Hayden Pike loves his wife. A lot of the time, when people call their partners shit like ‘my better half’, it’s just talk. When Hayden says Jackie is his better half, he means it. They complete each other, balancing each other in a way he hopes has transferred to their kids — the actual mixing of their DNA. Jackie plans and structures, Hayden offers the good faith to take the final leap and put plans into action. Hayden goes where his heart and his gut takes him, Jackie follows her brain. Yin and yang, motherfucker.

All that to say, he loves her a little extra when she thinks of something he hasn’t and clues him in on it.

✽

“No dice!” Hayden yells as soon as he gets in the door, tossing his keys in the tray on the hallway dresser. He’s just come back from lunch with Shane on a half-day off, as well as a round of aimless window shopping in an attempt to give Jackie some peace and quiet working from home when the kids were at their grandparents’. It’s time for her lunch break, though, and she explicitly asked for an update…

“Seriously!?” she sounds genuinely annoyed. It sounds like her voice is coming from the kitchen, so he starts to make his way there. As expected, she’s sitting in front of her laptop by the kitchen island. He keeps telling her that she shouldn’t work sitting on a bar stool, to which she always responds that he has no business telling her how to take care of her body. Fair enough, when Hayden is forced to biweekly physio appointments for his fucked-up shoulder.

He shakes his head before walking up behind her and putting his hands on her waist. He leans forward to hook his chin over her shoulder. “Same as always,” he sighs, “he just goes ‘oh, yeah. Maybe. I’ll think about it.’”

Jackie’s responding hum vibrates through his chest. She closes her laptop. “I think I’m actually running out of acquaintances to suggest. How are you even introducing there girls, Hayd? I’m giving you perfect tens!”

“I tell him what you tell me! I’m introducing them as lovely, nice, beautiful women, who have been vetted by my genius wife.” She twists in his hold to fix him with an unimpressed look, as if to say I don’t trust you being eloquent. “I’m serious! You know how he is. It’s not like he’s going to bring it up, so I have to figure out a segue from hockey to you should get a girlfriend.”

Jackie looks horrified. “Please tell me you didn’t say that.” He’s a little offended at the lack of faith, honestly. He takes a step back to cross his arms as a way to communicate this crossness, and Jackie just snorts a laugh at him. “I had to ask. I mean, what guy in his right mind would deny a recently-retired dancer with a successful small business!?”

Hayden runs his hands down his face and lets the air slowly empty out of his lungs. Shane is, if a little odd, one of the best guys he’s ever met, but he also just seems… lonely, sometimes. “Fuuuuck…” he sighs.

“Swear jar,” Jackie says absently, chewing on a thumbnail. When he looks over at her, she looks deep in thought. Probably echoing a lot of Hayden’s thoughts on how lovable Shane is, and how much he deserves someone to get that lonely, distant look out of his eyes. “Babe.”

“What?” Hayden says, twisting his wedding ring around his finger.

“Have you ever seen Shane with a girl?”

“Um, yeah. Rose Landry, hello?”

“Besides Rose,” Jackie says firmly. “They weren’t together very long, either, right? I mean, I didn’t even get to meet her! Besides, they stayed friends after.”

Jackie stands from the bar stool and leans against the island, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t get it. What does that have to do with anything?”

“A single girl, Hayd. In nine years, have you seen him with anyone? Anyone?”

He thinks for a minute. Statistically, Shane has probably been with someone. He had a girlfriend, right before their first season together, he recalls Shane telling him. He never even saw a picture of her, and when he didn’t use his status as a fresh, hot hockey star to score back then, Hayden assumed it was because he was still hung up on the split. He hasn’t seen Shane make out in a club more than twice while they’ve known each other, and…

“He’s gone home with a girl… once, maybe?”

Jackie’s eyes widen. She uncrosses her arms and pushes herself off the island. “And he doesn’t talk about it?”

“Not unless I bring it up.” He turns around to stay facing her as she walks into the kitchen and reaches for the coffee on the shelf. She holds the jar up, you want any? He shakes his head. “Jacks, what are you thinking about?”

She presses a pod into the Nespresso and starts it. The mechanical whirring fills the kitchen. “I… give me a minute to sort it out, yeah?”

“‘Course,” Hayden agrees. He kisses her cheek and makes himself scarce by going to sit on the couch while she waits for her coffee. He drops a loonie in the swear jar on his way — let it be known that Hayden Pike is an honest man.

Jackie comes into the living room carrying her cup of coffee and slightly flushed. Her eyes are wide. “I have a theory,” she says before she’s even sat down on the couch.

Hayden frowns. “Okay?”

“Obviously, it’s none of my business, right?” Jackie starts, gesturing with her coffee cup in a way that makes Hayden nervous she’s going to spill all over their couch. She’s pretty good with spacial awareness, though, so he lets her continue. She seems pretty worked up, all the sudden. “But… is it possible that Shane may be gay?”

It’s a good fucking thing he didn’t say yes to coffee, because if Hayden had been holding a mug right now he would have dropped it for sure. As it stands, he feels a bit as if someone has shot a puck right at his head except the loud crack of something hitting his helmet instead is replaced by Shane is gay. It simultaneously makes perfect sense and sounds fucking absurd.

“You think?”

Jackie shrugs. “I mean, it’s not impossible, is it?”

He supposes it isn’t. It just seems really, really improbable. Like, what gay guy would go out with Rose Landry? Also, wouldn’t Shane have told him, at this point? Nine years of friendship should be worth a coming out, right? Surely Hayden isn’t that terrible that Shane should think he’d, like, hate him if he told him?

Hayden doesn’t care that Shane is gay, he’d just kind of feel like a bit of a cocksucker for always trying to set him up with girls—

Oh. Oh, shit.

“Jackie, I think I’m homophobic.”

“What!?” A laugh bubbles from his wife’s mouth. “Okay? What… um, what makes you think that?”

“I mean… I just thought ‘man, if Shane’s gay it’s kind of a cocksucker—” he emphasizes the word with air quotes— “move to set him up with girls,’ isn’t that kinda homophobic of me? Fuck, I’m a terrible friend.”

Jackie snorts again. “Swear jar, twice, first of all. And second: okay, yeah, that is a homophobic insult.” Hayden makes an embarrassing sound. “But that doesn’t mean you’re a homophobe. You’ve got some work to do, maybe… ugh, let’s try it this way.

“If Shane was gay…”

“Yeah…?” Hayden says skeptically

“Would you keep setting him up with girls—”

“I just said no, that’s fucked up!”

“—to… change him? Or would you think he should still date girls to look better?”

“Um. No. Do you think that? Should I be worried? Because that’s fucked up, Jackie.”

“I know. Hayden, I really don’t think you’re homophobic. Not, like, really. You might have some biases to unlearn, but you don’t hate gay people.”

God, Hayden loves his wife. She’s so smart and she knows so much, and she lets him get away with swearing when he’s having a crisis. It’s like she’s set off a line of dominoes in his head. Shane might be gay, and Hayden might be homophobic. Or maybe Hayden isn’t homophobic, but he says homophobic things sometimes because he’s a hockey player, and that’s kind of what you do. Shane is also a hockey player, so when other people said those things to him, they’d be… true?

Oh, shit.

“He hasn’t told me, though,” Hayden says weakly. Jackie lays a hand on his shoulder and he looks up her, frowning.

“You know why he probably hasn’t told you. If I’m right.”

“You’re always right,” Hayden says absently, putting his hand on top of Jackie’s and squeezing. “But, yeah, I guess. People are dicks.”

Jackie hums in agreement. They sit for a bit, Jackie finishing her coffee and Hayden processing. He doesn’t want to make any assumptions, but as always his wife is clever and her ideas make sense.

“WAIT!” Hayden shouts. Jackie startles so hard her hand slips off his shoulder. “Lily! Boston Lily!”

He stands up from the couch and starts pacing around the room. “There’s this girl named Lily, right? Every time we’re in Boston his phone is going off like crazy! And it’s not just in Boston, either. Lately, it’s like all the time, and he’s always smiling down at his phone. It’s been going on for years!”

“I think I remember you mentioning a Lily at some point.”

“Shit, I can’t even remember when the first time was.” A new theory has started to take shape in his head. “Maybe… maybe Shane has a secret girlfriend — or maybe he’s in unrequited love with his Boston hookup — and that’s why he won’t go out with any girls we find for him? It was only supposed to be casual sex, right? A convenient contact in Boston. But then… oh, Shane. Then he falls in love. With this beautiful Bostonian woman who is tied to noone.”

He turns to look at Jackie, who has leaned back fully on the couch and put her coffee down in favor of crossing her arms as she grins at him. “You done?” she asks.

Hayden exhales. “Yeah. Either way, it f— it sucks.”

Jackie chews on her thumbnail, looking concerned. “It could be both.”

Secret gay hookup with whom Shane is secretly in unrequited love.

Oh, Shane.

It’s been three weeks since they saw each other last, and Shane was practically on his knees the moment he got a movement alert from his security camera. He resists, if only because he opens the door and pulls Ilya inside as soon as he hears footsteps outside his apartment.

Ilya goes willingly into his arms, dropping his bags on the hallway floor to wrap his arms tightly around Shane’s waist. Shane tucks his face into Ilya’s neck, feeling only a little bit like a serial killer as he takes a deep inhale of his smell. “мой письменный стол,” Ilya breathes.

Shane pulls back to roughly press their lips together. “Had that one ready, did you?”

“Mmh,” Ilya mumbles between kisses, “among other things.” He punctuates the statement by grinding his already-hard cock against Shane’s leg, the firm length of him enough to make Shane gasp. He feels himself leaking into his briefs.

“What—” Shane whimpers as Ilya starts to push him into the apartment toward the bedroom. “What does that one mean?” he asks, pretending to be at least somewhat in control.

Ilya pauses on the way to the bedroom to grab Shane and hoist him up to carry him the last stretch to the bedroom. Shane grinds against him, panting against his neck and scared he’ll blow his load before they even cross the threshold — he pauses. Ilya swears something in Russian that Shane is too gone to translate.

“Desk” Ilya says, before throwing Shane down onto the bed so hard he bounces, and then climbing on top of him. Shane wastes no time in flipping them over, looking at Ilya through his lashes.

Let me?

He pushes Ilya’s shirt up his chest, and Ilya takes over so he can throw it somewhere. Shane will be bothered about the mess later. For now, he fumbles with the bow on Ilya’s sweat-pant strings and pulls his pants and underwear off in one go before taking Ilya in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Shane!” Ilya shouts. His hand comes to tangle in Shane’s hair like it’s a lifeline. “Ugh, yes. Fuck!”

Shane lets himself go lax, taking Ilya’s cock as deep as it will go. He’s been waiting for this, to have Ilya laying back on the bed and fucking Shane’s throat. He knows Ilya doesn’t mind doing the work — doesn’t even see it as doing work — but sometimes it’s nice to be able to give him this. He pulls back to get a bit of air, and glances up at Ilya while he can.

Ilya’s chest is heaving with breath, his mouth is hanging open and he’s panting wordlessly. Unless he slept on the plane (which he usually has trouble doing), Ilya’s been awake for over twenty hours with the plane delays. Shane starts again, taking Ilya to the base and holding there for long enough to hear a grunt from his boyfriend. The hand in his hair tightens its hold, and Ilya pulls slightly.

Good, Shane thinks, take what you want. He starts to move, probably messy and uncoordinated and definitely drooling.

It isn’t long before Ilya is spilling into his mouth and Shane is swallowing around his softening dick, pulling off and wiping at his mouth. Ilya holds his arms out and Shane gratefully falls into his embrace. It’s only as Ilya starts pressing kisses to his forehead that Shane realizes he’s fully clothed.

“Did you?” Ilya asks.

Shane takes stock of himself and realizes that he, in fact, did not. As eager as he was, he’s still rock-hard and leaking in his briefs. In his fucking pants. He shakes his head.

“Oh,” Ilya says, tearing at Shane’s clothes so fiercely he’s naked within thirty seconds. When Ilya slides his briefs off, he whimpers. It’s possible that a weak breeze could get him off at this point. Ilya, a mind reader, tests this theory by blowing on his dick. Shane’s entire body twitches like he’s been tasered. “Shush…” Ilya hushes.

He glances up at Shane, and then seems to think for a bit before he brings them face-to-face again. He sinks down to kiss Shane at the same minute he presses his thumb to Shane’s slit to spread precum down his shaft.

What ends up happening is more Shane panting into Ilya’s mouth as he jerks him off than kissing, and Shane coming after what is probably an embarrassingly short time. He doesn’t know — time isn’t exactly real, at the moment.

Ilya collapses on top of him, and Shane immediately cringes at the feeling of his cum smearing between their torsos. He wrinkles his nose, but doesn’t say anything, lest he ruin the mood. “I missed you,” he says instead.

“We will shower,” Ilya reassures, patting his chest lightly. “I missed you too.”

Shane leans up for a proper kiss, then pushes Ilya away from him. “Shower. Now, please.”

“So demanding,” Ilya drawls, getting off Shane all the same. Shane crawls out of bed, and Ilya squeezes his ass on the way. He does not yelp. “Does your highness want help in washing?”

Shane throws a discarded pair of sweatpants at him.

✽

After a shower, brushing their teeth, and changing the sheets (at Shane’s insistence) they crash back into bed. Ilya settles onto Shane’s chest, sighs in relief when he feels a hand run through his hair. The recirculated airplane air is washed off, and the comforting low light of Shane’s bedroom is slowly replacing the memory of fluorescent airport lighting.

“я тебя люблю,” he whispers. I love you.

Shane responds in kind, pronouncing it just ever so slightly better than he did last time they saw each other. Ilya falls asleep filled with the warmth that only Shane can bring, and nursing the ache of knowing how much time they’re missing.

Time off during the season is rare, and Hayden tries to make the most of it every time. Amber is still so tiny, and he tries to do his best to take some of the pressure off Jackie now he’s home — letting her stay in bed when Amber cries in the morning and making her breakfast once Amber is settled and snoozing away in the baby carrier.

She shuffles up behind him as he’s slicing up mangoes. “My star chef,” she says, placing her chin on his shoulder.

That’s untrue and they both know it — cutting fruit is about as advanced as his cooking gets. He twists back and gives her a kiss thanks anyway. She reaches around him for a sliver off the plate.

“Did you—”

“Chia pudding’s in the fridge,” he interrupts her, and she lets out a whoop of joy that makes his ears ring. Jackie almost runs to get out one of the little mason jars. “White one’s just coconut and the other one is this carrot cake thingy I tried. You don’t have to eat it if it sucks.”

She ‘oooh’s. “I’ll try the carrot cake, sure. Is the mango done?” He holds the finished plate up. Miraculously, the older kids are still asleep, so he brings it over to the island without making a coffee, lest the noise wake them up. They both agree that anything is worth the kids being at least a bit less cranky on a road trip to the summer house. Jackie winks at him and starts digging into her breakfast. “Mmh, the carrot cake is okay. Not better than the cocount, but not bad.”

He sticks a finger into the pudding and tries it. He wrinkles his nose.

Jackie shoves him. “A bit more maple syrup, maybe. But you’re being dramatic. Speaking of, did you talk to Shane at all yesterday?”

Hayden groans. “Ugh, no. He seemed even more tense yesterday, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. I just asked him ‘hey man, you good?’ and he looked at me like I was crazy. Didn’t feel like the time to tell him I think he needs to get laid, y’know?”

“Played well, though,” Jackie points out. “You all did.”

“No shit. Hollzy was like a man possessed. I think he gets antsy when we’re playing Boston, all that shit with Rozanov always gets the media going extra hard.”

Jackie hums sympathetically. “They’ve really been put against each other since they were just kids, haven’t they?”

“Name of the game.” Hayden shrugs. “Plus, Rozanov’s a dick. He’s been even more of a fucking menace lately — it felt like he was chirping every five minutes last night. And he was on Shane’s ass constantly.”

“You don’t think he’s playing it up?”

“Oh hell no,” Hayden laughs, “he’s always like that. Every time you meet him, he’s god damn insufferable. It’s like he’s allergic to being a nice person, or something.”

There’s a shriek from the girls’ bedroom. It’s short, but Hayden thinks it’s a shriek of joy, probably them messing around and tossing pillows at each other or something. Either way, he needs to get the two of them into some semblance of order ahead of their car ride. He smacks a kiss to Jackie’s cheek and then goes down the hall to Ruby and Emma’s room.

As suspected, they’re having a pillow fight. It’s a good thing he got here when he did, though, because it looks like it was just about to get ugly. Emma has Ruby’s toy caterpillar hoisted high over her head, ready to chuck it across the room. He grabs it out of her hand and toss it gently to Ruby.

“Woah!” he shouts. Then, he picks up Emma and hoists her as high as his game-battered body will let him.

“Daddy, me too!” Ruby shouts.

He and Jackie learned early on that Ruby and Emma won’t sleep in the car — not unless it’s super late and dark outside. The best bet is and always has been to let them sleep in so they don’t get grumpy, and tire them out enough that they won’t be wriggling in their seats the whole time. Amber is a pretty happy baby, and Arthur just conks out as soon as they drive for longer than 10 minutes.

Hayden drops Emma onto her bed from high enough that she almost bounces off, and she giggles hysterically. Ruby reaches for him, and he tosses her too. “You excited for a little trip?”

“YEAH!” they cheer in unison.

“Alright!” he spins to do a check of the room. “All packed?”

Predictably, Emma nods enthusiastically, and Ruby averts her eyes in guilt. She’d probably started yesterday with Emma and then gotten sidetracked by something she found more fun. He’d bet it’s the coloring book that’s laying open on her desk.

“Get the last of your stuff,” he tells Ruby, “I’ll get mine, and we can all put our bags in the car together, ‘kay?”

“Kay!”

He walks out of their room, leaving them to it — Emma will most likely keep Ruby in check, he hopes — and goes to check on his own bags in the meanwhile. Most of it should be packed since before yesterday, but it’s always good to look everything over after a road trip.

Hayden checks the big compartment of his duffel bag, and then the small pockets. Then, he checks his pant pockets. And then he checks the room for his other pants.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Shane has settled into their routine by now. Sure, actually managing to get any significant amount of time together during the season is hell, and so is the travel to eke out a few extra hours. But when they’re finally together, it’s like a well-oiled machine. They have joint breakfast habits now.

They get up at the same time, at which Shane actually gets up and Ilya whines and tries to keep him in bed. Shane goes to make coffee, and the smell and his absence is usually enough to lure Ilya out of the bedroom.

Good morning, Ilya will whisper in Russian (after a particularly embarrassing confession of Shane liking the way it sounds) in his ear. Without fail, one of them will get handsy which either leads to spectacular morning sex or a frustrated workout followed by hand-jobs in the shower.

Shane always has the same breakfast, the same one he’s had for years now. A smoothie — one banana, spirulina, greek yogurt, spinach, and skim milk — and three hard-boiled eggs. Ilya calls him gross and boring, and usually opts for whatever suits his fancy. When they’re staying at Shane’s, the mornings typically include quite a bit of complaining about the contents of his kitchen.

There are traces of Ilya everywhere in his apartment now. A jar of sweetened Jif next to his organic peanut butter. Cans of coke in the fridge. A Boston Raiders jersey in the closet.

”Good morning, “моя ванна.”

Ilya gropes at Shane’s pec from behind, pressing his front against his back.

”It’s too early for you to be calling me weird shit.”

Ilya kisses at his neck, squeezing at his chest again. Uncharacteristically, he actually gets out of bed straight away. Shane's makes to follow him, but gets stopped with a hand pressing on his shoulder.

”Stay,” Ilya says firmly, ”I want to make my beautiful boyfriend his disgusting breakfast to have in bed.”

Shane’s stomach flutters. Ilya leans in to kiss him, and the promise of breakfast in bed is almost enough to distract him from the fact that neither of them have brushed their teeth. ”Teeth,” he says weekly, when they’re only inches apart. Ilya groans dramatically and lets his head fall onto Shane’s shoulder. Shane can’t help but run his hand through the curls at Ilya’s nape.

”I change my mind,” Ilya sighs, ”no boring breakfast for you. Even though you are very beautiful. You do not love me.”

”I love you very much,” Shane assures, ”I do not love your morning breath.”

Ilya rises from his shoulder. ”Fine.” He puts a hand on Shane’s cheek and brushes his thumb across it before pinching, hard. Shane yelps. ”I make boring smoothie and boring eggs.”

He places a hard kiss just under the hinge of Shane’s jaw, timing it expertly to narrowly avoid leaving a hickey. Shane hisses through his teeth. Ilya backs up and pats Shane’s chest before leaving to boil eggs. Usually Shane will meal prep for efficiency, but yesterday was meal-prep day and he had other things to do, then. Shane’s heart flips again at the thought that Ilya is probably making breakfast for that very reason.

“Shane, любимый!” Ilya yells from the kitchen, моя свеча!”

Shane wonders if Ilya thinks he’s fallen back asleep. “What!”

“Weird Swedish milk or normal in coffee?”

“Oat milk, please,” Shane says, as low as he can get away with for Ilya to still hear him across the apartment. It’s really too early for yelling. He’d made the mistake of divulging to Ilya that the brand of oat milk he buys is Swedish, and managed to trigger a hangup just after they’d gotten past how do you milk oats? being funny. Minutes later, the blender starts running. Shane spends the time going through his phone, checking his e-mail and any messages from Mom’s business number. He leaves the social media notifications and texts for later.

Ilya appears in the doorway, and he puts down his phone, smiling at the absolute sight before him. Ilya’s hair is still messy from sleep, frizzy from the dry weather. He’s shirtless and the marks from the sheets are only almost faded from his skin. He’s carrying a huge tray. “Boring breakfast is ready,” he chirps.

It looks like he’s made a lot more than boring breakfast. Shane can see his smoothie, and the eggs (already peeled), but the tray has cut fruits, slices of toast shiny with butter, and two steaming (matching) mugs of coffee. He’s just about to comment on the veritable feast that’s been prepared when the doorbell rings.

Shane groans. “Ugh, shit. It’s probably Amazon — I ordered new compression socks.”

Ilya comes in and leaves the tray on the bedside table. He leans in to kiss Shane softly. “Let me get it? You stay.”

It’s a testament to how long they’ve gone without seeing each other that Ilya forgoes the opportunity to tease Shane about his “old man socks”. Shane hums, and then Ilya’s gone again. Shane reaches for his coffee cup and takes a sip, but leaves the food for when Ilya’s back.

The doorbell rings again, which is unusual, but he hears Ilya’s hurried steps through the apartment to get his — all things considered, not very valuable — package. He hears the creak of the door opening, the echo of Ilya saying something he can’t quite make out, and then the slam of the door being shut violently.

Ilya walks back into the bedroom with determined steps, and Shane looks questioningly at him over the rim of his mug. His arms are empty. “It was not Amazon,” Ilya explains. Shane lowers his cup and frowns. Before he can ask anything, Ilya continues, “do not panic, Shane.”

Which is, of course, a surefire way to set Shane panicking. “What,” he hisses.

“Is nothing bad,” Ilya assures.

“Ilya, what is going on?”

“Pike is here.”

Shane looses what feels like all the strength in his body, including the grip on his mug. It tilts backwards over him and the sheets. “Fuck!” he yells at the sting of hot coffee against his bare chest. Luckily, the milk cooled it down enough that it’s unlikely that he’ll get a proper burn, but… “What? What the fuck!?”

First, all Shane feels is pain and confusion, but it quickly bleeds away to reveal complete fucking panic.

Fuck, Hayden is here. Hayden’s here and Ilya opened the door and he’s shirtless and he’s got bed hair and Shane is also shirtless — how does this keep happening to them?

He doesn’t even notice that Ilya has darted forward until there’s hands on his face. “Shane, relax—”

“Don’t fucking— don’t touch me!” Shane flinches back, spilling more coffee. “Shit!”

This is a disaster.

Ilya carefully takes the mug from his hands and then sits on the edge of the bed, pointedly not in contact with Shane anywhere. “Sorry, fuck. I’m sorry, I didn’t— I don’t—” he reaches out pathetically to Ilya, who grabs his hand immediately.

“Is okay.” Ilya rubs his thumb against the back of Shane’s hand. “It will be okay.”

“I was supposed to— I was gonna… I was going to tell him,” he says weakly. Ilya nods. “On purpose. I had a whole plan.”

Shane squeezes Ilya’s hand. What the fuck.

Some days, he gets so tired of all the secrets, and he gets so angry about everything. He knows Ilya is, too. Angry, that is. Shane gets angry that the world is shit, and that he has to keep his relationship secret if he wants to keep his job. Shane gets angry that he loves hockey so much, because if he loved it just a little less it would be less than, and not equal to, how much he loves Ilya — this wouldn’t be a problem. He hates that he’s so scared, and he hates that his best friends either don’t know he’s gay at all, or don’t know who the love of his fucking life is. Because they can’t. Except now Hayden is outside his door, probably. Fuck.

“What did he want?” Shane asks.

Ilya shrugs. “I closed the door on him.”

“You what?” That’s why the door slammed? “You didn’t even— you didn’t say anything to him?”

“No.” Ilya shakes his head. “I thought: maybe if I close door quick enough, he won’t see me. He is not very smart, it could work.”

Shane lets his head loll forward until his forehead knocks into Ilya’s firm shoulder. Ilya places a hand on his neck and squeezes gently. “I should go talk to him,” Shane murmurs.

“We can wait for him to leave. He has small baby — probably doesn’t sleep. He will think he hallucinated.”

Shane shoves at him with a huff of laughter. He still feels shaky all over, but Hayden isn’t stupid. He’s probably putting the pieces together right now, standing outside the door to Shane’s apartment. Shane sighs and gets up, forcing himself out of bed to go put on some clothes. He pulls the first hoodie he gets his hands on over his head, before he notices that it’s one of Ilya’s Raiders hoodies and pulls it off immediately. He tosses it backwards blindly, but based on the sputtering from behind him it’s likely that he managed to nail Ilya in the face with it.

The next hoodie is a Metros sweatshirt, which is much more acceptable. Except this is probably the sweatshirt that Shane was wearing on the phone in the cottage that one time—

Something hits him in the back. He turns around to see Ilya’s hoodie in a heap on the floor, and Ilya himself sitting on the edge of the bed with his brows raised. “Go,” he says emphatically. Shane nods like a bobble head. Yeah. Yeah, okay. Yep, going.

He marches though the apartment until he reaches the front door, and opens it before he can think too much about it.

Yep. There’s Hayden Pike. Holding something— an Amazon package?

“Guy, uh, came with this. For you.”

“Thanks,” Shane says dumbly, taking the plastic envelope. His fucking compression socks. He can’t believe it. “Not that I, um, don’t want you here—” he cringes at the obvious lie— “but why are you here?”

“Oh, shit. Right. We’re going on a road trip to the summer home with the kids over the weekend, right, but I think I accidentally put some of my joggers in your bag or something and I have the house keys in there.”

“Oh.” Shane looks to his duffel on the hallway floor, abandoned as soon as he got home in favor of a rigorous shower. “Yeah, you can just— here, have a look.”

He hands the bag over to Hayden, and there’s a palpable awkwardness in the air even as Hayden determinedly rummages around for his pants. “Ha-ha!” he lets out a triumphant laugh at last, digging out a pair of black joggers that look nearly identical to a pair that Shane owns. No wonder he didn’t notice. “Okay, fucking amazing. The keys are in here, thank God.”

Then, it seems to hit Hayden again. He glances into the apartment without saying anything, and just as Shane is starting to wonder if Ilya’s hallucination theory doesn’t have some truth after all, he says, “I really gotta go, but we will be talking about this.”

Shane digs his fingers into the package in his hands so hard the plastic stretches under his hands. He takes a shuddering breath. ”Yeah. I’m— uh. Sorry.”

Hayden frowns, and Shane’s heart falls into his stomach. “You don’t— hey. This is… weird, or whatever. And we don’t have time to talk about it for real, but you don’t need to be sorry, man.”

“Okay,” Shane agrees weakly. He’s staring at Hayden’s shoulder. “Enjoy your vacation.”

“Thanks.”

And then he’s gone.

There’s just the wall of the hallway outside Shane’s apartment door, and the nasty overhead fluorescent lights. He thinks he can hear his own ragged breathing bouncing off the walls, and he hasn’t even heard the ding of the elevator going down yet. He has to close the door, but his arm is locked in place gripping the handle like a life line.

“Sweetheart?” Ilya’s voice comes to him muffled, like he’s got cotton balls stuffed in his ears. “Shane.”

His knees start to give out beneath him, and thanks hockey for Ilya’s fast reflexes preventing him from hitting his knees on the floor. Ilya catches him just in time, clutches his arms tight and leans Shane against himself. “My socks came,” he says nonsensically.

“Good. You will not get blood clot on plane.” Ilya rolls with it, still supporting most of Shane’s weight. “Did you buy fun pattern or boring black ones?”

Shane laughs, weak and breathless, but genuine. He’d forgotten. “Wait, lemme stand,” he murmurs. Ilya’s grip lets up a bit, but he leans back only to frown at Shane and shake his head.

“No,” he says, “we sit down on couch. Bed is dirty, but I bring breakfast.”

“Ilya,” Shane says. “Oh, fuck, the bed.”

“I did not make breakfast for you to let it go to waste,” Ilya says firmly, “we are having breakfast on couch. Bed will not disappear, we fix later.” Then he bends down to grab Shane by the thighs and hoist him up, marching with determined steps to the couch.

Once they’re in the living room, Ilya lays him down, and then lays down on top of him. Shane has been clutching the damn Amazon package in his hand for the entire walk, and now it’s squished between them. “Get up, asshole.”

“Mm-no, is comfortable. Maybe I will go back to sleep.”

Shane shoves at him as best he can until his hands are free to tear the package open. Inside is a multi-pack of plain black compression socks — Ilya blows a raspberry when he takes them out — and then another with different dog patterns. He holds them out, and gets only halfway through ‘for you’ before Ilya is pressing him into the couch and kissing him senseless.

✽

The solace from the panic lasts only for a little bit, even after breakfast and a quick round in the shower and fresh sheets. Shane almost starts hyperventilating, but then Ilya jokes about putting him in a compression body sock, and manages to talk him down enough to convince Shane that Hayden isn’t going to throw away years of friendship.

“He is not homophobe.” Ilya is lying on top of him again, the two of them skin-to-skin now. It helps, sometimes, to have Ilya’s weight on top of him when he feels as if all his muscles are trying to vibrate out of his skin.

“He’s not,” Shane agrees. “It’s just… you opened the door.”

“Yes, that is typically what you do with doors.”

Shane pinches him in the back. “It’s just… this isn’t how I wanted him to find out. I love him— shut up— and I don’t want him to think… that I don’t trust him.”

“If he has any brain in his head he will know that you do,” Ilya says, “maybe he was shocked also because he has been dreaming about me. He is sad that I am taken man and that only the best hockey player in the league is good enough for me.”

“The best, huh?”

“I never said that, you are hearing things. Do we need to call a doctor?”

A lull.

“M’sorry,” he says into Ilya’s neck, “this isn’t how I wanted to spend our weekend off together. Me just freaking out.”

“What do you mean?” Ilya asks, adjusting to press kisses to the line of Shane’s jaw, “we had great breakfast, amazing sex… is perfect weekend.”

Shane smiles despite himself. He seems to do that around Ilya — it’s one of the reasons he loves him so much. “Hm,” he says, leaning his head back to bare his throat. He grinds his hips up ever so slightly. “Could make it better for you.”

“I will not disagree,” Ilya purrs, squeezing at Shane’s hips.

Hayden is still reeling by the time he rolls into the driveway. The kids have probably been absolute hellspawn, but he’s barely registered it. He’s been a driving hazard, probably, because the image of Ilya Rozanov standing shirtless in Shane’s doorway has been flashing through his mind every ten minutes. He wishes it would stop doing that, because it’s really not a sight he ever wanted to see.

He’s been going round in circles trying to come up with a plausible explanation as to why Rozanov would be in Shane’s apartment. Every idea he comes up with is dumber than the last: maybe his shirt was set on fire on the street and he happened to be nearby; maybe a dog pissed on Rozanov’s shoe; maybe they were having a photo shoot in Shane’s apartment for a brand deal.

Somehow they all seem more likely than the most obviously solution, which is that Shane has been fucking Ilya Rozanov.

Jesus H. Christ.

There’s another thing bothering him, too. It’d been early in the morning when he showed up, and Rozanov had opened the door with sheet-creases on his face like just rolled out of bed.

You don’t get those from a quick fuck. Rozanov had slept over. When Hayden had been waiting for Shane to come back, his brain had come online in staggering increments. Distantly, he’d thought about how private Shane is about his space. His cottage — how he built it as an “escape” and complained for days when some online magazine wanted to film a tour. Team hangouts were never at his place, and it took years for Hayden and Jackie to be invited. Shane Hollander loves his privacy and personal space, that’s an undisputed fact. So what the hell is Ilya Rozanov doing in it?

✽

“Okay, what the hell is up with you?” Jackie asks once the kids are all asleep.

He’s shocked enough at her swearing that it takes a moment for the question to register.

“Shane’s gay,” he blurts as soon as it does. That’s really not what he meant to say. He’s not, like, well-versed in the ins and outs of the gay world but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to out someone.

But, shit, he really needs to talk to someone about this. To process.

“Okay,” Jackie says slowly. “Did he come out to you?”

Hayden winces. “Not exactly.”

At that, she leans forward, raising an eyebrow. “Hayd,” she says warningly.

“I didn’t force anything out of him, it’s just— when I was over to his place, right?”

“Did he have someone over?” Jackie says, eyes sparkling with excitement until she reels it back in. She looks torn between what might be the gossip of the decade and respecting Shane’s privacy.

Hayden twists in his seat. He nods. He can see her start to think, and he’s been doing so well all day and he can’t fucking keep this shit in anymore, he’s going to go crazy. “It was Rozanov,” he says, “fuckin’… Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov opened the door! Like he owned the place! And he just… looked me up and down, said ‘wait here’ and then shut the door on me!?”

“Kids are asleep,” Jackie says absently, looking about a thousand miles into the distance.

“What was Rozanov doing at Shane’s apartment at eight in the morning!?” Hayden hisses. “Jacks, he can’t be fucking Rozanov. That’s, like, heresy. We have to fix this—”

“Okay, stop. You’re being ridiculous.” Hayden frowns at her. “I know this is a lot, but I think you need to talk to Shane about this. Really talk, not just… ambush him and start accusing him of things. He’s gonna freak out. Did you… talk at all, or?”

“He just gave me my pants and I… left, I guess,” Hayden says. “I told him it was fine, and everything. We’re cool, you know. But that we’d talk. And we will.”

“Babe, you freaked him out! He probably had a panic attack, or something. What the hell? You gave him ‘we need to talk’ and then left?”

“Well what was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, anything else?”

“You guys were all waiting in the car, and the girls were already going crazy!”

Jackie puts a hand on his cheek and pats it lightly. “You need to figure out something better to tell him. Send him a text. Something that isn’t ominous as shit.”

The fight goes out of him and he feels weirdly sad. Not super weirdly, he supposes. He’d just caught Shane fraternizing with the enemy — enemy number one, Hayden would argue — and he’s just confirmed that Shane really is gay. Or bisexual. Whatever he is, Hayden doesn’t know because Shane hasn’t told him. He thinks he’s a trustworthy enough guy, and he’d given Shane his own trust. About the kids, about feeling like he’s letting Jackie down by being gone all the time, about thinking about maybe quitting.

He knows he isn’t entitled to any information about Shane, not really, but damn it. It still stings. Hayden picks up his phone.

Hollzy

[21:46] Hey man

[21:46] Sorry about this morning. I was just super fucking

stressed and my brain wasn’t working.

[21:47] We should sit down and talk for real though. You’re my best

friend and I don’t want things to be weird between us. Maybe

dinner last day of break?

[21:59] It’s okay.

[22:00] I have plans last day of break,

but I could make first day back work.

Oh yeah. Right. Of-fucking-course he has plans. With Ilya Rozanov. Jesus Christ. He takes a deep breath.

“You’re doing the dad thing,” Jackie says.

“The what?”

She’s smiling now, leaning on her hand with her elbow resting on the dinner table. “The dad thing where you get all weird and pissy because you’re worried. It’s kinda cute.”

He thinks about it for a second. “I think he’s gonna get hurt,” he says. “I think Shane’s in over his head with Rozanov. I mean, that guy is a notorious womanizer. I think I’ve seen him holding, like, three girls at the same time once. It’s gonna get ugly.”

He takes Jackie’s hand and squeezes it when she reaches across the table.

✽

When Hayden rings Shane’s doorbell, he’s oddly nervous. It’s like he’s expecting a shirtless Ilya Rozanov to open the door again. It isn’t, just Shane looking slightly nervous and gesturing for Hayden to come in.

Shane’s apartment, as always, is impeccably clean when Hayden sweeps his gaze over it as he takes his shoes off. Shane is shifting his weight over his feet, somehow looking out of place in his own home. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets as soon as he shuts the door, shoulders hiked up to his ears.

He looks a little like a dog, that’s about to be put down. “Hey,” Hayden says. He doesn’t really know how long they’ve just stood in awkward silence. This reminds him of the early days of their friendship, before they learned how to navigate each other and Shane got comfortable enough to be himself.

“Hey,” Shane replies.

Hayden can’t help but laugh. “This is fucking weird, right?”

Shane huffs, gaze shifting to the side, looking through the open-plan living room out the window. His eyes are fucking everywhere but meeting Hayden’s. “Yeah. Um, yeah. Guess so.” His manners take over. “Do you wanna… come in? There’s beer in the fridge, if you want. Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Hayden says. He’s trying to lighten the mood here. Shane is wound tight as a fucking spring. Beer might help. “Want me to grab one for you, too?”

Shane just shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks. Maybe with lunch, later.”

Moving lunch up by an hour and a half to let Hayden unpack and settle in back home before their next road trip has probably driven Shane up the wall. Shane with his stupid, meticulous diet and food schedule bringing beer into the conversation during the season feels like an _in for a penny, in for a pound-_move.

When he opens the fridge door, the spotless apartment illusion shatters. Hayden doesn’t think he’s seen Shane eat half of the stuff in here. There’s beer, coke, an opened jar of Nutella, what looks like a block of cheese that’s been half-grated, half a honeydew. Hayden reaches for a can of Unibroue. Shane has already taken out a glass for him when he turns around, but the man himself is already moving around, nervously moving dishes from the rack to the cupboards.

He doesn’t know why he’s reeling at the sight of a fridge. It isn’t providing him with any information he didn’t know before — Rozanov stayed the night, probably had breakfast at Shane’s place. But one person doesn’t eat that much Nutella in one morning. And nobody has coke for breakfast.

Shane finally settles, sitting down at the kitchen island at the exact moment Hayden turns around. “I should probably explain.”

“Yeah, probably,” Hayden says, hearing Jackie’s voice in his head telling him not to sound too accusatory.

“So, um,” Shane’s mouth twitches, “I’m gay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “I was going to tell you, I swear. I just— it’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just I could never find the right time. There’s was always someone around, or we had a game that day, or I chickened out.”

“And Rozanov?” Hayden can’t help but ask.

“It’s a long story,” Shane says. If he were anyone else, he’d be picking at his cuticles right now, but he’s oddly meticulous about personal hygiene so he’s just staring at his hands. Hayden sits down at the island with him.

He cracks his beer open and takes a sip. “Tell me anyway. When did the whole… hookup thing start?” He cringes. Just saying it conjures images in his mind he’d rather not have. He has to pull back hard once his mind starts drifting to whether or not Shane is— he takes a huge swig of beer.

“It’s, um, been a while,” Shane says slowly.

“Really? What are we talking, a few months?” Shane’s lips press together hard enough that the blood drains out of them. “A year?” Shane mumbles something. “Sorry, buddy. Couldn’t hear that.”

“Since our rookie season.”

It’s like another puck being fired at him, but no helmet this time.

“Or, well… the summer before, technically,” Shane says wryly.

“What?” Hayden squeaks, staring at him. Shane is staring resolutely at the counter. “Shane, what the fuck?”

He opens his mouth, looks like he’s going to say something that looks suspiciously like swear jar before he closes his mouth again without saying anything. Good. If Hayden can’t swear his way through this conversation mindlessly, he might die. “Sorry,” Shane whispers instead.

“So, let me get this straight.” Hah. “You’ve been sleeping with the enemy for almost ten years?”

Shane exhales a sigh. “Just about, yeah. Or, well—”

“You know what,” Hayden laughs, “spare me the details, please.”

They sit in awkward silence for a bit, both of them twisting in their seats and Hayden sipping from his beer just for something to do. He thinks about Ilya Rozanov — notorious asshole and womanizer, and then of Shane — Montreal’s golden boy and secretly a little bit of a shit. He doesn’t… he can see the appeal for a night, maybe two.

But… nine years?

He’s also almost a hundred percent sure he’s seen pictures of Rozanov with women during those nine years. Hell, he thinks he’s seen it with his own goddamn eyes. He tells Shane as much.

“I thought you didn’t want the details.” Hayden rolls his eyes. “It… wasn’t always exclusive,” Shane says mildly, slowly as if he’s considering every word and whether or not it’s too much detail.

“But it is now?” Hayden feels his eyebrows shoot up. Shane nods. “Really?”

“Yes,” Shane says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “he’s my boyfriend.”

_What the hell? “_What, seriously?”

“What the fuck about me being in a relationship is so hard for you to believe!?” Shane spits, standing up, suddenly angry. “Yes, I’m in a relationship with Ilya. Yes, it’s exclusive.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Hayden clarifies, “it’s Rozanov. I mean, for fuck’s sake, the guy’s an asshole! You’ve told me you hate him! Repeatedly! You couldn’t have dated literally anyone else?”

“To you, maybe,” Shane huffs. He’s pacing now. “And did it ever occur to you what would happen to me, to Ilya, if I didn’t hate him? If people suspected that the MHL’s biggest rivals were even friends, people would fucking lose it!” His voice has been rising steadily in volume over the course of the rant, and he’s nearly yelling now. “Hayd, you’re fucking losing it right now!”

Hayden blinks. There’s a beat when Shane just stands there, huffing through his clenched teeth. And then something flips in him, and the fight drains out of him. In just a moment, he goes from furious to looking so sad.

“This isn’t how I wanted this to go,” he says. Hayden takes a sip of his beer and tries to collect his thoughts.

“Why him?” he asks, putting aside his worry for Shane and his thoughts for a second to just try and make some fucking sense of this situation. He has to trust in Shane’s judgment, even if that means suspending his own beliefs about Rozanov for a bit.

Shane looks at him, brow furrowed. Hayden cocks his head toward his recently vacated chair. Sit, explain. I’m ready to listen, now. A silent apology. Shane walks across the kitchen to grab a ginger ale out of the fridge (thank God, Hayden hasn’t fucked up so hard that Shane’s daydrinking during the season) and then sits back down.

“He understands me,” Shane starts. Hayden bites his tongue about how he finds that hard to believe, and judging by the crooked smile Shane sends him, it’s obvious. “I know you won’t believe me, but he does. And he’s… different, off the ice. He’s an asshole, sure, but it’s mostly an act. And he—” Shane licks his lips and exhales nervously, “he’s seen me at my worst, and none of it has scared him away. He loves so hard, and he hasn’t ever… never mind. I dunno, I just love him.”

Hayden’s brain is starting to come back online, and the new information settles quietly beside everything else he knows about Shane Hollander. He’s got a weird pregame ritual of knocking on his own back. He’s neurotic about his diet. He loves Ilya Rozanov.

Shane’s phone dings with a notification, screen lighting up.

Something Jackie said comes back to him, too: It could be both. She was right, as always.

“Lily?” Hayden asks.

“Yeah,” Shane laughs, “Lily.”

A tentative peace has been established between Hayden and him. Shane thinks it’s mostly because they don’t really talk about it. It, of course, being his relationship with Ilya. He still hasn’t dared to bring it up again, after what he thinks was reluctant acceptance from Hayden’s part by bringing up Lily. Hayden’s always been supportive of Shane meeting up with “Lily”, no matter what he thought their relationship was, and he’s assured Shane that he doesn’t care if Shane is gay. Those two things together with Hayden and him still being on speaking terms all add up to acceptance. Probably.

He’d fallen asleep with Ilya on FaceTime yesterday, after a good talk about the whole situation, and an even better session of phone sex. Now, though, he’s arriving at the rink with 12% of battery and slightly late. Hayden is already in the locker room.

“Phew! Late, Hollzy? I thought you were dying man.”

“No,” Shane laughs nervously. He’s definitely still on time, it’s just he’s usually early. There are still some team members that are yet to arrive. “Just, um. Tired, I guess.”

He digs around in his duffel for a charger, and swears when it isn’t in its designated pocket.

“You good?” Hayden asks.

“Yeah. Do you have a charger I can borrow? My phone’s dying.”

“Late and out of battery? Should I be worried?” Shane throws a tee-shirt out of his back at him. Hayden grins and hands him the charger. “Did something happen last night?”

Shane shakes his head. He throws a glance around the room, but Roy and Gaugnion just left for the gym and nobody else seems to be around. He looks back to Hayden. “Fell asleep on call,” he explains.

“On call, what— oh.”

“Mm,” Shane agrees tightly. He’s already regretting saying anything. Trying to convince Hayden that his relationship with Ilya is in fact real and serious feels like putting shoes on a dog. Ilya had shown him videos once, dogs resisting anything being put near their paws and then walking very funny when the shoes were actually on.

“That’s… nice?” Hayden tries.

Shane resists the urge to groan. This thing has gone from being terrifying to exhausting. He doesn’t want this weird ambivalence to stick around for longer than it has to, and there’s really only one solution to the problem. He hates it, but he spoke to Ilya and they agreed it’s really the only thing that can be done.

“We play in Boston in two weeks.”

“Yeah,” Hayden agrees absently, rolling on a pair of fresh socks. He looks up at Shane. “Wait, what?”

“Dinner?” Shane blurts. “With— I mean— All of us.”

He hopes he’s gotten his point across, because if he has to explain all of us he might melt into a puddle. It’s only 8 A.M..

“Oh! Really?” Hayden looks genuinely confused.

Shane nods. “Really. Il— Lily thought it was a good idea. He— um. She’s a good cook.”

Good idea is charitable. Ilya has about as much fondness for Hayden as Hayden has for Ilya, and the sentiment was more along the lines of, it has to be done. Ilya’s exact words were: he is idiot, Sweetheart, this will get him off your back. He will see how much you love me and will give up on his bisexual awakening. I will make tiramisu.

Confusion morphs into vacancy, like Hayden is dissociating halfway through the conversation. “Okay, yeah.”

Well, then. He texts Ilya.

✽

Lily<3

[08:04] Did Pike explode?

[08:04] Or should I start baby-proofing my house?

[08:07] It went okay.

[08:08] He wants to come for dinner.

[08:08] I told him you’re a good cook.

[08:10] Cock*

[08:10] I make tiramisu.

Of all the places Hayden expected to find himself, in front of Ilya Rozanov’s door was not ever one of them. He rings the doorbell.

When Rozanov opens, he’s blessedly fully clothed. Shane is hovering in the background, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His hair looks just slightly damp, and Hayden doesn’t want to think about the implications of that. “Hello, Pike,” Rozanov says flatly. Shane inhales sharply.

“Hey,” Hayden says, looking back to Rozanov. He can’t describe the look on the guy’s face as anything but aggressively neutral. Hayden could probably look at him for an hour and not get a read on a single emotion.

“Ilya,” Shane whines, “stop blocking the door. Hayden, hi, come in.”

Rozanov— Ilya, shit, immediately steps aside as Shane invites Hayden into his home. It’s all so surreal, even more so when Hayden registers Shane’s shoes on the rack in the hallway and his coat on the rack and there’s steam coming from the stove in the open-plan kitchen. Something smells really good, and he tries to lean over to see what’s cooking. There’s three pots on the stove — definitely too many for three people.

“How much are you cooking, dude?”

“Meal prep,” Rozanov says easily, grinning at Shane as he walks into the kitchen. “Boring food.”

“Mid-season,” Shane clarifies. “Ask Jackie about it.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Rozanov looks up from where he’s messing with the pots, lifting the lids and stirring and God knows what. He twists to look at Shane, who’s digging through the fridge like he owns the place. “You will try tiramisu, though, yes?” If Hayden looks closely, he can see a full shelf of the fridge taken up by a glass tray of something — likely the tiramisu in question. When Shane doesn’t answer, Rozanov continues, “please, моя губка для мытья посуды.”

He blinks to make sure he’s not in a dream. Nope, still here. He doesn’t know if Rozanov is aware, though, since he seems to be acting like him and Shane are just having a romantic dinner. God, what the fuck. Reel it in, Hayden!

Shane hands him a beer, poured in a nice, chilled glass. He didn’t pin Rozanov for a beer-drinker, especially not one fussy enough to keep glasses in the freezer. He’s proven right when Shane holds a can up to Rozanov and he shakes his head, “dinner is almost ready. Will you get the white from the basement?”

“Sure,” Shane says easily. He throws a sideways glance at Hayden. “Will you guys be okay up here?”

“We will be fine,” Rozanov says, making it sound like a threat, at the same time Hayden says,

“‘Course.”

Shane squints. Rozanov, though, has seemed to remember that Hayden is in the room and fixed his gaze on him. “We will be okay, Sweetheart,” Rozanov says, not breaking eye contact and smiling mildly. Hayden has enough wherewithal to be reeling ever so slightly at ‘sweetheart’. “The chablis. Is good. French.”

Shane rolls his eyes but makes his way to what’s got to be a wine cellar somewhere. Once he’s out of earshot, Rozanov speaks. “So,” he says, still carefully neutral, “you hate me.”

He says it matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to have any particularly strong opinions on the matter. When Hayden thinks about it, that’s not all that weird — it’s probably rarer for someone to actually like Rozanov than it is for them to hate him. Rozanov’s reputation is as much about his shitty attitude as it is about his tremendous hockey skills. Still… “I don’t hate you,” Hayden says.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t know Rozanov, so he can’t really hate him for real. He finds him to be a dick, sure. There are some judgments of character that aren’t really far-fetched assumptions, and Rozanov has done nothing to quell any sort of rumors about himself. So, hate him? No. Find him to be a really annoying asshole? Oh, absolutely.

Does he also sort of think that Shane is way too good for him? Yes.

Rozanov raises his eyebrows, as if reading Hayden’s mind. Really? they seem to say.

“If you hurt him,” Hayden settles for, “I’ll kill you.”

“I would like to see you try,” he responds. “Maybe you will need to bring gun. Tiny hands will not be enough to choke me.”

Hayden feels annoyance start to bubble up in him. He was willing to give Shane the benefit of the doubt that maybe Rozanov was a completely different person off the ice, but it doesn’t seem like it. He seems exactly the fucking same, except for when he’s sweet-talking Shane. “What the fuck is your deal? Why are you doing this to him?”

“Doing what?” Rozanov asks innocently, stirring something in one of the pots on the stove before turning down the heat. “Fucking him? Because he asked nicely.”

Oh, ew. “Stringing him along! You pretend you’re not this massive dick around him, and then the second he leaves you’re fucking chirping me!”

“Yes,” Ilya says, slowly as if talking to a toddler, “chirping. Like joke. You are familiar? I do not have to pretend about my dick.”

“Fuck off, asshole! He’s too fucking good for you, and you know it.”

Rozanov’s face settles into that uncanny neutral expression again. It’s like he just shuts off all his emotions and goes on autopilot. Shane’s steps tap against the hardwood. “Is this the right wine?”

Rozanov looks up and squints at the bottle. “Yes, good. I will set table.”

And then he’s gone, leaving to fuss with the table a few feet away.

“What the hell did you say to him!?” Shane whirls around. Hayden throws his hands up in a shrug. “Why can’t the two of you fucking act like adults?”

“He started it!”

“Are you hearing yourself?” Shane huffs. He looks up at Rozanov, and then, “Ilya, seriously?”

Still that blank expression. Not a twitch, not even for Shane. Shane seems to notice, because his shoulders drop and he takes a deep breath, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. It sounds like he’s mumbling ‘okay’ over and over under his breath. He walks over to Rozanov, who’s put the pot down after getting about halfway through serving some sort of vegetable dish. Shane mumbles something, too low to hear even for Hayden who’s still sitting in the kitchen.

Whatever it is, it isn’t chastising. Shane’s hand is placed softly over Rozanov’s cheek. Rozanov says something that’s probably intended to be funny, given the way he grins and cocks his head toward Hayden.

“That’s not true,” he hears Shane mumble. His hand drops to squeeze Rozanov’s shoulder with a look. It’s exactly the sort of look Hayden would give Jackie before kissing her.

“Я тебя люблю,” Shane says quietly. Rozanov responds in kind. Hayden doesn’t have to know a single word of Russian to know they’re saying I love you. Hayden feels a wave of sadness pass through him, that Shane cannot even feel comfortable enough to express that kind of affection when it’s only him here.

“Okay!” Shane claps his hands, turning to face the room, “dinner time, everyone!”

He’s veering dangerously close to his captain-voice, and by the way Rozanov visibly cringes a bit, he notices, too. They let Shane guide them through how dinner is going to go without complaints though. Somewhere in the middle of the rant, Hayden meets Rozanov’s gaze and grins. This is something they have in common. Perhaps the only thing. They both love Shane, and they both know Shane. A sort of silent truth passes through the air between them, then, that love like that is worth suffering some indignity for.

They sit down at the table, and Ilya explains what it that he’s cooked: pork loin for himself and Hayden, and white fish for Shane, roasted asparagus, some sort of herb sauce with potatoes (air fried with olive oil, narrowly clearing Shane’s diet requirements). It’s admittedly impressive, and a bit unexpected. Conversation is pleasant for a bit, just regular hockey talk that’s almost enough for Hayden forget how crazy the situation is. That is, until,

“You would’ve won last game if your backhand was better,” Ilya says, and Shane pauses with a piece of asparagus halfway to his mouth.

“Fuck you,” he spits, “it is better.”

“Mm, still weak.”

Hayden frowns at them, but then Shane grins at Rozanov and it seems as if nothing ever happened. For a moment, Hayden is scared that Rozanov’s gonna start critiquing him, but it seems to just be a dig at Shane. He’s having trouble keeping up with the dynamic, honestly.

They’re the same as on the ice, but Shane is also the same as he is off the ice and Rozanov is against all odds seeming a bit like a normal person. He’s putting it together like a jigsaw puzzle, starting with the corners and hoping he’ll make sense of the middle once he gets there.

Rozanov looks up at him again. He squints, and Hayden straighten in his seat a bit. He’s gotten halfway through his plate, and the food is actually infuriatingly excellent — Shane was right about Rozanov being a good cook. “How much did Shane tell you?” he asks.

Hayden glances at Shane, but he’s focusing intently on his asparagus again. Hayden figures he’ll step in if he thinks its needed, and shrugs. “Not much. He told me you’ve been together since before your rookie season. That’s… pretty much it.”

Shane wrinkles his nose but doesn’t say anything. Rozanov chuckles. “Mmh, together is generous. Fucking, maybe. But we do that together.”

Shane’s eyes fall shut. “Ilya.”

“Yeah, I agree with Shane. I don’t really need to know the logistics if you guys were just fuckbuddies or not. That’s not, like, information I need.” He is a little bit curious, though, of how they got from casual fucking to this. Boyfriends, apparently.

Shane opens his eyes just to glare at Hayden, familiarly pissy. “Hayd, there are four walking reminders that you and Jackie have sex. I drove you to your vasectomy. You’ll live through hearing that I sucked Ilya’s dick when I was eighteen.”

Rozanov’s face lights up more with every word of that sentence. By the end of it, he’s smiling a delighted sort of smile that should be familiar from the ice but isn’t. Not really. He just looks, to put it simply, happy. Some of the mischief returns when he looks at Hayden.

“How long have you been… exclusive?” he tries to steer the conversation back to something reasonable.

“East vs. West All-Stars game,” Rozanov says quickly. He keeps looking to Shane. “He told me he was gay.”

“Wait,” Hayden pauses. “The East… So, what, you came out—?”

“After we had been fucking for years, yes,” Rozanov confirms. Shane looks a little bit like he wants to sink through the floor as he mutters something close to I tried my best into his hands_._ Rozanov pinches his cheek softly. “I knew I loved him before that, but Shane wanted to see if Rose Landry could turn him straight.”

Oh, yeah. Okay. That… makes sense, somehow. Hayden had been wondering about that.

“You have to let it go, Ilya,” Shane says flatly. He turns to Hayden. “He’s jealous.”

And Ilya Rozanov being jealous of anyone is not something Hayden had ever considered. He looks at Rozanov, sitting stiffly at the table and turning ever so pink at the ears from having his chirp turned on him.

Hayden leads conversation for a bit, talking about the kids and having an eight-month-old during the season. Rozanov digs at him for procreating several times, but there’s a kind of softness about him when he asks about the kids. We will come visit, I will be favorite uncle. They will forget about Shane. Mentioning the season inevitably brings the conversation back to hockey, which is what leads Hayden to the next big epiphany.

Rozanov’s contract with Boston ends after this season, and he’ll be a free agent. Hayden, like probably everyone else, had just assumed he’d resign and all would continue as normal. But the way he’s been talking about this season, and the next, gives Hayden pause. Some of the scheduling he’s assuming would be impossible with Shane in Montreal and Rozanov in Boston.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Rozanov might be trading to… probably a Canadian team. God, what the fuck? It’s definitely not Montreal, ‘cause they can’t afford him for shit, not with Shane on the team. And Shane is definitely not going anywhere — he’s told Hayden that he’ll be retiring with his number, in Montreal, after a minimum of five Stanley Cups. So that means that Rozanov would be leaving the team that drafted him, the team that he pulled from the trenches to win the Cup.

He doesn’t bring it up, but the way Shane looks at Rozanov when he brings up how Boston is going to win this season says all he needs to know.

Ilya Rozanov is leaving Boston. For Shane.

“Dessert?” Rozanov asks, getting out of his chair and starting to collect plates. Shane frowns, then moves to grab dishes, but Rozanov stills him with a hand on his shoulder. “I get dishes. And I get you boring meal plan protein pudding.”

Rozanov leans in to give Shane a kiss, just a chaste press of the lips, and Shane smiles into it. He looks after him when he goes into the kitchen. Hayden doesn’t really know what to say when it’s just him and Shane at the table again, Rozanov humming to himself in the kitchen and pulling plates out of cabinets. He doesn’t want to say anything about the free agent thing, not if Shane hasn’t brought it up, but it’s a big sacrifice. He thinks of Jackie, at home with their four kids.

“You guys are really gonna try to make this work, aren’t you?”

Shane looks up, stunned. His eyes flick to the side like he wants to look for Rozanov. Ilya. Fuck. There’s a little knit in his brow. “I love him,” he says simply. “So much.”

“Yeah?” Hayden watches as Rozanov scoops tiramisu from the massive tray he saw in the fridge earlier, and as he scoops something else from a much smaller tray into a little bowl. He garnishes the bowl — probably Shane’s dietician-approved dessert — with an array of fruit, carefully placing slices of kiwi and pomegranate seeds. “And he loves you.” It’s not a question. He sees it now.

“He does.” Shane smiles, small and secretive. Ilya comes back with the dessert. “Thank you.”

Hayden nods. Of course.

Ilya places a (beautiful) plate of tiramisu in front of him.

“So, Pike,” he starts, “why are your passes still so bad?”

Oh for fuck’s sake.