at something that didn’t quite make sense. There was something she didn’t understand quite yet. And if there was one thing Samantha couldn’t stand, it was leaving something unfinished, a question left unanswered.

So, she scrolled up and clicked on one of the tags, starting with the one that read #AllStars2011. But that just led to a bunch of things about hockey, which while good to know these two play hockey, it wasn’t what she was really interested in right now.

She went back to the original post and selected the tag with their names combined. As she scrolled her eyes got wider and wider. Oh, she was on to something here. Without taking her eyes off the screen; she sat up, the blanket pooling around her waist causing goosebumps to break out along her arms and her body to shiver. She tore her eyes away long enough to shove a sweater over her head before picking up her phone again and stumbling out of her room and into the hallway.

“Woah, watch it!” her brother yelled as she slammed into him, her shoulder making contact with his chest. He was three years older than her, eighteen and a senior in high school. She was fifteen and a freshman. Luckily, by the time he graduated, she would have her license so she could drive herself to school.

Samantha waved him off, eyes still focused on the screen inches from her face, both of her thumbs flying as she scrolled through hashtags, team accounts, personal accounts, searched for articles and even game film.

“Sam?” her father asked from where he stood in the kitchen. She didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing as she walked around the dining room table, side stepped the dog bowls, and made sure to raise her foot up enough to not get caught on the lip of the transition board that was lifted just enough to trip up guests.

“Samantha Taylor Andrews,” her mother scolded from here she sat on the couch reading her book, “get that phone away from your face! You’ll go blind. At the very least, use the laptop.”

“That’s what I’m doing mom,” she said as she grabbed the device from where it sat on the charger. She was no amateur, she knew this was no longer suitable for a small screen.

“What has got your attention so focused anyway?” her mother asked, genuine interest in her voice. That was one thing Samantha loved the most about her mom; she really was always attentive to what her kids were interested in. Even if it wasn’t something that interested her at all, she would listen to Samantha or Michael go on for hours at a time, and not only listened but asked questions, provided her own thoughts if she had any, and above all, wanted to know what they thought.

Samantha finally looked up, a grin spreading across her face. “Research.”

Her smile was mirrored back to her as her mother chuckled, settling back into the couch and opening up her book. “Can’t wait to hear all about it honey.”

As she passed through the kitchen on the way back to her room, her father stepped in front of her- silently handing her a plate, slices of apples arranged cutely around a hefty serving of peanut butter and Nutella waited for her. She accepted the plate with one hand, looping her fingers through the handle of her water bottle that he also held out for her.

“Remember to come up for air sometime soon, yeah?” He winked and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he passed by on the way to join her mom in the living room.

She made her way into her room and got to work setting up. Door closed and music on to limit distractions. She placed her snacks and water on her desk tucked away in the corner before making sure both the laptop and her phone were plugged in and charging.

Yes, she had her own charger in her room for the laptop. She learned the hard way that the desk was way too heavy to move every time she needed to plug it into the only available outlet, which was inconveniently located behind said desk. She also learned that she did not handle panic well, causing her whole family to rush into her room as she let out a wail of frustration the last time she tried, and failed, to move the desk herself. In her defense though, if the computer would have died, she would have lost all the work she had done on theories regarding Castiel and Dean. Her turmoil was justified.

Maybe just don’t ask her brother his opinion.

She grabbed the blanket off her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, settling into the perfectly oversized chair that was somehow big enough to let her sit cross-legged, her preferred sitting position, but was also snug enough to provide ultimate support, allowing her to maintain her position for hours.

Taking a sip of water and a bite of apple, she made one more post on her Tumblr with her phone before opening the laptop and getting to work.

Five hours and several pieces of notebook paper later, she stood up from her chair, arms rising above her head as she let out a squeal that can only be obtained with a Good Stretch.

Satisfied, she made sure her latest post went through before she grabbed her water bottle and plate. It was time for a break, but she was only halfway done. Because what good was research if it wasn’t well documented?

The next hour went by quickly as she compiled her findings, crossed referenced the dates that were perfectly lined up in a chronologically correct and specified time line she created, made sure she had sufficient evidence for each argument, and then finally, finally published her findings.

Smiling, Samantha leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. That annoying nagging feeling in the back of her head finally went away. It was quiet again. Her body relaxed in that way she only got when a job was done. She took a long sip of water as she stretched out her neck.

Leisurely, she scrolled through her posts. Now that the frantic voice inside her head that insisted no stone go uncovered, she could enjoy what she had discovered. After she reviewed her own evidence, she felt confident in the conclusion that she had drawn.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were together.

Well. Maybe they weren’t together. But they wanted to be.

Well. Maybe they didn’t want to be. The whole thing seemed rather inconvenient if Samantha was telling the truth. A little frustrating. Maybe even a little bit sad.

But one thing was for certain.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were deeply, madly, in love.

“Are you… watching hockey?” Michael’s hesitant voice causes Samantha to jump in her chair. It was always a bit of a shock when she got pulled out of her research rabbit role.

“What?” she asked, taking a longer sip of water when that action caused her voice to crack.

“Hockey,” Michael repeated and pointed towards the laptop that was alighting the room. When had it gotten so dark? “Are you watching hockey?”

“Huh,” she tilted her head side to side as her eyes made their way back to the screen. She had left one of their games, they had proven very fruitful evidence wise, playing in that background. “I guess I am.”

“Since when do you…” Michael trailed off and then shook his head. “That’s cool. Mom and Dad sent me in here to check on you. They said you have to show proof of life for at least a couple of hours.”

Samantha grinned and closed the laptop. “I’m done anyways.”

He nodded and leaned against the door jam. “Hey, if you want, there’s a game happening in a couple hours that I was planning on watching. It should actually be a really fun game. See, every year players from teams all over the league come together for this thing called-”

“All Stars Weekend,” Samantha couldn’t help herself.

Michael balked, blinking like he couldn’t really believe he was having this conversation. It made her grin a little wider. “That’s right.” His eyes got a little brighter, that way they got when he got excited about something. How had she not known that her brother liked, let alone watched, hockey? “This year is particularly exciting because-”

“Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, hockey phenoms and rivals, are playing on opposing teams?” She quirked an eyebrow and moved some of her paperwork around, just now realizing what a mess she made.

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” He laughed. “Anyways, the game is in about an hour if you wanted to watch it with me. Dad and I are making some snacks right now.”

On cue, Samantha’s stomach growled. They both laughed but she threw a wad of paper at him because it was her job as a sister to do things like that. “That sounds good. I mean, what else am I going to do?” She looked at her window, crying a little on the inside when it was already nearly dark out. It was only six o’clock! But even if it wasn’t dark there was still the foot of snow, covered in a layer of ice from the most recent thaw and refreeze, and the fact that it was -6 degrees out currently.

Samantha would rather chop off her left hand before trudging outside in those conditions.

She stood up, gathering the laptop and her phone and her water. With one hand she made one more post before locking her phone and following her brother into the kitchen.

“So, what were you up to this time?” Michael asked as the pair made their way into the kitchen. Like he said, their dad was in there, helping prepare the supposed snacks for the game. Their mom was also sitting at counter on the island, but she was mostly there to sample.

She wrapped her arms around her daughter’s shoulders, tipping her head back dramatically as she wailed, “You’ve returned! Dearest daughter, we thought we lost you to the void.”

“It was quite the treacherous journey,” Samantha played along, accustomed to, and grateful for, her family’s dramatic antics. “But I remained strong and have made a groundbreaking discovery.”

“Which is what exactly?” Her dad asked from the sink where he was washing some fruit.

“I have proved that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are in love.” She said simply, stealing a piece of chocolate off the board that was being arranged.

A loud clattering sounded from the oven as Michael dropped a, thankfully empty and cool, cookie sheet. It smacked against the oven, the counter, and finally the ground. “What?!” He stood next to the oven, looking at him as if someone just told him the world had been flat all along. What his sister was saying just simply did not compute.

Her mother though, was not as fazed. “The hockey players, right?” She asked as she popped a strawberry into her mouth.

Samantha whipped her head around. “Am I the only Andrews who isn’t into hockey?”

Her mother shook her head. “It’s not really your father’s and I’s thing but Mike certainly enjoys it so we watch a game with him on occasion.”

“It gives me the opportunity to trial new appetizers,” her father said as he rolled some sort of dough into an oblong shape. He had recently gotten very into making appetizers. To the point where they had appetizers as dinner at a not infrequent occasion. Samantha didn’t mind it though. It meant she got to have several different things for dinner rather than just one.

“Those chicken and pesto bites you made for the Carter’s game night last week need to make a reappearance by the way.”

Her dad nodded, “Noted.”

“Wait.” Michael found his voice again. “Be kind. Rewind.” Samantha smiled, her brother was such a dork sometimes. “Did you just say that you proved that… Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are…”

“Are in love, yes.” Samantha finished for him.

“I… how... you…” he paused again and Samantha gave him a moment. She watched as he finally picked up the cookie sheet and wiped it off before beginning to scoop the dough into perfectly spaced out blobs. His eyebrows furrowed as he opened his mouth just to close it again. After he slid the sheets into the oven, he turned around and put his hands on his hip, looking directly at Samantha. “Okay. I’ll bite. How did you ‘prove’ that Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander are in love?”

A slow grin spread along Samantha’s face as she opened up the laptop and turned it around so her family could see. “I’m so glad you asked. Let’s begin.” She pulled up her Tumblr and clicked onto that fateful first post. “Exhibit A.”

Forty-five minutes later Samantha scrolled back down to her first post, letting the clip play out again. “Which bring us back to here. The toe tap that started it all.” She beamed up at her family, “You’re all caught up now.”

“Lovely lecture honey,” her mother patted her shoulder as she platted the last of the cookies that were now completely cool.

“I found the video evidence to be quiet compelling,” her father contributed. “Those angles are amazing.”

“Right?” Samantha nodded. “I’m still amazed at the talent of the on ice camera operators. I mean skating is hard enough. And photography is hard enough. Put those together? Whoosh.” She let out a sound while miming her head exploding. “And there’s a whole system. They have spotters! People who sit at the top of the arena and call out what’s happening to make sure the camera operators don’t get hit. Isn’t that cool?”

“It’s fascinating actually.” Her father agreed.

Throughout her presentation, her entire family was attentive. Her parents made a point in educating Samantha and Michael both about the disparities the queer community faces, highlighting the community’s contributions to history and activism, while also suggesting ways for Sam and Mike to do their own research and different ways they could show their support.

They also blatantly, without leaving any room for vagueness or doubt, made sure their children knew that they, and their friends, were safe, loved, and respected in their house. No exceptions. No conditions.

Michael, on the other hand, had been quiet for the majority of the time. Only contributing when Samantha or their parents asked a question to clarify the more technical things about the sport, like what the heck a hat trick was, or why everyone seemed slightly terrified of the goalies.

She didn’t worry about it though. This is how Michael was when he was absorbing information. He went all in, giving it his complete focus. They were much alike in that way. He liked to have all the information before coming to a conclusion. In that way they were very much not alike.

Finally, he nodded slowly. “I’m not sure if I buy it.”

Samantha opened her mouth to argue but he held out a hand. She paused, lips pressed together.

“You made some excellent points, don’t get me wrong. Some of these things are very… compelling.” He huffed out a laugh. “I’m not even saying they don’t maybe have feelings for each other.”

Unable to hold it back any longer she blurted out, “Then what aren’t you buying?”

He shrugged. “I’m not convinced they’re actually doing anything to act on whatever the hell is going on between them.” Standing, he helped his mom finish arranging the platters of food. “It would be so risky for both of them. Maybe a little bit more so for Rozanov because of the whole Russian thing. I mean, until 1993 being gay was literally a crime in Russia. He would have been two or three when that changed. He was born into a world that would put him into jail for five years for loving a man, for doing what you’re suggesting. That’s a heavy thing.”

“That’s a very insightful perspective, Michael.” His dad clapped him on the shoulder on his way into the living room.

“Of course, that’s no longer allowed but that doesn’t mean doing this would be without consequences. Even for Hollander. He has brand deals, endorsements, and contracts. All those things could go away if a brand didn’t like what they found out. Not to mention what the league would do to the both of them. There’s been some small improvements over the past couple of years but it’s a long way off in becoming any sort of accepting place. And God, if it really had been going on since the beginning? I can’t imagine what people would start saying. They would probably accuse them of throwing games.”

“That’s stupid,” Samantha argued, feeling immediately defensive for these two people she just learned existed seven hours ago.

“It is.” he agreed instantly. She realized he was making her a cup of tea and she smiled. “These are the two best players in the MHL. And they’re the best the league has seen in quite a while. Insinuating that they are lesser players just because of who they are, or are not, sleeping with is more than insulting it’s…” He trailed off, seemingly at loss for words.

“Stupid.” Samantha supplied.

“Stupid.” He echoed and handed her the mug of tea, even remembering to throw in a slice of lemon. She didn’t know that he knew she did that. She realized all of a sudden, this was the most amount of time they had spent together without interruption in a long time. Outside of their rides to school, they didn’t see a whole lot of each other. They were so close when they were younger. When did that change?

She accepted the mug from him and gave him a smile to thank him. He nodded. Message received. He picked up two plates of food, leaving her one to grab on their way out. “Again. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just not sure they would consider the risks worth it.”

She sighed heavily as she plopped onto the couch next to her mother. “Michael bummed me out by forcing me to come out of my bubble and face reality.”

Her mother nodded sagely. “Life has a way of doing that sometimes.” She leaned forward, picking something up. Leaning back, she handed it to Samantha. “Try a quiche tart.”

The family laughed and the mood shifted. They didn’t forget what they just discussed, they just decided not to let the ugliness win.

Samantha settled onto the couch with a plate full of miniature food and turned her attention to the screen. She noticed that in one of the goalie nets there were a couple of black circles attached to them. She hadn’t noticed those in any of her research.

“Shot accuracy competition,” her brother explained informing them of how there were several competitions during the All-Stars festivities. “Roz and Hollsy are doing the shot competition.”

“‘Roz and Hollsy’?” She said, her eyebrows raised.

“Nicknames,” he said around a bite of food. “Everyone in hockey has a nickname.

Her face scrunched, not to be one who didn’t respect a culture, but she would never call them by those nicknames.

They watched as Ilya slid up to the line where four pucks were lined up. The announcers shared that the previous record was held by someone named Scott Hunter and it has four shots in 8.03 seconds.

“Eight seconds?” Samantha asked, voice high. “That’s like two seconds per shot.”

“That math tutor it really paying off,” her dad whispered loudly and her mom laughed but Samantha ignored both of them.

“That’s crazy. No one is beating that.” She shook her head.

Her brother just shrugged. A knowing grin threatening to break free.

And sure enough, they all watched in silent anticipation as Ilya Rozanov slammed in that last puck with a time of 7.53 seconds.

“Holy crap. He holds the record now!” Samantha clapped her hands together, inexplicably proud of him. It was insane. She knew that. She just didn’t care. “That’s so exciting.”

“So now Hollander will go,” her brother pointed to the TV like her attention could be anywhere else right now.

“No way he beats it,” she said, even though she had just been proven wrong only a handful of seconds ago.

6.53 seconds later, Samantha was on her feet, hands in the air in fists above her head. “Let’s go!” she bellowed as if she was the one who just shaved a second off of the record that was held for approximately two minutes and a whole second and half off of the record before that was held for several years.

Her family watched her with amusement but without judgement or surprise. This is just how she was. She gathered the blanket that had fallen to the floor and asked, “Who is that? The guy sitting next to Hollander.”

“Oh, that’s Scott Hunter,” her brother answered casually.

“What?” She gasped, her neck cracking with how quickly she snapped her head towards him. “The guy who had the record before? Well, before before? Before Ilya?”

“Yeah, he’s the Captain of the Admirals but to be honest, he’s not doing so great right now. Not sure what’s up with him.”

She waved him off. He was missing the point. “So, he was just sitting there as his record got beat? And then beaten again? Right in front of him?” Her brother nodded, still unsure what the deal was. “The drama,” she breathed out and settled back into the couch.

After a small break to move things on the ice around, the game began. Samantha watched as Ilya stood up with his team, there was a tingle to the back of her brain. And then a second later, she knew why.

“Did you see that!” she pointed at the TV, maybe even yelling louder now than after Shane broke the record.

“See what?” Her brother asked, looking confused. “The game hasn’t even started. Ilya’s still on his way to center ice for the face off.”

“No, before that!” She groaned, frustrated with the lack of rewind capabilities with live sports. “When he got off the bench. He said something to Hollander.”

“And?”

“Did you not see how close they got?”

Her mother chimed in at this. “It was rather close.”

“Thank you.” She held out her hand for a high five which her mother returned enthusiastically.

“It’s right before a game. I’m sure they’re just chirping.”

She rolled her eyes; there was that word again. “You have to get that close to chirp?”

Michael thought about that for a second. “Good point,” he conceded.

She smiled to herself, feeling a little smug. She grabbed her tea, better finish it quickly before something else exciting happens and she ends up wearing it. She also grabbed her notebook, snapping a quick picture before putting her phone away and giving the game her full attention. Talk about a ‘blink and you miss it’ type of situation. She had a job to do.

A little less than an hour later, Samantha felt warm and buzzing. Her brain was racing, trying to keep up with not just the fast pace of the game but also trying to absorb as much information that her brother was sharing as possible.

“This game has a different vibe to it,” she observed, thinking back to the few games she watched throughout her evidence collection phase.

Michael nodded. “All-Stars weekend is a different kind of game.”

“I mean, I’m not trying to be rude, but it doesn’t really seem like either of the team’s defensive players, the left and right defensemen,” she paused here to check in about her terminology. Her brother nodded and even though they’re pretty self-explanatory position titles, she still did a little happy dance. “Well, it doesn’t seem like they’re doing a very good job of well… defending.”

“They’re not,” he agreed.

“And the goalies are letting a lot through them. The games I watched earlier all ended in pretty slow scores, but the game isn’t even over and it’s already 9 to 8.”

Michael nodded, taking a bite of a cookie. “The All-Stars game is not part of the regular season,” he explained. “So, it doesn’t count on any of these players records.”

“So… what? It’s just for fun?”

He nodded again. “Honestly, I think they just get together to see how fast they skate and who can score the most goals. They’re just having a good time. No one is taking it seriously.”

Hockey was a complicated and nuanced game, but Samantha was having a hard time wrapping her head around this. “So, in the middle of the season they just have what essentially amounts to a pick-up game?”

Michael shrugged like he was just realizing that this may be a little odd to an outsider. “Yeah. But it’s during the season break so I think they were just looking for something to do.”

“It actually started as a way to raise money for a fund to help injured players,” their dad spoke up for the first time in a while. Honestly, Samantha had thought he had fallen asleep. When she looked over at him, he was looking down at his phone, sensing his children staring at him he looked up and turned the phone around and shrugged, “I got a little bored, so I looked up some hockey fun facts.”

“We’re all learning so much today,” Michael shook his head good naturedly.

“Wait.” Samantha cocked her head, not ready to let this go. “Did you say that the season has a break like in the middle they just put everything on pause?”

“It’s just a week, usually around the midpoint of the season.”

“How long is their season?”

“Regular season runs from late September to earlier April. Then playoff usually end sometime mid-June.”

Samantha reared back. “That seems incredibly long.”

“One of the longest seasons of professional sports,” Their father read from his phone.

They all laughed and fell back into a comfortable silence as the game came towards an end with a comically high school of 11-10 with the win going to Ilya Rozanov.

“So,” Michael asked as he started to clear to plates, Samantha was taking a moment to write some notes down, things to look up later, pieces of video to clip, hockey questions to asks Michael later when she had more brain power, those types of things. “Are you a hockey girl now?”

“Women can like sports too Michael,” their mom reminded him, as if they didn’t all just watch, and enjoy a game together. Well maybe not so much their dad, but he liked learning his fun facts. “There’s no need for the qualifier.

Samantha tapered down a smile, confident that her brother didn’t mean anything by it. But still, it was her job and all to pester him. “Excellent point mother,” she said in a poshed and haughty tone, and when her mother’s back was turned, she stuck her tongue out at Michael.

He grinned at her and continued to gather the plates.

“While it is an excellent point, I don’t actually mind that nickname. I mean it’s hockey right, everyone has a nickname?”

Michael nodded. “Pretty much.”

Samantha shrugged. “So that can be mine. Well,” she corrected, “almost. I want to be that hockey girl.”

Two weeks later

“Hi!” Samantha yelled out to whoever was home, assuming someone was, as she shook the snow out of her hair, slipping off her wet boots and placed them on the drying mat. She blew on her fingers as she made her way into the house, looking for people and food, and not necessarily in that order.

“Sup?” Michael asked from where he was leaning on top of the island, looking down at his phone. When she walked into the kitchen, he looked up at her. “Your nose is so red it looks like Rudolph.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t know if you noticed but it’s cold.”

“The two minute walk from Mel’s car to the door did that to you?”

She huffed as she opened the fridge. She was too hungry for this conversation. “Why are you so obsessed with my nose Michael?”

His eyebrows rose half an inch. Maybe her tone came out a little sharper than she intended. “Sorry,” he raised his hands in surrender.

This time she sighed. “It’s fine.”

“Can I ask a question without you getting offended or biting off my head?”

She whirled around, the fridge door closing harshly. “That seems like an inadvisable question you have there, Mike.”

“I’m going to do it anyways.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You are either very brave or very stupid.”

He took a deep breath like he was actually gathering his courage. “Sammy, my little sister who I love dearly...”

Samantha narrowed her eyes. He was the only one who called her Sammy.

“…When was the last time you ate?” he asked softly and then ducked behind the island like he was taking cover.

She tried; she really did, but she couldn't help it. A second later, laughter busted out of her and her mood was officially lifted. Michael came up from underneath the counter, eyebrows raised. She thought about it. She skipped lunch to work on a project with Mel and then they were stuck at school for a student council meeting.

“I think I had a handful of someone’s chips during the meeting,” she tried to sound convincing.

“So…breakfast then?” he corrected, an annoying grin raising at the corner. At her glare, it just got bigger. “Don’t worry. I made some Cheat Pizzas. They’re in the oven and should be done soon. There’s enough for both of us.”

Cheat Pizzas were essentially naan bread covered in sauce and various toppings, whatever they could find around the house. They were perfection and had Samantha’s stomach growling as she opened the fridge door once again, this time pulling out a drink for each of them.

“Thank you,” she said as she slid the can over to Michael. “We’re still on to watch the Boston and Montreal game in a little bit, right?”

It was the first time the two teams were going to play each other after the All-Star game and Samantha was very excited to see a live game, a real -not just for fun- game.

Michael, however, looked like he was contemplating hiding behind the counter again. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“The game got cancelled,” he said with a wince.

“What?” she moaned, unreasonably distraught about this. “Why?”

“Montreal got like two feet of snow. Boston can’t get there.”

She groaned for the fifth time since she walked into the house. “You’re telling me- the game between Boston and Montreal is canceled due because of a few inches of snow.”

Michael’s head bobbed side to side. “Two feet is more than just a couple inches but, yeah; that’s what I’m saying.”

“Those seem like two cities that should be able to handle some snow, Michael!”

“I know, but if you would believe it, they didn’t call me up to ask me my opinion on this.” He grinned, hoping to get her to do the same. “If they had I would have been adamant that the game goes on. Walk there if you must. My sister, Samantha Taylor Andrews, has a game to watch and by God, it will be played.”

It worked. She grinned as she flopped into one of the bar stools next to Michael. “I’m still mad.”

“That’s okay.” He nodded and then bumped her shoulder with his. “Hey, I know it’s not the game you wanted to watch but there is another game tonight. L.A. so very little chance of a snow cancellation.”

Samantha huffed a laugh. If she was honest, her interest did wane a little when the hockey being mentioned did not involve Hollander and Rozanov. But with the threat of Michaels last few months looming over them before he left to go to college, she wanted to take advantage of the time that they had.

She smiled at her brother. “That sounds good.”

He was grinning too. “Good. Why don’t you go get changed out of your ‘outside clothes,’” his tone turned a little mocking as he used her term for the clothes she wore in the outside world and had to be exchanged for her ‘inside clothes’ before she could relax but he was making her food so she let it slide. “And by the time you come back the food will be ready and the game will be on.”

“Perfect.” She placed her drink on the counter and stood up.

She was nearly out of the kitchen when Michael’s voice had her turning back around. “Hey Sammy, I just…” he sounded almost awkward like he was embarrassed or uncomfortable. Samantha just waited, letting him have a moment to get it out. “None of my friends are into hockey so I mostly just watch it by myself, or I guess sometimes with mom and dad, but still.”

Samantha didn’t know anyone else who was into hockey either. Ohio didn’t have a team in the MHL and none of the local schools or colleges had a team either. She never really heard anyone at school talking about it.

“So, I guess I’m just saying that it’s been nice. Watching hockey together. It’s been cool having someone to talk about it with who actually cares about it, ya know?”

Samantha immediately felt guilty at that part of her that felt even a slight twinge of disappointment at having to watch a game where neither Hollander nor Rozanov were playing. She vowed right then and there to become a fan of all hockey teams.

Or at least put on a very convincing act.

“Yeah, I know,” she said softly, suddenly getting that burning feeling she got in her nose right before she cried. Which was ridiculous. She was NOT going to cry while talking about hockey. She refused. But still, she also refused to let her brother think he was the only one that this meant something to. So, she walked back into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze which he returned.

Then she let go and because she’s his sister, and it’s her job to pester him, she said “I think the Cheat Pizzas are burning,” before turning around and running out of the kitchen.

“What?” she heard him yell and then heard his giant feet smack against the floor as ran towards the oven. “Very funny!” he shouted when he presumably opened the oven door to find the pizzas very much not burning.

Grinning to herself, she took out her phone, scrolling as she walked to her room. Just as she opened the door, she saw one of the Raiders player’s posts about the cancelation. She scanned the photo, not seeing anything super exciting, just an airport selfie and a caption about having the night off. But just as she went to scroll away, she saw something in the background that made her grin.

As soon as her outside clothes had been exchanged, she flopped on her bed. She had to make this quick, she really was hungry, but these things waited for nothing and no one.

When she made it back into the kitchen, she must have still been grinning because Michael looked up from where he was cutting the pizzas. “Oh no.”

“What?” she said, looking up from her phone.

“You found something.”

“Whatever do you mean brother?” She grabbed two plates and he followed with two more.

“Whenever you find something to support your theory about Hollander and Rozanov you get that smile,” he gestured towards my face. “So, tell me. What did you find?”

Samantha shrugged. “Let’s just say, we’re not the only ones disappointed in the cancellation tonight.”

June 2011

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him before,” Michael said, tilting his head to the side as he looked at the TV.

Samantha looked up from her notebook, seeing the rookie-of-the-year nominees on the screen. There was Shane and Ilya, so she knew Michael wasn’t talking about him. He must have meant the third man on the screen. “Vinny?” she clarified. “Minnesota Nomads. He had a pretty decent year. Lead the league in assists this season. Solid player. But I mean…” she trailed off.

Michaels, eyebrows rose. “You mean?”

She gave a pitying smile as if Vincent LeMaire could actually see her, or care what she thought about his chances of winning rookie of the year. An awkward chuckle escaped her as she gestured to the TV. “I don’t want to be rude but like… come on.”

He shook his head. “You know there are other good players beside those two, right?”

“I know that!” she shouted. “But objectively speaking-”

“You?” he cut her off. “Objective about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov? I don’t think so.”

“I’m talking about stats! Numbers! Numbers are objectively… objective.” She glared when he laughed at her weak retort. “Don’t believe me? I’ll pull up my spread sheet right now.” The laptop was of course close by, as was her notebook. This was a recon mission after all.

“I’m surprised you don’t have them memorized by now.”

Samantha laughed and settled back into the couch. “I think I’m getting there.”

She tried not to be too smug as Shane Hollander walked on stage to accept his award. He was pointedly ignoring her, which didn’t help her grin.

“Michael?” Samantha called out as they continued to watch the MHL award show.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a Saturday night in summer, one of us in high school and the other just graduated high school. And yet, we’re both staying at home watching a hockey award show. Not even a game. An award show.”

“What about it?”

“Are we nerds?”

He scoffed and looked over his shoulder. “I’m not the one taking notes.”

She faked offense and threw a pillow at him, because it was her job to do so. They settled back down but that only lasted a minute until she brought up what had been bugging her all night as they watched the hockey season come to a close.

“Michael?”

He laughed as he said “Yes, Sammy you are still a nerd.”

Samantha ignored the jab. “I um… I know that with you moving away for school in the fall you won’t be home for most of the season so I know we won’t be able to like watch a lot of the games together but I dunno I was wondering if we could like…” she trailed off, not really knowing what to suggest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he turned the chair around to face her fully. “Of course we’re going to watch the games together. Not all of them, but as much as we can. We can Skype and there’s that Facecall thing or whatever coming out.”

“FaceTime,” Samantha corrected with a slightly watery laugh.

“Whatever, worse comes to worse we’ll just use the phone, old fashion style. And don’t forget, I’ll be broke so I’ll be coming home to raid the house for food pretty often. Plus, you can come visit me, maybe we’ll even catch a game.”

“Really?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

He nodded. “I think it would be fun.”

“I think so too,” she pulled at the corner of her notebook.

He stood up and ruffled her hair as he walked over, grabbing a handful of chips. “This is our thing, Sammy. Who else am I going to talk hockey with?”

She laughed. “Yeah, because no one in Boston is a hockey fan.”

Michael smiled at her. “Yeah, but no one there secretly knows that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are doing it on the regs.”

She threw another pillow at him. Because she’s his sister and it’s her job to pester him.

September 2012

The air was cold and crisp as Samantha stepped out onto the sidewalk, a refreshing change after the almost three hours spent breathing the recycled air that was pumped through the plane. She had tried to convince her parents to let her drive, now that she’d had her license for a few months. But apparently, they didn’t believe that three months of experience was enough to drive a little over thirteen hours. So instead, she boarded a plane at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. She would never admit this to anyone, but she had been a little nervous as she said goodbye to her parents at security. She had never flown by herself before.

But all those nerves faded when she boarded the plane and a friendly flight attendant, who was probably in her late twenty’s, welcomed her and complemented Samantha’s sweatshirt, saying she picked up this flight so she could be home for the game.

They had chatted briefly, okay maybe not so briefly according to the guy behind her in the line who had very politely cleared his throat, swapping theories and predictions before she had to find her seat. When the flight attendant, Annie, handed out the bags of snacks, Samantha received an extra bag of cookies. Throughout the short flight, Samantha noticed Annies eyes scanning over to her seat periodically, giving her a reassuring smile. She felt a wave of familiarity wash over her, having someone looking after her. She would feel the same way when Michael was still at school and they would pass each other in the hallway.

When they were departing, Annie held out her hand, a small slip of paper between her fingers. “I keep a few of these on hand. For when I meet fellow fans on the road.”

Samantha accepted the item, smiling as she saw the very familiar Boston Raider's logo of the sticker she was now holding. “Thank you,” she said as she slipped on of her bracelets off her wrist, she had made at least a hundred of these at this this point, and she was currently wearing five of them. But the one she handed over to Annie had a very specific jersey number on it.

Annie smiled and slipped it onto her wrist even though it couldn’t have been part of her flight attendant uniform. She answered a few of Samantha’s questions, helping her plan the best path through the airport and to the pickup area.

Which is where she stood now, waiting for her brother. Boston was chiller than Ohio this time of year, but Samantha didn’t mind. It was the temperature right before it got too cold and she turned into a recluse until the snow melted. Boston was beautiful, well what she had seen of it so far, which was the airport and this sidewalk but still. No complaints.

Only two minutes later, her brother’s car pulled up. Michael somehow was able to avoid living on campus during his freshman year which meant that he was also able to keep his car. Not that he used it much, he had told her, it mostly sat in the garage and they walked everywhere. But it was nice for when him and his friends wanted to take a road trip out of town or when he needed to pick up his sister from the airport.

Samantha was grateful for whatever strings he was able to pull that meant he got to live in a small house just off of campus because that meant she got to crash on a, probably lumpy, secondhand couch for the next two nights instead of the floor of some dorm room. Mentally she shuddered at the idea of being in the dorms full Boston students on a weekend when Montreal was in town.

Yes, Samantha was in Boston. She was in Boston and she was going to a hockey game with her brother. She was in Boston, going to a hockey game with her brother, where she would watch Montreal play Boston.

Dreams really do come true.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Michael called out as he jumped out of the car to help with her bags even though she just had her backpack and the worlds tiniest carry on. She looked down at the Boston Raider’s crewneck she had bought when she and her parents moved Michael into the house. In her carry on was also a perfectly folded Ilya Rozanov jersey. She might have gotten a little carried away.

He took her bags from her, sliding them into the back before pulling her into a hug. “I’m glad you’re here Sammy,” he said quietly.

“Me too.” She nodded against his chest. He really had only moved out about a month ago, but when you go from seeing each other to every day, a month feels like a long time. And when they pulled away from each other, she used the sleeve of her ridiculously oversized sweater to discreetly wipe her face.

Enough, she thought to herself as she slid into the passenger seat. “So, what’s the plan?”

Michael carefully pulled away from the curb and weaved them back into the traffic of the airport. “Well, I figured I’d feed you first. To keep the gremlin at bay.”

She nodded. “Solid plan. I’m excited to try the lobster roll but absolutely draw the line at the clam chowder.”

He laughed and we talked about everything and nothing as they drove.

As they got closer to the city, Samantha was suddenly very happy she didn’t drive.

“It’s louder in here than I expected,” Samantha admitted, almost having to yell over the roar of the crowd.

Michael nodded. “Just wait until the stadium is actually full.”

They of course arrived at the arena as soon as the doors opened, before that actually. When the doors opened, they were the first ones in line. Samantha insisted on getting there early, not wanting to risk a single thing. She resisted the urge to jump up and down in excitement. Which is good, because they were still walking down the stairs to their seats.

She was surprised that they were going down the stairs and not up. She had assumed they would be up at the very top of the arena. She had almost asked if it was against security protocols to bring binoculars. While she was happy to even be in the arena, she didn’t want to miss anything because she had been cursed with weak eyes and wore glasses.

The further down they went, the more she got confused. “Michael,” she leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure we haven’t passed the seats? Show me your phone.”

He just waved her off and they continued walking. In fact, they walked all the way down until there were no more stairs. Samantha looked around at the still mostly empty seats. “Are you going to make me walk up all those stairs just to fuck with me? I told you I’m sorry for forgetting the book you asked me to bring, I didn’t think you’d make me run stairs about it.”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, Sammy. We’re here. These are our seats.” He pointed to two of the stadium chairs next to him. Chairs that were right in front of the glass.

She looked at the seats. And then looked at Michael. Then back at the seats. Then back at Michael. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “they are.”

“No way.” He just nodded. “No way!” she shoved his chest with one of her arms since one was full holding a truly terribly large popcorn bucket and the other was holding an equally huge drink. “You’re not kidding?”

He sighed and sat down in one of the chairs. “You keep working through it, I’m going to take a seat.”

The shock lasted a second longer before she was sliding into the seat next to him, unable to keep her excitement at bay and longer. Thankfully, the ambient noise of the stadium muffled her squeals for everyone other than her brother who was smiling at her.

“So, did I officially win best birthday present?” he asked looking smug. He had surprised her with the tickets in August, right before he left, about a week before her birthday.

“Um yes!” She nodded enthusiastically. “But Michael…” she trailed off giving him a look.

He shook his head, “No, don’t worry about it. I have this buddy whose dad knows someone who knows someone or something. They hooked us up.”

She sighed, settled in and finally took the time to look around. “I think I’m in love with your friend’s father’s friend.”

“I’ll pass along the message.”

Something Samantha would have never admitted was that the entire time leading up to the game- she was worried she was going to be embarrassing. Surely, she was going to be too loud, yell too much, spit out facts that no one would really care about, take too many pictures, or overall just be too…much.

But when the teams came out onto the ice, the entire arena was on their feet. The floor shook with the sheer force of their yells. No one was chill. No one was calm. Everyone was excited. She made quick friends with the people sitting next to her who were impressed by the things that she knew and didn’t judge her for the things she didn’t. While she secretly rooted for both teams, the comradery of the people around her had her on her feet and jumping each time the Raiders got close to the goal.

Her heart pounded. Her voice was raw. And her entire body ached like she was the one out on the ice.

It was one of the best days of her life.

And as if it couldn’t get any better, during the final thirty seconds of the third period, two players came rushing up to where she was sitting. They were fighting for the puck, their sticks smacking against each other and Samantha could hear it.

And then. Oh, and then. Those players started to push and shove each other, their shoulders ramming into one another until they reached the glass. Everyone next to her ran up as well, smacking their palms against the glass, yelling even louder than they had been just seconds ago.

But not Samantha.

No, because Samantha was frozen in play. Still and silent for the first time since she touched down in Boston.

Because in front of her, separated by mere inches of space and boards, and Plexi glass, was Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. And Ilya had Shane pinned to the boards as Shane wrestled the puck out from underneath himself and sent it flying towards Pike. Just before Shane slipped out from between Ilya and the boards, he looked back over his shoulder and gave Ilya a grin.

That grin. The grin.

The grin that reinforced every single crazy idea that Samantha had. That grin that made her believe in things.

And she was here to see it. In person.

Best day ever.

As they skated away, she allowed herself a moment, a singular moment, to be disappointed that she was too stunned to take out her phone. Maybe it was better that way she conceded.

Still not fully recovered, she turned to face Michael, to properly freak out, as was her custom. But when she looked his way, the first thing she noticed was that he was holding his phone. Very clearly pointing at her. She knew in the way that she knew things, that he had gotten the shot.

“Did you see that?!?” she yelled, jumping up and down and pointed at the ice, even though the two were long gone.

He looked down at her and nodded. “I did.”

And if she walked out of that area with two new shirts and a hat, that was her business.

February 2014

“Sam!” Mel called out. Samantha looked up from her desk to see her best friend waving her arm frantically in the air, urgently signaling that Samanta quit working on her trigonometry homework and join her and her other friends across the room. Well, who was Samantha to say no to such an enticing offer?

“You should withdraw your college application and become one of those people who wave those glowing traffic cones at the airport so the planes don’t crash into the building,” Samantha told her, sliding into the seat next to her friend and stealing a handful of the ever-present bag of snacks that were always close by.

“Hilarious,” Mel replied dryly. “We need your help.”

“What’s up?” she asked around a mouthful of pretzels.

“This!” Suddenly there was a paper shoved into Samantha’s face, way too close for her to make out what it was.

She pushed it away to a normal, acceptable distance. It was the Winter Olympics themed packet that the school handed out for the students to complete. There was some sort of competition happening where you could fill out the packet and enter a drawing. Though, Samantha wasn’t sure about what exactly prize was.

Mel had the packet open to a page with a very empty crossword. “Okay Mellsy, crosswords work by giving you a set of clues that correspond to a specific-”

Samantha was cut off by her best friend hitting her head with a pencil case. Worth it.

“It’s hockey themed.”

That got Samantha’s attention. “What is?”

Mel groaned like she was talking with a toddler. “The crossword. The entire thing is about hockey.”

“Okay?”

“And well you’re all about hockey too,” gestured between the paper and Samantha. “Please,” she begged. “You are the only one here who knows anything about hockey.”

Well, she was definitely all about some hockey she thought but didn’t say that part out loud.

Samantha looked from Mel to their other friends who were also wearing pleading looks. She didn’t like it, but she hesitated for a moment. What if there was a clue she didn’t know the answer for? Would they all think that she was faking her interest in the sport all along? Would they think that she pretended to fall in love with this weird and beautiful thing just for attention?

She let herself sit with those thoughts for another two seconds before shaking them off. “Okay. Hit me.”

Mel clapped and shifted in her seat before clearing her throat. “Number one. Four letters. A type of shot where the player swings the stick back forcefully.”

“Slap,” she answered quickly. “A slap shot.”

Mel nodded at the rest of the group who quickly wrote down the answer. Clearly, they were the scribes and Mel was the announcer.

“Number two. When a team has a numerical advantage due to an opponent’s penalty. Nine letters.”

“Power play”.

“Name for offensive line. Eleven letters.”

“Forward line.”

“Number of games in regular season per game. Ten letters.”

“Eighty-four.”

“Penalty for hitting player with stick.”

“Slashing.”

Mel looked up from the paper. “You didn’t let me tell you the number of letters.”

Samantha raised her eyebrows and looked at the team of scribes. “Does it fit?”

They all nodded.

Mel carried on. “Referred to as the time players spend on ice. Si-“

“Shifts,” She grinned, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Turns out, she was all about hockey.

Within 15 minutes the crossword had been completed, and she was explaining the difference between icing and offside to Anthony, who had caught an Olympic game the other day and now had loads of questions.

She remembered the first few games she watched with Michael and how he patiently explained all the different rules, positions, and strategies of the game. She smiled to herself, she should call him, it had been a while.

The bell rang and the day was over. Tomorrow was Saturday and she was so excited to have a day off. As they packed up, Samantha had an idea. She turned back to her friends as she slung her bag on her shoulders. “Hey there are games playing all day tomorrow. If you want, y’all can come over and watch some with me. I promise I won’t make you learn anything you don’t want to. It’s also just a fun sport to watch.”

The group agreed excitably and Samantha grinned. She loved sharing this thing that she loved. Mel asked if she should bring anything with her, but Samantha shook her head. “Please don’t. I already know my dad is going to be way to excited to have the chance to make appetizers.”

March 2014

“Do they seem… I don’t know, off to you?” Samantha asked as she pulled the blanket across her lap.

“I assume you’re talking about your close personal friends Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?” Michael asked. He was home for spring break, even though the fact that spring break is accompanied by the snow that is falling right now is laughable.

She leaned her head against the back of the couch and smiled. “You can assume that I am always talking about them.”

“And what exactly is off about them? Their aura? Their energy? Their vibe?” He joked, an easy smile on his face.

“No,” she dragged out but then paused. “Well, yes. Their vibe does in fact feel off. Has been off for a while now. Both of them really, but I didn’t notice it until I saw them playing in the same game.”

Miachel hummed and looked back at the screen. “What are you seeing?”

Samantha watched for a little bit longer before she answered. “Technically, they are still playing at their annoying near perfect level. Right? Passes are passing. Pucks are going into nets. Games are being won. But the way they are playing is different.”

Samantha went on to share, in great detail, all the small changes she has noticed about how the two players’ style had changed in the past couple of games. Some of the things were technical skills, blade handling, reading the ice, accuracy that were just a little off.

But what really stood out was the way Shane and Ilya handled themselves. Ilya’s chirping didn’t carry the same punch, like he didn’t really care about getting under his opponent’s skin. Yes, Hollander was typically more reserved at baseline but now Samantha noticed he hadn’t even been doing his small micro celebrations she picked up on a while ago.

They were both focused. They both did what they needed to do. It was almost impossible to see a difference. But it was there.

“It’s been like this since the Olympics,” she concluded.

“Maybe it’s just a rut,” Michael suggested. “It happens sometimes.”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope they snap out of it quickly.” She pretended to wipe away a tear, “I miss them.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he just shook his head.

“Oh, you’ve missed me!” She sang out, leaning over to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pulled until they were crushed together. She could feel his laughter.

“You know I wouldn’t have to miss you if you accepted your offer to Boston.”

She groaned and flung herself backwards, the sting of betrayal sending her flying until she was lying flat against the couch. She tilted her chin. “Mom put you up to this didn’t she? This has her written all over it.”

“She may have asked me to talk to you about it.”

Samantha crossed her arms over her head, relishing in the darkness it created. During the application season, Samantha was… well she was a mess. She obsessed over every word for each of her essay questions, debated for hours which extracurriculars to highlight, sucked up to her teachers for months so they would write glowing recommendations. Once, her mother found her crying in the shower because she accidentally sent in an application and it wasn’t until after that she realized she sent in the essay in the wrong font.

It hadn’t been pretty.

But she pushed through. She did everything she needed to do in the hopes that one school would take pity on her and let her in.

And it must have worked because she gotten accepted into all three of her top picks and even two of her backups. So now she had to make a decision. Like a really big one. And she didn’t want to.

Because she wasn’t really making one decision. She was making about a hundred decisions within that one decision. And the more she thought about it, the harder she procrastinated on it.

“You can’t make a wrong decision here Sammy.” Michael said simply. He had turned back to the game and Samantha noticed how grateful she was for that, that there was something drawing at least some of the focus off this conversation, off her thoughts. “You already did the hard part and chose three great school and got in. I have a favorite of course,” he smirked, “but they are all great. You can’t make a wrong choice here.”

She thought about it for a while. He was right. Of course he was right. And she already started to feel some of the weight come off her shoulders. For the first time since she had gotten all three offers, she didn’t feel completely paralyzed.

But still. She was his siter and it was her job to pester him. And so that’s why instead of thanking him for his strangely sound advice, she said, “And what if I decide not to go to school and become a podcaster?”

Michael stiffened, like he was actually trying to come up with a way to talk her out of that option. “And what would you talk about on your podcast?”

“The irrefutable proof that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are in love. Obviously.”

Michael’s entire body relaxed and then he nodded along. “Obviously.”

June 2014

“You know you don’t actually move out for like three more months, right?” Samantha’s mother said as she peeked her head through the cracked door of her bedroom.

Samantha looked up from her place on the floor but still couldn’t see her mother due to the piles of clothes that were arranged into piles encircling her. Moving the ‘to be sorted’ pile off her lap, she rose to her knees. “Two actually. Fifty-nine days to be precise.”

After about two weeks of agonizing over her decision, in the end it was actually pretty easy. She was going to Boston University in the fall. In fifty-nine days to be precise.

Classes didn’t start until September 2nd but she was moving to the city a little early. Okay well three weeks early, which her brother thought was ridiculous. But she wanted some time to settle in, get the lay of the land, and just enjoy the city before she got bogged down classes and her new job.

And it wasn’t like she had to wait for the dorms to open up anyways. Michael helped her pull the same strings he did and she was approved for off campus living. They briefly thought about living together but he liked his current place with his roommates who were now friends and Samantha wanted the chance to live on her own.

Well, almost on her own. Mel was coming with her, and they found a third girl, Ellie, in one the chats for incoming freshman who were looking for potential roommates. They chatted several times before making anything official, but Samantha knew it was meant to be the second she looked up Ellie on Instagram- she was wearing a Raiders jersey in her profile picture.

And so, with the help of Michael doing some boots on the ground recon for them, they were able to secure a cute little three-bedroom house down the street from his house.

Everything was going according to plan.

Except for the fact that the second Samantha signed the lease, her brain started to whirl about to do lists, and to pack lists, and to buy lists, and to donate lists, and lists for her lists. It was loud, nonstop, and really freaking annoying.

“Fifty-nine days is still a really long time,” her mother pulled Samantha out of her thoughts.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Samantha groaned as she fell back to the floor, taking solace in her pile circle.

“Why don’t you tell me what is stressing you out?” her mother asked as she moved one pile to the side slightly and then joined Samantha on the ground. When Samantha threw her an incredulous look, she corrected herself. “Okay. Tell me one thing, the thing that you are focusing on right now, at this moment.”

“I have too much shit,” Samantha blurted out before she even realized that what she was saying was true. “Seriously, where did I get all this stuff?”

Her mother looked around. “Well dear, you have lived in this room for 18 years, things do tend to accumulate after all that time.”

Samantha sighed. “But what do I do with it all? Mel and I are driving together which means we both have to fit all of our stuff in my car.”

Her mom smiled. “Well, remember that your dad and I are following you two with Mel’s moms, so we can also fill up our car.”

“Oh. Right.” Samantha somehow didn’t think about that.

“And also- you don’t have to take everything all at once. You’re planning on coming home for thanksgiving so you can take more back with you then.”

“That’s a good idea.” The whirling nose in Samantha’s brain began to quiet.

“I tend to have those every now and again.” She clapped her hands. “Now, let’s get you to a stopping point so we can go watch your brother and dad attempt to grill for the game tonight.”

Samantha laughed and nodded her head, handing half the pile to her mom who began sorting it, already following the thought process without having to be told.

Her dad had moved on from appetizers to grilling this summer, and it had been a learning experience to say the least. There had only been the one visit from the fire department, but it was something fun to watch with her mom- from a safe distance of course.

But for the sake of everyone who was coming over tonight, she hoped that there would be no visits from the fire department tonight. Samantha was hesitant about wanting a graduation party. It just wasn’t something she thought she wanted. Her parents worried that she would regret it and pushed her to think about it. But it was Miachael who came up with what, in Samantha’s opinion, was the perfect compromise.

Boston was playing in the Stanley Cup final tonight, and they had invited everyone they knew to come over and watch. Even Ellie was going to come as she was visiting some family that happened to live in Ohio. It was more of a watch party than a graduation party which suited Samantha just fine and she ignored the large photos of her in her cap and gown that just happened to go up a few days ago.

When they finished, her mom wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into her side. “I’m so, so proud of you.” She kissed the top of her head.

Samantha leaned her head against her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” her mom said back as they walked out of her room.

The night was perfect. By the end of the it, she was even more convinced that she, Mel, and Ellie were going to be just fine living with each other. The three of them decided to turn the night into a last-minute sleepover, setting up camp in the basement like Samantha used to do when she was a kid.

Her classmates and friends all stopped by at different points of the night, swapping stories about the four years they spent together, sharing what their plans were for the next four. It was bittersweet, seeing them and also realizing that she was actually going to miss these people.

Family swung by as well, aunts, uncles, and cousins she hadn’t seen in way too long. She learned that her dad’s brother played hockey in college, some school in Canada called McGill. He said that while he loved his niece, he couldn’t support Boston- being a lifelong Montreal fan. Samantha explained that she loved both teams equally, Montreal was just harder to get to.

During the third period, one of her cousins, Claire, who was about seven or eight, sat down next to her on the couch. “What team do you want to win again?”

“Boston. The team in the black.”

Claire nodded but didn’t say anything. Samantha didn’t know her all that well, since they lived pretty far away, but she had always known her to be a quiet kid.

“Why is everyone so excited about this game?”

“Because it’s the finals,” Samanta explained. “Every year the teams of the MHL play each other to see who is the best.”

“Just from this one game?” Clarie’s face scrunched, apparently deciding that wasn’t fair.

Samantha shook her head. “No. Both of these teams had to play and win against three other teams before they play each other. And each time they played those teams they had to play until they won four times.

Claire thought about it for a second. “That sounds like a lot of games.”

Samantha laughed. “It is a lot of games.” She pointed to the TV. “These two teams have played against each other six times. They’ve both won three games. Which is why everything comes down to tonight. The winner of this game takes home the cup.”

Excitement spread over Claire’s face. “That’s pretty cool.”

Samantha nodded. “I think so too.”

They watched in silence for a while, well semi silence. Ilya scored and Samantha couldn’t help but make some noise, it was only right.

Claire looked up at where Samantha was still standing, giving double high fives to Michael. When Samantha turned back around, Claire asked, “So you like hockey?”

Samantha nodded, “I do.”

Claire gave a small smile. “That’s pretty cool too.”

Two weeks later

“I haven’t seen you that focus since All-Stars Weekend 2011,” Michael laughed as he walked into the living room.

Samantha was laid out flat on her stomach on the floor, laptop in front of her and about ten lose papers surrounded her. Each page was labeled as ‘Plan A’, ‘Plan B’, ‘Plan C’, and so on and so forth. She lifted her chin off her arm and looked up at him. “That was a lot more fun.”

He peered down at the papers. “Picking out your classes?”

She nodded. “Nice thing about going in undecided is that I can take whatever classes I want.” She tilted her head to the other side. “Bad thing about going in undecided is that I can take whatever classes I want.”

Michael shrugged. “Just start by taking your general education requirements.”

“I did!” She pushed herself off the floor. “I signed up for as many of those as I could, but I still need one, maybe two more classes. And my advisor is advising me very strongly to pick a class that would align with a specific major. Or at least a field of study.”

Her brother let out a laugh as he made his way to the couch. “Statistically speaking you are probably going to switch your major at least three times. It’s completely normal.”

She gestured to the papers scattered around the floor. “Well as long as I keep it to these…” she counted the papers, knowing she already had made some cuts earlier, “six. I’ll at least have plan mapped out already.”

Michael grabbed the remote, turning on the TV and finding the MHL award show but he muted it. He turned back to Samantha. “Whatcha got?”

She piled up the papers at sat up straight. “Pre-med.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “You puke when you see blood.”

“Pre-med doesn’t mean I have to become a doctor! Or a doctor that is patient facing. I could do research or biotech.”

“You would still have to take a lot of science courses. You hate science. In the 10th grade you cried for a week after doing an autopsy on a frog. How would you like doing one on an actual cadaver?”

“You weren’t even here for that,” she grumbled.

“Mom was worried enough that she called me for advice on how to get you out of your funk.”

She wanted to argue but unfortunately, he was right. It had been bad. At least now she knew why her mother dragged her out of bed and sat her down in front of the TV, forcing her to watch Ilya Rozanov’s and Shane Hollander’s highlight reels.

“Moving on then.” She sat the paper face down next to her. “Early childhood education.”

He considered this one. “Not bad. You could do a couple of things besides teaching with that one if you wanted.”

Samantha’s spirits lifted, maybe this was the one. Maybe this is what she was supposed to do. She could see it. Kind of.

“But,” he interrupted her celebration, making her shoulders drop. “You would be doing the same thing every day probably. I remember you saying once about how that would bore you.”

Damn it, he had a point. “I’m putting it in the maybe pile.”

He nodded. “I think that’s a good place for it. What’s next?”

“Veterinary Medicine. Well, pre-vet.”

He gave her a deadpanned look. “Do I really need to bring up the frog again?”

“Please don’t,” she shook her head, her throat feeling a little tight at the mention of it. She placed that sheet of paper firmly in the no pile and looked down at the next one. She rolled her eyes, preemptively readying herself for Michael to shoot it down. “Psychology.”

When he didn’t speak for a long time, she looked up. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I like that one,” he said simply.

“Really?” she asked, not bothering to hide her shock. “That’s the one you like? You don’t think it’s too… basic?”

He tilted his head side to side. “Do a lot of freshmen go in with an interest in psychology? Yes. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. I think it’s a really good fit for you. It’s a broad field, so you would have tons of options open to you. You will start off pretty broad and basic and then you can narrow it down when you know what interests you. You might have to think about going to grad school for certain jobs. You could even get your doctorate if you really want to be a doctor. And you wouldn’t even have to do an autopsy.” He paused. “I’m actually not sure about that. You might have to dissect a brain at some point.”

“You really think this is a good fit for me?”

Michael leaned back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “I do. I mean, worst case scenario, you take a few intro courses, hate it, and try the next thing. You don’t have to get it right the first time around. But yeah, you’re an insightful, empathetic, and intelligent person. You like solving problems and helping people which you could do in a lot of different ways with this degree. I think it’s worth checking out at least.”

She nodded as she looked back down at the paper. She had listed out the different courses she would take over the next few semesters if she went down this path. The classes did seem interesting. And she liked that this degree wouldn’t limit herself to one job. Maybe this was it.

“I know you’re busy doing adult things, but your boys are on the screen.”

“What?!” she yelped, throwing her stack of papers on the keyboard of the computer and she spun around. Sure enough, Shane and Ilya were walking onto the stage. Forgetting all about her important life decisions, she settled onto the couch next to Michael. She watched with rapt attention, delighted at this unexpected viewing.

That delight quickly soured as it became obvious that they were doing a bit. “I hate this,” Samantha said, lips curled into a frown. “I may actually be sick.”

Michael laughed. “Maybe we should look into the theater program.”

She flipped him off, trying to hide her smile. She was just about to leave the couch in search of some food when something caught her attention. Something about the way Ilya’s hand on Shane’s neck made that spot in the back of her head start to tingle. Unfortunately, the camera angle was awful. Well, it was great for the purpose of the broadcast, but it was awful for her and her purposes. Then the next second, that hand disappeared. But it didn’t return to Ilya’s side.

Where.

Did.

His.

Hand.

Go?

Samantha leapt from the couch, throwing herself onto the ground as she searched under her papers and notebooks for her phone. “Ah ha!” she exclaimed, hoisting it in the air like some lost, rare treasure.

“I know I should be used to this by now,” Michael said to no one. “But I’m not.”

She ignored him and opened up her Instagram. She searched the ‘MHL Awards 2014’ hashtag and clicked on it. She scrolled and scrolled until finally, she found what she was looking for.

“Gotcha,” she whispered.

June 2016

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Ellie grumbled looking around like she was afraid someone was going to come out from around the corner and attack her.

“Hey a bet is a bet, and you lost.” Samantha gloated cheerfully as she walked into the arena. She flashed her phone as the worker scanned her tickets and wished her a good game. She smiled thankfully and waited until Ellie and Mel passed through as well.

Mel laughed at Ellie’s sour expression. “I half expected you to plant something on yourself so you would be barred from coming in.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” Ellie assured her. “But then I thought ‘what if they hold me here. Indefinitely. Forever.” She shuddered and casted another look around her like she was scanning for threats.

Lifelong dedicated Boston fan Ellie St. James was having a very hard time accepting her current reality. When Samantha predicted that the Montreal Metros would win the cup this year, for the second year in a row, back in February, Ellie said there was no way. So, they made a bet. If the Metro’s made it all the way, Ellie would have to go to the game.

Well, four months later and here they were. Mel came along of course. Her interest in hockey stayed at the surface level, even after living all freshman year with two of the biggest hockey nerds she knew, but she was always down for a fun adventure with her friends.

Freshman year had been challenging for all three of them in different ways, as it should be. But they made it through by leaning on each other and keeping their eye on the prize: summer break. This trip was especially motivating for all three of them, even Ellie when she didn’t think about the hockey bit. They were staying for a week or maybe even two, their travel plans flexible due to their youth and lack of responsibilities…and the fact that Mel had family up here who they were staying with and insisted they stay as long as they wanted.

They wandered through the concourse of the stadium; there were a few people milling around but the hallways were pretty empty. Samantha of course, insisted that they arrive in time to be there when the doors opened. No way was she missing a single second of this.

“Maybe we should grab some food?” Ellie suggested, pointing over her shoulder. “I think I saw a hot dog spot back there. And there is a pasta place upstairs.”

“Nope,” Samantha shook her head, continuing to lead them to their destination.

“I think the players are taking the ice, we should find our seats,” Ellie tried again.

Samantha looked at her watch, scoffing. “Not for another thirty minutes, thank you very much.”

Mel laughed and flung a sympathetic arm around her friend. “That was a weak attempt, and you know it.”

“It was worth a shot,” she pouted and looked at Mel with wide eyes. “Please don’t let her do this. It’s against my culture. My religion.”

“Sorry love,” she sympathy, “if it was that important to you, you shouldn’t have bet on it.”

Ellie turned back to Samantha. “Please. Have mercy. I repent. I have learned the error of my ways and beg for redemption.”

Samantha stopped walking and turned towards her friends. She stayed quiet for three longs seconds as she looked into Ellie’s eyes. Finally, she said, “Nope! Now let’s go.”

Mel cackled loudly enough that it bounced off the concrete walls, accompanied by the loud groan that escaped Ellie. Samantha ignored them both as she walked into the team merch shop.

Oh? The second part of the bet? Ellie had to come to the game and wear a Metros jersey the entire time. Her little angry Bostonian heart was breaking right about now. Samantha was thrilled.

Mel had to drag her but eventually Ellie stood next to Samantha next to a rack of jerseys. “Can’t I just wear a blue shirt or something? Isn’t that close enough?"

Samantha tsked, “Elenor Michelle St. James are you breaking your promise? Does your word mean nothing to you? How can I trust you if you do not follow through? Does our friendship mean so little to you that you would rather-”

“Oh, just hand me the damn jersey already,” Mel snapped and held out her hand.

Samantha gleamed as she placed it into her hands and then turned to grab another. She was finally getting her Hollander jersey today.

It was a big day.

November 2016

Samantha walked into their house, exhausted after her volunteer shift at the hospital. She thought it would be good experience in case she wanted to pursue a career in psychology related to the medical field. She quickly realized that was not the case. She was grateful for the experience and the opportunity, but she could not picture spending every day inside a hospital.

Mel and Ellie were set up at the dining room table, in full study session mode. She flopped down in her regular spot and put her face down onto the cool wooden table.

“Well hello there,” Mel snickered, putting down her highlighter.

“Rough day, dear?” Ellie asked, not bothering to look up from her flashcard. Before Samantha could answer Ellie yelled out “Oxaloacetate!” before flipping over the flash card and then giving herself a little fist pump. She placed the card on top of a large pile.

“…What?” Samantha asked, face still on the table.

“Oxaloacetate, what malate turns into during the regeneration phase of the Krebs cycle,” she answered simply like she was actually speaking English but Samantha wasn’t so sure.

“I am so thankful Michael talked me out of pre-med,” Samantha shook her head and she finally rose up into her seat. “Is it wrong for me to quit my volunteer position at the hospital because I realized I in fact do not want to work in a hospital setting.”

“No,” Ellie answered at the same time that Mel said, “Yeah, kinda.”

Samantha laughed. “Thanks, that’s a lot of help.”

“It’s what we’re here for,” Ellie uttered disappointingly as she placed a new card on a second, much smaller pile.

“Join us in our misery?” Mel asked as she gestured towards the table that was overflowing with textbooks, pens, highlighters and two laptops whose fans were whirling at a concerning speed.

Samantha shook her head. “Can’t. I just came home for a quick shower. I have to go to a panel discussion on campus tonight. Our advisor invited like fifteen different people all with different careers to talk about our options after graduation.”

Ellie looked up from her cards. “That seems super helpful.”

“Yeah, maybe it’ll help you figure out what you’re interested in,” Mel chimed in.

“That’s what I am hoping for,” Samantha said as she stood up. “But first I have to wash the hospital off.”

After a much too quick and rushed shower, Samantha walked back into the kitchen to grab a snack before heading back to campus. She laughed when she saw Ellie and Mel still at the table but this time, they were not focusing on their education but rather staring down at the screens on their phones.

“Hard at work there, huh?” Samantha teased as she opened a bag of chips.

“Mandatory ten-minute break every forty-five minutes,” Ellie explained.

Samantha thought about it for a second as she munched on a chip. “So, what do you do with the five minutes left over?”

Mel pointed to the empty plates in front of them. “That is snack making time. This,” she gestured around the table, “is snack enjoying time.”

“I like it,” Samantha wiped her hands on a towel and filled a glass of water.

“Have you heard the news?” Ellie asked, still scrolling on her phone.

“What news?” Samantha before as she took a long drink of water.

“Well, you know Rose Landry?”

Samantha nodded, still taking a drink of her water. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had gotten at the hospital; she was always so busy. But of course, she knew who Rose Landry was. She was a big fan of her movies, well most of them. There was that one. But interestingly enough, her movies were not the pieces of work Samantha was most familiar with.

Whenever Rose Landry went on a trip, she always posted a “what I packed” video complete with a detailed packing list and a very efficient organizational structure to her suitcase and carry on. They were very satisfying to watch. Sometimes when she was feeling stressed, she would pull up the playlist and just watch the packing videos until her brain quieted down.

“Well, she’s dating Shane Hollander,” Ellie said simply.

Samantha’s lungs burned as they tried to reject the water she just accidentally inhaled. She slammed the glass on counter, having to hold on to the edge as her body racked with coughs.

“Are you okay?” Mel asked, standing from her seat.

Samantha held up a hand, thumbs up but when she opened her eyes, everything was blurry. “What did you just say?” her voice was strained and hoarse, but she needed Ellie to repeat herself.

“Shane Hollander, ya know with the… Metros,” her tone warped into disgust at the mention of her rival team.

“Aren’t you their biggest fan?” Mel tapped her chin. “I think you have a certain jersey to prove it.”

“I’d donate it, but no one deserves to be treated so poorly,” Mel fought back. She would never get rid of that jersey Samantha thought, it held too many memories of their trip. But that wasn’t important right now.

“You’re saying Shane Hollander is dating Rose Landry?” Samantha asked, pulling the group back to focus.

“I’m not saying it, everyone else is.” She held out her phone and Samatha practically tripped as she sprinted to the table.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, scrolling through the various article and posts. This was odd. Shane Hollander had never been seen with a girlfriend before. Or even a date. Something wasn’t adding up.

She longed to sit down and get to the bottom of this, but she really had to go. “I really don’t want to go to my panel now.”

Ellie gently took her phone back from her. “Being an adult is hard sometimes.” She made a shooing motion. “Go figure out what you want to do with the rest of your live. The drama will still be here when you get back.”

Reluctantly, she turned and headed towards the door. As she slipped on her shoes though, she unlocked her own phone. She was shocked at the amount of notifications that waited for her. Again, she cannot overstate how busy her shift at the hospital was. And now it cost her learning about this? Unacceptable.

She slipped on her coat with one hand, still trying to get caught up on what she missed. “See y’all later!” she shouted grabbing her bag.

“Call if you need a ride back!” Mel called out.

“Uh huh, I will. But I think-” her thought was cut short when a shooting pain radiated from her foot all the way up her leg. She let out an animalist yowl as she hopped on one foot. “Fuck!” she let out between clenched teeth.

“What was that?” Mel asked, sounding concerned.

“I stubbed my toe.” Samantha took short breaths, limping a little as she but foot back down on the ground.

Ellie, ever the comfort, let out a laugh. “Put your phone away and stop staring at the screen.”

“I’m a fully grown adult,” she argued in vain as she did in fact, put her phone away and stepped outside.

A brisk fifteen-minute walk later, Samantha was sitting in the second row, four seats in- her preferred spot for most lecture halls. The walk usually took at least twenty minutes, but she booked it and got five minutes of free time to sleuth before the panel began.

She scrolled through the photos she had already saved, paying attention to the facial expressions of both Shane and Rose. She would need more time, and probably a bigger screen. But something was up.

“I’m not buy it,” she whispered to herself just as her advisor stepped up the podium to gather the attention of the students who filled the room. She locked her phone and slid it into her bag, pulling out her notebook and pen.

As the panel went on, Samantha was feeling discouraged. Don’t get her wrong, most of the careers the panelists discussed sounded super interesting, respectable, and worthwhile. And she dutifully took notes and asked questions. But so far, none of them had excited her.

She was about to give up hope when her advisor announced the final guest. A rough voice filled the room as he spoke. “Hello everyone, my name is Henry Sutton and I’m a psychologist who focuses on athletes and sports.”

Samantha gripped her pen tighter as she got that tingling in the back of her head, the one that she got when she knew she was onto something great.

January 2017

Samantha hadn’t even closed the door before Mel and Ellie descended upon her. “We’re going out.” Mel stated, her arms crossed and waiting for the inevitable retaliation that would be coming her way.

“No, we’re not,” Samantha scoffed and hung up her coat, shaking off the snow. “I am doing nothing except for taking a scalding hot shower, eating some horrible for me junk food, and going to bed.” She attempted to continue to make her way into the house so she could carry out her plan, but she was blocked by two very determined looking roommates.

“We’re worried you’re depressed,” Ellie said matter-of-factly.

Samantha actually laughed out loud. She wasn’t depressed, in fact she was quite content, maybe even excited, about her current life and situation. What she was though, was tired.

Ever since she met with Henry Sutton, the sports psychologist, for coffee the day after the panel, she had been doing everything she could to pad her resume for graduate school and internship opportunities. Which meant that every moment outside of her classes and work was dedicated to various volunteer opportunities including: her college athletic program where she spent time alongside trainers and strength coaches, becoming a research assistant for her psychology department where she did various tasks apart as team focusing on the study of the psychology of athletes, she had even taken to coaching some youth sports programs at the local gyms and recreational centers.

She was starting at a disadvantage, she knew that. She wasn’t an athlete. Samantha had played a few sports when she was in elementary school, but those interests had faded into other things by the time she had entered middle school. It was clear that the majority of sports psychologists were once athletes themselves. And that gave them an insight into their clients that Samantha couldn’t really understand. But she was going to do everything in her power to make up for that.

Going to an overcrowded, loud, and busy bar was not part of her plan.

“Not wanting to spend one of my few, precious, sacred, nights off in a bar standing shoulder to shoulder with half of campus as we fight to get the privilege to pay for overpriced drinks is not a symptom of depression,” Samantha pointed out to her friends. “I would know, as a future psychologist as all.”

They both rolled their eyes, perfectly in sync, which creeped Samantha out a little bit if she was being honest with herself. “You’re isolating.” Mel argued.

“Limiting your social interactions and distancing yourself from friends and loved ones.” Ellie supported. “Even your brother says he hasn’t heard from you in a while.”

Samantha raises her eyebrows. “Three days counts as a while now?” she asked, thinking about how she had just met her brother for lunch earlier in the week.

Ellie waved her off. “You’re deflecting. We, your loved ones, are concerned about you and the behaviors you are exhibiting.”

“And your solution to that is to get me drunk?”

“Who said anything out getting drunk?” Mel asked, hands held out in front of her. “You don’t have to drink. And we promise we won’t go to one of the popular bars on campus. We’ll find something a little more low-key.”

Samantha eyed her suspiciously, hating how her resolve was already weakening.

Ellie smelled her weakening defensive and struck. “We just want to see you do something outside of studying, volunteering, or working,” she said with something that sounded a lot like genuine concern. “Why don’t we go to that sports bar you like? You know… Boston is playing in Montreal. I bet Boston is going to wipe the floor with them, and I want to gloat about it publicly.”

Samantha scoffed. “Please, with the way both teams have been playing lately, we’ll be lucky if either one of them gets anything in the net tonight.”

It was true. The last couple of games Samantha watched were… unusual. She hated being a couch commentator but neither team had been playing to the best of their abilities lately. And as much as she hated to admit it, neither had Shane Hollander or Ilya Rozanov. They’re playing had been… well, not good.

“I bet you a plate of whatever appetizers of your choosing that Boston makes Montreal cry tonight,” Ellie goaded with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Samantha flung her head back and groaned. She hated how this was already working, but she couldn’t turn down a challenge. “Fine,” she gave in. “Give me twenty to shower and change.”

She tried not to smile as her friends cheered behind her but the grin was firmly in place as she made her way to her room.

“Hate to say I told you so,” Samantha sang as she waived down the bartender as the game ended and Montreal managed to meek out a 1-0 win, “but I did tell you so.” No one had ever been so smug while ordering a plate of garlic parmesan fries before.

“Never bet against Sam on matters that involve hockey,” Mel shook her head and swirled the ice around in her drink.

Samantha looked to her right where Mel was sitting. “When have you ever made a hockey bet against me?”

“Oh, I haven’t had to,” Mel shook her head. “I have had enough secondhand embarrassment from other unsuspecting souls to learn that particular lesson the easy way.”

The trio laughed and all dived into the fries when they arrived. Another hour or so passed by as they caught up with each other. Even though they all still lived together, their busy schedules sometimes meant that they wouldn’t actually see each other for more than two minutes for weeks at a time. Samantha hated to admit it, but her friends were right, this had been good for her.

Somehow their night devolved into a game of truth or dare, resulting in Mel gaining the number of the bartender and Ellie sharing a story about the time where she almost drowned after failing to execute a dive at her local community pool when she was twelve years old.

Now it was Samantha’s turn in the hot seat and she was dreading it. She was an open book, willing and able to share anything and everything with the two women sitting next to her. And they knew that. So, because they couldn’t embarrass her with questions, they always made her do the dares. Don’t ask Samantha how the group had forgotten that the person in question was supposed to be the one to choose between ‘truth’ or ‘dare’. It had made sense to them at the time.

“I dare you to…” Ellie trailed off as she peered around the room with narrowed eyes, gaining an all too pleased grin when she found whatever it was that she was looking for. “I dare you to get one of those guys to buy you a drink,” her grin turned wicked as she nodded towards the end of the bar.

Samantha groaned and Mel giggled as they both turned to see the group for themselves. They looked like your normal group of college guys who would gather at a sports bar. They were laughing loudly and shoving each other around, not really paying attention to anyone else.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Samantha hissed, annoyance in her tone already.

“You’re hot,” Ellie stated blatantly, “chances are at least one of them is straight, you’ll figure the rest out, I promise.”

Samantha shifted uncomfortably, her lack of desire to do this competing with her inability to turn down a challenge. “Can I at least phone a friend for help?”

Ellie considered this. “I’ll allow it. Safety in numbers and all that. What kind of woman would I be if I sent you in all alone?”

Samantha turned to Mel with pleading eyes.

Mel didn’t even wait for Samantha to speak before she clapped her hands, an elated look on her face as she jumped off the bar stool. “I have the best idea.” She grabbed one hand of both of her friends and drugged them along as she basically ran through the bar.

Samantha snuck a look at Ellie who seemed mildly regretful of her idea since she was now a participant. Serves her right, Samantha thought to herself.

“Hello boys,” Mel crooned with the confidence Samatha has only ever seen Mel possess. “How’re we doing tonight?”

One of the guys turned around, easy smile already in place. “Well, I think our night just got a whole lot better.”

Samantha resisted the urge to throw up and trusted whatever Mel was planning behind her all too fake and sweet grin. “I’m sure hoping so. Y’all enjoy the game tonight?”

And that’s when Samantha noticed that the majority of the group were donning hockey jerseys. Some were for the Boston Raiders, some for their college team, others for other teams in the league.

The one who was speaking to Mel was wearing a Kent jersey. “Of course, it was a great game.”

Samantha covered her laugh with a cough. It was not a great game.

“So big hockey fans, huh?” Mel continued on, not sparing a glance at Samantha who was still recovering behind her. Ellie was standing silently a few feet back, watching everything with fascination.

“Of course, best game ever,” a guy wearing a Marlow jersey chimed in with a big grin.

“Oh absolutely,” Mel nodded solemnly and reached out to place a hand on the guy’s arm. Then her grin turned a little evil. “You know, my friend Sam is a huge hockey fan.”

Samantha willed her smile to stay put and not give away her confusion. What was Mel up to?

The group’s attention turned to her and Samantha kept her shoulders square as she felt six pairs of eyes take her in. She was going to kill Mel. She had been her friend since third grade and she would miss her, but she was going to kill her.

The Kent guy smirked, still looking at Samantha, “That’s cute.”

Samantha’s blood boiled. It was only two words, but they were heavy with implication.

Ellie muttered under her breath and Samantha couldn’t hear it clearly, but she did make out the words “pretentious douches”.

But Mel just continued to grin and then trailed her finger up the ‘pretentious dickwad’s’ arm until her hand rested on her shoulder. “I have any idea,” she smirked and looked up at the guy, tilting her head to the side. “Do you boys wanna have some fun?”

The guy nodded, seemingly under a trance, “Sure, whatever you want.”

“Let’s place a little bet. I will read off a list of random hockey trivia questions and whoever can answer the most correctly-wins. The loser buys the next round.”

“Why don’t I just buy you the drinks now?” the guy countered. “Just so we can cut to it and spend more time together.”

Mel giggled and smacked his shoulder. “Now where’s the fun in that?” she shook her head and then paused. “You’re not… you’re not scared of losing are you?”

The guy’s chest puffed out, instantly forgetting to lay on the charm. “Of course not.”

“Perfect,” Mel all but purred. “Will you be representing your team?”

“Of course.”

Mel nodded. “Like I said, I’ll read the questions and whoever answers correctly first wins the point.” She pointed to the Marlow guy. “You’ll keep score.” She pointed to a guy who hadn’t spoken and looked almost a little scared, “And you’ll be our fact checker. If either team contests an answer, we will defer to you.” The nervous guy gave Mel a salute and waved his phone in the air, signaling he’d be at the ready.

“What’re we playing to?” Marlow guy asked as he stole a napkin and pen from the bartender who had been creeping closer with curiosity.

“Best of seven,” Ellie spoke for the first time. “Whoever gets four answers correct first wins.”

Samantha grinned at the nod to the MHL playoff style. If any of the guys recognized the set up, they didn’t comment on it, just simply nodded along.

Mel arranged Samantha and the dude with the Kent jersey next to each other and then stood in front of them, ensuring neither had a view of her phone.

“Okay,” Mel cleared her throat and got the group’s attention. “Number of teams in the MHL?”

Samantha knew the answer. Instantly. Without having to even think about it. Instead of answering right away though, she glanced over at Dickwad, as she was now referring to him, and watched as uncertainty clouded his face and then to her delight, as he started muttering teams and counting off on his fingers. In his defense, he got to ten before trailing off.

When his eyes flitted side to side a few times, Samantha decided she had waited long enough. “Thirty-two,” she answered clearly and confidently.

Mel nodded in Samantha’s direction, attempting to hide her grin. “Point to Samantha.”

“Point to the hockey girls,” the Marlow guy said, making a dash in the corresponding column. Then he winced and looked up. “Wait, is that offensive?”

“If you have to ask if something is offensive, chances are it is kid,” the bartended advised from his spot from behind the bar.

The guy had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“I kinda like it,” Samantha shrugged, deciding to own it.

“Moving on.” Mel smiled and lifted her phone back up. “First team to win the Stanley cup?”

“Buffalo,” Dickwad answered quickly, accepting high fives from his bro’s, except for the score keeper and fact checker who had moved to stand behind Mel, as a display of neutrality.

“Sorry,” Mel said in a voice that didn’t sound sorry at all. “That’s incorrect. Sam, would you like to challenge?”

Samantha leaned against the bar. “Montreal.” She risked a glance at Dickwad and raised her eyebrows. “1893. Though they didn’t play in a post series final for it. It was awarded to them for being the highest-ranking team in the season. The first post season play off series was played in 1918 and the cup went to Toronto.”

Dickwad appeared baffled, mouth hanging open.

“Correct,” Mel announced. “Well, about it being Montreal. I don’t know about the rest of it.”

“Bullshit!” the man argued, shock turning into anger and pointed a finger at Samantha. “She’s making that up.”

Mel didn’t even hesitate. “Fact checker, what say you?”

After a second, the guy looked up from his phone, amusement covering his features. “She’s right. About all of it.”

“Point two for the hockey girls!” Marlow guy yelled enthusiastically. A few of the guys gave some appreciative slow claps.

Mel turned back around with her eyebrows raised, silently asking if Dickwad would like to continue arguing.

“Next question,” he muttered.

“Name the three players that were nominated for rookie of the year in 2011.”

He scoffed. “Easy. Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov and…” he trailed off. “Fuck it was…” he looked around the bar, maybe hoping for a jersey or something to help him out but nothing was there.

“Vincent Le Marie,” Samantha answered. The three rookie-of- the year nominees for 2011 were Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, and Vincent Le Marie. The honor went to Hollander.”

Dickwad pointed his finger at Samantha again she held back the urge to break it. “How do we know she knew Hollander and Rozanov before I said it? That shouldn’t count.”

Ellie couldn’t contain her groan and even the two guys standing behind Mel looked disappointed. But Mel shrugged, not phased or bothered at all. “Okay, we’ll call this one a draw. What does the abbreviation PPG stand for?”

“Powerplay Goal,” Samantha answered immediately, not wishing to drag this out any longer anymore.

Mel nodded and a third tally was added under the header ‘Hockey Girls’. The guys were now obviously rooting for her, hollering and jostling each other around.

“Alrighty Samantha, you get this one right and the game is over. Who won the 2011 All-Stars game held in Nashville?”

Samantha could have laughed, that was in fact the game that started it all. “Team Rozanov, well Team Europe, won eleven to ten against Team Hollander, aka Team North America.”

“You don’t get any extra points for showing off but let’s have our fact checker determine if you’re right,” Mel turned around.

Everyone, besides Samantha who had that game practically memorized, waited with bated breath. When the fact checker gave a nod, they guys went wild, jumping up and down, shoving each other over, screaming with their fists in the air, and overall making a big enough scene that the rest of the patrons of the bar were looking towards them.

Mel and Ellie rushed Samantha, wrapping their arms around her and kissing her cheek like she had just won a Stanley cup. Samantha accepted high fives, fist bumps, and even some hugs from the guys who came over. She was laughing and maybe even gloating a little in her win when Dickwad turned towards her.

“A bet’s a bet,” he admitted. “What’re you drinking?”

Mel gave him their drink orders and then finally withdrew from Samantha, making her way over to flirt, for real, with the score keeper. Ellie also wandered off and was holding a debate with two of the guys about the chances for the All-Star teams coming up.

“So, I was a bit of an ass,” Dickwad admitted as he handed Samantha her drink.

“You were,” She acknowledge and took a sip.

“I’m sorry about that.”

She took a moment to take him in. He looked and sounded genuine. “Thank you. Now, if you really want to make it up to me, you’ll take off that jersey. Kent sucks.”

For the next twenty minutes, Dickwad, or Peter as his parents probably call him, listened as Samantha gave an in-depth analysis on why Kent was not only a mediocre player hidden behind overzealous marketing but also a horrible person. The real win of Samantha’s night was when Peter in fact did take off Kent’s jersey.

One down. A million more to go.

Later that night Samantha, finally clean and cozy in her bed, scrolled through her phone. Highlights of that night’s game filled her feed. She didn’t really pay attention as she saw a post from a Boston player posting a picture of him and some teammates in a club, mourning their loss with the help of alcohol and dancing until she saw another picture from a different player. That bar looked familiar. She closed that app and opened her photos, scrolling back until she reached pictures of her Montreal trip. She flipped through them until she found what she was looking for, the pictures taken at the club Mel convinced them to go to. A few photos later, she had the exact angle she needed.

She flipped back to the player’s post and yeah, sure enough, that was the same club.

It was pretty cool, but she didn’t think much else about it until she continued to scroll through her feed and saw that a Montreal player had made a similar post. In the same club. And who was that in the background?

January 2017

“She’s been making lists for hours; we don’t know what to do.”

“It’s good that you called.”

Samantha rolled her eyes from her spot on the floor. She ignored the voices of Mel and her brother as she continued to scribble out her to do list, well one of them, filling the blank page with every thought her brain had, scared that if she didn’t write it down that second, she would forget it forever.

She heard heavy footsteps she’d still recognize even after not living with them for over six years. Then Michael crouched down in front of her. “Hey Sammy.”

“Hi,” she clipped and continued to make her list, flipping the page over.

“You seem… busy,” Michael said cautiously as he looked around the floor, taking stock of the various piles and notebooks.

“Applying to doctorate programs has that effect,” She nodded and reached out for a separate notebook crossing ‘make letter of recommendation to do list’ off of her ‘application to do’ list.

“We don’t apply until fall semester,” Ellie pointed out. Samantha had to be honest, she didn’t know how long Ellie had been there.

“Sounds like you have plenty of time Sammy. Why don’t you take a break?” Michael paused. “When was the last time you came up for air?”

“Last time I saw her eat something that wasn’t a protein bar was two days ago,” Mel ratted out.

“Traitor,” Samantha muttered under her breath.

Michael ignored both of them. “Why don’t we all go out for dinner or something?”

Samantha laughed. “Do you know how few doctoral programs there are that focus on sport psychology? Do you know how few spots there are for doctoral candidates interested in sports psychology?”

“I do,” Michael nodded. “Because you’ve told me. Multiple times.”

“Then you know my applications need to be perfect. Which means I need to prepare.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more prepared sport psychology doctoral candidate.” He held up his hands when Samantha raised her head to glare at him. “I’m not joking. Seriously, Sammy, you’re the most prepared person I’ve ever met. But please hear me when I say it’s time to take a break.”

Samantha looked up at her brother and her friends who were looking at her with a fair amount of concern. “I went down the spiral again, didn’t I?”

Mel and Ellie, who were standing by the couch nodded in unison.

Michael also nodded but added on, “And that’s okay. But it’s time to come out of it now. Get some food, see some daylight, go outside, that sort of thing you know?”

Samantha pushed herself up, so she was sitting. “Food does sound good.”

“There you go,” Michael said a little too encouragingly. “Plus, it’s All-Stars weekend man, we got hockey to watch.”

And that’s how, an hour later, Samantha ended up at their bar, (the sports bar had become their bar after the first successful hockey trivia showdown) with Mel, Ellie, and Michael. It may have only been a couple weeks ago, but the three of them have now successfully played out their little heist several times over. Mel would entice the group with her flirting, then Samantha would win them the drinks. Ellie pretty much just observed and provided commentary when needed but it was still a critical role. Their bank account, and their egos, loved the whole thing.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Michael laughed as the three of them rejoined him at their table, four free drinks in hand.

“It’s like taking candy from a baby,” Mel laughed.

“Never underestimate the confidence of white men,” Ellie offered.

“It’s fun,” Samantha shrugged.

Michael accepted the outstretched drink Samantha offered him. Being the only one who had a real grown-up job, dinner was on him but at least his drinks were free. “Well, Sammy, if the whole sports psychology thing doesn’t work out you have a pretty good back up in trivia. It would have to be hockey specific trivia but still.”

Samantha shoved him but Michael just laughed. The four of them settled in to eat their dinner, which consisted of several different appetizers and caught up about everything new, and not so new, in each of their lives.

“You excited for the game?” Michael asked right before said game came on.

Of course she was. Shane Hollander and Illya Rozanov were playing together. As in, on the same team. As teammates. Together.

Putting her fangirl tendencies and fantasies aside, which was hard, she was excited to see how these two phenomes would meld their talents and abilities when they weren’t focused on competing against each other. They may never have the opportunity to see this again.

“I’m excited that Hollander and Rozanov will be on the screen at the same time and Ellie won’t be putting hexes on Hollander,” Samantha laughed.

“Temporary reprieve I promise,” Ellie swore as she brought her second free drink up to her lips.

The game started and the four of them lost their minds. Not even bothering to pretend to play it cool, they spent the next forty-five minutes making an absolute scene in the bar. Pounding on the table, yelling at the refs, screaming when an absurd number of goals were made, and so on and so forth.

Samantha was having such a fun time she forgot all about the stress of applying to doctoral programs, which she guessed was her friends and brother’s goal all along.

In the third period she watched as Shane sprinted down the ice towards the net, passing the puck to Ilya who was tapping his blade against the ice. Ilya maneuvered around the all-too-laxed defense until Shane was open and signaling back to Ilya that he was ready to accept a pass. Ilya sent it flying over to him without even looking his way. And a second later, Shane had the puck in the back of the net.

They, of course, went wild yet again, but Samantha kept her eye on the screen. As the team celebrated, Ilya skated his way over to Shane. But he didn’t slow down when he reached him. Instead, he slammed right into him, wrapping a gloved hand around Shane’s helmet and then…

And then Ilya Rozanov kissed Shane Hollander on the cheek.

Mel, Ellie, and Michael all whipped around to Samantha.

Samantha who, being a calm and reasonable person, passed the fuck out.

March 2017

“It’s so good to have you both home!” their mom practically squealed as she wrapped her arms around Samantha and Michael. They both indulged her even though it had been less than two months since the last time they had both been home at the same time.

“Mom, that airport security guy who looks like he takes his job really seriously is staring at us,” Samantha whispered from where her mom had her pinned to her shoulder.

“Ah yes, let’s get going. We only have a couple of days, no need to spend more time than necessary at the airport,” their mom released them and the trio quickly loaded into the car.

“Quick, before we’re arrested,” Michael joked to their father as they closed the doors and buckled in. Their father just laughed and pulled away from the curb.

It was Samantha’s spring break and even though Michael was obviously done with such things and a real-life adult with jobs and responsibilities, he had a couple of days off and joined Samantha on her quick trip home.

“That’s odd.” Her brother muttered to himself, looking down at his phone.

“What is?” Samantha pretended to peer over at his screen. “Your date actually text you back? Because that is odd.”

He palmed her face and shoved her away because no matter how old you get, some things never change. “No. I was checking the time for the Boston game tonight and saw this,” he tilted the screen so Samantha could see it. “Rozanov is a scratch.”

“Maybe he’s hurt,” their dad suggested.

“No,” Samantha shook her head. “Or at least he didn’t seem like it in his last game.”

“Could be sick,” their mom shrugged. “Even hockey players get colds.”

“He’s not,” she said as if she had a direct connection to this man, which she didn’t. But she did have a feeling something was going on.

“She’s right,” Michael backed her up. “This says he’s a healthy scratch so not injured or sick.”

Samantha took her own phone out and did some over her own digging. A few minutes later her shoulders sagged. “His dad died.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” her mom breathed out, a hand on her chest.

“Poor kid,” their dad shook his head.

Michael said something as well, but Samantha didn’t really catch what he said. She was staring out her window, her brain moving in two very different directions. One half of her brain was thinking through how the human brain processes and deals with grief and loss, thinking about all the different ways grief can show up and impact peoples’ lives and disrupt their daily living. She was thinking about interventions and support, therapeutic techniques to help combat the ramifications of loss. She was thinking about support systems and their crucial role in moving through grief. Who was Ilya Rozanov’s support system, she wondered. She knew very little about his family life, even as invested as she was. Shane was more open about his family, often seen with his parents and talked about how close the three of them were. Rozanov was more vague when asked about his home life. She had never seen him with his parents publicly. Maybe one photo with his dad on the day of the draft. From what she remembered, the photo looked very staged. She found an old post about his brother pre-draft but nothing since. And there hadn’t ever been any mentions of his mother.

In a very para social way, Samantha sent out a silent plea into the universe that Ilya Rozanov had at least one person to lean on through this.

The other half of her brain went in the direction of bringing up her own personal experience with loss. She had been pretty lucky. The only real experience she had was when her great aunt had died a couple of years ago. They hadn’t been particularly close for a while, but Samantha did have fond memories of the woman from when she was younger. She had been sad at the funeral, but what she hadn’t expected was the awkwardness. She didn’t really know what to do or say or really even how to feel.

It wasn’t until the officiant looked at her at the gravesite right before the burial, and said “Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?” that she felt like someone understood. Someone put words to how she was feeling.

And that was the thing Samantha kept with her for years later. Whenever she had to help someone through their grief and loss, she wouldn’t try to placate them or force them to look on the bright side. She wouldn’t try to understand how they were feeling. She would just hold their hand, or put her hand on their shoulder and say, “Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it.”

April 2017

“Cheers to surviving another year!” Ellie sang out cheerfully and raised her glass.

Mel joined her, “And only having one more left.”

“Speak for yourself,” Samantha grumbled but smiled as they all clinked their- free- drinks together and took a long pull. They were celebrating the end of the junior year, and of course they were doing so by winning free drinks in their bar and waiting for the game to start.

It was Boston at Montreal tonight, so Samantha was extra excited and Mel had already shown off the photo of Ellie in her Hollander jersey to at least six people. Ellie had sworn to the offended Bostonians she did it under extreme duress and has since burned the offending article of clothing. Samantha kept it to herself that she saw it still tucked away in her closet just last week when she went searching to borrow a shirt.

Of course, the bar was a little busier than usual since it was Boston versus Montreal but the magic of their bar persisted and they still managed to snag their usual table, didn’t have to wait too long for drinks, and the volume stayed at an overall very enjoyable hum.

They took a photo together, as per tradition, Ellie in her Rozanov jersey, Samantha in her Hollander jersey, and Mel in a crewneck that read, “I just hope both teams have fun”.

Settling back into the booth, they munched on their appetizers as the game began. Samantha was excited about this game, both of the teams, and their captains, seemingly out of whatever funk they were in pre All- Stars. Both teams had been performing well and back to their usual level of excellence. This was the first time they would be facing each other since breaking the curse so it should be an exciting game.

“Oh, come on and just kiss already!” Samantha whined as Shane and Ilya sent flirty looks to each other during the face off.

“I’ll give you one thing, you certainly stand by your beliefs,” Mell said, popping a mac and cheese bite into her mouth.

“Even if they are incredibly wrong,” Ellie shook her head.

Samantha flipped them off while simultaneously firing off a quick post. When she was done, she locked her phone and sat it down on the table. She was reaching for a fry when it happened.

Marlow came seemingly out of nowhere, but also right where everyone would expect him to be, and crashed into Hollander.

For the first time ever, Samantha wished the camera crews weren’t so incredible at their jobs because hearing the sickening thud as Hollanders body made contact with the ice made her stomach twist.

The cameras stayed on Hollander.

Hollander stayed on the ice.

The entire bar went silent. No one moved. No spoke. No one breathed.

Samantha had been watching hockey for a long time now. She had been watching hockey in this bar for a while. She was accustomed to the array of reactions people displayed when a player was injured. Shock. Anger. Sympathy. Elation.

But not this time. There was no jeering. No cheers. Not even a gasp.

There was nothing but the sound of a roomful of people holding their breath as they all watched medics take to the ice, laid down a backboard, and then lifted Hollander onto the stretcher. What all happened in a couple of minutes felt like an hour.

And while everyone else watched what was happening to Hollander, Samantha and at least one camera operator, couldn’t take their eyes off of Rozanov.

June 2017

“How long is the regular season?” Mel read, gripping her phone tightly.

“194 days, spanning from October to June,” Samantha rushed out. She was facing her toughest opponent yet, a tattooed woman with a black bob that the group of guys picked as their representative after accepting Mel’s bet. The ol’ bait and switch. The Stanley Cup game was usually easy pickings because everyone came out to watch the game, even those who had never watched a game of hockey in their lives. And the first three times were easy, resulting in many free drinks being handed to them.

But now Samantha was feeling rather tipsy, which was not helping her as she actually had to try for the first time since they started this little game.

“You got this. Breathe. Focus.” Ellie said and massaged her shoulders. Unfortunately, the vodka on her breath was not helping Samantha focus.

The score was now tied three to three and Samantha took a deep breath and blinked a few times trying to sober her brain up a little bit. It wasn’t really working but she locked in anyways as Mel read the last question. “Who was awarded the MHL MVP in 2014?”

“Ilya Rozanov!” Samantha blurted out, before putting her hands on her knees and breathing hard like she had just run a marathon instead of answering a few trivia questions. When she caught her breath, she stood up and held out her hand. “That was fun.”

The woman with the black bob smiled and shook her hand, “It was. Now tell me what you’re drinking so I can go lick my wounds.”

“I thought you were going to lose that one,” Michael chided as the trio slid back into their booth.

“I almost did!” Samantha admitted as she sat down. “She knew her stuff. It was impressive.”

“And yet you still eked out a win,” Ellie bumped her fist a little too enthusiastically, causing a little bit of drink to splash out of her cup and onto the table. “Proud of you.”

“Have you ever thought about how much money your crazy brain has saved us?” Mel pondered. “I mean how many free drinks and appetizers have you won?”

“You know that’s a great point,” Samantha pointed at her friends and brother, “I should start charging you three for my services.” She tapped her temple. “This knowledge doesn’t come for free ya know, I earned this.”

The table interrupted into laughter and then settle back into silence as the intermission concluded and New York and Los Angelos retook the ice.

Samantha watched with relatively calm interest. The Metros hadn’t made it very far at all into the playoffs with Hollander still out with his injuries after the nasty hit from Marlow. The Raider’s made it until the conference final but were knocked out by the Admirals. Which was impressive since Samantha was pretty sure Ilya was playing with at least a few broken ribs.

Of course, Samantha wished that Boston was in the running for the cup, but she did have to admit, to herself and no one else, that she was happy for Scott Hunter. Mild brush up with Hollander aside, she admired him as a player and as a person. So, if she had to have a third pick on who was going to win the cup, it would definitely be Scott Hunter.

Which is why, when the timer ran out and Scott lifted the cup above his head, she said “Good for Scott Hunter,” with a genuine smile.

The players took their turn skating around the rink with the cup, and the families came out to celebrate with their players, and the normal celebrations started to take place. People stopped paying attention to the screens, instead went back up to the bar to order another round, starting to dive into the food they had been too distracted to eat, or just picked up conversations with their friends, like Ellie, Mel, and Michael were doing.

Samantha though, kept her eyes on the TV’s. Every so often the cameras would turn back to Hunter who was looking rather conflicted for someone who just won the cup. A camera trailed him as he skated towards the boards and started waving his hand.

Was he waving someone down?

Yup, that’s what he was doing. A figure started to move and then made their way towards the stairs.

What was taking them so long?

Finally, a man jumped the boards and was pulled onto the ice.

“Guys,” Samantha reached out and grabbed onto her brother and Mel who had her stuck between them. They didn’t pay her any attention. “Guys!” she practically yelled and squeezed their arms harder, nails digging into their skin.

“Ouch!” Mel yelled and tried to jerk her arm away.

Michael whipped his head towards her. “What?”

She nodded towards the screen. “Something is happening.”

Her brother rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing down a fan. They do that sometimes.”

“Something. Is. Happening.” Samantha insisted, not taking her eyes off the screen.

Michael continued. “Sometimes it’s a scripted thing like they won a contest or a raffle or…”

Samantha turned, eyebrows raised. “Now how exactly do I enter that contest?” She asked, finger pointed at the TV that was currently zoomed in on Scott Hunter absolutely devouring a man’s face.

June 2018

“Don’t you think we’ve outgrown this?” Samantha asked from their table at their bar.

“Taking advantage of the overconfidence of unsuspecting men?” Ellie asked rhetorically. “No, I don’t think I will ever outgrow that.”

“Please,” Mel begged. “For me. For old times sake? What if this is the last time we’re ever here? Together?”

Samantha gave her a leveled look. “You graduated three months ago, and despite all your talk about moving away, you’re still here. And me and Ellie are locked in for at least four more years. So, pretty safe in saying this will not be the last time we’re all here.”

“So, for me then?” Mel blinked and stuck out her bottom lip.

Samantha groaned. “Fine. El, pick the target.”

Ellie scanned the bar, her typical evil grin in place. But when her eyes landed on someone, her grin became more knowing than evil. “Three o’clock, brown hair, green sweater, dark jeans.” When they walked over, she added, “Sam needs to do the intro, he’ll run if Mel does it.”

“I’m not that aggressive,” Mel muttered but fell back so she and Ellie were flanking Samantha.

Over the year and a half they had been running this scheme, they’ve tested several different ways of launching the bet. Sometimes they went with the classic and had Mel flirt with the unsuspecting victim. Sometimes Ellie walked right up to them and insinuated she knew they were a fake hockey fan based off of some minuscule detail about themselves- that was the rage baiting tactic. And sometimes, the easiest approach was having Samantha simply ask ‘Hey, wanna make a bet?’. It was always Ellie who called the shots in how they set their approach, her knack for reading people was uncanny.

Which is why when green sweater guy laughed after Samantha delivered her standard line, she floundered. That had never happened before. She turned back to her friends who were no help. Mel’s eyes were wide in disbelief and Ellie just gave her a wrist a roll, indicating Samantha should carry on.

“Sorry,” Samantha awkwardly laughed as she turned back around. “I asked if you wanted to make a bet.”

Green sweater guy just laughed again and shook his head. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. But no, I do not want to make a bet. I specifically do not want to make a bet with you.”

Samantha was taken aback. His words were on the mean side, but he was smiling and he sounded almost amused. “Can I ask… why not?” She was genuinely curious.

“I don’t make bets I know I’ll lose,” he said simply. “And I’d definitely lose the bet you’re wanting to make.”

Samantha turned around, looking for back up but found nothing except for Ellie pulling a very confused Mel back a couple of feet until they sat in a couple bar stools down the bar. ‘What the fuck?’ she mouthed at her friends.

“My name is Jackson by the way,” Green sweater guy pulled Samantha’s attention back to himself. “But you can call me Jack.”

“I’m Samantha,” she answered. “But you can call me-”

“Sam,” he filled in. “Yeah, not to be creepy but I’ve been watching your guy’s little hustle routine for a while now. It’s impressive.” Jack shook head like he was in disbelief. “I played hockey from the time I could walk up until college, so I know my shit…” he made the most direct eye contact with Samantha that she had ever experienced in her life. “…but not like you.”

Samantha was probably supposed to say something at this point. Something witty. Something charming. Something cute or funny. She’d settle for anything really because all that came out of her open mouth was…air.

But that was okay because Jack continued. “So no, Sam, I don’t want to make a bet with you because while I don’t mind embarrassing myself, I’d much rather do something that impresses you- the pretty girl at the bar who has repeatedly blown me away by her ability humble complete strangers.”

Samantha’s brain kicked back on, finally. She leaned against the bar, putting her chin in her palm. “So, what kind of secret talents are you going to whip out here in the bar?”

Jack smiled and looked around before snapping his fingers and then pointing across the bar. “I’m an ace at darts. You’ll have no choice but to fall in love with me after I so graciously kick your ass.”

Samantha laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to let me win?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “You’d hate that.” He narrowed his eyes at her, “Is this when you tell me you’re also secretly a sniper and are about to kick my ass at darts?”

Samantha shrugged. “Wanna buy me a drink and find out?”

Jack nodded and grabbed the attention of the bartender, ordering Samantha her usual. He also sent two drinks down to where Mel and Ellie were still unabashedly watching them.

Drinks in hand, they made their way over to the corner of the bar that houses the few dart boards. Samantha put down her drink and picked up a few of the darts, getting a feel for them. “So. What’s your game?” She turned to Jack. “501 or 301?”

Jack’s chin hit his chest with a groan. “I’m not leaving here with my ego intact, am I?”

Samantha raised her hand and flicked her wrist, sending the dart flying until it landed perfectly in the center of the board. Bullseye. She turned back towards Jack and tilted her head. “Sorry.”

Jack huffed. “No, you’re not.”

They each threw a few more darts. For all his doubts Jackson held his own just fine. Samantha was impressed.

She wasn’t going to let him win just for the sake of his ego, but she was impressed. They were neck and neck, it coming down to the final few throws.

She breathed deeply as she took her stance, one foot in front of the other, dart up near her ear. Her eyes flicked towards her left when she felt Jackson step up next to her. He bent down a little so he was whispering into her ear. “Did you hear the rumors that Ilya Rozanov is in contract negotiations with the Ottawa Centaurs?”

“What?” Samantha yelled, shock cursing through her, of course this also caused her to lose focus and sent her dart wide. She slowly turned, her face now inches away from Jack’s. He was smirking, which caused a not horrible looking dimple to pop out on his left cheek. “Oh, so this is how you play?”

He just smirked and stepped up to take his next shot. “All is fair right?”

Right, Samantha thought to herself. Which is why when Jackson drew back his hand she leaned in and whispered, “Ilya Rozanov and Shane Hollander have been together since the summer before their rookie year.”

His shot didn’t even hit the board.

March 2021

Samantha was in her office, transcribing an audio recording of one of her patient sessions she had held earlier in the week, when the back door slammed shut so hard she felt the rattle under her feet. She slipped off her headphones and heard her fiancés familiar, but quickened, footsteps pound against the floor as he made his way through their house.

Samantha was on track to finish her doctoral program this spring thanks to an accelerated program she was accepted into. It had been three hard, grueling years but she was determined to get into the field as fast as she could. Plus, she swore she wouldn’t marry Jackson until after she completed her degree. There was no way she was planning a wedding in the middle of also becoming a doctor. She was good but even she was that good. She was excited to finish early for so many reasons, but she would be lying if she didn’t admit that marrying Jack was a big one.

They bought a house together after two years of dating. The decision felt a little rushed on Samantha’s side, but the timing worked out when Mel found her dream job and Ellie finished her graduate program. They had a very tearful goodbye with the house that was home all six years they lived together but luckily Jackson had enough foresight to find a house with extra spare bedroom. Mel and Ellie had a designated room for when they came over, which was often.

The rushed feet abruptly stopped at her door before there was rapid knocking at the door. Samantha laughed to herself while also admiring her fiancés dedication to maintaining her privacy in her office even while he was clearly very excited about something. “Come in,” she called out.

She didn’t even have the words all the way out when Jackson opened the door and rushed inside. “Sam.”

She did a quick scan of his body to make sure he was physically alright; he was outside doing landscaping after all. Other than filthy clothes and some very sweaty and messy hair, he looked intact. “Yes, dear?”

“You remember how you told me you once had a Tumblr account where you posted all your theories about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?”

Samantha crossed her arms. “I told you that once in confidence in a moment of vulnerability and I have regretted it ever since.”

Truth be told, she really only let the account go inactive around 2018. She started her doctoral program and simply became too busy with the athletes who were actually in her life to focus so much on the athletes on the screen. She still watched their games of course; some things never change.

Jack waved in front of him like he was dismissing her words. “Please tell me you still have the password.”

Of course she did. It was Hollanov08! as were most of her passwords. But there were some things that even her fiancé didn’t need to know.

So instead of answering his question, she asked her own. “Why are you brining this up? What’s happening Jack?”

“You were right,” is all he said.

“Right about what?” Samantha asked, still very confused.

“About Hollander and Rozanov,” he said urgently, shoving his phone into her hands. “You were right about all of it.”

She furrowed her eyebrows as she took the phone. Pressing play on the video that he had pulled up. Her eyes widened as the video played. She had to watch it again, just to make sure she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. And sure enough, she was.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, handing the phone back to Jack. Her own phone, that was sitting on her desk, started to vibrate. Her brother’s face lit up the screen. She picked it up and raised it to her face. “Michael-”

“Sammy you were right.” He interrupted her. “It was worth it. All this time. It was worth it.”

Chapter End Notes

Congrats on finishing this chapter! Grab a drink. Stretch it out. This was a long one.

Speaking of social media- you can find me on threads @moreloonslesslunacy
if you want but I'll be honest, even though I've had the account since i became obsessed with heated rivalry, i only began posting when i wrote this fic(:

Note: I know that for the Raiders’ cup win, it wasn’t the last game of the season (as much fun as it would be to go to San Fransico) but for the purpose of this story- it had to be. Apologies for the inaccuracy)

Chapter 5: The Bartender Hiding on a Rooftop Bar

Chapter Summary

A hotel employee was sent to close down the rooftop bar during some sport award event and saw more than he bargained for.

Chapter Notes

Welcome back(:

Date: June 2011

Location: Las Vegas

“Aiden, do me a favor and run up to the roof and breakdown that bar, yeah?”

The last thing Aiden, the twenty-three-year-old English literature student who was spending his summer as a bartender in a swanky hotel, wanted to do was run anywhere nor breakdown anything. He had already spent the past eight hours working the bar downstairs, the one in the main event space that was currently being used to host the MHL awards ceremony.

Which meant that he had spent the last eight hours slinging drinks to a bunch of hockey bros and people who were rubbing elbows with the hockey bros. Which meant he spent eight hours switching between cracking open beers and mixing absurdly pretentious cocktails. Except for that one guy who just ordered a bunch of ginger ale.

But alas, this was his job. And it paid him well. Well enough, in fact, that he didn’t have to work during the semester, which gave him more room in his schedule for classes and kept him on track to graduate early.

So, instead of flailing dramatically to the marble flooring like he wanted to do, he nodded and gave his boss a “Sure thing,” before heading towards the staff elevator.

“Oh, and make sure to kick out any stragglers and lock the place up.”

Aiden gave his boss another nod as the elevators closed. He let out a breath and leaned against the sides, letting his forehead hit against the cool metal doors. Two more hours, he thought to himself, two more hours and he was out the door.

The elevator stuttered to a stop and with a soft chime, the doors opened to the back half of the rooftop patio. At least the players tipped well, he admitted as he made his way towards the bar, picking up discarded glasses along the way.

With a yawn, he stashed them on the cart hidden behind the bar. He grabbed the rag, which was also hanging on the cart, and turned to begin wiping down the bar. But he came to a halt when something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He threw down the rag and leaned forward, peering around the tall planters and lamps that were scattered across the patio.

There was a man standing against the glass railing on the other side of the rooftop. Aiden couldn’t make much out due to the dim lighting, but the man was tall, broad shoulders with a tamed mop of blonde curls on the top of his head. The glow of lights from the Las Vegas strip illuminated his face just enough that Aiden could make out a very serious and stoney face. He had a lit cigarette in one hand and was gripping the top of the railing hard with the other.

Aiden didn’t know much about hockey, but he recognized this man. He had come up the bar and order a very expensive pour of Russian vodka, thanked him with a very generous tip, and then high tailed it out of the room. Aiden hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night. How long had he been up here?

Technically, he was supposed to kick all the stragglers out before he started to break down the bar. It was policy, and he learned in the past month or so that the people at this hotel loved their policies. They had policies for everything. And Aiden could get behind that. But what was the harm in letting this guy get some fresh air, or well- mildly smoke polluted air, and take in the view for a little longer while Aiden finished up his work? He’d kick the man out before he left but based on how tense his shoulders were and how he hadn’t even moved one inch since Aiden noticed him, he needed the space.

Decision made, Aiden picked up the towel and finished wiping the counter. Every now and then his eyes would flick up, just to check, and sure enough, the man was still standing there; his only movements being the raising and lowering of the cigarette to his mouth.

Aiden was crouched below the bar, messing with the ice chest when he heard the unmistakable sound of a door swinging open and then clicking shut. He stifled a groan and let his forehead thump against the chest. One person up here was fine but if a whole group just came up, he was going to have to kick them all out.

But he listened and he only heard one set of footsteps. Okay, Aiden decided, he’d let the two people stay but he was definitely getting up and telling them they’d have to leave as soon as he was done and then he was going to lock the god damn door.

“Don’t know if it’s worth jumping over,” a voice that definitely wasn’t the man who had ordered the vodka spoke, breaking the silence that had previously blanketed the patio.

The conversation continued for a bit, but Aiden couldn’t make it all out. Any second now and he would get up, make his presence known, and politely ask these two people to leave at their earliest convenience. Any second now.

“All you do is beat me. I win one stupid fucking thing, and you can’t even show your face down there!”

Woah, not vodka guy sounded mad. And a little drunk. Aiden was so screwed. This was going to turn into a whole brawl; he could just tell. Hopefully, this guy wasn’t also a hockey player. They weren’t exactly known for keeping their tempers under control.

“What was that?” The same guy asked, sounding even more annoyed than he did a second ago.

“Not everything is about you, Hollander!” the other man finally spoke, or more like yelled.

Why hadn’t Aiden just kicked these two out when he had the chance? He sat on the ground, his back leaning up against the mini fridge. No way was he jumping in between whatever the hell this was. He was staying firmly behind this counter until these two hashed out whatever they needed to figure out. Shouldn’t take too long, right?

He leaned forward and grabbed a bag of chips that someone had stashed down here at some point. Maybe he should be a little curious about how long exactly this bag of Cheetos had been stashed here but he was desperate and obviously low on options.

“So, what is it then?” The first guy, Hollander apparently, asked. Poor guy actually sounded a little confused. A little desperate too, like he just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“What the fuck do you want?” the blonde guy shouted.

To know that the fuck is wrong with you... obviously. Aiden rolled his eyes, munching on a Cheeto.

“Nothing!” Hollander protested. “I just wanted to see the view and get some air and-”

Weak excuse man, Aiden thought.

“And what?!” The Russian, that was defiantly a Russian accent, yelled. Aiden could make it out better now, since the guy was nearly screaming. Aiden recognized something in that anger. Something way too familiar to him. It was more than just anger. It was frustration, confusion, a certain amount of helplessness. “Here is fucking view Hollander, check it out. Fuck!”

They were the only two on this roof, and yet the Russian man kept saying Hollander’s name. I think he likes saying his name.

But what was his problem? Why was he biting this guy’s head off? Did they hate each other or something?

There was a long silent pause, and Aiden wracked his brain trying to come up with the name of the other man on this roof. He thought about the pieces he knew. Hockey player. Russian. Vodka. Also, and this was Aiden’s own personal observation- a fantastic ass.

Oh my god, it’s Ilya Rozanov.

Again, Aiden didn’t really follow hockey. But come on, he knew these two. They actually did hate each other. Hollander had actually just beaten Rozanov for some award tonight. But was that really why they were up here shouting at each other?

“I go home in three days,” Rozanov was no longer shouting. But his voice was tight and controlled, like he was trying not to yell. Anger still coated his words but now there was a slight edge of pleading, like he was begging someone to understand what he wasn't saying.

Ah, Aiden nodded, understanding. He knew that anger had been an echo of his own.

Home, Russia, was obviously a touchy subject for Rozanov. He wasn’t excited to return home now that the season was over. That’s why he was angry and subsequently shouting at Hollander.

Good, he thought, Hollander will pick up on this. They’ll talk it out and then get out of here.

“Okay,” Hollander let out something that almost sounded like a chuckle. “That must be nice.”

Aiden closed his eyes. He lived on this rooftop now. He was never going to be able to leave. He would die up here.

Of course, Hollander would think Ilya should be happy about going home. Aiden met Shane's mom and dad tonight. They were lovely. Sure, it was only for about two minutes while they ordered their drinks, but he could tell. Anyone with parents as lovely as Yuna and David would assume that home is good.

Aiden waited for Rozanov to say something, anything, to give Hollander some sort of idea of what he was thinking, to give him any indication of what he was going through. He was met with silence. And then even more silence. Eventually there was a sigh, a very loud sigh, that he could hear from all the way across the rooftop. Then silence yet again.

Oh, come on! Aiden wanted to yell. He can’t read your mind man. Aiden had learned that lesson the hard way. Constantly angry at the people around him for not knowing about his own personal shitty situation until he realized that he was the only one that could tell them.

Hollander was the one that finally broke the silence. “And I guess I thought maybe we…” Maybe we what Hollander? Aiden was wrapped tighter than a spring, desperate to hear the end of that sentence. “Never mind.”

No! These two were going to kill him at the ripe age of twenty-three. His heart couldn’t take this.

“Okay. I’m gonna…” Hollander’s voice trailed off and something in his tone broke something deep in Aiden’s chest. He sounded… dejected almost. Like he was giving up on something.

Aiden listened as Hollander’s, he assumed, dress shoes tapped against the flooring on his way down the stairs.

“I guess I’ll uh… see you next season.” Hollander said cordially like he was speaking to a colleague. Which Aiden guessed was true. But he had just listened to these two go at it with a certain level of passion that didn’t line up with the narrative that he had been fed all night.

Rozanov didn’t respond, but a second later Aiden heard footsteps follow in the same direction as Hollander’s, towards the door. He was actually disappointed, sure he wanted, needed, these two to leave but like that? Aiden kind of wanted to cry.

Instead, he stashed the bag of Cheetos back where he found them and pushed up off the ground until he was standing again. He turned, trying to remember where he put the bottle of-

Oh my god.

Hollander and Rozanov hadn’t left. They were in fact standing even closer to the bar than they had been earlier. Aiden’s heart raced and he broke out into a cold sweat. They were so going to catch him.

He stood there for another second, waiting for them to notice him. He prepared himself for their anger and tried to come up with a valid excuse as to why he had just been hiding there like a creep. He did have a good reason, right?

But a few seconds later, and neither of them whirled around to yell at him. Aiden looked up from where he was staring holes into the bar top and finally took a good look at the two.

Oh.

My.

God.

They hadn’t noticed he was standing there because they were just a little bit busy absolutely devouring each other. Rozanov had Hollander pinned to the wall of the hotel and Hollander looked like that’s exactly where he wanted to be. One hand tangled into the blonde curls, the other clutching Rozanov’s jaw like he was afraid he was going to disappear.

Aiden was not proud of what he did next. Maybe it was because he was so sleep deprived he thought there was a possibility this whole thing was a hallucination, but he needed proof. Proof he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Proof that this was real. And so, he took out his phone, opened up the camera, and snapped a picture.

Still looking through the screen, he saw the two of them separate. Rozanov tried to go back in for more, but Hollander dodged him.

Finally thinking with his logical brain, Aiden crouched down again, hidden safely behind the bar. His heart was racing, his breaths coming out in little pants, and he was pretty sure his hands were shaking around his phone.

“What the fuck are you doing?” That was Hollander. “We’re both in tuxedos out in public.”

Reality sunk back in for Aiden. They were hiding. Of course they were hiding. The two biggest MHL stars could not be gay. Aiden was lucky enough that he had finally found his people. People that loved him and supported him. People that made sure he was safe.

It was not safe for Hollander and Rozanov.

Rozanov laughed. “No one is looking.”

Well...

“You don’t know that.”

Point to Hollander.

Aiden heard a brief scuffle, like they were pushing each other around. He was dying to take a peek but kept himself firmly planted on the ground. Not only because he didn’t want to get caught but also because he was finally realizing that this was none of his damn business.

He listened as he heard footsteps yet again. Just one set.

“See you next season,” Rozanov called out.

Hollander didn’t respond.

“Hollander.” Rozanov tried again.

A door opening. A door closing.

Silence.

Footsteps again.

Footsteps that were definitely not following Hollander towards the door. Instead, he tracked them back to the railing. He sighed and grabbed the bag of Cheetos. Better get comfy.

As he waited, he unlocked his phone, pulling up the photo. From his spot at the bar, he had pretty much the perfect angle. He could see the side profile of both men and even though it was a grainy and distorted image, it was clear what was happening. Moreso, you could feel what was happening.

Aiden vowed right then and there that he would keep this whole night, picture included, to himself. He wouldn’t tell, or show, anyone what he heard or saw. Their secret was safe with him.

He did, however, open his notes app, assuring that the time stamp was located at the top and typed:

He attached the photo to the note and locked it, typing out a password only he knew.

There. It was safe now. He closed out of the app and locked his phone. With his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, he placed the bag of Cheetos in his lap and leaned forward until he grasped a bottle of beer with his fingertips. Luckily, he still had the bottle opener in his pocket. Taking a long, refreshing drink, he sighed.

What a day.

Eventually, Rozanov left the rooftop. Aiden escaped from his hiding place, ran to the door to lock it, and finished closing down the bar. When his boss questioned him about what took him so long, Aiden stumbled some excuse about the rooftop being a mess. His boss gave him a sideways look but didn’t question it. After clocking out, Aiden was, finally, on his way home.

Aiden kept his promise. He never spoke of that night to anyone. Truth was, it wasn’t really that hard of a thing to do. None of his friends were hockey people and they definitely weren’t having causal conversations about the possibility of queer hockey players.

He did, however, make sure to never lose that note, with its time stamp, and the photo he took. Aiden didn’t know why he kept it, he was never going to share it with anyone, but it was important to him. So, with every update he made sure it was backed up. And when he had to get a new phone, he emailed it to himself just to be sure.

But he never told anyone.

Until March of 2021 that is.

“I’ve known for years!” Aiden wailed, probably louder than is socially acceptable at a table in the middle of a restaurant during the brunch rush. He didn’t care. He had been holding this in for far too long.

“Years!” He shoved his phone into each of his friends’ faces, making them all take a turn with the grainy image that has survived the transfer to six different phones. “And I have said nothing!”

“Which is honestly very impressive for you,” Annie acknowledged, her black stiletto nails curling around her mimosa. “Because remember when you told me about how you were planning a surprise birthday party? For me?”

Aiden nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. Imagine the turmoil I have been in for the last decade! Literally, it’s been ten years.”

“You’re very brave,” Chaz, Aiden’s partner, patted him on the knee.

“That kiss made me believe in things I didn’t even want to believe in. Like love. And fate and destiny, all the bullshit. Maybe even God.” He nodded as his friends laughed. “God was present in that kiss let me tell ya friends. But then after I saw this world changing kiss, I had to keep it to myself.” Aiden slumped back in his chair, head tilted back, arms hanging loosely over the sides. “It’s been torture.”

“Send me that terrible photo you have,” Beth pulled her always present laptop out of her shoulder bag.

“Bethany Ann.” Aiden sat up straight. “Did you not hear me just now. For ten years, I have protected this photo with my life. Saved it from the trash bin. Recovered it from an accidental delete during the terrible upgrade of 2015. Kept it hidden and safe and cared for. Do you think that now I would simply release it into the wild so vultures and-”

“I’m going to use my editing software so it doesn't look like it was taken with a baked potato.” Beth cut him off and opened up her laptop.

“Oh, for sure, fucks yes.” Aiden sent the photo. While Beth got to work, a divot forming between her eyebrows as she focused, he went finally dived into his omelet. He had been too eager to reenact that fateful night the second the final member of their group arrived to eat. His eggs were a bit cold now, but it was well worth it.

Ten minutes later, his phone dinged. He opened the message from Beth mid chew and then promptly dropped his fork. “Bethany Ann!”

“That’s not even my middle name,” she shook her head and slid her laptop back into her bag.

“Girl whatever,” Aiden waived her protest away still staring down at the phone. The photo that previously pixelated, dark, and grainy was now clear, in focus, and lightened. Aiden could see details he never noticed before. It was beautiful. “This is magic. Are you a witch?”

“I prefer photographer for twelve plus years but sure.”

Aiden passed his phone around, letting the entire group bask in Beth’s brilliance.

“I deleted it off my phone and didn’t save it on my laptop, so you are still the only person in the world with that photo,” Beth assured him.

“They probably have no photos together,” Chaz whispered.

Aiden turned to them. “What’s that babe?”

They shrugged. “I was just thinking, about how Beth deleted the photo off her phone so there wouldn’t be any proof you sent the picture. They probably did that too, right? Deleted everything they had with each other that was proof of their relationship? Pictures, texts, voicemails. Maybe not now, or even recently, but definitely at the very beginning at least.”

The group fell silent.

“That sucks,” Andy shook his head.

Everyone turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“What?” he held his hands in the air. “It does! Sometimes it’s okay just to say, ‘that sucks’.”

The group thought about that and collectively nodded.

“Anyways,” Chaz continued. “I was just thinking about how they probably don’t have any photos of the two of them together. Not ones that weren’t staged for media things at least.” They pointed down at Aiden’s phone. “They definitely don’t have any photos like that.”

Aiden looked down at the photo, thinking about all the pictures he has with Chaz. Photos of the two of them together, holding hands, kissing, sitting next to each other on the couch, just existing. Together. They were proof of their relationship. History documented. Aiden looked through those photos when he felt lonely or was missing Chaz. Sometimes when he was just bored.

He tried to imagine not having those photos. Not feeling safe enough to keep little mementos of any kind. That aching feeling he felt in his chest that night on the roof was back. But maybe he could do something about it this time.

“Should I… should I try to send this to them?”

Chapter End Notes

Someone's going to have big feelings about this picture one day...

I wonder who it could be???

Chapter 6: The Tennant in F1

Chapter Summary

Brad always thought it was really convenient that his landlord lived in the same building as him. Issues got taken care of quickly and he always knew where to find him if something really went horribly wrong. Plus, Shane Hollander was an amazing landlord. And an even better neighbor. So, he had no complaints. At least not until December 2013.

Chapter Notes

Do I really think that Shane did the day-to-day tasks of being a landlord? No. He probably had someone manage that for him. Do I really think that his walls in his fancy ass apartment would be thin enough to cause issues? Also no. Do I really think that- shhhhhh suspend your reality with me for a little while. Okay? It’s more fun over here.

But do I think Shane would ask for an exit survey after a tenant leaves? Yeah, that one I do believe.

Date: December 2013

Location: Montreal

Brad shuddered a little as he tossed the bag of garbage into the dumpster behind his apartment. It was his own fault; he tried to cook fish tacos tonight for dinner and something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. Which is why he was out here in the middle of the night in an alley that- even he must admit- looks like it would make the ideal crime scene for someone.

But it couldn’t be helped. The stench coming from his failed attempt at dinner had to be evicted from his apartment. Immediately.

With that task done, Brad briefly contemplated the idea of staying outside for a bit for a smoke. His landlord had a very strict no smoking in the building rule built into the lease. It was grounds for immediate eviction. No way Brad was risking it.

He was still contemplating when he saw the door to the unit next to him swing open. Speaking of the landlord, there he was.

Brad originally thought it was a joke when he arrived to tour the unit and Shane Hollander opened the door. But he just greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake, explaining that eventually he’d probably renovate the two units, his and Brad’s, and turn it into one big place but until then, he wanted to rent it out.

But that warm smile was nowhere to be found right now. Instead, Shane was glaring out into the alley.

Shit, did Shane hear him thinking about smoking? Brad was about to step forward, away from the dumpster when he saw another figure moving in the alley.

“You will murder me,” a deep voice with an accent spoke.

“Maybe,” Hollander hissed. “Get in.”

Woah. He had never heard Shane sound anything other than friendly and polite. What had this other guy done to piss him off? And if he was so mad at him, why was he inviting him inside?

Brad stayed frozen in place as the man walked towards the door. Just before he slipped inside, he caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

No way. Brad shook his head. He obviously had contracted some fish born bacteria that caused hallucinations because there was no way he just watched Ilya Rozanov slip into Shane Hollander’s apartment in the middle of the night.

Except, he had noticed an accent when he heard the man speak earlier. And he guesses that accent could have been Russian.

He shook his head again as he crossed the alley, making his way towards his own apartment. Nope, none of his business. And he was sure there was a perfectly reasonable, perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal reason Ilya Rozanov was visiting Brad’s landlord.

He wasn’t going to think about it. He was going to go back up to his apartment and fix himself a bowl of cereal and mind his own business.

With a plan in place, he opened his door and stepped inside, he learned one, very unfortunate fact.

Sound echoed beautifully in his stairwell.

“-Sext me before the game? What the fuck?”

Now those were words he had never heard his landlord say, nor were they words he ever wanted to hear the man say again. But that was unmistakenly his voice.

And when he heard, “You were hard, weren’t you? For how long? The whole game?” in a mockingly concern tone, all doubts were washed away. He had caught too many MHL interviews not to recognize Ilya Rozanov’s voice. He had even heard him use that exact same tone, used when chirping his opponents to get under their skin. And now here he was using it to chirp Hollander about…

Nope. He wasn’t doing this. Apartment. Cereal. Bed.

“Oh, you missed me, didn’t you,” was the next thing to break through the apparently thin walls of the stairwell.

Brad was trying to run up the stairs; he really was but he wasn’t in the best of shape and there were lots of stairs. Maybe Shane had a point about the whole smoking thing.

Stop thinking about Shane Hollander right now, Brad chastised his own brain.

Finally, he opened the door and entered his own apartment. Silence. Sweet, sweet silence. He had never been more grateful for the absence of people’s voices.

He tried to distract himself from what he had just overheard by cleaning up the mess in his kitchen and starting the dishwasher. Finally, he fixed himself a bowl of cereal and made his way to his bedroom. Yes, he knows he shouldn’t be eating in bed. Sue him. It was a guilty pleasure of his.

He paused, putting the bowl on the dresser before stripping out of his clothes and pulling on a pair of shorts. He wasn’t a monster; he wouldn’t wear outside clothes in his bed.

Now ready to relax, he flopped onto his bed and reached over to his nightstand to find the remote for the tv. As he flipped through movies, he wondered if his eating in bed and the giant TV hung on the wall had anything to do with his chronic sleep issues.

He was debating this as he finally settled on a movie and took a bite of cereal. Before the movie had even started, Brad heard a weird noise. He cocked his head to the side and listened for it again but heard nothing. He shook his head, must be the pipes or something.

Ten minutes later he heard it again. But this time it sounded like a voice. He searched for his phone, maybe he had left a video playing.

Nope, the screen was dark.

Shaking it off he refocused on the movie and took the final few bites of his cereal. He was just starting to feel relaxed when it happened again. This time, he grabbed the remote, pausing the movie and letting silence fill the room. If it was the pipes, something was seriously wrong.

Except that didn’t sound like pipes settling in the wall. And was that a thud against his wall?

The next time he heard it, it was undeniable. It was a moan. It was a moan of someone experiencing a level of pleasure some could only dream about.

“No…” Brad shook his head. No. Fucking. Way.

But then, in a strangled, slightly but not nearly muffled enough voice he heard, “Oh god Hollander!” Even through the wall, the accent was distinct.

Brad had never moved faster. He was out of bed and out of his room in two seconds. He ran until he was standing in his living room, the furthest room from his bedroom, from that wall as he could get. Immediately, he flipped on the TV, turning on the first thing he could find and cranking the volume.

He paced his living room, surely wearing a path into the rug.

This is crazy.

I have to tell someone!

I can’t tell anyone.

Since when?

What is this??

What am I going to do???

Well. Brad knew one thing at least. He knew what his next step needed to be.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened a search engine.

‘Best sound canceling headphones’

2015

Brad’s friends thought he was really into hockey. And that’s why he constantly checked the MHL game schedule website to the point where he added it as a favorite, so he didn’t have to constantly search for it.

That was not the case.

Yes, Brad liked hockey. He watched most of the Metro games. He could name a few of the players and had a general idea of where they were standing in the league throughout the season.

But that was not why he was the MHL season calendar’s number one fan.

It was because he had to know when Boston was going to be in town.

Game against Boston on Thursday? Take the trash out on Wednesday.

Afternoon game? Better be home before five to take Poppy, the dog he recently adopted, out early. Coming back from their walk at their normal time, 7:30pm, was not an option. That was usually around the time players were able to leave the arena. Ask him how he knew that.

Evening game? It was usually safe to sneak out between the hours of 10pm and midnight. But he had to be back in his apartment before 2am.

And above all else, his top of the line, highly reviewed, very expensive (but worth every penny) sound canceling headphones must be charged.

Right now, he was breaking rule number three. Well, Poppy was breaking it and Brad was powerless to do anything about it. He loved this dog, really, he did. An almost concerning amount actually. But if she didn’t find somewhere to pee in the next two seconds- he was going to leave her out here.

Time was ticking and he needed to get back into his apartment before Ilya Rozanov made his way out of Shane Hollander’s apartment. He glanced at his watch. He had two minutes before his self-enforced curfew, aka the time frame that seemed to be the common for Ilya to be sneaking out of the building.

Yes, Brad felt overwhelming creepy in noticing all these things. But it was better for everyone this way.

Except Poppy didn’t understand this and woke her father up at one-thirty in the morning by pawing at him until he relented and took her outside thinking that she urgently needed to relieve herself. Apparently, she just wanted to take a midnight stroll.

Fuck it he thought as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack and a lighter. He let Poppy walk around a patch of grass as he cupped his hand around the cigarette dangling out of his mouth and tried to light it. It took a few tries but eventually it caught and his nerves settled as soon as the nicotine made its way into his lungs.

“Mind if I bum one?”

Brad recognized that voice. As much as he didn’t want to, he knew that voice.

And sure enough, when he looked up, Ilya Rozanov was standing in front of him.

He thanked years of a regular poker game for the reason he didn’t falter for even a second, simply nodding and handing the MHL superstar his half empty and partially crushed pack alongside the temperamental lighter.

Rozanov said something in Russian that Brad took as a thanks before placing the cigarette in between his lips and flicking the lighter on. It caught instantly. He handed both to Brad and nodded.

Surprisingly, he didn’t continue down the sidewalk. Instead, he leaned against the building next to Brad. “This your dog?”

Brad looked to where Poppy was now sitting perfectly on the sidewalk, tail thumping excitedly. She loved meeting new people. “Yeah. That’s Poppy.”

One half of Rozanov’s face morphed into a smile. “Does Poppy like pets?”

“Go for it man.” Brad pulled another drag from his cigarette and watched as the giant hockey player wasted no time pushing off the wall and crouching down until his knees were on the cold sidewalk. He held one hand in front of Poppy for her to sniff it and Brad had to choke back a laugh when he noticed that Rozanov’s hand that was holding the cigarette was stretched out as far away from Poppy as he could manage.

Once Poppy gave him a little nudge with her nose Rozanov got to work on giving her scratches behind her ears. She was in heaven.

“You a fan of late-night walks Poppy?” Rozanov asked her in something that can only be described as a coo. Ilya 'the Russian Menace of the MHL' Rozanov was on his knees on the cold Montreal sidewalk cooing to his dog.

Brad shrugged. It’s not the strangest thing he’s heard come out of Rozanov’s mouth these past couple of years, to be honest. “Something like that. Plus, my landlord has a pretty strict no smoking policy. I think I might even be breaking it from here.”

Brad hadn’t really thought about what he said until he saw the way Rozanov’s eyes narrowed slightly when he turned around to look at him. “You live near here?” It sounded like normal casual conversation, but it was a forced thing.

Brad didn’t skip a beat. “Around the corner over there,” he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. In the exact opposite direction of his, Shane’s, apartment.

Rozanov’s face relaxed and he nodded, turning back Poppy. “I uh, take walk after game. To help sleep. Started at hotel and wound up here.”

Brad nodded. “Nice.” It was a lie. Obviously. Not even a really good one. Visiting hockey teams always stayed in the same hotel near the arena. It was a well-known secret amongst Montreal residents. That hotel? It was at least eight miles from here. “I’d say I’m a big fan but…”

“Ah,” he smirked and then nodded while giving Poppy long slow pets down the side of her neck. Brad was genuinely a little worried Rozanov was going to steal his dog.

“You worried about sneaky Canadians hiding in bushes and will take away residency if they hear you say you’re fan of Boston player?”

Brad gave a loud laugh. “Something like that.”

“I would never let them do this to Poppy’s dad.” He leaned his forehead against hers like they were long lost friends.

“Appreciate it,” he stubbed out the cigarette he had finished and tossed it into the bin.

With a final few pats to Poppy’s head, Rozanov stood up and turned back around to Brad. “I should get back to hotel. Thank you for dog pets.”

Brad nodded. “No problem.

He raised the hand which still held the cigarette and then took off. But before he did, he called out “Good night, Poppy.”

Brad shook his head in disbelief. How was this his life? He waited until Rozanov was out of sight before turning the corner and walking into the alley behind his apartment.

November 2016

Brad was ready. Boston was in town tonight which meant that Poppy had been walked and was settled down into her bed. The trash was empty. Mail was brought in. And the headphones were charged.

Brad took a tentative step into his bedroom. He had gotten distracted out in the living room and forgot to grab the headphones off his side table after he took his shower. He looked down at his watch. He was definitely well into the danger zone by now as Brad referred to it. ‘It’ being the time frame that Rozanov was on the other side of the wall eliciting sounds from Hollander that Brad would rather not hear.

It was official, Brad was a creepy stalker.

That aside, he needed his headphones. Giving it another second, Brad determined the coast was clear and rushed towards his bed. Just as he reached for the headphones, he heard it.

He scrambled to unplug the headphones but, in his rush, he dropped the damn things between the table and the bed. Cursing, he dropped to his knees and stuck an arm out, trying to find them with his fingertips. Already the moans were getting louder, and he was finding nothing but air. He debated abandoning his search all together, but he knew he needed to find them if he had any chance of sleeping in his own bed tonight.

Finally, he found the headphones and pulled them out from underneath the bed. Sighing in relief he was about to turn them on when he heard something weird.

Well, weirder.

The moans, he was hearing? Those weren’t Hollanders. Unfortunately, he had become very attuned to the sounds from the other side of the wall over the years. And these were new.

They also belonged to a woman.

That was the weird part.

Brad shook his head, reminding himself of what exactly he was listening to and scrambled out of the room until he could safely put in the headphones.

Eventually he was able to sleep that night but for hours he kept tossing and turning, even with the silence gifted to him by his all-time favorite purchase.

Where the hell was Rozanov?

2018

“I gotta say man, as excited as I am for you and you’re new job, I’m sorry to see you go.” Shane said as he looked around the unit.

They were completing their walkthrough of Brad’s apartment before he moved out. Last month he got a job promotion that took him away from the city, and therefore, it was time for him to give up the apartment.

“I’m sure you will be able to rent this out fast,” Brad assured him. “It’s a great place. Or do you finally think you’ll tear down those walls and reno it into one place?”

Shane shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I might not actually do that. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be living here actually. I might start looking for something that’ s… further.”

Brad didn’t want to know why Shane was refusing to make eye contact with him. He already knew way too much about this man’s life. So, he simply nodded. “I love my place I just got. Away from the city. Big yard for Poppy.”

Shane settled down a little, happy with the shift in conversation. He looked towards Poppy who was sitting by the door, clearly confused about why they were there if none of their stuff was there. “She must like that.”

Shane was not a dog person. He was fine with having her in the apartment, never gave Brad any grief for having her, and when he passed them on walks or in the alley, he would always greet her with a polite and perfunctory ‘hi Poppy’ complete with a nod. On international ‘gotcha day’ he even delivered a little basket of treats to Brad’s door. He was very neutral towards her, Brad guessed. Completely opposite of Rozanov.

They had managed to run into each other a few more times since their first meeting. Luckily it had always been somewhere far enough away from the apartment to keep up Brad’s lie about living down the block. When they did run into each other, Poppy always greeted him like he was her long-lost love.

Brad was only slightly jealous.

He nodded, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. “She loves it.” Brad looked around. “So, is there anything else I need to do?”

Shane shook his head. “No. I have your keys and everything looks great. Thanks for being such an awesome tenant.”

Brad shrugged. “Thanks for being such an awesome landlord.”

Shane’s smile turned a little fond and Brad didn’t want to know why. “Hey uh, sorry if this is weird but I uh, I have a question.”

Oh no, here it comes.

“Sure thing.” Brad hoped he sounded casual as he ran a hand through Poppy’s fur.

“Can I send you a survey?” Shane blurted out, like he was embarrassed. “It won’t be long or anything just like a few questions, mostly about the apartment but also about me, just in case there’s something I can change or do better for the next tenant.”

Brad’s shoulders sagged and he let out a relieved breath. “Sure man, of course.”

Shane also looked a little relieved. “Great. I’ll send it to your email.” He held out his hand. “Good luck with everything.”

Brad grasped the man’s hand. “You too.”

Later that night, Brad sat on the couch in his house, his phone in his hand. A notification from his email popped up and he grinned when he saw Shane’s name as the sender. It must be the survey. He clicked on the message and then followed the link. It was pretty basic, a lot like the other surveys he’d filled out when leaving an apartment building.

Lastly, there was a question about if there were any updates he would recommend for the unit. Brad debated it for a few minutes before typing out his response and then quickly hitting send.

Chapter End Notes

Because in every universe... Ilya Rozanov loves dogs.

Chapter 7: An Olympic Figure Skater Who Needed Some Space

Chapter Summary

A figure skater who needed a little break from the her team finds more than just some space to clear her head.

Chapter Notes

Enjoy(:

Date: February 2014

Location: Sochi, Russia

“Jules, how is your jumpsuit feeling? Need me to make any adjustments?”

Julia shook her head, peeking one eye open to see her costume designer standing in front of her. “No, Mia. It’s perfect thank you.”

Mia grinned. “Glad to hear it dear. I’ll leave you be now.” She squeezed her shoulder and walked off.

Julia smiled to herself and closed her eyes, trying to focus on her pre-skate ritual. She was visualizing skating onto the ice. She’d make her way to the center, hit her mark, wait for the music to start, count for a beat of-

“J, did you remember to eat your pre-skate snacks that I packed for you? Last time you forgot and got so lightheaded that you nearly-”

“Yes Josh,” Julia cut off her nutritionist. “I remember what happened last time, which is why I made sure to eat them this time. I promise.”

Josh nodded and checked something off this list on his clipboard. “Good. And I gave coach some of your recovery gummies so eat those as soon as you get off the ice.”

She gave him a mock salute. “Yes boss.”

Josh gave her an unimpressed look but nodded and walked off. Julia shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Once again, she closed her eyes. She was on the ice. She was making her way to the center of the ice, she was hitting her mark, waiting for the music to start-

“Julia don’t forget that right before you go on to give your left calf a little extra stretch. It was pretty stiff during our cool down this morning.”

Julia opened her eyes to see Skylar, her conditioning coach looking down at her. Signature dark ponytail in place high on her head. “Will do. I also have been rotating heat and ice packs, just like you recommended."

Skylar grinned and held out her fist. “That’s my girl. Give them hell.”

Julia of course, gave her a fist bump before she walked off. Taking a deep breath in from her nose she held it for four seconds before letting it escape between her lips. She closed her eyes. Step onto the ice, six pushes until center, one push left and then on mark-

“Jules, quick question. I’m watching this morning’s film, and I just want to make sure you feel confident in all the skills in your set. Your transition to the lutz seemed a little off your normal speed and I wondered if-”

“Coach B and I reviewed that right after practice,” Julia interrupted her skills coach, Coach Gunner. “I wasn’t pushing off with my left leg hard enough, but we went through it a few more times and I landed hit it just fine each time.”

She nodded, still looking down at the tablet. “That was going to be my recommendation as well. You need anything from me?”

Julia shook her head. “All set.” When Coach Gunner turned around and left the corner Julia had commandeered, she clenched her hands into fists, counted to ten, and then let them go. She tried to loosen all the muscles in her body as she closed her eyes. Left skate on the ice, right will hit center first-

“Julia. We meet in thirty at the warmup lounge, yes?” Coach B stated her question in her no nonsense tone that was her status quo.

“Yes Coach,” Julia managed to acknowledge her head coach with only trace amounts of annoyance in her tone.

To her credit, Coach B didn’t bring any attention to it and walked off.

An unstructured breath forced its way from Julia. She tried to close her eyes and imagine the moment right before she left the staging area and stepped onto the ice. She focused on trying to conjure up how the ice smelt, how the air felt on her face, the sound of the crowd, and her coaches’ hands on her shoulder.

Instead, all she could hear was the sound of skates hitting against the rubber floor, doors slamming shut, music playing from different speakers, and yup there it was-

“Julia do you-”

“I have to go!” She was already on her feet and jogging away from whoever was trying to talk to her now, she hadn’t even waited to see the person come into view.

“Go where?”

“Bathroom!” she called out with the first place she could think of that no one could reasonably follow her to.

Instead, she turned the corner, finding an abandoned hallway and just walked down it, not knowing where it led to. She went up a flight of stairs, already relishing the fact that the crowd was thinning out. She walked through another hallway and eventually found herself staring down at the performance arena. The men figure skaters were preforming, and then the women would take the ice. She still had thirty minutes before she had to meet coach in the lounge, so she pushed away from the railing and walked around a little more until she found a completely abandoned spot.

She tucked herself into the corner and worked through some breathing exercises. She was still too worked up to attempt her visualization practice so instead she focused on the physical. Starting at her toes, she checked in with every single muscle and bone, focusing on it for at least three seconds before moving onto the next.

By the time she reached the top of her head, her breathing had calmed and her heart was slow and steady. Finally. She closed her eyes. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. She picks her foot up to step onto-

“Hey.”

Oh, for the love!

Who the hell had found her up here? Julia’s eyes snapped open, fully ready to unleash onto whoever was standing in front of her.

But there was no one there. No one stood in front of her.

In fact, she didn’t actually recognize the voice.

“Not here.” That was a second, also unknown, voice.

She peered to her left and then her right. Still couldn’t see anyone.

“No, I’m not…I saw you up here. I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

Apparently, Julia was not the only person who had escaped to this quiet corner of the arena. It wasn’t working out so well for her fellow hideaway either.

“Fine. Go sit down.”

Damn. Straight to the point then, huh? The words were harsh, sure, but there was something in that detached tone that was familiar to Julia.

She had heard it in her own voice before. Right around the time she was trying to convince her girlfriend Taylor to leave her because she was so focused on skating and she’d be a shitty person to be around. Lucky for her, Taylor was stubborn.

But still she recognized that cold detached tone to be hiding something. And if she had to guess, it was hiding some sort of pain.

“We…” the other voice trailed off.

“We are not anything.” Even more clipped. Even more attached. “Go away Hollander.”

Hollander.

Not that Hollander, right?

Julia leaned forward just enough so that she could see past the metal beam that she was leaning against.

Oh, yeah. That Hollander.

Well, that answered one half of the conversation question. Now, who was he talking to?

“Are you okay?” Hollander asked, voice full of genuine concern.

The other man deflected his question. “Please. Go.”

“You didn’t answer my text.” Shane Hollander was braver than Julia, that was for sure. If someone had used that icy of a tone with her, she would have been sent running. But Hollander persisted.

“No, I did not answer your boring text.” What text could have been so offensively boring that it caused this time of reaction? “Now will you go?”

God, whoever this man was- it was like he was saying one thing but desperately wanting the opposite. Or at least that’s how it sounded to Julia.

But apparently Hollander had reached his breaking point. “Fine,” be breathed out, pausing for just a second, just a second of hope for the other man to change his mind. But he didn’t. So, Hollander turned with a defeated little “Fuck.” escaping before he walked away.

Only silence followed so Julia leaned forward again to check to see if the coast was clear.

It wasn’t, the man was still there, standing against the railing staring down at the rink. His hands were balled up into fists on the top, clenched so hard they were shaking. “Blyat!” he muttered tensely, shaking out his hands before tensing them back up.

Somewhere behind her a door slammed, causing the man’s head to snap quickly her way. Julia was quick though, snapping back behind her hiding place. But not before she caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

Ilya Rozanov.

Oh wow. This was new.

Her phone buzzed against her hip, and she slid it from her pocket. It was her girlfriend.

Julia grinned gleefully as she stood, at some point, Rozanov had slipped away so she was in the clear as she ran across the walkway and down the flight of stairs. As she made her way to Taylor, she realized she never got the chance to complete her visualizations.

Whatever, she knew the routine inside and out. Plus, she did it to relax, get herself out of her head. And there was not a single tense muscle in her body as she grabbed her girlfriends hand and pulled her until they were both hidden in an empty training room. She locked the door before turning around to a very amused girlfriend.

“First of all, I love you and thank you for being stubborn.”

Taylor’s eyebrows furrowed. “Thank you? And I love you too.”

Julia waved her hands in front of her, forcing herself to focus. If she went down this road, she’d just keep listing everything she loved about Taylor. And it was a long list.

With a deep breath, she steadied her shoulders. “Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are together.”

For two, three, four seconds Taylor’s face didn’t react. And then she had every reaction possible. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it when words failed her. She did that several times through.

Finally, she settled on something.

“Girl!

Julia nodded slowly. “I know!”

Chapter End Notes

(:

Chapter 8: The Talent Cowboy

Chapter Summary

Being a talent wrangler isn’t easy work. Especially when you’re working the MHL award show. Especially when you’re assigned two of the most talked about athletes of the sport. Especially when one of those talents goes missing.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: Everything I know about talent wranglers I learned in about five google searches. Sorry to any talent wranglers I offend.

Date: June 2014

Location: Las Vegas

Christina breathed a sigh of relief when she slipped into the cool hotel lobby, the air conditioning working overtime against the Las Vegas heat that was already creeping up despite the early hour.

As a talent wrangler, she spent most of her days in the standard uniform of a black long-sleeved shirt tucked tightly into black cargo pants, and you guessed it, black sneakers. Christina was usually thankful for her no-nonsense uniform, it allowed her to get out of the house quickly and usually meant a couple extra minutes of sleep since she didn’t have to think about putting together an outfit. However, the all black ensemble did not pair well with the dessert sun.

The good news was that by the time Christina’s day was done and she would be walking out of this hotel; the sun would be long gone.

Because today, she was working as a talent wrangler for the MHL award show. Being a talent wrangler basically meant it was her job to make sure the talent, the athletes in this case, did what they needed to do, where they needed to do it, and when they needed to do it. She and the other talent wranglers would work together before, during, and after the show to ensure that the talents carried out the production the writers and producers created.

Christina loved her job. She liked it a lot more than being a PA, that’s for sure. Don’t get her wrong, nothing would happen without the PA’s, and she learned a lot by spending three years in that role, but since she transitioned into the job of talent wrangler, she had a front row seat to seeing the actual show play out. She got to see how all the pieces fell together, after months of planning, into one beautiful cohesive production. She got to work with the people, both the talents as well as the crew, the entire time instead of being reassigned last minute and working in some off location office. She got to focus on her role throughout the show, instead of juggling fifteen different roles. That was probably her favorite part since moving up from PA to wrangler. Actually, if she was being honest, the thing she liked about it the most was that it was one step closer to her real dream, becoming a Stage Manager.

Christina made her way across the lobby and towards the elevators. The lobby was already bustling with people, and she grinned as that familiar flutter of excitement coursed through her system. Show productions were basically very organized chaos and there was nothing Christina loved more than being in the middle of it.

She easily found the conference room her team had been using as an on-site office for the last two days and slipped inside. She was early for the morning debrief meeting, evidenced by no one else being in the conference room yet, just the way she liked it.

She made her way to a seat by the corner of the table, preferrable for being able to see the screen at the front of the room as well as easy access to the rest of the members of her team who would be sitting at the table as well. Heaving her heavy bag onto the dark and polished wood table, she pulled out three things: her tablet, her notebook, and her water bottle. Essentials.

Parched from her walk, she took long sips as she fired up her tablet, making sure her copy of the script breakdown and master production grid were pulled up. These two things were basically the second-by-second breakdown of the entire production. It would be used tonight to make sure that everything and everyone was where they needed to be when the cameras were on and running. Christina had looked at the thing so many times she was pretty sure she had memorized the thing. Which, if possible, would be extremely helpful since the thing was huge and quickly finding the small details she actually needed was a nightmare.

With those documents pulled up and ready to go, she flipped open her notebook and tested her pen. No doubt that throughout the morning meeting, several items would be added to her to do list, and she had always been more of a pen-to-paper type of person when she needed to make sure she didn’t forget anything.

Christina was adding ‘double check seat fillers’ to her to do list when Dinah, the stage manager, walked into the conference room.

As she spotted Christina, she shook her head but couldn't help a small grin. “Good morning, Chrissy. Why am I not surprised to see you here already?”

Christina smiled. “Good morning boss.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as Dinah got settled into a seat near the middle of the table. Ten minutes later, their assistant stage manager, Nolan, rushed into the room; his familiar frantic and somewhat panicked look locked into place.

“Ah shit,” his shoulders slumped. “I’m late, aren’t I?”

Dinah and Christina locked eyes before glancing around the empty conference room.

Dinah nodded. “Indeed, you are Nolan. So late in fact that you missed the entire meeting.” She didn’t even let up as Nolan’s eyes went astronomically wide. “Missed the meeting, missed the show, missed the post show debrief, and even missed the post show drinks.”

Nolan’s face morphed from panic to annoyance as he made his way fully into the room. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Blame those energy drinks you’re always chugging not me,” Dinah glanced at the ever-present energy drink present in Nolan’s hand.

Also in his hand were three boxes that suspiciously looked like they might be holding some sort of pastries. This got Chistina’s attention. “Good morning, Nolan,” she said cheerfully. “It’s so nice to see you this morning, right on time and not a second late. Even early some might say.”

“Suck up,” Dinah chided while shaking her hand.

But Nolan bought it. He strode over to the table and set the boxes down right in front of her. “And that’s why you’re my favorite, Chrissy.”

Christina clapped like a little kid getting a present on Christmas morning as she opened the boxes and gazed inside to see the beautiful arrangement of doughnuts, croissants, and various pastries in front of her. Another reason to be ridiculously early- first dibs on the breakfast goods.

Putting her selections on a small napkin she placed the boxes in the center of the table where they would wait for the other members of her team. Nolan settled into his spot at the far end of the table nearest to the screen. He would be leading the meeting this morning.

The three of them fell into easy conversation about normal things like the weather, TV shows, and books until the room slowly filled up. When everyone arrived, Nolan got the team’s attention, bringing the meeting to a start.

He started by going through the rundown of the show, brining special attention to the parts where changes or edits were made after the run through that was done last night. He made sure the video and audio crew had everything they needed, made sure everyone was aware of the final timing adjustments, and got report about the status of the blocking and lights.

Even though he looked a little frantic and frenzied most of the time, Nolan ran a tight ship.

He clapped his hands. “For my wranglers, I’ve had the talent’s handlers send in their personal ETA’s which you can find in section…” he glanced down at the tablet. “Yeah, section ten. I have also added any last-minute special needs the talents have requested.” He looked up and across the room. “My apologies to Gloria, your list is quite long.”

Christina watched Gloria lips tighten into a thin line before she reached out for another doughnut. Chistina nodded, that was probably for the best.

She looked down at her own tablet and clicked onto section ten, looking for the names of the talent’s she would be responsible for throughout the night.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

They were presenting an award during the show, Most Sportsmanlike.

When Nolan had given her the assignment three days ago, he had made some comment about how the casting was a ‘brilliant choice’ by the writers which Chistina didn’t get. If she was being honest, she didn’t know much about hockey.

Well, she didn’t know a lot about hockey three days ago. Since then, every spare moment she had was spent doing research. And now, while she might not be able to tell you the difference between a power play and a slap shot, she did know all about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

They were kind of a big deal, Christina had gathered. Both were actually up for their own award tonight, most valuable player. Of course, they were pitted against each other, as they had been their entire career, since their rookie season, or even maybe before that. Even outside of the hockey world, they were well known. Shane had brand deals with several luxury brands and Ilya did not shy away from the spotlight. After finishing her research, it was clear that giving her this assignment was kind of a big deal. Not that she couldn’t handle it. She could.

Christina just hoped that they weren’t divas. Athletes could be such divas sometimes.

“Alrighty everyone,” Nolan pulled her focus back to the meeting. “That’s it for the debrief, we’re gonna take a half hour break, walk around, stretch your legs, risk baking in the sun if that’s your thing,” he paused as a small laugh broke out across the room. “Just make sure you’re back in time for the final stage rehearsal. My PA’s, are you ready to be the stand in talents?” A group of young PA’s all gave a thumbs up. “Excellent. Now go! Go enjoy the last few minutes of freedom in your day before I claim every last second of it.”

The room turned into a loud hum as everyone packed up and began talking to each other. Christina slid her notebook and tablet back into her bag and swept the crumbs from her sugar bomb of a breakfast into a napkin.

“I need some coffee to pair with the sugar. You in?”

Christina looked over to see Billy, a fellow wrangler standing next to her. “Hell yeah, I’m in.”

“Great, let’s get the others. Poor Gloria is going to need a double. Did you see that special request list?”

She huffed. “I’d make it triple.”

The group of wranglers, all dressed in the same black get up, gathered around a small table in the coffee shop near the hotel lobby. They didn’t risk going outside but the wall was made of glass so they could at least see the sun before they retreated into the darkness of the backstage area for the rest of the day. They swapped stories about past events they worked, where they started, where they wanted to go. Christina mostly sat back and enjoyed the conversation, happy to just absorb everything.

Eventually their break was over, and they gathered in the staging area to begin the final rehearsal. Christina sat back and watched the first third of the show being mock played out by her team, making notes and adjustments as needed.

As it got closer to the time in the show where Shane and Ilya would be taking the stage, Christina slipped out from the back of the stage, down the discreet side stairs, and into the main sitting area. She had a folded and laminated copy of the seating chart in one of her many pockets, but she didn’t need it, she knew exactly where her talents would be sitting tonight. She made her way through the mostly empty tables to where Luke, the PA playing Ilya, was sitting. She tapped him on the shoulder and he stood, following her dutifully back through the tables and backstage.

Since Ilya was sitting across the room from Shane, it made more sense to deposit Ilya at the wing of the stage and then take a separate set of stairs closer to Shane’s table. This allowed her to travel more backstage, spending less time in the view of the audience.

And this is why they did the dry run. No way would she have thought about diverting back to the stage to pick up the second talent.

She did the same thing again, tapping ‘Shane’ on the shoulder and leading PA Pete through the chaos of the backstage area. It would be calmer during the actual show, but not by much.

Christina mentally played through what she would need to do for the real deal. When she heard Dinah in her earpiece say “Chrissy, we are back from commercial, send in Hollander and Rozanov,” she already had the two PA’s ready and facing the stage.

Pete and Luke walked across the stage, hamming it up as they waved to the other PA’s and Nolan who were sitting at the tables. Luke even bowed. When they reached the podium Pete leaned towards the microphone. “Here is a speech about sportsmanship.”

Christina could hear the crew laugh both in her earpiece and from where they stood around her. The PA’s decided not to read from the script. That was fine. No one cared about what they said as long as they kept an eye on the timer mounted in front of the stage. Luke shoved Pete out of the way, “Sportsmanship is important.”

“Even if you hate each other!” Pete shoved Luke back.

Luke wrapped Pete in a fake headlock, “Even if you’re rivals!”

The two continued to wrestle around like idiots until the exact second their stage time was up. At that time, they let each other go, stood up, gave a final bow, and made their way to the wing.

When they were halfway there Dinah said, “Chrissy, be prepared to catch those two idiots on stage left.”

As Pete and Luke made their way into the wing, Chistina shook her head, arms crossed across her chest. “I just hope my actual talents aren’t as difficult as the two of you.”

Four hours later, Christina waited by the hotel doors as the guests began to arrive. Hollander was scheduled to arrive first, and she would have thirty minutes to do a debrief and get him settled before she had to pick up Rozanov. Christina mentally ran through the itinerary over and over, the routine of it soothing the last-minute anxiety that threatened to creep in.

A loud commotion from the other side of the doors had Christina turning around. The small crowd that had gathered lost their collective minds when a black car pulled up. Somehow, they knew even what Christina didn’t because a second later, Hollander was stepping out of the car.

A well practice smile was already in place as he buttoned his tuxedo jacket and held up a hand in a wave. He spent the perfect amount of time interacting with the fans, signing photos, taking selfies, and shaking hands before giving a final wave and making his way into the building.

“Shane Hollander?” Christina made her way from the counter where she was waiting over to the doors. He turned towards her and she held out her hand. “I’m Christina. I’ll be your talent wrangler tonight.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Christina.” He shook her hand.

“Please, call me Chrissy, Mr. Hollander.” Christina gestured for him to follow her across the lobby.

He laughed. “Only if you never call me that again. Shane is fine.”

“Shane then.” They made some small talk about his flight as they made their way to the green room assigned to him. “So, you and Rozanov are going to be presenting the Most Sportsman like award. It’s about halfway through the show and three awards before Most Valuable Player so you’ll have plenty of time to get off stage, take a quick break, and make your way back to your seats. Does that part make sense?”

Shane nodded. “The MHL has been following the same order of events for the award program since my rookie season and unfortunately, I have had to come every year. So, I pretty familiar with the layout.”

“Sorry you don’t seem to enjoy it but that’s music to my ears Shane.” She grabbed the mic pack that was waiting for him on the table. “Don’t tempt me or I’ll try to make you part of the crew.”

“I think I would prefer that,” he huffed out and removed his jacket, clearly familiar with this next step.

Christina attached the mic pack to the back of his pants, fixing the wire so it laid up the middle of his back and over his shoulder. After he shrugged the jacket back on, she attached the mic to the lapel. “There will be a microphone on the podium on the stage, obviously, but with there being two of you, it’s easier to use individual microphones so we don’t have to worry about you two trying to shove each other around to get in front of the microphone.”

Shane gave her a smile she couldn’t really decipher but she let it go; she didn’t have time. “These are obviously not live and won’t transmit to anything until I turn them on, right before you go on.”

“Good to know.”

Christina nodded and walked over to the mini fridge stashed in the corner. She reached in and pulled out a can. “Ginger Ale?”

Shane looked startled as he took the can. “How did you…”

“I do my research,” she shrugged. “It’s my job to be prepared. Anything you need tonight, you ask me and I’ll get it. In fact,” she took her notebook and scribbled on a piece of paper before ripping the conner off. “Just text me if you can’t find me. Once the show starts, we go a little incognito and basically blend into the shadows."

Shane still looked a little startled, can of ginger ale in one hand and her number in the other. “Uh, okay.” He nodded to himself before slipping the paper into his jacket pocket. “I’ll throw it away after the show is over, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Chistina tried not to laugh. She appreciated the offer, but she wasn’t worried, it was a business number anyways. She cleared her throat. “When we’re done in here, you’ll make your way to your table. You’ll do normal award show things for the first bit but when it’s about fifteen minutes before it’s time for you to go on, I’ll come to your table and tap you on the shoulder. Then I’ll lead you backstage to the waiting area. Then we’ll go to the wing right before it’s time for you and Rozanov to go on. Got it?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Great!” Christina clasped her hands together and ran through her mental list of things to check off with Shane. “Any questions about your script or the performance, or life in general?”

He laughed. “Oh, I have a few life questions that I could use some help with, but as far as tonight goes, I think I’m set.”

“Sounds good.” She glanced down at her watch. “I have to run and collect Rozanov now but feel free to stay in here, the room is for the both of you, but if you’d rather, Luke, one of the PA’s is right outside the door and will either lead you to your table or wherever you want to go.”

She looked up to see Shane shifting on his feet, looking everywhere but at her while he took and all too causal sip of his ginger ale. “Yeah. I might go… to the bar. To see…people.”

Don’t get involved. Don’t get involved. Don’t. Get. Involved.

It was the number one rule of working with talents. Stay out of their business.

And Christina was a rule follower. So, she nodded, pretending like Shane Hollander wasn’t lying about something right to her face. “Perfect. I’ll have Luke come grab you in a few minutes.

He nodded a few more times, still not looking at her. Apparently, the ginger ale can was fascinating.

Don’t get involved.

Without saying anything else she slipped out of the room and set off to collect Rozanov. But unlike when she went to go collect Hollander, she didn’t head for the main entrance. Instead, when she left the staging area, she followed the back hallways through the employee only areas.

Because under Ilya Rozanov’s special request tab there had only been one bullet point: ‘private entry’.

Now this was not a difficult request. Or even an uncommon one. But it did shock Christina when she read it earlier that day. Because given everything she had learned about Ilya Rozanov in the past three days, she figured he would have soaked up every second of the adoration that the crowd outside was waiting to offer.

Instead, she walked through the kitchen until she was pushing open the heavy door used by the restaurant staff and waiting in an alley until another black nondescript car pulled up. A blonde man stepped out of the car, turning to thank the driver before softly closing the door. He stood there for a second, his wide shoulders rising with a breath before he looked up at the sky and blew it out slowly.

Christina took stock of the man. Tense shoulders, pursed lips, shifty eyes, and hands balled up into fists shoved into his pants pocket. Panic, or something very close to it, was radiating off this man. She was going to have to keep a close eye on him tonight.

“Ilya Rozanov?” She spoke softly but still the man whipped his head to look at her like she had jumped out at him. Instantly his face morphed into something more guarded, a playful smirk slipped into place. She walked forward a couple of steps and held out her hand. “I’m Christina, I’m your-”

“Ah yes,” he shook her hand and his smile changed into something a little more natural. “You are talent cowboy, yes?”

“Wrangler,” she corrected with a smile. “I’m your talent wrangler for tonight.”

He let go of her hand. “Wrangler,” he repeated like he was committing it to memory. “Apologies.”

“No need,” she shook her head. “I kind of like your way better. Makes me sound more exciting.”

They walked back into the hotel and through the kitchen. “You were the one that me the script in Russian?”

Christina tentatively nodded. After her little research spiral, she wondered if it would be helpful for Rozanov to have the script in Russian as well as English, since he only had three days to learn it. She had sent it over to his agent, hoping she wasn’t somehow being insulting. “Yeah. That was me. Sorry, if it was a little presumptuous.”

He shook his head. “It was helpful. I am grateful.”

“No big deal.” They made their way to the staging area, bypassing the now very busy hallway, sticking to the more discreet employee only hallways. “I’m going to take you to the green room now so we can go over tonight and get you situated with your mic. Hollander has already arrived,” Christina couldn’t not notice the way Ilya’s entire body tensed but she pretended she didn’t, they were rivals after all right? “But he was headed to the bar when I left.” Out of the corner of her eye, she clocked how his body relaxed as he nodded.

Christina was starting to get the distinct feeling something was going on that wasn’t included in the snapshot review she got on all her talents before a production.

Don’t get involved.

She opened the green room door and even she was a little relieved when it was empty. These two started acting weird when the others’ names were mentioned, what would happen when they were forced to share the same space? Well, she’d find out soon enough, she thought as she waved Ilya through the door and closed it behind them.

Also, apparently familiar with the routine, he shrugged off his jacket and gave Chistina his back. She repeated the same steps as she took with Hollander, assuring him that his mic would be dead until she turned it on.

She went over the same logistics again with one caveat. She picked up the outdated phone that was lying on a shelf. “Here. For the photo bit. You can use this as a prop, so you don’t have to use your own phone.”

Rozanov didn’t reach for it. Instead, he stared at it as she held it suspended in the air like somehow this glorified paper weight represented some big life decision. After a suspiciously long pause, he shook his head. “I will use my phone. Less to worry about.”

Don’t get involved.

Christina shrugged and discarded the prop back onto the shelf. It changed absolutely nothing if Rozanov used his own phone, so she didn’t push it. She would just need to remind him to silence it before they walked onto stage.

She once again made her way to the fridge, but this time pulled out a bottle of vodka. She poured some into a glass and turned around, offering it to Rozanov.

He accepted with a nod, however, when he took a sip, his face telegraphed his surprise. “This is good.”

She shrugged. “I do my research.”

“I think I like you, talent cowboy Christina,” he said appreciatively as he raised his glass to her and took another sip.

“Glad to hear it.” A good talent wrangler relationship was crucial for smooth production. Realizing how thirsty she was, she took a can of ginger ale out of the fridge. She sat it on the counter next to her notebook as she wrote down her number. When she turned around, she noticed that Ilya was staring at the can rather intensely.

Don’t get involved.

“Here,” she stretched her hand out, slip of paper in between her fingers. She watched as the confliction flickered across his face, eyes moving from the slip of paper back to the can of ginger ale. She interrupted whatever thought spiral he was going down. “It’s just my work number. In case you need something and can’t find me tonight. All the wranglers have one to give to the talents.”

His face relaxed in relief. “Ah. Okay.” He finally accepted the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket.

She gathered her things, giving him a few last-minute reminders for the night. “I don’t have anything else to go over with you. If you want, I can show you to your seat or the bar.”

Rozanov was quiet for long enough that she looked at him over her shoulder. He was back to that tense man she saw in the alley. Well, that was an easy enough fix. “Or you can stay in here until it’s time for the show to start.”

He nodded. “Yes. I will do that.” He pointed at his glass. “Stay where the good vodka is, right?”

Christina laughed and slung her bag over her shoulder; she would need to stash it somewhere before the show started. “Smart man.” As she passed him, she laid a hand on his forearm. “I’ll be back to get you in thirty minutes. I won’t go far but if you need something and can’t find me, that’s what the number is for.”

Once again, he raised his glass. “I am all set. See you in time for show.”

She gave him a smile before walking out of the room.

The nice thing about this line of work was that even though the days were long, they passed by in a blur. What felt like only minutes later, she heard Dinah’s voice in her ear saying, “Chrissy, please be prepared to collect Rozanov on the next commercial break.”

Christina zipped the fabric tape back in place in her running vest and nodded to Billy, “He’s good.”

“You’re a life saver Christina Russo,” she gushed as she dragged her talent the wing. “You and that damn vest full of goodies.”

Chistina shook her head but smiled as she pressed the ‘talk’ button on her earpiece. “Copy you, Dinah. Preparing to collect Rozanov on your signal.”

She made her way to the stairs and waited to hear the command from Dinah before slipping down the stairs and into the crowd, walking at a quick enough pace to get to Rozanov quickly but not too fast that it drew attention. It was a practiced thing.

He turned around with a grin on his face. “Ah, cowboy Chrissy. It is time?”

She nodded and he rose to follow her through the crowd and up the nearest set of stairs, so they were tucked safely into the backstage area.

“We still have about ten minutes before you go on. I just need time to get Hollander. You can wait here and I’ll be back to take both of you to the wing.”

The playful look on his face was gone. Instead of answering her he simply nodded, looking over her head and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Right. So, I’ll be back.” Is all she said before she turned and walked to the other side of the stage. Talking into her earpiece she said. “Rozanov collected. Waiting for signal to collect Hollander.”

“Proceed in twenty seconds,” Dinah instructed.

Christina stared down at her watch, analog, which had been set to the exact second with the rest of the crew so they could all follow the same timeline. When her twenty seconds was up, she slipped down the stairs and made her way to Hollander’s table. She silently tapped him on the shoulder, and he wordlessly stood up and gave her a nod as he turned around.

As they walked up the stairs she whispered to him. “You have seven minutes until you are on. I have Rozanov backstage already so this will give you two a chance to iron out any last-minute details about your bit.”

Next to her, Shane just nodded and took a deep breath. Maybe she should try to find some orange juice, he wasn’t looking so good.

“Okay you’ll wait here with…” she trailed off as she looked around the empty staging area.

Where the fuck was Ilya Rozanov?

Chistina whirled around, scanning the dark room for the large Russian man. Maybe he was just hidden behind that six-inch support beam? Surely, he could fold himself behind that three-foot-tall box, right?

She checked both. He wasn’t there.

Fuck fuck fuck.

She turned back to Hollander. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

He shook his head. “I really don’t.”

She closed her eyes. She was going to have to do something she had never done before. Taking a single second to prepare herself, she took a deep breath in through her nose and then hit the talk button.

“Break. Break” she waited for two seconds and then repeated, “Break. Break.”

The hushed undercurrent of noise that was constantly found backstage came to a silent crashing halt. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew every member of her crew, of all the crews, just froze in their place. The ongoing chatter in her ear seized. There was complete silence.

“This is Christana Russo. I have lost contact with Ilya Rozanov. Last seen three minutes ago in the staging area. He is due to be on stage in,” she glanced at her watch, “six minutes.”

There was exactly one and a half seconds of complete silence before Dinah’s voice broke through. “Attention all crew members: we have a missing talent. Does anyone have eyes on Ilya Rozanov?”

“I saw him talking to a woman, a hotel employee I think, and then they took off down the hallway from the staging area that leads back to the green rooms,” Luke who had been passing by but was still frozen in place right where Hollander and Chistina were standing. “That was probably two minutes ago.”

Beside her, Hollander scoffed, shaking his head before composing himself and staring down at his shoes.

Dinah began delivering rapid fire directions in a very controlled tone.

“Chrissy, take Hollander to the wing and prepare him that he may be going solo.”

“Nolan, run to the writer’s room and have them whip something up for Hollander being a solo act. Make sure they remember to update the prompters.”

“Rest of you, we are dividing backstage into sections. Luke, the green rooms. Pete, the restrooms. Lindy, run out to the lobby. Olivia, scan the audience. Hannah, I want you to check the…”

She continued to assign different PA’s to every inch of the backstage area and hotel that Rozanov could have reasonably snuck off to in the last four minutes.

“And for goodness sakes, does anyone have his number?”

Chistina looked up at Hollander, who was still staring down at his shoes, arms crossed tightly across his chest. It was a long shot, but she had to at least ask. “Do you have his number?”

His head snapped up, his eyes a centimeter wider than normal. Something that looked a lot like hesitation flashed across his eyes. But then he shook his head and went back to staring at his shoes.

“Okay,” she clipped. “Follow me.”

They made their way to the wing; she delivered the updates in a hushed voice. “We have people combing through this place searching for him. But if we can’t find him, you’ll be presenting the award alone. The writers will come up with a new script, and the prompters will be updated.” Arriving at their mark she turned to him. “Can you do that?”

He looked down at her and nodded. “Yes.”

She let out a small, the smallest, sigh of relief. At least Hollander was comfortable going on alone. The show wouldn’t be delayed.

She stepped away from him as she listened to the search play out from her earpiece. She desperately wanted to abandon her spot and leave Hollander to search for Rozanov herself, but she knew it was more important, more practical, for her to stay here and ensure that she was in place to send them, if they found Ilya, on stage the second he was located.

“No sign of him in the audience,” Olivia reported in.

Luke chimed in, “Green rooms cleared.”

“Lobby clear.” That was Libby.

On and on she listened to the voices of her team come back empty.

Four minutes.

She glanced back at Shane, who was relatively out of view from everyone else. He was pacing now, as much as the small space allowed. She watched him as he also looked around the area, like he was as desperate as she was for Ilya to appear, though she didn’t think her expression was also tinged with apprehension like she was picking up on him. He grabbed onto one of the cables behind him, thank God it was locked, and it almost looked like he was using it to stretch. She lost count of the number of times she caught him looking down at his watch.

Three minutes.

This was an odd reaction, right? The desperation mixed with hesitation, the anxiety that was rolling off of him in waves, the barely there but still noticeable reactions he displayed throughout the night whenever Rozanov was mentioned. And it wasn’t just him. Rozanov had been just as weird. And under all that bravado, Chistina had to admit she had been ignoring the panic in his eyes all night.

What was going on?

Don’t get involved.

Two minutes.

“The writers have a new script and will update the prompters if they see Hollander take the stage alone. Chrissy, can we get conformation that Hollander is briefed and on board with contingency plan?”

“That’s a go,” Christina responded, at least there was a backup plan.

Christina wondered just how tough hockey players actually were. Would she be able to get a few good hits before Ilya subdued her? She was pretty quick.

One minute.

She took a deep breath. She could, and would, fantasize about killing famous hockey players later. Right now, she had to focus on making sure Hollander was ready to take the stage. She pushed off the beam she had been leaning on and watched him check his watch, again.

“Wow, nice watch. They give this to you for free or what?”

Christina whipped around and almost crashed into the man, where the hell had he come from?!

She watched Shane straighten his posture, decidedly not looking behind him where Ilya Rozanov just materialized out of nowhere.

“Cancel search,” Christina hissed urgently into her earpiece. “Rozanov is with me in wing. Both Hollander and Rozanov will be taking the stage for the award.” As long as she could keep an eye on him for the next…forty-five seconds.

“Copy that,” Dinah acknowledged. “Crew, please proceed with original plan. We are still running on schedule.”

“Where the fuck were you?” Shane hissed. “We’re on in five seconds.”

Finally, someone who understands that being seconds late could cause them thousands of dollars and throw off the entire rest of the show.

“Eh, twenty-five seconds,” Rozanov brushed off as he straightened up his sleeves.

Oh, she was going to kill him. Which was a shame, she had kind of liked him, before he had turned her gray and gave her serious heart problems.

“What were you even doing?”

Great question Shane!

Ilya didn’t answer and the MC introduced the two of them and the award.

“I was busy,” Ilya answered, still staring straight at the stage.

Hollander, on the other hand, finally glanced at him over his shoulder. “With who?”

Oh. That’s why he was mad. Was he jealous?

Ilya didn’t answer and it didn’t matter because it was finally time for them to get their asses onto the stage. Christina barely managed to slip her hands under their jackets to turn on their microphones as they walked by her.

“Rozanov and Hollander on stage,” She sighed, crashing down onto one of the boxes in the wing. Luckily it was sturdy and held her up as she watched their performance. It was a cheesy bit that played up their rivalry, but it had the audience laughing. Soon enough, they had announced the winner, waited for him to come up to the stage, and shook his hand before passing him the trophy that awaited him on the table next to the podium.

As the winner began his speech, Ilya and Shane exited the stage and made their way back into the wing. Shane had already stripped his mic from his body and held it out for Christina. She flipped the mic off and placed it in the basket.

He shrugged his jacket back on and gave her a tight grin. “Thank you for all of your help tonight.”

Chistina nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation.” It was a not-so-subtle dig at Rozanov which was unlike her. She was usually the epitome of professionalism, and she had dealt with way worse talents than him. But still, she wasn’t exactly happy with him at the moment.

Shane nodded and took off down the hallway. Normally she escorted talents away from backstage after their presentation was completed but she had a feeling Hollander needed the time alone.

Ilya stood beside her, stock still and staring at Shane’s retreating form until she got his attention and gestured to his jacket. He shrugged it off, allowing her access to the mic pac. She flipped it off and let him know it was dead.

“I am sorry for my leaving.” He said as he readjusted his jacket. “I did not mean to cause problems. I just needed… a moment.”

She dropped the mic into the basket before turning around him. She tried to hold onto the anger she had earlier, she really did, but it was hard to be angry when she saw the barely concealed exhaustion in his eyes.

So instead of ripping him a new one like she so desperately wanted to, she asked. “Are you okay?”

His smile was small but not completely fake. “Am fine.”

She didn’t believe him, but it wasn’t her place to push it. So instead, she just reminded him that he had about fifteen minutes before the MVP award was announced. “Please try to be back in your seat before they announce the nominees, the camera will pan to all of you as your names are announced.”

He nodded. “Will do. Thank you for everything you did tonight, cowboy Christina.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “Get out of here Rozanov.”

He smiled again and walked past her, confidently moving down the hallway. When he was out of sight, she collapsed back onto the box and held her face in her hands. Now that it was over, the stress of losing a talent and almost derailing the show washed over her.

Was she going to get reprimanded? Was she going to be fired? Would Dinah find her so incompetent that she essentially barred her from the business?

She scrubbed her face with her hands and tried her best to shake it off. Those were later problems, ones that she couldn’t even really do anything about.

The biggest problem she had right now?

She had to pee.

Christina pushed herself off the box, suddenly feeling every hour of her very long day. At least the part of the night that she was responsible for was practically over. She made her way quietly through the hall, slipping past other wranglers who were lining up their athletes and other talents for the rest of the ceremony. Keep a close eye on them she thought to herself, already finding the situation a little funnier than she did five minutes ago.

Walking past all of the still busy activity of the production she found a bathroom that was pretty secluded from the rest of the backstage area; perfect, she could use a little bit of silence right now.

She had one hand on the door, ready to push it open when she heard voices. She paused, debating whether or not she had time to go and find a private bathroom. Surely, she could-

“What the fuck do you want, Rozanov?”

Oh shit, it was Shane. Sure, she had just met the man today and only really spoke to him for a grand total of maybe fifteen minutes, but she recognized his voice. And he said Rozanov so Ilya must be there too. She should go. This didn’t exactly sound like it was going to be a cordial conversation.

Wait. What was her role here? If her talents were about to kill each other in the bathroom, did she have an obligation to prevent it? Or at least tell someone? But their part of the night was over. So, was she still their wrangler? What a fucking day. She itched to pull out the Advil she had stashed in her vest to kill the headache that was creeping in.

“You haven’t answered a text from me in like, six months. You won’t even acknowledge I exist unless there’s a fucking camera pointed at us, and then it’s for some fucking clown show. So yeah, what the fuck do you actually want from me?”

So, he did have Rozanov’s number!

Christina acknowledged that was probably the wrong thing to take away from Hollander’s declaration, but she felt vindicated. She knew he was hiding something.

Well, she was now realizing that they both might be hiding something.

“Well?”

Hollander’s voice wasn’t just angry. It was frustrated, sad, and maybe even a little desperate. He sounded confused, like had been working on figuring out some problem for a long time and was nowhere near a solution. He was reaching out for some kind of lifeline here. Reaching out to Ilya to be exact.

“I want you to suck my dick.”

Christina rolled her eyes. The amount of times she had heard athletes throw that or a similar line around to try and insult one another was truly ridiculous. At least get creative with your comebacks. She expected better after hearing how great Rozanov was at getting under his opponent’s skin.

“Oh, fuck you. You are unbelievable. You suck my dick.”

Not a strong response Shane, come on.

There was silence for a moment and then she heard footsteps as someone walked away from the door. “Maybe ask nicely,” Rozanov suggested.

Woah. What?

“Please,” came Hollander’s reply, sounding a little petulant if Chistina could be so bold in saying so.

“If you want me to get on my knees on this filthy bathroom floor and suck your dick, you will have to ask nicer than that.” There was a hint of command in Rozanov’s tone, a certain level of confidence that he had that this would go his way.

And sure enough, the next thing she heard Shane say was, “Please get on your knees, on this filthy bathroom floor, and suck my dick. Please.”

His voice was so soft it almost broke Chistina’s heart, if she put aside what exactly he was asking for. And he did ask so nicely.

After a suspiciously long pause, she heard, “No.”

Well, what the fuck do you want Rozanov?

“What?” Shane verbalized her thoughts for her.

“We will go back to our seats.”

Yeah, good idea, she thought, they were probably down to like ten minutes until the MVP award was announced.

“Watch the rest of the boring show.”

She tried not to take that personally; she was sure that after attending them for six plus years she would find them boring too.

“And then go to boring party after,”

She personally would be skipping that.

“And then, when you have been waiting all night, you’ll come back to my hotel room and I will maybe…maybe… do more than suck your dick.”

Okay, so these two are fucking, Christina concluded, not really knowing what other conclusion she could draw from this information she was just presented with. Didn’t these boys know that just anyone could walk by? They hadn’t even locked the door! Who knows who else could have overheard this conversation.

That’s why she decided to stay. To ensure their safety. Obviously. Not at all because she was desperate to know how this ended. Definitely not that.

“When did your English get so good?”

THAT’S WHAT YOU TOOK AWAY FROM THAT?!

Focusing on the wrong thing here Hollander.

“I, uh, I read the New Yorker now.”

This conversation is getting wildly off topic.

“Really?

Oh, come on Hollander, no. Not really.

“No. The New Yorker is boring.”

“My dad loves it.”

“Ah. So being boring is- is genetic.”

Was this flirting? Was this how hockey players flirted?

“Wow. Genetic.”

Christina was certain the word genetic had never been spoken so softly in the history of the universe. This was definitely flirting and it was definitely working.

“Then let’s make a deal. If you win MVP tonight, I will blow you, fuck you, whatever you want.”

She was going to get whip lash from the abrupt changes in conversation.

“And if you win?”

She waited for Ilya’s response. It was a fair question, and she desperately wanted to know because it kind of sounded like a win win situation from where she stood. But Ilya didn’t give Shane a response. Shamefully, she leaned in a little closer to the door, not wanting to miss his counteroffer.

And yup, that was the sound of two people sucking face. No doubt about that. She leaned away again; she didn’t need to hear that.

After a minute she heard Rozanov say, “Good luck tonight.”

Very sportsmanlike she thought to herself. But she didn’t get too long to focus on the irony because she suddenly was aware that there were footsteps coming towards the door.

Instantly, she released the handle of the door she hadn’t realized she was still clutching and quickly scanned the area for a hiding place. Luckily, a backstage area was always filled with random stacks of boxes, and she easily slipped in between a tall stack and the wall.

She waited until the door opened and then closed again. Through the small crack she could make out a mop of blonde curls turn and continue down the hallway. About two minutes later, Shane slipped out as well.

When she was sure they were both gone she crept out of her hiding place and walked into the bathroom. The second the door closed, she turned around and locked the deadbolt.

See, she thought to herself, that’s how it’s done boys.

Chapter End Notes

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 9: Two Random New York Gays

Chapter Summary

Scott wasn’t the only one crushing out on a hot smoothie barista. But he was the fastest to do something about it. This is the story about the other guy who was obsessed with Kip’s smoothies.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: This one has very little Hollanov in it. It focuses on Skip. Much like the third episode (have you caught onto the pattern yet?). Remember, without Skip we would not have Hollanov. Keep that in mind.

Date: October 2013

Location: New York

2013

With rising irritation, Noah looked up from his notebook that laid out in front of him. Instead of notes for his internship assignment at the elementary school where he’d spent the last week shadowing the social worker there, his notebook was filled with potential conversation starters for the barista that was across the smoothie shop and behind the counter.

However, Noah didn’t get a chance to try any of those openers because, right on time, Scott Hunter had walked through the door and Noah watched as the other barista, Maria, slid out of the way to allow Kip to the front of the counter.

“Morning Scott.” Kip said while bracing his arms on the counter and Noah briefly forgot why he was irritated as he watched the muscles in Kip’s forearms flex.

“Morning Kip,” came Scott’s smooth reply.

Right. That’s why he was irritated. Noah glanced down at his paper. ‘Morning Kip’ nowhere to be seen on the list of possible openers. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

He watched the two of them shamelessly flirt as Kip whipped together the blueberry and banana smoothie, something about how there was no possible way for Scott, millionaire MHL star Scott Hunter, to find smoothies as good as these on the road. Noah lasted about five more seconds before he was shoving his things into his bag and clearing his table with a huff.

He practically stomped his way across the small and mostly empty shop, throwing his trash away- he was mad, but he wasn’t an animal- before bursting through the door and joining the bustle of the New York streets. Noah retained his anger for the entirety of the ten-minute walk until he reached his destination.

After climbing three flights of stairs, he burst through the door to the apartment of his best friend.

Oliver, who had not known he was coming, didn’t even bother to look up from where he was lounging on the couch, book in hand. After four years of friendship, the two meeting their freshman year of college, Oliver was accustomed to Noah barging into his apartment, all hours of day and night, with no warning.

“I have good news and I have bad news,” Noah announced, dropping his bag into one of the oversized chairs in Oliver’s living room. His arms spread wide like he was presenting to a grand audience; a smoothie still clutched in one hand.

Oliver finally spared Noah a glance. “You know the rule. Bad news first.”

Noah huffed and placed the smoothie on the coffee table. Oliver immediately leaned forward and moved it onto a coaster, condensation already making a ring on the woven fabric. “Well, the story doesn’t make sense if I tell you the bad news first.”

With raised eyebrows, Oliver closed his book, sliding a bookmark carefully in place. It was obvious that he wouldn’t be getting anymore reading done until Noah had gotten whatever it was he needed off his chest. “How can that be true? It’s the same information.”

Oliver watched with a grin as Noah placed his hands on his hips and huffed. Maybe with a little bit of pushing, he’d get a foot stomp. Oh, how he loved to press this man’s buttons. “Okay it’ll make sense but it’s a lot less dramatic if I tell you the bad news first.”

“Oh, by all means then, please proceed however you wish.” Oliver swept a hand in front of himself, indicating Noah to continue.

He cleared his throat and then with his chin held high he began. “Good news. The love of my life, heart of my soul, my reason for being-”

“The hot smoothie barista you’ve said all of six words to and only know by the moniker on his name tag that says ‘Kip’?” Oliver couldn’t help but interject.

Noah, however, was giving him a look like the question was ridiculous. “Obviously.”

Oliver nodded, swallowing down the bitter taste that suddenly invaded his mouth. “Right. Go on.”

“Well, the good news is that he’s gay. Or queer, or’-” Noah gestured wildly like he was clearing the air, “he’s definitely into men.”

Oliver leaned back into the couch, one ankle over the other knee to keep it from bouncing and he stretched his arm over the back of the chair, all very casual like. Had Noah finally spoken to the guy? Finally asked him out? “And how did you come to this conclusion?” Noah quirked an eyebrow and forced a smirk. “Did you finally talk to him outside of your very specific 12 step smoothie order?”

Noah’s face took on a desperate, forlorn, look as he slowly shook his head, his arms drooping at his side. “No. Tragically he has been swooped out from underneath me. Taken from me while I was laying the groundwork.”

Despite everything, Oliver laughed. “You’ve been crushing on the guy for eight months. That’s a lot of groundwork.”

Not like Oliver had much room to talk. He’d been crushing on the guy standing in front of him for over four years and hadn’t done a damn thing about it.

In his, albeit weak, defense, it had taken him a solid year before he even realized it himself. He and Noah were fast friends after meeting at one of those freshman orientation seminars that were notorious for saying cliché bullshit like ‘these years are where you’ll meet your lifelong friends’. But he did meet Noah there and they quickly bonded over their mutual disdain for forced icebreakers, eventually deciding to break off and sneak away to find a local diner Noah had heard some of the upperclassmen raving about.

After that, they were practically inseparable. While they had completely different coursework, Noah being a social work major while Oliver studied computer engineering, they managed to spend the rest of their time together. They both got jobs at the local movie theater, they arranged their classes so they would have the same free time, claiming it was to keep each other accountable for study times, they had even considered living together after their sophomore year and were looking for off campus apartments.

Oliver however, just freshly realizing his true feelings for his best friend, had managed to hold on to a shred of self-preservation and claimed that his insomnia made him a terrible person to live with and that he was worried it would it would ruin their friendship.

Living together would have ruined their friendship but not because Oliver had insomnia. Oliver had finally come to realize his more than friendly feelings towards Noah in a very mundane way. It had been a rare Saturday night that they both were off and neither of them felt like going out so they camped out at Noah’s apartment watching a movie. It was bitterly cold outside, but Noah’s living room was dark and warm and cozy. Oliver looked over to Noah to make some comment about the main character of the movie being an idiot or something to find Noah fast asleep. His body was curved towards Oliver, and his hands were tucked under his chin in a way that could only be described as cute. And as Noah watched him sleep, he was overcome by a urge to reach out and drag Noah to him. To feel him pressed against him, Noah’s head on his chest, their hands intertwined.

Oliver, of course, being a self-respecting bi-man, panicked. Not because he was also realizing he was apparently attracted to men, that part had actually been pretty easy to come to terms with, but because he was completely unprepared on how to broach the subject with Noah, the one person he had been able to talk to about anything.

So, he ignored it. Figured if he’d just shoved it down, it would eventually go away on its own. He didn’t realize though that he was also ignoring Noah. In fact, he didn’t really notice until Noah finally confronted him with anger in his voice but tears in his eyes about the absurd amount of times Oliver had canceled their plans. Seeing the hurt in Noah’s eyes? Hearing the tremble in his voice? A knife to his gut would have hurt less.

And Oliver couldn’t help but think- if he had hurt Noah that badly, that carelessly, when they were friends, what would happen if they were more?

And that fear is what made Oliver decide that he would never act on his feelings for Noah. Their friendship was too important, and he wouldn’t risk hurting him. Not again. So, for the next three years, Oliver acted like he wasn’t insanely in love with the man who he spent almost every day with. It somehow was his greatest curse and biggest blessing all rolled up into one.

“Would you like me to continue the story or not?” Noah’s words pulled Oliver out of his memories and back to the present where he was listening to the love of his life lament over the loss opportunity with the hot barista. He couldn’t tell if Noah’s glare was because of Oliver’s interruptions or because he got distracted.

Oliver leaned forward and grabbed the smoothie. “Please. Continue.” And even though he gave Noah tons of grief about his complicated order and despite the fact that he held a strong amount of discontentment for Kip, whom he had never met, he did have to admit that it was a terrific smoothie.

So, Oliver drank the annoyingly perfect smoothie as he listened to Noah recount the past couple of weeks and his devastation as he finally accepted the object of his desire had been ‘stolen’ by Scott Hunter, yes, that Scott Hunter.

“And at first, I thought he was just being weird because he was star stuck. You know, maybe he’s awkward around the apparently very famous hockey player. But this has been going on for long enough that should have worn off. Plus,” Noah yelled as he paced around the living room, “I’m pretty sure he came to work once in Hunter’s shirt. Which I know because Hunter had come in wearing the exact same shirt a week before. And he keeps telling his friend Maria, the other barista, that he doesn’t even think that Scott is gay, and they’re ‘barely even friends’. Which obviously means their fucking.”

Noah crashed dramatically in the chair next to the sofa, long limbs falling to the side and his head tilting back, his throat exposed. Oliver, with practiced restraint, allowed himself three seconds of imagining what sort of noises he could get Noah to make if he pressed his own lips against the soft spot of skin where Noah’s pulse was visible. Then, after exactly three seconds, he refocused.

Oliver decided to give his friend some shit. “How much time are you spending in this smoothie shop exactly?”

Noah picked his head up and glared at him. “It’s the perfect study spot.”

“Right,” Oliver nodded, not bothering to hide the disbelief in his tone, and got up to throw the empty smoothie cup away. As he walked back to the couch, a few different snacks in hand, he said, “So, Hunter is queer huh? I wonder if there are any other queer players in the league?”

Noah sat up a little straighter and shrugged as he grabbed the pretzels out of Oliver’s hand. “I mean, probably. Just statistically speaking. You know, a while ago I saw this Tumblr about one of the Russian players, the whole page was about how this girl thinks that two of the players are secretly together. Let me find it.” He stood, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and walked over to sit right next to Oliver so he could also see his screen.

An hour later, thanks to a Tumblr page with the name of ‘ThatHockeyGirl_105’ both Noah and Oliver were pretty sold on the idea that Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were in fact sleeping together.

“Wow,” Noah said as he straightened up on the couch once they reached the last post, hitting the follow button on the page, “hockey is like super gay.”

Oliver shrugged, pretending not to miss the feel of Noah’s shoulder against his as he turned on the TV. “I think it’s just regular gay.”

June 2017

Noah and Oliver sat beside each other on Olver’s couch. Much has changed in the three years since Kip was stolen away from Noah, like the fact that they watch hockey now. Not a lot, and not every game but enough that they both had a basic understanding of the sport and had developed a strong loyalty to the Admirals.

They had both dated a few people in that time as well. Noah- a guy he met at the gym, Dean, and Oliver- a woman named Jessica who he had worked with.

Noah and Dean had made a go of it for a little over a year before they amicably called it quits, discovering that they just wanted different things with their lives.

Oliver and Jessica started dating shortly after Noah met Dean, and Oliver very pointedly did not think about the timing of that. They were good together, they were happy, and Oliver was relieved to be released from the longing he held for his friend. Mostly. But when Jessica had gotten a promotion that required her to move to Texas, their relationship came to an end. She had asked him to come with her but wasn’t the least bit surprised when he told her he couldn’t do it.

He, however, was shocked when she simply nodded and asked him how long he had been in love with Noah. Oliver denied it obviously, as was his basic instinct to do so after so many years. Jessica just gave him a patient smile and waited for him to run out of half-finished sentences.

When he had finally quieted, she reached out and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m not mad Ol, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands against his face. “I don’t want you to think that I’ve been lying to you or like using you for the past year.”

She laughed. “I don’t. You care about me; you might even love me. Two things can be true at the same time. But I think it’s different with him.”

He nodded. It was different. Oliver knew that. “Six years.” He said out loud. “I’ve been in love with Noah for six years.” He did the mental math in his head. It was April when Jessica got the offer for the promotion and transfer. “Six years and eight months.” It was the first time he had said any of this aloud to another person and he felt the weight of the secret lift off his chest.

“Oh, Oliver.” Jessica’s voice was soft and concerned. Too concerned for a woman who had just learned her partner had been in love with another person for almost seven years. But by some miracle, when Oliver looked at Jessica’s face, he didn’t find any anger or contempt, just gentle understanding. “You need to tell him. You can’t keep living like this.”

Oliver nodded but was looking down at the table, not able to lie to her face any more than he already had. But he also couldn’t fathom ever telling Noah. Not now. Not after all this time.

Jessica pushed herself up from the table where they were sitting in a dimly lit restaurant and walked over to the other side of the table. She placed one hand on his cheek and lifted his head, so he was looking at her. “You deserve happiness Oliver, and I hope you get it.” She pressed a soft kiss to his other cheek and then left the restaurant.

That was two months ago. And nothing has changed between Oliver and Noah since then, much to the disappointment of Jessica who had texted Oliver on a biweekly basis asking for updates. Despite everything, those two had been able to remain good friends, something Oliver was immensely grateful for.

“They’re really going to do it, aren’t they?” Noah’s voice pulled Oliver back to the present, directing his attention back to the TV that was playing the final game for the Stanley Cup. The Admirals were thirty seconds away from winning the entire thing.

“I think so,” Oliver nodded. “Have you forgiven him from stealing your barista yet?”

Noah sighed, grabbing a handful of popcorn that was sitting between them. “Forgiven? Yes. Forgotten?” Noah turned and an evil grin took over his face. “Never.”

Oliver rolled his eyes but laughed, watching as the seconds ran out and Scott Hunter officially won the cup for New York. Personally, Oliver would always hold a certain level of gratitude for Hunter, if he didn’t scoop up the smoothie barista, who knows what could have happened.

The players took turns skating around the rink, holding the cup above their heads while their family members met them on the ice. Oliver knew that this was not so secretly Noah’s favorite part, where the players got to celebrate with the people they loved the most. And sure enough, when Oliver turned his head to the side, he saw Noah’s gaze affixed to the screen, eyes soft, and a small smile making the dimples pop out on his cheek. His chest felt a familiar ache, and he resisted the urge to rub at the spot right underneath his breastbone.

“Ol?” Noah whispered, eyes still staring at the screen.

“Mhmh?” Oliver asked, still staring at Noah.

“Is that… is that Kip?”

Oliver had only met the man once, begrudgingly, when Noah had been out of town for two weeks and he couldn’t kick the craving for Noah’s smoothie. He had put in the order with the infuriatingly handsome barista who had laughed when he placed the ultra-specific order.

“Huh,” Kip had huffed. “I know someone who used to get this exact same thing.”

Oliver had made a noncommittal sound and then stood there silently while the smoothie had been made, trying to squash the anger he felt at the idea of Kip knowing anything about his Noah.

Finally, Oliver peeled his eyes away from Noah and back towards the screen and yeah, that was Kip. “What’s he doing?"

Noah shrugged and gestured towards the TV. “It looks like Hunter is waving him down.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know Oliver!” Noah voice rose in frustration.

Oliver raised his hands in surrender and smiled when Noah rolled his eyes. Silently, without any more questions, they watched as Kip slowly made his way down the stairs. When he reached the ice, Hunter held out his hand and then together they made their way out to center ice.

“Oliver are they…”

Both Oliver and Noah were sitting on the edge of the couch, leaning forward so their elbows and forearms were resting on their knees. Oliver was so focused on the screen he hadn’t even noticed when exactly Noah had reached out and grabbed his hand. When Scott Hunter leaned down and pressed his lips to Kip’s, the two of them stopped breathing. They watched silently as the crowd went insane, the commentators went wild, and everyone on the ice froze in place.

“Holy shit,” Noah whispered and when Oliver turned around, he saw tears forming in his eyes. “This is going to change things.”

Oliver’s eyes moved down to where their hands were still connected. Six years. Six years and ten months. Oliver had waited all this time. And for what? Was he really going to wait any longer. His gaze flicked back to the TV where Hunter had Kip pressed so tightly against him that he was practically picking him up off the ice. Strengthening his resolve, he looked back over at Noah, who now had full on tears running down his face.

“Noah?” Oliver whispered. His heart was racing and he was on the verge of passing out but he had to do this. Noah was right, this was going to change things. Starting with Oliver. When Noah didn’t seem to hear him, he tried again, squeezing his hand that still held his. “Noah.”

Eyes still glued to the TV until the very last second, Noah slowly turned his head. When he finally looked at Oliver, concern washed over his features. “Ol? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Noah turned so he was facing Oliver, his leg now on the couch between them, his knee pressing into Oliver’s hip.

Oliver nodded, trying to assuage Noah’s concern but his words were getting stuck in his throat. How, in almost seven years, had he not worked out how to tell this man how he felt? With a shaky breath he said, “I need to tell you something and after I do it might change things, everything, and I don’t want it to, well I mean I do want it to but it doesn't have to, not unless you also want what I want but you might not want that and I don’t want you to-”

Noah let go of his hand, which didn’t help things, until he readjusted so he had one hand on his shoulder and the other his head, forcing Oliver to look at him, he hadn’t noticed his gaze had slipped and he had been looking down at the couch this entire time. Noah’s face was concerned, eyebrows pinched and frantic eyes scanned Olivers face. “Oliver. It’s me. You can tell me anything. Just say it.”

This time, Oliver stared right into Noah’s eyes as he spoke. He willed his voice to be strong and clear; he didn’t know if he’d survive saying this a second time. “I love you. Like, I am in love with you.”

Oliver fell silent, unsure what else to say. But really what more was there to say?

Noah’s eyes widened and his mouth parted and Oliver instantly panicked. Fuck fuck fuck he thought to himself. He should have kept this to himself. He should have ignored this. He lasted this long, hadn’t he? Can he take it back? Can he claim insanity? What was he thinking?

Noah’s eyes were still scanning his face. Noah, his best friend, the person who could read every single thought Oliver ever had, was surely watching the outright panic attack that was brewing inside him. Oliver needed to get out of here. He needed to go. But he was frozen and couldn’t move.

“Oh, Ol, come here.” Contradictory to his words, Noah was the one who moved, using the grip he had on Oliver’s shoulder to pull himself into Oliver’s lap. Once he was seated, he wrapped his arms around Oliver, tucking his head into the space between Noah’s chest.

Oliver still felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, but he felt at least a little bit more grounded as he wrapped his arms around Noah’s back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the familiar scent he’d recognize anywhere as Noah, sandalwood like the soap he used, the unique clean scent of the blue powder detergent he’d been using since freshman year, and something underneath all of that was warm and simply just Noah.

Noah’s hold on him loosened a bit and Oliver started to panic all over again. But Noah’s hands cupped his jaw, forcing him to look up at Noah. He focused on the small circles Noah’s thumbs made on his cheeks, letting the feeling soothe him.

Noah’s eyes welled as he stared down at Oliver and gave him a wobbly smile. “I love you Oliver and I am most definitely in love with you.”

Oliver’s heart stopped. It stopped and was in absolute shock because in all the scenarios and possible reactions he predicted Noah to have, anger, resentment, pity, confusion, shock, he had never thought Noah would love him back.

Still in silent shock, Oliver stared up at him, looking at his best friend’s face looking for any sign this was an uncharacteristically bad joke, but all he found was genuine vulnerability. Even still, he couldn’t help the next words out of his mouth. “Are you sure?”

Noah threw his head back and laughed, the last of the tension draining from him and with it, Oliver’s doubt vanished too. But it still made his heart start racing again when Noah settled down, his head now tilting downward, so their foreheads brushed together when he nodded. “Yes, Oliver. I am sure.”

“Thank god,” Oliver whispered, the relief washing away seven years of fear, doubt, and uncertainty. With confidence filling its place he let go of where he had been clutching the back of Noah’s shirt, one hand finding a place on his solid waist and the other trailing up his chest until it found it’s place on the back of his neck.

A beat passed between them where they just stared into each other’s eyes. Even with Noah’s words, Oliver still needed a sign from him before he did this, before he crossed this line, he needed to know that it was okay.

When Noah nodded, his own fingers tightening in Oliver’s hair, that was all the sign he needed. With one solid tug, Oliver pulled Noah down until they were flushed together, until there was no space between them, until their lips crashed together in a mess of want and need and desire that had been building for seven years.

They didn’t let go of each other for the rest of the night. And later, much later, Oliver finally learned how it felt to have Noah tucked against him, with his head on his chest, and their fingers intertwined.

It felt like that sigh of relief after holding your breath too long.

It felt like laying down after a long day.

It felt like peace.

March 2021

“Babe!” Noah yelled and still, after three years, three years and nine months to be precise, Oliver couldn’t believe that nicknames like those coming from Noah were meant for him.

Husband though, was probably his favorite. They had been dating for a little over a year when Noah brought up the idea of marriage.

“How long do you think we should date before we get married?” Noah had asked one night while they were making dinner.

Oliver had laughed hard enough that he had to set down the knife he was using to cut the vegetables before he lost a finger.

Noah, who was helping mostly by sitting there and chatting, raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t find that question all that funny? Is this how I find out you don’t want to get married?”

Oliver sighed, his sides hurting from his laughter and walked around the kitchen island. He grabbed Noah’s wrists, unfolding his arms and looping them around his own waist. When Noah got the hint and held onto him, Oliver then stepped between his legs and placed his hands on Noah’s shoulders, squeezing them hard enough that Noah’s body shook a little bit. “Noah, baby, I have been in love with you for eight years now, only one of those where you’ve been aware of it.” He placed two fingers under Noah’s chin to make sure they were looking at each other’s eyes. “I plan on loving you every day for the rest of my life. Whenever you want to make that known on a piece of paper, you let me know and I’ll be there. I’ve been ready for eight years, you take your time, I’m not going anywhere. Understand?”

Noah’s eyes were glassy as he nodded. Not able to find the words for what he was trying to convey, he frantically pushed his fingers into Oliver’s hair, pulling him down until his mouth was on his. They’ve had a lot of different kinds of kisses since their first one, slow ones, quick ones, ones that were more laughter than anything else, angry ones, short ones, long ones, ones that felt like a habit, and everything in between. But these kinds of kisses, the frantic, needy, desperate ones? The ones where they both felt like they couldn’t get enough, like they needed the other like they need oxygen? Yeah, those were their favorites.

Eventually, they came up for air and Oliver placed a linger kiss on Noah’s forehead. “Dinner is burning,” he chuckled and pulled away, despite the protests escaping from Noah. Oliver removed the offending pan from the stove, grateful that it wasn’t actually burning. Glancing over to Noah, he saw the man with his head titled to the side and his eyebrows furrowed together.

“Wait. What do you mean eight years?!?”

Oliver just chuckled and continued to chop the vegetables.

Noah proposed a month later.

They were married within the year.

Oliver was done waiting.

“Babe!” Noah shouted once again, pulling Oliver out of his thoughts. A second later, his husband was bursting into their kitchen, stumbling as he caught the corner with his shoulder.

“Maybe try looking up from the phone, Noah.” Oliver suggested and began to pour a second mug of coffee.

Noah did in fact look up. “Have you seen this?”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been awake for thirty minutes. I have not seen anything other than a sleeping you when I left bed, and this kitchen.” He pushed one of the mugs across the island counter towards his husband who rudely ignored it in favor of pointing to his phone. Oliver sighed and pointed at the mug with one hand while holding out the other, palm up. “Trade?”

Noah nodded, handing over his phone before wrapping his hands around the steaming mug. Satisfied after watching him take a sip, Oliver finally glanced at the screen. A picture, likely a screen shot that had been blown up based on the image quality, of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov full on kissing spread across the screen. Above it was a punny title about hockey players heating up the ice. Oliver quickly scanned the article that followed the picture even though it wasn’t really needed. What was that about a picture being worth a thousand words?

“Wow,” Oliver said as he looked up from the phone, kind of at a loss for words.

Noah nodded sagely like he understood the sentiment in that one word. “I know.”

Oliver chuckled, a memory coming back from many years ago. The two of them huddled together on a couch staring down at a phone screen. “Big day for ThatHockeyGirl_105 huh?”

Chapter End Notes

<3

Chapter 10: A Girlfriend of One Random Hockey Fanatic

Chapter Summary

As certified romance reader, Natasha knew an enemies to lovers trope when she saw it. She was also the girlfriend to a certified hockey nerd. Those two things couldn’t possibly overlap with each other…right?

Chapter Notes

Date: Fall-ish 2015ish

Location: USA

These were some of Natasha’s favorite types of days. The air was crisp enough that breeze coming in from the open windows was cool, but the sun was still present enough that it warmed her skin. She had a candle burning that made the room smell like warm apples. The house was clean thanks to her and her boyfriend, Levi, spending most of the day yesterday cleaning it. She was curled up on the couch with a light blanket and a good book and lots of snacks in reach. Levi was on the other end of the couch, her feet in his lap, his hands squeezing her calves. And there was a hockey game playing on the TV.

Levi, her boyfriend for the past three years, was what she lovingly referred to as a certifiable hockey nerd. He wasn’t just a hockey fan. He didn’t have a favorite team or favorite players. He just loved the sport. The whole entire sport. Which meant that many of Natasha’s days from September to June were spent like this- curled up on the couch while her boyfriend watched hockey.

Now, it was very important to know that Natasha did not mind spending her days like this. She got to read her books or work on her various projects while spending some time with her boyfriend in a very low stress and easy way. Levi was a chill spectator and that was paramount to this being a success for the both of them. There was no yelling, shouting, or couch coaching when it came to Levi. And since he didn’t have a favorite team, his mood didn’t violently sway one way or another just because a man on the screen scored a goal.

Natasha also didn’t mind the actual sport herself. After three years of listening and watching it in the background, she had grown a certain fondness for it and for the players. What she really didn’t mind though was how hot Levi got when he got all worked up during a game. She didn’t really understand much of what he was saying when he started rambling on about the statics, strategies and nuances of the game but she didn’t have to. The passion and excitement he showed was enough to make her smile.

So yes, today, as she shifted so her head was now in Levi’s lap, her book in her hand, his fingers in her hair, and a hockey game playing in the background, she was quite happy.

The game was well into the third period when Natasha closed her book and slid it onto the coffee table in front of them.

“You finished it?” Levi asked, adjusting the blanket so it covered her shoulders again. She nodded. “It end like you thought it would?”

She let out a small yawn. “Exactly like I thought it would.”

He laughed a little. “I don’t know why you enjoy reading so much when you always predict the ending. It’s like you’re spoiling it for yourself.”

She shrugged. “The story is still good, even if I saw the ending coming. Plus, I like it when I’m right.”

Levi laughed. “It helps that you’re right like nine times out of ten.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“You want to go pick out a new book? Or I can grab one for you if you want?”

Natasha shook her head. “I’m okay right now. I’m so tired I might let this boring game lull me to sleep,” she joked, knowing Levi knew she didn’t actually find hockey boring at all. Still, he poked her ribs with his fingers and she giggled. “Who’s playing anyway?”

“Metros and Raiders. Boston is playing at Montreal.”

No, this wasn’t a boring game at all. While she might not be able to tell you about every team in the league, she did know these two. Two of the best players in hockey at the moment were currently playing each other. When Levi talked about how these two compared to each other, how their strengths and weaknesses basically mirrored each other, his eyes would light up, he would get that super focused look, and he would start rattling off stats like he had a spreadsheet in front of him. She loved it. So yes, she did know a little bit about these two teams.

They watched the rest of the game, chatting here and there but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. It was nice Natasha thought, being with someone who you could share silence with.

The game ended and Natasha was on the couch as Levi packed up all the leftover snacks. The post-game broadcast was still playing and Natasha watched as a highlight reel played. Someone had clipped together footage of Hollander and Rozanov over the last seven years, highlighting their skills and competitiveness.

“Babe?” Natasha yelled out as the reel continued, they really did have a lot to use after so many years.

“Yeah, Tash?” Levi yelled back from the kitchen; the sound of the fridge opening could be heard as he walked around the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you tell me Hollander and Rozanov were together? How long has that been a thing?”

Only silence came from the kitchen. The fridge door shutting, seemingly by itself.

“Babe?” Natasha asked when she didn’t hear anything.

Finally, she heard her boyfriend’s footsteps as he made his way out of the kitchen and back towards the living room. She looked back to see a very confused Levi looking at her with something that looked like apprehension. “What did you ask me?”

“Hollander and Rozanov. They’re like together. That seems like pretty big news, I’m just surprised you didn’t mention it. How long has that been a thing?”

Levi shook his head slowly, like she was speaking in a language he wasn’t familiar with. “You’re talking about Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov?”

“Do you know more than one Hollander and Rozanov?”

“Tash, they’re not a thing. They’re well, they’re rivals. I’m pretty sure they might actually hate each other. Plus, they’re complete opposites.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed at him. “It’s like you have never even heard of enemies to lovers and opposites attract. You know Levi, here I am taking a special interest in your hobbies, it would be nice if you did the same for me.” She winked and pretended to forget that Levi had listened to her hour long rant the other day about the fantasy series she was working her way through, he even paid special attention as she drew out a timeline to ensure he understood the order of events.

He came around and sat back down on the couch next to her, looking at her like he didn’t want to insult her. “I know I just supported the claim that you are right nine out of ten times, but I think this may be that one time Tash.”

She just shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He side-eyed her. “Do you have any proof or are you just going off of a vibe?”

Natasha shrugged. “I rarely need more than my general vibe but sure, I’ll find you your proof. I’m sure someone has put together a YouTube video or something.”

She did a quick google search of their names and then added ‘together?’. A couple of search results down was a link to a Tumblr page. “Oh, this is even better,” she grinned as she connected the phone to the TV so she could go full presenter mode. God bless the girl who was going to help her win this argument.

Thirty minutes later and Levi sat on the couch in stunned silence. “Well, I be damned.” His sat stock still as his eyes flickered back and forth in front of him like he was mentally replaying every game the two had played against each other. “Can we pull up that MHL award clip again? I watched that live and I can’t believe I didn’t catch that.”

“Gladly,” Natasha smirked and scrolled back a couple of posts then clicked on the video.

They spent the next hour or so like this, Natasha finding evidence to support her theory and Levi requesting to bring up footage from random dates of games or press conferences to corroborate her claims. By the end, he had to admit she at least had a very strong case for her theory.

A week later, as they were supposed to be packing for a trip, Levi sent her a link to an article that highlighted all the woman Rozanov had been seen with this this season. It was not a short list. She rolled her eyes, not at all swayed in her belief in her theory.

“One, bi people exist,” she began her lecture as he walked back into the room. He gave her a ‘oh really’ look but otherwise let her continue. “Two, I never said they were exclusive, nor did I ever say that weren’t seeing or fucking other people. Three, could be a cover story. To throw people off their scent.” She shrugged. That last one was definitely less likely, but it was still a fun idea. He laughed and dumped a pile of fresh laundry on top of her, initiating a full-on wrestling match that ended with them both laughing and out of breath with not a single item packed.

A few months went by where they hadn’t really thought about it again. Until June, and they had just finished watching Shane Hollander lead his team to win the Stanley Cup. Levi turned to Garret, their friend who had come over to watch the game. “Have you ever wondered if two players were like together?”

Garret slowly turned around, beer halfway to his lips. “No?”

“Well, me neither!” Levi tilted his head from side to side. “But then Tash said something, and then she found a Tumblr page and some videos and now… now I think Shane Hollander might be dating Ilya Rozanov.”

Garret put down his beer back onto the coaster on the coffee table. “I wanna see!”

Natasha grinned, pulling her phone out and standing up by the TV. “So, our story starts here in 2008…”

It becomes a running bit between the two of them. When they watch the games the two play against each other, Natasha is constantly pointing out the ‘tension’, the ‘angst’, and most of all- the ‘yearning’. Levi flip flops between sending her supportive evidence and criticism, but either way she never waivers.

In November of 2016 when Levi sends her posts announcing the relationship between Shane Hollander and Rose Landry, she barely reads the articles before rolling her eyes and sends back ‘yeah, no way. I’m not buying that.’

During the All-Stars game in 2017, while Levi is geeking out about the two best hockey players playing together, Natasha is pointing out the blatant chemistry the two of them have. When Ilya slams a kiss onto Hollander’s helmet, she’s on her feet. “It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it!”

A few months later, when Ilya is back on the ice in Montreal after his dad died, the two of them are holding each other’s hand as they watch the medics cart off Shane. “Look at Ilya,” Natasha whispers, the camera zooming in on his face. “How is no one else seeing this right now? He is not okay.”

When Scott Hunter brings down that random man after winning the cup in June of 2017 and kisses the life out of him on center ice, Natasha between her squeals of excitement, turns to Levi and says, “This is a big day for Shane and Ilya.” And completely ignores Levi when he says, “I think it’s a bigger day for Scott Hunter.”

It’s 2021. She and Levi made it official a few years ago and got married in a small ceremony in their backyard with just their families and closest friends. Their biggest update came in the form of the cutest, but also the loudest, little newborn baby girl two months ago. Natasha loved her life and she loved her family.

Which is why, when her husband came bursting through the door yelling her name, right after she had fought an all too sleep resistant baby into a nap, it was a shame she was going to have to kill him. He’d be missed.

“Tash!” he yelled again, kicking off his muddy boots by the door and practically sprinting over to her where she stood in the kitchen.

“Levi!” she whispered yelled, glancing at the video monitor she had propped up on the counter. “If you don’t shut up this instant, I will stab you in the eye with a spoon.”

He grinned, instantly getting her reference. “Why a spoon?”

“Because it’ll hurt more!” She finished with a smile, forgiving him once she was sure Mason, her sweet sweet but way too sleepy of a baby girl was still out cold. “What is so important that you forgot it was nap time in this household?”

“You were right.”

Natasha sighed and put her hand on her hip. “I can’t even tell you how much more specific you’re going to have to be, babe. I’ve been right about a lot of things in my life.”

“Hollander and Rozanov. A video of them got leaked or something, I guess. But you were right. They’re together, and it looks like they have been for a while.”

“Oh.” She said simply. “That’s nice. Well, not nice they were outed I guess but still, the two of them together is nice.”

“Yeah… it’s nice.” Levi said squinting at her.

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged. “You just happened to guess one of the biggest surprises in hockey in like recent history and you’re just like ‘that’s nice’?”

She returned his shrug with one of her own and picked up the cup of tea she had fixed herself. “It’s no big deal; we’ve known about this for years Levi.”

“But still! Now we know!” This time he did it. A second later, a wail burst through the house as Mason, the bundle of joy with sleep regression, protested her daddy’s loud voice.

Natasha pointed a finger at her soon to be dead husband. “You’re dealing with that.”

He nodded with a sheepish look covering his features. “Absolutely, I have her. Don’t you worry. I will get her back down, I promise.” He jogged over and kissed her on the cheek before walking over to the stairs.

Just as he walked up the first few Natasha called out to him and he turned around. Giving him a smirk she raised her mug and said over the top of it. “When I’m right, I’m right, aren’t I?”

Levi gave her the biggest smile and nodded. “Absolutely you are.”

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for following along!

Chapter 11: A Very Discrete Uber Driver

Chapter Summary

A retired high school teacher in Boston gets bored enough that he starts driving for Uber and good thing too, because who else is going to chauffeur MHL players on their drunken late night McDonalds run, drop them off for their mid-day hook ups, or carefully work them through a panic attack on their way back to their hotel after the aforementioned mid-day hook up?

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: Would professional hockey players like Shane and Ilya take Ubers? I can’t even pretend to know, genuinely. But let’s pretend the answer is yes, just for fun.

Date: October 2016

Location: Boston

When Charlie retired after twenty years of teaching high school students, he had big plans. To travel, to pick up golf, to spend time with his grandchildren, annoy his wife (affectionately), became a man of leisure. And he did. He crossed off all his bucket list places to go and continued to add, and cross off, new places every couple of months. He learned to play golf, learned he didn’t like golf, but he did enjoy pickleball. He spent at least two days a week with his grandchildren. And he annoyed his wife at every opportunity.

But realistically, they could only go on so many trips, his pickleball buddies were limited to one game a week, his grandchildren were all in school, and his wife was quite busy with all her various committees and groups. What no one told him about retiring is how bored he would get.

He read through his library and took his dog on as many walks as the old boy could handle but what he really needed was a way to get out of the house and talk to people. So, when he saw a commercial one day about Uber, he thought, why not? He had the time. He lived in Boston his entire life so he knew how to avoid the traffic and knew how to navigate it when he couldn’t avoid it. Plus, it was definitely a way to get out and talk to people.

So, at age 55, when his wife was busy and his grandchildren were in school, Charlie could be found in his car, driving people around the streets of Boston. And he loved it. He enjoyed finding new parts of the city he had never explored, hearing people’s stories, and just being helpful to be honest.

Plus, the money wasn’t bad. Especially when one of the sports teams had a home game. Especially when that team was the Raiders and they were playing the Montreal Metros. The entire city went crazy for at least three days, the day before, the day of, and the day after. Though the day after was mostly just people who were incredibly hungover or maybe even still drunk, who needed a ride from their hotel room. The tips from those weekends went straight into the trip fund. When Boston won, the fans were so elated that they were practically throwing money at him. And when the Metros won, they felt so smug that they often repented by tipping him double the normal amount. So, when Boston and Montreal play each other, Charlie usually tries to make sure his schedule is clear.

His biggest tipper though? That goes to Ilya Rozanov, star center for the Boston Raiders. Last season, he had gotten a request for five adults for a pickup from a swanky bar downtown with the destination listed as a house in one of the nicer areas Charlie was familiar with.

When he had pulled up from the bar, a tall man with blonde curls came up to his passenger window and stuck his hand inside. “Charlie, yes?”

Charlie shook the man’s hand and pretended like he didn’t know who he was. As a lifelong Bostonian, he knew who Ilya Rozanov was but still he said, “That’s me. Are you Ilya?”

Rozanov nodded. “Yes, I am Ilya. I have a proposition for you, Charlie.”

Charlie eyed that charming grin that he assumed had gotten Ilya in and out of a lot of trouble in his young life. “Let’s hear it.”

“I am desperately trying to not host a sleepover for my fellow teammates here,” he gestured towards the group of four men who were huddle together behind him, “but I do not trust them to get home themselves. So, I am hoping, dear Charlie, that you wouldn’t mind adding a few stops on the way to my house. You will be paid handsomely for your time; I give you my word.”

Charlie chuckled and nodded. “That’s not a problem.”

“You are a man of great honor Charlie,” Rozanov smacked his palm against the door frame with glee.

“Ask him about the other thing Roz,” one of the four men leaned forward and whisper yelled.

Rozanov turned around towards his teammate and held up a finger. When he faced Charlie once again, he had a pleading look on his face. “Charlie, do you know where the closest McDonalds is?”

Which is how Charlie ended up pulling into to a McDonald’s drive thru at three am and ordered three twenty-piece McNuggets, seven large fries, four quarter pounders, five McFlurry’s, six apple pies, four snack wraps, three diet cokes, and two dr. peppers. And two Happy Meals. At Ilya’s insistence, Charlie got himself a ten-piece chicken nugget with fries and a sprite.

As they waited for the food, the four teammates chatted amongst themselves in the back seats. Charlie eavesdropped, sue him, but they mostly just chatted about the game, which Charlie had listened to during his rides.

Rozanov, however, sat in the passenger seat and was mostly focused on his phone. Charlie tried not to be too obvious as he watched the same series of events play out over and over. Rozanov would type out a message, press send, anxiously tap his fingers against the arm of the door, and then, when the phone lit up with a new message, he would glance around the car to make sure no one’s eyes were on him before opening the message, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes scanned the screen.

After watching teenagers secretly text under their desks for the last half of his career, he was particularly good at spotting people who were trying to be incognito. But why was Rozanov being incognito about his texting endeavors? Who could he possibly be texting that he would need to hide it from his teammates?

Charlie was purposefully not looking at Rozanov, the screen had just lit up so he’d be doing his scan of the car, when he heard the man laugh. Unable to help himself, Charlie glanced over towards the passenger seat.

Rozanov caught him looking but his smile stayed in place as he lifted his phone, the screen black as it had been locked. “My uh… my Jane. She tells jokes.”

Charlie smiled, the man was clearly infatuated. “That’s nice. Did she watch your game tonight?”

He thought about his words for a second longer than Charlie thought would be needed. “Ah, yes. Jane watches our hockey games very closely.” He snorted to himself and glanced back down at the phone.

Charlie thought the word choice was a bit odd but just wracked it up to English being the man’s second language and his words coming out oddly due to the alcohol he drank that night. “Will you get to see Jane tonight?”

Rozanov’s eyes shot up and took in Charlie like he was trying to uncover a secret intention in Charlie’s question. When he found none, he shook his head. “No. Jane had to leave Boston tonight. She travels for work a lot.”

Charlie looked out the window, pretending to check to see if the massive amount of food was on its way but he figured Rozanov would like a moment to check his phone without Charlie’s eye on him. “That’s hard. Being apart.”

Rozanov was silent for a long time, causing Charlie to look back over at him. He saw the man looking down at his phone with a 100-yard stare like he wasn’t really seeing the screen in front of him. “Yes,” he finally spoke, nodding once. “It is.”

Something in his tone stopped Charlie from responding right away. He took the man in, the set of his jaw, the tightness around the corners of his eyes, the way his knee was bobbing up and down. “Ilya-”

Charlie was cut off by a knock on his window. He turned around to see three McDonald’s employees standing outside his door, each with trays filled with several bags. When he glanced back towards the man in his passenger seat, the worrisome expression had been replaced with that charming smile. Charlie sighed and rolled down the window.

With the food properly distributed, Charlie pulled out of the parking lot and to the first house on the list Ilya had provided. The team chatted amongst themselves for the rest of the time and Ilya’s phone stayed in his pocket.

Over an hour later Charlie pulled up the driveway to Rozanov’s house. The man had moved to the back seats after his last teammate was dropped off to make sure all the food, containers, and bags had been collected. When Charlie put the car in park, Ilya had grunted out a “one second,” before jumping out of the car and jogging to the trash bin that had been left on the curb. The trash being disposed of, Rozanov jogged back to Charlie’s window that had been rolled down.

Rozanov shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. With deft fingers he pulled out a thick stack of bills and then held out his hand to Charlie. Charlie, who shook his head and reeled back like the money might bite him.

“Oh, I can’t. That’s way too much.”

“Nonsense.” Rozanov pushed his hand further into the car. “We take up many hours of your night and you make several stops so I can sleep in peace tonight. That is invaluable, but I hope this will come close.” The two men had a stare down before Rozanov’s face went slightly softer. “Plus, you talked to me about my Jane. I do not get to talk about her often. So, please.” He held out his hand again.

With Rozanov’s face soft and unguarded, it was impossible to tell the man no. Charlie accepting the stack of bills, deciding that he would put it towards the trip his wife wanted to take.

Rozanov smiled, satisfied as he put away his wallet. “Thank you, Charlie, for your patience tonight.”

Charlie waved him off. “I had a fun time tonight with you boys, you’re a good crowd. Good luck Rozanov.” The man eyed him suspiciously, so he added, “with the season.”

Rozanov nodded, his face relaxing as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and walked backwards towards his house. “Goodnight Charlie.”

Charlie waved at him before backing down the driveway and out onto the road. He officially closed out of the app, taking him offline and headed home.

What a night.

Charlie’s phone chimed, letting him know that he had a request for a new ride, and it pulled him out of his thoughts about last season. He reviewed the request, a pickup from a hotel near the arena and a drop-off to a private address about twenty minutes away. Charlie accepted the ride, put his car in drive, and headed towards the hotel.

He rolled up to the designated ride share pick up location and immediately spotted the man waiting on the sidewalk. As he parked, the guy in the brown leather jacket, simple white shirt, and dark jeans looked up. A second later he walked to the back of the car, looked at the license plate and then checked his phone again. A safety guy, Charlie respects that. The man opened the back door and leaned in.

“Hi. Who’re you picking up?”

Charlie looked at his phone that was settled on the dash. “Shane,” he read the name off the screen.

“Great. I’m Shane. Nice to meet you.”

“Charlie,” he nodded and turned to look at the man. The second he did, he recognized him. Even with the hat and glasses, he was easily recognizable. That was Shane Hollander. Holy shit, that was Shane Hollander. He opened his mouth to reintroduce himself, and to tell him what a big fan he was, even if he was a native Bostonian, but at the same time Shane pulled the cap to sit lower on his head, covering even more of his face.

Shane Hollander wasn’t wearing the cap and sunglasses to block out the sun that was hidden behind the clouds. He was trying to hide who he was. As big of a hockey fan as he was, he was a bigger fan of being a decent human being. Charlie didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable so instead he turned around and pretended he needed to mess with his phone. “We should be there in about thirty minutes. Traffic is pretty bad, but I think I know how to get around it.”

“Appreciate it,” Hollander clipped, staring out the window. Charlie knew the guy wasn’t trying to be an asshole; he had the reputation as one of the nicest guys in the league. He was just trying to get through this ride with as little interaction as possible. Charlie got that.

He thought about that as he pulled away from the hotel and back onto the busy street. He felt bad that Shane had to put in so much effort into hiding who he was just to get a ride somewhere. What had happened to him in the past to make him think he needed to hide in the first place?

Well, Charlie was going to try and make him as comfortable as possible. And based on his body language, talking definitely wasn’t the way to go. Instead, Charlie turned on some music and settled in for a very quiet ride. When he had gotten the request, something about the address felt familiar but he brushed it off. He had been doing this gig for over two years now and had driven all over this city. He had given thousands of rides and very purposefully never memorized an address. Sometimes things felt familiar, but it never ended up being anything, so he didn’t pay it any attention.

What he did pay attention to though, was Hollander in the back seat of his car. The way he kept shifting his weight every two minutes, the way he was pulling on his fingertips, the way his knee was constantly bouncing. He readjusted the cap on his head ten times in the first fifteen minutes of the car ride. And the entire time, he stared out the window, keeping his face turned and looking down.

It took everything in him to tamp down his natural curiosity and resist trying to figure out could possibly have Hollander so worked up. Charlie shook his head, reprimanding himself. It was not any of his business. He shouldn’t be so nosey. His wife was always telling him he should stay out of people’s business.

In order to do so, Charlie forced himself to stop watching Hollander in the rearview mirror and instead forced himself to take in his surroundings. This neighborhood did look a little familiar now that he was paying attention. All neighborhoods out in this area look the same though, right? Nice houses, nice yards, nice cars.

Although, that weird statue moose statue did look a little a little too familiar. Had he seen that before? And that street name, Infirmary Rd, stood out to him. He knew he had seen that before, because it caught his attention the first time as well.

The first time he had seen it.

A year ago.

In the middle of the night.

With a very different, much louder, hockey player sitting in his car.

A hockey player who had snapped a photo of the moose statue and then sent if off to someone before waiting anxiously for a reply.

Slowly, much too slowly, it was all coming back to him. The neighborhood looked just the same as it did a year ago as he worked his way down the quiet roads. The bright yellow house on the corner. The house with the hilariously large fountain on his right. The lawn with the rose bushes lining the wrought iron fence.

He glanced down at the screen, trying to work out exactly where the blue dot was leading him.

No.

It couldn’t be.

But there was the house with the three different bird baths in the front yard. And then the driveway that somehow had pink gravel.

He hugged the curve as the road twisted to the right, preparing to pull into the driveway that he would have missed since it was so tucked away the first time he drove here if the homeowner wasn’t sitting right next to him.

Ilya Rozanov’s driveway.

Because that’s where he was dropping off Shane Hollander. At Ilya Rozanov’s house.

Shane Hollander. At Ilya Rozanov’s house.

Which could mean nothing.

Right?

“You can, uh you can just pull up to the curb. You don’t have to go up the driveway.” Those were the first words Shane had spoken since Charlie pulled away from the hotel.

Charlie nodded and turned on his hazards as slowed to a stop. Mentally though, he dredged through his memories until he pulled up one of the front of Rozanov’s house. Specifically, the large glass panes that surrounded his front door. Big enough that you could see a person on the other side.

Shane didn’t want Charlie to see who was on the other side of that door. He didn’t want him to see whose house he was at.

Unfortunately, Charlie already knew.

Fortunately, Charlie was very dedicated to Shane never figuring that out.

Shane undid his seatbelt and opened the door. “Thanks man. Have a good day.”

“You too,” Charlie huffed out, throwing a hand in the air but purposefully not looking up from his steering wheel. As determined as he was to not give anything away, he was still a terrible liar, best not to make eye contact as Shane climbed out of the car.

But when the door closed, Charlie counted to ten and looked up, eyes following Shane as he walked up the driveway. About halfway up he shed the hat and glasses, stuffing both in the interior pockets of his jacket. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling out the flat parts caused by the hat before straightening his jacket and taking a deep breath.

Charlie watched as Shane pressed the doorbell and couldn’t help but laugh as he knocked on the side of the house before realizing his mistake and then knocked again on the door. A second later, Shane Hollander disappeared into the house of Ilya Rozanov.

Charlie sat there, stunned, trying to come up with a reasonable justification for Shane Hollander to be at Ilya Rozanov’s the day before their teams played each other.

Five minutes later, he hadn’t come up with one.

But his phone did chime with a new ride request. And he took it, hoping that it would keep his mind busy enough that he lost interest in the quietest, most interesting ride he picked up since he had started his post-retirement job.

The next few hours kept Charlie in the area. Pick up’s and drop offs to some of the local, more low key, bars and pubs, others were from one house to another, a few tourists who finally succumbed to their day of walking the city and now just needed a ride back to their hotel. In those hours he met several different people, was shown pictures of children, grandchildren, and pets, listened as a woman animatedly recalled her day to her sister, and silently handed a teenager a box of tissues when he got in the back seat with red eyes.

He dropped off the teenager at the house and watched as a woman came out onto the porch and waited for him to walk up the stairs. The second he was on the landing; the woman opened her arms and pulled him into her. As Charlie backed out of the driveway, she looked up, lifting her hand in thanks. He nodded back to her and continued to back away from the house.

Parked down the street, he pulled his phone away from the dash and was considering calling it a night when a request came through.

This time, he recognized the address instantly.

Ilya Rozanov’s address.

And the rider?

Shane.

Charlie accepted the ride without thinking about it and made his way back into the neighborhood, almost not even needing the GPS that showed on his phone. Ten minutes later he was back outside Rozanov’s house. As he pulled up, he saw Shane Hollander standing on the sidewalk next to the driveway.

Charlie observed three different things that instantly clued him to something being wrong. One, the hat and sunglasses were missing. Two, as Shane walked towards the car, Charlie took in the man’s rumpled appearance, like his clothes were thrown on as he ran out of the house. Three, Shane didn’t check the license plate or confirm who Charlie was there to pick up, he just opened the door and practically jumped inside.

The first time Shane Hollander was in his car, he seemed anxious, apprehensive, maybe even a little scared. But excited. He was also excited. But now, as Charlie took him in from the view of the rear-view mirror, he just seemed sad.

“You’re going to The Liberty, right?” Charlie asked, somewhat unnecessary since Charlie had just picked him up from there a couple of hours ago.

Shane just nodded and gave a grunt signaling his assent. He was still staring out the window, but not in avoidance this time. There was hesitation in his gaze as he stared back at the house, like he was resisting the urge to throw the door open and make his way back up that driveway.

“You sure you’re ready to go?” Charlie asked, watching Hollander from the mirror.

There was silence for a minute before Hollander nodded, finally looking away from the window and down at the floor. He lifted a hand and seemed to tug at his eyelashes. “Yeah. It’s time for me to go.”

Charlie nodded and put the car in drive, even though he thought to himself- that’s not exactly what he asked. Sneaking glances at Hollander as he made his way through the neighborhood again, he noticed that Shane held perfectly still this time, almost concerningly so. His face was tight, lips thin, and his hands were clasped together so tightly his knuckles were white.

Charlie flipped on the radio but didn’t play music, he selected one of his preset channels and waited until the voice of Zachary Maxwell filled the car. He was Charlie’s favorite hockey announcer; his voice was steady and calm as he gave a play by play of a game happening in Florida. Charlie watched as Hollander noticed then reacted to the change in background noise, his shoulders coming away from his ears a little bit, he leaned back into the seats by a degree.

“There’s water in that cooler there if you want any,” Charlie put a lot of effort into making the words come out causally as he turned left onto a busy road.

Shane looked over and then unzipped the cooler, taking out a bottle of water and emptying half of it in one go. As he put the cap on, his grip on the bottle was loose, his knuckles no longer tight. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Charlie kept his eyes on the road and began to weave through traffic. “How’s the air?” Shane just shrugged but his cheeks were flushed and he had lifted the bottle to his neck, so Charlie cranked the air conditioning, letting the car dip down until the air was chilled. Shane leaned back fully into the seat and let his head drop against the headrest. “Just let me know if you need anything,” Charlie repeated the line he had said a million times to almost every passenger he had in his car.

Shane nodded and closed his eyes.

Feeling a little better about their current circumstances, Charlie himself relaxed and continued to make his way back into the city. The rest of the ride was silent and soon enough, he was pulling up to the hotel.

Once again, Shane unclipped his seatbelt, opened the door and threw out a “Thanks man,” as he slipped out of the car.

Charlie watched as Shane made his way into the hotel. Head down, hands deep into his pockets, barely giving the doorman a nod as he held the door open for him. A lingering sense of dread still clung inside the car. Obviously, Charlie had no idea what had happened. And he didn’t want to speculate on things that were none of his business. But clearly, something had happened at Ilya Rozanov’s house that had Shane Hollander on the verge of a panic attack for the entire drive back to the hotel.

He sighed as he grabbed his phone and logged out of the app for the night. As he drove home, he thought about all three of the rides he had taken to and from that house. Scanning through each minute of those rides to try and piece together what could possibly be going on.

He thought about Ilya’s charming smile and his warm nature with his teammates.

He thought about Shane’s effort to keep himself concealed.

He laughed as he remembered the ridiculous argument that broke between two of the teammates about the Happy Meal toys.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he pictured the look of longing on Shane’s face before he schooled it as Charlie drove away from Rozanov’s house.

His fingers tapping on the steering wheel caused a different memory to surface. Rozanov tapping on the arm rest of the door, only stopping when his phone would light up with a new message.

A message from Jane.

Jane.

Jane who watches “our” hockey games closely.

Jane who travels a lot for work.

Jane who was in Boston but had to leave the city right after the game.

Jane.

Shane.

Shane.

Jane.

Holy shit. Ilya Rozanov’s ‘Jane’ was Shane Hollander.

Chapter End Notes

Grandpa Charlie is very important to me

Chapter 12: A Very Perceptive Sports Announcer

Chapter Summary

A former goalie turned sports commentator has a theory.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: Pretty sure I took some wild liberties with the scope of sports announcers in this one. Apologies yet again.

Date: 2016

Location:

Zachary Maxwell had always been known for his perceptiveness. He had an uncanny ability to see things, to make sense of things that others could not. It’s what made him a good goalie when he played hockey, from the time he could walk until he retired after a brief five-year career in the MHL. It’s also what made him a good sports announcer, the career that probably saved his life.

Zach loved hockey. Being a hockey player, being a goalie, had been pretty much his entire life. That was, up until a bad hit- yes goalies sometimes took hits too- had blown out his entire right knee. For three seasons, he had tried every surgery, every physical therapy regimen, and every new age medicine gimmick that was available to him to try and get him back on the ice. None of it worked. And once Zach realized there was no way he was coming back at the level of skill and ability he had before- he finally admitted it was time to step away.

There had been a long, dark, period of time after he retired. It was not an easy thing, giving up the thing that you had built your life around. And, for better or worse, that is exactly what Zachary Maxwell did. So, when hockey was taken away from him, he… floundered.

He had more than enough money, thanks to the careful planning of his investment manager that he was smart enough to hire after he saw the number listed on his rookie contract. It hadn’t been a lot, but it was certainly more money than he had ever seen before. So, without the need for a job, his family living across the country, and all his friends still on the team he’d just retired from, Zach didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to do with his days.

For a while, he tried to pretend like everything was fine. He would force himself out of the house, go on walks, socialize with people, he even tried to pick up a few new hobbies to try and get his mind off of hockey. But none of it worked; so eventually, he just stopped trying. Calls went unanswered, texts were ignored, and he didn’t even bother when the doorbell rang.

Nothing and no one was getting through to him those days. No one, except for the person who didn’t bother with calling, texting, emailing, or even pounding on the door. She just simply used her key.

Gina Marcelline was not a woman you wanted to mess around with. She was tough as nails, merciless, and walked around with that air of competence that made you question everything you thought to be true with a single quirk of her eyebrow.

And that is exactly what made Zach hire her on as his sports agent in his rookie year. And it was one of the best decisions of his career, and maybe even his life. Although, if you asked him that day, when Gina used the spare key, the spare key she had only been told about after a horrible recurring nightmare where Zach had to call the local fire department after he slipped in the shower and no one else could get into his house, he might have denied it.

He had been on the couch, where he had probably been for days, though it was hard to keep track ever since he drew the blackout curtains in his living room and no longer noticed when the sun rose or sat. Though he did believe the sun was up the last time he had picked up food he had ordered to be delivered right to his door. But that was a while ago, he admitted to himself, looking around with only mild disdain at the amount of empty take out containers that surrounded his living room.

He probably should have been concerned about hearing his front door open and then closed without giving anyone permission to enter his home but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Although, when Gina Marcelline stepped in front of his TV and blocked his view with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised, a sudden burst of fear did course its way through him.

“Zachary Maxwell.” She eyed him up and down. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck off Marcelline,” Zach closed his eyes, thinking that maybe if he ignored her, she would simply vanish.

No such luck. “Trust me Maxwell, I don’t want to be here either. But unfortunately, I am still under contract for another six months and I will carry out my responsibilities as your agent until the blessed day that the contract expires.”

Zach opened one eye. “I’ll make it easy for you. You’re fired.”

“Fine.” Gina shrugged. “As soon as you send in a formal termination notice, I’ll get out. But until then, I remain your agent thanks to the clause in the contract that you signed that specifically mentions how verbal termination is insufficient.”

Zach groaned. When he read that section in confusion, Gina had explained that the first lesson she had learned when working with professional male athletes-they were known for their tendency for dramatics and quick action without much thought. Therefore, she required a written notice for them to fire her. A flippant comment in the heat of the moment wouldn’t sever the contract.

“Fine.” He opened both eyes and crossed his arms, mirroring her stance. “What do you want?”

Gina laughed incredulously and then stopped abruptly “No. I don’t do business with people who have stains from seven different meals on their shirt. My salary is much too high to deal with that. Get your ass off that couch, shower, maybe shave, and then I will carry out the business I have to discuss with you.”

After so long of feeling nothing- rage was an interesting thing to recognize as it coursed through him. Who was she to break into his house, judge him, and then order him around? A part of him wanted to yell, to scream, maybe even break something. But a larger part of him just wanted her gone. So, with a huff, he pushed himself off the couch and didn’t say another word as he walked past her on his way to his bedroom.

The entire time he was in the shower, he drafted her termination letter.

As he shaved, he formed the list of reasons he would use to fire her in his head and went through them over and over again as to not forget them before he could write them down.

When he slipped on fresh clothing, he debated on if texting, “Dear Gina, Fuck off, you’re fired. Sincerely, Z.’ was a sufficient notice of termination.

However, as he walked down the stairs and back into his living room, he forgot everything he had mentally drafted, his rage left him, and embarrassment and shame filled its place.

Gina had pulled back the curtains, it was daytime if the sunlight filling his living room was to be believed, and now, washed in light, Zach could see what a disaster his home had become. Two weeks’ worth of meals were scattered around his living room. Half empty food containers on the coffee table, napkins shoved into the couch, and cups filled with melted ice covered every inch of the side table next to the couch. The room was proof that Zach hadn’t left the couch in a very long time.

Heat prickled up his neck and onto his face as he watched Gina pull the trash can from his kitchen into the room and he wanted to throw up when she began filling the thing with all the trash covering the floor.

“G, stop.” He pleaded, rushing down the last couple of stairs.

She didn’t even turn around before she held out her hand. “I don’t handle business in the middle of trash heap either, Maxwell. If you want me to stop, go find whatever magic spray you have in this house that is going to get the layer of crud off this table.”

Choosing the path of least resistance, Maxwell trudged through his house until he reached the cleaning closet that thankfully was still well stocked. He pulled out an all-purpose spray and a couple of rags. On his way back, he opened a few of the windows, the cool spring air breathing life back into the space.

When the trash had been removed and taken to the outside bin, the windows opened, and every touchable service was wiped down, Gina finally sat on the oversized chair that sat caddy corner to the couch and pulled out a thick document. She practically threw it onto the coffee table and sat back with an expectant look.

Zach looked at the document that was held together with one of those large black clips. He recognized the small black font with an absurd number of headings and bold text. It was a contract; but that realization just raised more questions than it answered. “Gina what is this?”

“It’s a job offer.” She crossed one long leg over the other and leaned back in the chair, her arms laid on top of the armrests and her fingers tapped slowly against the soft leather.

He gritted his teeth, not finding the humor in the cruel joke she was playing. “I’m retired.”

She let out a short sigh like she was already tired of this conversation. “You retired from hockey, Maxwell. And you may not be aware of this, but hockey isn’t the only job in the world.”

“It’s the only job I’m qualified for,” he crossed his arms and looked out the window, pretending like the weight of that sentence isn’t what kept him on the couch for the past two weeks.

“Surprisingly, that’s not true.” Gina retorted and pointed at the stack of papers that was still sitting on his coffee table. “Or else I wouldn’t have spent the last week negotiating the hell out of a contract for a hockey announcer position with one of the top sports broadcast networks in the world.”

Announcer? Someone, a broadcast network, wanted to pay Zach to sit behind a desk and talk about the sport he had to leave? To spout theories and guesses and insights about the players that up until a year ago, he had been playing against, playing with? No. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be so close to something he loved but not actually be able to do it.

“You’re a sports agent,” he found himself saying, “not a talent agent.”

She looked down at her nails, which were filed to a sharp point. “Yes. I’m aware Zachary, which is why the negations lasted a week and not two days. But still,” she looked up at him and gave him a grin that reminded him a shark, “I’m damn good.”

Zach eyed the stack of papers like it might try to bite him. “I don’t want to be an announcer, Marcelline. I want to be a player.”

Gina scoffed. “And I want to retire, move to a small island with no cell reception, and never have to speak to another human ever again, but that’s not realistic, is it Maxwell?”

“I don’t need a job.”

“No, you don’t need the money. But based on how I found you today, I think it’s quite clear that you need the job.”

Zach finally tore his eyes off the papers and looked over at her. Gina’s eyebrows were raised in a way that just dared him to argue with her. But he couldn’t so he didn’t say anything. After a minute of silence, Gina sighed and uncrossed her legs, standing up and crossing the short distance to sit on the edge of the coffee table, picking up the contract as she did so.

“Zach, you lost something. Something big and important to you, I’m not going to pretend like that doesn’t fucking suck. It does. You worked really hard to get your hockey career and you worked even harder to try and keep it.” Gina paused and when Zach looked up at her, he caught that rare flicker of emotion in her eyes. Then she squared her shoulders and lifted her jaw, and Zach knew he had about three seconds to prepare himself for a hard blow to the chest. “But it’s done. There’s no going back and you have to move on.”

There it was, he felt her words like he had taken a puck to the chest after forgetting to put on his pads. He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the pain he felt there. “Move on to being a broadcast announcer?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or a coach. Or an analyst. Or an underwater basket weaver.” She laughed and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and she reached out to grab his hands. There was sincerity in her eyes when she looked at him. “Just because your hockey career is over doesn’t mean your life is too.”

Zach stared into her eyes for another minute before nodding, his throat feeling a little tight. That was the first time he actually believed that sentiment. Of course, he had just needed to hear it said by Gina Marcelline.

He squeezed her hands before leaning forward and snatching the contract off the table. “So, tell me about this contract you probably screwed up.”

Gina pursed her lips which made Zach smile, the expression almost unfamiliar to him. “I’m going to let that one slide, because your life is in shambles, but you’re on thin ice Maxwell.”

Zach laughed, “I’m retried Marcelline,” he said and for once, the words didn’t come with a twist in his gut. “I’m not out on the ice, anymore.”

Before Gina had left Zach had agreed to meet with the broadcast network, just to do a screen test and hear exactly what his role would be. Even as they scheduled the meeting, he didn’t actually want the job. But Gina was right, his life wasn’t over and it was time to get his ass off the couch.

A week later, he and Gina walked into the polished office building the network worked out of. He had insisted she go with him, even though this was not her area of expertise, she was still under contract after all.

When they met with the people in suits, he let Gina handle the taking. The whole conversation was basically talking about money without ever actually talking about money. After a brief tour of the building and stage, which Zach admitted looked cool, but he didn’t really understand what anything was, they sat him down for a screen test.

They handed him a piece of paper that he was to read off like he was announcing at a game. It was a mix of a play by play with some insights and deliberations sprinkled in. The man standing in front of him jumped as Zach let out a booming laugh.

“Is there a problem?” the man with the headset and clipboard asked, looking at Zach with startled confusion.

“Yeah. This,” he pointed to the piece of paper in his hand, “would never happen like how you have it playing out. And I would never say the things you wanted me to say, it’s just not realistic.”

The man sighed. “It’s just a screen test. It doesn't have to be accurate.”

Zach’s eyebrows furrowed. “But it’s wrong.” He waved the man closer to the desk, “Here let me explain…” Zach went on for ten minutes about how the play would have actually been played out. He told the man with the headset about when the coached would send in the different lines, take timeouts, when a player would probably get desperate and do something risky, ultimately getting called for a penalty and being sent to the box. He described the whole thing as if he could see it, because he could.

Finally, the man snapped: I just need you to talk to the camera for like five minutes, man.”

Zach shrugged. “Okay. But I’m not reading that,” he pointed to the paper that was now filled with x’s o’s and hard lines that Zach used to illustrate his point.

Clipboard man groaned, “Well I don’t know what-”

“Just turn on any hockey game from the last year and then mute it.” Gina suggested, shaking her head. “He hasn’t watched a game since he retired so it’ll be new to him, like it’s happening live. Let him have a go at this with an actual game.”

Without any further ado, a large screen was wheeled in front of Zach and hockey game was turned on. Zach watched silently for a few moments, jotting a few ideas and notes down onto the paper next to him before donning the headset.

For the next fifteen minutes, he delivered a perfect play by play, pulling statists he had forgotten he had memorized to reference a player’s history, and sharing enough about his perspective as a player to make the performance more intriguing to the listeners.

No one stopped him so he just kept going. For the entire first period.

When the players on the screen skated back to their benches, he took off his headset.

The guy with the clipboard looked at Gina. “How did he just do that?”

She shrugged, her thumbs flying over the screen of her phone, probably renegotiating his contract. Her eyes flinted up to Zach. “He’s a goalie. They’re weird.”

Zach signed the contract that day.

October 2016

As a sports commentator, he finally learned the difference between commentator and announcer after five years, Zach’s job was to hype up whatever was going down on the ice, throw in some clever observations, and generally keep the audience from wandering off during the commercial breaks.

And he was good at his job, he knew that.

But as he watched Boston face off with Montreal on home ice, Zach wanted to switch the channel himself. He couldn’t help it. This game was just so…boring? Which was maybe an unfair title to bestow but that’s how it felt. Granted, his expectations were high but there was a reason for that. Montral versus Boston were his favorite games to watch, commentating aside. They were fun, exciting, and thrilling games to watch.

Typically.

Zach had to admit, as he watched the skaters on the ice, that good hockey was still being played. Technically speaking, everyone was doing what they needed to do. Passes were being made, goals were being shot, goals were also being blocked. It was all very… perfunctory. Which is a word he had never used to describe hockey, especially not when Hollander and Rozanov were sharing the ice.

Zach’s overlap with the two phenoms was a brief blimp, he got injured the year before they got drafted and officially retired at the end of their rookie season. Even in the year where he was in the league at the same time as them, he was on injured reserve, so he never shared the ice with them.

But oh, he heard about them. He knew about them before they were drafted, before the prospect cup. The league had been whispering about them for years before their rookie season. Everyone had their eyes on them, and everyone had something to say.

And Zach chose to watch. He watched how the league pitted them against each other, deciding they were rivals even before their first ever face off. He watched as the narrative spun and spun and spun, until all of a sudden, it was decided that these two boys hated each other.

But if Zach was being honest? He didn’t buy it.

Were they competitive? Yes. Were they constantly vying for the top position in the league? Yes. Were they commonly nominated for the same awards? Yes. Did Rozanov deliver perfectly tailored chips that were designed to get under Hollander’s skin? Hell yes.

All those things were true. It was also true that those boys didn’t hate each other. Anyone who actually watched them as they played each other could see that. The way they joked, teased, and pushed each other, you’d almost believe that those two were friends.

At the end of the day, Zach didn’t really care how they described their relationship. What he cared about was the fact that both always played better when they were playing each other. And leading up to this game, they had been playing better than ever.

Which is why Zach was so disappointed by this perfectly fine game.

The excitement was gone. The finesse. The competitiveness. The undercurrent of whatever tension these two had whenever they stepped out onto the ice at the same time.

Gone.

It’s as if they were playing two separate games in different rinks. A few times, Zach caught Rozanov glaring holes into Hollander’s helmet while Hollander stared at the ice like he needed to memorize each individual scratch in its surface. They didn’t utter one single word to each other the entire night. Not one chirp from Ilya. Hollander barely spoke to anyone, even his own team. When they had to fight for the puck, they did so, but they looked like robots going through the motions. The energy the two usually brought to the game was nowhere to be found.

Montreal managed to meek out a 2-0 win with Hollander uncharacteristically not putting either one of those on the board, the win secured by Pike. Rozanov had four shots on goal, but he was treating the puck like it had personally offended him and his shots all went wide.

The second the time ran out on the third period, they both skated off the ice like it was the last place they wanted to be.

Which were the exact words Zach used as he rounded out his commentary that night on the live broadcast. Throughout his typical end of game wrap up, he spoke about how the team’s energy was lacking tonight even though the players were dutiful in their roles. He gave Pike the expected accolades for scoring both of his team’s goals for the night and highlighted JJ’s assists for those goals. He complimented Marlow’s aggressive defense which was the reason Pike didn’t walk away with a hat trick tonight.

He very purposefully did not speak about the observations he had made about Rozanov and Hollander.

When Zach walked through his front door later that night, he was surprised to see light coming from the kitchen. He placed his keys in the bowl on the table near the door, toed off his shoes, and hung up his bag and coat in the closet before making his way slowly, silently, down the long hallway towards the light.

When he turned the corner into the kitchen, the fridge door was open, and he heard the rusting as someone dug through the contents. With a large hand, he reached out and pressed onto the door until it closed, revealing the person rummaging through his fridge.

Gina Marcelline stood there in front of him, a cheese stick in one hand and a package of turkey in the other.

“A little midnight snack?” he asked her, leaning against the closed fridge.

She shrugged and that motion had his eyes darting down, noticing how she was wearing one of his old hockey t-shirts, it drowned her, but it still cut off about halfway down her thighs.

“Was up late working on contracts. I got hungry.” She finished off her sentence by taking another bite of the cheese stick. The inelegant, unpolished action making him grin.

Zach reached out, his fingertips brushing against the bare skin of her thighs before skating upwards before his hands found their place in the curve of her hips. Without much effort at all he lifted her in the air, causing her to release a sigh of annoyance before wrapping herself around him to keep from falling. With three long strides, he had them at the island in the center of the kitchen and sat her down on the countertop. Without giving her another second to adjust, he had his fingers in her hair and tilted her face up so he could place his lips onto hers.

Zachary did eventually send in a written termination notice to Gina, about two years after he signed his first contract with the broadcast network. She had negotiated two more contracts for him, each time reminding him that she was not a talent agent and he should hire someone else. He had claimed that there was no one else that he trusted to handle his livelihood. Which was true, there was no one in his life that he trusted more than Gina Marcelline. Even though when she sent the contracts to him to review, he simply just signed his name and sent them back. He didn’t care about the money or benefits or whatever else Gina had managed to so skillfully workout for him; as long as they were still okay with him coming in to talk about hockey, he was signing the papers.

He realized, sometime after that second contract was signed, the other reason he was so adamant to keep Gina on as his agent was that he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. Back when he was a player, their communication had been mostly over text and email, very rarely handling business face to face. But since retiring as a player, he had more time on his hand and began insisting on in person meetings, mostly so he could have the excuse to see her.

After realizing that his feelings were moving away from the friendly professional relationship they had established and into something else, Zach had set a meeting with Gina where he had handed her a printed-out letter notifying her that he had secured other representation with another agent. Before the look of shock wore off, he slid another piece of paper across the polish wood of her desk, a proposal that he had drafted himself. A long drawn-out thing that stated his feelings for her and simply asked her to join him in dinner.

Without saying a word, Gina had placed the paper on the desk, grabbed her pen, and wrote down her counter negations.

Zach had accepted all her terms without argument.

Now, in his kitchen, Gina pulled away. “I watched the game tonight.”

“Yeah?” he bent down and took a took a bite of her cheese stick.

“You were great.” She gave him a peck on the lips. “The game was not.”

He groaned. “The game was awful!”

“What do you think is happening?” She asked, leaning back on the counter and grabbing the bag of chips that had been left out earlier.

For twenty minutes Gina dutifully sat on the counter listening as Zach paced around the kitchen giving her the more unpolished version of his thoughts on tonight’s game. She hummed and nodded appropriately, accepting the snacks that Zach passed her every now and again without stopping his rantings.

“And what about Hollander and Rozanov?” She asked, taking a sip of her water that Zach had brought her from the living room.

Zach paused. Debating. But then shook his head. “I don’t know.” He ducked his head, turning towards the fridge when he saw Gina’s eyes narrow like she was looking at a contract for potential holes. He knew that look. He needed to distract her. “Want some ice cream or something?”

“Nice try, Maxwell,” she let out a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. “What did you see?”

He opened the freezer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your weird goalie thing where you see a speck of dust and that somehow tells you how the player with the puck is going to move down the ice.” Gina crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. Zach’s face was still buried in the freezer but still, he could feel the expectant way she was looking at him. “So, tell me, what did you see between Hollander and Rozanov?”

He sighed and stood up straight. Turning around, he crossed his own arms, mimicking her stance. “I don’t know anything for sure.”

She cocked her head to the side. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

She pursed her lips and he knew her patience was wearing thin. “I’ve been in this business for ten years Zachary, I think I know how to keep a secret or two.”

Zach still waited a second longer, mulling over the theory he had kept to himself for quite a while. When Gina’s face softened, recognizing his turmoil, he knew he could trust her.

He cleared his throat and then, almost in a rush, said “I think Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov have been in a secret relationship their entire MHL career and are currently playing like shit against each other because they broke up.”

Gina sat there, frozen on the counter, her mouth agape as Zach practically heard her mind whirl, trying to process the news he had just delivered.

He held out a hand. “Or if they didn’t break up, they at least had a very intense fight.”

After a rapid series of blinks Gina simply reached out for the ice cream in Zach’s hand. “Explain.”

And he did.

Chapter End Notes

I have a soft spot for goalies. Sue me.

(And yes, to torture Ilya just a tad bit more I decided that Boston lost the game after Tuna Meltdown....and lost because of Pike. Sorry Rozanov)

Chapter 13: The Girl From The Club

Chapter Summary

All she wanted was a dance. By the end of the song she had seen so much more.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I hated writing this first bit. It made my heart hurt and kinda made me want to throw up a little. Enjoy! (I also don’t know how to write Ilya flirting with anyone who isn’t Shane so it feels forced- sorry)

Date: January 2017

Location: Montreal

Olivia loved being the center of somebody’s attention. To have someone solely focused on her. To be the only thing on their mind. A singular focus.

She loved it. She adored it. She craved it.

It made her feel cherished. Wanted.

Which is exactly how she felt when she just so happened so step up to the bar a few feet away from the tall man with broad shoulders and perfectly tamed curls, not to mention an insane shirt. She pretended not to notice him noticing her at first. She ignored him completely as she leaned forward on top of the bar, pretending to stare down the bartender even though the last thing she wanted was another drink.

This little act lasted another fifteen seconds before she felt the heat of someone stepping up next to her, way too close to be socially acceptable even in a crowded bar like this one.

“Hi,” a deep voice practically growled in her ear, causing her skin to break out into goosebumps despite the warm temperature of the club.

Olivia tamped down a grin and looked up at the man who was now towering over her. Ilya Rozanov. She knew who he was, of course she did. It was the whole reason she came over here to begin with. But still, she looked him over like she hadn’t seen him from across the club. “Hello.”

“You want a drink?” he asked, his face determined.

She shook her head slowly and let a small smile grow on her face while she dramatically continued her perusal of him, taking him in all the way. “Not really.”

Ilya nodded once, and she watched as he trailed his eyes over every inch of her body, sending her pulse quickening and a jolt through her veins. “What is your name?”

“Liv,” she used the volume of the music as an excuse to lean forward, closing the already miniscule space between them, and she used her heels as an excuse to place her hand on his shoulder, using it for balance. Her lips were practically brushing against his ear, and she left them there way longer than it took to tell him her short name. She didn’t bother asking him his name, she wasn’t going to act dumb. They both knew she knew who he was.

And to his credit, Ilya didn’t exhort his fame like others probably would have. He just used her closeness like the invitation it was, placing his hand lightly on her hip while the other trailed his fingertips over her shoulder and across her collarbone. She felt his lips brush across her temple with his next words.

“If you don’t want a drink then maybe you want a dance?”

She nodded. “Yes please.”

The hand that was on her hip quickly found her hand and he confidently pulled her away from the bar and onto the dance floor. He led them through the crowd, people moving out of his way without him even having to say or do anything. Happy with a seemingly random spot in the club, Ilya stopped and pulled Olivia close to him, her front colliding abruptly into his solid chest. Her arms wound up his shoulders and around his neck, not being able to help herself, her fingers trailed up his neck and played with the curls at the nape of his neck.

His hands were tight against the small of her back, pulling her into him as they danced. She let her hands slide down from his neck and towards his arms, creating just enough distance between the two of them that she could look up at him. Ilya still wore that face of determination, eyes almost stoney as they scanned her face looking for permission. Deciding to make it crystal clear for him, she put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down to her.

Their mouths collided with a frenzied sort of purpose, wasting no time on preamble or warm up. The hands on her back now grabbed her waist, bringing her hips even closer towards him. She trailed one hand up his neck, feeling the strong muscle shift and give under her palm as he tilted his head, deepening their kiss.

A thrill of excitement ran down her spine as they broke apart but Ilya didn’t move away, instead his mouth ghosted along her jaw and then down her neck. She tilted her head back, allowing him easier access and gripped his elbows, pulling him to her, his shirt soft in her palms.

Ilya explored the other side of her neck just as thoroughly before using his grip on her to turn her around, bringing her back to his chest. His hands were low on her hips, and she grasped them with her own hands, throwing her head back so it could rest on his shoulder as their bodies grinded together. His hands ran up and down her body as she turned her head, so their mouths met again.

Olivia loved being the center of someone’s attention. The thrill she felt when someone’s attention was on her and her alone was otherworldly. Nothing was more exciting for her.

Which is how Olivia knew when someone wasn’t paying sole attention to her.

When they broke part, she could tell Ilya's focus had shifted. She opened her eyes and followed his gaze across the dance floor. She scanned the area, expecting to see other woman staring at them, sending her threatening daggers one second and then sending Ilya flirtatious smiles the next.

And there were those. Plenty of those.

But that wasn’t what had caught Ilya’s attention.

Across the dance floor stood a man in a basic white t-shirt and dark jeans. He was just standing there. Stock still in the middle of the dance floor while a crowd of people danced and weaved and moved around him. Arms hanging loosely by his side as he stared straight ahead.

Staring straight at Ilya.

She peered at him for a second longer. There was something familiar about his shape, but his face was hidden by the shadows. Behind her, Ilya continued to trace the tendon in her neck with his mouth.

All of a sudden, the lights in the clubs flashed and the man was no longer hidden by the shadows, and she could see his face. When she gasped, it had nothing to do with the way Ilya had just bit down on her earlobe.

It had everything to do with the fact that Shane Hollander was standing across the dance floor, eyes locked onto Rozanov’s hands as they trailed up her body, looking like he was either going to punch someone through a wall or break down and cry right here in the middle of the club.

And even as he continued to press his body into hers, Olivia could tell Ilya was now solely focused on watching each and every emotion play out across Hollander’s face. Part of her wanted to be angry that whatever was happening between these two was taking the focus away from her, but that would be hypocritical of her, considering it wasn’t even Ilya’s attention that she was wanting. Also, it was interesting having a front row seat to whatever it was that was going on here.

They continued their weird staring contest for a while and Olivia did her part in pretending like she didn’t notice, carrying on dancing as if the guy standing behind her was still at all aware she was there. Eventually, Shane broke their connection, turning away and weaving back through the crowd. Olivia, and presumably Ilya too, watched as he walked over to a woman dancing with a crowd of people. Was that Rose Landry? Shane leaned forward to speak with her for a second before pulling away and gesturing over his shoulder. The woman nodded and turned around, yup- that was Rose Landry, grabbing his hand and waving goodbye to her friends as they made their way through the club in a quick pace, hand in hand.

Ilya kept his hands on her waist as they watched the pair move through the crowd until they made their way to a side door, Shane Hollander holding it open as Rose Landry slipped through. With one more look over his shoulder, Shane followed her out onto the street.

As soon as the door closed, Ilya’s hands fell off of her. She waited for the sting of rejection and was not surprised when it didn’t come. Again, it wasn’t his attention she was craving tonight. She turned around, purposefully letting her hands fall to her side as she looked up at Ilya with a curious look.

“Liv, I am sorry, but I can’t…”

Her heart hurt as Olivia took in Ilya’s face. His eyes shifted around the club, unable to stay focused on one singular thing. His lips were pursed into one thin line and the muscles in his jaw jumped with tension. God, whatever was happening, this boy was obviously torn up about it.

She reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. A friendly hand this time, giving him a soft, gentle squeeze, rather than the demanding and exploring grip she had used to touch him earlier. “It’s okay. I think I’m going to go home with my boyfriend.”

That got his attention back onto her. His eyes snapped back down to her and his eyebrows raised until they nearly met his hairline. She laughed and pointed over her shoulder at the man sitting at one of the tables across the room, legs kicked out in front of him crossed at the ankles and arms crossed over his chest. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a wink.

“Should I be worried he will try to murder me?” Ilya asked, half amusement, half concern in his tone.

She laughed and shook her head. “Considering it was his idea for me to come up to you? No. I don’t think you need to worry about him.” Seeing Ilya’s confusion double, she shrugged. “He likes seeing me with other people knowing I’m going home with him,” she explained. Then she gave him a little smirk. “Plus, he thinks you’re hot.”

Ilya laughed and shook his head.

She couldn’t help but poke around a little bit at what she had just seen. “Doesn’t look like your guy likes it too much though.”

Ilya’s smile immediately slipped off his face, his expression growing guarded and defensive. Her heart broke and little more. She gave the arm she was still holding a little squeeze and steps closer to him. “Oh, don’t worry honey, your secret is safe with me.” She hoped the earnest in her voice was reassuring to him, and that he could see the sincerity in her eyes. And while his face did not lose it guardedness, he did give her a little nod.

She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. “I hope you two find your way back to each other,” she whispered to him, dropping back to the floor and giving him a small smile, which he reciprocated. Then, she turned around and crossed the floor to find Derrick, she had lots to tell him.

Chapter End Notes

Don't hate Olivia. We needed her.

Chapter 14: The Most Confused Hockey Player in the League

Chapter Summary

A MHL player from Finland goes viral after being (rightfully) confused about America. Then he gets invited to the 2017 MHL All Stars Weekend where he meets a lot of players, plays some really good hockey and… notices some things. Things that leave him feeling even more confused.

Chapter Notes

Date: January 2017

Location: Tampa Bay Florida

[Title Card]

“Henri Mäkinen: The Most Confused Hockey Player in the League” -Compilation Video

“Ten Times Henri Mäkinen Did Not Understand America (And Neither Do We if We’re Being Honest)”

*Upbeat pop remix of a Finnish folk song plays*

1. Sometimes Free Trial before Purchase (But with Food)

Video description: Henri Mäkinen is sitting in a brightly painted yellow booth with colorful wooden flowers framing his large shoulders. His light blonde hair is pulled up into a knot on the top of his head, a few pieces falling out as he runs his hands through it. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his square jaw is moving as he chews. His sharp cheekbones pinken as he realizes his teammate is filming him.

“Is very good,” Henri nods as he swallows and gestured towards the table where tiny bowls of salsa and large baskets of tortilla chips lay. “But there has been a mistake. We did not order these.”

Off screen, a teammate tries to explain. “No one orders chips and salsa. They just come with the table.”

Henri’s eyebrows furrowed further. “Like last week, at the steak house, when we were given those rolls with the butter that tasted like cinnamon?”

The teammate snapped his fingers together, “Exactly.”

Henri nodded. “And last month, at the fake Italian restaurant, when they brought bread sticks?”

A different teammate points at the Finnish man, “Hey, don’t diss Olive Garden like that. They’re like family.”

“Apologies Jacob, I did not mean to offend your family,” Henri apologies sincerely, his face showing his fear of insulting his teammates family.

The man behind the camera groaned. “Fuck off Jake, you know Mäkinen doesn’t get that reference.”

The man, Jacob, laughed and dipped a chip into the salsa bowl next to Henri. “That’s the point.”

Henri moved on. “But when we went to the barbeque place, there was no food with the table.”

“Right,” the man behind the camera agreed. “Not every restaurant does this.”

Henri tilted his head to the side, “So why do some restaurants give free food before our ordered food and some don’t?”

The players around the table look at each other but say nothing.

Finally, the man behind the camera laughs. “We don’t really know.”

Henri’s chewed on another chip, deep in thought. “It is like free trail before purchase.”

*cut*

2. So this is free?

Video description: Henri Mäkinen is sitting at a table in a restaurant, holding a nearly empty cup, the ice rattling as he shakes it. “So, I only order the drink once?”

The camera shakes as the man holding it attempts to stifle his laughter. “Yes, but the waitress will come back and refill it.”

“Ah, so I will pay for it again when she comes to fill the glass again?”

“No. The refill is free.”

Henri eyes his teammate suspiciously before setting down the glass and pointing a finger at him. “This is a trick. I have learned that nothing in America is free. Not your healthcare, your school lunches for children, or your universities.”

The man behind the camera made a thoughtful noise. “All true. But the refill, that we give for free.”

Henri sighs and shakes his head. “I am confused.”

*cut*

3. The Professional Bass Shop

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands in an aisle, surrounded by fishing poles and tackle boxes. He walks towards the camera and leans in, causing the video to get a close up of the side of his face, mostly his ear.

His voice is hushed but panicked. “I saw an aquarium when we walked in. An aquarium. An aquarium of fish.” He leans back, his eyebrows are raised and he is looking out of the side of his eyes as they dart back and forth towards the poles on either side of him. “Are we meant to trial the equipment?”

The man holding the camera laughs. “Welcome to Bass Pro Shop Mäkinen.”

Henri’s voice is still hushed. “Is that one of the fish in the aquarium?” Suddenly, his face morphs from confusion to panic. “I saw guns, crossbows, and bows with arrows in the other part of the store. Jacob,” his tone is serious and laced with fear, “Jacob what other animals are in this shop for professional bass?”

*cut*

4. Grocery Stores: Well Stocked but Full of Lies

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands in the middle of a brightly lit grocery store aisle. Colorful boxes surround him as he turns in circles, taking it all in. “This is your cereal aisle?” He stops turning, but his gaze continues to dart between the boxes. “Everything is so…colorful. And there are cartoons on all the boxes.” He leans closer and grabs a box with a leprechaun on the box. “And why do they all have marshmallows in them?” Henri looks up and stares into the camera. “Where are your oats? Have you Americans even heard of fiber?”

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands in front of a row of laptops and tablets with his hands on his hips. “Why would I buy a laptop from the same place where I buy my fruit? Why do your stores have everything all at the same place? Food, cleaning supplies, dinnerware, bedding, electronics, hunting and fishing equipment, there are even clothes here.” He shakes his head and mutters, “One could live here for years if they needed to.” His head snaps up. “Jacob, is that what is happening here? Are you Americans fearful that you will be trapped in this maze of a store and have to survive off its inventory?”

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands, pointing at the screen of a self-checkout register. “It is full of lies Jacob. I prepared the sum of my items before I scanned them. The total is incorrect?”

“You forgot about the sales tax Mäkinen.”

Henri closed his eyes and his shoulders moving up as he took a deep breath and then lowered as he breathed out. “Why would the sales tax not be included in the price of the item?”

*cut*

5. Tipping Confusion

Video description: Henri Mäkinen is shown rubbing a thumb across his eyebrow. “Why must I do math after I eat?” he muttered as he tapped a pen against the table, staring down at a white strip of flimsy paper. “Jacob, what’s the rule again?”

“At least fifty percent,” Jacob answered casually.

Henri looked up briefly before sighing and looking back down at the paper before scribbling down some numbers and then his signature. “Why can’t we just pay people adequate salaries?”

Video description: A grocery store clerk shakes their head, smiling as they gently push away Henri Mäkinen’s hand that is outstretched with a twenty-dollar bill. Henri looks at them with a confused expression. “You do not accept tip?”

Video description: A confused flight attendant stands at the door of the plane holding a hundred-dollar bill. She stands there staring down at it for a second before taking off down the aisle, “Sir! Sir, I cannot accept this!”

Video description: A young man, notably not in any uniform, stands, still holding open a restaurant door with one hand, a crisp ten-dollar bill in the other. Henri Mäkinen’s back is seen walking away from the camera and the young man into the restaurant. The man looks down at his hand, looks towards Henri, and then looks at the camera. “Did Henri Mäkinen just tip me for holding the door open.”

The man behind the camera laughs. “Just take it man.”

Video description: Henri Mäkinen rushes out of the building and into the passenger seat of a car. After the door is closed, he turns to the camera with a pleading look. “Jacob, you must make me a list of people who I am supposed to tip. I just tried to tip my doctor, and it did not go well.”

*cut*

6. Have a Good What?

Video description: Henri Mäkinen is standing in front of a fan, signing their poster of him. They smile and practically bounce in place as Henri scribbles his name along the bottom corner of the photograph.

“Thank you so much!” the fan grinned wildly as they took the poster back.

“You are welcome,” Henri nodded and capped the marker before handing it back to the fan.

The fan pushed the marker into their pocket, barely taking their eyes off the poster as they turned around and walked away. Over their shoulder they yelled, “Have a good one!”

Henri turned towards the camera. “Jacob, everyone is always telling me to ‘have a good one’ but they never tell me what it is I am supposed to be having a good one of. A good game? A good lunch? A good nap? Why is no one finishing their sentences?”

*cut*

7. Tailgating Terror

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands in a crowded parking lot outside of a football stadium, the early morning sun peeking through the clouds. “Wait.” He stops and turns towards the camera. “This is real?”

He gestures towards the crowd that has been forming more steadily since dawn. The parking lot is full of trucks, RVs, and vans, all blaring music as hundreds of people walk around wearing the same football teams merchandise. Every other vehicle has at least one person standing in front of a grill as people who they do not seem to know come up, chat a little bit, and then take a plate full of food. A group of shirtless men passed by, their upper bodies painted in streaky red paint. When they see the camera, they jump in front of it and start chanting.

“Welcome to tailgating Mäkinen,” Jacob claps him on the shoulder and sighed happily looking around like he just entered paradise.

Henri, however, looks terrified. “Are you not concerned about this? There are several open flames that are being poorly managed by drunk people next to large vehicles. Vehicles that run on gasoline. Is this safe? Us being here?” Henri leaned closer to the man behind the camera. “I heard on the news that your public fire defender program is suffering budget cuts. Will they be able to respond to this?”

A fan walks up to the group with a plate full of various snacks. When the plate is extended towards Henri he shakes his head. “Thank you, but I do not eat parking lot meat.”

*cut*

8. Finnland Man vs Garbage Disposal

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands in front of a sink full of dishes and soapy water.

“Mäkinen you don’t have to do my dishes, you know.”

Henri waved off the man behind the camera. “Nonsense Jacob. You were injured in the last game. You need to rest. Can I turn on this light?”

“For sure man,” Jacob granted and then coughed loudly to hide a laugh.

Henri reached over and flipped the switch, then jumped away from the sink when, instead of a light, the switch caused a loud grinding noise to erupt from the bottom of the sink. Henri whipped around and looked at the camera with terror. “Jacob. There is something very wrong with your plumbing.”

*cut*

9. Lessons in Small Talk

Video description: Henri Mäkinen stands at a crosswalk in front of an elderly woman who is nodding while looking around the sidewalk, clearly eager for someone to come to her rescue.

“I finally made it home after that awful flight just to find that my apartment building had no electricity due to the storms and had to spend the entire night packing with my phone flashlight as a light source, because of course, I had to leave the next morning for a game. Then I overslept, because my phone died because I used it as a flashlight too long.” Henri let out a deep sigh and then smiled. “Thank you so much for asking. I feel better now.”

The woman nodded and patter Henri on the arm. “That’s good dear.”

“And you? How is your day going?” Henri crossed his arms across his chest and leaned forward, closer to the woman.

The woman looked appalled. “Oh, I have to…go.” She looked around before taking off at an impressive speed.

Henri, who hadn’t noticed that she was originally headed in the absolutely opposite direction, smiled and waved. “Have a nice day, Marrian!”

Henri turned towards the camera. “Jacob, do you know my friend Marrian?”

Behind the camera, Jacob laughed. “Dude, she isn’t your friend. You just met her. On the corner of a sidewalk.”

Henri scoffed and waived him off. “She is new friend. But very nice. She asked me how my day was going and I told her all about our awful travels.”

“Mäkinen. She was making small talk. She didn’t actually care how your day was.”

Henri paused for a moment. “Then why would she ask?”

*cut*

10. Florida Man

Video description: Henri Mäkinen is standing in front of a newspaper store in the airport holding a newspaper, a look of fear crossing his face. The camera zooms in to see the headline: ‘Florida Man Fights Alligator with Frying Pan’.

The camera pans back out to refocus on Henri who is now looking towards the camera. “Jacob… this is real?”

A hand lands on Henri’s shoulder and gives him a little shake. “Welcome to Florida Henri.”

*cut*

[Final Title Card]

“Henri Mäkinen: Confused. Concerned. Beloved.”

“Have fun in Tampa during All Stars weekend Mäkinen! Can’t wait to see what you find out next!”

Comments:

@ThatHockeyGirl105: Watching the Most Confused Man in Hockey AKA Henri Mäkinen explore America is exactly what I needed to reset my brain during these grad school applications.

@FinnsInAmerica: We tried to tell him about the lying price tags. WE TRIED.

@MariaNavarroRN: Honestly, we SHOULD be tipping nurses

@ActuallyJacobHockey: Where should I take @HenriMäkinenHockey64 next?

@BassProShopOffical: We promise there are no other animals in the store. We think.

@OliveGarden: We accept your apology, Henri. Because that’s what family does.

@MHLonABC: We WILL be asking Henri Mäkinen if he tried the ‘parking lot meat’ during our interview with him during All Stars. Stay tuned.

@HenriMäkinenHockey64: I am thrilled to accept the invitation to the 2017 MHL All Stars Weekend for the Eastern Conference team!

Henri sat on an empty bar stool, taking sips of his beer and watched as the bar slowly filled up with hockey players as more and more players landed in Tampa Bay and found their way to the hotel bar. He scanned the room, noting the players he knew and the ones he didn’t. He saw some players that were newer to the league, like him, as well as some veterans that had been in the league for years.

Henri knew that All Stars Weekend was just for fun. No one really took it seriously but still, Henri was excited. Some of these guys were legends in the league so the chance to play against them, alongside them? How could he not be excited?

For example, the player that was sitting alone across the bar from him, Ilya Rozanov. He was only four years older than Henri, but this was his seventh season in the league whereas it was only Henri’s second. And they were going to be playing on the same team!

Which was another thing that was blowing Henri’s mind. The fact that he was going to get the opportunity to play with such a talent. Henri knew he was a decent player. Solid. Dependable. He got the job done. But compared to Rozanov? He probably looked like a grade school kid learning to skate for the first time.

Henri assumed that his invitation to All Stars was more of a publicity stunt than anything. He had recently gotten a little attention thanks to some videos, mostly filmed and released by his teammate Jacob, going viral on social media. He was now known as the Most Confused Player in the League, which Henri could take as insulting but to be honest- he was pretty confused. Both with America and his life in general. As if on cue, his phone, which was face up on the bar top, lit up with a message.

K: Can we talk?

Despite the eager feeling that rose up in his chest when he saw that name, well- letter, he turned the phone over so it was now face down on the counter, as if that meant it was no longer a problem he would have to solve.

Instead, he focused on where he was now and the fact that soon he was going to be teammates with Ilya freaking Rozanov. The only person that rivaled his talent was… walking into the bar actually.

Shane Hollander walked through the crowd in a white blazer with an almost odd sense of determination set into his stride. As he walked around people, he had his eyes set to one place.

One person actually, Henri realized as he followed Hollander’s line of sight right to Ilya Rozanov.

Rozanov who apparently also noticed because he was staring straight back. Henri watched as Ilya muttered something to himself and then picked up his beer, draining the second half of it in one go.

That was a bit odd, Henri thought to himself as he took a small sip of his own beer. But they were supposed to be rivals after all, maybe they really did hate each other.

Rivals who hated each other and now were going to be teammates for the next three days. Which should make things interesting.

What was also interesting was the way Hollander just slid up next to Rozanov, taking the empty seat next to him. The bartender was quick to take Hollander’s order and then there was a moment of awkward shuffling between the two of them when neither man spoke.

Did they know they didn’t have to sit next to each other? There was a whole bar available.

Henri watched as the two finally struck up a conversation, he noted how Hollander kept glancing over at Rozanov but the man in the most Floridian shirt that ever existed was skillfully avoiding his gaze.

Fun fact- Henri Mäkinen was excellent at reading lips, thanks to his best friend in grade school, Lee, being profoundly Deaf. Lee taught him sign, which he used as his main form of communication, but Lee also taught Henri how to read lips. Which came in handy occasionally, like right now when he was seated across from two MHL legends in a crowded noisy bar and he felt like being nosey. So, even though English was technically his second language and Ilya’s mouth moved a little awkwardly thanks to English being his second language, Henri could still piece together what they were saying.

Which is how he knew that Hollander apparently always wondered what it would be like playing on the same team as Rozanov-who still wasn’t contributing much to this conversation. Hollander switched to talking about how it was nice the All-Stars Weekend was in Florida, which Henri thought was odd but contributed it to the fact that Tampa was at least warmer than both Montreal and Boston, where both of these men were from.

Rozanov shrugged, his hands flying and then falling on the counter as the bartender delivered the two men their beers. God bless Shane Hollander’s persistence because it did not seem like Ilya Rozanov wanted anything to do with this conversation. Henri thought that the rivalry had always been played up as a social media stunt but maybe he had assumed incorrectly.

Hollander picked up his beer and took a long swig of it. Rozanov picked his up as well but finally decided to add something to the conversation before having a drink. Henri couldn’t make out every word, thanks to Rozanov’s head being turned but he was pretty sure Rozanov just asked Hollander if he brought anyone with him.

Hollander shook his head, talking a little about his parents.

Ilya gave a one-word response.

Two steps forward and one step towards the back, Henri thought to himself, proud that he remembered that common phrase.

Hollander threw the question back at Rozanov, who shook his head. There was a moment where the two weren’t speaking but both took an opportunity to eye each other up and down like they were trying to size each other up. The conversation seemed to be going cordially enough but what would happen if they decided to break out in a fight right now? They were in a bar full of hockey players. While Henri kept the fighting to a minimum, hockey was not known for its even temperament.

But instead of throwing a punch, Hollander threw out a compliment. About Rozanov’s shirt, which Henri assumed was a chirp but then he followed it up by saying “you’re pulling it off” so maybe he really did like the loud garment.

Just then, Carter Vaugh came up to the duo and threw his arms around them. Henri didn’t need to read his lips to know what was saying, Vaugh was loud enough to hear over the music and the chatter. After throwing out some teasing but good nature remarks, Vaugh left the bar and joined another group of players that were congregating at high top table.

When Henri looked back towards Hollander and Rozanov, he was surprised to realize that they were talking about… shopping?

Henri was even more confused as Hollander basically swore Rozanov to secrecy, looking nervous as he ran his nails against the skin of this thumbnail. Rozanov realized he was serious and nodded, giving him green light to continue.

It took Henri and Rozanov the exact same time to process Hollanders next words. Rozanov hid his laughter behind his hand and Henri hid his behind his bottle. A stylist. That explains the blazer at least.

Of course, Rozanov teased him about it a little before saying something that confused Henri. “I know what you wore.”

Henri paid a lot of attention to the players in the league. Their tells, their stats, their gameplay. He couldn’t say he paid a lot of attention to what the players were wearing. So why did Rozanov know what Hollander wore? And why didn’t Hollander find that weird?

Henri’s confusion was only compounded when Rozanov brought up Rose Landry. Henri ran through his mind, trying to find a correlation and eventually remembered that Jacob had shown him some headlines about Hollander and Landry becoming an item. But why was Rozanov asking about her?

Twice. Rozanov was asking about her twice actually. He really seemed to be invested in whether or not Hollander and Landry were still dating. When Hollander confirmed that they were not, Rozanov just nodded. Maybe he was planning on shooting his shot with Landry now? Was this part of the rivalry?

After a beat of silence, Hollander made an excuse to leave the bar; saying that he should “circulate”. Rozanov of course had to chirp him one more time about showing off his new clothes before letting him go. Although maybe he was taking notes, because he scanned Hollander up and down one more time as the man stood up.

As he stood up… quite close to him. Practically brushing up against him. Even though the other side of the stool was completely empty. And even more interesting, Rozanov didn’t move out of the way. Maybe he even leaned in a little bit?

As Hollander left to circulate, Rozanov sat there at the bar, stretching out his arms and then rubbing a hand against his face. Henri tried to covertly watch the man as he tried to sneakily glance over his shoulder at Hollander as he joined another group of players on the patio.

Something inside Henri recognized the look Rozanov had on his face. It was hesitant. A little guarded. But something else.

The word Henri had for it was longing.

But surely that wasn’t what he was seeing in Rozanov as he watched Hollander.

Right?

Henri sighed and finished his beer, trying to remember if bartenders were on the list of people to tip that Jacob had made him. He threw down $50 and hoped that was correct. As he pushed away from the bar, Henri was feeling very confused.

This is insane, Henri thought to himself as he watched the game from the bench. He grabbed some water, splashing it on his face mostly to help him cool down. While no one was playing seriously, it didn’t mean they were playing slowly. In fact, it was like everyone was giving it 110% all of the time because they weren’t worried about gassing themselves out before the next shift change.

As Henri caught his breath, he watched Rozanov and Hollander on the ice. Watching them play against each other was amazing but watching them play together? That was something else entirely.

They didn’t even need to talk to each other. It was as if they shared the same brain and thought process. They knew what the other was going to do before it happened. They read the ice, their opponents, the play, and came up with a plan all without barely glancing at each other so nothing was given away. It also seemed like they knew exactly where the other was at all times, completing passes without having to look.

How lucky was the league that these two hadn’t been put on the same team? If these two were teammates in the regular season, no one would stand a chance.

Henri signaled to the equipment manager and pointed at the blade on his skate before standing and bending over the board, throwing his foot on the bench. As his blade was replaced, he kept his eyes trained on Hollander and Rozanov. They were captivating to watch but not just because of their skill.

They also looked like they were having…fun? Had either of them smiled this much during a game before? Not that Henri had noticed.

Hollander slammed the puck into the net, and everyone went a little crazy. Henri was shoved around on the bench as the guys next to him acted like they had never seen a hockey player score before. But Henri wasn’t much better and got pulled into the hype, slamming his helmet against his teammates like they were long lost brothers and not players that had only met two days ago.

When the celebrations died down Henri got ready for the shift change, looking out towards the ice to find the guy he would be replacing. He got distracted though as he watched Rozanov skate up and practically slam into Hollander before a gloved hand found a place on Hollander’s helmet, bringing the man’s head towards him. With a grand flourish that Henri could see from the bench, Rozanov pulled Hollander towards him and placed a dramatic kiss to the side of his helmet.

This was not the most intense display of affection Henri had ever seen two hockey players engage in. In fact, it was pretty mild. But that wasn’t what caught Henri’s attention. It was the pause after the celebratory kiss. The way Rozanov’s arm lingered a little too long around Hollander’s back. The way they glanced at each other, seemingly having a conversation without saying anything. The way they were trying to assure each other that what just happened was completely normal.

Which it was.

So why were they questioning it?

That’s what had Henri confused this time.

Later that day Henri joined some players, a few from each of the two remaining teams of the small tournament, at the pool of their hotel. A couple of the families were spending some time together, meaning there were a few kids running around and swimming in the pool. It was chaos honestly, until Rozanov jumped in the water with them and challenged them all to a race.

Luckily, the kids were so overwhelmed by the idea of racing Ilya Rozanov that they had no clue they were about halfway down the length of the pool before Rozanov pushed off the wall and followed them. Even more luckily, they were gracious winners and accepted Rozanov’s pleas for rematch after rematch.

Henri also noticed that Shane Hollander was lying in a lounge chair nearby. Because of course he was. It seemed as if the two were really never that far apart from each other this weekend.

“Hollander!” Rozanov yelled, catching Hollanders attention. Hollander raised his head off the back of the chair and made a show of scanning the pool as if he was trying to figure out who was calling his name.

Henri resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He had caught Hollander sneaking glances at Rozanov every couple of minutes ever since the man walked out onto the pool deck and jumped in the water.

“Hollander, make sure none of these cheaters cheat, okay?” Rozanov’s voice boomed across the water.

Hollander gave a thumbs up and then chuckled as Rozanov boo’ed the little girl who said Hollander was the best player in the league.

When the kids were done splashing the little girl, Rozanov organized the group against the wall for the final race, this time with candy bars on the line. The kids lined up, serious faces that only the children of professional athletes could mimic in place as Rozanov counted them down.

As the kids took off, Henri looked back at Hollander. He was watching the whole thing unfold with a delighted smile. Even with the sunglasses in place, his expression could only be described as fond. He even laughed out loud as Rozanov pretended to drown. He clapped as Rozanov admitted defeat and pulled himself out of the pool.

Is no one else noticing how absolutely delighted this man was watching Rozanov play with these kids?

As Rozanov stood in front of him though, breathing heavily with his hands on his hips, Hollander was definitely not laughing. Come on Hollander, Henri thought to himself, your glasses aren’t that tinted. I can tell what you are looking at.

Rozanov wasn’t much better. He wasn’t even wearing sunglasses. Everyone could see what he was looking at.

This is some insanely prolonged eye contact.

Henri looked around the pool deck to see if anyone else was paying attention to these two supposed rivals staring each other down, little smirks firmly in place.

The only thing that Henri was confused about this time was how no one else was paying attention to what was happening right in front of them.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the locker room before the final game of the weekend that Henri noticed it. He looked around the room and yeah, sure enough, Hollander and Rozanov were at opposite ends of the room, both staring into their locker. Henri flipped back through his memories of the weekend and realized that these two men never acknowledged each other inside the locker room. Not a glance, not a word. Which was odd because they definitely were friendly with each other outside of the locker room. And not even just on the ice. Henri had seen the pair chat it up over the weekend more times than he could count. So why wouldn’t they even look at each other inside the walls of this locker room?

They were the captain and the alternate captain. Surely there were things to discuss. Plans to make. Plays to create. Strategy to…strategize.

But no. Hollander and Rozanov continued to act like the other didn’t exist until they made it back out onto the ice.

I’m so confused.

Henri stood up from his chair, making his way around the large table to say his goodbyes to the players and families of the players that had joined the group for dinner. Some were people he had known before this weekend, and some were people who he had just met.

He considered this weekend a success overall. He saw some old friends and made a lot of new ones. Played some decent hockey and saw some really good hockey be played. It was a lot of fun, and he was already trying to figure out what he needed to do to be invited back next year.

After the last of his goodbyes, Henri stepped out of the restaurant and made his way down the stone path onto the beach. Slipping off his sandals, he bent down to grab them before making his way onto the beach.

He was enjoying the sound of the waves crashing against the beach when he noticed two figures down the beach a bit. He debated turning around but figured the beach was big enough to give them a wide enough berth to not disturb them.

He made his way a little further from the water as he continued down the beach. As he got closer, he realized that the figures were starting to look familiar.

A little too familiar.

Was that…

It couldn’t be.

Yes, that was Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Sitting together.

On a beach.

During sunset.

Alone.

Henri paused mid stride and looked around. The beach was otherwise deserted. There was no one else around for miles in either direction.

When he turned back to Hollander and Rozanov, the two were sneaking glances at each other while the other was looking towards the sunset. They were both leaning back; their arms spread a little wide at their sides. Henri watched as Hollander grinned and then looked down.

Henri followed his gaze towards the sand and that’s when he noticed how close Hollander’s and Rozanov’s hands had slipped in the sand. Were they…

Yes.

Yes, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were in fact sitting on a beach alone during sunset and touching thumbs.

Maybe even caressing thumbs.

Henri shook the confusion from his head and promptly turned around.

This is none of my business.

Henri shoved the scoop into the large chest of ice and then dumped it into the bucket filling it to the top. Even though the games this weekend were just for fun and didn’t have the usual physicality to them, Henri’s body was still protesting a little and his right shoulder was demanding some time with a bag of ice.

Plus, if he was being honest, he was avoiding the messages that still were left unread on his phone.

K: Can we talk?

K: Please?

K: Henri, please talk to me.

Henri replaced the scoop in its holder and assured that the lid to the machine was closed. He was looking at the vending machine, debating between the chips and the chocolate bar when he heard a voice.

It was muffled, being on the other side of one of the doors and all, but it was a very distinct voice. Henri knew that voice.

“Goodnight Ilya,” Shane Hollander said, his very distinct voice slipped out from underneath the door. The door right across from the little room Henri was still standing in. The door that’s handle was now turning, as if someone, Hollander, on the other side was planning on opening the door.

Henri cursed and assessed his options. No way could he stand here, ice bucket in hand, and wait until Shane Hollander finally opened the door.

The door that belonged to Ilya Rozanov by the way.

Even if he didn’t hear Shane say his name, he would know that it was Rozanov’s room. They’d been neighbors for three days, exchanging pleasantries whenever they saw each other in the hallway.

So yes, Henri needed to move. But he didn’t have enough time to make it back into his room and was meeting Hollander in the hallway really any better?

No. It was not.

So, Henri did what any other self-respecting twenty-one-year-old professional hockey player would do.

He hid.

Henri managed to shove his not so small frame between the vending machine and the ice machine and prayed that Hollander wasn’t the type to get a little midnight snack when presented the opportunity.

From his hiding place, Henri could still see the hallway. Finally, the door opened and after looking down the hallway, Shane Hollander stepped out of Ilya Rozanov’s room.

Correction: Shane Hollander stepped out of Ilya Rozanov's room looking like he had just been thoroughly fucked through the fucking mattress.

In the five seconds it took for Hollander to assess the hallway, close the door, and pass the tiny room, Henri had seen all he needed to see.

His clothes were rumpled. His hair was a mess. His face was red. His lips were swollen. And most damning of all was that dopey grin a person could only be wearing after they just came so hard it turned their brain off.

Henri groaned internally and tiled his head up against the vending machine, wishing more than anything he could go back to being confused.

Chapter End Notes

Henri Makinen- you are so very dear to me

Chapter 15: The Woman Who Just Wanted A Break

Chapter Summary

A hotel employee just wanted a minute alone to have a break. Unfortunately, she chose the wrong stairwell.

Chapter Notes

The monologue- Shane's side

Date: March 2017

Location: Somewhere on the road

Riley Morrison was having a day. Not necessarily a horrible day, but not a great one either. One of those days where everything just kept adding up all day long to the point where by the time she walked into the hotel for her night shift she had a list of problems as long as her arm that she had no idea how to solve. Which was new to her.

Because that’s who she was. She was the solver. To her friends and family, Riley Morrison was the one to call if you had a problem that needed fixing.

Your car battery died and now you’re stranded in a grocery store parking lot? Riley had jumper cables and some free time; and if she didn’t, she knew exactly how to walk you and the kind-but clueless- stranger standing next to you how to jump your car over the phone.

Your coworker had spent the week being unnecessarily passively aggressive to you? Riley was already drafting an email to them that somehow floated perfectly between polite and firm and undoubtedly demanded a better working relationship.

You had an awful day at work? Before you even finished telling her all about your day Riley was sending your favorite dinner to your doorstep so you could spend the evening relaxing.

Your kids were being little terrors lately, and you hadn’t had a moment to yourself in three weeks? Pack their bags because they were spending the weekend at Aunt Riley’s.

Your bathtub filled with suspicious looking water every time you take a shower? Riley showed up at your house armed with her tool kit and a YouTube video before you even hung up the phone.

But there were some problems that just didn’t have solutions.

Your best friend’s mom just got diagnosed with terminal cancer. She probably wouldn’t make it to June. The month your best friend was getting married.

Your niece came home crying because the school’s bully had decided that her curly red hair meant she was somehow she was less than. And your sister called you in tears because she had kept it together all afternoon as she consoled her daughter but now, she was just a mom whose baby was hurting, and she didn’t know what to do.

Your neighbor told you on your walk the other day that their dog, who normally joined them, was finally starting to feel some of her fifteen years and stopped eating. They had no idea how to talk to their kids about what was going to happen in the next couple of days.

Your coworker finally told you that the reason they had been a little absent at work was because they just found out that their spouse had been cheating on them and now, they were in the middle of filing for divorce and figuring out how to sell that house they’d just bought together.

Those were the types of problems that Riley’s friends and family were facing right now. And they had all come to her for help. But Riley didn’t know how to help them. She couldn’t cure cancer, beat up a grade school bully, figure out how to give a beloved pet immortality, or fix someone’s marriage. Those were not problems that had YouTube tutorials to follow.

Riley also had her own problems to solve as well. Not any that were as big as the ones her people were facing, which is why she didn’t mention anything to them, but still; she had things she needed to get done.

But she didn’t have time to think about her problems right now because she had more than enough problems to fix at work. She was only three hours into her shift and already she had:

Re-roomed five guests because the heaters decided to stop working in a corner of the fifth floor.

Coordinated with maintenance about coming to fix said heaters at the very precise time of not too early to disturb the guests sleep but not too late that she couldn’t get the next days guests checked in on time.

Smoothed over a fight between her two best employees caused by a communication breakdown over something entirely too simple.

Spent two hours on the phone with a disgruntled guest who insisted on going over their bill line by line even though every charge was accurate and by the end of the call, nothing had been disputed.

Filled in for one of their housekeepers due to an emergency call off while also calling everyone on the employee roster to see if someone could come in at the last minute.

And to top it all off, her sixth floor was completely booked by a professional hockey team that was in town for a game. Not that the team was actually causing many issues, they were barely even there, spending most of their time at the rink. And when they were at the hotel they were either sleeping or eating. But that didn’t stop the other guests from finding reasons to complain. Her face hurt from forcing a smile as a guest complained for twenty minutes about the noise the team was causing; demanding a refund for the inconvenience. The man walked away with his head tucked into his chest when Riley informed him that the team hadn’t yet returned from their game, but she would send someone by to check it out. Pointing at the TV behind her that was currently playing the Montreal Metro’s game was probably a step too far, but again Riley was having a day.

So, when Evan, her newest employee, came running into her office with a frenzied look and admitted he had just overbooked next month’s reservations because someone forgot to block off rooms for a wedding, Riley hit her breaking point.

She closed her eyes, counted to five and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, Evan was still standing there looking like he was mentally updating his resume. Riley gave him a small smile, patted him on the shoulder and sent him back out to cover the front desk with the assurance that she would handle it and his job was safe.

And Riley could handle it. Overbooking reservations was one of the most common problems in her line of work. She had done it herself about a hundred times. And she fixed it a hundred and one times. But with everything else that was going on, it was just too much, she needed a break.

And so, after making sure Evan was settled back at the front desk and no longer in danger of having a break down, she made her way to her favorite hiding place.

Fun fact- almost no one in hotels took the stairs. Therefore, they made excellent hiding places.

She pushed open the heavy door, making sure it closed silently behind her before slowly walking up towards the third-floor landing. While no one took the stairs, she knew she would have more privacy the higher she climbed.

When she was somewhere between the third and fourth floor, she turned her back against the wall and let herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor, her knees tucked up against her chest. With a long exhale, she wrapped her arms around her shins and leaned forward, pressing her eyes against the boney parts of her knees, hoping to relieve some of the pressure that was building up there.

Her thoughts were drifting back to her friend’s mom, trying to come up with some way to help when she heard a door swing open from a flight or two above her. Riley pressed her mouth to her knee, resisting the urge to groan out loud. She should probably get up and leave, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Instead, she stayed still and hoped that the person who opened the door was either going up or only needed to go one floor down.

No such luck apparently. Thanks to the acoustics of the stairwell, Riley could hear the sound of the phone vibrating and then the sound of someone sitting down, the metal of the railings shifting a little as someone pressed their weight against them.

“How are you?” a male voice echoed down the stairwell. The voice was soft and concerned, like they were speaking to a wounded animal that might take off if they spoke too loudly.

There was a brief pause where Riley assumed the other person on the phone answered before the voice spoke again. “How’s your uh family?”

Apparently, Riley wasn’t the only person who had people she cared about going through hard things with their families. She wondered what the person on the other side of this phone call was going through. Maybe the person in the stairwell knew what to do, what words to say, could offer up some piece of advice that Riley could use to help the people around her.

So, she stayed. Right there in the echo-y stairwell and listened. Listened and hoped that she would find some answers.

There was another long pause and then the man above her asked, “Is it… very upsetting?

Riley thought that was an odd way to ask that question. The man wasn’t really asking if the caller was upset, he was asking if the situation was upsetting. It was a simple rewording, but it didn’t assume the caller’s feelings, it asked how they felt about whatever it was that was going on. An important distinction, Riley thought.

“You mean not your father?” So, something was happening with the caller’s father. Riley felt a pang of sympathy and relatability, her thoughts once again drifting to her friend’s mother.

“I wish I spoke Russian.” Riley tilted her head, trying to figure out what wanting to learn a new langue had to do with their current conversation. She kind of wished the man had put the call on speaker so she could hear both sides of the conversation, but she realized that she was just being greedy now.

“That’s French Ilya.” Seriously. How did we shift from talking about the caller’s family, and their dad, something that was, presumably, upsetting- to talking about languages?

“Where are you?” This was an interesting conversation.

“Hey, uh, I have an idea.” Finally. Riley locked in, assuming that this is when the man in the stairwell would unknowingly give her the answer to her problems, teach her how to help her people when there seemed to be no right answer.

The man’s voice almost sounded hesitant when he spoke again. “How about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian? I won’t understand but maybe it’ll help.”

That was intriguing to Riley. How was the man in the stairwell supposed to help if he didn’t understand? How could you solve a problem when you didn’t know the problem?

Riley thought about that for a long time in the silent staircase. Whoever was on the other side of the call must have had a lot to say because the man sitting on the stairs was quiet for a long time. Riley thought about the recent conversations she had with her friends and family. When they all shared their news with her, how long did she wait before jumping in with solutions? Did she even let them finish what they were saying before she handed them advice, offerings of support, suggestions?

As the silence stretched on, Riley ruminated on the idea that what if the best thing she could do for the people that needed her help… was just to be there. Be there to listen. Be there to hold their hand. Be there for them even if she didn’t have a perfect solution to their problems. She could just…be.

Riley almost jumped when the man spoke again. “Do you feel better?”

She sure hoped the caller did feel better, because Riley certainly did. She felt as if a crushing weight had been lifted off her chest and shoulders. Her mind was a little clearer now and her thoughts started to feel more organized and less chaotic.

“Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.” And we’re back to talking about languages.

“Like what?” The man laughed. “Fuck you.” The heaviness in the stairwell dissipated and Riley felt like she could breathe again. Humor. That was another thing Riley thought about. Even in hard times, like really hard times, sometimes bringing a bit of levity to the situation could make all the difference.

“How about…I wish you were here right now?” Opf, that felt like a kick in the side. Riley could tell how much the man wished he could be with the caller right now. And she remembered how lucky she was that her people were so close by that she could just drive over and show up for them. She mentally planned out a quick trip to the toy store nearby, hopefully they had some dolls with red curly hair she could pick up for her niece, Ashley. They could spend the afternoon tomorrow trailing different hairstyles, first on the doll and then on her.

The conversation continued for a little longer, shifting more towards lighthearted teasing and… flirting if Riley was being honest. It kind of sounded like the man was flirting with whoever was on the line. It was cute, Riley smiled to herself, ignoring how numb her butt was now from staying in her hiding place for so long.

Eventually, the man said his goodbyes and ended the phone call. Riley heard a long sigh and then what sounded like a person running their hands over their face. There was silence for a few seconds before and soft smack of hands against thighs and then the sound of someone standing and then slowly walking up the stairs. The door opened and then closed softly and just like that Riley was once again alone. She took a few more minutes, just because she could then pushed herself up to her feet, brushing off the dust on her pants.

By the time morning came around she was feeling much better as she helped Evan check out the morning guests.

“Good morning,” she said brightly as the next guest walked up the counter, glancing down at the computer, finishing up the last check out and pulling up the screen to start a new one.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice parroted back to her. Riley lifted her head to see Shane Hollander standing in front of her, a polite smile in place.

She loosely followed hockey, catching a game every now and again at her sister’s house since her brother-in-law was a real fan of the sport and watched almost every game. But even if she didn’t, she’d still probably recognize Shane Hollander. That’s probably why his voice sounded so familiar, she had caught enough post-game interviews to recognize it.

“How can I help you, Mr. Hollander?” Riley asked, assuming that he wasn’t there to check out. The team manager handled all the reservations.

Shane rubbed the back of his neck. “I uh was wondering if you could suggest some places to eat around here. I follow a pretty weird diet,” he held up a piece of paper, “these are some of the things that I’m looking for. Of course, I found some places online that I can try but I’ve learned that it’s usually best to just ask someone who actually lives around here.”

Riley laughed a little. “Less chance of falling into some tourist trap and finding a place that’s actually decent.”

A look of relief crossed Shane’s face. “Exactly.”

“Smart.” Riley accepted the piece of paper Shane was holding out for her. She scanned it over before nodding. “I definitely know of a few places that could work. I’ll type you out a list.

Shane gave her an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She typed away on her computer. “You boys in town for the next couple of days?”

“Just tonight and tomorrow morning. Then we fly out to Los Angelos.”

She let out a breath. “That’s going to be a long flight.”

He laughed. “Yeah, it is. We’re used to it though. I watch a lot of movies. How has your day been?”

Riley blamed being at the end of a 12-hour shift for the reason instead of responding with the standard ‘good, thanks. Yourself?’ she said, “You know, I started this shift feeling pretty down, but I’m ending it on a much better note.”

Shane Hollander didn’t seem phased by her overhearing. He just nodded, leaning his elbows on the counter. “What helped you feel better?”

Her head snapped up from her computer and looked at the man standing in front of her.

‘Feel better.’

‘Feel better’

She had heard this voice say those words before.

‘Do you feel better?’

The voice from the stairwell.

It was Shane Hollander.

The voice from the stranger from the stairwell that practically changed her perspective on how she was currently facing her problems belonged to Shane fucking Hollander.

Well, how ‘bout that?

Shane was saying something now that she didn’t quite catch. “I’m sorry?”

“I just asked if you were okay? You looked a shocked there for a second.”

Riley nodded. “I’m fine thank you. It’s just been a long shift.”

He smiled at her with a nod of his own. “So, can I ask what made you feel better?”

She chuckled a little. “I just got some really good advice.”

His eyebrows peaked in interest. “Oh yeah? Can I ask what it was?”

She printed off the list of local restaurants and leaned over to grab it. She turned back around and held the paper out to Shane and said, “Sometimes there’s no good solution to the problems we have, but I can listen anyways.”

Shane huffed as he took the paper from her. “That is some solid advice.”

Riley smiled secretly to herself. “I’m glad you think so.”

He scanned the list of restaurants and then lifted it in the air. “Thank you again, for this. I really appreciate it.”

She tilted her head. “Of course, Mr. Hollander.”

He held out his hand. “Shane.”

She grasped his hand in hers and gave it a shake. “Shane.”

He gave her another smile before folding up the paper and slipping it into your pocket. “I hope you have a good day, Riley.”

“You too.”

Riley watched as he turned from the counter and walked out the front doors, slipping into the crowded sidewalk before getting lost in the crowd. She shook her head as she pushed herself off her chair and walked back into her office. She couldn’t help but laugh as she gathered up her things, waiting for the day shift manager to come relieve her.

So, Shane Hollander was her mystery voice? That only left one question.

Who was on the other end of the phone?

Later that afternoon, Riley sat on the couch next to her niece who was clutching her new doll so tightly in her little hands Riley was worried it would break. The dolls curly red hair was skillfully roped into intricate braids that started at the top of her head before opening up to beautiful waves of curls that flowed down her back. There were also plenty of sparkles thanks to the hair tinsel and gemstone pins that were weaved in. Ashley sported a matching look.

While Riley and her niece trialed several different hairstyles on the new doll, her Ashley started telling Riley all about the bully at school. Instinctually, Riley opened her mouth and almost started listing off several different deescalation techniques she had found when her sister first called her. Instead, she stayed quiet, handing over another pin. In fact, she stayed quiet the entire time Ashley recounted her experience. The whole time. She just sat there and listened.

When her niece was done, both with her story and the doll’s hair, she held up the doll for her aunt to inspect. “What do you think Aunt Ri?”

Riley smiled. “I think she looks beautiful. What do you think?”

Ashley gave the doll a long look. “I think her hair looks nice.”

“Do you want to try doing your hair like that?” Riley suggested. “We have enough tinsel for you too.”

Her niece’s eyes went wide as she bobbed her head up and down. “Can we add gems too?”

“Absolutely,” Riley fought to keep her voice even, the love she had for this little girl overwhelming her. They moved so Riley was sitting on the couch, and Ashley was settled on the floor between her legs.

As Riley began brushing out her hair, the little girl pressed her forehead into her knee. “Can you teach my mom how to do the braids so I can wear them to school?”

Riley kept her hands moving, weaving the beautiful red hair through her fingers. “I sure can Ash.”

There was a tiny beat of silence and then. “Thank you, Aunt Ri. I feel better now. I like my hair.”

Riley sat forward and kissed the top of her niece’s head. “As you should beautiful girl, as you should.”

After they were done with her hair, Riley’s brother-in-law came into the room and asked if they wanted to watch a hockey game with him tonight. Riley agreed and Ashley was so enthralled by her new doll; she didn’t care either way. Her sister joined in a while later shooting Riley a grateful look as she kissed her daughter on the cheek and casually mentioned that she liked her sparkly hair.

On the TV, the sports commentor, Zach something, was talking about the upcoming game.

“The Raiders defiantly have the stronger defense in tonight’s match up against Buffalo but whenever you’re missing a star player, not to mention your team captain, it’s going to change the dynamic of the game.”

The man on the other end of the table nodded. “That’s right. Raiders star center and captain, Ilya Rozanov, is still a healthy scratch for tonight’s game as the young man travels back to Russia for his father’s funeral.”

Zach nodded, sharing his condolences before skillfully transitioning the conversation back to hockey.

Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya.

‘That’s French Ilya.’

Ilya Rozanov who is from Russia.

‘I wish I spoke Russian’ ‘tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian’ ‘Maybe you could teach me Russian someday.’

Ilya Rozanov who is from Russia and is back home for his father’s funeral.

‘How’s your uh family?’ ‘You mean not your father?’

Ilya Rozanov, who is from Russia, and is back from home for his father’s funeral, and probably needed someone to check in on him.

‘How are you?’ ‘Is it very upsetting?’ ‘Do you feel better?’

While she had no concrete proof, Riley Morison was now pretty convinced Ilya Rozanov had been the one on the other end of that phone call.

‘How about…I wish you were here right now?’

The phone call where Shane Hollander had spoken with so much softness, compassion and care.

The very flirty phone call towards the end.

Ilya Rozanov had called Shane Hollander in the middle of the night and presumably poured his heart out about his father’s death and who knows what else.

She replayed the conversation in her mind. The softness of Shane’s voice. The way he said Ilya’s name like it was something fragile, and the permission to say it aloud was a precious thing. The strength, solidity, and presence, of his silence.

She didn’t know these two men. But now she knew their biggest secret. She knew the sound of them loving each other.

Even if it was in the silence.

Chapter End Notes

As a self proclaimed fixer- this was an important lesson

Chapter 16: A Woman Walking Her Dog

Chapter Summary

A woman who just got off a late shift wanted one thing: to get home and get into bed. But first, she needed to walk her dog. No problem, it’s a quick loop. Quick until she runs into a stranger in a tunnel who is having a very deep conversation.

Chapter Notes

The monologue- Ilya's side

Date: March 2017

Location: Moscow, Russia

Alina Orlova just wanted to get home. She wanted to get home, curl up in her warm bed, and stay there for at least the next fifteen hours. She had finished her shift at the hospital, leaving an hour later than she was supposed to, and now there was only one thing stopping her from reaching her goal.

Maxim.

Her dog.

And while Alina was tired, and cold, and hungry, and in desperate need of a long hot shower, she would do anything for the beautiful creature of love that was standing next to her. Which is why she was walking through the small park near her apartment in the middle of the night while snow fell around them.

Though, she would love him a little bit more if he would stop sniffing every other inch of snow so they could finish their walk home a little faster if she was being honest with herself.

“Maxim, come along now,” she ordered sternly and he did, leaving the tree he was circling to come stand next to her. Luckily, they had almost completed the small loop around the edge of the park meaning she just needed to pop under the bridge that was coming up and then her apartment would be on the left.

She was so close.

So close to sleep.

That was- until she walked up close to the bridge and heard a deep voice coming from inside of it.

Tentatively, she walked up to the opening of the bridge and peered inside. In there, she saw a large man leaning against the concrete wall. More like slumped against wall actually. Maybe he’s hurt?

Alina stepped forward to see if he needed help but then he spoke again, in English. “Mmm. Yeah, you could probably learn it in a week. No accent. Perfect. Bonjour.”

Oh, the man was on the phone. Perfect. He was fine and there was no reason Alina needed to administer any kind of care. She could continue on her way and walk right past them.

“Yeah, I know, Shane.” She turned around to find her dog off sniffing another tree. Maxim had excellent recall and pretty good obedience training but if she forgot to give him his heel command, he tended to walk away. She sighed and backtracked a few yards, walking through the snow that was already covering the footprints she had already made.

“Maxim,” she hissed in a whisper, careful not to disturb the man on the phone. “Come!”

Maxim whipped his head around and trotted happily to her, as if he had forgotten she was there and was now overjoyed at seeing her. She shook her head and gave his neck some scratches, praising him for coming to her side so quickly.

“Let’s go home, yes?” She asked Maxim who gave yip in agreement.

But when they returned to the tunnel, she paused. The man had switched to speaking in Russian and was now crouched in a squatting position against the tunnel.

“I fucking hate it here. And they all fucking hate me,” the voice in the tunnel spoke, quiet acceptance in their tone.

This seems like a rather intense conversation to have in a public park in the middle of the night Alina thought to herself as she weighed her options. Unfortunately, there was no other path to her apartment that didn’t add at least three miles to her walk. But she also could not walk past this man who was baring his soul out to someone on the phone.

She decided to stay. How much more could he really have to say?

“I pay for everything. I make sure everyone has clothes they like. I make sure the food is perfect. That father is buried next to his parents, that the tomb is perfect.”

Alina’s heart sank in her chest. This man obviously just lost his father, and it sounds as if he was responsible for arranging the plans for the funeral. She saw a lot of death in her line of work, and it was always the people who had to pick up the pieces afterwards that Alina extended a little extra sympathy to.

The man’s voice turned a little angry when he spoke again. “And the only fucking word I ever hear is: ‘I want more Ilya.’ ‘I need more, Ilya’. More, more, more!”

So, the man’s name was Ilya. At least Alina could stop referring to him as ‘the man.’

Ilya continued, anger still lacing his words. “And I have nothing for these people! I give them everything…but I feel fucking empty.”

Oh god, this was just so sad.

“They don’t care. They look at me and they see a bank. Or an enemy. Or I don’t even know what.”

Maria reached out and threaded her fingers through Maxim’s fur, searching for a bit of comfort and wished that she could extend some to the man who sounded like he was being tortured, the words being ripped out from somewhere deep inside him.

“My brother, he always hated me. And I know why but…it kills me. And it kills me that he took care of my father and I didn’t.” Ilya’s voice lost some of its anger, his words thickened with sadness now. “But I couldn’t! I wasn’t here. I still paid for it all. And he will never forgive me. For any of it. For existing. And it means…I have no one now.”

When was the last time someone hugged this man? Alina wasn’t much for affection but even she wanted to walk into the tunnel and hug this stranger until he felt a little less empty.

“Well not no one. I have… Svetlana. She loves me. And I love her. But not like...” Ilya’s voice tailed off for a long time. “Fuck me... but not like I love you.”

At least he had this person, whoever they were, that Ilya could talk to, who knew how he was feeling, and knew that Ilya loved them. Maybe they would know how to help him.

Alina was pretty sure Ilya was crying now, and she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t be far behind. Maxim even seemed to sense it, pushing closer to her legs like he was trying to soothe her. “That’s the worst fucking part of all this… is... that all I want is you. It’s always you. I’m so in love with you and I don’t know what to do about it.

Alina felt her head thud against the concrete of the tunnel as she blinked up at the sky. She was really good at compartmentalizing her feelings about her work at the hospital. She didn’t let things get to her while she was there. She stayed steady. Strong. But what that meant was that the second she left the walls of that hospital, all it took was a tiny shove and those walls would come crashing down and she would feel everything. And this was way more than a tiny shove. This was a full-on kick to the stomach and she was getting absolutely flooded with emotions at the moment.

When she regained her composure and she wiped the tears from her face Ilya was speaking in English again. “Okay I’m done.” There was a pause and then he thanked his companion. “Yeah. Okay. Only useful phrases.”

Wait. Ilya was speaking in English when she walked up and didn’t pause a single time while he was speaking in Russian- almost like the person on the other end didn’t interrupt or ask any questions-, and then he signaled he was done speaking in English. Now he was saying ‘useful phrases’ like someone would if they were talking about teaching someone a new language. Oh god, Alina was starting to feel like the person on the other end of this phone call had absolutely no idea what Ilya had just said.

They had no idea how much Ilya was hurting.

How much Ilya loved them.

This is agony.

“I don’t know, like: ‘Harder please. Yes sir.’” Okay, that’s a shift in conversation. “No more like: ‘Fuck me please.’”

Alina ignored that part but smiled anyway because Ilya’s voice sounded at least a bit lighter, like he was no longer crying.

“I wish I was too,” Ilya said in Russian, his voice sounding further away than it had been before.

Alina peered around the edge of the tunnel, the man was facing the wall but then he looked over his shoulder, and Alina could see the smile on his face. She was so distracted by that tiny, small, hard-won smile, that she nearly missed the rest of his face.

And she knew that face.

That face belonged to Ilya Rozanov. Native Russian who was now a MHL center for the Boston Raiders. She had seen a headline the other day on one of the TV’s that he was home for his father’s funeral.

Who knew that the famous Russian Menace was secretly so sad?

She waited another five minutes, until she could no longer hear his shoes crunch against the freshly fallen snow, and then looked in the tunnel once again. The coast was clear. She signaled to Maxim and then the two of them finally finished their walk and finally made it back to the apartment.

After a quick dinner and a long shower, Alina was exactly where she wanted to be, tucked under a mountain of blankets in her way too expensive, but totally worth it, bed.

Unfortunately, Alina also suffers from sleep dysregulation caused by her constant shift changes at the hospital. No matter how tired she was or how drained she felt, sometimes her body refused to sleep. A trick that seemed to work in helping her brain wear itself out was repetition.

She would lay there, eyes closed and repeat something over and over again. Sometimes it was songs, other times it was her grocery list, or poems. Sometimes it was speeches.

So tonight, she repeated Ilya Rozanov’s speech to herself. Over and over again.

Finally, her body felt like lead and her brain was in that peaceful space that existed just before sleep took over. She started from the top, pretty convinced this would have to be the last run through.

‘Mmm. Yeah, you could probably learn it in a week.’

‘No accent. Perfect. Bonjour.’

‘Yeah, I know, Shane.’

‘I know, Shane.’

‘Shane.’

Shane. Why was that name getting stuck in her brain? Like it was trying to make some sort of connection between Ilya Rozanov and Shane…

…Hollander.

Shane as in Shane Hollander.

Alina sat straight up in bed, sleep long forgotten, gasping loudly. Even though no one was home, she still covered her mouth with her hands.

There was no way.

There was no way that the ‘Shane’ Ilya Rozanov was talking to tonight was Shane Hollander.

There was no way that the ‘Shane’ Ilya Rozanov professed his love to tonight was Shane Hollander.

There was no way.

Alina’s mind raced to catch up. On what this means. On what it could mean. And then, what could happen if anyone else overheard his conversation. A flare of panic coursed through her making her rip off the blankets before she overheated. Was there anyone else in the park? Someone on top of the bridge? Someone on the other side of the tunnel hiding like she was?

She dug the heel of her palms into her eyes as she replayed the speech, this time ignoring the words and forcing her brain to focus on what she saw. There was no one else in the park, that much she knew for certain. It was a well-lit space and she would have seen anyone walking around. She also would have heard footsteps if someone was passing over the bridge above her. And she didn’t see anyone on the other side of the tunnel when he passed through.

No one else was there.

No one else heard him.

No one else knew.

Except…

“Maxim, come up!” she whispered, and Maxim rose from his dog bed against the wall where he had chosen to sleep. He instantly sat up and trotted over to her bed where in one fluid jump, he settled onto her lap.

She held his head in her hands and looked him in the eyes so that he knew this was serious.

“Ilya Rozanov is in love with Shane Hollander,” she whispered so quietly that she herself could barely hear it. “But no one can know. Maxim, you and I have to carry this secret. Forever.” She paused then gave a sad little smile. “Well, hopefully not forever. But until it’s not a secret anymore. Understand?”

Alina knows Maxim is a dog and probably didn’t understand what she was saying, but still, when he blinked and pressed his head deeper into her hands, she took that as him understanding the seriousness of the situation.

Slowly, the tension seeped out of her and Alina laid back down against the mattress. This time, Maxim did not return to his bed, electing to curl up beside her instead. Running through the speech one last time, now with a better understanding of the words, Alina Orlova finally fell asleep.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter made me sad so I added a dog.

Chapter 17: The Ref That Thought He Had Seen It All

Chapter Summary

Liam Beaulieu had been a referee in the MHL for ten years. He thought he had seen it all. That is, Shane Hollander goes down on the ice and doesn’t get back up.

Chapter Notes

Date: April 2017

Location: Montreal

Liam Beaulieu had seen a lot. And heard even more. After being a referee in the MHL for ten years, there wasn’t much that surprised him. He had seen fights that lasted way longer than they should have, the refs not calling it quits like they should have until the ice was stained in blood and vomit. He saw bones break and snap, limbs that moved in ways they definitely were not meant to move. He had seen absolute joy. And crushing defeat.

He had seen the bond of teammates that were closer to brotherhood.

And he had seen rivals.

Like the two rivals that were playing against each other tonight.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Liam has watched these two play against one another for over eight years, ever since their rookie season. He had felt like a rookie himself, only being a referee in the league for two years, despite the ten plus years of experience he had in other divisions. In those eight years, he had noticed some things.

The first thing he noticed- it was a pretty tame rivalry. Don’t get it wrong, the boys played hard against each other on the ice. Actually, they played better against each other than they did when facing other teams. But while yes, there was a lot of pushing and shoving, and a fair amount of slamming each other into the boards, the gloves never came off. And the chirps, mostly coming from Rozanov, always stayed in the lane of funny and teasing rather than actually insulting or cruel.

There was also a fair amount of…grinning. At each other. Like they were doing now during the opening face-off of the game.

Liam stood there, puck in hand, whistle to his lips, preparing to drop the puck to start the game and the two supposed rivals were… smiling at each other.

They slapped each other’s stick a few times, still grinning at each other, while Liam checked in with the other refs on the ice. When he got the ready signal for all of them, he leaned forward and dropped the puck between the two rivals.

They battled it out for a couple seconds, but Hollander won the face off and took off down the ice towards the Raider’s goal. Rozanov shot after him, fast as a bullet, and Liam was grateful for the extra stretching he did before the game. It’s hard keeping up with these two.

He skated off after them, keeping his eyes peeled and darting between all the players, looking for potential penalties. Liam then watched something he’d never seen before.

He watched Shane Hollander, star MHL center, legendary hockey player, the generational talent that has overtaken the league, turn around and look behind him. While he had the puck.

While he had the puck, he turned his attention away from his opponents that were hurtling their way towards him, all foaming at the mouth and ready to go to war for the round piece of rubber that bounced against the blade of his stick. Shane Hollander was looking behind him while he was supposed to be planning on how to sink that puck in the back of the net.

He turned around and looked behind him.

At Rozanov.

Since Hollander had turned around, he didn’t see it coming. But Liam did. And based on the look of horror that took over his face, so did Rozanov.

All six foot three inches and 240 pounds Cliff Marlow slammed into Shane Hollander who had no idea what was coming for him.

It sent Hollander flying. The angle was just right in the way where it caused Hollander to go airborne for five whole seconds, limbs flailing out to his sides, stick flying through the air, before he landed, headfirst, on the ice.

It was probably one of the hardest hits Liam had seen in his career, because Shane hadn’t had a chance to prepare for it, and he couldn’t even blow his whistle. It was a clean, legal hit. Hollander just hadn’t seen it coming.

But the whistle did come, several of them actually, including Liam’s, because Hollander wasn’t getting up. His body stayed slumped over itself, unmoving, unflinching, and silent. A beat of silence passed on the ice. And then another.

And then chaos broke out.

“Marlow you motherfu-” he heard someone yell and then gloves went flying. Everywhere on the ice, fights were breaking out. Players grabbed jerseys, fists made contact with faces, players floated around the ice as they shoved each other. Someone else could deal with that though, break them up when they needed to be, Liam had more important things to deal with.

He skated over to Hollander, who still hadn’t moved, and kneeled beside him. Trying carefully not to jostle him, Liam slipped his hand under his helmet and between his pads, placing his fingers on the side of his neck. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt Hollander’s pulse beating strongly against his fingertips.

“Medics!” he yelled and threw his hand straight up in the air above his head, giving them the signal they are trained to look for.

He looked around the ice, the other refs and even some of the players were working on breaking up the fights. Liam stayed stock still in his current position, making sure that no one got too close. He didn’t dare touch Hollander in any way; he just stood over him until the medics could get there.

He looked around for the medics, making sure they had a clear pathway to them but instead he saw one player who wasn’t fighting. One player who was just hovering right next to him.

Ilya Rozanov.

Ilya Rozanov who lives to chirp and isn’t afraid to drop his gloves.

Ilya Rozanov who spends so much time in the penalty box he ought to pay rent.

Ilya Rozanov, the Russian Menace.

Ilya Rozanov, the only player on this ice who was staring straight down at Hollander’s too still body.

He looked awful. That grin he had had earlier, that mischief in his eye Liam saw whenever he was on the ice, the confident way he held himself, all of that was gone. His face was pale, his mouth hung open slightly, and eyes held a faraway look like he was seeing something that wasn’t actually in front of him.

And he continued to stand there. Alone. Unmoving. Silent.

This was not how someone looked at a rival on an opposing team. This wasn’t even how someone looked at a teammate when they got hurt. Or even a friend. This was so much more.

Finally, the medics arrived. And something about their presence, something about the way they moved Hollander’s body, something about the groan of pain that escaped Hollander’s lips must have snapped something in Rozanov, because all of a sudden, he was moving as well. He skated closer to them circling around them as they worked to get Hollander on the backboard and then he wasn’t silent anymore either.

“Is he okay?” Rozanov shouted, getting closer to the medics, he was nearly in the way, and he didn’t even realize it. “Fucking tell me!”

Liam had no choice but to put a hand on the center of his jersey and give him a light shove. “Get back to your bench, Rozanov, I’m not going to tell you again.”

He watched as Rozanov slid backwards, not giving any protest but also not caring where he went. He probably didn’t even notice that he landed near the Metro’s bench. Liam didn’t think he cared much. His eyes still never left Hollander.

The tone of Ilya’s voice when he yelled at the paramedics. That level of desperation, shock, pain, and terror, Liam had heard that tone before. But not from a player. From himself.

Three years ago, he was driving on a curvy back road in the middle of winter. It had snowed the day before, then the temperature slowly increased throughout the day, before plummeting back down during the night. So, in the morning, when Liam and his partner Gabriel were driving to go see his parents’ house, the roads were covered in black ice.

The thing about black ice is that, well, you don’t see it until it’s too late.

The car spun out, and Liam lost track of which way was up or down before his head hit the glass of his window hard enough that everything went black.

When he came to in the back of an ambulance, he blinked his eyes slowly, taking in the blurry and somewhat spinning sight in front of him. He saw a paramedic working frantically over him, placing leads onto his chest where his shirt had been cut off, placing a mask on his face, preparing for an IV. He heard the sound of the engine, the sirens, two voices yelling back and forth. He felt the bumps in the road that caused the entire rig to bounce and rattle. Somewhere from deep within him, he knew something was missing. Even before his scrambled brain could figure out why he was in the back of an ambulance, he knew something was missing.

Someone.

Other than the paramedic, there was no one else in the back of the ambulance.

Gabriel wasn’t there.

Liam’s brain ached as it worked overtime to catch up. Gabriel was in the car. The car crashed. Gabriel wasn’t in the ambulance.

Where was Gabriel?

Liam didn’t remember much about the ten minutes after his brain caught up to his reality, but he knew he wasn’t exactly calm.

Okay, he absolutely lost his mind.

He ripped off the oxygen mask that was strapped onto his face, he tried to sit up despite being strapped to the stretcher, the plastic of the collar attached to his neck dug into his jaw as his head whipped around side to side as he looked for Gabriel.

The medic tried to continue her work, insisting that he calm down and remain still so she could complete her assessment, but Liam didn’t care. He couldn’t calm down, he didn’t care if he was okay or not, not until he knew where Gabriel was and if he was okay.

Finally, the medic conceded and radioed the other ambulance to get a report on Gabriel. Only when Liam heard Gabriel’s voice, telling him to allow the kind and skilled medic to do her job, did Liam calm.

His voice that day sounded a lot like Rozanov’s as he yelled at the medics. Liam instantly knew, without needing any further proof or evidence, that Shane Hollander was the most important person in Ilya Rozanov’s life.

And now Rozanov stood frozen as he desperately, silently, helplessly, watched that person be loaded up onto a stretcher and taken away from him. Taken somewhere where he couldn’t follow him.

Liam thought back to those minutes before he heard Gabriel’s voice crackle over the paramedic’s radio. That space in time spent in the worst kind of limbo imaginable.

That not knowing? Not knowing if the love of his life was going to be okay? It was horrible. Devastating. He was in anguish.

For ten minutes.

It had only taken ten minutes for Liam to receive confirmation that Gabriel was okay. Ten minutes to hear his voice. Ten minutes to know that his person was alive and well.

Ten minutes had felt like an entire lifetime to Liam.

Ten minutes was nothing compared to what Ilya Rozanov was facing right now.

Liam watched Rozanov sit with that turmoil he could still feel for fifty more minutes of official game play. And it was a horrible game. The Metro’s couldn’t seem to pull themselves together after watching their captain get carted off on a backboard, despite a very solid effort from the alternate captain, Hayden Pike. And while the Raiders still had their captain in the arena, his mind was nowhere near that ice. The plays were sloppy, stupid penalties were being made and Liam almost felt guilty every time he had to blow the whistle and stop the game clock to place someone in the box. Every time he did, he watched as Rozanov looked at the board, face falling when he saw the time remaining.

Blessedly, the game ended in regulation time. Ilya, however, looked like he had been playing for years, even though he got pulled sometime in the second period and didn’t return to the ice. Liam couldn’t blame the coach for that. Rozanov was making rookie mistakes left and right. Hell, he was making mistakes he didn’t even make as an actual rookie.

After the standard post-game ceremonies were completed, Liam watched Rozanov dart off the ice, the quickest he had moved since Hollander went down, and walked straight into the tunnels. For eight years, Liam had watch Rozanov stand at the bench door in front of his team’s bench, giving each teammate a fist bump and a ‘good job, I love you’, win or lose, even after the games where he was injured and someone had to stand next to him to prop him up.

Not today.

Not this game.

This time, he took off like a shot, racing down the tunnels and towards the locker room.

Liam wondered how much longer Ilya would be left in the dark. How much longer would he have to wait until someone told him Hollander’s condition? Did anyone know about these two? Did anyone else know how important Shane Hollander was to Ilya Rozanov?

As Liam walked through the front door of his house later that night, there was only one thing he needed to do. “Gabe?” he shouted as he closed the door behind him, throwing his bag somewhere behind him, almost certainly in a place that Gabriel would be upset about later. “Gabe, where are you?”

“Kitchen!” The familiar voice yelled and the sound of it finally calmed something inside of Liam that had been storming ever since the hit. He followed it through the living room and into the kitchen where he saw Gabriel standing in front of the oven, pulling out two plates of dinner that Liam was sure Gabe made hours ago but waited to eat until Liam to get home.

Gabriel turned around and smiled at him. “How was the game? I know you-”

His words were cut off as Liam wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Gabriel returned the gesture, his own arms wrapping around Liam. “What’s going on?”

Liam shook his head, not really knowing how to put into words what he was thinking. Not yet at least. Right now, he just wanted to be grateful. Grateful that his partner was okay. Grateful that he got to be a part of his life and that people knew they were part of each other’s lives. Grateful that he wasn’t kept in the dark.

As Liam pulled back so he could kiss Gabriel, he also sent up a hope that somewhere, Rozanov was getting some answers.

Chapter End Notes

The Hit is very important to me

Chapter 18: The Paramedic Who Broke All His Rules

Chapter Summary

Paramedic August Bernard has three rules while he’s on the clock. One: never make promises you can’t keep. Two: never lie. Three: always expect the unexpected. When Shane Hollander goes down on the ice- he manages to break all three.

Chapter Notes

Date: April 2017

Location: Montreal

August Bernard, or as his friends call him- Auggie, loved his job. He had been a paramedic since he was eighteen and fresh out of high school. Now that he was thirty-seven, he officially spent more of his life being a paramedic than not. Yes, he had seen some awful things, things that he’d never forget, things that still kind of haunted him a little if he was being honest. But he had also seen some beautiful things, things that gave him hope, and even some funny things.

Plus, every now and again he got paid to sit and watch a hockey game. Which is what he was doing now. Technically, he was the paramedic on scene, along with his partner Tracie, and the pair was responsible for treating and or transporting any players or guests with life threatening injuries. However, in his nineteen years on the job, he’s never had to load up anyone. Don’t get it wrong, hockey games were full of injuries. However, the teams had their own doctors and medical staff on site who treated most of the players’ injuries right there in the arena. They always offered to take the player to the hospital if the injury was severe enough, but they always declined, opting to stay with their team and finish out the game, even if it was from the bench, the locker room, or the exam table. And as far as the spectators go, a few twisted ankles from falling down the stairs, a few bruises and cuts (also caused by falling down the stairs), and of course those who overindulged in the alcoholic beverages. They, like the players, opted to get patched up on scene and then return to their seats.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a paid afternoon.

Even though he trusted his streak of nineteen years, as the teams finished their warmups he still double, triple, checked his bag, making sure everything was in its place and easily accessible. He looked over at Tracie who was doing the exact same thing. “You’re still good with the game plan?”

“You treat, I’ll drive,” Tracie nodded and zipped her bag, placing it between her feet and settled into her chair.

“So, who you got?” he asked, pulling a twenty dollar bill out and placing their usual wager.

Tracie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why you do this to me. You will never bet against the Metros, so I am always betting on the visiting team.”

Auggie smiled. It was true as a lifelong Metros fan, it would physically pain him to bet against them. “It’s still fun,” he teased as she pulled out a twenty of her own and placed it on top of his. As per tradition, Auggie then placed the two bills in the little crack in the boards that they had found years ago.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov skated out to center ice, a referee following behind them a few seconds later.

“I hope that whatever funk they had going on is over,” Tracie muttered and leaned forward, the anticipation evident in her posture.

Auggie huffed in agreement. The last couple of times these two teams have faced each other there, home or away, there had been a distinct lack of… pizzazz. Something had been off. To use Tracie’s words, there had been a funk. But as Auggie watched the All-Stars games, it seemed like they were back on track. Hopefully, that stays true when they’re playing against each other as well.

They lined up at the center for the puck drop and Auggie opened up a water bottle.

“I have a good feeling about this game,” Tracie said as she grabbed her own water bottle.

Auggie resisted the very visceral urge to groan. Working in the field for nineteen years had taught him one very important thing: superstitions were real. And saying something like that, like what Tracie just said, was tempting fate.

Tracie laughed, catching a glimpse of his face apparently. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“And you know I do!”

“You and your rules,” she rolled her eyes.

“I only have three rules,” he clarified. “The rest are just…guidelines.”

And it was true. There were exactly three nonnegotiable rules that he taught every rookie he’s ever trained.

1. Never make promises you can’t keep.

2. Never lie.

3. Always expect the unexpected.

“You’re the only person that I know that has set his own rules and then also create exceptions to those rules.”

“Only for rule number two.” Auggie argued, feeling a little defensive. “They were needed.”

He created a list of three exceptions to rule number two after his probie year was completed. Within that year he learned that there were definitely times where lying was needed. So therefore, he created a list of times when lying was allowed:

1. When a person who was dying asked, ‘Am I dying?’

2. When someone died and their loved ones asked if they suffered.

3. When you’re about to perform a procedure for the very first time and the patient asks, ‘have you done this before?’.

Okay, he doesn’t actually encourage people to lie about their experience level to patients, but he did make every probie memorize the line: ‘I assure you, I have been trained and proven competence in this skill.’

“Has anyone ever written these rules down?”

“They’re all up here.” Auggie tapped his temple with two fingers.

“But what are we going to do when you…retire?”

Auggie glared at the young paramedic; Tracie loved to remind him that he had over ten years of experience on her. “Well, that’s not going to be a problem any time soon so don’t worry about it. Now pay attention, the game is starting.”

Sure enough, just as Tracie turned around, the ref dropped the puck and Rozanov and Hollander were fighting over the puck. After a brief scrabble, Hollander escaped with it and shot off towards the Raider’s goal.

“I’m so losing twenty dollars,” Tracie sighed and leaned back in her chair.

Auggie went silent. After nineteen years as a paramedic, he developed a sixth sense. He could practically sense the accidents before they happened. It was like there was a pinching sensation in the back of his neck. Forcing him to pay attention.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he scanned the arena. He looked for possible accidents waiting to happen, people walking down the stairs during game play and not paying enough attention, kids climbing on things they shouldn’t, something happening on the ice.

There it was.

“If you win you are buying-” Tracie's words halted as she turned his way. “You have that look Auggie. That ‘oh shit, somethings about to happen’ look.”

“Grab your bag,” he told her, already grabbing for his own and standing from the chair.

On the ice, Shane Hollander still had control over the puck but something behind him must have caught his attention because he was looking over his shoulder and completely unaware of the brick wall that was about to run into him.

The brick wall that goes by the name of Cliff Marlow.

The next thirty seconds happened both incredibly fast and incredibly slow.

Within five seconds, Tracie was standing next to him, bag in hand.

In ten, Shane Hollander had flown through the air and landed on the ice.

In fifteen, Shane Hollander still hadn’t moved or attempted to get up.

In twenty, whistles were blown and fights started to break out.

In twenty-five, a ref had skated over to Hollander and then threw his hand up straight above his head and was yelling, “Medics!”

In thirty seconds, Auggie and Tracie were on the ice, trying to rush over to where Hollander was still lying limply on the ice. Auggie was grateful when two players skated over and held out their arms, practically escorting them to Hollander.

“He’s breathing and has a pulse, but he still hasn’t come to,” the ref reported and then stood, staking away from Hollander and giving Auggie and Tracie room to work.

“That’s good,” Auggie said out loud, mostly to reassure the shaken ref. He worked to remove Hollander’s gloves and placed his fingers against the inner side of his wrist. “Pulse is strong and steady, roughly low ninety’s.” He yelled out to Tracie who was kneeling beside him, pulling out some equipment from her bag. It was hard to assess because of the protective padding, but Auggie leaned forward and placed a hand below Hollanders nose. “Respiration is solid at fourteen.”

A group of medical staff arrived, “How can we help?” a woman asked.

“We need the stretcher and the backboard. They’re both behind where we were sitting.”

“Got it,” she and two others took off, all being escorted by the same players that led Auggie and Tracie over.

“Should we roll him?” Tracie asked.

Auggie shook his head. “Not until we get the back board. No sense in rolling him twice. I want to get that helmet off and a c-collar on him though. Front pocket of my bag, there’s a tool that looks like a screwdriver. Hand it to me.”

After a second, a small silver device was placed into his waiting palm.

“That doesn’t come in our packs.”

“No, it doesn’t, but I figured it would be handy someday. Apparently, todays the day.” He opened the multitool and got to work unscrewing the few different pieces of the helmet. When he was done, he motioned for Tracie to come closer. “You hold his c-spine while I remove the helmet and place the collar”

Tracie nodded and moved into position, her hands on either side of Hollanders neck. As he took away the final piece he nodded and she slipped her hands beside his neck and held onto his shoulders, keeping his head aligned. Auggie grabbed the collar Tracie had already placed next to him and wrapped it around Hollanders neck.

As he was tightening the straps the small group came back with the stretcher and the backboard. “I’ll keep holding c-spine,” Tracie said.

He nodded. And looked up at the group. “You,” he pointed to the woman, “grab the backboard and place it behind him. Keep it steady as roll him on to it.” she nodded and grabbed the bright yellow board.

“You two,” he pointed to the men, “help us roll him onto the board.” They nodded and came around to kneel on either side of Auggie. When everyone was in position, he said “On Tracie’s count.”

Tracie nodded. “One, two, three.” On three, all five of them worked together to roll Hollander onto the back board.

Once he was on the board, Auggie worked quickly to secure a few of the straps around the board, holding Hollander’s body to it. Without the helmet, Auggie could see his face. He was already starting to bruise around his eyes but no blood and no obvious signs of external head trauma.

He still wasn’t responsive as Auggie finished the straps. “Bring the stretcher closer and lower it all the way down.” The last thing they needed was someone to trip and fall and drop the 200-pound hockey player.

“I got the stretcher,” the woman reported. And walked over to drag it closer.

“One of you come stand by me. The other gets the bottom of the board. Tracie will stay at c-spine, and we move on her count.”

“Copy,” all three say in unison.

With Tracie's count, the group moved together to lift Hollander up and over onto the stretcher. As he was jostled a little, he grimaced, then a low moan of pain slipped out of his mouth.

With that, came another noise.

“Is he okay?” A voice that sounded suspiciously Russian yelled towards the little group. Auggie flicked his eyes up as he reached for the additional two straps that secured the board to the stretcher. Sure enough, Ilya Rozanov was standing right at the edge of their little huddle, his face ashen. “Fucking tell me!”

Auggie figured that he would be bombarded by players asking him about Hollander’s condition. He just figured that it would be Metro players. Not Ilya Rozanov, famous rival and opponent of Shane Hollander. He definitely wasn’t expecting Rozanov to sound and look so frantic.

It didn’t matter though. Not only was Auggie not allowed to make those determinations, but he also didn’t know. Hollander still hadn’t opened his eyes and Auggie needed to get him to the people who could actually help him.

Together, they raised the stretcher and practically ran, as much as they could anyway, off the ice and into the tunnel that led exactly to where the ambulance was parked and ready.

Auggie looked at Tracie, “Run ahead and get the rig running. We’ll get him loaded.”

She nodded and took off, sprinting down the tunnel like a bat out of hell. Auggie and the small group that stuck by him followed right behind her.

Shane let out another groan and his face grimaced a little again.

“I need you to stay awake, okay Shane?” Auggie yelled a little louder than necessary, hoping to get a reaction out of him. “Eyes open buddy.”

Some of his anxiety left him when Shane groaned. “Okay,” he slurred out even though he kept his eyes closed. At least he was talking. “My parents…”

“Your parents? Your coach is calling them, okay?”

“Okay.” Shane responded, eyes still closed. “Tell him I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“Tell who?” Auggie asked as they continued their speed walk through the tunnel.

“He’s going to worry,” his words we slurred, like he was drunk. Auggie added ‘possible concussion’ to add to his report to the hospital.

Auggie assumed Shane was still talking about his parents, specifically his dad. “Your coach is calling your dad.”

But Shane’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, not him.” He tried to shake his head but luckily the collar kept his neck in place. His voice was even softer when he spoke next. “Ilya.”

“Who?” Auggie asked on instinct even though he had heard Shane clearly.

Ilya.

Shane Hollander wanted Auggie to tell Ilya that he was fine, so Ilya didn’t worry.

It had to be Ilya Rozanov, right?

Were there even other ‘Ilya’s?

Now that he thought about it- that look Auggie saw on Ilya’s face as he strapped Shane to the board- he had seen that look before. He saw it all the time actually. On the faces of loved ones when he responded to calls.

It was a look of terror.

Something wasn’t adding up here. Auggie looked at the people helping him push the stretcher. No one else was paying any attention, everyone else was focused on navigating the tunnel. Auggie decided to cover for Shane and change the subject. “Hey Shane, you really need to keep your eyes open, okay?”

His eyes stayed closed, but his whole face flinched as the tunnel opened up the sounds of the siren echoed off the walls. As quickly as they could, Auggie instructed everyone on how to help him load up Hollander into the ambulance.

He secured the stretcher and then turned back towards the group. “Thanks!”

They all nodded and then quickly slammed the door shut, someone giving the door two firm slams with their hand.

Auggie echoed that action on the divide between him and Tracie. “Let’s roll!” he yelled through the small window that was opened.

“Rolling!” Tracie shouted over the engine and the sirens.

Auggie got busy getting Hollander on monitors. A usually simple task that was made all the much harder by the layers of pads he had strapped onto him.

“Buddy, I’m going to have to cut off your jersey.”

Hollander once again groaned and grimaced, seemingly annoyed and in pain. Auggie wanted to give him something for it, but he had to get him on monitors first. He cut the jersey to expose the chest plate which he unbuckled and loosened enough so he could slide his hand under and place the monitor stickers. He grabbed the blood pressure cuff and nearly groaned when he saw the arm pads prominently under the jersey. He cut the sleeve of the jersey and quickly pulled the straps off and removed the protective equipment away from his arm. He wrapped the cuff around Hollander’s bicep and breathed a sigh of relief when it inflated successfully. Lastly, he wrapped the pulse ox sensor around his finger. At least that was easy.

Now that was done, and Shane’s vitals were reading as normal on the screen, Auggie could focus on getting him some pain control. He grabbed Hollanders hand and sent up a prayer to the vein gods. His prayer was answered, Hollander had beautiful hand veins so he wouldn’t have to mess around with removing any more protective gear.

“Hollander, I’m going to place an IV so I can give you some pain meds, okay?”

“Okay,” came his slurred response.

Within two minutes, Auggie had a line placed and secured and was pushing a dose of morphine into the IV.

It started to kick in right as Auggie began to place his stethoscope under the chest plate, attempting to listen to Hollanders heart and lungs.

Shane’s eyes blinked open for the first time since he went down and Auggie smiled. “There ya are? How’re you feeling bud?”

Shane smiled, looking a little dopey. “I feel… good.”

Auggie laughed. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Shane hummed and then looked around the back of the ambulance, his expression turning confused. “What… what happened?”

Confusion? Check. “You took a pretty bad hit during your game, but everything is looking okay and we’re on the way to the hospital to get you checked out.”

Shane looked down at hit cut up jersey. “Woah.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. Do you know what day it is?”

Hollanders face scrunched like he was trying to solve a complicated math problem. “Saturday?”

Auggie nodded. “Good job.”

Shane looked pleased with himself, his face smoothing over and a small smile appeared. “Thanks,” he whispered, elongating the ‘s’.

“Do you know what team you were playing?”

“Boston,” Shane answered immediately, the smile on his face getting a little bigger, a little wider, a lot more happier. “I got to see Ilya today.”

Auggie stayed silent, partially hoping that Shane would move on to a different topic of conversation.

That didn’t happen, though. Instead, Shane’s eyes widened and he tried to turn towards Auggie. “Was he there? Did he see me get hit?”

Auggie softened. “Yeah, Shane. He was there. He saw you get hit.”

Shane’s features morphed into panic. “Did you tell him? I told you to tell him, right?”

“Tell who what?” Auggie knew he was playing dumb but he kind of needed Shane to explicitly say this part out loud.

“Ilya. Ilya Rozanov. Number 81 of the Boston Raiders. Beautiful Russian Asshole.” Well, at least they clarified which Ilya they were talking about. “Did you tell Ilya I was fine?”

Auggie grabbed a pen light and tried to look into Shane’s eyes to test his pupils. “Someone will tell him.”

Shane jerked his head away. “No one will tell him. No one knows they need to tell him. This is a secret.”

Auggie very intentionally did not ask what this was. He had a feeling he already knew too much. Honestly, he wanted out of this entire conversation and was semi regretting not fighting the coin toss that decided he was treating and Tracie was driving. But Shane looked dangerously close to crying and Auggie was desperate to stop that at the very least. “Once we get you to the hospital, the doctors will check you out, and then they can call your coaches if you want, your coaches will call the Raider’s coaches. They will tell him.”

Auggie was pretty happy with that answer. He thought it a pretty decent plan.

Hollander, however, had a very different opinion. He once again tried to shake his head despite it being immobilized by the collar. Then he winced like the world started spinning a little too fast. Definitely a concussion. “No. That’s too long. He needs to know now!”

“We can’t tell him right now, Shane.”

Hollander wasn’t okay with that. “I’ll tell him myself then.”

“We don’t have your phone.”

Shane groaned. “Then I’m getting out of this ambulance. Pull over!”

“Do NOT pull over!” Auggie yelled through the window, which was a good reminder that there was a chance Tracie was hearing this entire thing. He liked the woman and she was a damn fine medic, but she was awful at keeping secrets. She could not know what was going on back here.

He leaned forward. “He’s…having a reaction to the morphine. Everything is fine but I’m going to close this to avoid any confusion. I’ll knock three times if we need to stop.”

Tracie gave a thumbs up and continued to weave through traffic.

With the window now safely closed, Auggie turned back to Shane, who was attempting to remove himself from the stretcher. Which was an interesting sight to witness considering the man was quite literally strapped down to the board in at least six different spots.

The straps just seemed to frustrate him and also somehow encouraged him because he started to fight harder against the nylon bands. “Release me! I have to go. I need to tell him that I’m fine.”

There was no way he was going to get out of those straps, but Auggie was starting to worry about Hollander hurting himself. Which is his only justification for what he said next. “Okay, I’ll tell him!”

Hollander stilled, his body going limp. “You will?”

Auggie nodded. “I promise.”

And there goes rules number one and number two.

Rule number one- never make promises you can’t keep. There were three reasons Auggie couldn’t keep that promise.

1. Hollander might not actually be fine. Sure, he was awake, talking, and moving but he could have a brain injury that wasn’t symptomatic yet. Auggie didn’t have all the information he’d need to safely say Hollander was ‘fine’.

2. He couldn’t speak to anyone, except his next of kin, about his medical condition. And even though he was currently begging Auggie to tell Rozanov, he was obviously under the influence of the morphine and therefore could not give the adequate consent to release medical information.

3. And maybe the most important reason- Auggie didn’t have a single clue on how exactly he would go about reaching out to Ilya fucking Rozanov

Rule number two- despite having absolutely zero intention of telling Rozanov anything about Shane, he made the promise anyways. Therefore, he had also lied to him.

“You’ll tell him?” Shane asked him desperately, brown eyes filling with tears.

Auggie just nodded, not able to lie again.

But it was enough. Hollander completely relaxed against the backboard and stopped trying to escape. His face lost all of the panic and smoothed back out. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. “He deserves to know. I would want to know if it was him.”

Auggie felt a pang of guilt that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, keep this promise. “It sounds like you two are very important to each other.”

Shane sighed. “August. Can I call you August?”

“You can call me Auggie if you want.”

“Auggie,” He took a deep breath in and looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I think he may become the most important person in my life.”

Auggie didn’t really know what to say to that.

Apparently though, Shane took his silence as an invitation to go on a monologue about how great Ilya Rozanov was. How beautiful he was, his sense of humor, how strong he was- not just physically but don’t worry, he was plenty strong enough to throw Shane around. Shane went on for five minutes just about Ilya’s hair and how it was the ‘perfect shade of blonde’ and how his curls were ‘the softest thing’ he had ever touched. Shane talked about tuna melts and ginger ale in extraordinary detail which Auggie didn’t really get, but whatever. When he started talking about the ‘unbelievable sex’ though, Auggie had to call it quits.

Luckily, they were pulling up to the hospital.

“Listen, buddy,” Auggie said as he readied Shane for transport into the hospital. “I’m glad that you told me your secret, and I will keep it safe, but maybe let’s just keep this between us for now, okay? Just tell the doctors and the nurses in there about the things that are hurting ya, okay?”

Shane looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Auggie, my man, I’ve been keeping this secret for almost ten years now. I think I can handle it. I think I may be one of the best liars in the world.”

Auggies eyes almost popped out of his head. Ten years?!

He didn’t have any time to contemplate that though because the back doors flew open and Tracie was standing there, ready to move Shane into the hospital. “Ready?” she asked Auggie.

Auggie turned to Shane. His eyes were still glassy but a little clearer and he seemed to have regained control of the majority of his faculties. “You ready, Hollander?”

Shane grinned and gave a thumbs up. “Ready.”

They wheeled him out of the ambulance and into the hospital, heading straight into the trauma bay. Auggie gave his report to the room, informing the staff of Hollander’s accident and the care that he had received since then. When he was done, he helped the staff move Hollander from his stretcher and onto theirs.

Before he left, Auggie clasped Shane on the shoulder. “They’re gonna take good care of you now Hollander.”

Shane smiled. “Thanks, Auggie.” Auggie nodded and turned to walk away but stopped when he felt a hand on his wrist. Auggie turned around to see Hollander still grinning. “Remember Auggie,” he whispered. “It’s a secret.” Then he winked at Auggie before turning back to the nurse and described the pain he felt along his clavicle.

Auggie looked around wide eyed, but luckily no one else had seemed to hear him. Before Hollander could burden him with any other shocking revelations, Auggie threw their backboard onto the stretcher and pushed it out of the trauma room. In the hallway, Tracie was waiting for him.

“Well, that was unexpected,” she said

“Yeah. It was,” replied Auggie but he wasn’t really talking about the hit.

He was more shocked about the blatant love confession Hollander shared with him.

He hadn’t expected that at all.

Oh shit, there goes rule number three.

Chapter End Notes

Personally, I'd watch an entire episode that solely consists of high/concussed Shane

Chapter 19: The Nurse Who Knows

Chapter Summary

Trauma nurse Maria Navarro had less than two hours left in her shift. Her to do list consisted of charting, wrapping up her patient, and providing hand off to the oncoming nurse. No where on that list was discovering and protecting a ten year long secret between two hockey players.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I feel like this goes without saying- but don’t take fanfics as medical advice

Date: April 2017

Location: Montreal

Maria Navarro had one hour, fifteen minutes, and…twenty-six seconds left of her twelve-hour shift. Not that she was counting or anything. She loved her job, she really did. However, she was on day four of what was supposed to be a three day stretch thanks to low staffing and she was done. Or at least she would be in one hour, fourteen minutes, and twelve seconds.

At least her patient load was light for the day. Just one patient. Which was unusual in the trauma step down unit. Unheard of actually. But since this patient required q2h neuro checks, meaning she had to go into the room every two hours and preform a neuro exam, and since there were some…special circumstances regarding this particular patient, Diana, the charge nurse made this a 1:1 assignment.

Her assignment being: Shane Hollander, age twenty-five, previously healthy male with no pertinent medical history, being admitted after blunt force trauma during a hockey game resulting in a grade three concussion and a nondisplaced type one fracture of his right clavicle. The plan of care for this patient included q2h neuro exams, pain management, and immobilization of the right arm/clavicle using a shoulder immobilizer.

Honestly, his medical care was pretty easy to manage, one of her easiest assignments she’d had recently. What wasn’t so easily managed was the visitation circus that began the instant Shane Hollander rolled into the trauma bay. Even before his initial assessment was completed by the ED physicians, the lobby was filled with media personnel, fans, and Metro staff. Luckily, the social work team moved quickly and assisted the Hollander family with creating an approved and verified visitors list as soon as it was determined Shane would be getting admitted for observation and pain management.

Maria had responded to the trauma page that had been activated when Shane Hollander arrived at the hospital yesterday evening at the beginning of her shift. As a trauma specialty resource nurse, she often responded during trauma activations and then returned to bedside as the patient’s primary nurse. She enjoyed her role as she got to be part of the beginning, middle, and end of the patient’s journey within the hospital.

She had been at bedside throughout the initial assessment for Shane, establishing the patency of the IV he arrived with, working with the other ED team members to remove his uniform, administering medications and fluids, and most importantly- explaining to Shane what in the hell was happening to him.

He had received a dose of IV morphine that had increased his confusion, as if the concussion hadn’t done a good enough job at that already, but the effects of that faded as the exam was performed.

Still, every so often as Maria whispered to Shane the steps and purpose of the head-to-toe exam being performed by the ED team, Shane would catch her eye and whisper something back to her.

At first, she couldn’t understand him, the noise of the trauma bay drowning him out, but as the exam came to an end and more and more people left, she finally heard him.

“Has anyone told him yet?”

Shane had been asking that question every couple of minutes during his assessment, probably forgetting he’d already asked five minutes before that; his concussion was really doing a job on his memory.

The third time he asked, “Has anyone told him yet?” Maria leaned forward, so Shane could see her face despite still being in the collar.

“Told who what, honey?”

“Him.” Shane whispered urgently, giving Maria an intense look like he was trying to fire the message directly into her brain. “Has anyone told him that I am fine? Someone needs to tell him.”

Unfortunately, Maria had no idea who he was. “Who do you want us to speak to?”

“Him,” Shane repeated, that one word carrying the weight of the world.

Well, that cleared things up. Maria tried again, “If you tell me who he is, his name, I can make sure that he gets updates on your condition.”

Shane pouted, his eyes welling up a little. “I can’t tell you.”

Maria tilted her head to the side. “Why not?”

With a sigh that felt like defeat he whispered, “Because I can’t tell anyone.” His words were coming out soft and slow. He was struggling to open his eyes after he blinked. “No one can know.”

Before Maria could think of something comforting to say, Shane’s eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep. He’d probably be doing a lot of that in the next couple of days, his brain needed to heal, and it healed the best when the person was sleeping. His face, that just held so much sadness and worry, smoothed out into the peacefulness only achievable by sleep.

With a small smile of her own, she got him situated with a few warm blankets before checking in with the trauma nurse who was leading the trauma. She confirmed the next steps for Shane, head CT, x-rays of the right shoulder and clavicle, and an ortho consult.

Maria was just about to step out of the trauma bay and head back to the trauma step down unit to help prepare the room for Shane when two people rushed into the trauma bay hallway. A social worker, Linda, led a couple through the hallway and into the trauma by Maria was standing in.

“Here is he,” Linda said softly and gestured inside of the trauma bay. “It looks like the team has completed their assessment, so you can go straight up to his bedside.”

The couple paused at the sliding doors of the trauma bay, their tight shoulders sagging slightly in relief even if the panic didn’t quite leave their faces.

“Shane…” the woman exhaled on a shaky breath, an equally shaky hand coming up to cover her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, but none fell.

The man reached out and grabbed the woman’s other hand, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. It seemed to ground her because a second later she cleared her throat and gave a little shake of her head. She turned towards the social worker. “I would like to speak to the physician who assessed him.”

Linda nodded, “I will go get her, in the meantime please, feel free to go on up. It’ll be good for him to see you when he wakes up.”

The man nodded and expressed his appreciation for the support Linda had given the two of them since they arrived. Linda nodded and gave him a squeeze to his shoulder. The couple made their way to the bedside, hands still clasped together.

“The parents,” Linda explained even though Maria could have assumed, “Yuna and David Hollander.”

Maria nodded. “We’re still waiting on radiology to be ready so we’ll stay here until the doc can come and update them.”

Linda patted her shoulder as she walked out of the trauma bay, phone in hand no doubt trying to contact the ED physician team.

Maria watched as Shane’s parents scanned his body, trying to assess with their own eyes the condition of their son. David laid a heavy hand on Shane’s shoulder, the left one thankfully, and Yuna fussed about with the blankets. She would need to be given a role in his care, Maria assessed, tasks to do in order to calm herself and feel in control. David, Maria guessed, would be the quieter type, the type who wouldn’t leave the bedside until his son was awake and talking.

Maria walked up slowly to the bed, standing on the opposite side of Yuna and David. “Hello,” she said softly. “My name is Maria. I’ll be Shane’s nurse once he gets upstairs.”

“Hello, Maria.” Yuna spoke and stood up straight, satisfied with how the blankets were lying. “I’m Yuna and this is David. We’re Shane’s parents.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Is it… is it okay that he’s sleeping?" David asked, still looking at Shane’s sleeping face.

Maria nodded. “It is. He is on monitors so we can keep an eye on his vitals to make sure he is safe. Don’t be surprised if he sleeps a lot the next couple of days, his body needs to heal.”

David nodded and Yuna let out a small laugh. “You’d think we’d know this. He’s been playing hockey since he could walk, before then really, but somehow, we’ve never…”

She trailed off, pressing her lips together as her eyes filled up once again. She shook her head and blinked rapidly a few times, trying to push the tears away. David filled in for his wife. “Shane has been very lucky in his career as far as injuries go.”

Maria gave an understanding nod. “We’ll make sure to walk you three through everything that happens and what to expect for the upcoming days, weeks, and months. There is no such things as too many questions, so please, feel free to ask us anything.”

They both nodded and David gave a quiet, “Thank you.”

Maria hesitated for a second but then said, “Before he fell asleep, Shane was asking me to make sure someone was updated on his condition. Are there other family members that we should be expecting or a significant other?”

Yuna shook her head. “No. We are the only family that will be visiting. He was probably talking about his teammates or the coaching staff, which we will handle contacting.”

Maria nodded. Yuna’s assumption made the most logical sense and was probably right, but why would his coaches or teammates name be a secret?

“Did he mention anyone in particular? Their name?” David asked, taking his eyes off Shane and giving Maria an assessing look.

“No,” she answered honestly. “He didn’t.”

They shared a look that was hard to interpret but before either of them could say anything, another voice joined the room. “Mr. and Mrs. Hollander. I’m Dr. Harrison, I’ll be your son’s physician while he’s in the ED.”

Maria backed away from the bed, allowing Dr. Harrison to slide into her spot so she could give the Hollanders an update.

“We’ll see you upstairs,” the trauma nurse gave Maria a nod as she walked towards the doors.

“I’ll be there,” Maria saluted and walked out of the trauma bay and towards the elevators. As she rode back up to the trauma step-down unit she sighed, she had a feeling this shift was going to be an interesting one.

About halfway through her shift she was in Shane’s room, administering a dose of ketamine through his IV as the ortho doc walked through the door.

“Is that the ketamine?”

Maria nodded as she flushed the line. “It’s in. Give it a minute or so to work before wrestling him into that thing, okay?”

The doctor nodded and set the shoulder immobilizer down, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Hi Shane, my name is Tyler, I’m the orthopedic surgeon that’s been sneaking peaks at that broken clavicle you have.”

Shane blinked and gave a dramatic head nod, finally able to do so, being clearing from the collar hours ago. “Nice to meet ya.”

Tyler grinned, “You feeling the medication that quickly?”

Shane held up his good arm and placed his thumb and index finger close together.

Maria chuckled, “It’s been hitting him pretty quick.” She delivered his first PRN of morphine about an hour after he arrived to the room, she hadn’t even finished flushing the IV before his eyes glazed over. Yuna confirmed her suspicions that Shane didn’t take any drugs or drink heavily. Despite his size, Shane Hollander was kind of a lightweight.

“Surgeon?” Yuna asked sitting up in the plastic chair that she had dragged to Shane’s bedside. She had been there every time Maria came to perform her care tasks. “We were told Shane wouldn’t need surgery?”

Tyler shook his head. “No ma’am, no surgery. I’m just here to place the splint.”

Yuna nodded and sat back into her chair, reaching out to hold Shane’s good hand.

“You okay if I get started Shane?” Tyler asked and picked up the sling.

Shane shrugged, then hissed in pain. “I keep doing that.”

Tyler nodded. “The sling will help remind you to keep it still while it heals.”

“Go for it man,” Shane blew out a breath and leaned his head back against the bed.

Maria watched Tyler swiftly, and as gently as he could, slip Hollander’s arm into the sling. Shane kept his expression as controlled as he could as Tyler brought the arm into his stomach and kept it there as he tightened the straps. His nostrils flared a bit as he breathed deeply, and the knuckles paled from where they held his mom’s hand but he didn’t make a sound.

When Tyler was done, Shane’s entire body relaxed and he opened his eyes. He looked down at the sling and then back up at Tyler, his pupils were saucers and his grin was a little too wide. “You’re a miracle worker Dr. Tyler.”

Tyler laughed. “Simple fix man. I’ll go over your discharge instructions and PT plan with you and you parents before you get out of here but from the bone side of things, all you need to do tonight is rest.”

Shane groaned. “All I am doing is sleeping.”

Maria laughed. “You’ve only been here four hours Shane.”

He glared at her though it held no heat. “And I think I’ve been asleep for all four of them.”

“Your body needs sleep.”

“My body needs food. I’m starving.”

Maria nodded. “The doc cleared you to eat since you don’t need surgery. Start off with something light though, your concussion can make you nauseous.”

His head lolled to the side as he looked at his mom. “Can I have a milkshake?"

Yuna laughed. “You want a milkshake?”

Shane bobbed his head up and down. “The last time I felt like this was when I had my wisdom teeth taken out and you got me a milkshake on the way home.” He closed his eyes and sighed, reminiscing. “It was magical. I still think about that milkshake.”

“As it happens,” Maria smiled, “our cafeteria is open and makes really good milkshakes.”

Shane’s eyes widened and he smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “Mom, it’s perfect.”

Yuna nodded and patted his hand. “I’ll run down and get you some things.”

Shane eyed his mother apprehensively. “Mom, you have to get the milkshake.”

She laughed. “I will!”

Shane’s head lulled the other way towards David. “Dad, you have to go with her.”

David huffed. “Son, your mother is perfectly capable of getting you a milkshake without a supervisor.”

“But she might try to put something in it!” he stage whispered. “Like spinach or something.”

“Shane Hollander,” Yuna gasped and lightly swatted her son’s hand she was still holding. “I would not!”

He ignored her. “Dad. This is serious.”

David tried to tamper down a grin. “I don’t want to leave you in here alone.”

“Oh, he won’t be,” Maria spoke up. “I have to stay in here for fifteen minutes after giving that medication to monitor him, so I’ll be staying put. Why don’t the two of you go? It’s good to stretch your legs, see something other than these walls.”

“See,” Shane gave his dad a pointed look. “You have to go. Nurse’s orders.”

David laughed and held up his hands in surrender. He stood from the small couch and ruffled Shane’s hair like he was five instead of twenty-five. “Okay, son. I’ll make sure you get your milkshake.”

Shane nodded, a satisfied look on his face. “I’m so excited.”

David held out his hand for his wife who was still shaking her head at her son’s accusations. “Come on honey, time to find a milkshake.”

Yuna accepted his hand and stood, bending down to kiss Shane’s forehead before they walked out of the room.

When the door closed, Maria looked at Shane. “Your parents seem nice.”

He sighed and nodded, the motion uncoordinated and slow. “They are. I feel bad.”

“Like you’re going to throw up?” Maria was already across the room, green emesis bag in hand.

Shane shook his head. “No. Like bad in here.” He pointed at the thick black strap of the sling. Maria assumed he meant his heart.

“Why’s that Shane?”

He paused and looked out the window. “Because I’m lying to them.”

“About what?” Maria asked before she could stop herself.

“About me.” He lifted his hand and pulled at his eyelashes a little. “About him.”

So, we’re talking about him again.

“Have you heard from him yet?” Maria really needed to stop working four shifts in a row, this was none of her business.

But Shane didn’t appear to mind. He shook his head. “Doctor said no phone and my mom took that seriously and took it away from me.”

“If you know his number, I can call him for you.” She offered and sat down in the chair Yuna had vacated. “Or have your mom call him.”

Shane laughed so hard, Maria was afraid he was going to worsen his clavicle fracture, even with the sling. “My mom…calling…him.” His smile turned a little fond as his eyes drifted close. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.” He sighed and nestled into the pillow a little bit. “I wish…I wish they could…”

Maria didn’t get to hear what Shane was wishing for because sleep overtook him, but she sure hoped that whatever it was, he got it.

The rest of the night passed quietly. Shane mostly slept, or tried to at least. It was a little hard to sleep when you were woken up every two hours and forced through a neuro assessment. Yuna and David slept fitfully in the tall chair and small couch that converted into a cot, despite Shane’s protests that they go home.

Around three-thirty in the morning, Yuna’s voice came over the phone that was hooked up to the call light on the remote in Shane’s room. “Maria, could you come in here?”

Ten minutes later, Maria was pushing a PRN dose of morphine through Shane’s IV. Shane, whose entire body was stiff, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth were in danger of cracking. “It would be easier if you told me before your pain got this high, Shane,” Maria scolded as she finished the flush and clamped off the line.

“I don’t like the way it makes my head feel,” Shane gritted out.

Maria placed her hands on her hips and gave him a leveled look. “Are you really loving the way your head is feeling right now?” When Shane stayed silent, she softened her tone. “Your body needs sleep to heal, Shane. And you can’t sleep if you’re in pain.”

Shane nodded, his body relaxing as the medication did its job. He quickly drifted off to sleep, no longer in pain and able to rest.

Maria placed a hand on Yuna’s shoulder. “It’s good that you got me. I’ll be more vigilant about his pain now that I know he’s a little stubborn about it.”

Yuna nodded and reached out to soothe a wild section of Shane’s hair. “Thank you. I don’t know why he’d want to be in pain.”

Maria’s heart tugged a little bit, remembering how Shane said that he felt bad he was lying to his parents. She supposed there was a lot that the Hollander family didn’t know about each other.

Maria gave Yuna’s shoulder a squeeze. “This won’t last forever.”

Now, with one hour, thirteen minutes, and forty-two minutes left of her shift, she reviewed Hollanders chart, making sure she had documented all her medications correctly and accurately, and made sure there were no outstanding orders that she could finish up before the day shift nurse took over for her. As she charted, she noticed that Hollander was due for another neuro check and probably needed another dose of morphine.

She slipped into Shane’s room and noticed everyone was awake. “Good morning, Hollanders.”

“Good morning, Maria,” Yuna smiled from her place in the chair next to the bed.

David looked up from his newspaper and gave her a warm smile.

Shane looked away from the window and towards her. “I’m at Montreal General, it’s Sunday now, my name is Shane Hollander, and I got my brain scrambled during a hockey game.”

Maria smiled. “Well, you are certainly more alert and oriented. How’re you feeling?”

Shane blew out a breath, “I feel like I’m spinning in the opposite direction of the earth. Does that make sense?”

She nodded and walked over to the computer so she could add his symptoms into his chart. “It does, and I’m sorry to say that it’s normal. How’s your pain?”

She looked up to see him shrugging and slowly turning his head to look back out the window. “Shane…how’s your pain?”

“A seven…” he pursed his lips together. “Maybe an eight.”

Maria nodded. “I’ll come back with another dose of Morphine.”

Shane almost looked disappointed. “How long until the pain goes away?”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Everyone’s brain is different and everyone heals differently so I don’t know. But resting and managing your pain will definitely help speed up the healing process.”

Shane nodded. “Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Shane was laughing and giving his parents a laundry list of breakfast items he now required. After he finished putting in his order, Yuna and David slipped out of the room.

“What would you rate your pain now?” Maria asked from the computer.

Shane’s eyes were closed and his head was tilted back against his pillows. “I don’t feel anything, Maria.”

She laughed and charted his pain as controlled before badging out of the system. “Good.” Her work phone chimed and she looked down to find a text from another nurse, asking for help with one of his patients. “I know I said I’d hang out with you until your parents got back but are you okay if I go check on something really quick?”

Shane opened his eyes long enough to roll them at her. “I’m a fully grown adult, even if I am a little high right now.”

Maria smiled and made sure the remote was by his hand, giving him strict orders to press the call light if he needed anything. He looked nearly ready for another nap as she slipped out of the room.

After she finished helping Dylan with his patient, she made her way back to Shane’s room to check on him. As she was about to open the door she stopped. A tall, unfamiliar man was standing next to the bed.

Her eyes darted to Shane, to make sure he was safe. Which he was. He also looked blissed out. His eyes were closed and he had a soft little smile on his face, softer than anything Maria had seen since he arrived. He looked relaxed, truly relaxed, like the thing he had been missing for the past twelve hours was finally here.

Satisfied that he was in no immediate danger, Maria flicked her gaze back to the man standing next to the bed. At first, she couldn’t see his face and all she could tell was that he was a tall, broad-shouldered man with curly blonde hair with an impeccable taste in clothing.

But then the man leaned forward and she caught a glimpse of his face.

She shook her head, trying to clear away the façade that was clearly in front of her.

Nope, still there.

She rubbed her eyes, suspecting that the lack of sleep she had gotten the past couple of days was catching up to her, because there was no way what she was seeing was real.

Because what she was seeing was Ilya Rozanov in Shane Hollander’s room.

Now, that by itself wasn’t too unexpected, other than the fact that she knew he wasn’t on the approved visitors list so it did raise the question on how the hell he got in here, she had often seen captains or representative from opposing teams coming to check on an injured player and extend well wishes. That was normal. That was expected.

What she hadn’t expected to see was Ilya Rozanov, holding Shane Holander’s hand while also caressing his cheek like he was made out of precious glass.

That was what had her convinced she must be hallucinating. But as she stood there for a few more seconds, she had to admit to herself that this was real. This was happening.

Holy shit. Ilya Rozanov is him. Him is he. He is Ilya Rozanov.

No wonder why Shane was so determined to keep this a secret.

She heard voices that were now familiar to her coming from down the hallway. Sure enough, when she turned around, Yuna and David Hollander were heading her way.

She pushed away from the door and strode over to them. “Hi guys!” Why was her voice three octaves higher than normal?

Luckily, they didn’t notice. “Maria!” Yuna exclaimed like they were best friends and not strangers who had just met twelve hours ago.

Damn, Maria liked her and hated that she was now kind of lying to her. But right now, she needed to protect Shane’s secret. Plus, she wanted to give the two a little bit more time together. Is this how Shane felt?

“We got a box of pastries for the staff on the unit; would you mind putting them somewhere for everyone?” David held out a box that was sure to hold the surgery solace every healthcare worker lived for.

Perfect. “Aren’t you two just the best! Thank you so much!” She spotted the coffee cups from the cafeteria and her mind worked impressively quickly for hour twelve of her shift. “Oh, we can’t have you drinking that. We have much better coffee in the break room. Let’s get you two fixed up.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” Yuna protested, already shaking her head and attempting to walk past Maria.

Maria side stepped, practically body blocking her. “I insist.” She spotted Dylan standing behind the desk. “Dylan,” she yelled and when he looked up, she waved him over. “The Hollanders were kind enough to bring us some treats. Can you show them to the break room and make sure they get some of the good coffee we keep hidden?”

Dylan gave her a questioning look, but when he saw Maria’s face, he nodded and gestured down the hall. “Right this way,”

With one last confused look, the Hollander’s followed Dylan down the hall. As soon as they turned the corner, Maria darted back to Shane’s room.

From the window in the door she saw Rozanov, still standing there, still holding Shane’s hand.

“Hollander…” she heard Rozanov say like he was trying to stop him from saying something.

It didn’t work; Shane barreled on through. “Will you come to my cottage this summer?” He looked up at Rozanov with the most hopeful eyes Maria had ever seen. “Don’t go to Russia.” His eyes slid closed like he was imagining it already. “Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun. It’s so private. No will know.”

Well, no one besides a very nosey nurse apparently.

Rozanov was shaking his head. “Hollander, you know I can’t do that.”

Shane was persistent though. He had a few more arguments and he wasn’t letting Rozanov stop him. “We could have a week or even two. We’d be completely alone…together.”

There was a short pause before Rozanov gave Hollander a smile that even Maria could tell was forced. “Maybe,” he said, “maybe.”

Fuck that ‘maybe’ nonsense Maria thought to herself, feeling frustration rising up in her. Not at Rozanov, she understood his predicament. She was frustrated, no she was angry, that he was forced into this situation in the first place. He deserved to go to the cottage and Shane deserved to have him there.

Not stopping to figure out why she was so suddenly invested in the love lives of these two hockey players, she decided she needed to intervene. She couldn’t make Rozanov say yes, but she could push off his no. Plus, she wasn’t sure how much longer Dylan would be able to keep Yuna and David from Shane’s room and based on what little Shane had said, she didn’t think that Shane would want his parents walking into the room to see this.

She shoved open the door, making sure to make as much noise as possible to make sure the men inside the room had ample time to prepare for someone coming in. It worked, even if seeing Rozanov drop Shane’s hand and stepping away from the bed crushed her soul a little bit.

“Oh no,” she heard Shane whisper.

She ignored that and pretended to be surprised to see Ilya Rozanov standing in the room. “Uh-oh!” she exclaimed, making sure the door was closed behind her. “You’re not going to smother him with a pillow, are you Mr. Rozanov?”

Rozanov’s smile was now one she had seen plastered on magazines and on TV. The smooth one. The charming one. Very different than the one she had seen him have as he looked at Hollander. “Ah, no. No, no, no.” He shook his head, turning towards Hollander. “But good thinking.”

With his hands in his pockets, he shifted so he was looking at Maria. “But no, I was just leaving.”

“Okay,” Shane’s voice was still soft and cracked a little as he looked up at Rozanov. “Bye-bye.”

They were killing her. Maria was going to die.

Rozanov’s mask slipped just a little, a little bit of that affection she saw earlier seeped through as he looked down at Shane. “Goodbye,” he whispered, barely audible.

Shane cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. “See you next season.”

No, Maria thought to herself as if she could will it into being true, you will see him at the cottage.

Rozanov returned the nod, catching another glimpse of Shane out of the corner of his eye. “Get well soon, Hollander.”

“Thank you,” Shane practically sang as Rozanov made his way to the door. Maria slipped past him and made her way to Shane’s bed. “I appreciate it.”

Rozanov opened the door and sent one more fake smile her way before he slipped through it.

“Hello!” Shane beamed up at her.

She returned his smile and pretended like she needed to adjust the pump at Shane’s beside. “Hello.”

“Ah!” Shane sighed and let his head flop back against the pillow, a proud look on his face.

He should be proud, Maria thought.

A second later, the door opened again and both Maria and Shane whipped their heads up to see who was on the other side. Shane winced at the sudden motion and Maria held her breath as Yuna and David walked into the room.

Yuna jutted her thumb over her shoulder. “Was that Ilya Rozanov?”

Maria looked over at Shane who looked panicked, his eyes darting between his parents and the door. “Uh…”

“Captain duties,” Maria interjected. “You know. Coming in to check on Shane, extend well wishes from the team. It’s pretty standard. We see it all the time.”

“Oh,” Yuna tilted her head. “Right.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, I do it too whenever a player on the other team gets hurt.”

“I’ve made a few of those visits myself, back in the day,” David nodded as he came further into the room, taking his spot on the couch and picked up the paper.

Subtly, Maria patted Shane on the shoulder before turning to David. “You played too?”

Forty-one minutes and eighteen seconds.

Maria could barely keep her eyes open as she walked through the front door of her house exactly sixty-one minutes later. Though, her mood did improve greatly when she heard, “Hey baby!”

She looked up from where she was hanging up her bag in the hall closet and saw her girlfriend, Quinn standing in the hallway, a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. She smiled and slipped off her shoes, making her way to Quinn. Maria leaned forward and kissed Quinn on the cheek, careful not to touch her anywhere else. Maria had a strict, ‘don’t touch me until I’ve washed off the hospital’ rule. “Hi love.”

“How was your shift?”

Maria laughed. That was the thing about working in healthcare. You couldn’t really talk much about your day, even if you really really really wanted to. And boy did she want to. She wanted to tell Quinn all about what she had seen and heard and learned in the past twelve hours.

But she couldn't.

Not just because of privacy laws. Not just because of HIPPA. Not just because she could lose her job, her license, if she told anyone about what happened during her shift.

But because it wasn’t her story to tell. These weren’t her secrets to share.

“Maria?”

Maria accepted the glass of orange juice from Quinn’s hand and drained half the glass. When she was done, she looked Quinn in the eye. “I know something. I know something and I cannot tell you. I cannot tell you why I cannot tell you. But one day, you will know this thing that I know. And on that day, I will look at you and say, ‘I know.’ When that happens I will need you to know that that is the thing that I know now but can’t tell you about.”

Quinn nodded slowly and sat her cup of coffee down on the side table in the hallway. She reached up and touched the side of Maria’s face. “I’m going to go start your shower while you throw your scrubs in the laundry so you can get to bed. I think you need some rest.” She stood on her tip toes and pecked Maria’s lips before turning away and jogging up the stairs towards their bathroom.

Maria laughed and followed her. She wasn’t wrong.

Three years and eleven months later

March 2021

Maria barely survived her shift. Truly, it was one for the record books. She had never seen more patients in the trauma bay in a single shift than she had tonight. Which of course, meant that her trauma unit was also full and busy. It didn’t help that they were once again short-staffed, or as Maria just referred to it now- normally staffed.

Her head hurt. Her feet hurt. Her hair hurt. All she wanted was a shower. Then a soak in the tub. And then her bed.

“Maria!”

Her exhaustion left her as he heard Quinn’s voice echoing off the wall. She took off, her socked feet slipping on the hardwood floors. She found her in the kitchen, bent over the counter. Oh god, did she cut herself chopping vegetables again?

“Baby, what is it?” she asked as she made her way across the kitchen.

Quinn turned around and Maria quickly assessed her head to toe. No blood. No amputated fingers. Nothing. Instead, she held out her phone, practically shoving it into Maria’s face.

Maria gave a relieved sigh and laughed at her wife’s dramatization. She placed her hand on Quinn’s wrist and lowered the phone. “We’ve talked about this. Unless there is serious threat to life or limb, we don’t scream with that level of intensity.”

Quinn gave a frustrated groan. “Just look.”

“Okay, okay,” Maria held out her hand and accepted the phone. When she unlocked it, it was opened to a news article, one with a large photo taking up the screen.

A photo of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

Kissing.

Oh.

She hadn’t forgotten about what she had witnessed almost four years ago, but it wasn’t really something she thought about every day. She remembered what she had told Quinn that day when she came home.

So, she stood up straight, looked Quinn in the eyes, and simply said, “I know.”

Quinn’s face morphed into disappointment. “Oh. You saw the article already?” she looked down at her phone. “I figured I’d see it before you since your shift was so busy. Did anyone else at work see it? What did Dylan say? I know he-”

“Quinn,” she interrupted. “I hadn’t seen the article before you showed me. But I know.”

Quinn furrowed her eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

“I. Know.” Maria repeated.

“Oh.” Realization finally hit her. “OH!”

“I know,” Maria said again, laughing now.

Quinn groaned. “Ugh! Go take your shower so we can sit down and you can tell me everything you’re legally allowed to tell me.”

Maria smiled and leaned forward so she could kiss her wife. “Yes ma’am.”

Chapter End Notes

There are four minutes of screen time from face-off to Ilya leaving Shane's hospital room. I think I exploited every second of those four minutes in these past three chapters.

Chapter 20: A Man At The Airport

Chapter Summary

Alex hated airports, viscerally. Luckily, fate gave him the perfect distraction.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: I really just needed to make this one because what do you mean you walked through the airport looking like THAT and you think no one noticed you?!?! Come on Rozanov…

Date: July 2017

Location: Ottawa

Alex’s thumbs tapped rhythmically against his steering wheel as he tried, and failed, to convince his nervous system that he was not in any immediate danger. Unfortunately for him, his body couldn’t tell the difference between being chased by a bear and performing a simple task like picking someone up at the airport.

He didn’t know why he hated the airport so much. He wasn’t even afraid of flying! Once he was on the plane, in his seat, with the seat belt on, he completely relaxed. But the act of getting to the airport, going through security, and navigating through the huge building with no clue where anything was? Dreadful.

Worse though, was picking someone up or dropping someone off at the airport. Trying to weave through the traffic at the drop off where it appeared it was everyone’s first day on earth every single time? Daring to get out of the car to hug your person and wish them a good trip just to have a security officer with a reflective vest and a whistle at the ready glare at you until you’ve convinced yourself you’ve committed a felony? And then the pickup- trying to find that perfect time to pull up to the pickup area so you wouldn’t be forced to do a lap through the god awful traffic while also fielding texts and calls from the person inside the airport about where they actually were? Horrible.

So maybe Alex did know why he hated the airport so much. His reasons didn’t matter though, because his mom was flying back from visiting her sister and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his mother. Even if he did briefly consider hiring a driver to pick her up and deliver her safely to her house. He would have splurged for the fancy kind, the ones that showed up in a suit with a sign with his mother’s name on it. The driver would tip his hat and say, ‘Good afternoon Mrs. Henderson, I’ll be your driver today.’ His mom would giggle and insist he called her Mia and then put up a fake fight when he reached for her luggage. Alex thinks she would have enjoyed that.

But alas, he didn’t do that. Because at the age of twenty-eight, he knew it was time to get over his fear hatred of airports. Now he was cursing his anxiety for convincing him that he needed to arrive thirty minutes before his mother’s plane was due to land. He was worried about traffic or construction, or you know- what if they had decided to move the airport and he had no idea? But the roads were clear, no construction impeded his drive, and they hadn’t moved the airport so now he just got to sit in his car in the phone lot as the impending dread about his upcoming task continued to grow and grow until he got a call from his mother saying she was ready to be picked up.

He blew out a breath and gripped his steering wheel, driving himself insane with the insistent tapping. Looking out the window, he tried to find something to occupy his mind, his phone proving useless at distracting him. Parked a couple of spaces over from him was a dark Land Rover, a LR2 if Alex recalled correctly. It was a perfectly good normal car, good in the snow. He made a mental note to add it to his list of recommendations to give his sister who was shopping for a new car.

Alex wasn’t much of a car guy, but he had been helping his sister with her search for a couple of months now, which meant he picked up on all of the upgrades and customizations this car had. Nothing too flashy or indulgent, just some simple upgrades that improved the overall quality and functionality of the car. Smart. Sensible.

After he was done checking out the car, he peaked through the window at the person in the driver’s seat. At first, he could barely see the man’s face due to the intense way he staring at his driver’s side mirror, his body almost completely turned in that direction like he was terrified someone was going to sneak up behind him.

Alex huffed out a laugh, maybe he wasn’t the only one who got a little anxious at airports.

Then the man moved out of his contorted position, back relaxing against the seat and his head thumping against the headrest. His hands gripped the steering wheel in a way that was eerily similar to Alex’s current position. Dude was definitely anxious.

Wait.

Alex leaned a little closer to the glass of his window, trying to get a better look at the guy. Now that he could see his face, the guy looked really familiar. He definitely knew him from somewhere. But where?

Sixty seconds later, Alex was no closer to placing the familiar stranger. Oh, this is going to drive me insane, he thought to himself as he ran through his mental rolodex of faces. Was it someone he went to school with? Someone from the gym? A friend from college he had lost touch with? A former coworker?

None of those rang any bells and Alex was two seconds away from jumping out of his car and tapping on the man’s window just so he could solve this mystery when a figure approached the car.

A man in a black tank top and pants came striding up to the bar of the car. Alex was temporarily distracted by the man’s arms to notice, or care, about anything else. Seriously, it was unfair for someone to look that good wearing such a simple laid-back outfit. And he was wearing a backwards baseball hat? Suddenly, the airport didn’t seem like such an awful place to be.

The man opened up the hatch of the Land rover and placed his carry-on suitcase in the back. Huh. That was weird. He must have walked all the way from the airport to this waiting parking lot. Why would he do that? Maybe the man in the car hated airport traffic even more than Alex did.

He couldn’t lie, that made him feel a little better.

The man closed the hatch, seriously I want to bite his arms- respectfully, and came around the car, headed towards the passenger seat, black headphones wrapped around his neck and a black bag slung over his shoulder.

As the man opened the passenger door, Alex couldn’t help but flicker his eyes up and down, sue him- he did ask for a distraction, who was he to waste this opportunity? But he stopped perusing when he noticed a familiar emblem blazoned on the hat the man was wearing.

Alex hadn’t been a huge hockey fan, but after Scott Hunter came out last month in a ridiculously public, beautiful, way- Alex’s interest had been piqued. He still didn’t know much about the sport, but he knew enough to recognize the Boston Raiders logo.

Alex was still deciding which team he was going to throw his newly found interest behind and support. Though he was leaning towards the Ottawa team, they weren’t the best team in the league but it was his hometown team and he had always been a fan of the underdog story.

Wait.

Hockey…

Alex turned his focus back to the man in the driver’s seat. After a disbelieving second it finally clicked who this man was.

That was Shane Hollander!

Alex laughed as he caught a second glimpse of the Boston Raiders hat that Hollander’s passenger was adorning. Again, Alex didn’t know much about hockey yet, but he did know about the rivalry between the Metros and the Raiders. Hollander’s passenger must be trying to rage bait him.

Alex flickered his gaze back to Hollander, to see if he was in fact going to take the bait but he got distracted as the man in the passengers removed his sunglasses and hat, using his fingers to shake out the blonde curls that had been unfairly tucked underneath the cap.

Oh, holy shit.

That was Ilya Rozanov!

Ilya Rozanov was in Shane Hollander’s car.

Shane Hollander was picking up Ilya Rozanov at the airport.

Why?

Alex instantly found a logical reason- hockey. They were both captains of their teams and prominent figures in the league. They were probably heading to some fundraiser or benefit, or event. Ottawa is Shane Hollander’s hometown. So maybe he was just doing Rozanov a favor and saving him the hassle of hiring a car.

That wouldn’t really fit the rivalry narrative but that was probably played up for the media anyways.

But- Alex had seen the documentary made about Shane Hollander and in that he mentioned how he goes to the cottage in the off season to get away from the hockey world, often turning down league events to truly relax and reset.

At his cottage. That, while Alex didn’t know exactly where it was located, he knew it was close to here.

So. Ilya Rozanov was in Shane Hollander’s car. During the off season. In Ottawa.

Surely this meant something. Right?

Unfortunately, Alex didn’t get to observe much more because after a quick exchange, Shane was putting the car in drive and pulled out of the parking space.

Alex signed and fell against his seat as he watched the car pull out of the parking lot and into traffic. What was he supposed to do with this knowledge?

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to think about it because his phone began to ring and his mother’s face filled his screen. He picked it up and slid his thumb across the screen before bringing it up to his ear. “Hi mom.”

March 2021

Ever since that day in 2017, Alex paid attention. He paid attention to hockey. He paid attention to Shane Hollander. He paid attention to Ilya Rozanov. He paid attention to Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.

And as he paid attention, he grew suspicious.

He was suspicious in July of 2018 when Ilya Rozanov signed with Ottawa.

He was suspicious four months later in November when Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov announced their joint charity.

He was suspicious in 2019 when it was announced that there would be a documentary made about the two ‘rivals’. In 2020, when the documentary was released, he was practically laughing about how blind everyone had been. Seriously, did no one see the way Ilya’s soul practically left his body when Hollander went down after that hit from Marlow?

He was suspicious when it was becoming ever more common to see Ilya and Shane spotted in public together.

In 2021 his suspicion took a back seat to his anxiety when he saw the news clips of the Centaurs emergency landing.

By the time March 2021 rolled around, Alex’s secret suspicion was getting harder and harder to ignore. Alex never told anyone though. Not only because his suspicions were based on a three-minute sighting of the two men in a car four years ago, but because he already felt like he was intruding on something he shouldn’t. He wasn’t about to add more people to that party.

However, none of that mattered now.

“I knew it!” Alex shouted, jumping up from the couch and pointing at the TV that was turned on to some random news outlet. It had just been on for background noise as the entire family gathered around the kitchen and the living room. It was one of those rare days were everyone just decided to show up at his parents’ house, just because, and now the whole family was there.

But now everyone’s attention was drawn to the TV. And on that TV was a picture of Ilya Rozanov kissing the absolute hell out of Shane Hollander.

“I fucking knew it!” Alex exclaimed again, his head shaking slightly. Despite his words, he never actually thought he would be proven right.

This was crazy.

This was insane.

This was…kind of heartbreaking if Alex was honest. After who knows how long of keeping this secret, they deserved to share their story how, when, and if they wanted.

His mother stood next to him. “How’d you know?”

He turned to her a little grin on his face. “Remember when I picked you up from the airport in July of 2017?”

A scream came from his sister. “What?!”

Alex’s grin grew.

Chapter End Notes

Only one more story left...then we get to check in on the boys(:

Chapter 21: The Kid Who Paddled Too Far

Chapter Summary

After paddling way too far, eleven-year-old Thomas pulled on a small island in the middle of the lake. While he took a break, he saw something that opened up a whole new world.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: You’re gonna have to ignore the logistics of the cottage being built on a private lake and the fact that Shane probably doesn’t have any neighbors for like several miles of the cottage. Just go with it okay, otherwise little Tommy is going to be sad.

Date: July 2017

Location: The Cottage

My dad is going to kill me, eleven-year-old Thomas thought to himself as he dragged his kayak up the beach of the small island. Breathing heavily, he tore off the life jacket and threw it onto the seat of the small kayak. He stood up straight and stretched his arms above his head, feeling a slight burn as he did so.

How many times did his dad warn him about paddling out too far when he was by himself? Ten? Twenty? More like a hundred probably.

Now Tommy, it’s important that you pay attention to how far you go because remember- you have paddle back.

It’s not like Thomas didn’t listen, he did, he really did, and he tried. He tried to pay attention to how long and far he paddled. He just... he got distracted.

He got distracted by the otters floating downstream.

He got distracted by the herons soaring just a couple of feet above the water before finding a perch on a branch near the edge of the water. He would wait, floating silently, until he watched the heron quickly spear the water, coming back with a fish on its beak.

He got distracted by the geese paddling by.

He got distracted by the bald eagles soaring above him.

And of course, he had to go see if the rustling sounds he heard were moose.

And don’t forget about the loons.

There were lots of things to distract Thomas, and not a lot of things that helped him measure how far he paddled, which is how he had managed to paddle around the tiny river that was outside his house until it opened up into a large lake. It wasn’t until he noticed how the sun was in a completely different position that he felt the burn in his shoulders, both from the sun and the overworked muscles, and realized just how far he went.

Which is why he pulled up to this tiny island, just to take a small break before he had to paddle back, upstream, to his house. His house where his father was going to take one look at his sunburnt face and shaky arms and start lecturing to him about the importance of being aware.

Thomas could already hear the controlled even tone his father used when he was secretly frustrated but didn’t want him to know it. Maybe he would wait just a little longer, he thought and pulled the small rucksack he stashed behind the seat this morning. At least he had the be prepared part of his father’s advice down. He left the kayak secured on the beach and walked a little inland, searching for some shade and a good place to sit a bit while he rested and refueled on the water and snacks he had packed.

There were no marked trails or anything on this island, he didn’t really know where he was to be honest, but he took special care not to trample around too much, trying to disturb the ground as little as possible. He looked around, noticing the trees, the flowers, and the prints pressed into the ground by different animals.

Before he could get too distracted, he found a log of a fallen tree and sat with his back against it. He was still close enough to the side of the island that he could hear the water lapping against the land.

He pulled out the bladder of water and drank deeply from it, not realizing his thirst until the water hit his throat. He capped the bladder, swapping it for a sandwich. As he chewed, he listened to the birds, trying to identify them by their songs.

“Whoo!”

Thomas jumped as a shout came from somewhere beyond the trees. He swallowed dryly, the fear in his throat getting in the way of the sandwich. His eyes darted around, trying to find the person, hopefully it was a person that had made the noise. He didn’t know of an animal that made that kind of noise and didn’t want to learn about it now.

“Is this where you do yoga, or up there?”

Thomas let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Human. A normal human speaking normal human words.

Shoving his water and sandwich back in his bag, he zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder. He should leave. He should retrace his steps back to the beach, get in his kayak, and paddle back home.

That’s what he should have done.

Instead, Thomas, moving silently against the soft dirt beneath him, crept his way closer to where the voice came from.

“No, I do it inside.” A second voice echoed, sounding a little closer than the first. “The producer wanted me… wait, you saw that?”

The trees thinned out a little and Thomas could see two grown-ups in the water, one sitting on the rock and the other standing in the water.

“Yeah, it was very good. I needed help sleeping, so...”

The man from the rock sighed. “You’re an asshole.”

Thomas’s dad yelled at him the last time he used that word, well didn’t yell, but used his stern lecture voice about why children shouldn’t use that word. But the man in the water didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even seem to notice.

“How’s the water?”

Dude, you’re in the water.

“You’re in it,” the other man said, like he was sharing Thomas’s thoughts.

“Yeah, but I want to know how you like it.” The blonde man said before splashing water on the man on the rock as he made his way closer.

“Fuck you!” Thomas’s dad also lectured him the last time he used that word too. “What if my phone was in my pocket?”

That’s why your phone should be in a dry bag, Thomas thought as he tapped his own phone that was safe inside his drybag. See dad, I do listen. Mostly.

The man dipped back in the water. “Ah it’s not. You left it on the table. It’s been ringing all morning.”

Thomas shook his head. If he missed more than two phone calls from his parents, he knew he’d be in for it.

“You’re still an asshole.”

Are these two people even friends?

Thomas’s question was answered, kind of, in the next second when the blonde man swam up to the rock and kissed the other man’s ankle. Well, they don’t hate each other at least.

Then Thomas had about a million more questions as the man pushed himself up the rock and looked up at the man perched above him, placing his hands on the man’s thigh. The other man’s hands covered his arms. “Gimme kiss.”

The man in the green swim trucks protested. “You’re cold.” But apparently, he didn’t mean it because a second later he was leaning forward and kissing the other guy.

The kiss only lasted a second before the man pushed back and fell back into the water, but Thomas couldn’t move. His mind was too busy arranging and rearranging his thoughts over and over again.

THAT’S AN OPTION?!

Thomas shook himself from his thoughts and ran back to the kayak.

He had to talk to his dad.

Four Years Later

March 2021

“Hey Tom, have you been on your phone this morning?”

Thomas looked up from where he was organizing his kayaking gear in the mud room of his house. March was still winter enough to stop him from getting out onto the water but it was an excellent time to make sure that all of his gear and equipment was cleaned and organized. His dad was standing in the doorway that led into the kitchen, pointing at his phone.

“No, I haven’t looked at my phone since I started…this,” he gestured towards the chaos he was standing in. He looked around, finding the thing under a pile of life jackets. “What’s up, you need it or something?”

His father shook his head. “No there’s just this… hockey thing. It’s going viral.”

Thomas laughed. “Who taught you the word ‘viral’?”

His dad gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m not as obtuse as you think I am son.”

Stifling down a chuckle he nodded. “Yeah dad. You’re totally hip.”

“Watch it,” his father’s tone was stern but there was a smile on his face. “So, you haven’t seen this then?”

Thomas shook his head, slipping his own phone into his pocket and organizing a pile of water shoes, how did he end up with five pairs? “You haven’t told me what this is, but no, if it’s hockey related, I probably haven’t seen it.”

Thomas’s dad was a huge hockey fan and tried for years to make a fan out of his son. But alas, Thomas couldn’t bring himself to care about the sport. He’d rather be outside. Preferably on the water. Though, he did suppose he had to extend some thanks to Scott Hunter.

Four years ago, after he saw those two men kiss on the water when he was eleven, he rushed home-paddling back in half the time it took him to paddle out. He barely beached the kayak before he jumped out, water up to his waist, and rushed into the house.

“Tommy, you’re dripping water all over the place!” His mother chastised as he rushed past her.

“Sorry mom!” he yelled, making his way up to his father’s office.

He didn’t even bother knocking, he just pushed the door open and barged in.

His dad looked up from the files on his desk. “Tommy, did you just get back? How far did you go? You know you’re not supposed to-”

“Dad, I know!” Thomas interrupted, words spurting out from him. “Can you please lecture me about that later? I need to talk to you about something.”

His dad put down the papers he was holding and stood up. He walked around the table, scanning his eyes up and down his son. “Thomas, are you okay? What happened?”

“I…” Thomas faltered, not exactly knowing where to start. “What if… I mean…”

“Here.” His dad held out his hand. “Come here.”

Thomas reached out and stepped forward. With one hand, his dad grasped onto his smaller hand, and with the other he unclipped the life jacket that was still strapped to his chest, water still dripping and pooling by his feet.

Once the life jacket was off, his father pulled him by his hand until Thomas crashed into his chest. Then he let go of his hands and wrapped his heavy arms around his son’s shoulders. “Thomas, I love you. You can tell me anything. We’ll figure it out.” He waited until Thomas nodded then dropped his arms. “Now,” he guided him until he was sitting in a chair, doing the same in the chair next to him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

After a long fifteen minutes and lots of awkward stumbling, Thomas came out to his father.

And his father’s reaction?

The first thing his father said once Thomas poured out a piece of his soul?

“Oh. Like Scott Hunter.”

Which, of course, left Thomas confused and reeling until his dad led him over to his laptop and showed him the clip of Scott Hunter, a hockey player, kissing a man on the ice after a game.

Thomas was worried his dad would be disappointed in him.

And he was.

He was disappointed when his son looked at him and asked. “What’s the Stanley Cup?”

Now, his father sighed and held out his phone. “Well, this piece of hockey news might interest you.”

Thomas accepted the phone and gave his father a doubtful look before glancing down at the screen. On it was a news article that showed two men kissing. He looked back up at his father. “Dad. We’ve had this talk. I know you love me. I know you accept me. I don’t need you to prove it by showing me pictures of boys kissing.”

His dad huffed. “Tom, that’s not what this is. Do you not know who those guys are?”

Thomas shook his head. “No. I don’t. Who are they?”

His dad sighed as Thomas scrolled through the article. Now that he was really looking, they did look a little familiar. “That’s Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov. They are… well son they’re hockey legends. They both took the league by storm since their rookie year back in…2008 I think. Then they played on rival teams for ten years until Rozanov signed with the team here in Ottawa. The rivalry they had was… insane.”

“And fake apparently,” Thomas gestured towards the phone.

His dad nodded slowly, looking back down at his phone. “Apparently.”

“Well dad,” Thomas handed his father his phone back. “They might be hockey gods, but they were also my gay awakening.”

His dad looked at him, letting the phone just hang in the air. “Come again?”

Thomas nodded. “Those are the two boys I saw kissing on the lake the day I came out to you.” He placed the phone into his father’s hand, slapping his shoulder as he slipped past him and into the kitchen, deciding it was time to pause his organizational efforts in search of a snack.

A few seconds later, Thomas heard his father push off the wall and follow him into the house. “Tom, what do you mean Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are the reason you figured out you were gay?!”

Chapter End Notes

Next stop: the cottage

Chapter 22: Secret's Out

Chapter Summary

The secret is out, but there are some people who have known longer than others.

Secrets come out. Truths are told. Stories are shared.

But one thing remains true.

Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov have, and always will, love each other.

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer: This is where cannon breaks down. I actually don’t know much about the time right after the video is leaked. In my world, after they meet with Crowell and before they get back on the ice, there is a magical few days where they decide to go to the cottage. Because even if it’s illogical and impossible, it’s what they needed.

Also- if you hover over (web) or click (phone) on the Russian words, the English translation will show up. Coding is wild.

Date: March 2021

Location: The Cottage

On the coffee table, Shane’s phone buzzed loudly in the silent living room. They were watching a movie, Fast and Furious Five -the best movie ever made in Ilya’s opinion- but Shane had fallen asleep about thirty minutes after it began. Not wanting to risk the loud noises waking him up, Ilya had muted the TV. It’s not like he hadn’t watched it a million times, he could fill in the sound from memory and there were captions. But he ended up not watching most of it anyways.

Instead, Ilya watched Shane as he, finally, fell into a deep, peaceful, sleep. Shane had on an oversized hoodie, that somehow swallowed the large man, and soft joggers. Ilya’s chest was bare, so he had the privilege of feeling the heat from Shane’s cheek on his chest. Shane’s arms were wrapped tightly around Ilya’s torso as if, even in his sleep, he was worried Ilya would wander off somewhere. But Ilya was more than content to stay there on the couch, holding Shane to him, running his hands up and down his back in strong strokes, hopefully helping the man he loved get some rest.

The past few days, ever since the video was leaked, had been less than ideal. Once they had taken care of everything they needed to, Ilya insisted they go to the cottage for a few days. Shane had put up a fight, saying it was impractical because they’d only be there for a few days, but Ilya hadn’t backed down. Ever since the picture was leaked, Shane had been wound tight- not able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, barely eating, constantly muttering to himself as he stared at his phone, pacing around Ilya's house, only talking in short clipped sentences.

Ilya was scared. He was scared for Shane and he was scared about what was happening in that beautiful brain of Shane's that he loved so much. They needed a break. They needed somewhere safe where they could relax. He knew where they needed to go.

And based on the dead weight that was pinning him down to the couch in a semi awkward position, he had been right.

Which is why Ilya was currently staring daggers at Shane’s phone as it continued its insistent buzzing. Ilya wanted to continue to let it ring and ring and ring until whoever it was got the hint, but then he remembered Shane setting something up that blocked all calls except from about five very important people. So, if his phone was ringing right now, whoever was on the other end must be one of those people.

“Shane.” Ilya whispered, shifting from rubbing his hands against Shane’s back to squeezing him. However, there was no reaction, his fiancé continued to sleep peacefully. “Shanya,” Ilya tried again. This time, he at least got a reaction from the man. Unfortunately, it was nothing more than a grumble before pressing his cheek further into Ilya’s chest and giving his torso a squeeze. Ilya laughed and gently removed the hoodie from Shane’s head. With his head uncovered he pressed his lips into the soft black hair. “Solnyshko(Sunshine) wake up.”

Shane groaned. When Ilya peeked down, he saw Shane’s face scrunch. “What Ilya?” His voice was thick and gravely with sleep.

“Your phone is buzzing. Must be someone who is able to get through your phone block thing.”

Ilya felt a huff of warm air as Shane laughed. With his eyes still closed he reached out and grabbed the phone off of the table, holing it up so Ilya could see the screen. “Who is it?”

Ilya smiled. “It is your mother.”

Shane scoffed. “You talk to her then. You’re her favorite anyways.”

Ilya took the phone from Shane. “Da. Is true. It is good you accept it now.”

Shane flipped him off as Ilya swiped his thumb across the screen. “Yuna, perfect timing your son is being very cruel to me.”

That comment earned Ilya a bite to his side from Shane. He hissed and retaliated by weaving his fingers through Shane’s black strands and giving them a fierce tug. Shane propped his chin on Ilya’s chest and gave him a smile that was definitely not appropriate while his mother was on the phone.

Speaking of, Yuna’s voice came cracking through the speakerphone. “Really Shane?”

Shane sighed. “Mom you can’t believe everything he says.”

“Sure, she can.” Ilya protested. “I am very honest. Never lie.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You may not lie but you overembellish.”

“Mmm… I do not know this word.”

Shane wasn’t buying it. “Yes, you do!”

“Ah, it means truth teller then, yes?”

Yuna laughed. “You two sound better.”

Shane and Ilya looked at each other for a long moment, and they shared a lot in that silence. “Yeah mom,” Shane grinned. “We’re doing better.”

“Not only am I an honest man, but I am also a smart man. A genius. Whose idea was it to come to the cottage Shane? I forget.”

Shane shook his head but placed a kiss on Ilya’s chest anyways. Ilya returned it with one to the top of his head.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. I won’t keep you long I just wanted to say I finished going through your social media messages and such. I’ll be honest, I deleted a bunch of it but there were some things I think the two of you should see, so I kept those for you to open whenever you want.”

About two days after the video went viral, Shane had practically thrown his phone across Ilya's living room after seeing one too many disgusting posts. Yuna and David had been over, insisting that they had been bored and that’s why they came over and offered to cook them dinner, but Ilya guessed they had just wanted to keep an eye on the two of them, he hadn’t minded.

David looked up from where he was chopping vegetables, eyes watching everyone but didn’t say a word.

Ilya, who was sitting on the couch next right next to him, felt like Shane was a million miles away and Ilya didn’t know how to reach him.

Yuna slid off the stool that she was perched on, placed her wine glass on the island counter, and silently crossed the room until reached Shane’s phone. She picked it up and then walked over to the coffee table where Ilya’s was lying face down, he had learned his lesson day one. There wasn’t much he needed to see on there right now.

She stood in front of the boys, phones held out in front of them. “Here’s the plan. You are going to send me your usernames and passwords for all your social media accounts.” Yuna eyed them both. “All of them. Then I want you to log out.”

“Of what?” Shane asked. The detached, dejected tone of his voice sending fear straight into Ilya’s stomach, making it flip.

“Of everything. I will log in and go through everything and handle all the publicity things. But you two don’t need to worry about any of this right now.”

“Yuna,” Ilya shook his head. “I do not think you should see some of these things either.”

Yuna smiled at him in a way that reminded him of his own mother. “These are the types of things that mothers are meant to do Ilya.” She held the phones closer to them. “Go ahead.”

So now, just three days later, to the surprise of absolutely no one, Yuna was telling them that she somehow managed to wrangle to storm that is social media.

“Thanks mom.” Shane’s eyes started to drift away but he came back with a small smile when Ilya traced his thumb against his cheek.

“Yes, thank you Yuna.”

“There will be more, I’m sure,” Yuna’s voice was tight and clipped, something Ilya was unfamiliar with, “but I think we may be on the other side of the first wave at least. Let me know if it gets bad again, okay?”

“Will do,” Ilya agreed.

“Shane?” Yuna asked, her voice tilted as her son stayed quiet.

Ilya looked down to see Shane chewing on the inside of his cheek. Ilya scratched his fingernails against his scalp in the way he knew soothed Shane. He looked up at Ilya and gave him a reassuring smile. “Okay, mom.”

“Good!” Yuna chirped, sounding pleased. “Your dad and I decided to take a page out of your book and come up to our cottage as well. Now, we’ll stay out of your hair, I promise. It’s just been a while since we’d been up here and well, we wanted to be close by.”

“You know we’re fully grown adults capable of taking care of ourselves and each other, right?” Shane tried to sound annoyed, but his face was full of admiration and love.

“Yes,” Yuna stressed, “but you two are my fully grown adults and I-” a throat cleared loudly in the background, “and we,” she corrected, “are here to help however you two need.”

Ilya’s eyes were suddenly burning, and he wasn’t sure that he could trust his voice to respond. Shane of course noticed and reached a hand up, cupping his jaw with his hand swiping a thumb over his face.

“Thank you, guys, for everything.” Shane’s own voice was coming out a little deeper. “I love you both.”

“Oh honey, we love both of you. So much.” There was a pause as all four people on the phone call took a moment to collect themselves. “Okay, well. Let us know if you want to come over for dinner or something.”

“I can make chicken parm!” David’s voice yelled out.

Ilya nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Please.”

Shane chuckled. “Dinner sounds good. We’ll text you to set it up later. Drive safe and let us know when you make it.”

“Will do. Get some rest, okay boys?”

“Yes ma’am,” they said in unison, causing everyone to laugh before they said their goodbyes and hung up the phone.

Ilya placed the phone on the arm of the couch behind him, returning to his previous job of rubbing Shane’s back.

“What do you think she meant by that?” Shane’s voice was quiet and small. “There are things she wants us to look at?”

Ilya shrugged. “I do not know. Maybe… maybe there are good things.”

Shane’s chin dug into his chest a little bit, but he did not mind. He wasn’t a fan of the disbelieving look on Shane’s face though. “You really think so?”

“She would not keep any of the bad things Solnyshko(Sunshine),” he said gently.

Shane pursed his lips. “I guess that’s true.”

“Do you want to look, see for yourself?”

Shane shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay. Then we will not.” He wove his hand through Shane’s hair and rubbed his scalp. “What do you want to do then Shanya?”

Shane closed his eyes and turned his head, so his cheek was laying on Ilya’s chest once again. With a heavy exhale he said, “Nothing. I want to do nothing.”

“Okay.” Ilya settled back against the couch, wrapping one arm against Shane’s back, practically melding the two of them together. “Then we do nothing.”

It was the next morning when they decided to log back into their accounts. Ilya had woken up slowly blinking the sleep away and instantly turned his head towards where Shane was sleeping.

Shane, who was wide awake and staring up at the ceiling. As if he could sense that Ilya was awake, he spoke. “I need to know.”

Ilya knew instantly what Shane meant. He nodded. “Okay. Then we will look.”

Shane had wanted to look right away but Ilya insisted on cooking breakfast first. Nothing too fancy, even if they were benched it was still in the middle of their season and Shane was not going to budge on his diet. So, one gross green smoothie later- though Ilya also managed to convince him to eat some eggs, even if they did have cheese on them- they sat the table as the sun rose in the sky, casting warmth through the rooms as they logged back into their social media accounts.

“Where do you want to start?” Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged. “Let’s just start from the top and work our way down.

Shane nodded. “I have a group message with you from a Jenny Chambers?”

“Same.”

They shared a breath and then nodded, both selecting the message at the same time.

“Is that?” Shane peered down at his phone, eyebrows furrowed together.

Ilya laughed. “From the night of the draft.” He nodded. “After I beat you in stationary bike.”

“You didn’t beat me! How do you even-” Shane shook his head. “Not the point, Ilya. Did you… did you do that on purpose?"

“Do what?” Ilya played dumb, staring down at the picture.

“The hand thing. What did she call it? A…hand graze?”

Ilya looked up from his phone and gave Shane a smirk. “Maybe.”

Shane gave an exasperated little groan, which made Ilya smile.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to touch you, Shane.”

Shane’s face softened as he stared at Ilya. “Sweetheart…”

Ilya reached out and held Shane’s hand. Just because. Because he didn’t need an excuse now. “Want to look at the next one?”

Shane blinked and then nodded. He looked down at his phone. “I have one from Justin Fields?”

Ilya nodded and they opened the message.

“Oh my god,” Shane exclaimed. “That last line. Does that mean… Ilya do you think this film ad guy like saw us in the shower?”

Ilya couldn’t answer though. His throat was tight and he was too busy blinking rapidly so the picture would stop being blurry.

“Ilya?” Shane’s voice turned worried and Ilya looked up at him. “Oh Ilya.” Shane tossed his phone on the table and rushed over to him. Within a second, Shane was on his lap and was holding Ilya tightly against him. Shane’s finger found their way into Ilya’s hair, and he just held him there.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Shane leaned back and kissed Ilya’s temple. “What’s wrong baby?”

Ilya shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. It is good.” He shrugged. “We never got to have these.”

“These what?” Shane asked, drying Ilya’s cheek with his thumbs.

Ilya gave him a smile even though it was wobbly. “These pictures. These memories. We deleted everything. We couldn’t have any of these.” Ilya’s voice cracked but he pushed on. “Now we can, now we can have these and keep them.”

Shane’s own eyes filled with tears. “We can.” He nodded, determination in his eyes. “We can have and keep it all.”

Something between a breath and a sob came from somewhere deep within Ilya. He buried his head into Shane’s chest and let himself be rocked for a while. Eventually, Shane sat back against Ilya’s thighs.

“Okay.” Shane said in that no nonsense tone that made Ilya grin. “Why don’t we take a break?”

Ilya shook his head. “Shane, is okay. I am okay. These are good things.”

Shane nodded. “I know.” He ducked his head and kissed Ilya deeply. Ilya’s hands clutched as Shane’s sides. Shane pulled back and smiled. “That’s why I want to take a break. So, we don’t run out of good things too fast.”

“Okay. Okay. We take break,” Ilya agreed but used a hand on the back of Shane’s neck to bring him down closer to him again. “But I have idea for break.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane grinned. “What do you have in mind Rozanov?”

Ilya nipped at his lips. “I think you know Hollander.”

After a particularly long break, and a shower, they were back in the kitchen making a snack. Their break burned a lot of calories.

“My mom sent me something,” Shane said from where he was sitting on the counter.

“Sent you what?”

“An email. She forwarded it from some guy named James Clark.” Shane was quiet as he skimmed through the email. “Apparently, he’s a camera operator. You know, the ones on the ice who film during breaks in play.”

Ilya nodded. “They are very cool.”

“Very cool.” Shane agreed. "He attached a file, it looks big, like a video or a movie or something. He says, ‘I started this as a way of collecting ‘proof’ of my wild theory. I’ve never shared seventy-five percent of what’s on here. But you should have it.’” Shane looked up, “What does that mean?”

Ilya shrugged. “Who knows? But if Yuna sent it to you, it cannot be bad.”

“That’s true.” He hopped down from the counter. “You finish up and I’ll get my laptop hooked up to the TV in the living room. We’ll watch it in there.”

Turns out, the large file James Clark sent to Yuna was a highlight reel. Of sorts. It was shot after shot of Ilya and Shane. Sometimes they were clips of them separately, but most of reel was focused on the games they had played against each other. Unlike a normal highlight reel it didn’t show their skills, their passes, or their goals.

No, this was not a highlight reel of their hockey career.

This was a highlight reel of their relationship.

It was a highlight reel of their relationship before there was even a real relationship.

It started in 2011, but those clips were pretty generic. Close ups of their face-offs. Stills of them shoving one another into the board. Nothing that overtly screamed hey these two players are secretly fucking each other. Clearly, James Clark had been suspicious about something but hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

In 2012 he had stepped up his game, adding in audio clips he had to probably ask someone to give him so he could add them in. He made sure to catch every wink, smirk, and shove that wasn’t strictly necessary for the game of hockey.

By 2014 James had catalogued more than thirty minutes of flirting between Shane and Ilya. Because that’s what it was really. This, hockey, was how they learned to express their feelings before they learned to put them into words.

“We were terrible at hiding this.” Shane leaned forward, holding his head in his hand, his elbows falling to his knees.

Ilya laughed. “Horrible.” He reached out and grabbed Shane’s shoulder, forcing him to fall back next to him on the couch. Shane’s head rested against Ilya’s shoulder and Ilya felt something slide into place in his chest.

Fall of 2016 was pretty sparse and Ilya refused to think about why. He just held Shane a little closer.

When April 2017 flashed across the screen, Ilya’s heart fell to his stomach. He sat up, jostling Shane and reached out, pausing the video.

“Shane, maybe it is time for a break.” He looked around, desperate to find an excuse. “Anya needs a walk.”

Shane eyed him. “We walked her right before we sat down.” He looked over to the corner of the room where Anya was resting in her bed. “She’s sleeping.”

Okay, not his best work. “Then I get snacks. Drinks maybe.”

Shane gestured towards the still full plates and cups that were sitting in front of them on the coffee table. “I think we have the refreshments covered. Can we… can we keep watching?”

Ilya was out of excuses. It’s not like they had anything to do, which was the whole point of them being here. He nodded, sitting back on the couch. But this time his body was stiff as a board, his arms wrapped protectively around his middle. “I guess so, yes.”

“Okay…” Shane leaned forward and pressed play.

A couple of seconds later, Shane seemed to realize what game this was. “Oh,” he exhaled, not taking his eyes off the screen. “This is the game where I-”

“Yes.” Ilya cut him off, unable to hear about it right before he was going to have to watch it all over again.

Ilya felt Shane’s hands on him, pulling at his arms until they unwound from himself. He placed one hand on Ilya’s face and waited until he looked at him. “Ilya it was four years ago. I’m okay.”

Ilya nodded and placed a hand over Shane’s. “I know this now. I did not know that then. That Ilya,” he pointed to the screen where the video was paused again. He smiled as he saw the Shane and Ilya on the screen smiling at each other happily, not having a clue about what was about to happen. “That Ilya did not know. Not for a whole night.”

Shane shifted so he was on his knees and then on Ilya’s lap. He pressed his forehead to Ilya’s. “I’m sorry.”

Ilya sighed, his breath coming out shaky. “Is okay.” He pressed his lips to Shane’s. “You’re okay.”

“We’re okay.” Shane nodded and kissed him again.

When Ilya's head was situated on Shane’s lap, his hand in his hair, Shane pressed play. Turns out, James Clark did not add the footage of Shane being hit, or even much of Shane laying on the ice. Ilya silently thanked him for that.

What was shown on the screen…was Ilya.

Ilya had never given much thought to what others must have seen when they looked at him that day. He couldn’t think of anything other than Shane. The way Shane flew through the air. The way he landed on the ice. The way his body stayed unnaturally still. He had seen that once before.

But now he watched himself. The way his stick hung purposelessly in front of him. The way he stared in front of him without really seeing anything. The way he yelled at the crowd forming around Shane. The way he drifted across the ice as the ref pushed him away.

There was no other footage of Ilya during that game. And there shouldn’t be. Because even if his body was there, Ilya wasn’t.

Shane’s hand made its way through Ilya’s hair and he focused on that.

“How did they not know?” Shane whispered. “How did they see you like this and not know?”

Ilya didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. Because they should have known. Everyone should have been able to take one look at him and known that his heart was ripped out of his chest and was lying on the ice next to Shane.

The reel continued, showing clips of Ilya on the Centaurs, a few more of them playing against each other, and then slowly it faded to black.

Ilya didn’t move.

Neither did Shane.

“Maybe we take another break now?”

Shane wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah. We can take another break now.”

Shane was getting dinner started when Ilya jumped up on the counter next to him. “Shane. This is a good one. There was this girl. She saw us at All-Stars in 2011.”

Shane looked up from the pot he was stirring. “In Nashville? Like she was at the game?”

Ilya grinned and shook his head. “No. Watched interview before game. The press conference where that reporter asked me very long question and I got confused and you came swooping in like a knight in shining armor to defend me.”

“I don’t remember it quite like that but yes, I remember the press conference. What did this girl have to say about it?”

His grin grew wider. “She noticed the foot taps.”

“The foot taps?” Shane asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Ilya gave him a disapproving look. “Shanya. You remember the foot taps. They were like little secret messages.”

A blush colored Shane’s face and Ilya watched with downright joy as it made his freckles darken. “Okay I remember. But what does this have to do with the girl?”

“Apparently, our secret messages were not so secret. After she saw that she dug through everything she could find since our rookie year. No, since before our rookie year. She found practice footage of the prospect cup in 2008 and caught you in the stands watching me.”

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Just me?”

Ilya waved his hand through the air. “Not important. So, she found all this… evidence and complied it together.”

“Evidence?”

He nodded. “Yes, Shane. It is very good. Maybe she became a PI or something. We should figure out how to contact her. Those can be very helpful.”

Shane laughed and took the soup off the stove. “Why would we need to hire a private investigator Ilya?”

Ilya shrugged and grabbed the bowls from the cabinet along with two spoons. “You never know.”

As they ate dinner, they scoured over ThatHockeyGirl105’s Tumblr page. It was essentially a time capsule of their relationship. Even Shane had to applaud her attention to detail.

“It’s a little weird.” He said between bites. “But she did an amazing job.”

“Very perceptive.” Ilya nodded. “Very useful for a PI.”

They continued to scroll through her account until they reached the final update.

“Oh, she’s a therapist that specializes in athletes.” Shane noted, pointing at the screen.

“How disappointing. She missed her calling.”

Shane smacked Ilya on the shoulder. “Ilya. We host a camp for young athletes that benefits mental health services and education. I think that might be a bit more useful to us than a PI.”

Ilya begrudgingly nodded. “Fine. We will reach out and see if she wants to come be part of the camp.”

“I think she would be a very valuable member of the team.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Ilya sighed. “And maybe I talk to her about a potential side business.”

They were outside sitting next to the fire when they opened the next group message.

“You were so drunk that night and did not want to admit it,” Ilya laughed and looked up from his phone.

“Hunter made me do shots with the other rookies! Wait. Most of the other rookies. Someone went MIA halfway through the reception.” Shane laughed and shook his head. “I kept looking around for you. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to talk to you or anything, not in front of everyone, but I kept looking for you. I just wanted to see you. Be in the same room as you.”

Ilya gave a sad smile. “I was not good company that night. I was very… angry.”

“And I had no idea why.”

Ilya threw an arm around Shane’s shoulder and grabbed his neck so he could tilt his head towards him. “Not your fault Solnyshko(Sunshine). I could not tell you yet that home was not good for me.” Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head and breathed in the now familiar scent of his conditioner. This was his home now. Shane was his home now.

And it was good.

Very good.

They were silently sitting by the fire, deciding to take another break when Shane gasped and sat up from where he had been laying on Ilya. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Ilya looked around. “Is there something attacking us? Wolf bird?”

“What? No.” Shane shook his head. “I was just thinking. The next time I saw you, like really saw you after the award show, was when you came over to my apartment for the first time.”

“Wasn’t the only thing I did for the first time with you that night,” Ilya gave a devilish grin.

But Shane kept shaking his head. “Then I was thinking about the apartment and the building and all that.”

“That’s what you were thinking about?” Shane gave Ilya a pleading look. “Okay. I am sorry. What has you all worried?”

“Well then I started thinking about Brad.”

“Who is Brad? Why are you thinking about Brad when you should be thinking about the first time I fucked you? Hollander, who is this Brad?”

Shane didn’t take the bait, all too familiar with Ilya’s jealousy streak. “Brad was my tenant. The guy who rented the apartment next to me. When he moved out, I sent him a questionnaire-”

“You sent him a test?”

“A questionnaire,” he glared, “about things I could do to improve the apartment. His only suggestion was that I get the walls sound proofed. Specifically, the bedrooms.”

Instead of matching the horror that was displayed on Shane’s face, Ilya busted into a fit of laughter.

Shane slapped his shoulder. “This is not funny. He heard us.”

“Yes, Shane, he did. And yes, it is funny.” He sighed and wiped a stray tear from his face. “You never questioned why he made that suggestion?”

Shande shrugged. “I thought it had to do with his dog, I could hear her barking sometimes and figured he was just talking about that. He had this dog; her name was Poppy-”

Now Ilya’s face turned serious. “Was Poppy a golden retriever with a little white spot between her eyes that kind of looked like-”

“A poppy flower, yes.” Shane eyed Ilya. “How’d you know that?”

“I met her!”

Shane reeled back. “You met Brad?”

Ilya shrugged. “I met Poppy. Brad just happened to be there.”

When they checked their phones next, they realized they had some people who had reached out to them individually. Shane went first.

“Her name is Julia. She was a figure skater at the Olympics in 2014. In Sochi.”

Ilya nodded. “I am familiar.”

Shane rolled his eyes but continued. “We met towards the end of the games. We mostly just talked about meditation and how we both use guided imagery to help prepare before events.”

“You are so boring,” Ilya teased but his voice was fond, even to him.

“Fuck off.”

“Go on. Read your boring message.”

“That was another bad day,” Ilya sighed, thinking back to how he spoke to Shane that day.

Shane laughed even though it wasn’t funny. “I really need to learn how to read a room.” He sighed and grabbed Ilya’s hand. “Hey, it’s okay. We made it through that day. And all the others.”

Ilya lifted their joined hands and kissed the back of Shane’s. “I read mine now?”

“Why did you run off like that?” Shane asked, looking up from Ilya’s phone. “Chrissy handled it like a boss, but the entire crew was in a panic looking for you.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I did apologize to Chrissy, after you left. I did not mean to cause her, or anyone, stress.”

“So where did you go?”

Ilya huffed. “I went to the bathroom. The same one you ran to after we went on stage.”

“I didn’t run!” Shane yelled. Then, “Okay, maybe I walked quickly but that is not running. You’re the one who went missing!”

Ilya nodded and then tapped his temple. “My mind was not being nice to me. I was so nervous.”

“About what?”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand and tried to push down the embarrassment that threatened to silence him. “About seeing you again. I was worried that I had finally pushed you too far in Sochi. That you would be done with me. That you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. And you would tell me that right before we had to go on stage and put on that act.”

Shane squeezed back. “Ilya…”

“And things were not good with my father. You know that now. I finally had to admit that to myself when I was home for the Olympics. And I was days away from having to go home again. My brother was being… my brother. It was a lot.”

Shane leaned his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could go back and do things differently.”

“I do not,” Ilya shook his head.

“Really?” Shane sounded shocked “Why not?”

Ilya sighed. “Things were hard, yes. And I wish we didn’t have to go through everything that he did but everything we did go through led us here. And I wouldn’t risk this-us- for anything.”

Shane buried his head in Ilya’s shoulder. “God, Ilya. I love you so much.”

Ilya smiled and looked up at the sky, at the thousands of stars above them. “I love you too, Shane.”

They were back in the cottage and under a thick blanket warming up when they opened the next message. It had been sent to both of them.

“They cannot be trusted!” Ilay announced, setting his phone down.

“What? Why not? They knew about us for like eight years and didn’t tell anyone, publicly at least. I think that makes them kind of trustworthy.”

“Did you not read that last line Hollander?”

Shane glanced back down at his own phone, clearly rereading the message. When he got to the end he rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“They’re loyal to a dinosaur Shane! I cannot trust them.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Shane threw off the blanket and walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, I am dramatic now for not trusting people who claim they are more loyal to fossils than us?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, I know him!” Shane exclaimed as they opened the next message.

Ilya looked up from his phone. “You know this Levi guy?”

“Well, no, but he posts a lot on the forums. He knows like everything there is to know about the league. He might even know the stats better than me.”

“No. That is impossible. No one know more about boring hockey stats than my boring fiancé.”

Shane smiled at Ilya’s use of the word fiancé but shrugged. “He might.”

“I like his style,” Ilya laughed warmly at the short message.

“Hey at least he’s honest.” Shane looked at his phone. “Do you think this next one is from his wife?

“I think that is a good bet,” Ilya laughed.

“There’s definitely a story there,” Shane muttered and stared down at his phone like he was dying to know. “Would it be weird if I messaged Levi back and asked him about it?”

“I think you and Levi would get along. Maybe it will be good for you to have a boring friend to talk boring stats to.”

Shane looked up and glared at him. “You don’t find my stats so boring when they help you chirp, do you?”

Ilya kissed him on the cheek. “Boring can be helpful sometimes.”

“Uh huh,” Shane pretended to shove him away but followed him down onto the couch so he was practically laying on top of him. “I’m messaging Levi back.”

Ilya shifted so Shane’s head was resting on his bicep. “You do that.”

As Shane was crafting a message to Levi, Ilya’s phone chimed with a new text.

“What’re you smiling about?” Shane’s voice dragged Ilya’s attention awake from his phone.

“Charlie.” He smiled and locked his phone. “The best Uber driver in Boston.”

Shane locked his phone as well. “Oh. I had an Uber driver in Boston once.”

Ilay shifted so he was on his side, face to face with Shane. “Tell me about this Uber driver named Charlie.”

Shane’s eyes flickered away from Ilya’s face down towards his hands. When he looked up, Ilya saw regret in his eyes. Ilya kissed him until that disappeared. Shane’s fingers traced his mother’s cross that had slipped out from underneath Ilya’s collar. Ilya noticed Shane did that whenever they talked about something that was hard for him.

Shane’s eyes stayed somewhere on Ilya’s chin. “It was when I came over to your place in Boston for the first time. I actually got the same driver on the way there and on the way back. I’m not sure I realized that though until later, when I was looking at the app. I wasn’t paying much attention on the drive back to the hotel.”

He chuckled a little bit, quietly, and with a far-off look in his eye. “I was so nervous on the drive there, about him recognizing me, about him knowing where I was getting dropped off at.” He shook his head. “Yes, I know, the chances of him knowing that it was your house I was going to was probably 0.00%.”

Well, not exactly zero, Ilya thought to himself but it didn’t seem like the time to intruprt Shane and tell him that his anxieties were in fact founded. Later. He’d tell him later.

“I was so nervous that I wore a hat and sunglasses like a spy in a really bad movie.”

Now it was Ilya’s turn to laugh. “I did not know that.”

“I hid them on the walk up the driveway in my jacket pockets.” He scrunched his eyes closed. “Oh, I also had Charlie drop me off at the bottom of the driveway and I walked up, just in case he could see inside the house.”

“Oh Shane,” Ilya shook his head, still laughing slightly.

“I know,” he groaned and tucked his head into Ilya’s shoulder, hiding his face. “I was just so scared.”

“I know,” Ilya soothed and used the hand that Shane wasn’t laying on to run calming strokes up and down his back, “I know.”

Shane was silent for a moment before taking a deep breath. “And then the ride back was… different. I was scared for a whole different reason.”

Ilya made sure to keep the pace of his hand steady against Shane’s back. He stayed quiet as Shane found his words.

“I was scared because it was all different. Me staying, us sharing a meal, hanging out, watching a game, being close enough long enough to overhear conversations we were supposed to.” Shane sighed. “It was all different than our normal thing we had but the really scary part was…”

Shane drifted off and Ilya knew he needed reassurance to move on. “Was what?”

“That I liked it. That I really liked it. But the idea of liking something so much and not being able to have it was…scary. So, I pushed those thoughts away and figured that it was just going to be a one time thing. But then…”

Ah, yes. But then.

“I still don’t know why, after everything we had already done, that you saying my name like that sent me over the edge. I mean, I said yours too. I just remember thinking, ‘there’s no coming back from this now. We are no longer Rozanov and Hollander who occasionally mess around when we’re in the same city. We are Shane and Ilya.” Shane paused again, his fingers pressing the cross firmly to Ilya’s skin. “And that was impossible. We couldn’t be that. But I also didn’t know if I wanted to be just Rozanov and Hollander again. It was too many big changes at once.”

Shane’s voice was quiet. “That’s why I left. I didn’t know how to handle all the changes and so I didn’t; I just left.”

Ilya could tell he was near the end but there was just one more thing Shane needed to get off his chest. With a wobbly voice he said, “I know I’ve said it before- but I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to, not really, I just didn’t know how to stay.”

Ilya used his hand on Shane’s back to pull him closer, their bodies touching head to toe. He shushed Shane, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “It is okay. You know how to now.”

When Shane’s breathing leveled back out, Ilya spoke. “I thought that was going to be the end of us. I thought ‘that’s it. I pushed him too far and now he’s gone’. I was angry with myself that I couldn’t just be happy with what we had and then I had nothing.” Ilya paused, his turn to take a deep breath. When he felt Shane complete the familiar pattern of his mother’s cross he continued. “I thought you would marry her.”

Shane’s head bumped against Ilya’s chin as he reeled his head back. “Rose?”

Ilya nodded. “I thought ‘This will make his life easier. He will not have to hide with her.”

“Baby…” Shane whispered, his eyes flickering around like he was searching Ilya’s face.

Ilya shook his head. “It does not matter now. You and her are not compatible and we…” he dipped his head down to mouth at Shane’s neck. “Are very compatible, yes?”

Shane laughed and pulled at Ilya’s face so he could look at him. “How does this relate back to a Uber driver texting you?”

“Oh.” Ilya kissed Shane’s cheek and then his nose, then his other cheek, just because he could. “He knew.”

Shane’s eyes widened and he reeled back, scanning Ilya’s face once again. “He knew?!”

“Da.” Ilya nodded and leaned back a little. “Your Charlie from 2016 was also my Charlie from 2015 who drove me and my teammates home after a night out.”

“So when he pulled up to your house…” Shane trailed off, eyes still widening.

“He knew it was my house, yes.” Ilya traced Shane’s freckles. “I might have told him a little about Jane and when he saw you absolutely devastated when he picked you up,” Ilya shrugged, a smug grin in place, “he knew you were in love with me.”

Shane made a noise of astonishment, trying to shove Ilya away. “You asshole!”

“Yes, yes, yes, I am big bad Russian Menace,” he drawled, making his accent a little thicker. He dipped his head back into the crook of Shane’s neck. “Now let me be the asshole that tucks you into bed. It is time for sleep.”

Ilya could feel Shane’ chest moving as he breathed in Ilya’s scent from his hair. Then he felt him nod. “Okay.”

Ilya rolled over, moving over Shane until he practically fell off the couch. When Shane sat up, he crouched down until he had his arms around his waist. Standing up quickly, not giving Shane any choice in the matter, he lifted Shane off the couch, waiting until he felt Shane’s legs around his hips.

“I hate it when you do this,” Shane grumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Ilya smiled as he mouthed at Shane’s collarbone.

They would sleep. Eventually.

Chapter End Notes

Getting to write them, after writing ABOUT them, feels like a reward

Chapter 23: Secret's Out: Part Two

Chapter Summary

Continuation of Secrets Out: Part One

Chapter Notes

They're so soft for each other here and I love it

Date: March 2021

Location: The Cottage

The next morning, Shane woke up slowly, his eyes blinking open heavily like they only did after a night of deep sleep. The sun was already high in the sky, filling the room with warm light. It was snowing, and Shane watched as the flurries made their way from the sky before joining the thick bed of snow that covered the ground. The lake was frozen over, covered with snow as well. Maybe they could go skating today. Just for fun.

Something tickled his chin and he looked down to see Ilya sprawled out on top of him. If it wasn’t for the weeks they spent apart, Shane would have donated his weighted blanket by now. There was no match to the comfort Ilya brought him simply by laying on top of him.

He watched Ilya sleep, the sun making his golden curls halo around his face. God, he’s so beautiful, Shane thought as he stared at his face. A pang of regret coursed through him, his brain replaying all of the times he unknowingly had made Ilya feel like Shane wasn’t choosing him.

Shane shoved those thoughts away before they could make a home inside his head. They were better now. Still working through some things and obviously they were going to eventually have to leave the cottage and face the real world- but not today.

Today was their last full day alone at the cottage. They would go to Shane’s parents tomorrow night for dinner and then pack up and head back to Ottawa the next morning. The thought of not sharing the same space as Ilya made Shane’s bones fill with dread. He thought he’d be used to this by now, the separation, but if anything, it was getting worse every time he had to leave him.

Determined not to let future problems ruin his day, Shane weaved his fingers gently through the tiny curls of sunlight that sat on top of Ilya’s head and reminded himself of one very important thing.

I chose him.

I chose him.

I choose him.

Ilya’s eyes flickered open a bit and then his face scrunched. “Moya malen'kaya podushka, (My little pillow,)” he groaned, his voice gravely with sleep and his accent thicker, “why are you always awake? It is too early.”

Shane laughed, looking at the clock on his bedside table. “Ilya, it is almost nine o’clock. It is not-” He paused, his brain finally processing Ilya’s Russian. “Wait. Did you just call me your little pillow?”

Shane could feel Ilya’s grin against his bare chest. “Your Russian is getting so good.”

He pushed air through his lips. “I need to practice more. I feel like I can’t get my tongue to move the way it’s supposed to.”

Ilya lifted his head, shooting Shane a devilish smile as he shifted so his entire body was on top of Shane. “Maybe we find other ways for your tongue to move, yes?”

Shane’s laugh turned into something more like a whine as Ilya’s mouth pressed against his chest, and then his neck, and then the space right below his ear, whispering the first words Shane learned in Russian: “Ya. Tebya. Lyublyu. (I. Love. You.)”

Much later, they finally made it out of bed and downstairs. Ilya was walking Anya as Shane whipped up some breakfast. As he chopped the fruit, Shane attempted to tune out the incessant thoughts that had started to creep in the second Ilya walked out the door.

What was his team thinking?

How were they going to react when he came back?

How is he going to handle the rest of the season?

What has the public been saying since he’s gone offline?

What kind of fires has Farah been putting out without him even knowing about it?

No doubt she had been working with his mom. His mom- he needed to talk to her. He was supposed to meet with…

Shane sat the knife down on the cutting board and placed his palms flat on the counter as his head started to spin. He bent at his hips, so his head was between his arms and focused on taking a deep breath. With those deep breaths he tried to remind his brain that all of the things he was currently worrying about were things he could figure out. Those were problems he could solve if- when- he needed to. Right now, he focused on what was important.

Because even if everything was messed up right now, he had Ilya, he was sure about that. And if he had learned anything in the past couple of years, it was that he knew that was all he really needed.

“Moya Lyubov (My Love)!” Ilya shouted as he came through the door, making Shane smile as he stood back up. His thoughts were already starting to quiet back down into a dull hum. “Tragic news.”

“Oh yeah?” Shane asked, picking the knife back up, certain that there was no actual tragic news.

“Da,” Ilya’ voice sounded remorseful as he walked into the kitchen.

Shane’s chest warmed as he took in Ilya’s red nose and cheeks. There were still a few clumps of snow in his hair that hadn’t yet melted. Shane had told Ilya to wear a hat, but that had just bought him a five-minute lecture about how Canadian winters were no match to Russian winters.

“What tragedy managed to strike on your… twenty-minute walk?”

“Do not scold us that walk was not long enough. Anya got cold.” Shane rolled his eyes, knowing that Anya was perfectly fine with her thick fur, insulated vest, and protective booties that Ilya puts on her every time she has to step out of the house. Even if it is for just thirty seconds. “Besides, the tragedy is yours, not ours.”

Shane dumped the fruit into the blender. “Oh? This is my tragedy?”

Ilya nodded solemnly. “You missed important milestone. Shanya I am so sorry.”

“Ilya, I’m pretty sure that you’ve met all your important milestones,” Shane said cheekily and started the blender.

Ilya was not amused. “Very funny Hollander. No. You missed important milestone for our child.”

Our real children are going to one day talk to their therapist about their complex feelings about one of their fathers seriously considering their dog to be their sibling, Shane laughed to himself before he really realized what he had just thought.

They hadn’t really talked about kids yet. Shane loved watching Ilya with kids. He remembered the first time he saw him play with all those kids in the pool at All-Stars weekend in Tampa. Yes, he was originally staring because Ilya was all wet and glistening and everything, but then he saw the way he interacted with those kids, and he couldn’t help but imagine how he would play with his own kids one day. The thought had honestly been a painful one, because Shane never thought that it would be with him but maybe now…

“Shane are you listening?” Ilya’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Shane cleared his throat and turned off the blender. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the blender.”

By the look on his face, Ilya didn’t buy the weak lie but chose not to push it, deciding it more important to carry on. “As I was saying. Anya enjoyed jumping around in the snow piles so much. She would run and jump, falling completely in the snow, she would be totally covered. Gave her Papa a heart attack the first time, I thought I had lost her, but then she wiggled her way out and did it all over again.”

Shane poured the smoothie into two glasses. “So, what I am hearing is that she got covered in snow which got her wet and will probably now need a bath before she starts smelling like wet dog.”

Ilya made an offended noise. “Shane, I am no negligent parent. Her vest is waterproof and insulated. I assure you, she stayed dry.”

Shane covered his laugh by raising his glass to his mouth and taking a drink. “My apologies. I know you would never let her get cold and wet. Was that… was that the milestone? Her first snow pile?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. “Hollander. She has lived in Canada her whole life, she has jumped into snow before.”

“Okay…”

“But she was so happy from the snow jumping that she got the zoomies and was sprinting around everywhere, all over the place. So fast. So fast she didn’t even realize how close we were to that bird pond thing.”

“Duck pond,” Shane supplied.

“Yes,” Ilya nodded and took a sip of his smoothie. “That is it. The pond for ducks. She didn’t even realize that she had ran right onto it! Oh Shane, at first, she was slipping and sliding everywhere, all four of her little legs going in every direction. I thought I was going to have to go out and rescue her.” His face softened as he spoke making Shane feel a little guilty about teasing him. Only a little. “But then she got her balance and figured out how to push off with her little paws! She was skating! Oh Shanya, I am so sorry, but you missed her first skate.”

Shane’s heart hurt, not because he missed Anya’s first skate- somehow, he would find the strength to cope with that- but because he was lucky enough to witness the love this man was capable of. Shane was pretty sure it was endless.

He gave Ilya a smile, attempting to erase the disappointed look off his face. “It’s okay baby. I was thinking early that maybe we could go skating on the lake later. Maybe we can take her with us.”

Ilya’s face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I think she would enjoy that.”

“Good.” Shane pecked Ilya’s lips. “Now drink your smoothie.”

“Okay, okay.” He pulled out his phone. “I took lots of photos and videos for you. Do you want to see?”

Shane nodded, his love for this man somehow growing. “I really do.”

After getting a play by play in both photos and videos of Anya’s first skate, Shane could safely say that he felt as if he had been there. Once the showing was complete, they moved on to other topics of conversation.

“Your mom sent us both a link to a video,” Ilya said as he loading the glasses and the blender into the dishwasher.

Shane nodded from the sink where he was handwashing the cutting board. “Yeah, I saw that. You want to watch it?”

He handed Shane a towel. “I will grab my phone.”

They pulled two of the barstools close together so they could both see Ilya’s screen. When Ilya clicked the link, the screen filled with a familiar looking face.

“Oh, I recognize him.” Shane nodded. “He’s a commentator.”

“Oh no,” Ilya groaned.

“No, no.” Shane assured him. “He’s actually pretty great. He was a player himself until he had to retire from an injury. He isn’t a pretentious asshole like some of the others.”

“Ah. Okay then.” Ilya’s shoulders relaxed and he pressed play.

Zachary Maxwell was sitting behind a tall desk, him on one side, another commentator sitting on the other.

The clip appeared to be at the end of their segment; Zach was wrapping up his analysis of the Admirals most recent game. Shane had always liked listening to his reports. He focused more on the hockey being played than the player’s personal lives, which he respected. He was critical but fair. Respectful. He was also the only sports commentator that never brought up the rivalry between Shane and Ilya.

“We gotta talk about it, Maxwell.” The other commentator spoke. Shane didn’t recognize him.

Zach leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do we though?”

“Oh, come on, two of the biggest MHL players have been secretly… dating for who knows how long and you have nothing to say about that?”

Shane’s spine stiffened and his skin grew cold. “Why would my mom send us this?”

He breathed a little easier when he felt Ilya’s hand on his knee. “I trust your mom, she would not send this to us if it was bad.”

Shane exhaled and nodded. Ilya was right.

“Well Rick,” Zach said slowly, “I just don’t think it has anything to do with hockey. So no, I don’t really have much to say about it.”

Rick laughed. “Two hockey players dating each other has nothing to do with hockey?”

Zach shook his head. “Not really. Yes, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov both play hockey. That is their job that they are paid to do. Just like we have jobs that we are paid to do. But they are more than just their jobs. More than just athletes playing a game. They are people. With lives outside of their work. Is it really our business to comment on how they conduct those lives as long as they are not harming anyone?”

“You don’t think that them being in a relationship is going to influence the way they play? You’re not worried about this is going to affect the game?”

Zach laughed without a trace of humor in the sound and shook his head. “Ah Rick, I really tried to let you out of this one but here we go.” He sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on the table and locked onto Rick.

“Just a general PSA for you and anyone else who is asking how this news is going to impact their play- first of all, that question is not only insulting but it’s boring, simplistic, narrowminded, and quite frankly- meaningless. It seems you have forgotten who exactly you are talking about here. But don’t worry Rick- I will bear the burden of reminding you who the hell we are talking about, even if it is just so they don’t have to. Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov entered the MHL in 2008, thirteen years ago, and since then…” Zach went off to cite every stat, highlight, and award Shane and Ilya had accomplished throughout their career.

“You should invite him to join your boring stat club,” Ilya huffed.

“This isn’t scripted,” Shane whispered, amazed at this man’s recall. “He had all this memorized.”

“There are no nerds quite hockey nerds, huh Shane?” Ilya turned, a grin spreading across his face.

“Shut up,” he shoved Ilya away from him but couldn’t help the smile that was growing on his face.

Back on the screen, Zach continued to rattle off their stats until he reached their current season.

“That’s the history of the players we’re talking about here Rick, their skills, abilities and contributions to then league. If you want to talk skill, stats, and game play, I’ll sit here with you all day long. But it isn’t, is it?” Zach shook his head like he was already growing tired of this conversation. “We can’t say, and shouldn’t speculate about, just how long this relationship has existed. But I think it is fair enough to say that we have never watched a version of Rozanov or Hollander play where they hadn’t cared deeply about one another.”

Zach gathered up the papers from the desk, stacking them in a pile. “So no, I am not worried that us knowing about their relationship is going to negatively impact their game. In fact,” he shifted so he was looking back at the camera, “if I was still playing, I’d be terrified.”

Rick took the bait. “Why do you think the players should be concerned?”

Zach laughed, and this time there was humor in it. “They’ve been taking the league by storm while hiding this massive secret. Now that they don’t have anything holding them back?” He shook his head. “They’re going to be unstoppable.”

Zach gathered his things and stood from the desk. “And Rick, if this was a surprise to you, I’d rethink your career path. Obviously, you haven’t been paying attention.”

With that, he walked off, leaving a very flustered and red face Rick behind to close out the show.

“Wow,” Ilya whispered, staring at the screen that was now black.

“That last line,” Shane shook his head trying to recall exactly what he said. “You don’t think he meant…”

“That he knew? About us?” Ilya shook his head doubtfully. “I think he was just trying to embarrass Dick.”

Shane smiled at the name swap. “I don’t know Ilya; Zach wasn't just a player before he was a commentator. He was a goalie.”

Ilya’s face turned serious. “Goalies see things.”

Shane nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

Later, they were both on the couch. Shane on one side, Ilya on the other. Their feet, and Anya, in the middle. Shane was reading a book, and Ilya was, presumably, scrolling on his phone. Ilya had also connected his phone to the speakers in the cottage, so soft music played in the background.

Ilya’s phone chimed with a new message and then Siri’s voice cut through the music. “New message from Olivia”. There was a brief pause where Shane ran a complete list of every Olivia he had ever met before Siri continued. “Hey! Saw the news, let me know if you want to chat.”

Music filled the silent room again, though suddenly, it was not very relaxing.

Shane closed the book and laid it down on his lap. “Who is Olivia?” He kept his voice calm and controlled, hopefully without revealing too much… interest.

“A friend,” Ilya said simply, not looking up from his phone.

Shane took a breath. “I know all your friends.”

Ilya shrugged. “Apparently not. You do not know Olivia.”

Shane ran through the list of people Ilya called friends. Then he added in wife, girlfriends, partners and even sisters, of the people Ilya called friends. None of them were named Olivia.

“How long have you known Oliva?” Maybe this was someone from his childhood. Through Ilya only ever talked about Svetlana.

“Long time,” Ilya nodded and Shane breathed a little easier. Okay, this made sense. “Four years probably.”

Shane’s finger drummed across the cover of his book, and he tried to focus on the sound it made.

Four years was not a long time.

“Does she live here in Ottawa?” Maybe she was a neighbor. Maybe she was a sweet old lady who baked bread and pinched Ilya on the cheek when he brought her mail up to her house.

Maybe Ilya could give more than two- or three-word answers before Shane lost his mind.

He got more words but no clearer answers “No. We met in Montreal. At club.”

Shane sat up a little bit more. Their feet no longer touching. Anya, smart girl that she is, jumped off the couch and walked over to her bed. She plopped down, chin perched on the side, watching the show go down.

“So, Oliva is a friend that you met in a club… four years ago.”

See, four years ago was a tricky time stamp. 2017 is when they really committed to their relationship. Officially. But not until about halfway through, in July. So, depending on what half of the year Ilya was talking about, his relationship with Oliva could mean very different things.

“Your memory recall is excellent.” Ilya grinned like he was completely unaware of what was happening. “You remember her, don’t you?”

Shane was trying very hard not to lose control. “Why would I remember her?”

“Well, you met her.” Ilya paused like he was rethinking his words. “Not met exactly, but you definitely saw her.”

“I’m drawing a blank,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You remember…that club you went to after that dreadful game against Boston in April. Rose made you come out after. Right before All-Stars in Tampa.”

Oh, Shane remembered.

He remembered the game. He remembered feeling like he had led in his skates and a head full of cotton balls. He had spent just as much of the game not looking at Ilya as staring at him begging him to look back. They had managed to win that game, but Shane wasn’t sure how. He remembered Rose texting him, begging him to come join her and the cast after the game. He remembered absolutely not wanting to go but figured it was what a ‘good boyfriend’ would do so he went.

He remembered the moment he realized Ilya was probably in that club. He had seen Marlow and Connors talking to a group of girls on the other side of the dance floor. He was already feeling overwhelmed with Rose in front of him and Miles behind him. Knowing that Ilya was somewhere in the building but not knowing where he was…he couldn’t take it. He kept scanning the crowd over and over again until he found him.

He remembered the second his eyes landed on him. He remembered how his stomach dropped to his feet. How the thrill of excitement turned sour so fast it made his head spin. He remembered how his throat closed up and it felt like he couldn’t get a single breath in.

And he remembered the girl.

He remembered how she ran her hands up Ilya’s arms. He remembered how her fingers curled in his hair. He remembered how she tipped her head back onto his shoulder as Ilya kissed her neck.

He remembered.

Shane pulled at his eyelashes. “I remember. So, her name was Olivia. And you kept her number. And you two…chat.”

Ilya smirked. His phone was down on the table, and he was also sitting up a little straighter, his arm propped up against the back of the couch and his head resting against his palm. With a nod he said, “Yes, she was very supportive of us back then.

Shane lost it. Any semblance of control and maturity was gone. He was up off the couch, staring down Ilya. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT THE GIRL WHOSE EAR YOU HAD YOUR TONGUE INSIDE OF WAS SUPPORTIVE?!”

After Shane had thoroughly calmed down…thanks to Ilya bending him over the arm of the couch and attempting to fuck the jealous out of him…Ilya’s phone went off again.

“New message from Henri Mäckinen,” the cheery voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard to Shane.

“I swear to god Ilya…” Shane muttered with his eyes closed.

“Relax, your phone went off too.” Ilya laughed and reached out for Shane’s phone, tossing it towards him. “Moy zloy malen'kiy kotonok. (My angry little kitten.”)

It landed on his belly and Shane looked down at it. He was wholly uninterested in moving a single muscle, but his phone was indeed lit up with the name ‘Henri Mäckinen’ across the top of a new text message.

It took Shane a minute to place the name, his brain still a little sex drunk, but he got there. Henri Mäckinen. Left wing. North Carolina. Young but decent player. They met in 2017 when they played on the same team for All-Stars.

Shane opened the message lazily.

Underneath the photo of Shane and Ilya on the beach was another photo of a couple. On a beach. During sunset. But it clearly showed the two men’s faces. One man was Henri and the other Shane didn’t know but he was pressing a kiss to Henri’s smiling cheek.

“So, the league is like super gay.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “I think it’s just regular gay, Ilya.”

Once they had texted Henri back, Shane clicked on a message he had received individually.

Shane did remember her actually. Those restaurants were amazing. She had excellent taste. He had gone back to a few of them over the years.

Oh god, Shane could see where this was going.

Shane looked up. Ilya was still reading from his screen. There had been a lot of days where Shane had wanted to solve Ilya’s problems. Problems that could not be solved. Shane couldn’t bring back his mother so she could love him longer. Or his father so he could love him better. He couldn’t repair the relationship between Ilya and his brother. He couldn’t fight the demons in Ilya’s head that weighed his body down and filled his mind with lies.

He couldn’t fix any of that and some days that left him feeling pretty useless. He looked back down at Riley’s words.

But he could listen. He could be there for him. And stay. He could hold him. And protect him as much as he could. He could listen.

“I uh… I think someone overheard us the night you called me from Russia. After your father’s funeral.” Shane said and held out his phone so Ilya could read it.

“Make that two,” Ilya swiped at his face, drying off some the tears that escaped.

“Really?”

Ilya nodded and leaned forward so they could exchange phones. It was in Russian, but when Shane clicked the auto translate option, it worked well enough.

Shane felt the tears streaming down his face before he even realized he was crying. They had never spoken much about that phone call. Shane had never asked what Ilya had said. It wasn’t for him, Shane knew that. It was for Ilya. He would never have asked Ilya to repeat the words he had spoken on the night he buried his father.

But now he knew. Most of it anyways. And that was enough.

Without saying a word Shane sat Ilya’s phone on the arm of the couch and crawled onto Ilya’s lap. The second he was seated Ilya’s arms wrapped around his middle, pinning Shane to him as if Shane wanted to be anywhere else right then. One of Shane’s arms went over his shoulder, his hand fisting the back of Ilya’s shirt. The other hand was wrapped tightly in Ilya’s curls, bringing Ilya’s forehead to Shane’s neck.

They stayed like that for a while. For a long time. Though Shane couldn’t tell you how long exactly.

Long enough.

Long enough for Ilya to cry. Long enough for Shane to stop crying. Long enough for them to fall completely apart… and then back together.

When Ilya leaned back, he didn’t bother to dry his face, instead he reached up with one hand and cupped Shane’s cheek. Shane instinctually leaned into him, closing his eyes as Ilya’s thumb traced the patterns of Shane’s freckles. “I love you,” Shane rasped, his voice wet and raw.

Then Ilya confessed something Shane had long suspected. “I said it for the first time that night. I said it in Russian so you would not understand. But I needed to say it. Out loud. Even if no one was there to hear it.” They both chuckled a little about the fact that apparently someone did hear it. “I could not go one more minute with it being stuck in here,” he tapped his finger against his temple, “and here,” he weaved a hand between their bodies to tap his chest, “without it being said into the universe. Honestly, I… I never thought I would be able to tell you and you know what it meant. I thought I would be the only one to ever know.”

“Say it again now,” Shane asked, more like pleaded, as if Ilya hadn’t said it a hundred times over by this point. “Say it, and I’ll know what it means.”

Tears fell down Ilya’s face and Shane moved to wipe them away.

Ilya took a deep fortifying breath like he was reigning in his nerves. Like he was actually saying it for the first time.

“Ya tebya lyublyu.” (I love you. ”)

“What’s your next one?” Shane asked as he flipped the sandwiches over on the griddle. Grilled cheese was definitely against his performance diet but when Ilya, all teary eyed and red nosed, asked for grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch, it wasn’t like Shane was about to tell the man no. Besides, it’s not like he was playing in tonight’s game anyways.

Ilya picked up his phone, his thumbs moving across the screen. “It is from a Liam Beaulieu.” Ilya paused, eyes flickering. “It looks like he’s a ref.”

Shane looked up. “With the MHL?”

Ilya gave him a tired look. “No with the NFL. Yes Shane, with the MHL.”

Shane pointed the spatula at him. “I will burn you grilled cheese.”

Ilya’s bottom lip popped out in a pout. “But that would be cruel.”

Shane just rose his eyebrows. “Then you better behave.”

“Okay Solnyshko, (Sunshine,) I will behave and read you message from MHL referee while you make me yummy grilled cheese.”

“Good boy,” he said with smirk and watched Ilya’s eyes glaze over.

A second later he blinked and then glared. “You may not burn sandwich, but you are still cruel.” With a few more things muttered under his breath he cleared his throat and read the message.

The sandwiches were plated and the soup was poured into bowls by the time Ilya finished reading the message. Shane placed a plate and bowl in front of Ilya, along with a Coke, and Shane placed a similar set up for himself, with a ginger ale instead.

Shane never really considered much about his concussion a blessing, but now, looking at Ilya’s face, he was thankful he didn’t remember much about the hit.

“Ilya, you should try to eat,” he said gently and pushed the plate closer to him.

He stared at the plate like it wasn’t even there. Shane reached for the phone but stopped when Ilya spoke. “It reminded me of my mama.”

Shane didn’t rush in to fill the silence Ilya’s pause created. He didn’t rush to comfort him either. He just sat there. And listened.

“You on the ice. The way your body folded over itself. It was like how I found her.” Ilya dug the heels of his hands into his eyes like he was trying to clear both the images from his brain. “And I was standing there thinking ‘It’s happening again. I am losing someone I love, and I can do nothing to stop it.’ This time though, I was worried I was losing you and didn’t even know it.”

Ilya flipped the phone over in his hand, again and again. “Then I stayed awake all night. Thinking, ‘If I do lose him, no will know. I’ll have to lose him alone.”

Shane knew how that felt. That’s exactly how he felt when he learned about the near accident with the plane. But Shane knew that Ilya was okay right away. He didn’t have to wait.

“I’m going to change my emergency contact,” Shane said reaching out for Ilya who instantly grabbed onto his hand. “When we get back. I’m going to list you as my emergency contact. Hopefully nothing ever happens but when it does, you’ll be they call. No more waiting. No more wondering.”

He was also going to keep his mom on there as well, he wasn’t insane, but Ilya deserved to be listed too.

Ilya sniffled. “Hollander are you trying to make boring paperwork romantic?”

Shane scoffed. “Trying? I’m fucking succeeding.” They both laughed and grabbed their sandwiches. Shane was about to take a bite when something occurred to him. “Wait. Who is your emergency contact?”

Ilya swallowed. “When I was in Boston it was Marlow. Then when I moved to Ottawa, I just put coach because there was no one else.” He shrugged like that wasn’t a big deal. “Now it is Barrett.”

“Troy?!” Shane exclaimed, halfway choking on bread and melted cheese. “Troy Barrett is your emergency contact?”

Ilya nodded. “He is good friend now. He would show up.”

“You should have at least picked Wyatt, you know, because Cassie is a doctor,” Shane mumbled and took a sip of ginger ale.

“Shane, are you jealous that Barrett is my emergency contact?”

Shane avoided Ilya’s eyes and instead focused on tearing apart a piece of bread. “No. That would be crazy.”

“Yes, it would be. But that doesn't change the fact that it is true.” Ilya laughed and even if he was annoyed, it was still Shane’s favorite sound. “I will also change boring form when we get back.”

“Really?”

Ilya wiped his hands on a napkin and nodded. “Really. You will be the person they call every time I get a paper cut.”

“They won’t call me for a paper cut, Ilya.”

“A bruise? I get lots of bruises, Shane. You must know about all of them.”

“I’m regretting this already,” Shane shook his head and dunked a chunk of bread into the tomato soup. He expected a chirp back from Ilya but instead there was just silence. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Ilya running his thumb over the edge of the napkin. “What’re you thinking about?"

Ilya looked up and Shane was surprised to find him nervous. “Do you think… do you think Yuna would care if I wrote her down too?”

Shane’s heart melted a little bit. “No baby,” he leaned forward and kissed Ilya’s temple. “Though she might be mad when she finds out that she isn’t your emergency contact already so have fun with that conversation.”

Ilya’s nervousness morphed into fear. “Maybe I will not tell her. I will just fix it and not say anything.”

Shane grinned. “Good idea.”

As they were cleaning up lunch, Shane’s phone buzzed. He pointed at it. “See how it’s not reading my texts out loud? See how it’s not causing problems?”

Ilya closed the dishwasher. He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “See how we are not having sex right now due to phone causing problems?”

Shane shook his head and picked up the phone. “Oh, that’s odd.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a text from Auggie.”

Ilya raised his eyebrows and backed Shane up against the counter. “Oh, maybe we will be having hot jealousy sex again soon. Who is this Auggie?”

Shane pressed a hand against Ilya’s chest. “Down boy.” Ilya didn’t step back but also didn’t push him further into the counter. “Auggie was the paramedic who took me to the hospital after the hit. I got his number to thank him and then we worked together for a bit when I helped out with a few fundraisers for the EMS and fire departments.”

Ilya pinched his cheek. “My little philanthropist.”

Shane swatted his hand away. “Fuck off. Auggie’s a good guy and good at his job. I wanted to thank that.”

Ilya kissed his forehead. “That is very sweet of you Shanya. What does Auggie say now?”

“That’s what weird. He’s calling me the best liar in the world?”

“Shane you are horrible liar.” Ilya peered down at the phone. “What does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” he said softly as he typed out a message.

“Oh god,” Shane muttered and pushed Ilya, who at some point had placed his hands on his shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the muscles in Shane’s shoulders, away. “Oh god. Oh god.”

“Shane what is it?” Ilya stepped back as Shane pushed off the counter. He began to pace around the kitchen. “What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” Shane shook his head and slammed his thumbs against the screen. “Just hold on, okay?”

“Okay,” Ilya nodded but looked unsure.

“Oh god. The morphine.” Shane dropped his phone and held his head in his hands.

Ilya chuckled and then sighed. “Ah yes. You were very cute when you were high.”

“Not the time Ilya,” Shane groaned, his voice muffled by his hands. Again, his memories of those days were fuzzy at best, but his parents told him all about his drugged-up state, milkshake demands and all. According to his parent’s reenactments, Ilya had seen a pretty mild version. At least he could remember that conversation.

“Sorry.” Ilya grinned and resumed playing on his phone.

Shane picked his phone up as well.

“You are getting very red over there moy malen'kiy pomidor,” (my little tomato,” ) Ilya sang from his spot on the counter.

Shane had stopped pacing somewhere near the stove. He couldn’t even fight against the stupid nickname. He knew his face was bright red. It just got redder the more Auggie shared with him. He looked up at Ilya. “I outed us to the paramedic.”

Ilya’s eyebrows rose and for a few seconds he just looked at Shane. Then he busted out laughing. So hard in fact, that he fell off the counter.

Shane lasted a few seconds before he joined in. Quietly at first but then in no time he was joining Ilya on the floor, his side hurting.

When they had calmed down Ilya held out his hand. “Please, can I see how you so elegantly declared our love to an unsuspecting paramedic.”

“Hey I did manage to say at least one truly romantic thing before I talked about how great of an ass you have,” he defended himself as he handed over the phone.

Ilya shrugged. “It is true. I do have a great ass.” He didn’t bother getting off the floor. Every couple of seconds he wound up laughing so hard he was flat on his back.

When he was done, he sat up and wiped tears from his eyes. “Shane, you have to let me get you high. At least once.”

Shane kicked him in the ribs. “Never happening.”

Ilya smirked. “We will see.” He handed Shane back his phone.

“Are you mad?”

Ilya’s brows furrowed. “At what? At you?”

Shane nodded.

“No,” he answered quickly and easily. “Even if whole world did not know and you still found out you told this paramedic I would not be mad. It was not your fault. You were hurt. And on drugs.”

“It could have been bad. If he told anyone.”

Ilya shrugged. “We would be where we are now.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Shane disagreed. “We weren’t us four years ago. We weren’t as…solid.”

Ilya reached out and grabbed Shane’s ankle. “Is true. But we would still be here.”

“I don’t remember much,” Shane said, looking at Ilya’s hand on his ankle. “I don’t remember anything about the ride to the hospital, other than the pain finally going away.” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Next time you talk to Marlow tell him he hits like a fucking truck.”

Ilya squeezed his ankle. “He really did feel bad. I was not lying about that part. I had to tell him to get his head on straight after a weak because he was playing soft.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Ilya nodded. “He knows.”

Shane continued on. “My memory doesn’t really come back until I was in my hospital room. I don’t remember being seen in the emergency department at all.” He looked up at Ilya and made sure he was looking back at him. “I remember missing you though. I remember wishing you were there. Actually, I wished I wasn’t there if we’re being honest, but if I had to be there, I wanted you to be there with me.”

Ilya gave him a soft smile. “I wanted to be there.”

“I know.” Shane shook his head. “I remember thinking how easy it would be for someone to call you. To get you to come. A phone call is a really simple thing to do. And yet…it was impossible.”

Shane chuckled a little to himself. “The nurse made some comment to me, about how my mom could call people for me if I wanted. And I remember that being so funny to me. The idea of my mom calling you. The idea that you two would know each other and she would know that I wanted you there. Funny because it felt like such an impossibility.”

“Turns out it not impossible.” Ilya smirked. “Now Yuna knows me so well that I am her favorite son.”

Shane kicked his ankle out, but Ilya held on. “Whatever.” He was quiet for a moment. “I used to think about that. You meeting my parents. Not even telling them about us. Just you and them meeting at some hockey thing and sharing the same space, talking to each other, doing whatever, for… thirty seconds. That’s all I used to want.”

Ilya gave his ankle another squeeze and he continued on. “But I think that would have hurt worse almost. Like the barely there but not enough kind of thing. For us to be standing with them and not being able to say, ‘Mom, Dad, this is Ilya. And I love him.’”

Ilya laughed. “That is almost exactly what you said the first time I met them.”

A grin grew on his face as he nodded. “I’d been holding it in for a while.” Shane pressed his foot against Ilya’s leg, assuring himself that he was actually there. “You asked me once, the first time we came here, why I never told my parents about me. I probably had a million reasons that I convinced myself were valid. But there was only one that really mattered.”

Ilya’s eyebrows rose, waiting for Shane to continue.

“You.”

“Ah,” Ilya dramatically frowned as he looked around the kitchen. “So it was my fault all along.”

“Yes,” Shane nodded, smiling at him. “It was your fault. Because there was no point in telling them about me unless I could tell them about you.”

Ilya scrambled over the floor until was next to him. He pulled Shane into his side and kissed the top of his head. Shane’s head settle onto his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a second before Ilya started to laugh again.

“What?”

Ilya bit his lips together. “I am just thinking. If you outed us to paramedic… You probably outed us to your nurse too.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “How do I find her name?”

Forty-five minutes and an impressive deep dive into his online medical chart later, Shane had found her. Maria Navarro. Trauma nurse at Montreal General Hospital. He clicked on her profile picture, he recognized her.

“Is this weird?”

Ilya rolled his eyes. They had already had this conversation three times. “Just do it Hollander.”

Holding his breath, he typed out the message he had drafted in his head

“Wow, it really is impossible to write one of these things without including the ‘sorry if this is weird’ line.”

Ilya peeked at Shane’s phone and grinned when he saw the ‘delivered’ check box filled. “You are very brave.”

Shane flipped him off but then returned his attention to the screen. “Oh my god she already read it!” He dropped the phone on the counter like it burned him. “Oh my god she’s typing.”

Ilya watched him. “It is a good thing I could not see you texting in our early days.”

Shane glared at him. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh yes it does.”

He groaned in frustration. “Whatever. Be quiet. She’s responding.”

Ilya flailed his hands out in front of him. “She can't hear me, Shane!”

Shane conceded on that point but wasn’t going to tell him that. Instead, he just turned around and stared as the three little dots jumped along the bottom of his screen. Finally, the dots disappeared and a message took its place.

“Ha!” Shane laughed and held up his phone in victory. “I didn’t out us to the nurse!”

Ilya looked at him doubtfully. “You didn’t?”

“Nope,” Shane said smugly. “You did! You and your heart eyes outed us.”

“What?” Ilya held his hand out. “Can I read please?”

“No,” he shoved Ilya’s hand away. “Wait your turn.” He smiled and returned to reading.

“Oh my god, my parents almost walked in on us.”

“What?” Ilya asked horrified. “Again? When?”

“At the hospital.”

“Shane, you have to let me read what this nurse wrote.”

Shane handed him the phone and watched as Ilya read Maria’s words. When he was done, he handed him back the phone.

“What was your plan?” Ilya asked.

“What?”

“You plan. I remember, before you asked me to come to the cottage, you said you had a whole plan, but Marlow fucked that up. Tell me your plan.”

Shane sighed and dropped on arm onto the counter so he could prop his face up with his fist. “You were going to come over after the game. I was going to wait. Until after.”

Ilya laughed. “After I fuck you, you mean.”

Shane let out a long sigh. “Yes Ilya, after that. Anyways, I was going to tell you that after the season was over for me I was going to my cottage. And I was going to tell you about it. About how peaceful it is, how relaxing, how I don’t have to do anything there I don’t want to do. How I can rest there.”

Ilya snapped his fingers, “Ah, so your plan was to bore me into submission. Make me fall into a coma and then drag me there.”

Shane ignored him. “I just wanted you to be able to relax. So much was happening with you and I didn’t know how to fix any of it for you. I just wanted to take care of you. This has always been my escape, where I’m the happiest. And I wanted you to have that too. And I kept thinking that…”

“What?”

Shane felt his skin warm as blood rushed to his face. “That you being here would make it make it perfect.”

Ilya’s smile was wide, the kind that made his eyes crinkle. It was beautiful. Shane had to look away to keep his thoughts in order. “So yeah, I was a little mad that my concussed and high brain was the one making the sales pitch. It obviously didn’t do a very good job.”

Ilya was already shaking his head. “It was a very good sales pitch, Shane. I wanted to come. More than anything. But I was too scared. I don’t think I would have if…”

Shane waited but Ilya didn’t continue. “If?”

Ilya shook his head. “Shane do not make me say this.”

“Well now you have to.”

Ilya groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Fine.” He took a fortifying breath. “When Oldman Hunter brought lovely Kip Grady onto the ice…it changed things for me. Suddenly, things weren’t so impossible anymore. I knew things would be different for us, but still.” He shrugged. “It suddenly felt possible. If I tried, I could make it happen. And I knew that started right then.”

They stared at each other for a long while. Just sharing the silence as they remembered their past.

Then Shane had a thought. “So you’re saying that we owe our whole relationship to-”

“Don’t,” Ilya pleaded, true desperation in his voice. “Please Shane. Do not say it.”

Shane was sitting on the couch as Ilya walked into the living room, water still darkening his hair from his shower.

Shane looked up as he crossed the room and plopped down next to him. “There are only two more.” he said, feeling a little disappointed.

“We can wait,” Ilya offered, stretching his arm behind Shane, his fingers brushing against the top of his shoulder. “We do not have to finish them now.”

He shook his head. “No. I want finish them tonight.”

“Okay, then we look.” The two that were left were group messages to both of them so Ilya didn’t bother with grabbing his phone, he just moved closer to Shane so he could see his.

“I knew someone had to have recognized you!” Shane snacked Ilya’s chest. “Seriously. You thought you could walk through the airport in that outfit, looking that good, in that hat with no one recognizing you?”

“Shane, we have been through this,” Ilya tilted his head back and groaned. “I forgot to pack hat. Raiders hat was in bag from last road trip. I thought a hat was better than no hat.”

Shane huffed and settled back against Ilya so they could continue with the rest of the message. “Not when the hat in question is practically an ID badge.”

Ilya sighed and stuck a finger in-between Shane’s ribs, making him welp while jumping a foot in the air. “Shane hold the phone still so I can keep reading.”

“Such an asshole,” Shane muttered but leaned back against Ilya, holding the phone up a little.

“You love me.”

God help him he did.

“Holy shit,” Shane breathed out as he saw the attached photo, the standard donation confirmation email staring back at him. “He really won all this by betting on us?”

“See?” Ilya said a little too gleefully. “Me walking through the airport looking that good earned the foundation $15,000.00.” He looked at Shane with his eyebrows raised. “I should be charging you to look at me.”

“Put it on my tab,” Shane smiled. “Maybe I can work off my debt.”

Ilya nodded. “We do have a very generous work forgiveness program. We will discuss later.”

Before he could think too much about it, Shane clicked on the last message that was left unopened.

“His picture looks young,” Ilya observed and Shane nodded in agreement. This was definitely the youngest person to reach out to them.

Shane blew out a shaky breath and locked his phone. He turned so his face was hidden in Ilya’s neck. Ilya wrapped his arms around him, tucking him in even closer. When Shane felt a little more in control he pulled back slightly. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

“He didn’t have to hide,” he whispered. “He didn’t have to lie.”

“No, Solnyshko, (Sunshine,)” Ilya whispered back, “No, he didn’t”

Ilya held Shane on the couch for a long time. And Shane held him right back. After a while, Ilya stood, taking Shane’s hands with him and dragging him onto his feet. Shane felt as if played three games today rather than lying around and reading messages from strangers all day. He was exhausted as he followed Ilya into their bedroom. His body was heavy as stood side by side and brushed their teeth. His movements felt slow as he and Ilya undressed each other.

But as he slid into their bed, his head resting on Ilya’s chest, Ilya’s arms wrapped around him…he smiled.

Chapter End Notes

Just one more to go(:

Chapter 24: The Epilogue

Chapter Summary

The story comes to a close

Chapter Notes

Date: March 2017

Location: The Cottage

Ilya had finally woken up before Shane. He took advantage of the opportunity, laying on his side and taking in the view before him. The view being Shane Hollander, asleep on his stomach, his arms wrapped tightly around a pillow under his head. His cheeks were flushed, hair mused, and there was even a little bit of drool coming from where his lips were parted.

This was Ilya’s favorite view in the entire world.

He’d get one more morning of this. Of waking up next to Shane. Of having no reason to rush out of bed the second he woke up. Of the gentle stillness. Tomorrow. Then they would drive back to Ottawa and Shane would go back to Montreal. How long would it be until they had more than just one night together? A couple weeks? A month?

It seemed ridiculous, being upset over that length of time; they used to go years without seeing each other. But a starving man doesn’t know he’s hungry until he’s been fed. And Ilya Rozanov was ravenous. He felt greedy with want. The more time he spent with Shane, the more he wanted. So far, Ilya had not found a limit to his desire. He didn’t think there was a limit.

Speaking of, not being able to help himself, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the freckles on Shane’s shoulder. The malen'kiye zvezdy (little stars) that dusted Shane's skin. With it being winter, they were faint, but Ilya knew they were there, spending enough time tracing them in the summer when the sun boldened them. He’d be able to retrace them even if tragedy struck and they disappeared.

Shane squirmed, his face scrunching briefly before his eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning, moy malen'kiy kotonok, (My little kitten,)” Ilya whispered, not deterred from his path, even as Shane continued to rustle around.

He grunted. “I’ll yell at you about that one later. Once my brain wakes up enough to translate.”

“Okay.” Ilya grinned and took a soft bite of Shane’s shoulder. “I’ll wait.”

“Ow, you fucker,” Shane shook Ilya off of him, twisting his torso so he could shove Ilya away from him.

Ilya, astonished, gasped in offense and retaliated, lunging across the small space that separated the two, landing solidly onto Shane’s back.

Shane huffed and attempted to wiggle out from underneath him, but Ilya grabbed his wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head. His other wrapped around Shane’s waist, his skin warm under Ilya’s palm despite the freezing temperatures outside.

“Stuck, kotonok (kitten)?” Ilya smirked, nuzzling the back of Shane’s neck.

He snorted, his brain awake enough to catch onto the word this time. “I am not,” he grunted and used the strength built up by years of professional athleticism and body awareness that comes from using yours as a battering ram on occasion to flip over onto his back, despite Ilya’s weight pressing into him. Then, just as quickly. Shane wrapped one leg around Ilya’s hip and pressed the other into the mattress. Once he was sitting on top of Ilya and had his hands pressed into the mattress he leaned down with a snarky little grin. “ I am not a kitten.”

Ilya beamed up at him. “No, you are my little kitten, Shanya.”

Shane gave a shout before dipping down and trying to take a stab at Ilya’s ribs. But with his hands now free Ilya flipped Shane back over, his head bouncing off the mattress as he landed.

“Milyy malen'kiy kotonok. (“Cute little kitten.)” Ilya sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist. Elbows on his knee’s, he watched Shane’s brain translate his words. When Shane lunged for him, he was ready.

After a very competitive, high stakes, wrestling match, Shane flopped down on the bed next to Ilya. Both of them were breathing heavy and lightly sweating, not an unfamiliar state they found themselves in.

Shane sighed, catching his breath and using Ilya’s bicep as a pillow. In the quiet, his thoughts drifted to tomorrow. Back to the real world. Shane had spent the last two days attempting to sort out his feelings about all the messages, videos, and pictures he and Ilya had been sent. His thoughts and feelings were conflicted to say the least.

On one hand, it was nice to see all the care and support people were sending their way. And the tiny pieces of their story that they had been given, the mementos they never got to take, the photos they never got to save, Shane was thankful that those existed, and that they now had them.

But it was weird too. For almost ten years, Shane and Ilya had kept this, them, a secret from everyone. Only in the past four years had they finally start to tell a few people. For the past thirteen years, it was Shane’s biggest fear that he would slip up, that he would make a mistake, say something he shouldn’t or even look at Ilya in a way that would give it all away. Had nightmares about their texts leaking. He spent years constantly sweeping hallways and sidewalks looking for fans with camera, waiting for the day someone caught them.

And they did.

Shane’s worst fear had happened.

And he hadn’t even known.

From the very beginning, the secret that Shane thought was just between him and Ilya- wasn’t.

He felt happy and sad about that. Sad because there was loss in realizing that the thing between him and Ilya wasn’t theirs alone. Happy because it should have never had to be a secret in the first place.

What if they had wasted those thirteen years? What if they didn’t have to spend thirteen years hiding and sneaking around and denying themselves the simple pleasure of just existing together?

Because people had known the entire time. And the world didn’t end.

Granted, a handful of people knowing is very different than the world knowing, than the league knowing, but still. What if he had wasted thirteen years?

He thought about what Ilya had said two nights ago. That he didn’t regret their past, he wouldn’t change anything if he could. Shane didn’t know if he had reached that level of acceptance yet, already coming up with a list of things he would change if he could, ways he could have been better, been braver.

Ilya had been right about one thing though, undeniably so. If changing those things meant any chance at not having this- them- right now, he wouldn’t take it. Because nothing was worth loosing this. Not even-

“Solnyshko, (“Sunshine,) a little fan in your head is going to turn on if you keep thinking so hard.” Ilya placed his fingers on Shane’s jaw and tilted his head so Shane was looking up at him. “What are you thinking?”

“Everything.” Shane shrugged and threw a leg over Ilya’s waist, his hand coming up to trace the chain and then the cross that laid on Ilay’s chest. The metal was warm under Shane’s fingers. “Mostly about the messages people sent us.”

Ilya’s chest moved under Shane’s hand as he sighed. “Yes. It was a lot, wasn’t it?”

Shane made a grumble of agreement and then, “But also in a good way.”

Ilya made an interested noise and started to weave his fingers through Shane’s hair, his blunt nails scratching over his scalp every so often. Maybe he was a kitten because Shane suddenly had an interesting desire to purr.

Reorganizing his thoughts, he continued. “I never thought we’d have people who supported us. Well, I guess at the very beginning, I didn’t even think we’d be something to support. Does that make sense?” Shane’s brain was firing off in a hundred different directions and he wasn’t sure if he was getting his point across.

But Ilya laughed and nodded, pressing his lips against his hair. “It does. Go on.”

“Even after we became something I still thought we wouldn’t have anyone know to support us. Then we had my parents. And Hayden. And Jackie. And the kids. And Rose. Your team, even if they didn’t 100% know about us.” Shane sighed. “And I thought, okay, this is good. But still, I thought- no one that doesn’t know us will support this, us. The world, the hockey world, will not support us.”

Shane gave a little laugh, and his hand flew through the air. “But, there are like twenty some people who knew, some for a very long time, some from the hockey world that…support this. Us. Care about us. Want us to be…okay.”

Ilya didn’t interrupt or jump in during Shane’s silences, he just listened. “And I know twenty people is not a lot, and there are going to be a lot of people who are going to very loudly not support us. And we’ll have to deal with that. But I don’t know, it’s nice knowing that there are people out there who know and don’t care…” Shane paused. Those words weren’t exactly right. “No. There are people out there who know and do care.”

One of Ilya’s hands darted out to Shane’s thigh, tightening it against his hips, then it traveled until he reached Shane’s hip, pinning him against Ilya. “Ah. So, you are thinking that the world might not be so terrible anymore?”

They both laughed, something deep and settling. “I’m sure it’s still a little awful. But no, right now, the world is okay.”

They were quiet for a moment then Shane said the last thing that was on his mind. “I keep thinking about Thomas. About how we ‘changed his life,’” the words felt ridiculous coming out of Shane’s mouth even if he was directly quoting the kid, “without doing anything. It just makes me wonder what we could do if we do try.”

Ilya’s fingers traced soothing shapes into Shane’s side. Years ago, Shane would have seen Ilya’s silence as indifference, but he knew better now.

“I’m not saying I want us to become some sort of gay hockey icon.” Shane shuddered. “I really don’t want to do that.”

Ilya laughed, his head tilting side to side. “I think it may be too late for that, Shane.”

Shane smacked a hand against Ilya’s chest. “You know what I mean. I’m not saying we go out there and be something we’re not. Maybe we can just…be.” Shane pursed his lips together. “Maybe that can be enough.”

“Yes.” Ilya’s voice was thick and when Shane looked up he saw tears shining in them. “It is enough.”

They stared at each other for a minute, because they didn’t really need to say anything. Not right now.

But after a minute, Ilya’s chest started to rumble as laughter broke out of him. Once he started, it was like he couldn’t stop, the tears, now a mixture of emotions, fell from his face faster than his hand could catch them.

Shane pushed off of him, looking down at Ilya’s now red face. “What is so funny?”

Ilya took a deep breath. “I was thinking about what you said. That people have known all along. Literally. The first message we read was from uh….Jennifer! She saw us the night of the draft and knew, even if there wasn’t much to know about yet, she knew. And she’s known all along.” Ilya was practically wheezing.

Shane eyed him suspiciously, had they been having the same conversations the past two days? Maybe he was just processing? “Okay…”

“Shane, she has known for twelve years…almost thirteen! And she never, told anyone. No one found out about us because of her for thirteen years.”

Shane saw were this was going.

Ilya couldn’t contain it anymore; pure joy radiated from him. “Pike knew for less than three years and outed us to the entire world!”

Trying to remain loyal to his best friend, he tampered down his own laughter. “In his defense, he only sent the video to one guy.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because Ilya’s laughter doubled. “Some of these people had pictures of us Shane! Pictures and videos that they kept private for over a decade! Hayden Pike somehow accidentally captures one video of proof and sends it out into the universe.”

Shane flopped down on the pillow next to a shaking Ilya, knowing when it’s time to admit defeat. “You’re never going to let him live this down, are ya?”

The blanket soared through the air as Ilya jumped out of bed. “I am calling him right now.”

Shane sighed. “Don’t forget to pass along Alina’s message.”

Ilya's head tilted back, curls bouncing as his laughter grew louder. He jogged back to the bed and kissed Shane on the cheek. “Thank you, Solnyshko (Sunshine). I forgotten how I must make sure Hayden knows that a dog knew before him.”

“Two dogs if you count Poppy.”

That earned Shane another kiss to his other cheek. “I love you,” he said though his laughter, bouncing out of the room in search for his phone.

Shane sighed as he leaned into the pillows, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Good luck Hayd.

Shane looked up from the omelets as Ilya walked into the kitchen, grin still in place. “How’s Hayden?”

“Jackie is wonderful.” Ilya reported and got to work picking out some plates and filling their mugs with coffee/tea. “She finished her book, got new haircut, and took the girls shopping. Hayden is…alive.”

Shane shook his head as he accepted the plates, transferring the eggs and turning off the oven. “While you were torturing one of our best friends-”

“Ah- no. Pike is your best friend,” Ilya adamantly corrected as he carried their mugs over to the table.

Shane snorted and rolled his eyes. “Okay, sure. Anyways, while you were doing what you were doing, I messaged Jennifer back.”

“From the hotel?” Ilya asked around a mouth of food.

Shane hated that he thought it was cute. “Yes. From the hotel. From draft night. I just wanted to thank her for sending the picture and you know…”

“Not telling the entire world that she saw the two of us kind of hold hands?”

Shane eyes him. “You haven’t seen Pride and Prejudice. Trust me, it would have been enough.”

Ilya relented. “Okay, so you thanked Jennifer for her discretion, that is nice.”

Shane took a sip from his mug. “Yeah, well I scrolled through her Instagram while I was making the omelets and turns out she has an Etsy page. She oils paints. She paints everything but her passion clearly leans towards paining people’s pets.”

Ilya’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “Shane…”

Shane grinned and slowly took a bite, making sure to thoroughly chew and swallow before answering Ilya’s pleading look. “So, I messaged her about ordering one of Anya, and I told her we’d share the link to her shop to help her gain a little traction.”

“Of course!” Ilya was already reaching out for Shane’s phone that was still open to Jennifer’s shop. He looked through her posts and then back up at Shane. “These are good! Anya you are going to look so beautiful! I must message her and ask how many pictures she needs.”

“Yeah,” Shane took another bite, “I did warn her about your…enthusiasm.”

Ilya ignored him. “But what season of Anya should I send?”

Yeah, Shane was staying out of that one. His job here was done.

Shane was in the middle of a yoga session, Ilya was in the middle of watching Shane in a yoga session, when the doorbell rang.

Shane’s head picked up. “Did we miss a text from my parents?” They always texted.

“No.” Ilya shook his head, gently lifting Anya’s head from his lap. “It’s not your parents.”

“Who else could it be? No one else knows we are here.”

Shane noticed Ilya avoided looking directly at him. “I do not know. No worries moya lyubov', (my love,) I will get rid of them. You keep on being bendy. I will return soon.” He gave Shane’s ass a solid smack before he jogged out of the gym.

Shane sighed as he came out of a forward fold. He debated for a few seconds, trying to decide if he really wanted to know was Ilya was up to or if he was going to choose peace today. He picked up his water bottle and a towel, drying off his face as he walked out of the gym. “Come on Anya, let’s go see what your dad has gotten into now.”

When he walked upstairs, Ilya was holding a large rectangular box. Three more smaller boxes were on the dining table. Shane looked at the boxes and then at his fiancé. “Ilya…what’s in the box?”

Ilya gave him a disparaging look, clearly not appreciating his movie reference. “I did something.”

Shane nodded and squirted some water into his mouth. “I can see that. Is it a secret?”

Ilya shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are you being weird?”

He shrugged. “I do not know.”

Shane nodded slowly. “Okay…” He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. “Ilya, can you please show me what is in this rectangular shaped cardboard package?”

Ilya placed the box on the table, using a knife he had already grabbed to cut away the tape. With another glance at Shane, he reached into the box and began to pull the item out.

Shane was pretty sure it was a picture frame but all he could see was the simple sleek black case. Based on Ilya’s face though, whatever picture it held was awe inducing.

“You gonna turn it around or…”

But Ilya stayed silent. And still. Shane lasted about fifteen more seconds before he stood from his chair and joined Ilya, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Oh,” Shane whispered as he took in the photo.

It was the photo Justin Fields had sent them, the one from the CCM commercial. In it, a smiling Shane and Ilya looked at each other, decked out in full hockey gear. Shane remembered everything about that day. He’s pretty sure it was the first time he had heard Ilya laugh.

Before he could go too far down memory lane, he turned to look at Ilya who had tears in his eyes, still staring at the photo. Ilya had made that happen, Shane remembered. He had pitched the idea to do the commercial together. And some sleep deprived intern made it work. And now, eleven years later, he was engaged to the love of his life.

Shane shifted a little, so he was standing behind Ilya, arms wrapped around his waist, his chin on his shoulder. “That is really cool Ilya.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, “How the hell did you get this so quickly?”

Ilya looked away from the photo and turned to give him a leveling look. “This is a big day for you Hollander, you learn that your fiancé is a very rich man.”

“Shut up,” Shane grumbled, pressing his lips into Ilya’s shoulder. “What are the other ones?”

They were the other pictures. The one from the rooftop that Aiden had sent them, the sunset one Ilya had obviously found someone to clean up, and even the blurry, pixelated one of their hands touching.

He liked having them, Ilya explained. He liked that there was proof, documentation, history. “We spent so long pretending we weren’t anything. But we were. The whole time.” he said looking down at the four photos laying on the table, “Now we have proof of that.”

Shane kissed Ilya’s temple. “You want to hang them up here?”

“No,” Ilya shook his head adamantly. “These are coming back with to Ottawa. In my house. Where I, where everyone, can see.”

“Okay,” Shane nodded, understanding. “I get it. But then why did you have them delivered here?”

Ilya shrugged, still looking at the photos. “I wanted to open them with you.”

Shane’s forehead tipped against Ilya’s back. “I refuse to cry because you paid who knows how much to rush order these just to have them shipped to a house you aren’t even putting them in just because you wanted us to be together when you opened them. I’m not doing it.”

Ilya chuckled and turned so he could wrap his arms around Shane. “Okay then I distract you. I need you to add something to that crazy calendar you keep.”

It worked; Shane was no longer in danger of crying. “It’s not crazy. If we didn’t have a shared calendar, we’d never see each other. Also, you have access to it, add it yourself.”

“Shane, you know I would use the wrong color. Do you want me to mess up your system?”

Shane sighed in defeat and took out his phone. “Fine. What dates?” Ilya rattled off the dates and Shane pressed the appropriate buttons. “What are you doing?”

“A commercial.”

“With who?” Shane asked, expecting Ilya to say one of the brands Ilya had contracts with.

“With Justin.”

Shane’s head snapped up. “Like Justin Fields?” He pointed at the photos. “That Justin?”

Ilya nodded. “When I called him to ask for file for picture, he told me he was doing volunteer commercials for animal shelters. To help get adoptions. I signed up to be in a few.” Ilya looked down at Shane who was now on the verge of crying again. “Oh Shanya…” he pulled him closer and kissed the top of his head.

Shane sniffled. “I just… I don’t have a color for that.”

“I know we’re not supposed to be talking work things right now, but I wanted to run something by you,” Shane sat on the couch, Ilya on the floor, playing fetch with Anya.

“No,” Ilya protested, sounding a bit whiny. “No work talk. Work does not exist here.”

“It’s two things Ilya, it’ll take five minutes.”

He pouted and threw the ball, Anya taking off after it dutifully. “Okay.”

“You know how this summer we wanted to shoot a promo for the camp?”

Ilya nodded and turned to Shane, Anya returned, getting tired and laying her head down in his lap. “Yes, you said it would be light highlight reel for camp. To show off what kids learn at camp and then how camp funds foundation.”

“Exactly. I think I know who I want to film it.”

Ilya placed his chin on Shane’s knee. “Who?”

“James Clarke.”

Ilya’s eyebrows furrowed. “James Clarke? Who is James…” His face softened as realization stuck. “Oh. The on-ice camera man. The one who made the hight-light reel of us.”

Shane nodded. “I know it’s a little outside his usual thing, but I figured it’ll mostly be filming people skating around on ice so…” He shrugged. “I still have to reach out and ask him, but I wanted to see what you thought first.”

“I think it is good idea. Sign off.” He pressed a kiss to the bony part of his knee. “What is second thing?”

“Oh! Samantha, the therapist, responded to our message. She accepted our offer to come be part of camp this upcoming summer. She sounded really excited.”

Ilya grinned. “I am also excited to meet the girl who saw a two second clip of us doing our little toe taps and somehow used that to figure out that we were secretly fucking.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Or you know, you could be excited about on boarding a mental health professional that specializes in athletes to a camp that… hosts young athletes.”

Ilya shrugged. “I can be excited about both Shane.” He rested his head on Shane’s thigh and looked up at him. “I have a work-related thing to talk about too.”

Shane smiled and separated out some of Ilya’s curls. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his cheek squishing up on Shane’s thigh. “You know how Yuna suggested we talk to a journalist? To tell our side of the story?”

Shane’s hand stilled. “I don’t want to do that.”

“I know moya lyubov, (my love,)” his tone was soft and understanding, “and we don’t have to. But you remember Aiden? The bartender from the rookie MLH awards? The one who sent the photo of us on the roof?” He waited for Shane to nod. “He’s actually a journalist now. We talked a bit when I thanked him for the photo. I looked him up. His stuff is pretty good. Smart. And I know we do not know him but he kept our secret for ten years, I think we can trust him.”

Shane thought about it for a long time, his hand returning to Ilya’s hair and separated the curls like he separated his thoughts. Ilya just sat there, eyes closed, as he considered it. “Okay,” he said eventually. “I’ll talk to mom about it tonight.”

“Okay,” Ilya echoed and placed a kiss to his thigh.

“Ilya come help me pick things out for this dog gift basket!”

Ilya dropped the shirt he was folding onto the bed, packing could wait, obviously Shane was in some sort of distress and was trying to give Ilya a discrete code. There was no other logical reason why Shane would be selecting a ‘dog gift basket’.

And yet, when Ilya walked into the living room, Shane sat on the couch, laptop in hand, staring at the screen like he was trying to make the world’s toughest decision. Ilya was temporarily distracted by his glasses to think of anything else, but when Shane looked up and gave him a pleading look, he quickly crossed the room.

“Shane why are you selecting doggy gift basket?” He peered at the screen, “And why are you trying to choose between three different kinds of floral soap? Fragrance is awful for their skin. The dog spa Anya goes to told me that. Do you hate this dog, Shane?”

“No!” Shane yelled, hands in the air. “That’s why I need your help. I don’t know anything about dogs other than that one,” he pointed at Anya who looked around like she was trying to figure out who Shane was talking about. Shane sighed. “It’s for Poppy. I bought Brad tickets to a game for his favorite basketball team and dinner at his favorite restaurant as an apology for… you know… and figured Poppy deserved something too.”

Ilya bit his lips together. “You are apologizing to Poppy because she might have overheard us fucking?”

“I rather not think about that!” Shane yelled and pointed at the screen. “Just help me.”

Ilya couldn’t help but chuckle a little, even if it earned him a glare as he sat down on the couch. “Okay well these were her favorite treats, so definitely add a few of those,” he pointed out one of the treat options. “She enjoys getting pretty bandanas after her salon appointments so get her one of those. Her favorite color is green, no not neon green Shane, she’s a classy lady- that dark green yes. And Brad said she loves tennis balls but chews through them like crazy so just add lots of those.”

Ilya was still looking through the website when he noticed Shane staring at him. “What? You wanted help, yes?”

“Exactly how many times did you meet Brad and Poppy?”

Ilya shrugged. “A few.” He gave Shane a knowing look. “His landlord was a real asshole and wouldn’t let him smoke in the apartment, so we bumped into each other a bunch.”

Shane grinned. “You shouldn’t be smoking.”

Ilya leaned forward and brushed his lips against Shane’s. “And you shouldn’t be talking.”

Later, Ilya walked up behind Shane who was bent over the counter, scrolling on the laptop yet again. He dropped a kiss to his shoulder as he walked by, pulling things out of the fridge to begin making lunch. “Are you ordering another doggy basket Shanya?”

Shane flipped him off without taking his eyes off the screen. “Fuck off.” He stood, stretching out his neck. “No, I was talking to Julia, the figure skater who overheard us in Sochi, and she mentioned wanting to check out one of these yoga retreat things so I think I’m going to send her to one. Her and her sister, to try and help her sister to forgive her for keeping our secret from her.”

“You’re sending her to a yoga retreat?” Ilya leaned back so he could see Shane behind the open fridge door.

“Yeah,” Shane rubbed the back of his neck. “Is that weird?”

Ilya shook his head, but wasn’t able to force his smile all the way down. “It would if it was anyone but you.”

As they ate their lunch, Ilya pulled out his phone and opened up the calendar app Shane shared with him. “What color are award presentations again?”

“Yellow,” Shane answered as he took a drink of water. “Why?”

“I messaged Chrissy, the talent wrangler, to apologize again for causing so much chaos back then, and she’s a Stage Manager now and she had someone drop out last minute so she needs someone to fill in.” He shrugged. “I offered.”

“Oh, so you are a guest appearance for an award show. That’s light blue, no yellow.” Shane corrected and Ilya couldn’t help but shake his head at his fiancé. “What are you presenting?”

Ilya closed the calendar and opened up his email, he hadn’t bothered to ask when he volunteered to fill in for Chrissy but she said she would send him all the information he needed today. “It looks like a movie award show, but like a jokey one… what is that called?”

“Satire,” Shane filled in.

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Satire. It’s like a regular movie award show but with ridiculous categories. I’m presenting the…” He paused as he scrolled through the email, flickering through the list of categories until he found his name. When he did, he laughed. Chrissy was indeed very smart. “I’m presenting the award for Most Dramatic Exit.”

Shane choked on his water.

“Ilya, why is there a message from Noah and Oliver thanking us for buying them tickets to hockey games?” Shane asked as Ilya unloaded this dishwasher.

Ilya turned around. “Because I wanted to thank them for their kind message.” His tone was innocent, but his grin was not.

“And what game did you buy them tickets to?”

“Well Shane, they live in New York, so I bought them tickets for a game in New York.” Ilya said simply as he placed the glasses in the cabinet by the sink.

Shane sat his phone down and gave Ilya a skeptical look. “Ilya, did you buy them tickets to your next game against The Admirals just so you could make them watch you beat Scott Hunter?”

“It is big goal, I will admit,” Ilya sighed and closed the dishwasher. “But I will get my team prepared and we will be ready. Noah and Oliver are going to watch as I crush dinosaur Hunter so hard he turns into fossil fuels.”

Shane sighed and picked up his phone, he was going to make sure they also bought them dinner, making sure that at least one of their gifts was well intended.

“Shane,” Ilya whined, laying dramatically across his lap. “I want to go skate.”

“Then go skate,” Shane responded, not looking away from his phone.

Ilya pouted even though Shane wasn’t looking at him. “No, I want to go with you.”

Shane sighed and finally lowered his phone, giving Ilya a bemused look. “Give me ten minutes to finish this conversation and then I will come skate with you.”

“Fine,” He huffed, pulling one of Shane’s hands into his hair. He could text with one hand. “Who are you talking to anyway?”

“Levi,” Shane said, his hand instinctually carding through Ilya’s hair. “We’re talking about Pittsburgh's chances of making it to the cup this year.”

“Oh my god Hollander, you are so boring,” Ilya sighed, his eyes sliding closed.

“Uh huh,” Shane responded, glancing down at Ilya. “You seem to hate it so much.”

Twenty minutes later, they were still on the couch. Ilya pulled out his phone and sent off a message, getting a quick response back.

Ilya smiled as he typed back. He liked Natasha.

They finally made it out onto the ice, spending hours chasing each other, and Anya, around. When Ilya started to worry about Anya’s paws getting cold, they came back inside. As he flipped through the pictures he had taken, mostly of Anya but a few of him and Shane as well, he got a text from Charlie.

They had been texting a little for the past couple of days. Ilya had grown fond of the man. Charlie had taken to texting Ilya seemingly random updates from his day, including pictures that were half covered by thumbs or selfies that were clearly meant to capture the other side of the phone. They had talked a little about Ilya’s move to Ottawa, his season, and hockey in general but mostly they just talked about life. They also traded some pictures of birds they had seen. Charlie mentioned his travels with his wife and their upcoming trip they had planned.

Next to him, Ilya heard Shane sigh. Not a tired sigh, or the sigh he makes when he’s trying to convince Ilya he’s annoyed at him, but he actually is wanting to laugh, and definitely not the sigh he makes when Ilya turns Shane’s brain into soup. No, this was the sigh Shane made right before he started to spiral, the one when his brain started moving a little too fast.

Sure enough, when he looked over, Shane had his eyelashes pinched between two fingers, his other hand holding his phone. “What is it Shanya?”

Shane sighed again, rolling his neck side to side. Ilya reached and grabbed the back of it, giving it a firm squeeze, smiling when Shane’s eyes slid shut. “Mom doesn’t think the one interview with Aiden is going to be enough. He’s in print so it’ll be in newspapers, magazines, and online print but it won’t be aired on TV. She thinks we need to do something that can circulate on TV and as videos.”

“Okay. Do you want to do this?” Ilya asked even if he already knew the answer.

“No,” came Shane’s immediate response. He leaned back into Ilya’s grasped and sighed one more time, this one was a little more accepting. “But she’s right. It makes sense and we need to do it. It’s just… with Aiden and a print piece, I felt like we had a little bit of control you know? We’ll get to read it and ask him to edit things before it’s released. If we say something wrong, it isn’t permanent. Plus, I do kind of trust him- even if we never met him.”

Ilya nodded along, agreeing with all of Shane’s points. “I think I might have a solution.”

Shane opened his eyes. “Already?”

Ilya scoffed. “I am very smart Shane, why are you surprised?” Ilya continued, giving Shane’s neck a little firmer of a squeeze when he caught him rolling his eyes. “I think there may be another person who we can trust to do this.”

Shane’s eyebrows rose. “Who?”

Ilya smiled softly. “Zachary Maxwell.”

After getting the interview details settled with Zach, Ilya noticed another message on his phone. “Shane, why do I have message from Olivia thanking us for sending her and Derrick on a weekend get away trip?”

Shane looked up guiltily from where he was methodically folding his clothes back into his bag. Ilya was sitting on the bed enjoying the show. He looked at Ilya for a brief second, his face filling with color before returning to his task.

“Shane?” Ilya drew out his name, his grin growing.

Shane mumbled something incomprehensible, tucked a pair of rolled up socks into the side of the bag.

“What was that?” Ilya teased, placing his phone onto the nightstand next to the bed.

“I felt bad for hating her!” Shane shouted, throwing a t-shirt into the bag, messing up the folds. “I know she didn’t do anything wrong, it wasn’t her fault, and I know it was wrong- but I hated her. And then I felt bad for hating her so texted her and helped set up a little trip for her and Derrick.” He sighed, looking flushed, and embarrassed and adorable. “Happy now?”

Ilya reached towards Shane, grabbing onto his wrists. “Yes,” he answered, grinning and nodding his head. “Very.” He gave a firm tug that had Shane falling on top of him. “The happiest.”

“There is weekend in April, right before playoffs, that we are both free.” Ilya said looking at the phone, making sure he was reading the thing correctly. “I will be in North Carolina after a game on Friday. You will be Florida on Thursday for a game.”

“See, the calendar is great,” Shane said smugly as he zipped up his bag, finally finished packing after Ilya’s distractions.

“It is useful,” Ilya admitted, “but I do not know if I would call it great.”

Shane ignored him. “Why are you asking about that weekend?”

“I was talking with Henri, and was thinking, if you want to come up after your game and join me in North Carolina. We could grab that dinner with Henri and his boyfriend and have a little trip. Just relax before playoff craziness.”

Shane nodded and sat down by Ilya. “That sounds nice. Let’s do it.”

“I was also thinking-”

“Lot’s of thinking you’re doing there Rozanov,” Shane chirped, bumping into his shoulder.

“Hollander you make joke, are you feeling well?” Ilya moved to place the back of his hand on Shane’s forehead.

Shane slapped his hand away, grinning. “What were you thinking?”

“We need another coach for camp this summer, right?”

Shane nodded. “I think we always need more coaches, yeah.”

“We should ask Henri.”

Shane smiled and kissed Ilya’s temple. “Okay. We’ll ask.”

Shane scrolled through Riley Morrison’s Instagram page, appreciating all the beautiful photos she had posted of her National Park trips. Turns out, Riley might excel at managing hotels but when she’s vacationing- she prefers a tent and her sleeping bag. She has crossed off twenty of the sixty-three National Parks already, which Shane found impressive. He hoped she enjoyed her trip to Banff, her plane tickets and any other costs for the trip were covered by Shane. He looked forward to following along on her adventures by watching her posts.

He looked up from his phone when he heard a joyful noise come from Ilya, who was on the other end of the couch, also looking at his phone. Ilya was staring at his phone like it held something precious.

“What’re you looking at?” Shane asked, needing to know what caused Ilya such joy so he could make sure it happened as often humanly possible.

“I’m talking with Alina,” Ilya responded and Shane noticed how his accent was a little thicker. Ilya had been texting with Alina ever since sending her an all-day all-inclusive spa pass for her… and Maxim. “She lives in the city where I grew up. She’s been sending me pictures of all the places I used to go.”

Shane smiled, almost disappointed. He couldn’t fix the fact that Russia wasn’t a place Ilya could go back to right now. He looked down at his phone and thought about what Riley taught him, well about what he taught Riley and then she taught him right back. Shane couldn’t fix this, but he could sit here and listen.

“Will you show me?”

Ilya nodded enthusiastically and opened his arms for Shane to crawl into. With Shane’s back to his chest, Ilya held out his phone and showed him pictures of his city. The park he used to play in, the fountain where his mama gave him coins to throw in so his wishes would come true, the café where he would get hot chocolate with Svetlana, the trails he used to hike on.

Picture after picture, Shane learned new little pieces of the man he loved. He hoped he would never stop learning new things about him.

“Are there any Russian restaurants near you in Ottawa?” Shane asked, his head resting on Ilya’s shoulder, his forehead against his throat.

He felt it vibrate as Ilya answered. “Yes, there is this little place, very small, ran by old man and his wife. It is very good.”

“Maybe we go there? Tomorrow? After we get back and before I have to leave for Montreal?” Shane asked, almost a little nervous, like he was encroaching on something that was meant to be just for Ilya.

But he was worried for no reason, Ilya’s face softened and then became excited. “Yes. Let’s do that. I will show you all the best things to eat. I don’t want to hear about your performance diet Shane, it is worth it. We can get the Sharlotka that my mama used to make…”

Shane listened as Ilya continued to list off all the foods he wanted him to try. It sounded like they were going to try the entire menu.

Shane couldn’t wait.

Ilya closed out of Instagram and looked around for Shane, who had gotten off the couch in search of food and never returned. He found him at the dining table, glasses on, staring at his laptop, tapping a pen against the notebook that was full of his tiny, neat, exact, handwriting.

“What are you doing Solnyshko?” (Sunshine?”)” he asked, placing his hands on Shane’s shoulder and giving them a squeeze. He leaned down and peered at the screen. It was split into two, one half showing a complicated spreadsheet that made Ilya’s head hurt, and the other half was journal article that highlighted causes of burn out and stress for healthcare providers.

“Well, I talked to Auggie again, no worries- no more embarrassing confessions to share.”

Ilya made a sound of disappointment, “How sad. They were funny. And objectively true. I am very hot and sexy. You are very lucky.”

“Anyways,” Shane pushed past Ilya’s ploy at distraction, “I talked to him about starting up that fundraiser we did back in 2017, but like a more permanent one, so it keeps on going. I want it to be a long-term thing.”

“You have other lover you need to start charity with to hide secret relationship?” Ilya asked, biting Shane’s ear a bit.

“Ew, and no,” he shoved Ilya’s head, but it was so light Ilya didn’t even move, “you’re more than enough to manage.”

Ilya wiggled his eyebrows, “I am quite the handful.”

“Ilya,” Shane snorted and shook his head.

Ilya smacked his lips against Shane’s jaw and then pulled back. “So, what is all this then?”

Shane sighed and looked back down at the screen. “This is for the hospital. I want to do something similar. Create a fund or something to help them. And by them, I mean the staff not the hospital. So, I’m trying to figure out how to do that, but I just don’t know what they need, ya know?”

Ilya thought about this. “You know who would know?”

Shane tapped the pen against his lips. “Who?”

Ilya loved this man but sometimes he did not see the obvious things. “Maria Navarro. She has been nurse for long time now, you should make her part of your little scheme.”

“It’s not a scheme,” he mumbled but his eyes were already darting to his notebook, flipping over a new page and writing out a to do list. “That’s a good idea though.”

“I keep telling you Hollander, I am a very smart man.”

“Okay mister smart man, help me figure this one out.” Shane shifted in his seat and turned towards Ilya. “I want to thank Auggie and Mara, not just through this,” he gestured towards his laptop, “but something personal. But if I send them anything they’ll have to reject it because I was a patient. Got any ideas?”

Ilya thought about it for a second before admitting he didn’t, he wasn’t familiar enough with these rules to know how to break them. He didn’t have any ideas- but he knew who would.

“You should ask Yuna,” Ilya grinned and kissed Shane’ forehead. “She is much sneakier than you.”

Ilya stepped out of the shower and into their bedroom where Shane was waiting.

“I still do not know why you rejected my offer to shower with me. Do you not care about the planet Shane?”

Shane rolled his eyes as he walked past him and into the bathroom, pulling off his shirt. “A lot more water would be wasted if I got in the shower with you. And we would be late to dinner.”

As Ilya watched Shane’s shoulders and arms flex as he threw the shirt across the bathroom and into the hamper, he had to concede that he had a point.

Shane hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants but then looked up. “Go get changed Ilya, you’re dripping water everywhere.”

Ilya stuck his tongue out at him, like a loving adult in a committed relationship should do every now and again, before turning around and walking into the bedroom.

Before he could grab his clothes, his phone rang from its spot on the nightstand. Ilya looked at the screen and saw Carol’s name, the Centaurs team manager.

He picked it up, answering the call before tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Hi Carol, how’re you?”

“I’m well sweetheart,” Carol’s sweet voice came through the line, she had always had a soft spot for Ilya, which he was using to his advantage right now. “I hope you and Shane are enjoying some away, all things considered.”

Ilya smiled. “We are, thank you.”

“So glad to hear it. Well, I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to give you a ring and let you know that thing we talked about is taken care of so you should be all set.”

“Ah! Carol you are a miracle worker, thank you.”

The woman laughed on the other end of the line. “Just happy I could help out. You let me know if there is anything else I can do for you, okay?”

They said their goodbyes and hung up the phone. Sitting on the bed he pulled up the message from Alex.

He felt good about this. Alex could have kept $15,000 to himself, but he didn’t he gave it to Shane’s and Ilya’s charity and now they could help people with it. People like his mama. People like him. Season tickets seemed like a small way to repay the favor.

There was one other person attached to Ilya’s favor from Carol.

When he got back from getting dressed, a reply waited for him.

“Thomas’s dad, Nick, responded to me,” he told Shane as he walked into the bedroom. He held out the phone and Shane took it, reading over the message.

“This is really nice Ilya.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Does this mean you’ve reconsidered buying those t-shirts?

“Absolutely not!” Ilya yelled, snatching back his phone so he could pull up the website and order them immediately. He opened the browser where the ‘Free uncle hugs’ t-shirts were waiting in his cart. “We have a responsibility, Shane! We nurtured Thomas’s gay awakening and now we must support him as his gay uncles in his kayaking…games?”

Shane tilted his head. “I think they’re called races. Or maybe meets? I’ll look it up before the season starts.”

“See Shanya, you are already on board.”

Shane’s eyes widened like he didn’t even notice he had given in. “How is this happening to me?”

“Because you are very responsible and very caring.” Ilya grinned and wrapped his arms around Shane’s still bare waist.

Shane’s finger played with the damp curls on Ilya’s neck. “You know, this is not what I meant when I said I wanted to take a more active role in supporting queer youth.” He looked down at Ilya’s screen. “Order mine in that light blue.”

Ilya scoffed, “Duh.” He pressed submit and smiled up to Shane as the confirmation screen displayed his order number.

Shane rolled his eyes and gave Ilya’s hair a tug before walking away to get dressed. “You know, my dad was a ‘camp dad’ at my hockey camps growing up. He came to the camp, helped out the kids, hung out with them, was just there ya know, to help out with whatever.”

Ilya could imagine it. David showing up to the rink with little Shane; Shane already out on the ice but David looking around and noticing the kids hanging back, the ones who needed a little extra support. “That sounds like David.”

“We don’t have a ‘camp dad’ yet.” He slipped on a soft sweater and then nodded at Ilya’s phone on the bed as his head popped through. “Maybe Nick could be our camp dad.”

Ilya picked up his phone. “I think he would be very good at that.”

Shane drove his very practical, very good in the snow, car down the white covered roads to his parents’ house where they were waiting for them to have dinner. Ilya was in the passenger seat, watching Shane tap his thumbs against the steering wheel- not anxious, not restless just… thinking.

Ilya reached out and grabbed one of Shane’s hands, intertwining their fingers and letting their hands fall onto his thigh, letting the warm of Shane’s palm ground him.

“Whew,” Ilya sighed, his head lolling to the side. “What a fucking week, huh?”

Shane blew out a breath. “I think that’s an understatement Ilya.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Shane sat with that for a moment. Ilya waited. “Better, I think.” He nodded. “Definitely better. It was good that we came here.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to glace at Ilya, his eyes soft. “Thank you for being a stubborn asshole and making us come.”

Ilya lifted their hands and kissed each knuckle, slow, and deliberate. “Always.”

Shane sighed, shifting in his seat. “It’s just… going back to the real world is going to suck.”

“You could always quit hockey and become WAG to best player in the league.”

Shane scoffed. “You fucking wish. Come talk to me when you have back-to-back cups.”

Ilya groaned. “Cups this, cups that, blah, blah, blah.”

“Say’s the man who only has one.”

“We’re coming for you Hollander.”

Shane shot him a wink. “Bring it Rozanov.”

They were quiet again for a little bit. Ilya traced patterns into Shane’s hand and forearm. Music played lowly. The wipers squeaked against the glass, clearing the few flurries of snow that were falling.

“I feel like everything’s about to change,” Shane spoke quietly, like he was afraid saying it would make it true.

Ilya nodded. “Some things, yes. Probably.”

Shane chewed on his lip and Ilya knew there was more coming. “I need you to know that I love you more than I love hockey. I meant what I said. If it comes between you and hockey I choose you.”

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand. “I know moya lyubov, (my love,) I know.”

“No. I need you to really know it. Know that even if it meant never playing again, I would choose you. If some… I don’t know… some witch or something came to me and made me choose between you and erasing every game I had ever played, goal I ever scored, record I ever set, award I ever received, or every cup I won, I would choose you. I would choose you every time. And I wouldn’t even care.”

Ilya shot Shane a disbelieving look. Ilya knew the point Shane was trying to prove but he knew his fiancé.

“Okay I would care,” Shane relented. “But I would do it. Every time.”

“You do not have to choose between me and hockey Shane; you can have both.”

Shane pursed his lips together. “You don’t know that.”

Silently, to himself, he swore on his mama’s grave that he would do everything in his power to make sure Shane Hollander never had to give up hockey for him. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe Shane. He did. He really, truly, did. But Shane loved hockey and Ilya wanted Shane to have everything that he loved.

“I would choose you too, Shane.”

Shane looked at him steadily. “I know.”

They pulled into the driveway of Yuna and David’s shortly after. Shane parked in the spot that had been shoveled out for them. Snow crunched under their boots as they stepped out.

Shane started towards the house, but Ilya grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. He pushed Shane gently against the driver’s side door. He took one more step forward, so their bodies were flushed together, close enough that their breaths mingled in the cold air.

His hand slid up Shane’s body, his thigh, his hip, ribs, chest, neck, until two fingers hooked under Shane’s chin and tilted his face up.

Shane’s eyes were hooded but they were locked in on Ilya’s.

“Y lyublyu tebya bol'she vsego na svete, (“I love you more than anything in this world,)” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear, forcing the words to make a home in his brain so he could never forget them. “Ty moy mir.” (“You are my world.)”

“Ilya, I didn’t catch any of that.” Shane’s voice was breathless and he had the front of Ilya’s jacket clutched in his fists.

Ilya shifted his hand, so his palm pressed against Shane’s cheek. “Yes, you did.”

“I love you so much,” Shane grabbed at Ilya’s cheeks and pulled him down into a kiss that was messy and desperate and perfect.

Ilya pushed him into the car hard enough that there may be a Shane size dent there when they walk into the house. He kissed Shane’s cheek, his jaw, his mouth again.

“I love you,” he whispered into Shane’s neck. “I love you,” he said as he kissed his cheek. “Ya tebya lyublyu,” (“I love you,”) he promised, looking into his eyes.

They stayed like that until their lips were too numb from cold to function properly.

Ilya watched Shane tip his head back against the window, the both of them trying to get their breathing under control before they walked inside. Ilya recognized Shane’s ‘thinking face’. “What are you thinking about moya lyubov?” (my love?”)

Shane shook his head and looked down at the snowy driveway. “It’s stupid.”

Ilya watched as a snowflake landed on Shane’s eyelash, balancing on the end before melting, causing the eyelash to become darker. “Tell me anyways.”

A puff of white air swirled around them as Shane sighed. “I was just thinking…that it’s never been a secret…us… not really.”

Ilya stared at Shane, trying to work out what he was saying. “Is that bad?”

Shane shook his head. “No. Not really. It just… this entire time, I thought we had this thing that only the two of us knew about. And that’s just not true.” He shrugged, looking down at where he was shoving the toe of his boot into the snow. “It just kind of makes it feel a little less ours, ya know?”

“No,” Ilya disagreed, shaking his head.

Shane closed his eye, color creeping up his face as he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, still looking down at the ground. “Yeah. I know. I told you it was stupid.”

“No no no,” Ilya said softly. He used his knuckle to bring Shane’s face up so he could see him. “Not what I meant. I meant what you said is not true. People have not always known.”

Shane gave a disbelieving laugh. “Ilya, we’ve spent two days going through literal proof that people have always known.”

“No,” Ilya shook his head, a smirk growing across his face. “No, I have not seen any messages talking about you walking up to me in an ally and yelling at me for smoking.”

More steam floated above them as Shane gave an indigent huff. “I did not yell at you I just-”. He cut himself off, a dopey grin forming as he took in Ilya’s words. “Wait. Since then?”

Ilya took a moment, staring at this slow hockey player with beautiful freckles who he loved despite having a weak backhand. “Since then.”

Hand in hand, they walked up the stone path that led to the front door. Without knocking, Shane opened the door and led them through. “Mom! Dad!” he called, stomping snow off his boots. Ilya did the same. “We’re here!”

A small cheer came from the kitchen and within a second, Yuna was coming through the living room. “My boys!” Her smile was wide, her arms already outstretched.

She ran up to Ilya first and wrapped around him- tight, fierce, like she was trying to make up for every year he didn’t have a mother to hold him like this. Ilya closed his eyes and leaned into her, letting himself be held.

Then she hugged Shane just as tightly.

She pulled back and looked at both of them, brushing her hands down their arms. “You two look good.”

Shane and Ilya linked hands again, giving each other a nod. “We are good.”

“Well come on,” David’s voice floated to them from he stood, leaning against the wall right where the living room meets the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Yuna wrapped her arms around bother of their backs, not minding their joined hands. “I can’t wait to hear what you thought of all the messages I kept.”

When they walked up to David, he squeezed Ilya’s shoulder and the back of Shane’s neck. “It’s good to see you boys.”

Shane stopped walking, the others halting around him. Ilya watched Shane look at his parents, really look at them. At their open faces. Their steady, never-ending love. Ilya felt it too. The warmth, the steadiness, the certainty. There was a hitch in Shane’s voice when he spoke.

“I love you both,” he said quietly. You two know that, right?”

“Of course we do, Shane.” David’s voice was steady and sure.

Yuna looked up at her son, eyes glistening. “We love you too.”

“Okay.” Shane nodded once. “Good.”

“Well, I want to say it too,” Ilya pouted. “I love you both too.”

“And we love you Ilya,” David laid a heavy comforting hand on his shoulder.

Yuna pressed her head into his chest. “So much,” she whispered, her voice tight. She sniffed, giving her boys one more squeeze before letting go. “I need more wine if we’re going to keep this up.”

The small group laughed, the kind of laugh that comes after heaviness, the kind that feels like healing.

They moved into the kitchen together. Yuna poured wine. Ilya set the table. David stirred the sauce. Shane pulled the bread out of the oven.

The house was warm. The snow outside felt like insulation, keeping them safe. The air smelled like tomatoes and garlic and warm bread. It felt like safety, support, love.

There was a whole world outside of this kitchen. A loud, messy, curious, intrusive, hilarious, and sometimes supportive world.

A world full of people who saw a video that showed Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov kissing.

But there were a few people around the world who knew so much more.

Ilya glanced at Shane, who was standing next to David, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the stove and being loved.

Sensing his gaze, Shane looked over his shoulder at Ilya, a grin spreading as he watched Yuna laugh at something Ilya had just said as she filled their glasses with more wine.

The whole world knew Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov loved each other.

It was no longer a secret.

And that felt like sunshine.

Chapter End Notes

If you're reading this, if you really read this whole thing- thank you. I mean it.

ps: I followed the tutorial by Visit mackerel_cheese to do the translations. The tutorial is titled mm whatcha say?: Changing Text On Hover for Multilingual Fics (A Download Friendly Workskin)