Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Kip Grady/Scott Hunter

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady, Eric Bennett, Hayden Pike, Kyle Swift

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, spoilers for game changers books, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dumb Hockey Boys, Protective Ilya Rozanov, BAMF Shane Hollander, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Shane Hollander Gets Outed, Protective Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Found Family, Belonging, Let Shane have gay friends, Hockey-Typical Violence, Homophobic Language, the admirals are good people, the raiders are supportive, blends book and movie canon, Not Beta Read

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of It Takes A Village AU

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-12 Updated: 2026-03-23 Words: 48,726 Chapters: 20/28

It Takes a Village

Summary

In a quiet cafe at the Ollympic Village in Sochi, Shane Hollander asks his friend from high school a question that changes everything.

"How did you know you were gay?"

Alternatively, Shane gets help figuring out his sexuality a little earlier, and from someone who's not exactly Rose Landry, movie star...

Notes

I'll be honest, this is my first attempt at a fanfiction in probably over a decade and definitely on this site. Additionally, like so many others I have been absolutely binge reading and watching Game Changers and Heated Rivalry. At this point my brain is a tangled mess of other people's fan works, the TV show and the book series so we're playing fast and loose with the cannon and timelines here, though I tried to stick mostly to the show for consistency. This is for fun, and I want to keep it fun.

Chapter 1: Not Straight, or Whatever…

Shane

“How did you know you were gay?” Shane’s voice came out in a rough whisper as he cradled a steaming mug of black coffee, staring at Joe’s face just beyond the rim. He remembered yesterday’s careless chat with Vaughn in this same café, how one offhand remark had made him reel, imagining the dangers Joe might face in Russia, that he or Ilya might face. He’d felt foolish, blindsided by his own obliviousness.

Joe choked on a sip, sputtering on the foam of his latte. He yanked a napkin free and dabbed at his mouth. “What?” His voice cracked with surprise and what might be amusement.

Shane’s cheeks flamed scarlet. He dropped his gaze to the dark swirl of his own drink. “I mean—sorry. I thought—”

“No, no,” Joe said, waving him off and cutting in gently. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. It’s not like I tried to hide it.” He tapped the rim of his while he considered what to say next. “I guess I just never expected you—of all people—to ask that.” Joe chuckled, easing back. “Honestly, if I hadn’t already suspected, the massive crush I had on you all through high school would’ve been a giveaway.”

Shane’s breath caught. “Me?” He splashed coffee around as he set the cup down.

“Shane.” Joe sighed, deadpan. “I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Shane cursed under his breath. “Oh.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Wow. Okay.”

Joe tipped his head, pretending exasperation. “Wow, okay? You’re still as awkward as freshman year, despite all that fame and media training.” He took a slow sip. “But why now? What made you ask?”

Shane stared at the table, tracing a scratch in the lacquer. He’d asked to meet here after watching Joe skate yesterday, after running into Ilya. The knot of raw, confusing emotions he felt around Ilya had left him feeling like he caught an edge on the ice. He needed clarity but couldn’t bear to admit that even to himself. He licked his lips. “I think I’m maybe not… like, straight or whatever—”

Joe put his cup down so gently the saucer barely made a sound. He watched as Shane reached for a napkin and began tearing it into pieces, his eyes fixed on the café’s corner so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact.

“Shane, are you gay?” he asked softly, delicately, more gentle with Shane than he thought he had ever been with himself.

Shane’s chest felt thick, the air hot in his lungs. He swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe? I mean, I dated Jessica in high school—”

Joe snorted. “Sure, and you two were devastated when it ended.”

Shane jabbed Joe’s shin with his foot under the table. “We were fine, Joe. We were just growing apart. She had college, I had the MLH, it was never going to work.”

Joe’s grin softened. “I always thought you two split because you were a hockey-crazed homebody who wouldn’t party like she wanted.”

Shane laughed, the tension loosening. This he could talk through. A lot of his teammates felt the same way and teased him for it.

After a quiet pause, Joe asked, “Have you… been with a guy?”

Shane’s skin prickled. His throat tightened, but he managed a nod.

Joe exhaled a sigh of relief. “That is quite literally a check in the ‘not-straight’ box.”

Shane kicked him again, more gently this time, and Joe laughed. Shane felt something inside him unclench. That knot that was stuck suspended in his throat loosened and for the first time in hours he felt like he could really breathe.

“And was it better?” Joe tilted his head.

Shane frowned. “Better?”

“Than being with Jess.”

Shane’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Yeah. It was.” He tore off another piece of napkin and could feel exactly how red his cheeks were. He wished he could stop blushing. This conversation was uncomfortable enough without knowing that Joe could read every emotion on his face like it was written out in plain English on his cheekbones.

Joe reached across the table, closing the gap. He covered Shane’s hands with both of his. The café noises faded under the throb of Shane’s heartbeat. Joe squeezed, and Shane stilled, too stunned to pull away. His vision blurred and tears threatened. Not from pain, or true upset. This felt more like reluctant acceptance, like release.

“Let’s move,” Joe said quietly. “Take a walk.”

Shane nodded, rising with a scrape of chair legs. Joe drew back respectfully as they stepped onto the snow-packed path outside the Olympic Village. Afternoon light etched their breaths in the cold air.

Joe broke the hush. “Can I ask who it was?”

Shane shook his head, shoulders tight.

“Is he closeted?”

Shane’s shoulders dropped a fraction. He kicked at a snow drift. “Yeah,” he said.

Joe’s brow furrowed. “And you—will you stay closeted? I don’t know of any out hockey players.”

Shane let out a humorless snort. “None that I know.”

He paused, but the words tumbled out. “I don’t think I can come out. I’d lose everything. The team, my career—especially as one of the few Asian players.”

Joe winced. “That sucks. So what, you hide until retirement? Build a life in secret? That’s no life.”

Shane shrugged against the cold. “I don’t really have a choice.”

They passed between concrete dorms with not another soul in sight. Joe slipped his hand into Shane’s, stopped him mid-step, and pressed a soft kiss to Shane’s knuckles. Shane’s shoulders tightened, he looked up and down the alley between buildings and double checked that they were alone.

Joe’s voice was a hushed whisper. “My room’s empty. If you want help figuring things out…”

Shane froze, heart lodged in his throat. He thought of Joe’s lean strength, the way his muscles flexed under that tight skating suit. He hadn’t thought about him like that before, but now it was all he could think about. Shane closed his eyes, imagining what a kiss would taste like. His answer came in a choked mumble. “Okay.”

Joe’s grin flashed happily and he leaned in, brushing his lips against Shane’s. Soft at first, then sure. Shane trembled into him. When Joe pulled back, breathless, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Shane nodded again, scrambling to follow as Joe led him toward the entrance to the Canadian dorms.

Hours later, Shane lay in Joe’s bed, chest heaving, the ceiling a blur above him. Joe rested on his elbow beside him, sheets tangled at their waists.

“I think I’m gay.” Shane whispered into the quiet of the room.

Joe laughed, soft and fond. “I’d say that’s well-supported.” He leaned down to kiss Shane’s shoulder, then rested his head on Shane’s chest.

Shane closed his eyes. “I thought… maybe it was just him,” he said, meaning Ilya and everything he had felt with him that he struggled to feel with anyone else he had ever been with.

Joe shifted, curious. “The other guy?”

“Yeah. Like maybe I’d meet a girl someday and be—normal.”

Joe’s laugh came out hollow and weak. “Stop that. That’s toxic. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He sat up, propped on an elbow. “We live in Canada. Gay marriage’s been legal since 2005. You deserve to be with someone you actually like.”

Shane rolled toward Joe, laughter bubbling up. He pushed Joe back gently, straddling him and pressing a fierce, hungry kiss to his lips. Then he rose, slipping into his clothes. He needed air and time to process.

“Hey,” Joe called softly, resting on his elbows. “It’ll be okay. Your career might complicate things, but there’s no way you’re alone in that.”

Shane met his gaze and pulled out his phone. “I don’t have your number anymore,” he said, a statement intonated like a question.

Joe didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Shane’s phone, typed quickly, then handed it back. “This has to be a one-time thing, though,” he said, eyes serious. “I don’t date closeted men. Not my style. But text me. I don’t want you turning into your own worst enemy.”

“Okay,” Shane whispered, thumb hovering over the screen. “Thanks.”

Joe nodded and walked him to the door. Shane barely reached his own dorm before his phone buzzed.

Joe: Good luck in your game tomorrow!

Shane: Thanks, you too!

Chapter 2: Caught Out

Chapter Summary

In which Shane is outed, the Metros are canonically terrible, and the Admirals gain some depth in more ways than one

Chapter Notes

Scott

The late-September sun pooled across the floor of Scott’s penthouse as he lounged against one side of the couch, Kip’s leg draped over his own like a warm anchor. Their phone screens illuminated their faces while silence settled around them warm and comfortable, with none of the tension that had filled the space leading up to their fight at the end of the last season. They had dinner with Elena scheduled for that night and would need to start getting ready soon. For now, Scott savored the rare downtime with no endless drills, media scrums and roadies. Part of his truce with Kip had been to loosen his grip on privacy. They weren’t ready for any public declarations, but he tried to show a willingness to let friends and family in, as long as they kept the PDA behind closed doors. It didn’t feel like enough, but it was something.

Then Scott’s phone blinked with a notification, and he tensed. Fingers fumbling, he tapped the link and the world slipped sideways. “Fuck!” The word fell from his lips before he could hope to censor it. His phone clattered to his lap. Kip’s body slid toward him in two smooth, worried motions.

“What is it?” Kip’s voice was soft and immediately concerned. He lifted Scott’s phone before the screen could sleep.

Scott’s chest heaved. He waved his hand at the screen, voice hollow. “They’ve got Hollander… kissing some guy. In the Olympic Village. Looks like security-cam footage.” The article’s headline was trite clickbait, written out in all caps. It definitely wasn’t worth repeating.

“What the hell...” Kip’s breath caught. “Shane Hollander? Golden boy of the Metros Shane Hollander?”

Scott nodded numbly, eyes fixed on the angle of Kip’s toes poking into the couch cushion next to his knee. “This could end him.”

Kip’s fingers skimmed the glass, pulling up articles from every major gossip rag. His brow knit tighter by the second. “Every one of these articles is calling him out for being a bad influence, for setting a poor example for young fans. It’s just a kiss. That’s so unfair.”

Scott didn’t know what to say.

“Do you have his number? He probably needs a friend right now.”

Scott shook his head, defeat settling in. “I barely know him. We made up for that fight last season at the Olympics, but I didn’t get his number or anything.”

Recognition flared in Scott’s mind. “Wait—I think I know why he decked me. I made some stupid chirp about him and another player…”

Scott bit his lip and shifted to face Kip on the couch better. His fingers found the fabric of the couch back and rubbed back and forth over the weave. That game had been terrible, the whole roadie was a mess and more of a blur than anything else for Scott. He wanted to poke fun at Hollander and Rozanov’s rivalry, not insinuate anything more between them. That had to be sensitive for Hollander, especially if he really was gay. Scott wasn’t the best about keeping up with social media and the internet, but he did know enough to know that some fans liked to imagine scenarios of some hockey players together, and that Hollander and Rozanov’s famous rivalry had made them really popular for that.

But he hadn’t meant it like that. When Hollander had swung and connected it left a sharp pain across Scott’s jaw that he was only now starting to realize might have been more deserved than he originally thought.

Kip shook his head, incredulous. “You’re an idiot sometimes.”

Scott let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

The next morning a shrill, persistent buzzing hammered Scott’s skull and pulled him awake. In the foggy sleep of early morning, he flailed for his phone, arms scrambling over the tangled sheets and the warmth of Kip’s body. The shallow vibrations shook across the entire nightstand and when Scott reached for it his fumbling hands knocked the device straight to the floor. At least the rug beside the bed muffled the sound better. Kip groaned, flipped a pillow over his head, and burrowed deeper, as if he could disappear into the mattress and leave Scott to suffer alone.

Scott rolled off the bed, the sleep still clinging to his muddled thoughts. The phone continued its tantrum, screen pulsing with a waterfall of notifications from the team group chat. The bright rectangle stung his eyes, and he squinted, scrolling up to the start of the conversation.

The chat was a war zone. At the top, a series of links, all with the same thumbnail—Hollander kissing another man in the Olympic Village, the man’s hands on his hips. The first messages were timestamped at 4:45 a.m. and the rest piled in seconds apart. Dreading how his teammates would be reacting to this news and how much work he was probably going to have to put in to just having a peaceful, slur-free locker room again, Scott decided he might as well see what he was dealing with.

Vaughn: u guys seeing this?

Brisebois: WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

Cameron: bro

Vaughn: no way lmao

Brisebois: IS THAT REALLY HIM???

Scott swiped, blinking away the sleep salt in his eyes. More messages. The chat had never moved this fast.

Cameron: Well, there goes my fantasy bracket

Vaughn: dude can u imagine the locker room rn

Brisebois posted the screenshot, complete with the tabloid headline: METRO’S HOLY HOLLANDER CAUGHT KISSING MAN IN OLYMPIC VILLAGE.

Brisebois: So he’s like…actually into dudes???

Wagner: always thought there was something about his footwork...

Cameron: shut up, Wags, you skate like a toddler with new ankles

Vaughn: leave it alone, guys. this is prob rough on him

It should have relieved Scott, seeing someone attempt to reign things in. Instead, his stomach twisted, he kept scrolling.

Wagner: no one here cares if he wants to get it on with dudes, but theres no way his management team is going to like this scandal for their golden boy

Cameron: for real tho, look at all this shit he’s getting from the press already

Brisebois: he’s trending on every sports site. ppl are going nuts

Vaughn: why do they even care? dude’s still got the best hands in the league.

Scott pressed the phone against his forehead, cold plastic grounding him. It hurt to watch it unfold, hurt more to know how it would have gone if it had been his face in that freeze-frame, if it had been him caught mid-kiss for the world’s amusement and outrage. He pawed at the sheets, found Kip’s calf, and squeezed it hard enough to feel the throb of his own pulse in his fingertips. Kip didn’t stir.

The next set of messages hit like a brick.

Vaughn: they put him on waivers

Cameron: you’re joking

Brisebois: already? that was fucking fast

Vaughn: front office isn’t saying anything, but it’s all over rumor sites

Scott’s stomach knotted. He’d played against Hollander. He knew how much that team meant to the guy. He knew how it felt to count the days until someone else decided you mattered.

Then, a message from Zullo, and of course it was terrible. The ass never missed an opportunity to make even more of an asshole of himself.

Zullo: serves the f** right

The chat snapped. In the next fifteen seconds, every member dogpiled with an almost beautiful violence.

Vaughn: take that shit somewhere else, Zullo

Cameron: get fucked, asshole

Brisebois: not cool man

Wagner: Fuck off, Zullo

Carter Vaughn removed Frank Zullo from the chat

Just like that, he was gone.

Scott’s body felt hot and cold, skin too tight as his eyes lost focus on the phone screen. He blinked, hard, expecting to clear it, but all that came was a sharp sting and the realization that he was crying. A warm drop slid past his jaw and down to the hollow above his collarbone. He could taste the salt between his lips as he struggled to breathe. The phone fell from his fingers. He was their captain, he should respond. It had to be suspicious that he wasn’t responding to any of this. So much of the team in the chat was silent, and while he knew that a lot of the guys were probably still asleep he also knew that there would be those waiting to see how this went with their captain before chiming in one way or the other.

Kip’s arms came around him before he could pull himself together enough for a dismissive laugh to shrug off his concern. Instead, Kip’s solid body pressed to his back, anchoring him, and then a soft, continuous trail of kisses traced his temple in slow, deliberate beats. The gentle pressure nearly undid him.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Kip’s voice was a soft, full of concern that parted through the fog of Scott’s panic. Scott tried to catch his breath, but the exhale came as a shudder. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to bring this into their bedroom, give this grotesque thing a name in his home where they were just finding their balance again in the battle between their love for each other and Scott’s fear and insecurities. In the end, he couldn’t help it.

“They put him on waivers.” His voice split the quiet, rough and jagged through the lump in his throat.

Kip tightened his arms around Scott’s shoulders, turning him until they faced each other, Scott’s knees lifting to swing around and bring him fully back onto the bed. They fell over Kip’s lap and he planted his face at the junction of Kip’s neck and shoulder. When Kip spoke, his voice was fully alert and laced with anger. “Seriously? For being gay?” Kip’s hands framed Scott’s face, thumbs rough against the damp skin. "He carries that team. Didn't they give him the C this season? He’s the reason they made it to the playoffs last year.”

Scott’s jaw moved, but no words came out at first. He tried to swallow the stone lodged in his throat, but it wouldn’t budge. “He’ll get picked up,” Scott finally managed, “but it’s not fair.” The last word caught, cracking and breaking between them. He wanted to be angry. At the Metros, at the league and the sleazy reporters and the trashy bloggers, but mostly he just felt tired. He felt empty. Like what had happened to Hollander was inevitable and would, in some shape, eventually happen to him, too.

He let himself be folded into Kip’s arms, the familiar, comforting weight pinning him together. Scott pressed his face against his boyfriend’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of sleep and sweat and the faint, woodsy edge of Kip’s deodorant. He felt the rumble of his voice through his skin and let it settle in and make home there in the cage of his ribs.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Kip said, more to himself than to Scott. “It’s 2014. You’d think people would at least pretend to care about anything else. So he kissed a man? It’s one photo, and that’s all anyone talks about. Not his stats, not how he carried his team into the playoffs for the first time in years. Just a kiss.”

Scott didn’t answer. He let Kip hold him, let the moment stretch until the knot in his throat eased. He tried to imagine what Hollander was doing right now. He wondered if he was alone, if he was awake, if there was anyone to tell him that it wasn’t really his fault. He wondered if Hollander would blame himself, or if he was stronger than that. Scott hoped he was stronger than that.

A new wave of notifications buzzed against his chest, relentless, like a swarm of angry bees. Scott wanted to throw the phone out the window, let it shatter against the concrete far below. Instead, he turned the screen over and faced it, squinting at the barrage of messages. He scrolled past the echo chamber of sports takes and the frothing comments section, past the official team statement and the first apology from the franchise PR. He landed on the team group chat, which had quieted for a moment after Zullo was booted. In the pause, someone had posted a GIF that didn’t make any sense to Scott. Underneath, three more messages had stacked up.

Brisebois: he’ll find a new home. dude is one of the best centers in the league

Wagner: should we post something like nice? or supportive?

Cameron: I just hope he lands somewhere better

Scott blinked at the screen, trying to process the whiplash between disgust and support, the way the team could pivot from one to the other in the space of a heartbeat. He wanted to send something, to contribute. But words felt stupid and insufficient.

Scott left the chat open and scrolled up to the top before handing the phone over to Kip. He knew that Kip would understand, that he wouldn’t need Scott to spell out the conflicted emotions his team’s chat was making him feel.

“I’m proud of them, I think,” he whispered.

Kip brushed a kiss beneath Scott’s hairline. “You deserve people like that.”

Later that morning, Coach Murdock’s curt ring came through after Kip had left for work. “Team meeting tomorrow. Eight A.M. sharp. It’s mandatory, make sure the rest of the team knows to be there.”

Scott texted the news to the group. Their practice the next day was optional, but with a mandatory meeting right before most people would probably stay even if they hadn’t planned to before. Zullo got his own heads-up since he still wasn’t in the group chat. Maybe Scott would get lucky and he still wouldn’t come. He had a habit of being late and missing morning meetings on a good day, anyway.

At 7:30, Scott was the first to arrive at the rink. Footsteps echoed soon after as Vaughn appeared, coffee in hand, then Bennett. By ten to eight, the locker room hummed with speculation. Zullo was conspicuously missing.

Coach Murdock strode in exactly at eight, eyes locking on everyone there. “You saw the news. What you don’t know is that we put a claim on Hollander and thanks to you chucklefucks tanking the end of our season last year, we actually got him. He arrives tomorrow. I’ll only say this once. On this ice, he’s one of ours. No exceptions. Anyone who can’t respect that will get their ass on the bench—permanently.”

A unified “YES, COACH!” rattled the room with guys hitting their hands against their lockers for emphasis.

“Questions?” Murdock’s gaze flicked toward Zullo’s empty locker. Scott hid a smile. Zullo might not get punished for being a homophobic piece of shit in the group chat, but coach was going to make him regret missing this meeting. Now knowing what the meeting was for, Scott thought it might be for the best that he missed it. If anyone here was going to cause problems, it would be Zullo.

Silence was Murdock’s only answer.

“Good,” he said. “Practice attire on. I don’t give a shit that it’s voluntary and don’t want to hear jack about other commitments—Hollander skates with us tomorrow.”

The room erupted.

Later, in the coach’s cramped office, Murdock gestured for Scott to sit. “If anyone bites at him, you let me know. I trust you to read that room.”

Scott leaned forward. “It’s mostly solid—Vaughny’s already policing the group chat. Breezy and Cam are good. Only Zullo looks like he’ll make trouble.”

“Zullo’s replaceable,” Murdock snapped. “One wrong move, I swap him out. Don’t think I didn’t notice his absence today.”

Scott dared to smile. “And management? The fans? How are they taking all this?”

Murdock’s lips twitched. “They want winners. If we win with him, they’ll cheer.”

Scott rose to gather his belongings from the locker room. He wished Kip didn’t have such a late shift that night. He burned with the need to tell him everything that had happened during the day and how his team was taking everything. Even coach and management were all being so much better with this than he ever imagined they could be. And though he didn’t know it yet, here at least Hollander would have an ally. Scott wouldn’t let him be alone.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this and leave comments and kudos. I hope you enjoyed this next chapter. I have a few more written so hopefully I'll be able to keep posts pretty regular, have a great weekend! <3

Chapter 3: Read the Room

Chapter Summary

Shane plays his first preseason game with the Admirals while he juggles the fallout of being outed. He might even hear from an old... friend.

Chapter Notes

The door clicked behind him, and Shane stepped into a room so neutral it felt like a gallery. Everything was white and gray and smelled like cleaning products and room freshener. A kitchenette with stainless-steel appliances gleamed under fluorescent lights, and a narrow counter was free of anything personal. The hotel room door clicked shut behind him, closing the room off from the hall beyond with heavy soundproofing that would at least protect his sleep from the rolling of suitcase wheels and pounding of feet every time someone walked down the hall. He’d stayed in countless hotels on roadies, but these sterile rooms, large enough to be a one-bedroom apartment as they were, left him hollow. Back in Montreal, his space was carefully designed and curated for him with shelves of hockey books, a gym for weight training and a yoga studio. There was food he could actually eat in the fridge and regular deliveries of anything he might need. It wasn’t even worth setting up those kinds of deliveries until he had a place of his own here in New York.

He sank into a plush armchair, phone already in hand, and tapped out a message.

Shane: This sucks

Almost before the words left the chat window, Joe’s reply buzzed in.

Joe: I’m so sorry. I know that’s getting old but fuck. I’m sorry, Shane.

Shane tapped his thumb against the screen as he considered what to say next.

Shane: I know. It’s really not your fault.

Shane watched the little ellipsis appear and disappear. He could imagine Joe in his own cramped apartment, pacing past shelves of figure skating awards while he typed, working himself up again over being so careless as to kiss Shane out in the open like that. Shane had done it himself so much that first day his apartment in Montreal would probably need new floors. He was mad at Joe at first, and at himself, and whoever had taken that stupid still from the security footage and fed it to the press. But that anger didn’t help anyone, and it was exhausting to hold onto. They both should have known better, but what’s done was done.

Joe: Think the Admirals will be any better about all this?

Shane: They did pick up my contract. Management must want me there. Here’s to hoping the room is bearable. I just want to play hockey. I don’t care what shit they say about me, as long as they pass me the damn puck.

He set the phone on the coffee table. It was bare, like the rest of the room, and he exhaled. Since the article broke, his social media feeds had been wiped clean by his agent, Farah, and replaced with feel-good posts about acceptance and perseverance. She deserved a bonus, or a trip to some sun-soaked beach where she could trade having her phone glued to her hands for palm trees.

Two navy suitcases waited by the door. Inside, he’d packed only the basics. He had a few pairs of sweatpants, a dozen T-shirts, his go-to hooded sweatshirt. Everything else would come later, loaded onto a moving van while he shopped for a real place. His first practice was tomorrow morning. In forty-eight hours he would be in Buffalo for the preseason opener and his first game as an Admiral. He didn’t have time to fall apart.

His phone pinged again with a message from Hayden. He unlocked the screen.

Hayden: Jackie says you should sue

Shane: We’ve talked about this Hayde

Hayden: Think the Admirals would take me too? This season is going to suck.

Shane typed a few possible responses, deleting them when they felt too stiff or dismissive. It felt selfish, but he hated that he had to comfort Hayden over his leaving the Metros. It was bad enough trying to hold himself together through it. He knew that Hayden just wanted to help, that he was saying these things because he wanted Shane to know that at least one person on his old team would genuinely miss having him around, but he just wished he would drop it and talk about literally anything else. He would take discussing Jackie’s Lamaze classes over this.

Shane: Sorry, bud. Pretty sure you’re stuck there until you’re UFA

Hayden: ☹

Hayden: Who will babysit now????

Shane chuckled, the sound echoing off bare walls. At least Hayden was angry on his behalf. He lay back on the loveseat and closed his eyes, the fabric imprinting a grid against his cheek. He’d wept more in two days than he could remember doing at any other time in his life. He didn’t know if he ever would have felt ready to come out to his parents. He knew they wouldn’t hate him over it. His parents weren’t like that. But knowing and actually confronting them about his sexuality were two completely different things. Honestly, his mom never knowing he had sex at all was all Shane really wanted from life.

He kind of felt bad for ever being anxious about their reactions, though. When his mom pulled him into a tearful hug and apologized, he started crying all over again. It wasn’t her fault or anything she and his dad had done that kept him from telling them before. It helped when she pulled herself together and started talking strategy for how they could reach out to his different brand endorsements and swing this in their favor. It felt like a return to normal after being helplessly lost at sea.

Most of the brands he worked with didn’t have a problem at all. Speedo was already discussing a new photo shoot they wanted to do that could ride the wave of Shane’s media circus, and yet… the Metros had dropped him the instant the scandal hit. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. He hadn’t wanted to hear what his teammates, people whose weddings he’d stood in and baby showers he'd attended, would whisper now. So much for family.

He scrolled to the chat with “Lily,” stared at the empty thread, then backed out. Ilya’s reaction to all of this haunted his thoughts. He’d received no pings, no check-ins. He was left guessing what the other man must be thinking of all of this, wondering if he was thinking about it at all. Typed out messages lingered unsent, his heart pounding every time he considered tapping “send.” If Ilya still cared to, he would have reached out by now.

Shane switched his phone off and turned to unpack his suitcases.

The next morning, the treadmill’s belt whirred beneath his running shoes. The gym was empty except for the soft hiss of the machines. It was a far cry from his usual dawn runs through Montreal’s parks and streets. He stared out the window at the sunrise and focused on the rhythm of feet hitting rubber, lungs pulling in air and sending it back out through parted lips. Thirty minutes later, he stepped off the deck, sweat dripping into his hairline, and ducked into the shower.

He wandered the halls of the training facility, reading various signs on the doors he passed. He found “Equipment Room,” on one and “Video Review,” then “Physio.” on another. By the time he reached the locker room, the other players were trickling in. The sour smell of rubber-backed pads and hockey tape hung in the air. A voice called his name. He recognized Vaughn from Sochi, remembered the conversation they had that, in a way, had started all of this. Vaughn was bright-eyed and cheerful as he pulled on practice gear and followed Shane’s name with a greeting as he walked through the door.

“Morning, Hollander. You ready to kick some ass?” another player echoed Vaughn, greeting him with an enthusiastic squeeze to the shoulder.

Shane forced a smile and raked a hand through his damp hair. “Yeah. Morning.”

Another teammate, tall and broad, swept over with a nod. “Easy, Cammy, he just got here. Let him settle in before you start on your 12-step plan to the Cup.” Shane was pretty sure the veteran player speaking was the Admiral’s goaltender, Eric Bennett. He offered a hand and shook Shane’s, calluses rough against his palm. “Nice to officially meet you. We’re a rowdy bunch, but don’t let that scare you.”

Shane gave a cautious nod and eased his shoulders down from around his ears. No one had mentioned the news article yet. The silence felt loaded, like the crowd holding its breath for an opposing team’s shot on goal, suspended in the moment where no one was sure if it had gone in or not.

Then Captain Scott Hunter strode in, unzipped his bag, and set a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Easy, fellas. Hollander’s been through enough. Welcome to the team.”

Cam and Bennett both threw up mock salutes, backing off. “You let me know if you need anything,” Bennett said, voice low. Shane nodded, grateful for the olive branch.

Coach Murdock’s blew his whistle to signal the start of practice. They ran scrimmages and practiced puck handling. Shane spent the practice focused on his own play, but he could feel eyes on him, calculating and curious. When it was his turn to run the next drill, Coach placed him between Cam and some guy named Zullo. Zullo’s expression looked blank, distant, and for a moment Shane wondered if he even noticed the trade.

When they skated out for their turn, Zullo glanced away. He was skating so slowly Shane worried he forgot they were supposed to be running a line together

The bus ride to Buffalo left early the next morning. Most of the guys slouched, cap brims pulled low over their eyes to sleep. Shane plugged in headphones and played his favorite hockey podcast for white noise, but shut it off when they mentioned his trade. He stared out at the road, the crowded streets of New York giving way to highway guardrails. He needed focus for tonight’s game.

At the rink in Buffalo, the air smelled of freshly zambonied ice and concession-stand hotdogs. He tuned out the snickers and murmurs of the packed stands. Preseason games usually didn’t draw much of a crowd, but the stands were full of eager spectators. Shane tried not to dwell on how they were probably there because of him, because of the scandal. He didn’t dare try to read whatever the signs they held said. Hunter skated by and tapped him on the back. “Ignore them. Focus on the game. We’ve got your back, yeah?”

Shane nodded, though that remained to be seen.

First period came and went in sloppy rushes with missed passes and blocked shots. Hunter’s line was clicking. Coach matched a rookie with them to see what the kid could do and he was flying. Shane’s line though, him, Cam and Zullo, were not clicking. Zullo skated like he was struggling upstream, sweat beading beneath his dark hair, shoulders drooping.

Coach pulled them for a break. Zullo sulked off before Shane could speak. When his line reappeared for their second shift, the man's scowl cut across his face and split with the words that flew out.

“Quit making me look bad, Hollander,” Zullo hissed, what smelled like alcohol hanging on his breath. He slammed Shane on the way out the door.

Shane managed to poke the puck out from under the opposite center and started back to the neutral zone and into the O zone with Cam hot on his heels. Zullo was still stuck past the blue line, had been late to react to the steal and slow to catch up. Shane’s route to the crease was blocked by the defensemen, but Cam was open enough. The pass would be risky, the only line available easily intercepted if the defensemen reacted fast enough. Passing to Zullo would have been the safer choice, the right side was completely open, but Zullo wasn’t where he should be. His hand forced, Shane risked the line to Cam for a shot on goal and cursed when it was intercepted.

He didn’t see the board check by his own teammate coming.

“What the fuck was that, Hollander?” Zullo yelled, pulling his gloves off to grab Shane by the sweater and shove him back into the boards. Spit flew from his mouth and splattered across the half visor of Shane’s helmet. A couple droplets landed on his jaw and cheek. “I was wide open!”

Shane froze, heart rattling in his ribs. “You weren’t there,” he managed.

“I was close enough. Fuckin’ cocksucker! What, you too busy checkin' out Cam’s pretty face to notice anyone else on the ice? I knew we shouldn’t have signed a fucking fa-”

Thankfully, Zullo was cut off as the nearest referee lunged in, wrestling him free. The reffs paused play to deliberate over the penalty before settling on unsportsmanlike conduct and Zullo’s ejection from the game.

Coach met Shane at the bench. “Take a breather. Muller’s on your right for now.” Shane could see the man’s discomfort with the situation in the slant of his shoulders, the twisted and embarrassed expression that shaped his face and tone. He knew that not everyone here would be welcoming, but getting slammed into the boards by a teammate left him feeling wrong-footed and embarrassed. Wagner was sent to the penalty box to ride out the five minutes Zullo earned them with his expulsion, and Buffalo cashed in two goals on the power play. By the second intermission, the scoreboard read 4–1.

In the visitor’s locker room, Tommy Anderson kicked off his skates. “I swear that guy’s drunk.”

Scott Hunter knelt in front of Shane, voice hushed over the clank of gear. “Coach isn’t going to tolerate that kind of behavior. I know you don’t know this team well yet, but that man is good as gone.”

Shane shrugged and took a long pull of water. “I’ve got thick skin,” he said. He didn’t need anyone here’s pity.

Hunter shook his head, gentle but firm. “Doesn’t matter. We’re a unit. We stick together.” He stood and clapped a hand on Shane’s shoulder plate. “Next period, we turn it around.”

They lost 4–3. The bus ride home was a hush of fatigue and disappointment. Zullo was notably absent. Shane didn’t care enough to listen for an explanation. He rested his head against the window, watching the dark outlines of trees speed by.

His phone buzzed, and he expected Joe. Instead, a message from "Lily" cast a soft glow on his cheeks in the dark.

Lily: that was fucked up

Shane’s thumb hovered. He was tempted to ignore it. He didn’t think Ilya would have bothered to watch a preseason game on a Friday night when he could have been out partying and enjoying the last free time he was likely to get before the regular season started up in full. He never had been strong enough to ignore him, though.

Shane: so you do still have my number

He felt blood rush to his face as he typed.

Lily: of course. What happened with oaf Zullo?

Shane: not everyone likes being on a team with a cocksucker

His cheeks burned hotter. He imagined Ilya reading each word, face lit by the phone screen in the dark. He thought about that summer in Vegas, Ilya telling him to suck his dick on that filthy bathroom floor. How he almost fell to his knees right there.

Lily: ah, he has not had delightful experience of you sucking his cock. So sad for him. So few people suck his dick that it is insult. Should punch him.

He could almost hear Ilya’s low laugh in that message, soft and knowing. Heat crept up his neck. For all that Zullo had him up against the glass, he hadn’t even considered punching him. He was too shocked, frozen. A part of him hated that, wished that he had felt more instant fury and defensiveness in the moment.

He tapped out another line.

Shane: you were watching then? I thought you weren’t talking to me anymore

Feeling pathetic and not really wanting to consider Ilya’s answer, Shane turned the phone off and leaned against the cold glass of the bus window. He didn’t sleep well on buses or planes, but he felt tired enough to try. Ilya had made him wait months in radio silence, the frustrating Russian could wait until Shane felt a little less wrung dry to answer whatever he had to say next.

Chapter End Notes

So Shane is officially with the Admirals and Ilya has finally broken radio silence. I really appreciate everyone's kudos and love reading your comments! Let me know what you think <3 In the next chapter we'll get Ilya's POV on all this :)

Chapter 4: Back in Boston

Chapter Summary

Ilya returns from a miserable summer in Russia to news that his sometimes hook-up and long-time rival on the ice was outed online for the world to see. He has some feelings about it. At least one of those feelings is denial.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

The news broke while Ilya was still struggling with jetlag after a summer spent dealing with his father’s declining health and his brother’s growing coke addiction. He watched in horror as his social media was flooded with Hollander and his very public, increasingly ugly outing. Most of the articles were written in English, which still felt blocky and disjointed after months out of practice untangling the language, but the pictures were universal. He recognized the Olympic Village instantly, and even thought he might recognize the man caught with his back to the camera, mouth devouring Hollander’s lips and broad hands low over his hips. Though he was familiar, Ilya couldn’t quite place him. Only Shane, face in full view of the camera, was instantly recognizable.

He knew how Shane’s body felt under his own hands, the particular angle of his hips as he melted into a kiss, and could recognize the same fluid ease in his frame under some stranger’s hands. He looked comfortable there.

Ilya knew he couldn’t be comfortable now. He wondered how long it had been since this leaked, if he had been given any warning before it was plastered across the tabloids for the world to see. He could picture Shane shaking as this nightmare entered reality. He hoped there was someone there to hold him through it and pull him out of his own head.

He hoped it was his mother, or Pike, or literally anyone else that wasn’t whoever the guy in this picture was.

It had to have been a one-time thing, right? Hollander hadn’t mentioned him at all in Vegas. He wasn’t the kind of guy to cheat on a partner. If Ilya understood nothing else about him, he at least knew that.

It also shouldn’t matter. Ilya wasn’t anything to Hollander aside from a convenient fuck, and it needed to stay that way. He needed it to stay that way.

He drafted and deleted more messages than he wanted to admit, but in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to actually send anything.

He distracted himself by throwing his efforts into getting ready for the season ahead. After winning the cup last year, the pressure was on for the team and Ilya as their captain to start off strong and make a solid run for the playoffs this year. He didn’t have time to worry about how Shane was doing, how he was dropped by the Metros and picked up by New York of all places.

But when the Admirals were slated to play their first preseason game against Buffalo on a Friday night, and Ilya was free with no game scheduled or plans with his team, he couldn’t stop himself from watching it. The stands were unusually full for a preseason game. He hoped Shane wasn’t reading the signs, that his new team was helping him ignore them.

It was immediately obvious that something was wrong with Hollander’s line. The trio was disconnected and missing easy passes. Whoever was on the right was especially slow and never where Shane needed him. That dinosaur, Scott Hunter, was playing well enough with the rookie they paired him with to put the kid through his paces, and that first line was the only reason they were up any goals at all. Against Buffalo of all places. Ridiculous. Price, the only player Ilya knew personally who played for Buffalo, wasn’t even on the ice for this game. They probably held him in reserve for the true season’s start. Shane’s line was struggling against players who might not even make the real team that year.

When the winger dropped his gloves on Shane and threw him against the glass, Ilya stood and launched his remote at the TV, red in the face and shouting in Russian at the slow fucking ref who hadn’t separated them yet. Where were his teammates? Were the Admirals really so incompetent that they could let this happen in the first place?

Ilya watched the rest of the game in seething silence and was honestly glad the Admirals lost. Not because he wanted Shane to lose, but because he wanted their coach to feel embarrassed over what he had let happen on his ice. There was no way something like that came out of nowhere. That was the kind of behavior that festered first. They never should have been on a line together to begin with.

So, of course, he caved and texted Hollander when the game was over. How could he not, after that?

When the announcement came a week later that the oaf Zullo was to be traded to Tampa for a promising young defenseman, Ilya hoped he rotted down there. Let him stew in the Florida heat and host shuffleboard tournaments at retirement homes for outreach. Served the bastard right. He wondered what Shane thought about the trade. He probably hated that a big deal was being made of an altercation with a teammate. It had to rub as yet another crack showed through to the public in the facade of the perfect hockey golden boy. Ilya decided to text him again.

Ilya: sucks for Florida

He followed the message with a link to the article he found covering Zullo’s trade so it would be clear to Hollander what he meant.

Ilya: Jalo is good. He could be very good, maybe. If Admirals know what to do with good defenseman

Jane: You’re such an asshole. He is already “very good.” He was up for Rookie of the Year last year.

Ilya: did not win, does not count

Jane: You’re one to talk.

Ilya laughed. Shane could be such a bitch, sometimes. Getting under his skin and breaking that perfect Canadian politeness was one of his favorite pastimes. How did nobody else see how funny he was? He messaged back seconds later.

Ilya: rude

Jane: true

Ilya chuckled again and let the conversation die. The regular season was starting soon, and Coach would not be happy if he was late.

Practice ran as usual, the team coming together well, though it was still early in the season. His line hadn’t changed. Marlow and Connors were great players who never struggled to keep up with him. The defense had seen some shuffling, and the third and fourth lines were ever-changing, but Ilya was confident they’d pull things together quickly enough.

“We’re going to have a great season this year, I can feel it!” Marlow cried, running into Ilya as he stepped off the ice for the locker rooms.

“You say this every year, Marly. Is boring. Of course we will have good season. You have me,” Ilya said cockily.

“Yeah, we do!” Marlow cheered, always happy to feed the ego of his teammates. “We should go out tonight!” he said. “Show the rooks around, show them how the Raiders do things.”

Ilya smiled. He liked this tradition. Let the team and the rookies have their fun before the season gets too heavy. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Round them up, then! Or is that A just for asshole?”

“If it was, you would still wear it!” Marlow jeered. “But I’ll spread the word. See you at Duke’s later, yeah?”

“Yeah, Marly, see you later.”

As he left the rink, he wondered how Shane was doing with Zullo gone. Were the Admirals actually welcoming or just grudgingly accepting? It was a good sign that they’d moved the bastard so quickly, but it didn’t mean the locker room couldn’t still be a cold place. Was anyone resenting Hollander over the loss of their teammate? Shane was awkward. Ilya knew that even with the Metros, a team he’d been with for years, Shane had struggled to feel like he fit in and had only ever had a couple of true friends. He found himself texting again once he got home.

Ilya: Marly wants to torture the rookies tonight

He sent the message and made a point of putting his phone down to get a few things done around the house instead of watching for ellipses and hoping for an immediate response. He was in the middle of wiping down the sink when he heard the phone ping with an incoming message.

Jane: Of course he does. Let me guess, you’re forcing beers on them until they puke? As their captain, aren’t you supposed to be a role model?

Ilya: I’m excellent role model. I will teach them to pick up only hottest women. They will be baby birds under big wing of best Captain in MLH

Jane: They’re not going to remember 90% of the night when they wake up tomorrow.

Ilya: is important they learn limits before season starts for real. They will have fun

Jane: You’re a terrible influence.

Ilya: ooo big word, sorry my English is not good

Jane: You’re so full of shit

Ilya: bye bye boring Canadian, such stick in mud

Ilya set the phone down and went to take a shower. Was back from his own practice yet? If so, he was probably busy preparing some kind of terrible dinner for himself. At least one of them should be out having fun. Too bad Hollander was more likely to stay in for the evening reading boring hockey books. Ilya would have to have extra fun for the two of them.

Almost everyone on the team showed up at the bar that night to show the rookies a good time. The senior members of the team bought round after round, and Ilya watched it all with faint amusement. Hollander wasn’t wrong; many of them would not remember much in the morning. It was fine, though. He trusted his team. No one would really be left to go home with a stranger while blackout drunk, and the rooks would be well taken care of. It really was good for them to learn their limits. A few of them had never been away from home or out from under their parents' supervision. Their first roadie was not the time to be discovering these things. The kids would be more wary of their drinking in the future, and Coach would have them in bag skates running their hangovers off in the morning. Ilya wondered who would be the first to blow chunks on the ice.

Seeing the dance floor pick up, Ilya waggled his eyebrows at Marly, and the two of them wandered over to the floor together. It wasn’t long before Marly had his tongue down the throat of a hot blond, her hand on his ass and a smirk on her face as she pulled back from the kiss.

“Eyes up here, handsome,” she said, pushed up against him, and danced to the pulsing music of the club. Marly laughed and met her eyes, then leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

Ilya, dancing with a tall and tan brunette a few feet away, had the feeling Marlow would be leaving him soon. The handsome fuck never had a problem pulling chicks, and he was in a mood that evening, more so than usual, even if the strong grip of his hand on the woman’s waist was anything to go by.

Ilya resisted the urge to check his phone and bother Hollander about his boring night at home. He would doubtless be sitting on the couch in whatever hotel room the team had provided, eating boring healthy food and studying hockey reels for the upcoming season.

Returning his attention to his own dance partner, Ilya tried to stay in the moment, though he had very little interest in pursuing things further. She was beautiful and fun, a great dancer, and so hot, but he had no intention of leaving that night until all the rooks had safe arrangements for getting back home. He might not act like it sometimes, but he felt the responsibility of the C plenty. The vets of the team would watch them just fine, but Ilya would stay in sight in case he was needed. Besides, he wasn’t really feeling it that night. Let Marly have his fun.

Chapter End Notes

And Ilya has finally entered the chat! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, please let me know what you think in the comments! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave comments and kudos so far. You'll notice that I still don't have an official chapter count for this fic. I have no clue exactly how long it will be, I'm just having fun with it. Updates should be very regular, though. I'm 9 chapters in so far, so even if I have some days where I can't get much writing done, I've at least got some buffer. Anyway, I'm looking forward to hearing from you all. Enjoy! <3

Chapter 5: The Boring Canadian

Chapter Summary

Shane decides it's time to explore New York and makes a new friend.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Lily: bye bye boring Canadian, such stick in mud

It was the last message Ilya had sent, and Shane read it over and over again in the car on the way back from practice to his hotel room. Ilya was right. He was a stick in the mud. He always felt uncomfortable going out with his teammates back in Montreal, and here he was in New York City, and he had hardly left his hotel room other than to go to the rink. With that in mind, Shane made a decision to get out. The least he could do was explore the neighborhood around him.

When the car dropped Shane off at the hotel, he only went upstairs long enough to put his bag and gear away before eating a quick dinner and walking right back down the stairs. It was Friday, he had been in New York for over a week, and he was tired of staring at the same four walls in an impersonal hotel room. If New York was going to be his city for the foreseeable future, he might as well get to know it.

Double-checking that he had his wallet and that his phone was fully charged, Shane set off in a random direction. The neighborhood around his hotel was well-lit and clean, surrounded by high-rises, with little shops and restaurants occupying the ground floors of most buildings. Other than the little natural food market near the hotel that Shane had frequented for groceries for the past week, he wasn’t familiar with any of the other businesses nearby, so that was a good place to start. He noted business names as he went. Some of them were closed already. There was a café that closed at 7 PM and a bagel shop that was only open until 3 PM most days.

After a point, all the buildings blurred together as Shane paid less attention and settled into the rhythm of a good walk. It was nice to get out and stretch his legs on real streets, rather than being confined to a gym treadmill. After walking for at least thirty minutes, a bar up ahead caught his attention—a large rainbow flag hung out front, upbeat music spilled across the street, and the windows glowed. It was the kind of place he would've once given a wide berth—before the article, back in Montreal, when he was still the Metro’s golden boy and Canada’s sweetheart, Shane Hollander.

Shane paused on the sidewalk and considered for a moment, then turned toward the bar’s door, glanced at the sign that read “Kingfisher” overhead, and walked inside.

Inside the bar, it was fairly busy, with a large crowd gathered around a small stage set back into the space. A drag queen in a lime green dress covered in sequined tassels strode across the stage with long legs and giant heels flashing through the colorful lighting.

“Well, hello, handsome, you’re not lost, are you?” another drag queen asked. With the heels, she stood at least half a foot taller than Shane, latex breasts exposed in a deep cut silver evening gown.

Shane swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion as he looked up at her. “No, ah… I don’t think so?” he said, not surprised when she laughed at his hesitance. She stepped forward and picked a piece of lint off his shoulder with a manicured hand. Her bright red nails caught and held his attention. It took a minute for what she was saying to sink in.

“Charity drag night tonight,” she said, “why don’t you come on in and we’ll stop blocking the door.”

With that, she walked closer to the stage. Shane followed, but instead of drifting into the crowd with her, he turned toward the bar top. Finding a free stool near the end, he sat down. He angled himself to study the space so he wouldn’t have his back to the room. The drag queen in the silver dress climbed the stage and announced something into the microphone. Cheers and applause roared from the crowd. The queen in green bowed, then stepped down from the stage.

“First time seeing drag?” one of the bartenders asked, approaching with a smile and what Shane was pretty sure was a teasing tone.

Shane made a show of looking down at his attire, noting the track shoes and joggers, white t-shirt just visible under a plain gray hoodie. “What gave me away?”

It seemed like the right thing to say. The bartender laughed, his expression opening from a small, teasing smile into a genuine grin. “You look nervous, kid,” he said, though he couldn’t have been that much older than Shane. “How about I get you a drink while you unclench a bit. First one’s on the house.”

“Oh, that’s ok, I can-“ Shane started to object, but the bartender was already gone, pulling a glass down and pouring from various bottles into a silver shaker.

The drink was a sunny yellow, with a little twist of orange peel on the ice and a blue straw. For once, Shane decided not to ask what was in it and just went with the flow. He'd already come this far.

“Name’s Kyle, by the way,” the bartender introduced, leaning across the bar and settling into a posture that made it clear he had no intention of going and seeking out any other customers for the time being. “Now, no offence, but you do not look like someone who went out tonight looking for your friendly neighborhood gay bar.”

That wasn’t a question, but Shane caught that he expected an answer anyway. “Yeah, well…” he started, using the straw to stir the ice around in his drink. “I couldn’t really go to places like this before, and I guess I was just walking by and thought fuck-it, why not?”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, I guess you don’t recognize me, right?”

Kyle shook his head, looking a little amused and bewildered.

“Right,” Shane said. “So, I guess I’m kind of famous? I play hockey professionally, and it’s not like I could just walk into a gay bar before, or seek one out. But I got outed recently and-“

Kyle cut him off. “Wait!” he said. “You’re Shane Hollander?”

Shane went completely red, chuckling awkwardly. “Yeah, scandal was big enough, I’m pretty sure even people who don’t regularly follow hockey probably have heard of me now.”

Kyle had the grace to at least look embarrassed. “Sorry, man. Yeah, I saw the articles online. I thought you were in Canada, though.”

Shane grimaced. "I was. My team dropped me after the article dropped. Now I play in New York."

Kyle shifted his weight onto one arm and used his free hand to spin a drink napkin with his pointer finger. “That really sucks, I’m sorry that happened,” he said. Shane couldn’t help but note that he sounded sincere. It helped ease the tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah, well. I’m out now. I mean, I was barely starting to come to terms with the whole being gay thing, but I guess I can walk into a bar now and not worry about being photographed and outed by some stranger online. So…”

“Yeah, that’s awful, and now I feel like shit. I’m sorry for asking. I really need to learn to mind my own business.”

Shane waved him off. “No, don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no famous MLH star, but I know a thing or two about being outed in a really public way and having to start over in a new city. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

Shane considered that and took a minute to decide if it was okay to ask. He figured that since Kyle brought it up, it couldn’t be too bad to press for what he meant by that. “How so?” he asked, feeling strangely invested.

Kyle groaned exaggeratedly and buried his head in his hands, rocking up onto his toes and back down for emphasis. “I’m from a small town in Vermont, and my family’s pretty well known there. Anyway, I had an affair with my boss when I was doing an internship over the summer, and his wife found out. She hired a PI, so there were pictures. Long story short, the whole town found out, and my parents basically paid to move me here to avert some of the backlash from the scandal. Not exactly how I wanted my family to find out I was gay, you know?”

Shane was nodding before Kyle even had time to finish his sentence. “Same,” he agreed. “I’m sorry that happened to you, too. That’s really fucked up.”

“Yeah, well, water under the bridge and whatnot. All this to say that I get where you’re coming from.”

Shane took a long sip of the drink Kyle gave him and made a surprised hum. “This is really good,” he said. “I don’t, ah, drink. Usually. But this is nice.”

Kyle laughed. “Thanks!” he said. “It’s my own recipe. Come by any time, and I’m happy to make you another one.”

The drag show wound down as a few performers packed up their props. It wasn’t that late, but Shane was reaching his limit for adventure and was ready to call a car to return to the hotel.

Kyle seemed to sense that he was getting ready to leave. “Look,” he said. “You’re really cute, but I kind of get the impression you need a friend more than a hookup right now. How about I give you my number so you can reach back out. When you have a free night again, let me know, and I’ll show you around the queer scene here in New York.”

Shane watched Kyle look him over pointedly before continuing. “And let me know in advance,” he said. “So we can go shopping.”

Shane laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “I could use some friends here.” He handed his phone over with the new contact screen open and watched Kyle take a selfie and enter his phone number.

“It was nice meeting you!” Shane said, slipping a 20 into the tip jar nearby.

“Likewise,” Kyle said with a smile. “Maybe walk in here on purpose next time, yeah?”

Shane laughed and nodded, then waved and walked away. The night air felt cool and soothing compared to the bar's warmth. He pulled out his phone to call for a car and saw that he had a missed message from Ilya.

Lily: rookies made it to little homes safe and sound

Shane smiled, imagining Ilya as a large bird with a row of little rookies under his wing like he’d claimed before. He was a good captain. Shane wished he knew what it was like, to be on a team as close as Ilya seemed to be with the other Raiders.

Shane: Make sure you make it home safe and sound, too. Good night.

He almost sent a heart, but one drink was not enough to make him drunk enough to slip up with something like that. He was glad Ilya was talking to him again, but he knew where they stood. This wasn’t a hearts in a text message kind of situation.

Chapter End Notes

OK, two chapters in one day. They're short, and I'm chaotic and can't help myself. Hope you like it! <3

Chapter 6: WAG Night

Chapter Summary

Scott makes a decision. As is typical for him, he doesn't do subtle well. Kip is thrilled.

Chapter Notes

I switch back and forth between Scott and Shane's POV a lot in this chapter. I'm sorry in advance if it gets confusing.

Scott

“I think I want to come out—”

The ceramic-coated skillet Kip was rinsing after making eggs that morning rattled against the stainless steel of the sink when he dropped it. The clang echoed off the gray tiles of the backsplash while suds bubbled around his fingers. Kip spun toward Scott, who stood at the marble countertop, one finger tracing an idle line through the gray veins lining its surface.

Scott lifted his hands, palms out. "Not a big announcement—just to the team and Hollander. I feel guilty, you know? I’m here eating breakfast with my boyfriend, but Hollander’s in a new city, thinking he’s alone. Isn’t it wrong that I haven’t told him?"

Kip shook water from his hands, wiped them on a towel, and rounded the island to stand beside Scott. Scott’s shoulders sagged, his posture easing as Kip’s warm palm pressed into the small of his back. “Baby,” Kip murmured, voice soft and light, “you don’t owe anyone anything. You come out for yourself when you’re ready, not before.”

Scott exhaled slowly. “Everyone’s been so good about everything after Coach made that example of Zullo. Even the guys who haven’t said anything haven’t been dismissive or rude about it. I know they’d accept me. Staying silent in the face of that feels like a lie.”

Kip ran his thumb along Scott’s hipbone and leaned in, brushing a kiss against his temple. Scott tucked his face into Kip’s shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of cedar and coffee. “I’m tired of hiding you,” Scott whispered.

Kip hugged him tighter and said, “Call your agent before practice, then. Let her help you draft a plan. Let's protect you in case anyone slips up. And when you’re ready to tell the public and not just the team, or if this gets out before you want it to, you’ll have a statement.”

Scott met Kip’s eyes, damp with happy tears. "Yeah. I need to do that. I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore."

Kip’s grin was radiant. Scott knew this was something he wanted. While Kip loved him and had told him time and again that he could wait until Scott was ready, that their love was what mattered more than anything, being kept a secret from the most important people in Scott’s life had to hurt him.

That afternoon, the rink’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Scott laced up his skates in the locker room. The tang of sweat and leather lay thick in the air as their new defenseman from Florida, Matti Jalo, bounded past him.

“Hey Hunter,” Jalo said, voice bright. “Any tips for practice?”

Scott clicked his tongue. “Just follow the coach and play your best. We’ll get you up to speed.”

He clapped Jalo on the shoulder and crossed to Hollander’s locker. Hollander was pulling tape out of his bag and organizing it on his shelf, helmet already stored for practice and pads lined up on the bench.

“Hey, Hollzy, got a minute?” Scott asked, heart pounding.

Hollander looked up, surprise flickering in his eyes. He stowed his duffel under the bench and followed Scott through a maze of hallways to a tiny break room. A lone fridge buzzed by a battered couch and a scarred table. Scott slid a plastic chair over and sat, legs stiff. Hollander mirrored him, hands folded in his lap.

"I… wanted to invite you to dinner next week," Scott blurted. "With my boyfriend and I."

Hollander froze, cheeks flushed. "Your… boyfriend?"

Scott huffed, laughed a bit at his own expense, and nodded. He was terrible at this. “Yeah, my boyfriend. Uh, Kip. He thought what happened to you was terrible. We both did. And I think he might be even more excited than I was that we’ve got you on the team, now. His dad loves hockey, so he’s pretty tuned in to hockey news and…” Scott trailed off. He was oversharing.

If Hollander were a cartoon, his eyes would be spinning like a Looney Tunes character. Scott felt terrible. He clearly needed help with normal, non-overwhelming conversations. His track record was not great. Kip would probably laugh at him for acting like a serial killer again.

“Sure,” Hollander said eventually, seemingly stumped for anything else to say.

Scott waited for him to ask literally anything else. When he didn’t, Scott shifted his weight from side to side in the uncomfortable plastic chair and repeatedly picked at the corner of his thumbnail with his other hand.

“I’m ah, gay. Too.” He said eventually, feeling like the conversation wasn’t finished.

Hollander nodded.

Scott waited for him to say something.

“Does, uh…” Hollander stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “Does the team know?”

"No," Scott said. "I wasn't going to tell them, at least not for a while. But with everything that's happened, I wanted you to know you’re not alone. And I think it’s time I came out to the team anyway. They’ve been really good about all of this. I guess I was worried for nothing."

Scott looked down at the loose skin he was picking at on the edge of his left thumbnail. The skin was red and raw, but he kept scraping at it with his fingertip, unable to stop. This was exactly as uncomfortable as he thought it would be. He really was terrible at this communication thing.

“I mean, it’s not like you could have known. Take it from me, it’s kind of a surprise either way. At least with the Admirals, it was a good surprise. I always worried about the Metros. It scared me to think of what they would say or how they would treat me if they knew, but even with that worry, I was still shocked at how quickly they turned on me. I thought we were a family, you know? I was in some of those guys' weddings.”

Scott nodded and found himself crying for the millionth time that week. At least he kept it contained to a few loose tears. He really didn’t want to break down in front of Hollander in the break room.

“I always worried it would be like that. I’m glad that they’re not bad, but I’m also sorry you had to deal with that in Montreal.”

Hollander shrugged. “It’s over now,” he said. “In a way, it’s kind of freeing.”

Scott smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I bet it kind of is.”

Scott let the team know that he wanted to talk to them at the end of practice. He felt bolstered by how things had gone with Hollander earlier and skated onto the ice with more confidence than he expected to feel. Coach spent their time on ice running drills and starting to figure out the dynamic of having Jalo on the team. He still had a lot of room for improvement, but Scott was confident that he would flourish under the guidance of a good coach like Murdock. And unlike Zullo, he was actually early to practice. And not drunk. Really, there could only be highlights in the whole trade.

“So what did you want to tell us, cap?” Vaughn asked when everyone had showered and were starting to hang around awkwardly in the locker room.

Unlike his conversation with Hollander, Scott had practiced what he wanted to say here. The words were something he had toyed with and mulled over even before his conversation with Kip that morning, pretty much since the first day after Hollander arrived.

"I just want to thank this team for being so supportive since Hollander joined. You’ve made his transition welcoming and kept this locker room safe for everyone."

The team was nodding along, some smiling. Bennett clapped Hollander on the back, and Breezy punched the air with a hoot. “Fuck the Metros!” Cam called from the back, to the agreements and fist bumps of those around him.

Scott felt heartened and continued, "It meant a lot to me, too, because I’m gay." The room went silent—not aggressively, just attentive. "I didn’t know how to tell you, or if I should. But after seeing how great you’ve been with Hollander, I wanted you to know about me, too."

“Well, shit, Hunter!” Wagner said, the first to break. “Good for you, man. Thanks for telling us.”

“You got a boyfriend we should know about?” Vaughn asked, looking delighted at this turn of events. It probably helped that he understood now why Scott was never interested in any of the girls he’d tried to set him up with.

“Yeah, actually,” Scott said. The whole room hollered.

“Bring him out with us tonight!” Wagner demanded, echoed by the rest of the team.

“Yeah!” they cried. “We’re gonna drink the place dry after we win tonight! Go, Admirals!”

With that, the room devolved into raucous hoots, banging sticks, and bodies crashing into each other. Scott smiled. Kip would come out with them for drinks that night. He would be thrilled. And Scott couldn’t wait to actually introduce him to this amazing team.

Shane

The Admirals’ first game of the regular season was played in their home arena against Shane’s home team, the Ottawa Centaurs. They won it handily, at a neat 4-1, with Shane getting his first goal of the season and an assist to Hunter during a power play. He still couldn’t believe Scott had just come out like that in the breakroom before practice that day, then to the whole team shortly after.

Scott was going to meet them at the bar after this. With his boyfriend. For the first time, Shane was actually looking forward to getting drinks with his team after a win. He might even let himself have a beer. This felt like something worth celebrating.

His phone vibrated with a text from Joe, congratulating him on the game.

Shane: Thanks! The team played really well tonight.

Joe: Dude, I’m not the press, no need to play humble

Shane: I mean it, though. Everybody played really well together, especially for this early in the season. I didn’t think when I got moved here that it would be so… easy.

Joe: They still taking things well, then? I’m glad they got rid of that asshole who attacked you. He played like shit anyway.

Shane laughed. It felt nice having someone like Joe, who was just on his side of things, who wasn’t so absorbed by the world of hockey. Granted, he was still Canadian. He cared plenty about hockey. But he cared more about Shane. It was a level of Shane-first, hockey-second support that he wasn’t sure even his mom was capable of.

They texted back and forth a bit more while Shane changed for the night, mostly just shooting the shit and speculating over what the team’s bar of choice would be like. They were right, more or less. It was a pretty standard bar that they went to, with a private back room for the team’s dedicated use. The walls were covered with pictures of the Admirals from seasons past, with signed sticks mounted over the smaller bar at the back.

“This has been the team’s bar for decades,” Bennett said, walking up to Shane to slap him on the shoulder and welcome him in. “This place is always reserved for us after a home game. I already claimed the corner table for when Scott shows up with his boyfriend. Why don’t you come sit with us after you get a drink?”

“Sure, thanks,” Shane said, appreciative of the direction so he didn’t have to stand around the room full of Admiral’s players and WAGs while awkwardly trying to figure out where to go.

He did as Bennett suggested and walked over to the bar to start a tab and order a beer. He barely had time to sit down with it at the round corner booth with Bennett and Vaughn when Hunter walked into the bar with a man Shane didn’t recognize. He looked about Shane’s age, a little shorter than Hunter but somehow just as muscular. The tight shirt he wore showed off defined pecs and thick arms, making Shane instantly wonder what this guy did for a living. Was he another professional athlete? Shane knew he wasn’t in the league, but maybe he played soccer or something? Shane didn’t keep up with other sports.

The whole room cheered, and Scott hoisted the man’s hand in the air like it was the Stanley Cup. He was beaming, but somehow still managed to look sheepish at the attention. Shane was happy for him.

When the crowd calmed down enough to let them through, the two wove their way over to the corner booth, and Bennett stood to pull Hunter into a hug. “So who’s this, then?” Bennett asked, beaming to match Hunter’s smile.

“My boyfriend, Kip,” Scott introduced to the table at large.

“Hi, Kip!” Vaughn greeted, scooting down to make room for them all.

Kip laughed. Shane would have thought he might be nervous or shy walking into a bar full of rowdy hockey players high off a win, but he looked at home there. “It’s nice to finally meet you all.”

“Finally?” Vaughn asked. “How long has Scotty been hiding you from us?”

Bennet shoved Vaughn’s shoulder. “Can it,” he said. “Really, though, how long have you guys been together?”

Kip’s smile looked so wide it had to be painful. “We met partway through last season. The smoothie shop I work for got conscripted into Scott’s game day superstitions when he won after stopping by that first time.”

“Oh yeah,” Vaughn said. “I’m sure it was the smoothies that did it.”

This time, he got an elbow to the ribs from Bennett in response, and it must have actually hurt because his wince didn’t look at all faked or exaggerated.

Hunter spent the conversation mooning after his boyfriend with his head in his hands, not even bothering to drink the beer someone had pushed into his grip before he reached their table.

“You got ripped like that making smoothies?” Shane asked, then immediately flushed red and slapped a hand over his own mouth. He hadn’t even finished his first beer. There was no excuse of being drunk for this kind of lack of filter.

Hunter laughed so hard he bent in half at the table. “He’s just a gym rat,” he said, seemingly not at all offended. “He and his buddy from school practically live there part-time.”

This time, it was Kip’s turn to flush as he shoved Hunter’s shoulder. “Whatever, don’t act like you don’t love the results.”

“Oh man, I like him,” Bennett said. “I’m so glad you brought him out tonight, Scotty.”

“Where’s Holly?” Vaughn asked Bennett. “We need to get Kip added to the WAG group chat. Gloria’s going to love him.”

Bennett shrugged. “She’s been pretty busy lately. I don’t think she’s feeling too up to keeping up with the WAGs this season.”

For the first time that night, he seemed to close up a bit. Shane watched Vaughn’s expression as the decision not to press the issue passed over him before he moved the conversation on to a discussion of one of Hunter’s goals against Ottawa.

Shane took the opportunity when everyone was focused on Hunter to get up and go to the bar for another drink. He wanted to see more of the place which would be an important part of his team’s home game routine from then on. The main room of the bar had filled up more since he arrived, and he took a minute to look around before walking up to the large rectangular island that filled the portion raised up from the dance floor. A few of his teammates had also migrated from the back room to dance. Shane could see Breezy and Cam swaying with a couple of girls done up in bright makeup, their shiny dresses flashing under the colorful lighting.

“Shane Hollander?” a man asked, stepping up beside Shane at the bar. He was tall and broad, probably in his mid to late thirties with a bit of silver in his close-cropped dark beard and a full head of dark curls.

“Uhm, yeah,” Shane said, a bit uncertain at being approached by a stranger. Maybe the guy wanted an autograph?

“Great game tonight, glad to see you settling in with the team,” he said, leaning more into Shane’s space. He placed a hand on the small of Shane’s back. “Can I get you a drink?”

Shane knew that he was not the best at reading social cues, but this did not seem like a guy offering to buy him a beer, one bro to another. He took a minute to assess the man, noted the squirming warmth that filled him at the thought of a man hitting on him here, in plain sight of his team, and how that was something that could happen now. The guy was certainly attractive.

“Alright,” Shane said, turning to lean against the counter and face him a bit better.

“I’m Aaron,” he said, raising his free hand to wave down a bartender.

Shane smiled, “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I take it you follow hockey?”

Scott

“Oh my god, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Vaughn asked. The larger bar in the main room was just visible from their booth. He shook Bennett’s shoulder and pointed over to where Shane had walked up and was now looking very cozy with a man who’d just joined him.

“Do they count as puck bunnies if they’re built like a linebacker?” Wagner asked. He’d slid into Shane’s place right after the younger man left.

Vaughn laughed so hard tears built at the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god, yes. Definitely.”

Scott turned to see what they were talking about and didn’t bother to suppress a grin. “Good for the kid,” he said.

Kip elbowed him, hard. “You cannot call him a kid,” he said. “He’s my age.”

Scott winced. He sometimes forgot how young Kip was.

“It’s like watching a little deer wobble on its new legs and run off into the woods. He’s flirting!” Vaughn teased, making exaggerated faces over the apparent cuteness of it all.

“Should we rescue him?’ Kip asked, seeming unsure.

“Nah, he’s fine. Let the guy live a little,” Wagner replied, taking a sip of his beer.

Scott felt a little bit as if he’d slipped into the twilight zone. Here he was, celebrating their first win of the season with Kip by his side while his teammates joked about Hollander being hit on by a man like he was a rookie picking up a girl at the bar for the first time. Had it really been this easy the whole time? Could he have had this months ago?

“Hey,” Kip said, noticing that Scott had gotten into his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott replied. “Just a bit surreal, is all.”

“I bet,” Kip agreed. “Think they’ll really add me to the WAG group chat?”

“Oh, definitely!” Wagner cut in enthusiastically. “You wait right there!” he commanded, then tore into the crowd.

“Babe!” he shouted into the mass of bodies that filled the smaller room. “Nikki!”

Scott watched him find his wife. She was holding court with a few other WAGs near the bar. Nikki Wagner all but ran the WAGs for the Admirals. A New Yorker born and raised, she knew how to command a space and had Wagner wrapped around her finger from the start.

It only took a minute for her to nod a quick departure and head for their table with Wagner, amusement twisting her smile into a little smirk.

“Kip,” Wagner said as soon as they were back in hearing range. “This is my wife, Nikki. Nikki, this is Scott’s boyfriend, Kip. That makes him a WAG now, yeah?”

Nikki laughed, a clear sound like tinkling glass. It was strangely delicate for the intimidating way she usually held herself. “Nice to meet you, Kip! Though maybe we might need to think of a new name for our little group!”

Kip smiled and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too. WAG is fine, I can roll with it,” he assured with a smile.

“Hmm,” she clearly disagreed. “We’ll workshop it. Besides, it’s looking like Hollzy might bring you a little company.”

Vaughn laughed so hard Scott almost worried for his ribs. “I fucking love your wife, man,” he said to Wagner. “Nikki, never change.”

She smiled with a predatory grin. “Never. Come on, Kip, I’ll introduce you to everyone. We can’t have these puckheads hogging you all night. I’m sure you get enough of the hockey talk from Scotty at home.”

Scott watched Kip leave with her, amused and warm at how welcoming everyone had been so far. If anyone did have a problem, they were at least keeping quiet about it.

Back at the bar, Shane and whatever man had come up to hit on him were looking… cozy. Somewhat embarrassed, Scott looked away to give them their privacy and turned back to the table.

“You know,” Vaughn said, in a rare moment of seriousness for him. “We really are happy that you could bring Kip tonight. I’ve always wanted that for you, to have someone you light up for like that. And he obviously loves you back, man. Congrats.”

Scott’s smile got a bit wobbly at that. “Thanks, Vaughny,” he said. “It’s really fucking nice to not sit here, pretending to be single and counting down the minutes for when it would be a socially acceptable time to go back home and celebrate the win with him.”

Wagner waggled his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?”

Bennett gave a long-suffering sigh and apparently gave up on trying to rein anyone in for the evening, choosing to send Scott a commiserating look instead. Scott smiled at him and relaxed back into the vinyl seatback of the booth they shared. He was still looking forward to getting home and celebrating with Kip, in exactly the way that Wagner’s eyebrows implied, but there was no rush. He could sit here and soak in the win with his team, watch Kip laugh with Nikki and the other WAGs near the bar, and just enjoy the moment for what it was.

Chapter End Notes

I do not have the capacity to write both of these couples as sad and struggling at the same time. Scott and Kip will have their own problems to figure out, but their relationship isn't one of them. I hope everyone enjoys reading this chapter! Like always, let me know what you think in the comments <3

Chapter 7: Green Ice Monster

Chapter Summary

Ilya gets jealous, Marlow is a good friend and the season officially begins for the Raiders

Chapter Notes

Ilya

“Looks like Golden Boy ditched that shiny image,” Connors said, scrolling his phone in the locker room after practice, towel wrapped around his waist.

“Yeah, he’s coming for your Playboy image now, Rozie!” Marlow teased, ruffling Ilya’s hair on his way past.

“Oh fuck off, Marly. What now?” Ilya griped, shrugging the larger man off himself and pulling on track pants.

“Nah, Roz, you gotta see this. Check this out,” Connors said, shoving his phone under Ilya’s nose. On it, Ilya could see a tabloid shot of Hollander leaving a bar in New York with a burly older man whose arm was slung low around Hollander’s waist. The headline banner was split with another image of the same man pressed up against Hollander on the sidewalk, tongue shoved down his throat while he hailed a taxi. Ilya pushed the phone away.

“Why so interested in what Hollander does with his dick, Connors?” he chirped, pulling on his shirt and carelessly shoving the rest of his gear into his bag. Growing rougher and more frustrated, he searched the pockets of the duffel bag for his cigarettes.

“Hey, fuck you, man!” Connors laughed, walking off to share the article with some of the other guys.

“You good, Rozy?” Marlow asked.

Shoulders slumped, Ilya found his cigarettes, stashed them and his lighter in his hoodie, slung his bag on, and stalked for the door.

"Fine," he muttered, brushing past Marlow. He caught his toe on Carmichael’s locker and cursed.

“FUCK!” he yelled, the bag dropping from his shoulder down to his hand. He swung his duffel at the locker first and then kicked it, an action that sent sharp pain shooting from the already injured foot up to the rest of his leg. The next swear words that left his mouth were a lot more colorful and purely Russian.

“Hey man, what’d my locker do to you?” Carmichael asked, toweling his hair dry as he walked back in from the showers.

Ilya didn't answer him. He shot a glare, huffed sharply, and stalked outside for a smoke as he'd intended.

“What’s up with him?” he heard Carmichael ask as the door swung shut behind him.

It was still pretty warm for October when Ilya made it outside and immediately set about tapping a cigarette from the beat-up carton in his pocket. The thin hoodie he wore felt stifling, and he was tempted to rip it off.

Ilya heard the door beside him open and ignored it, lighting up and taking a long pull. He stared out across the parking lot.

“So, you gonna tell me what’s going on, Rozie?” Marlow asked, and Ilya groaned.

"Is nothing," he said flatly, wishing Marlow would just drop it.

“Carmichael’s locker might say otherwise.”

“Stubbed my toe. Was careless. Fuck off,” Ilya said, tired of explaining himself in English today. Why couldn’t Marlow take a hint and leave him alone?

“And now you're out here, smoking, looking like someone kicked your puppy,” Marlow continued, apparently uninterested in letting it go.

“Who is kicking puppy? That’s terrible! Your English sayings are more awful every day, Marly,” Ilya chastised. What did it matter anyway? It’s not like he could even begin to explain why seeing that picture of Hollander wrapped up in some strange man on the streets of New York would bother him so much.

“And you’re deflecting,” Ilya’s brow twisted at the unfamiliar word. “Trying to change the subject,” Marlow explained without needing to be asked.

Ilya knew that, despite what he wanted others to think, Marlow wasn’t an idiot. He could be just as observant as Ilya most days. But he didn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t completely give himself away. And even if he did think Marlow would be okay with it, what right did he have to be jealous of Hollander anyway? It’s not like they had ever been anything close to exclusive.

“Look, I know the media always plays you and Hollander against each other. Your careers have always been kind of weirdly connected, yeah? Is this whole thing with him being gay bothering you?”

Ilya took a moment to sort through what Marlow was trying to say. It must have been obvious after a minute that he was struggling because Marlow tried again.

“Are all of the articles about Hollander being gay bothering you?” he asked.

Ilya shrugged and pulled out a second cigarette, then offered the box to Marlow. He took one and accepted the lighter when Ilya was done with it.

"Don't care that he's gay," Ilya muttered, knowing it would've been easier to let Marlow believe otherwise, but his nerves were too frayed for that lie. He also just didn’t want Marlow to think he was that kind of person. Some days it seemed like Marlow was one of the only people in Ilya’s life who actually knew him.

Marlow let out a relieved sigh. “Good, I hoped not,” he said. “You say some nasty shit on the ice, Roz, but I’ve never heard you join in on the homophobia.”

“Yes, is too easy,” Ilya said, smirking. “These other idiots repeat same insult over and over. So sad.”

Marlow laughed. “Yeah, you would say that.” He took a minute to take a drag of his own cigarette. “What exactly is the problem then, if it’s not that Hollander’s gay?”

Ilya couldn’t say why he said what he did next. Marlow was his best friend on that team, and he trusted the guy, but it was still probably too much to trust him with this. He shouldn’t be trusting anyone with this.

“I cannot be angry with Hollander for liking men,” he said. “I like this too, sometimes.”

Whatever Marlow was expecting him to say, it definitely wasn’t that.

“Holy shit, Roz,” he said, snuffing out his cigarette against the wall of the building and shoving the butt in his pocket. “Seriously?”

Ilya nodded, jaw tight, nervousness flickering in his eyes for a moment before he looked away.

“And all these articles about Hollander, the Metros dropping him, the fans, and the league turning on him. Shit, that’s got to be like your worst nightmare.”

Ilya nodded again. “No one can know,” he said. “In Russia, is bad. Very bad.”

Marlow looked like he might be sick. “Yeah, of course not, dude. I ain’t telling anybody shit.”

Ilya laughed. It was loud and out of control, and probably made him look crazy. Marlow didn’t seem to catch that jealousy was the root of Ilya’s terrible attitude right now. The shock of Ilya liking men at all was probably going to take up most of his processing space for the rest of the day, but he did know something. He knew enough to ruin Ilya if he wanted. But Ilya knew he wouldn’t, because Marlow was actually a really good friend. He hadn’t had friends like that in Russia, ones that would be on his side and wouldn’t turn on him at the first sign of a weakness they could use to their advantage. He still boggled at it sometimes, that someone like Marlow could just hang around with Ilya just for the sake of hanging out with him. Because he liked him.

“You seem… okay with this,” Ilya said, not sure how to actually say the question he wanted to ask. For once, he wasn’t sure if talking in Russian would have even helped.

“Yeah, man, I don’t give a shit who you sleep with. You’re a fucking legend. Probably been out there pulling hot chicks and their bicurious husbands this whole damn time.”

“No,” Ilya laughed and shook his head. “Have been careful.”

That sobered Marlow up. “Yeah. I guess I should be glad it’s not you they caught, huh? I mean, it still sucks to be Hollander, but he’s handling it well enough if that article’s anything to go by. And the Admirals have been good for him, I think. It’s early in the season still, but their preseason was looking strong after they got rid of that asshole Zullo.”

Ilya nodded, really not wanting to think about the article with Hollander again. The jealousy still burned in his gut, and he was going to have to do something about that because it wasn’t sustainable. He couldn’t afford to be this jealous of Hollander every time an article came up about him going home with some guy from a bar.

“I think, though, that if something did happen and you ever were caught, the Raiders would be okay. Management and LeClaire love you. And like, this is Boston. There are worse places you could be, you know? Could you imagine being in Dallas?”

“I don’t ever want to imagine Dallas,” Ilya said, scoffing. “Shit team. I like winning.”

Marlow laughed. “Don’t ever change, Rozy,” he said, clapping him over the shoulder. “I need to go. I’ll see you at the game tonight, all right?”

Ilya nodded and shouldered his bag again, eyes heavy and shoulders slumped. He should go too. He felt exhausted, the weight of the day settling in his chest. Maybe a nap would help him regain some energy before they had to play that night.

By the time Ilya made it to the arena for the game, he felt more in control of his body and reactions again. They were slated to play Toronto, and while Ilya hated the Guardians, he also loved playing teams he genuinely hated. He could take his frustration out on assholes like their star rookie, Dallas Kent, without an ounce of remorse.

His team also seemed to have forgotten the weird mood he left them with earlier. Everyone was hyped up for their first official home game of the season. The energy in the room was electric, thrumming through Ilya’s body and infecting his own competitive fire.

“LETS GO!” he shouted as they skated down the tunnel, arms pumping overhead and a ferocious grin taking over his face.

The home crowd roared for their Captain. Ilya loved Boston. This was a city he could play in all the way through retirement. He matched their energy with his own and skated a full lap around the ice to thunderous applause.

The first period started fast, with Ilya tearing off out of the face-off. Marlow passed him the puck, and he barreled down the ice so fast that he was in scoring distance before anyone even knew what was happening. He shot high, buried the puck in the roof of the net right over the tendy's shoulder, and threw his arm up in victory. Marlow jumped on him in an exuberant hug, and he went down the line slapping his teammates' gloves to celebrate.

Their second line followed his momentum with a goal of their own, and the team went into the first intermission up 2-0.

“I want a fucking goose egg!” he yelled, riding the wave of his teammates into the locker room. “I want Kent to cry!”

Sticks clattered against lockers as his team built on his energy. “We keep them on their ice! We get so many shots against, their tendy quits! I want them to need our EBUG!”

“Shit, Rozy, what did you put in your cereal this morning, my guy?” Hammersmith laughed, shaking his head when Ilya hopped down from his bench and sat to check over the tape on his stick.

Ilya grinned. “Was good speech, no?”

“Save some for the playoffs, eh?” Sebbin jibed, adjusting his shoulder pads. “It’s only game one, Cap.”

“Oh, so you want to start season with losing to Toronto?” Ilya shot back with a smirk.

“HELL NO!” Sebbin denied.

“I thought not,” Ilya said then, nodding like a sage giving solemn advice.

While they didn’t get the shutout Ilya wanted, they did still win the game with an embarrassing 5-2 spread. Toronto should not have even bothered to pull their goalie. They went into the last few minutes with no hope. Ilya thought maybe they did make Kent cry. It would be good for him. Character building.

This time, the rooks did not embarrass themselves quite so badly at the bar. Ilya kept an eye on them and was pleased to see that they drank moderately. They had a roadie next week, and he didn’t want to babysit puking children at every stop along the way. He and Marlow found a pair of friends to dance with and followed them into the pulsing lights and thumping beat of the club.

“So sexy,” he praised, brushing the woman’s sweat-damp hair off to one side and trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

“Hmm, not so bad yourself,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I could use another drink.”

Ilya signaled to Marlow that he was headed back to the bar and laced his fingers through his dance partner’s to lead her to an open spot.

Lifting her up to an empty stool, he stepped between her legs. “What’s your name?” he asked, kissing just below her ear.

“Sarah,” she said, lifting one hand to bury in his hair.

“And what do you want to drink, Sarah?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I care,” she laughed and pulled him closer.

He ordered them both a vodka, made sure to ask for soda with hers, and tipped the bartender extra to rush the order. Ilya downed his in one go, then pulled Sarah back out to the dance floor, where her friend and Marlow were still pressed against each other and attached at the lips.

Sarah was an incredible dancer, but Ilya was running out of patience and wanted to do a lot more than dancing. Within a few more songs, he and Marlow were piling into separate cars to continue their celebrations somewhere a little more private.

Chapter End Notes

You might have noticed that the rating for this fic changed. It won't really be relevant for a few more chapters, but I figured I would go ahead and mention it here in the notes in case anyone was curious. A lot of you were excited to see jealous Ilya, so I hope I delivered! Please let me know what you think in the comments! <3

Chapter 8: Clothes Make the Man

Chapter Summary

Kyle takes Shane on a much needed shopping trip

Chapter Notes

Shane

Kyle: Hollander, is this you? Hot damn, I would climb that man like a tree!

Kyle's text was accompanied by a thumbnail for an article about Shane. Someone had taken pictures of him leaving the club the night before with Aaron. One picture showed him with an arm around his waist, guiding him from the bar. The other had him with his mouth over Shane’s, arm raised to hail a taxi.

Shane blushed. He typed back an affirmative and buried his head under the comforter of his bed. While he had left the bar with Aaron and gone back to his apartment, he hadn’t stayed the night. The sex had been fun, and it felt nice to be able to just do that, meet some guy at a bar, and leave with him. Make out in the middle of the street and not worry who might see. While he chose to leave after, he didn’t feel like he was sneaking away in the night after committing some heinous crime.

Shane: Can I call you?

Shane watched his phone light up with an incoming call from Kyle rather than a text response. He swiped to accept and put it on speaker.

“Everything ok?” Kyle asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” Shane said, chewing his lip. “I want to tell you something, but I need you to promise that you won’t speculate or talk about what I say with anyone. I honestly shouldn’t talk to you about it all. If what I say got out, people could be hurt by it.”

Shane heard Kyle take a moment to think about it. “Of course, I won’t share anything you don’t want me to with anyone else. But if you don’t feel comfortable sharing it, maybe you shouldn’t.”

Shane sighed. “No,” he said. “I need to talk to somebody about this. And I won’t use names. But please, don’t even repeat this to your friends.”

“Yeah, okay. Mum's the word and all that. What’s wrong?” Kyle asked.

“Nothing's wrong, really. One of my teammates actually came out at practice yesterday. First to me, then to the whole team.”

“Wait, seriously?” Kyle exclaimed. “That’s huge!”

“I know! And he invited me to have dinner next week with him and his boyfriend, but I have nothing to wear! My entire wardrobe is athletic clothes and suits, and there's no way either of those is appropriate-“

“Honestly, Shane. I think that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Shane laughed, relaxing back into the mattress with an arm over his face to hide a blush. Embarrassment flickered, but he grinned anyway. “Shut up,” he said. “I just want to make a good impression. His telling the team and inviting me over like that means a lot.”

“Well, obviously, we have to take you shopping then. When’s your next day off?”

“We’re off Monday, actually. Just an optional practice in the morning that I can miss if I need to, and nothing after that.”

“Well,” Kyle said. “Lucky for you, I just have a couple of morning classes on Monday, and I’m free after 12. How about I pick you up at 12:30, and we could grab lunch and then figure out some clothes for you.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Then I don’t have to miss practice either,” Shane said. He tried never to miss any practices, especially not when he had just recently switched teams. He had a lot to work on before he could feel like he was in a comfortable place with the Admirals.

“All right, I’ll see you then. Good luck in your game today!”

Shane thanked him, hung up, and hurried to get ready for practice.

The game that night was another home game, this time against Edmonton. The team, bolstered by their win the night before, was in good spirits throughout practice and headed into the game. Scott looked like he was on cloud nine with Bennett and Wagner chirping him over how cute Kip was and asking him how such a cool guy could settle for someone as boring as Scott. Shane smiled at the genuine affection between the three and tried not to miss Hayden too much.

Where the game against Ottawa had been amicable and fun, that night against Edmonton was physical and chippy. Edmonton played as if the Admirals had personally offended them, taking every opportunity to slam them into the boards and trip them up. In the second period, Shane took a high stick to the face that busted his upper lip and thankfully didn’t knock out any teeth. At least he and Scott were able to take advantage of the penalty for a goal on the power play, bringing the score to 1-0 in the Admiral’s favor.

When Edmonton scored in the last period with less than a minute left on the clock, Shane resigned himself to overtime. Eventually, they still won 2-1, but the game had gone to a drawn-out shootout.

“I’m exhausted!” Cam complained, flopping onto his bench to remove his skates.

“Tell me about it!” Wagner agreed with a breathless laugh. “That was some beautiful shooting, Hollzy!” he praised, slapping Shane on the back.

“Yeah! Let’s hear it for Hollander!” Vaughn agreed, charging into the room like he hadn’t just been wrung dry by a harrowing game that went way too long.

The room beat their sticks against the ground and the lockers.

“Nice work, Hollander!” Scott agreed, clapping him on his back on his way to the middle of the room. “And nice work, team!” he shouted. The room cheered. “Edmonton played a physical game today, and every man in this locker room held his own out there. You all showed our fans that we won’t be intimidated at home!”

Shane smiled and clapped his stick against the ground with everyone else.

“Now,” Scott said. “It’s early in the season, and we have a long road ahead of us, but I’m proud of this team! Two games in, two wins under our belt, and we’re showing the world that we can’t be counted out just because so many of us here are new to working with each other! The chemistry I see on that ice is what I would expect from you in January, and we’re only going to get better from here! You keep showing up, you keep working together and playing like I saw you do tonight, and we are making it straight to the playoffs this year!”

The room went wild, Vaughn practically bounced off the walls before pulling Cam into a bouncing hug. Shane saw Hunter smile and watch them all, checking that his words had landed before telling everyone to hit the showers.

Two games in, and Shane thought he might be more of an Admiral than he was ever allowed to be a Metro.

Two days later, when Kyle arrived at his apartment to pick him up, Shane practically floated downstairs, unable to hide his grin as he slid into the car.

Lunch was simple. They had salad at a small restaurant near the parking garage where Kyle left his car for the afternoon. The shops he took Shane to were small boutiques. Shane knew that the price tags on the clothing in the various stores they went to would have caused most people who didn’t have an NHL salary and a Rolex brand deal to have a small coronary. Despite that, Kyle seemed right at home among the racks. He pulled out various items for Shane to try, then handed them to an associate to place on a rack near the fitting rooms.

“We’ll get you something to wear for the dinner, first,” he said. “Then try on some things for a daily wardrobe so you don’t have to wear sweatpants the next time I can convince you to come out clubbing.”

“I don’t know that I’ll ever want to come out clubbing,” Shane said honestly. “I can’t dance.”

“Then you’ll learn, obviously,” Kyle said, as if that was that and it was a foregone conclusion. Considering Shane didn’t really feel like arguing with him, he guessed it was. At least for now.

The first outfit Kyle put him in had a textured off-white undershirt, a white collared shirt with mismatched buttons, and more colorful buttons sewn into the collar. He paired it with loose pin-striped pants and black leather shoes with sharply pointed toes. Kyle whistled appreciatively when Shane walked out of the fitting room. Shane thought he looked kind of ridiculous.

“Isn’t this a bit… much?” He said, pulling at the sleeves.

“No. You look hot,” Kyle said. The associate who helped set what Kyle wanted aside nodded, her cheeks flushed a deep red.

“You look great!” she squeaked. Shane worried she might not be breathing.

He grudgingly tried on a few more outfits; some were outrageous enough that he nixed them outright, but he allowed a few more than he thought he would. Including the first one, which he guessed would be alright to wear to dinner with Scott and Kip in a few nights.

He almost didn’t walk out at all when the next shirt he tried on in a group of “going out” clothes that Kyle had collected happened to be a black lace shirt.

“This is see-through!” he said, storming out of the closet in the offending top and a pair of jeans he still had on from the previous outfit.

“Yes,” Kyle nodded. “Yes, it is.” He didn’t give any additional comments or information. The associate was very pointedly looking anywhere else, her face burning with a blush that went all the way past the collar of her own, decidedly not see-through shirt.

“I look ridiculous!’

“No,” Kyle said. “You look good enough to eat. If you don’t buy that shirt yourself, I’ll buy it for you.”

“It’s four hundred dollars!” Shane protested.

“Worth it,” Kyle sighed. “I mean it, too. Don’t test me.”

Shane sighed dramatically and slammed the fitting room door. In the end, he left with three full bags of Kyle-approved clothing, much of it definitely not appropriate for dinner at his captain’s house.

That wasn’t even the end of it. They repeated the process at four more stores before Kyle called it quits and drove him back to the hotel room, which still served as a home.

“Thank you,” Shane said, pulling the last of the bags from Kyle’s trunk.

“Anytime,” Kyle said. “I had fun. I’m glad you have real clothes you can wear out of the house now, Pinocchio. I’m going to enjoy showing you how to be a real boy.”

If Shane’s hands weren’t full, he would have socked him for that. “Whatever,” he said instead. “Bye, Kyle.”

Kyle laughed. “Bye, Shane!” he cried, walking around to the driver's side of his car. “Have fun at your dinner!”

That night, Shane fielded calls from his mom and his agent. Vogue wanted to feature him in its next issue, highlighting his move to New York and his transition to the Admirals. It would take up a majority of his next off period, but it would be the kind of good press he needed to help push past the remaining negativity surrounding his outing.

His mom thought he should do it. His agent thought he should do it. Shane knew he should do it. It just sounded so... exhausting. He still didn’t have a permanent place to stay, the official season was now in full swing, and when he would normally be resting on off periods and saving his energy for the ice, instead, he was going to have to spend sunup to sundown taking and retaking picture after picture, sitting through makeup, and changing through various outfits they would dress him up in.

It was going to be exhausting.

Of course, he wasn’t going to say no.

He also needed to schedule time for a shoot for Rolex’s new campaign, and CCM wanted to film an interview on how he taped his stick, highlighting their products. It just went to show that, no matter what was happening in his personal life, he could always count on sponsorships to keep him exhausted.

He sent Joe a text complaining about it, but Joe must have been busy because Shane didn’t get a response. By the time he, his agent, and his mom were finished hammering out the details, it was time to wind down and get ready for bed. At least he didn’t have too much time available to stress over his dinner with Scott and Kip scheduled for later that week, or the first game of the year with Boston after that.

Chapter End Notes

Are these outfits inspired by Shane's evil twin Hudson? Yes, yes they are. Kyle has taste and Shane has too much money to run around looking like he does all the time. Frankly, I'm surprised momager Hollander didn't get him a stylist from the jump. Oh well, that's what friends are for! I hope you like this chapter too. Thank you for all of the wonderful and amazing comments, I love talking about my ideas for this story with you guys! <3

Chapter 9: Dinner with Friends

Chapter Summary

Shane has dinner with Scott and Kipp, drinks too much and has definite regrets.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Shane was busy getting ready for dinner with Scott and Kip when his phone buzzed with a new text message.

Lily: have to play Metros tomorrow. No challenge now, they will lose so easy. Never thought I look forward to playing dinosaur Scott Hunter

The knowledge that Ilya would play at the Bell tomorrow night without Shane there to match him on the ice hurt more than Shane expected. Even knowing they would face each other soon in New York didn’t ease the ache, especially since Shane now played second line and wouldn't face off against Ilya as much.

The MLH had eased back on the rivalry narrative ever since Shane was outed at the start of the season. They hardly mentioned him, leaving most coverage to independent podcasters and gossip rags. It felt strange, knowing he and Ilya would play against each other in less than a week, and yet there hadn’t been a single official article or advertising campaign drumming up interest in their matchup.

Shane: He’s really not that old. He’s only a few years older than us!

Lily: what is English saying? Age is only number?

Shane: That’s really not how that idiom works.

Lily: idiom? what’s this? you must really make me google your boring New Yorker words?

Shane laughed and shook his head, laying his phone face down on the dresser to focus. Wrestling with one of the smaller buttons, he winced—was it supposed to be this hard? He looked at himself in the mirror and felt overdressed and a little ridiculous. Why did getting dressed up always feel a bit like wearing a costume? Still, he wanted to look nice for tonight's dinner. That push and pull had him fussing with accessories, changing his mind every few minutes, and pacing the cramped hotel room until it was finally time. He needed his own place here. He was sick of tripping over his bags, the drawers overflowing with the clothes he'd bought with Kyle. It made him realize just how much he missed having his own space.

He pulled out his phone and opened his messenger app again while descending in the elevator.

Shane: I feel ridiculous.

Kyle: Whatever, I’m sure you look great

Shane: I look like I’m trying too hard.

Kyle: Did you get the wine?

He glanced at the wine in his hand. Why had he bought something so expensive? He doubted Scott even liked wine. Beer seemed more his thing. Was he trying too hard?

Shane: Yes, that feels like trying too hard too.

Kyle: You’re a millionaire hockey player, and you’re being a good guest. Make a good impression on the boyfriend, he’s probably excited to get to know one of his partner's teammates for once

Shane knew Kyle had a point. If he was being honest, he couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Scott and Kip—keeping a relationship secret for almost a year, always dodging questions, always wary of being seen together. Shane felt the strain just keeping Ilya under wraps, and they barely saw each other. Hiding years of your life? That must be exhausting.

He said as much to Kyle and sighed with relief when the car arrived, allowing him to focus on getting in and actually going instead of waiting around.

Scott’s condo was nearby, in an incredibly nice, modern building. Shane paused on the sidewalk, eyeing the sleek lines and clean windows. The lobby was bright and tastefully decorated. Did they have any units available? He pulled out his phone. It couldn’t hurt to send his real estate agent the address, he thought. Maybe living in the same building as a teammate would finally make this city feel more like home.

It was Kip who answered the door, wearing jeans and a Henley, leaving Shane instantly feeling overdressed. Scott wasn’t wearing anything special either, in a tight t-shirt and darkwash jeans, feet bare. Shane blushed and ducked his head to hide it under the guise of taking his own shoes off at the door.

"Got this wine for you both," he said, handing the bag to Kip. Kip beamed.

“Thanks!” he said. “Let me pop this open for dinner. Want anything?”

Shane shook his head in response and followed Scott and Kip into the penthouse. The wall of windows drew his eye immediately, making him itch to text his real estate agent right that minute. This place was incredible.

"You look tense," Scott said, nudging Shane's shoulder and leading him to the couch. "We won't bite."

“Sorry,” Shane said. “I haven’t had dinner like this with anyone other than Hayden and Jackie, and I’ve known them for years. I guess this is just a bit weird for me.”

“Us too, really,” Kip said, walking in with three glasses of white wine. He handed one to Scott, one to Shane, sipped from the third, and settled onto the couch. “Dinner’s almost ready. Just waiting on the potatoes in the oven.”

“So how did you guys meet?” Shane asked, figuring that was as good a place as any to start. Kip laughed and jumped right into the story, explaining how Scott had shown up at the smoothie shop he worked in, still rocking a sweat-soaked shirt after a morning run, and how everything progressed from there.

Shane could barely process how fast things had shifted. Were they really in a relationship already? He wondered if it was weird to say it out loud. Maybe that was one of those things you kept to yourself.

Watching Scott and Kip move around the apartment, preparing dinner, Shane felt a cautious envy. He’d never seen two men be together so naturally, so simply. The ease of it unsettled him, but also made something ache inside.

“So what about you?” Kip asked. Dinner was finished, and the trio was back on the couch, working on a second bottle of wine. Kip’s feet were tucked under Scott’s thighs, his head resting on Scott’s shoulder. He lifted it occasionally to take another sip of wine from the glass held loosely in both hands. “Do you have anyone you’re seeing?”

He thought immediately of Ilya, the only man he ever saw regularly. But their connection didn’t count. That wasn’t what Kip was really asking about, not by a long shot.

“No, not really,” he said. “Honestly, I’m just kind of starting to figure things out. I wasn’t even convinced I was really gay before the Olympics, and now practically the whole world knows. I feel like I haven’t caught up yet.”

Kip looked horrified, while Scott just kind of looked confused.

"You didn’t know? Was that your first time with a guy?" Kip asked, looking appalled and angry on Shane's behalf.

"No, no. I’d been with a guy before that—a few times, really. I never clicked with the girls I dated in high school or the women Hayd and Jackie set me up with. I suspected something was up, but I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself before that."

Scott nodded, as if everything Shane said made sense. "I get that. I tried for a long time to fit in, but it never worked with any of the women they set me up with. Eventually, I drew back from team stuff—it was exhausting pretending with them all the time."

Shane hadn’t really thought about what it would feel like to open up to someone who actually understood. He and Ilya kept things light; even if they did discuss anything deeper, Ilya wouldn’t get it. He liked girls. He had no trouble fitting in with the team, sharing jokes Shane couldn’t quite join.

Kip looked from Scott to Shane, his face so sad that Shane felt the need to change the subject.

"I saw a drag show last week," he said.

Kip choked on his wine. "What?" At least he’d stopped pitying them.

"I didn’t mean to. I was just walking, and the bar near my hotel had a drag show. I’d never seen one before."

Kip let out a drawn-out, high-pitched whine and covered his eyes with one hand. “Oh my god,” he said. “You closeted hockey boys. I can’t even with you.”

Scott laughed. Shane protested, laughing. "I’m not closeted!" Kip groaned louder, collapsing onto Scott’s lap.

“What am I going to do with you two? You’re missing, like, a whole gay education. Do you even know what Stonewall is? Have you been to Pride? Should we watch Drag Race or something? Wait, do you even know RuPaul?”

Shane laughed, confused. "If it’s not hockey, I probably don’t know it. I miss most cultural references."

That didn’t seem to reassure Kip at all. If anything, he was starting to look more determined. Next thing Shane knew, the TV was on, and Kip had pulled up an episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race that he had recently recorded on Scott’s DVR.

Shane took a picture of the screen during a lip sync battle and sent it to Joe.

Shane: Should I have seen this show before?

Joe: Yes. Oh my god, how have you never watched RuPaul?

Shane sent an emoji rolling its eyes. Joe knew better than to expect him to be up to date on pretty much anything.

Shane: This show is so weird

Joe: It's iconic. Shut up and watch.

“Who are you texting?” Scott asked. Shane shrugged.

“Just a friend,” he said.

“Oh?” Kip looked invested, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s not like that,” Shane assured. “He lives in Toronto. We’re just friends.”

“Wait,” Kip said, pausing the show. “Is it the guy from the picture? Who was that, anyway? Or is he closeted still?”

Kip spoke so quickly that Shane had to wait until Kip paused for a breath before he could answer.

“He’s not closeted. He’s a figure skater, and we went to high school together. Neither of us said anything to the press because it would just be a lot of scrutiny for him, and he really doesn’t deserve to have to deal with that.”

“I mean,” Kip said. “It’s not like you deserved to have to deal with that either. But I’m glad no one figured it out, and that you two seem to be okay. You’re sure there's nothing there?”

“I'm sure,” Shane laughed. “Turns out he’s uh… not really my type.”

Kip’s eyes went a bit wide again. Shane had an idle thought that he might get stuck like that, but didn’t mention it out loud. That would be mean.

“Neither of us really likes to top,” he said, clearing things up for Scott, who still looked confused. With that, Scott’s whole face flushed, and he nodded.

“Noted,” he said, nodding sharply. Kip smacked him on the shoulder.

“Don’t be weird,” Kip admonished, looking Scott in the eye and taking a deep sip from his wine. “Preferences are nothing to be ashamed of. And it’s good to know, we can keep that in mind if we ever try to set him up with anyone.”

“Please don’t set me up with anyone,” Shane grimaced. “I get that it would be different with a guy, but I’ve always hated that. It’s so awkward.”

Scott snorted. “Leave him be, Kip. He can find someone to date on his own.”

Kip pouted. “Fine,” he sighed, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to the kitchen. Does anyone need anything?”

The next day at practice, Shane had to skate through a hangover for the first time in years. He knew there was a reason he didn’t drink. How did people do this all the time? He felt like he was going to puke and couldn’t keep his limbs under control. The coaches eyed him funny, no doubt noting that fact that he played like complete shit. The only saving grace was that their next game wasn’t until the next day. Since it was an afternoon puck drop with the Raiders, this would be their last practice before the game.

“Hollander versus Rozanov for the first time in Admiral's red!” Cam cried, skating up to sling an arm over Shane’s shoulders.

“Ugh, do you have to?” he asked, weighed down by the heavy arm as Cam slumped into him.

He didn’t know how to feel about facing Ilya on the ice the next day. There was a part of him that was just excited to see him again, and another, bigger part that was full of dread.

What if he wanted to hook up again? They would have to be even more careful now that Shane had been outed to the public. The last thing Ilya needed was someone speculating that there might be more to their interactions than the MLH-approved rivalry. He would probably never be able to go back to Russia if he got outed, too.

And even though Shane had only been here a few weeks, this team knew him better than the majority of the Metros ever did. And some of them, like Eric Bennett and even Wagner, were really observant. Would they be able to tell that Shane’s feelings toward Ilya on the ice didn’t quite line up with what the public expected them to be?

“Hey!” Brisebois said, full of rookie enthusiasm as he skated over to where the others were huddled on the ice for a break between drills. “Did you guys hear that Rozanov got into a fight on the ice with that Comeau guy? He might not even get to play! I heard they’re talking about a suspension.”

“Nah,” Wagner said. “No way. Roz gets into it with other players all the time. He’ll be on the ice tomorrow for sure.”

Shane’s brow furrowed. With having dinner at Scott’s the night before and how much wine he’d had while there, he hadn’t even had a chance to catch the highlights from the Raiders game against the Metros the night before. He typed a quick search into his phone and pulled up a video of the fight Breezy was talking about.

Whatever happened, Ilya looked furious. He was known for being a physical player, but he usually provoked other players into hitting him to give his team a penalty advantage. This was not him provoking Comeau. Something Comeau had said got under his skin.

Shane: You ok? What happened with Comeau?

Shane typed the message, then worried that someone might be watching and that he could be being obvious. No one seemed to be paying attention, though. His phone buzzed in his hand with a reply.

Lily: was an asshole, got punched like an asshole

Shane: It’s not like you to let the other team get under your skin like that. That had to have been a major penalty.

Lily: was worth it

Shane gave up on trying to get a real explanation. When Ilya didn’t want to explain something, a trained interrogator wouldn’t be able to pry it out of him.

Chapter End Notes

I got an unexpected day off today, and I should be cleaning but I wrote two more chapters of this fanfic instead sooo.... enjoy an early update? Lol

Chapter 10: Revenge of the Dinosaur

Chapter Summary

The Admirals face the Raiders in their first matchup of the season. It gets... intense.

Chapter Notes

Ilya

The team arrived at the airport to fly from Montreal to New York as dawn was just breaking. The flight itself was short, but without the early start, they would have arrived too close to the start of the afternoon game. With luck, they still might have time for a quick nap at the hotel before they had to load into a bus and head to the arena.

“This blows, I hate being at the airport this early,” Marlow groaned, flopping into the seat next to Ilya and leaning his head forward against the row in front of them.

Ilya grunted an agreement and pulled out his phone while they waited on the tarmac.

Ilya: ready to lose?

He sent the message to Shane with a smirk. Shane was probably already up, halfway through his morning run. Ilya savored the mental image: Shane in a sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his skin, little running shorts, freckles vivid against flushed, sweaty cheeks. He licked his lips. The phone vibrated.

Jane: as if

“Man, I noticed you didn’t make it out of the hotel this trip. Is Jane upset that she missed you?” Marlow asked, apparently paying more attention than Ilya originally gave him credit for.

Ilya's grip tightened; he snapped the screen dark.

“No, is fine,” Ilya replied, instantly knowing he fell far short of casual.

Marlow raised one eyebrow. “Y’all okay? You’re not on the outs, are you?”

“We are not together. We hook up sometimes, is all.”

Marlow frowned. “I mean, it seems like a bit more than that. The two of you have been talking almost every day lately. We had a whole day off in Montreal yesterday. I’m surprised you didn’t make time to go out and see her.”

“You are nosy,” Ilya said. “Is fine.”

Marlow seemed to catch on to something. “Wait,” he said. “Is Jane…” He took an exaggerated look around the plane to confirm no one was paying attention and then lowered his voice so that Ilya could hardly even hear him. "More like John?" Marlow whispered.

Ilya closed his eyes and ran his hands down his face, pulling the skin with them grotesquely as he did so. “Shut up,” he replied. “This is not place for this conversation.”

Marlow nodded. “That’s a yes, then.”

Ilya really wanted to punch him. Exasperated, he pulled up the message from Shane again.

Ilya: are you in hotel still?

Jane: yes

Ilya: what is address? Will come over after game

Jane: That’s a bad idea.

Ilya frowned. Of course, it wasn’t a bad idea. They had met in hotel rooms for years. Did Shane think New York was different, somehow? Had he met someone? Ilya remembered the tabloid shot he saw of Shane leaving a bar with an older man after his first game. He searched his phone for the article, then sent it to Shane and followed up with another message.

Ilya: what, you only have sex with dinosaurs now? Who next, Scott Hunter?

The message was probably petty, meaner than Ilya intended, but now he couldn’t let go of the image of Shane leaving with that guy. Ilya’s jaw tensed as he watched the ellipses flicker while Shane hesitated with his reply.

A few minutes later, Shane seemed to have figured it out.

Jane: What, you’re the only one allowed to pick up at bars now?

Ilya: is not what I mean. I want to fuck, what is so hard about that? Was never too bad of idea before

Jane: I wasn’t out before!

Jane: If someone sees you with me, they’re going to figure it out. You could get in a lot of trouble.

Ilya slumped back. Shane was right. It wasn’t the same as before. Most people wouldn’t guess, but one slip could ruin him. He couldn’t risk that.

Ilya: will be fine

Jane: No

The flight attendant’s voice came over the speakers as they announced that takeoff would begin shortly, and Ilya had to turn his phone to airplane mode. He did and turned to look at Marlow again. Instead of sleeping, Marlow was studying him with a serious look on his face.

“Jane isn’t in Montreal anymore, is she?” he asked. Ilya swallowed and turned to look out the window, arms crossed over his chest.

“No,” he said.

“Is she… in New York?”

Ilya sighed, closed his eyes, and smushed his forehead into the cold plastic. “Yes,” he said. “Is in New York.”

“Shit Roz!” Marlow exclaimed, loud enough that a few of their teammates nearby sent glares in his direction. “Is Jane-“

"Yes, yes. Now be quiet before the whole plane knows," Ilya said, resigned. "You should not act like such idiot when you are so smart."

Marlow laughed and said, “Yeah, well, how would I get other teams to underestimate me otherwise?”

Ilya managed a laugh. Marlow played the fool convincingly.

“Seriously, though,” Marlow said. “No wonder you’ve been in a mood. You okay?”

Ilya nodded. “Am fine,” he said. “But now Jane does not want to see me.”

Marlow’s brow furrowed. “What? Why? Haven’t you been meeting up for years now?”

“Is not serious,” Ilya explained. “Now things are different. Jane worries people will find out.”

Marlow’s expression grew pinched. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess that could be harder, now. I know you, though. Something like that doesn’t seem like it would scare you off for long. You’ve never been the guy to scare easily, you know?”

Ilya laughed hollowly. “I should be scared. I am idiot in this.”

The rest of the flight was smooth and uneventful. When they landed and piled into the buses, Ilya sat with Marlow again, but neither of them brought Jane up. Ilya should probably feel worried that Marlow knew now, but in a way, he just felt relieved. He felt he had carried this secret throughout his career, and now he could set it down with at least one person and rest.

The nap he had when they arrived at the hotel felt more restful than the entire night of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Shane still hadn’t agreed to meet him after the game, but he felt the lightest he had felt since before the Olympics.

When they hit the ice for warmups, Ilya should have stayed far away. He didn’t have any legitimate reason to cross the ice and talk to Shane. Under the guise of greeting the other team’s captain, he did it anyway. As soon as he finished shaking Hunter’s hand, he skated the few feet to where Shane was warming up.

“Send address, Hollander,” Ilya said, keeping his voice low. “Or do you want my room number?”

Shane glared. “Go away.”

“Not before you promise,” Ilya said, his tone firm. He knew that if he didn’t push the issue, Shane would continue to ice him out. Shane, on the other hand, was worried people would see them together and jump to conclusions. Well, Shane would have to agree, or Ilya would stay here on the ice, talking to him in plain view of the jumbotron cameras.

Shane made a frustrated sound and nodded. “I’ll text you my address. Now go away before you get us in trouble,” he said.

Ilya smiled. “Red looks terrible on you,” he chirped on his way past. Shane glared.

It felt weird facing Scott Hunter for the puck drop in a game that Shane shared. For some reason, Scott looked angry at him. The expression was unusual for the normally amiable center.

“Leave Hollander alone,” Hunter said as they waited for the puck to fall. “He has enough going on without you adding to it.”

Ilya’s face twisted with confusion. Before he could respond, the puck dropped, and play began. He won the face-off against Hunter and set off for the O zone. Figuring out what Hunter’s problem was would have to wait until later. They had a game to play.

Every time Shane hit the ice with Ilya, he found himself drawn to him, seeking him across the ice as they slammed each other into the boards. As part of different lines for their respective teams, they didn’t face each other as often as they were used to, but they couldn’t avoid one another’s orbit for the times that they were both there.

The commentators had noticed, bringing up their rivalry for the first time that season. The Admirals were shooting him dirty looks, and Hunter was looking more pissed off by the minute. Ilya didn’t think he had ever gotten under the man’s skin this successfully before. It was exhilarating.

“Is this like some weird foreplay for you?” Marlow asked as they left the ice for the second intermission. They were up 3-2 going into the third period, and the Raiders were in good spirits, riding the high of a chippy game.

“Shut up, Marly,” Ilya said, shoving him and taking a big pull from his water bottle.

“What? You don’t think it’s weird?”

Ilya glared. Relief? He took it all back. Marlow could go fuck himself.

He told Marlow so, then turned his attention to the rest of the room for a rallying speech.

It was a couple of minutes into the third period, and Ilya had just skated away from Shane after teasing him for allowing Ilya to pull a poke check that led to another goal for the Raiders, when Hunter entered the ice like a hornet from its nest.

“I told you to leave him alone,” Hunter said as he skated past to join the play. The next time Ilya had the puck, Hunter boarded him so hard that it rang his helmet off the plastic.

“You think just because Hollander’s gay, you can bully him and we won’t have his back?” he said, stepping forward. “You need to fucking back off.”

Ilya had never heard Hunter sound this angry. He felt a strange happiness in his chest that Shane’s captain would be so protective of him. It was also incredibly unnecessary.

“I don’t care that Hollander is gay,” Ilya replied, still fighting for the puck.

“Then why are you singling him out so much? Lay off,” Hunter continued. Another of the Admirals joined him at the boards, working to gain control of the puck also.

“Awe Hunter, do you have crush?” Ilya teased.

It was the wrong thing to say. Hunter gave up on the puck, dropped his gloves, and punched Ilya in the face so hard his helmet flew off. The other Admiral with him dropped his gloves too and went for Ilya's gut.

Ilya wheezed as the breath was knocked from his lungs. He brought his gloved hands up to his face to protect himself, but didn’t fight back. He could see Marly skating up and shedding his own gloves as he joined the fray, punching Scott in the face as the Raider’s tendy left his post and went to pull the second Admiral off Ilya before he could do any more damage. By the time the fight was broken up and penalties were assigned, Ilya was lying back panting on his team’s bench.

“What the fuck was that!” Coach demanded, red-faced and hovering over Ilya as he caught his breath.

“I said dumb thing,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Coach.”

LeClaire sighed, running a hand through what was left of his thinning hair. “You’re killing me, Roz. Our only saving grace here is that you left your gloves on. Whatever it was, try not to do that again, yeah? I have never seen Hunter lose his shit like that.”

Ilya nodded, and Coach left him alone. He wished he had some ice. His jaw was going to have a nasty bruise by tomorrow. Who knew Hunter had such a mean right hook?

Shane

The only thing that kept Shane from hopping the boards when Hunter dropped his gloves was Cam’s hand gripping his shoulder.

“Let Scotty handle this,” Cam said, pushing him back. “That bastard’s had this coming the whole game.”

“He’s just being Rozanov, he’s always like this!” Shane explained, staring across the ice as Marlow and the Raiders’ goaltender came to Ilya’s rescue. Where were the refs?

“He’s had it out for you tonight, man. Maybe that kind of thing flew with the Metros, but we protect our own here. You shouldn’t have to deal with that shit.”

“It’s really not like that,” Shane tried to explain. There was no good explanation that he could give, though. What was he supposed to say? That this was just how he and Rozanov were? That they would fuck about it later, and the team needed to back off? Shane liked playing against Rozanov. He was one of the few opposing players in this league who could really challenge him.

The fight itself was over quickly. Shane didn’t understand why Ilya hadn’t fought back. What had Scott said to him? He couldn’t even ask because Scott was led over to the penalty box for a full five minutes alongside Connors, and the time spent 4 on 3 was a brutal slog of trying to be everywhere at once. The Raiders managed to get another goal despite Marlow serving his penalty minutes and Ilya collecting himself on the bench post-fight. Shane got one back with a few minutes left, hoping for a tie that would send it to overtime, but they ultimately lost 4-3 in regulation time.

“What was that about?” Shane demanded when Hunter finally entered the locker room post-press scrum.

“He was being a homophobic piece of shit, that’s what,” Hunter said, grimacing and pulling gear off.

“What?” Shane asked, aghast. He had to have misheard that. Ilya had literally had Shane’s dick in his mouth on more than one occasion.

“He chirped at Scott about having a crush on you,” Connors explained. “Wasn’t fucking funny.”

Shane felt like banging his head against the wall. Of course, Ilya said something like that. And of course, his team would have taken it the wrong way.

“That’s such a Rozanov thing to say. It’s not like he meant it to be homophobic,” Shane explained.

Scott snorted. “Oh, I think that’s exactly how he meant it. Asshole.”

Shane shook his head, but he couldn’t argue. If he kept trying to explain Ilya’s behavior, someone was bound to get suspicious. Bennett was already looking at him funny. “Whatever,” he said instead of arguing. “I’m going to hit the showers.”

He was freshly showered, sitting on his bench with a towel around his waist, when Ilya texted.

Lily: address?

Shane sighed and sent it. If nothing else, he should probably talk to Ilya about what happened in the game. His mind kept replaying that punch like a highlight reel, picturing the way his helmet flew off and his eyes widened in surprise. They were going to have to tone it back.

When the guys made plans to meet up at the team’s bar that night, Shane told them he wasn’t feeling up to it and that he would see them at practice. Soon, he was in the car and headed for the hotel. With any luck, he would have a couple of hours before Ilya showed up to figure out what to say.

Chapter End Notes

How about a third chapter today? I seriously can't help myself, apparently. I hope you're not expecting any updates tomorrow. I swear I'm taking a break after this one! (Also, who am I kidding? Of course, there will be updates tomorrow. I already have 4 more chapters written that just need editing...)

Chapter 11: Say My Name

Chapter Summary

Ilya and Shane have a long overdue conversation... eventually.

Chapter Notes

Fair warning, this chapter is the reason I had to up the rating of this fic. I have never actually written smut and didn't think I was going to in this story, but apparently I forgot that these boys can't have a conversation involving emotions without their dicks getting involved so... here we are? Lol. Needless to say this is NSFW. If anyone wants to skip it, I'll summarize the important plot points in the notes at the end of the chapter.

Ilya

Ilya barely noticed the details of the hotel Shane was at as he made his way straight to the elevator and up to Shane’s floor. His jaw smarted where Hunter hit him, and he probably had a couple of bruised ribs from that other guy, but the pain only lingered in the background as he waited for the door to open. All he could focus on was the way Shane felt beneath him, pressed against the boards and trapped under Ilya’s weight. He heard his grunt at the impact, the frustrated noise he made at the back of his throat pitched high with aggravation. So different from the desperate sounds he made in bed, so evocatively similar that Ilya couldn’t get enough every time they shared the ice.

“Rozanov-“ Shane started as he opened the door. Ilya didn’t give him a chance to finish whatever he planned to say, striding into the room. His hands went to Shane’s jaw, cupping his face as he crashed their lips together.

“Later,” he said, forestalling any kind of explanation or protest. “Fuck, I want you. Please, Hollander. Talk later,” he pressed the words into Shane’s skin with open-mouthed kisses, closing him in against the far wall and sliding a knee between Shane’s legs. He could feel that Shane was as desperate for Ilya as Ilya was for him. The pants of suit he still wore from the end of the game did nothing to hide his erection.

“God, Roz,” Shane panted, grinding into him. “Fuck,” Ilya slipped a hand down to his hip to encourage him in grinding against him even more. “Okay... please,” he moaned, “don’t stop.”

Ilya took his mouth again, all but fucked him with his tongue. Vegas had been so long ago. It had been so long since he had this man undone before him like this. He wanted all of him. He needed everything.

“Roz,” Shane moaned, breathless and panting into Ilya’s curls as Ilya sucked and bit his way down Shane’s neck and dipped his tongue into his clavicle. Ilya groaned and grabbed his ass, lifting him off the ground. When Shane was secure with his legs wrapped around Ilya’s waist, he carried him to the bedroom.

“Strip,” Ilya demanded, pulling his own shirt over his head. “I want you naked, Hollander.”

Shane was quick to obey, pulling off his clothes, hastily folding them, and storing them on the nightstand. Ilya took a moment to appreciate the way Shane’s skin glowed under the low lighting of the lamps. He noted the sweat that beaded at Shane’s temples and the way his eyes had gone hazy with desire.

“So beautiful,” Ilya said. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, Hollander.”

Shane laid back against the pillows. His legs fell open while one hand went to his dick, absentmindedly stroking it. Ilya shed the rest of his clothing and crawled up the bed. He wasn’t going to last.

Ilya wasted no time and sucked him into his mouth, sinking straight to the root until his nose was buried in Shane’s curling pubic hair. His own sweaty hair curled around Shane’s fingers while Shane moaned and whimpered these little broken sounds. Ilya had to squeeze the base of his dick just to keep from coming.

“Lube and condoms, now,” Ilya said, throat hoarse after stuffing it with Shane’s cock. He held his hand up and open. Shane pulled the requested items from his bedside drawer, and Ilya set about preparing him.

“You looked so fucking hot tonight,” Ilya said. “I lied. Red looks good on you. Fuck, anything looks good on you. Even better off. Love you naked,” he continued, licking and biting across Shane's stomach and over his hips as he slipped first one and then two fingers inside of him, teasing him open.

Shane was falling apart. Anything he might have to say in response was an incoherent mess of choked-off sounds. Ilya loved that this man spoke beautifully in two languages, and yet he could reduce him to speaking none with nothing more than his mouth and his fingers.

“Turn over,” Ilya said, pulling out so he had the full use of his hand to slide a condom on. Shane obeyed immediately.

“Please,” he begged.

“Yes, soon,” Ilya assured, stroking his free hand down Shane’s trembling sides as he lined himself up. “Will take good care of you, Hollander.”

Ilya eased into him, made sure he had long enough to adjust, and let loose. Shane was sobbing, his breath hitching as he begged Ilya for more, and Ilya was happy to give it to him. It had been too long. He had waited so long for this.

He kissed and licked at every inch of skin his mouth could reach, bracing one hand up on the headboard and the other on Shane’s hip for better leverage. He wasn’t going to last.

“Fuck,” he said. “Come on, Hollander,” he let go of the headboard and folded, brow resting against the rigid muscles of Shane’s back, hand wrapped around Shane’s dick. He bit and licked his way to the base of Shane’s neck, gentle bites that wouldn’t leave a mark. “Come for me,” he demanded, the words choked and hoarse. “Come on, Hollander. Be good for me.”

Shane cried out and came, going limp as Ilya fucked into him, chasing his own release. They lay on the bed together, catching their breath after, a set of parentheses laid out with their foreheads together and feet touching, Shane’s cum drying on the bed between them.

“Ugh, this comforter is so gross now,” Shane complained. Ilya laughed.

“I’ll pull it off the bed,” he said. “Go shower.”

Shane grumbled but rolled off the mattress and walked to the bathroom. Ilya watched his ass flex as he walked away, then set about cleaning up the space after the door closed behind him.

Once they both had a chance to shower, Ilya settled onto the couch in the living room and faced Shane. He watched him pull his knees up onto the couch, arms wrapped around them. Shane chewed on his bottom lip before making reluctant eye contact.

“What are we doing?” Shane asked, sounding lost.

“Fucking, obviously,” Ilya said, tilting his head at Shane as he sprawled out on the remaining space. He rested one hand in his pants, cradling his dick while the other lay up over his head, spread out over the arm of the couch.

Shane huffed. “We’re going to get caught,” he said.

Ilya shrugged. “Have not been caught yet.”

“No one knew that I was gay before,” Shane groaned. “It’s different now. My teammates are too observant. We can’t keep doing this.”

It was Ilya’s turn to groan. He rolled his eyes. “So they find out?” he said. “So what?”

“You really don’t care? What about your family?”

If Ilya’s family found out, that would be the end of it. He would never be welcome back in Russia. The thought should terrify him. It did, in a way. His father’s health was declining, and Ilya wouldn’t be able to go to his funeral if he was outed before the man died. He would never be able to walk the streets of Moscow or visit his mother’s grave. He would be stuck here, in a country where he had to struggle to be understood.

But lately, Boston felt more like home than Moscow ever had. He loved the gruff people and belligerent drivers. And maybe they would not care so much as Russia. Marly knew, and he hadn’t abandoned Ilya over it. Would the rest of his team be as supportive? Surely anyone with eyes could look at Shane and understand. Ilya never had a choice but to fall for him. Maybe in the beginning, the thrill and danger of their illicit hookups had driven him to seek Shane out, but he couldn’t pretend that was all it was. Even from the beginning. He felt for Shane with a ferocity and depth that he had never felt for anyone before and thought he might not feel for anyone else after, either.

“It would be very bad,” he said, after giving it serious thought. “My father is police. My brother is police. If they knew, I could not go back.”

“Ilya-“ Shane started, letting go of the tight hold he had on his knees to close the distance between them.

Ilya stroked his face. “Shane,” he hushed, pressing a gentle kiss to Shane’s freckles. “Is okay.”

He paused, knowing this was something they needed to address and that it was important he make it very clear to Shane that he had thought this through. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision.

“Would have to be careful with visa,” he explained. “I could not lose my job, could not afford to.” Each word was said clearly, making direct eye contact with Shane. He needed Shane to know that he understood how serious this was, that he had given real and concrete thought to what could happen from here. He wasn’t just being careless. He knew the stakes.

“But maybe it's not so bad. Maybe it's not the end of hockey, no? You are still here. The Admirals still know the value of good player. I could become resident. Get American passport one day, maybe. I would not need to hide who I am.”

Shane was crying, thick lines of tears splitting his freckled cheeks in two. He pulled Ilya’s feet into his lap, and Ilya sat forward, bringing his own hands to cup Shane’s face, wiping the tears from his cheeks with steady swipes of his thumbs. “I do not want to stop this,” Ilya said, his own tears joining the mess. “Fuck, Shane. I do not think I ever want to stop this.”

“I don’t think I can do this with you casually anymore,” Shane said, breaking eye contact and staring off into the corner of the room. “I like you,” he admitted. “I think I like you too much, maybe.”

Ilya smiled through his own tears and ran a hand down Shane’s jaw to bring his gaze back. “Me too,” he said.

Shane laughed. “We’re crazy,” he complained. “This is crazy. You just got punched in the face by my captain today. The whole league thinks we hate each other.”

Ilya nodded. “We do not have to tell anyone,” he said. “But I still want to see you. I want you to come to my house when you play in Boston. I will make dinner, yes?”

“Okay,” Shane agreed. “If that’s what you want. I never could say no to you, Ilya.”

Ilya kissed him, slow and sweet. He pulled Shane into his lap and lay back against the arm of the couch again, bringing Shane with him. “Shane," he said, savoring the name. "Can I stay tonight?”

“Yeah, okay,” Shane murmured, gently kissing him back with sweet little open-mouthed pecks that lacked any of the urgency from before. “When do you have to leave in the morning?”

“The bus leaves at eight,” Ilya said, running his hands up Shane’s sides and pulling him into a slow grind against Ilya’s lap. His dick was perking up with interest again. “Fuck,” he said. “Want you to suck me.”

Shane huffed a laugh that was cut off by a moan when Ilya pulled his hand into Ilya’s pants so Shane could feel how hard Ilya was getting. “Suck me, Hollander,” he commanded. Shane seemed more than happy to oblige.

Shane

Shane woke up warm, surrounded by Ilya’s arms, with his face buried in Ilya’s chest. Unable to help himself, he licked at the warm skin and left small kisses as he crossed up to the point of his shoulder and down to one rosy nipple, pulling it into his mouth and feeling it bead up against his tongue.

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya groaned, waking up and burying his fingers in the hair at the nape of Shane’s neck. Shane trailed kisses down under the sheets, over Ilya’s abs, and down the trail of hair that led to his morning erection. His lips parted around the spongy head, holding it on his tongue. He teased at it lazily, slipped off the shaft, and down to drag his mouth across Ilya’s balls before sucking them.

“Yes, fuck,” Ilya praised. “Such a good boy for me, Hollander. Come here,” he pulled Shane up by his hair, kissing him filthily as he rolled on top of him. Shane was still loose from the night before, and it hardly took any preparation at all before Ilya was sliding into him, panting into the skin of his neck.

He took his time with him, pulling a pillow down to slip under Shane’s hips and placing small kisses all along his face. He murmured words in Russian that Shane couldn’t understand, but they were said with such fond breathlessness that he thought they had to have been endearments.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Ilya said, panting into the open space between their parted lips. “You feel so good. Going to fuck you like this every time we wake up together.”

Shane smiled and pulled him into a kiss. “Yeah?” he asked. “You planning to make that happen a lot, then?”

“Boston is not so far,” Ilya said. “I will be here so much you will get sick of me.”

That pulled a breathless laugh from Shane. “Okay,” he said. “You'd better hurry. You’ll be late if you don’t go soon.”

Ilya grinned at the challenge and fucked him harder. Shane didn’t think he had ever seen him so happy.

When Ilya left, the hotel room was empty except for Shane. He sat on the couch and tried to process everything that had happened the night before. In a way, nothing had made sense since he had been outed publicly so early into the new season. He was in a new city with a team that seemed to genuinely like being around him. He wasn’t even the only gay player on the team, and now Ilya was calling him by his first name and telling him he didn’t want to stop seeing him. That, despite the danger Ilya could be in if anyone found out, he actually wanted to see him more often than just the sporadic games that they played against each other throughout the season. He pulled out his phone to text Joe.

Shane: I’m so fucked

He sent the message with no explanation and waited for Joe to respond.

Joe: What happened?

Shane: Remember the guy I told you I had been with before?

Joe: The closeted one?

Shane: Yeah. I slept with him again last night. And this morning. He just left.

Joe: holy shit! WTF Shane???

Shane laughed, pulling his feet up on the couch and digging his toes into the cushions. He typed back.

Shane: I know. But I don’t think I can stop. I like him so fucking much. I think I could crawl inside his body and wear him like a second skin.

Shane watched the ellipses dance across the screen as Joe typed a response. He had never been able to talk to anyone like this. He still felt a little embarrassed having these kinds of conversations with Joe, but he was also getting to the point where he was so used to them that he couldn’t help himself either. It was such a relief to have someone he could tell his most unhinged thoughts and know that they would be received with no judgment.

Joe: Does he at least like you back?

Shane: Yeah, I think so. I didn’t think he did before, but we talked about it a lot last night. He’s risking so much just being with me. If he gets found out, it could be really bad for him.

Joe: And he still wants to see you?

Shane: Yeah

Joe: Well, fuck. Good luck, I guess?

Shane laughed. It was an off day, he should go to the grocery store, and he had a million phone calls to make, but a part of him wanted to sink back into bed and bury his face in the pillow Ilya had slept on last night. He really was fucked.

Chapter End Notes

Plot Summary: Ilya makes it to Shane's hotel and can't keep his hands off him. Shane has all the resistance of a soggy paper towel and they have sex. After, they sit in the living room and discuss their relationship. Shane is worried that Ilya will be outed if he keeps meeting up with him, but Ilya tells him that he is willing to face the consequences of being outed if that is what it takes to keep seeing Shane because he doesn't want to stop seeing him. They call each other by their first names for the first time while comforting each other on the couch. The next morning they have sex again before Ilya has to leave for the bus. Shane texts Joe about what happened to help him process things.

So.... the moment everyone has been waiting for? Our favorite boys are finally using their words and back together. Now it's time to see how they navigate this growing relationship while trying to hide it from their teammates and the press. Any bets on how long that's going to last?

I feel like I don't need to ask you guys to be nice in the comments. Everyone has been so sweet and supportive so far. I do want to remind you that this is my first attempt at writing smut, so I'm sorry if it didn't quite live up to your expectations. I might post a second chapter before leaving for work today. We'll see, editing this one took a lot longer than I expected... lol

Chapter 12: A Friendly Visit

Chapter Summary

Scott is worried about his friend after their tense game against the Raiders. He and Kip bring smoothies to help.

Chapter Notes

Scott

“Damn, Scotty. I didn’t think you had it in you!” Wagner cheered, meeting Scott, Kip, and Bennett at their usual corner booth with a round of beers. “You got that bastard good!”

Kip picked up Scott’s hand, thumb running over his busted knuckles. “I’ve never seen you that mad. What happened?”

“Rozanov said some homophobic shit,” Wagner jumped in. “Scotty put him in his place. Reminded him that the Admirals stick up for each other.”

“Why does he hate Shane so much anyway?” Kip asked, looking from player to player for answers.

“No one knows, really,” Bennett said. “They were in the same draft year, first and second picks even. They’ve always been really intense about it. Of course, the media loves it. The MLH has ridden the wave of the Hollander and Rozanov rivalry for years.”

“Yeah, we actually talked about it with the rest of the team before the game. Hollzy has had enough on his plate with being outed and dropped by the Metros. He’s been cheering up lately, but we didn’t want Rozanov to bring him back down by rubbing his nose in it,” Wagner explained. Scott nodded.

Kip grinned. “So Scott won the fight, but lost the game. Maybe next time, use your words?”

“I will throw every game with the Raiders from now until the playoffs if he doesn’t take the hint and back off,” Scott doubled down. “It was like Hollzy had a glowing target on his back, any hint at an excusable opportunity, and that man had him checked into the boards like a fucking homing beacon.”

Kip shook his head. “There’s no way your coach is okay with that.”

Bennett laughed. “Coach would buy Scotty a beer if he could. Dude was incensed.”

“Big Harvard words, Benny. Tell us how you really feel,” Wagner teased. Bennett shoved him.

“Where is Shane anyway?” Kip asked, looking around the bar. Most of the team was there, along with many of the other WAGs.

“Said he wasn’t feeling up to coming out tonight,” Bennett explained, rolling his beer between his hands on the table.

Wagner grimaced, taking a drink. “With how things went, can’t blame him for wanting space.”

“You said he got slammed into the boards a lot. Should we check on him or something? Make sure he’s ok?” Kip asked, turning to Scott for an answer.

“No,” Scott said. “Coach would have noticed if he was hurt. He’s just upset about the fight. He actually defended Rozanov in the locker room. It was weird.”

“Really?” Kip asked. “Why?”

“I think he’s just used to getting attacked by him all the time, and maybe the Metros didn’t stand up for him like they should have.”

Wagner nodded exaggeratedly with every word Scott said. “Kid doesn’t know how to have a real team,” Wagner clarified. “A guy gets used to fighting his own battles. We might have hurt his pride a bit.”

There was a part of Scott that wanted to do as Kip suggested and leave the bar, go to Hollander’s hotel room, and check in on him. But Hollander was also just starting to get to know them and let them in. He didn’t want to pressure him and ruin their progress so far.

“I’ll check in with him again in the morning,” he said. “Maybe we could invite him out for breakfast or something. It’s an off day tomorrow.”

Kip smiled at him and grabbed for his hand under the table. “I like seeing this side of you,” he said.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Scott Hunter, team captain. You care so much for your team. It’s nice to get to be a part of that now.”

Scott blushed. Wagner cooed and pulled him into a side hug, and Bennett shook his head at Wagner’s antics. “You say that now,” Bennett said. “Wait until it’s 3AM, and he’s running play reviews past the As on FaceTime because he can’t calm the fuck down for the playoffs.”

Kip laughed. “Yeah, no. He can do that shit on the couch, and I’ll be sleeping, thank you very much.”

The next morning, Scott and Kip stopped to get smoothies from Straw + Berry on their way to Hollander’s hotel. Kip had wanted to bring bagels, but Scott explained that Hollander had a pretty strict diet and likely wouldn’t want the carbs. Not wanting to arrive too early and interrupt whatever morning routine he usually had on days off, they texted him at 9 that they were planning to come over, and it was after 10 when they arrived.

When they got there, the room was spotlessly clean, and the air carried the sharp scent of lemons and bleach. Hollander, clearly having been awake for a while, met them at the door in comfortable athletic clothes and stood aside to welcome them in.

“Good morning!” Kip cheered, handing over the smoothie they brought for him.

“Thanks,” Hollander said with a smile, taking the smoothie and stepping back to clear the doorway for them. “Shoes off, please, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Kip said. He took off his sneakers and set them by the door. Scott quickly removed his shoes as well. Hollander led them into the living space and sat in one of the armchairs.

“How are you doing this morning?” Scott asked, looking him over for any obvious bruising that may have been missed. He thought there might be some faint purple at the base of his neck.

“I’m okay. Yesterday was just a lot. I needed a break from the guys and some quiet back here. Especially with our roady in a few days,” Hollander explained. Everything he said made sense. It was all perfectly reasonable reasons to stay in. But Hollander looked so uncomfortable. There was a flush to his face, and he seemed like he had to keep reminding himself to make eye contact. His hands twisted in his lap, and he kept shifting his weight back and forth.

Scott studied him, troubled by the way Hollander glanced away and twisted his hands. He looked less like a guy who needed quiet and more like someone worried they'd slipped up. But Scott searched his memory and couldn’t think of a single reason Hollander would need to hide anything.

“We missed you, of course, but you don’t have to come out after every home game. It’s not mandatory,” Scott explained with a laugh to ease the tension. Maybe he just felt bad for not making more of an effort with the team?

“Have you had any luck finding your own place?” Kip asked, coming to Scott’s rescue and changing the subject.

Hollander’s frame relaxed into the chairback, and he gave an easy smile. “Yes, actually. Remember how I said I wanted to look into Scott’s building and see if they had any available units? My agent is negotiating for one. It’s a few floors down.”

“Really?” Kip asked, perking forward in his seat, eyes bright.

“Yeah, it’s one of the larger units, so it should have plenty of space, and I can keep one of the rooms for my parents when they visit. I’m just glad they had one available; that building is incredible.”

Scott felt a surge of relief and pride that Hollander trusted him—and the team—enough to consider moving into the same building. The idea that Hollander, after all he’d been through, could see their group as safe meant more than he could say.

“Well, Hollander, let us know when it goes through, and we’ll help you move in,” Scott said, smiling. Hollander couldn’t be too upset with him over how the game went yesterday if he was bringing this up and still excited for the potential move.

“Honestly, I feel like you should just call me Shane at this point. I’m sorry I got kind of upset with you yesterday. That game was just… a lot.”

Scott smiled. “All right, Shane,” he said. “You’ve got to start calling me Scott, then. Or Scotty.”

Shane nodded and took a sip of the smoothie they brought. His eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile that pulled at the freckled skin of his cheeks. “This is really good,” he said.

“Thanks!” Kip returned. “It’s from the shop I work at. Only the cleanest ingredients, I promise! Scott explained that you stick to a pretty strict diet.”

Shane chuckled. “Yeah, I try to. I haven’t been the best about it since the move, honestly. Another good reason to skip the beers last night. They’re definitely not an approved beverage.”

Scott shook his head. “It’s important not to get too stuck on those. A cheat drink now and then isn’t going to set you back, and being too rigid with it can start some unhealthy eating habits. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

Shane frowned down at the smoothie in his hands, knuckles tightening around the cup. "I don’t know," he said, his voice rough. "It’s like everything’s slipping, even what I eat. When I started with the MLH, I had a routine. I felt in control, even when everything was still so new. Now—now nothing feels predictable." He paused, eyes flicking up. "Shit, you almost got expelled from the game yesterday for punching Rozanov so hard his helmet flew off!"

Scott grimaced. He remembered the chaos of first dating Kip: a nauseating loss of control over his actions and emotions, even on the ice. The urge to regain a steady footing was overwhelming. Letting go felt impossible.

“Sometimes letting things play out is the best you can do,” Kip said quietly, watching Shane peel at the label of his drink with a level of compassion Scott was only used to hearing behind the closed doors of their home. “You can’t control everything. You can only really control what you do with the situations you’re given. And you’ve been doing that really well, Shane.”

“Thanks,” Shane croaked, swallowing to clear his throat before he could continue. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Scott let the moment breathe before breaking the silence. “Do you have anything planned for today?”

Shane nodded. He looked relieved at the change of subject. “Yeah, I need to pack for the road trip this week and check in with my real estate agent about a timeline for closing. I waited to sell my place in Montreal so I wouldn’t have to store anything, but once I have a better idea of the move-in date, I can start to arrange movers to bring everything down. My parents want to catch up, too, so it’s mostly going to be a day of phone calls and packing.”

“Well,” Scott said. “If you need anything, let us know. We’ll be around the house all day, so I can pack too.”

“Thanks, Scott. And thank you for checking in. I’m sorry I worried you last night.”

Scott waved him off. “That’s what friends are for. I mean it, though, we’re just a text away if you need anything.”

They left, and Scott took Kip's hand in the privacy of the elevator, laying a kiss on his knuckles. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said. “You always know the right thing to say.”

Kip blushed. “You did just fine in there,” he admonished. “I’m proud of you, captain,” he smirked.

Scott wanted to push him back into the elevator and ravish him. Unfortunately, the door dinged to announce their arrival at the ground floor before he had the chance. He would just have to wait until they got back home.

Shane

Shane sighed with relief when the door closed behind Scott and Kip on their way out. It was sweet that they wanted to check up on him, but the instant he got Scott's text saying they were coming over, Shane panicked. The whole hotel suite smelled like sex, and it was obvious he’d had someone stay over the night before.

If it were his own apartment, he would have had cleaning supplies and a washing machine to get rid of the evidence. As it was, he relied on the hotel's housekeeping staff to come by and make the space presentable. Glad he had plenty of cash on him, he sped down to the front desk with his wallet and begged the staff there to have someone come up right away to clean the space while he worked out in the gym. He pulled out a hefty tip to show he was ready to compensate them for the rush job and added another hundred when the receptionist followed through on his request without any uncomfortable questions.

It was only after Scott and Kip had left, when Shane was rinsing his face of sweat and stress from the impromptu visit, that he noticed the hickey on his neck. He took a close-up photo with his phone, checked for any identifying marks or details, and sent it to Ilya.

Shane: WTF

Lily: is almost nothing. No one will notice

Shane: Someone could! It’s careless!

Lily: You must have hit your neck on the kitchen counter. How careless of you. Be more careful putting dishes in the washer, yes?

Shane: I don’t even have a dishwasher here!

Ilya sent a smirking emoji. Shane wished he were here so he could strangle him. Let him explain those bruises on his own neck.

But Ilya was also right. It was very faint, and it didn’t particularly look like a hickey. Scott didn’t notice, at least, or he probably would have said something. If anyone did see it, he could claim he hit it off something in the game last night.

Lily: send another picture. a naked one

Shane: Oh my god, no. We’re not doing this right now. I have to get things done today.

Ilya sent a naked picture of himself instead. His face was cut off, the angle catching the moles across his chest and the curling hair that led down to the dick he cradled in one hand.

Lily: My dick is lonely

Shane: You’re ridiculous. Have fun with that, I have shit to do.

Lily: Boo, no fun. Look at you, such naughty words

Shane rolled his eyes and put his phone face down on the dresser. If he kept texting with Ilya, he would never pack on time.

Chapter End Notes

Kip has been given way too much credit in clocking this in the comments lol! While he is a very smart cookie that would probably have figured it out with more information, what he knows is filtered through what the Admirals give him, and they are all dumb hockey boys with no gaydar. Poor Shane, his team really just wants to look out for him. He'll get through to them eventually, right?

Last update for the day! I do have to actually go in to work today so I'm not allowed to be a vegetable on the couch. I'm glad everyone's been enjoying this journey as much as I have. Thank you for the comments!! Until next time <3

Chapter 13: Heartbreak Among Friends

Chapter Summary

Shane moves into his new apartment with a little help from his friends.

Chapter Notes

Shane

Shane returned from his first full roady and faceplanted into his mattress. He needed to shower, change, and brush his teeth. He needed to take the time to complete his skin care and unpack his bags, but mustering the energy for any of it felt like a Herculean task.

The Admirals were on fire. They won three of their four away games, which, combined with their wins at home, put them near the top of their division standings so far this season. Scott was leading the team in points, but Shane wasn’t far behind and was only getting better as his line learned to work together and their chemistry improved.

He got a deep, grounding sense of petty validation when he compared their season so far to the Metros, who were middling at best and had lost more games than they’d won that year. He knew that one man didn’t make a hockey team, but he could also see when a team was struggling with leadership and cohesion, and he didn’t have to ask Hayden to know that the Metros were struggling with that without him.

His agent was able to secure the purchase of his new condo in Scott’s building while they were away, and he had all day tomorrow to meet with the movers when they arrived and start making the place his own. Kyle was also free and eager to help, so he was looking forward to catching up with him. Maybe, if Scott was okay with someone outside the team knowing about him and Kip, he could even invite the two over for dinner so they could meet Kyle. Shane thought Kip especially might be happy to know that Shane was making friends outside of the Admirals’ locker room.

He felt his phone vibrate and rolled to one side as he pulled it out of his pocket.

Lily: make it home?

Shane smiled. He could count on messages from Ilya coming through at just about any time of day, now. It was like the gates of a damn had been opened after their game against each other and they couldn't go more than a few hours without sending something to each other. Ilya particularly liked to take pictures of random flowers, cute dogs and signs that he thought were funny for often inexplicable reasons. Shane's teammates had started sending him funny looks, and Shane knew they suspected that he was seeing someone, but no one was giving him any shit for it yet. He was pretty sure he even heard Bennett telling people to leave him alone in the locker room the other day. In the end it didn't really matter if they knew he was talking to someone, it's not like any of them knew who it was.

Shane: yes, trying to convince myself to get out of bed and wash my face

Lily: you are in bed?

Shane rolled his eyes and texted a simple "yes" back.

Lily: naked?

Shane: NO

Lily: :(

Shane rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed. He had to shower anyway, so he rushed through the process and snapped a picture of himself in the mirror. His hair was wet, little droplets of water streamed down his chest to the towel held low enough to show off the v of his hips. He didn't have energy for the phone sex he knew Ilya wanted, but he could afford to send him a picture for his... enjoyment that evening. He certainly had enough of Ilya hidden away in a locked folder on his phone.

Lily: is tease, send more

Shane: no

Lily: call me

Shane: absolutely not, I'm tired

Lily: :(

Shane put the phone down and went about the rest of his routine for the night. Usually he would cave, but he just didn't have it in him. He was pretty sure he wouldn't even be able to get it up if he tried. He skipped unpacking. That could wait for tomorrow. In fact, he could just take his suitcases as they were straight to his new condo. He wasn't even being lazy, just practical.

Just as he was falling asleep, his phone vibrated again. Ilya hadn't said anything else, but he sent a picture of himself in bed, dick spent, cum on his chest and a little smirk visible where his face was cut off just under the eyes. Shane smiled, saved it to his locked folder, deleted it from the messages and fell asleep. Ilya could at least always be counted on to have a one-track mind.

It was still early when Shane arrived at his new place the next day. He was able to collect his keys from the front desk easily enough and took the elevator up to let himself in. One of the moving trucks had actually made it out and unloaded the day before, so there was already a couch set up in the living room and boxes laid out across the kitchen counters. He was partway through unpacking a box of utensils when the doorbell rang.

“This building is incredible!” Kyle exclaimed as he walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. He passed one to Shane.

“Thanks,” Shane said sheepishly. “One of my teammates actually lives in this building.”

Kyle’s eyes lit up with a happy smile. “Oh?” he prompted. “The one with the boyfriend?”

Shane laughed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “When it’s not quite so early, I plan to pop up and see if he would be okay with meeting you. He’s only out to the team and management right now, but I think close friends would be fine too. Pretty sure he’s planning an announcement sometime this season anyway.”

“Two out gay players on one team in the same year. You guys are going to be some little kid’s heroes, you know,” Kyle said, walking over to the couch and plopping himself down. He took a sip of his coffee, and Shane walked over to join him.

Shane didn’t really know what to say to that. He never planned to be a role model for kids like that. He knew there were other kids of color who probably looked up to him and had tried his best to be a good role model for them. He knew that representation was important, but he hadn’t really connected it to the queer half of his identity yet. Maybe he should.

He took a sip of his own coffee to stall for time and looked around the living room. "I should have another moving truck arriving later today with the gym equipment and bedroom furniture. The rest is pretty much here already. You sure you’re ok to spend the day helping me unpack everything?"

“Of course!” Kyle said. “I can’t believe it's been over a month and you’ve been living in a hotel room this whole time. I’m happy you’ve got your own place now.”

Shane sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. It was a nice enough hotel suite, but I’m definitely used to having more space. And my parents are excited to have somewhere to stay when they come to visit me in a few weeks.”

Before he could say anything else, the door rang again. Figuring it must be the movers, Shane got up from the couch and walked over to the door. Instead, Scott and Kip’s smiling faces greeted him. Kip stood at the front with Scott just behind, a cellophane-wrapped gift basket in his hands.

“Kip?” Kyle called from the living room. He was over next to the couch, still, but had stood up to make room for the movers to come in.

“Kyle?” Kip asked, his voice choked with surprise.

Shane looked between the two, then over to Scott for help, but Scott looked just as confused as he felt.

"You guys… know each other?" Shane asked, taking the gift basket from Kip before he could drop it. He carried it into the kitchen. Kip and Scott followed, with Kyle joining them at the kitchen island.

“Yeah,” Kyle said, with no explanation for how. Then, as he looked from Kip to Scott and back again, his face drained of color.

“Wait,” he said. “You’re the boyfriend?”

“What?” Kip asked.

Shane groaned and bit his lip. “I’m so sorry, Scott. I swear I didn’t mention you by name.”

Scott just looked confused.

“Kyle helped me go shopping and pick the wine for the dinner you invited me to a couple of weeks ago. I told him about one of my teammates coming out and that I was having dinner with him and his boyfriend, but I swear I didn’t mention either of you by name.”

“Obviously,” Kip said. “Or Kyle would have said something before now. Shit, Kyle, I’m sorry. This is not how I wanted you to find out about Scott. We had actually talked about inviting you over for dinner this week. I guess I don’t have to figure out how to explain the boyfriend situation now.”

“No,” Kyle said. “I definitely think you still owe me an explanation for the boyfriend situation. Wait, is he the one Maria was giving you shit about last year? She wouldn't let me play anything but hockey at the bar for almost 3 months! Has this been going on for that long? For over a year?”

Kip blushed. “Yeah”

Kyle looked furious. “Holy shit, Kip! This is the kind of thing you talk about with your friends. You’ve been keeping a relationship a secret from all of us for a year?”

“I mean, Elena knows…”

Shane winced. Even he knew that was not the right thing to say. He felt terrible. This whole situation seemed like something that he really should have worked to avoid, but there was no way he could have known that either. Kyle was obviously hurt, and Kip was backpedaling, trying to explain himself. Scott just looked confused and maybe a bit sad.

“Maybe you guys should have a minute to talk about this. Scott can stay here and help me meet the movers,” Shane suggested, hoping to keep the peace and help them regain their footing.

“No,” Kyle said. “I don’t want to talk about this right now, actually.”

“We can go…” Kip murmured. He looked like he might cry. Scott laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Why don’t we get lunch together later?" he offered, looking to Shane to help bridge the tension.

“Right,” Shane said. “Kyle and I can unpack things here, and we can talk with you both later after everyone’s had some time to process.”

Kyle didn’t object at least, which Shane was going to take as a good sign. Just as quickly as they arrived, Scott and Kip were out the door, and it was just Shane and Kyle in the apartment again.

“Are you okay?” Shane asked quietly once they were alone.

“No,” Kyle said. He buried his head in his hands on the island. “It’s so stupid. I have had, like, the biggest crush on Kip for so long, and I knew he didn’t feel that way about me, but at least when I thought he was single, I felt like I had a chance, you know? Like maybe he would realize eventually that we could be really fucking good together.”

Shane had no idea what he was supposed to do about that. He had no experience on this side of a friendship, offering life advice. He was almost definitely going to ruin it.

“Kyle,” Shane whispered into the heavy silence. “I’m so sorry. This is an awful way to find that out.”

Kyle laughed, a wet, broken sound that bled into sobs. He shook his head, folded his arms over the counter, and buried his face into them. His shoulders shook, and he gasped. Shane had no idea what he was supposed to do. Helpless, he rounded the island and rubbed small circles in Kyle’s back like his mom had done for him as recently as September, when he broke down like this in her kitchen back in Ottawa after being dropped by his team.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

“I don’t know how to talk to him like this,” Kyle said, taking the tissue Shane handed him and wiping the snot and tears from his face. “They want to do fucking lunch?”

“We don’t have to,” Shane said gently. “I can text Scott and tell him we should try for lunch another time. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“No,” Kyle said, a soft denial. “I want to have lunch with them. I should be happy for Kip. Scott seems like a great guy, and he’s your friend and teammate. It’s not Kip's fault I’m hung up on him.”

“But you don’t have to rush to do that today,” Shane assured him. “It’s okay to need some time.”

Kyle smiled for the first time since Shane answered the door to Kip that morning.

“You’re a good friend, Shane.”

Shane felt his face warm. He didn’t have much practice being a friend. It felt inexplicably nice to be told he was doing a good job of it. He would have to thank Hayden sometime for setting a good example.

“We don’t have to decide what to do right now,” Shane said, trying to sound reassuring. “Why don’t we unpack a few more boxes and see how it goes?”

“Oh sure, exploit your heartbroken friend for free labor, Shane. You’re such a gentleman,” Kyle joked, ending with a genuine laugh as he climbed down from the barstool to help.

The movers arrived a few hours later, and Shane and Kyle left them to unload the rest of the boxes and furniture and went to get lunch with Kip and Scott. Kyle insisted that he had just needed time to process and that he would be okay with seeing them again now that he’d had a chance to come to terms with everything.

They went to a little restaurant nearby that served organic, farm-to-table style meals and had a seasonal menu. Shane loved it. There were plenty of options that didn’t make him feel guilty about abandoning his diet.

“So,” Kip said eventually, powering through the awkward silence. “How did the two of you meet?”

Shane flushed. Kyle laughed at his expense. “Shane showed up at the Kingfisher on drag night looking like he’d stepped through the looking glass and didn’t know which way was up,” he explained.

“Really?” Kip asked, looking delighted.

“Yeah,” Shane said, pushing some quinoa and peas around with his fork. “Pretty sure I told you guys about it. It was maybe my second week in New York. I didn’t really know the area very well and decided to wander around since it was a Friday, and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“Wait, that’s where you saw the drag show? The Kingfisher?” Scott asked, looking like someone had told him the sky was yellow.

“I just kind of wandered in,” Shane explained. “I never really let myself think about gay bars too much, back in Montreal.”

Realization spread over Scott’s face. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, yeah, I can see that.”

“And you, what? Hit on him and gave him your number?” Kip teased, smiling at Kyle.

“No, actually. I was very respectful. I said he looked like he needed a friend and gave him my number so he could reach out if he wanted any help getting to know the queer scene here in New York.”

“So you’re not together?” Kip asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” Shane assured quickly. “Just friends."

Kyle smiled and nodded. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “Shane is a babe, but I don’t really see him like that. He’s more like an adorable little brother.”

“We’re the same age!” Shane protested, blushing but also glad that Kyle wasn’t interested in him like that. He didn’t want to hurt their friendship, and even though he had no idea what the fuck was going on with Ilya, he knew that it was the kind of something that would make a relationship with anyone else hard to contemplate.

“Good,” Scott said. “I’m glad Shane is making friends here outside of the team.”

Shane smiled at him. He knew that Scott and the others worried about how he was settling in. The Admirals really seemed to care like that.

When lunch was over, the four of them went back to Shane’s apartment and helped him unpack. That night, for the first time since he had moved to New York in a rush at the start of the season, Shane fell asleep in his own bed in a city that was starting to feel like home.

Chapter End Notes

So, I pulled almost completely from TV cannon for this. In the show, Elena is the only one confirmed to actually know about their relationship before the Olympics. While it looks like the others have plenty of reason to suspect to some degree, Kyle also seems to be the least "in the know" and is more on the periphery of their conversations when they tease him about the hockey player they think has a crush on him. Poor Kyle. I always thought it was so sad that he had a crush on Kip and had to accept that he couldn't even be mad about it because Kip was so happy and Scott was such a good guy. At least now he knows? And look at Shane trying to be a good friend. He's so awkward, but he's doing his best.

I hope you all like this chapter. I got out of work early and had some extra time tonight, so obviously I had to feed my latest obsession by posting another chapter. The next one will be a double update and should be ready sometime tomorrow afternoon. I'm loving all the comments! They get me through the work day, so thank you! <3

Chapter 14: Impact

Chapter Summary

The Admirals are fired up for the next game against the Raiders, determined to have Shane's back on the ice against his infamous rival. Meanwhile, Shane and Ilya just want to enjoy a nice dinner together. Nobody's plans go quite how they expected.

Chapter Notes

PLEASE READ: this is a double update. I will be posting the next chapter as soon as I can. If you speed-read through and don't see a "next chapter" button at the end of the page yet, give it a minute and hit refresh.

POTENTIAL SPOILER(ish): this is an emotional chapter, and the reason I'm posting the next one right after is because I don't believe in leaving people on emotional cliff hangers. To me, this is pretty canonical hockey violence, so I haven't given it any special tags. That said, you might want some tissues, I know I did.

Shane

Flying into Boston for their second roady of the season, Shane’s stomach was a knot of nerves. The Admiral’s last game against Ilya’s team had not gone well, which landed Scott in the penalty box after punching Ilya in the jaw in some misplaced bid to defend Shane’s honor.

He took advantage of being the only one in his row and pulled out his phone.

Shane: You need to give me more space in this game. The Admirals think you have it out for me.

Lily: where is fun in that?

Shane: Seriously, I mean it

Lily: will have to press you up against different boards later then, no?

Shane blushed, heart pounding as heat rushed to his cheeks, and ducked down into his seat, shoulders hunched. He hoped no one noticed how flustered he felt after Ilya’s message. They would ask questions.

Shane: If you end up in the hospital because you pushed Scott’s buttons again, you won’t be pressing me up against anything

Lily: o, is Scott now? You two are so close?

Shane: It’s comments like this that got your helmet knocked off in the last game.

Lily: I will play nice

Shane sighed with relief, tension easing from his shoulders. Obviously, they wouldn’t be able to completely avoid each other on the ice, but it couldn’t look like Ilya was singling him out on purpose either.

He put his phone away when Bennett slipped into the seat next to him. So much for having the row to himself.

"You okay?" Bennett asked, concern in his eyes.

“Of course,” Shane said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

"We’re playing Rozanov again," Bennett said. "He got nasty last time."

“He and I have always been competitive,” Shane said, hoping Bennett would ease up.

"So why does he hate you?" Bennett asked.

"He doesn’t. I don’t hate him. We’re just...intense," Shane said.

Bennett snorted. "That's one way to put it," he said, then met Shane’s gaze. "We're behind you. Out there, if you need backup, just say so."

Shane bit his lip and nodded, a sharp sting of discomfort in his chest. In a way, this protective concern was way worse than the callous hatred the Metros harbored for Shane’s rival. With his teammates’ protectiveness, he felt exposed and suffocated. It was a lot more dangerous. His fear now was that their care might turn everything volatile.

He pretended to nap for the rest of the flight, headphones in, even though nothing was playing. He couldn’t explain why Ilya wasn’t a threat. It filled the air around him with a restless mix of relief and confusion, and he couldn’t sit there and pretend like he had a problem with Ilya either. So he employed his tried and true get out of jail free card—ignoring Bennett entirely, even though guilt for avoiding him ate at him for the duration of the flight.

They arrived in Boston with plenty of time for an early practice, and Shane did his best to focus on the drills rather than his plans to meet Ilya at Ilya's house later that night. For dinner. That Ilya was planning to cook for him. Like an actual date.

"You seem distracted," Vaughn said, skating up towards the end of practice. "Everything okay?"

Shane nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just excited for the game tonight, I guess.”

Vaughn nodded. He didn’t look like he bought it, though. Together, they made their way over to the guest locker room and stripped out of their gear. Scott, meanwhile, was busy talking strategy with the coach. The room buzzed with nervous excitement. Shane figured he wasn’t the only one thinking about how the last game with the Raiders had gone down.

"All right, everyone." Coach addressed the group. "I want you guys to get some rest before the game tonight. As you know, the Raiders are a strong team. They’re leading the division right now. Our last game against them didn’t exactly go in our favor. I expect everyone here to keep their head tonight. The biggest insult we can give them is to win on their home ice, am I clear?"

“YES, COACH!” the room chorused.

“Good. Now get to the bus and rest up. I’ll see you back here in a few hours.”

Shane didn’t manage to take a nap, as many of his teammates did back at the hotel. But he did meditate. He felt a lot more centered walking into the visitor locker rooms that evening. Then he headed onto the ice for warmups. Thankfully, Ilya didn’t approach him before the game this time. He didn’t greet Scott either. That was probably for the best.

The stands were full of Raiders fans by the time the puck dropped for the match. Scott and Ilya’s face-off was silent. Scott glared at Ilya, as if daring him to say anything. Coach seemed to minimize the time Shane and Ilya spent on the ice together—probably a misguided attempt to protect him. It couldn’t be avoided for the whole game, though. Shane missed when he and Ilya could battle for the puck all over the ice. Still, he was grateful Ilya kept his board checks to a minimum.

The game was going well for the Admirals. They led in shots on goal after the first period and had already scored two goals. The Raiders were struggling to keep up, their goalie and defense seeming to have a tough time holding the Admirals' attack at bay. Of course, Ilya was as fired up as he always was. He parted the ice around him and was responsible for more than half of the Raiders' own shots, Bennett struggling to shut him out. He let one through just before the end of the first period, sending them into intermission 2-1 in the Admirals' favor.

The locker room was tense around them. Shane, having lost his stick at one point and had it get caught up between blades as the opposing sides fought for the puck, had to redo his tape. He sat down to do just that and enjoyed the chance to watch how the rest of the room interacted. Wagner and Cam were in one corner, teasing Breezy. Scott and Bennett looked like they were talking strategy nearby. Everyone there was lifting each other up, complimenting each other’s play, and messing around with light banter. It was such a contrast to the toxic back-and-forth he was used to that Shane wished he could record it and somehow preserve the moment. It felt unreal that he got to have this.

Halfway through the third period, it was a rare moment when Shane and Ilya were on the ice at the same time. Shane, getting tired as it approached time for his line to switch out, and Ilya fresh off the bench, gunning for the puck. Ilya managed to get the puck from Cam and race with it back towards the Admirals’ goal. Shane, clear to intercept him, met him partway to the crease and stole the puck with a poke check. Jalo sent the puck back at him as Shane put space between him and Ilya, headed into the neutral zone. He skated toward the wall to get past the Raiders’ defense, Ilya hot on his heels. He looked back, saw Ilya was gaining momentum and preparing to check him against the wall.

Shane angled the puck on his stick so that he could send it to Cam before he lost control of it completely and looked back to check Ilya’s progress. He watched, unable to do anything as Scott, fresh from the bench, checked Ilya straight into the boards. The angle was bad; Ilya was leaning forward at full speed and braced for a different angle of impact as he prepared to check Shane.

Shane watched, heart pounding, as Ilya hit the boards headfirst, Scott’s full weight falling on top of him. Fear and helplessness surged through Shane as he saw Ilya crumple to the ice and lie there, completely still aside from sporadic twitching of his gloved fingers against the ice.

“ILYA!” Shane cried, dropping his stick and pulling his gloves off as he knelt at Ilya’s side. Scott, having rolled off of him as soon as he caught up with what happened, was on his knees a few feet away, cursing and apologizing.

“Hey, no,” Shane said, hands hovering over Ilya’s prone form as he struggled between his desire to cradle him close and the bone-deep knowledge that it could be too dangerous to move him.

Ilya’s eyes blinked open, slow and unfocused. “Shane?” he whispered.

Shane sighed with relief that he was awake. “Hey, don’t move, okay?” Shane said. The medics were coming with a spinal board. “You’re okay, stay down.”

Ilya muttered something in Russian that Shane had no hope of understanding.

Shane draped a gentle hand over his back, careful not to place any pressure on it. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he murmured. Moments later, he was pulled away, the medics surrounding Ilya and carefully situating him onto the board.

Shane sat back and let them work, his vision swimming with tears. Grief and panic surged, and the cold stung as the salty brine slid off his face to freeze on the ice below him.

Coach didn’t put him in again that game. Shane hardly remembered the rest of it. He couldn’t even say who won, or by how many points. He had vague memories of his teammates coming to check on him. Flashes of Wagner trying to get him to talk, Bennett rubbing his back, and Breezy encouraging him to drink some water.

When it was finally over, he stripped out of his gear and walked over to Coach Murdock.

“Do you know what hospital they took him to?” he asked, voice raw and trembling. He barely recognized the sound as his own voice, thick with panic and desperation.

Murdock frowned. “I don’t,” he said. “I could try to find out, but I’m not sure they would let you in.”

A keening whine tore from Shane’s throat, anguish twisting every word. “Please,” he begged, crying openly. “Please, I need to see him.” Fear and loss overwhelmed him, tears flowing unchecked.

“BENNETT!” Coach shouted. Bennett ran over.

“Sit with him while I make a phone call.”

"Yes, coach," Bennett said, sitting and pulling Shane into a hug. He was still sweaty and disgusting from the game. For once, Shane didn’t care.

“Hey,” Bennett soothed. “Hey Shane, you’re scaring us, buddy. Roz is going to be just fine, okay? I’m sure of it. Bastard’s got a thick head.”

Shane’s sobs hitched in something resembling a laugh.

"Yeah, let it out. Coach will find out what hospital he’s in, and I’ll make sure you see him, okay? When this is all over, and you see he’s fine, you can explain why you care so much, alright? You and Rozy got some secret whirlwind romance you’re not telling us about?"

Shane should care that Bennett figured them out. All he cared about was that no one actually knew what they meant to each other, and that might mean he wouldn’t get to see Ilya at all. What if he wasn’t okay? What if they had to take him for surgery, and Shane wouldn’t even be notified until the MLH received news and shared it with the media? Would he have to learn that Ilya was injured beyond hope of recovery from articles online? That he was dead?

They were supposed to have dinner together after the game. He planned to stay over and wake up in Ilya’s arms again, for the second time ever since they finally started to open up about their feelings for one another.

He wanted to invite Ilya over to the cottage for Christmas. He wondered if Ilya might want to meet his parents. He wondered if he would ever even get the chance now, or if that hope was gone forever.

“He doesn’t have family here,” he said with no explanation, mumbling the words into Bennett’s tear-soaked undershirt.

“He has his coach,” Bennett assured. “And his team. Your boy isn’t alone right now, Shane. He’s okay.”

“I need to shower,” Shane groaned, pulling away. “I reek. I can’t go to the hospital like this.”

“Good to have you back, buddy,” Bennett smiled. It was a small, fragile expression, but there nonetheless. “Come on, I’ll shower too, and hopefully by the time we’re done, Coach will have some news for us.”

When Shane left the shower, he felt marginally more human, though he still felt like he was seeing the world through fogged-up glasses. The locker room was empty. Only Bennett was still there with him, the others presumably having left for the hotel.

“I was able to get in touch with LeClaire,” Coach Murdock said, walking back into the room as Shane pulled on his suit pants. “I’ll text the address to Bennett, and he can go with you. If you need anything while you’re there, text me, okay?”

Shane nodded. He really didn’t want to explain himself to Coach later, but he was so fucking grateful that the man had been able to help him find Ilya. “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.

Coach grunted an acknowledgement and left them in the locker room.

“I’ll call an Uber. You ready?” Bennett asked.

Shane nodded. They left together and waited outside. It didn’t take long for the car to arrive. The cigarette smell that filled the space reminded him of Ilya, and he broke down into tears again, his face pressed against the window and his eyes shut tight. He had to be okay.

Chapter End Notes

End notes are short, I'm saving them for after the next one. It's okay to skip this and hit "next chapter" I know you want to lol

Chapter 15: The Waiting Room

Chapter Summary

Shane makes it to the hospital an waits for news on Ilya, luckily he has a great support system there to help keep him sane.

Chapter Notes

Shane

When Shane and Bennett arrived at the hospital, Cliff Marlow, looking frazzled, met them at the door and immediately led them into a private waiting room. The room was small, lined with chairs against one wall, and had a second door that opened into the hospital. Coach LeClaire sat waiting, and as the door opened, he looked up, exchanged a nod with Marlow, and then spoke to the two Admirals.

“Murdock said you’d be coming. Sit down—we’re still waiting for news.”

Shane nodded woodenly, and Bennett led him over to one of the chairs, encouraging him to sit down with a firm hand on his shoulder. He sat beside him. On the other side of the room, Marlow paced back and forth on the linoleum.

After a while, LeClaire stood and left, mumbling something about getting coffee as he slipped out. As soon as LeClaire exited, Marlow stopped pacing and faced Shane directly.

“I know, by the way,” he said, making eye contact.

“What?” Shane asked, his thoughts too occupied with worrying about Ilya and replaying the sound of his helmet hitting the boards to figure out what Marlow was talking about.

“That you’re together,” he explained. “I figured it out, and Ilya confirmed it. I told LeClaire to let you back here. Ilya wouldn’t want you left out.”

Shane started crying again. He wasn’t worried about Bennett listening in. He knew his own feelings had to be obvious to the entire team at this point. He didn’t even care that Marlow knew, and Ilya hadn’t told him. If Marlow hadn’t known about them, he could still be at the rink with no idea what was going on. It could have been so much worse.

“I can’t make it stop,” Shane sobbed. “I keep seeing him hit the wall, hearing his helmet crack against the boards. He was twitching. He didn’t wake up at first. Fuck, Marlow. What if he’s not okay?”

At Shane’s outburst, Bennett moved closer, wrapping one arm around Shane’s trembling shoulders and rubbing slow, comforting circles on his back. Shane instinctively tensed but didn’t ask him to stop. The cascade of emotions left him overwhelmed and unable to pull away from the support.

“Ilya’s a tough motherfucker, he’s going to be okay, Shane,” Marlow comforted, walking over to kneel in front of him. “They’re going to come in here any minute and tell us he’s already back there demanding someone bring him the good vodka.”

Shane laughed, still choked by tears. It wasn’t a happy sound. “We’ve been together less than a month, and he’s already trying to cancel dinner plans,” he joked, meeting Marlow’s eyes. Marlow smiled; his own eyes were wet at the corners.

“I get why he likes you. That was funny, Hollander.”

Bennett snorted. “I’m still stuck on the two of them being together at all. Don’t you hate each other? How did this happen?”

Marlow grinned. “Don’t trust Hollander to tell you the truth. These two have snuck around for years. Been together a month, my ass.”

Shane glared at him. “What would you know?”

“I don’t know, Jane. How long has he had your number saved on his phone for dick appointments?”

"Oh my god!" Shane shouted. "You’re such an asshole. Ilya was bad, but you’re even worse. Holy shit. We’re literally in a hospital right now."

Bennett was full-on belly laughing at that point, clutching his stomach. Shane shot an indignant glare at Marlow, his arms crossed tightly. LeClaire walked back into the room, carrying four coffees, and handed them out to each person. He didn’t ask about the strange mood. Shane thought being forced to wrangle hockey players for so many years must have numbed him to less-than-stellar hospital behavior.

“Any news?” he asked, completely unfazed.

“No news yet,” Marlow replied.

Shortly after he came back, the second door opened, and a doctor in a white coat walked in holding a clipboard. LeClaire stood up and held his hand out for the doctor to shake.

“How’s he doin', doc?”

The doctor smiled, and Shane felt his chest ease for the first time since watching Ilya hit the ice.

“He’s going to be just fine. No broken bones, but he does have a grade 3 concussion. I’m going to want him here for observation overnight, but he should be cleared to leave tomorrow afternoon as long as there is no worsening of his symptoms. He’s currently awake and alert, though he has been slipping in and out of Russian and English. He knows where he is and what day it is, so it doesn’t look like we’re dealing with any amnesia for now. At this time, I can let you back to see him two at a time, but we’ll have to keep it brief as visiting hours are already over for the evening.”

“Thank you,” LeClaire said. He turned to the others. “Marlow, Hollander, why don’t you go visit. Bennett can stay here with me, and I’ll come back to see Roz in the morning.”

Shane felt relieved at being allowed back to see Ilya. A part of him wouldn’t believe that Ilya was really as well as the doctor claimed he was until he saw him for himself.

“Come on, Hollander,” Marlow said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go check on him.”

The doctor told them which room Ilya was in. Marlow stepped forward, leading them past the nurses’ station. They stopped at an open door, where floor-to-ceiling curtains blocked the view inside the room.

“моя любовь,” Ilya murmured, catching sight of them as they walked past the curtain. He held his hand out to Shane. “Hey,” he whispered. “Come here, sweetheart. Am okay. Promise.”

Sobbing again, Shane hurried across the room to Ilya. He took Ilya’s outstretched hand, entwining their fingers, and pressed their joined hands to his lips, shaking with relief and emotion as he clung tight and let his tears flow.

“Ilya,” he choked out.

Marlow, noticing Shane and Ilya needed privacy, stepped backward through the curtain and out into the hallway, leaving the couple alone.

“Look,” Ilya said. “You scare Marly away with your ugly tears.”

Shane laughed, glaring. “You don’t get to be mean right now. You scared me.”

“What? Is your dinosaur captain that boarded me so hard. Is not my fault!”

Despite his enthusiasm in denying it, Ilya kept his voice soft and even. Shane knew his head had to be killing him. He pulled himself together and leaned down to kiss Ilya’s brow, the tip of his nose, his cheek, and his temple. “I love you,” he whispered into his ear. “Please don’t scare me like that again.”

The smile Ilya gave back was dopey and full of the good drugs. “You love me?” he asked.

Shane nodded, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After the way he had reacted when Ilya fell, there was no use hiding it. Especially from himself.

“I love you too, моя любовь.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asked.

“My love,” Ilya said.

Shane smiled, running his fingers through Ilya’s damp curls and gently tugging at the ends to untangle them. “The doctor says you’re staying overnight for observation,” Shane repeated softly to Ilya.

Ilya hummed. “Yes,” he said. “Is true.”

“They’re going to have to put you on LTIR for this one. Grade 3 concussion.”

Ilya pouted. “Is not so bad. So my head hurts? I’m fine.”

“You lost consciousness,” Shane reminded him flatly.

Ilya tried to roll his eyes and winced.

“See?” Shane said. “Not fine.”

Ilya groaned. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I know. Is okay, I will be back in time for playoffs. Raiders are not so bad as the Metros. They can make playoff spot without star player. I will come back in time to help them win cup.”

Now Shane knew Ilya was going to be just fine. “You’re so full of shit,” he said. He ran his hand down Ilya’s face, cupped his jaw, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “Come stay with me.”

“What?” Ilya asked, the drugs probably not helping him follow Shane’s vague subject change.

“While you recover,” Shane explained. “I’m pretty sure my whole team knows about us at this point anyway. Bennett’s waiting for me in the waiting room. I couldn’t hide my reaction very well when you got hurt.”

“You are very bad liar, Hollander,” Ilya agreed. “Was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“So, will you come stay with me? When you’re cleared for car travel? I can come pick you up after our roady. You know they’re going to make you miss at least 10 games regardless of how good you think you feel.”

Ilya smiled. “Okay,” he said. “You will show me your new place?”

“Yeah, I will. I guess I’ll have to be the one to make you dinner, eh?”

“Gross, no Hollander. I refuse to eat your disgusting green smoothies. I will cook,” Ilya’s tone was adamant. He pushed Shane away to look him in the eye for confirmation. There would be no gross Shane Hollander health food.

“Okay, Ilya,” Shane said. He couldn’t argue with Ilya if he tried, just then. Something about the hazy, drugged-up indignance of his glare made Shane’s stomach flip.

“We need to go,” Marlow said, sounding apologetic as he walked back into the room. “The nurses are starting to glare at us.”

Ilya scowled. “No,” he said. “Stay.”

“I’ll come back in the morning,” Shane assured. “Our flight out isn’t until late tomorrow afternoon. By the time we get back from our roady, you’ll be cleared enough for the drive, and I’ll bring you to New York, okay?”

Ilya pouted. “Okay,” he said.

Marlow laughed. “I’m so holding this over you when you sober up tomorrow,” he said. “Glad you’re okay, man. You’re stuck with me for a few days, too. Doctors want you supervised for a while until they’re comfortable with your recovery.”

“Too many big English words, Marly,” Ilya complained. “I hit head, brain is fragile now.”

Marlow rolled his eyes. “Good to see you’re as full of shit as ever, Rozy. Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Back in the waiting room, Bennett perked up when the door opened. “Ready to go?” he asked, standing up and going to meet Shane halfway.

Shane nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Can you call a car?”

Bennett nodded to LeClaire and Marlow, and they waved goodbye before leaving.

“Is he okay?” Bennett asked, coming to a stop to wait for the car.

“Yeah, he was pretty much his usual self,” Shane said, face pulled into a fond smile.

“So, an asshole then?” Bennett joked. Shane shoved at him.

“Thank you,” he said instead of chirping back. “I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”

Bennett scowled down at his shoes, hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit.

“We were really wrong about him, huh?”

“Yeah,” Shane sighed.

“I’m really sorry, Shane. On behalf of Scott, too. I know he’s probably back at the hotel beating himself up over everything right now.”

Shane grimaced. “It’s not his fault, really. It’s just hockey. He would have checked Ilya regardless of how he felt about him. That check was perfectly legal, the angle was just horrible.”

“And he was probably a little more enthusiastic than he needed to be,” Bennett added. He loved Scott, but the man really owed Shane and Rozanov an apology for this one.

“Yeah, that’s my fault,” Shane said, kicking the ground. “I tried to explain, at the last game we had against them, but there wasn’t anything I could say without giving Ilya away. Now the whole team knows.”

Bennett nodded. “Yeah, cat’s out of the bag on that one.”

“Do you think they’ll say anything? Ilya could get in a lot of trouble in Russia if this gets out.”

“I don’t think anyone would say anything on purpose,” Bennett said after a while.

Shane noticed that that wasn’t a no.

The car pulled up before he could respond, and the two climbed into the back. The hospital wasn’t far from the hotel where the team was staying.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been keeping an eye on social media, and nobody’s really been speculating on you two. Most outlets are just talking about Rozanov’s injury and what it means for the Raiders’ chances at the playoffs this year. The ones that do mention you are on the angle of how startling it had to be to see your longtime rival get hurt like that. Nothing about you going to the hospital or anything. I think the coaches have managed to keep that part pretty hush-hush.”

Shane nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “He doesn’t need to worry about being outed on top of everything else right now.”

“Are you coming back in the morning?” Bennett asked. The car came to a stop outside their hotel, and he held the door open for Shane to slide out after him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll probably leave early and meet you all at the airport. Would you mind taking my bag with you on the bus?”

Bennett agreed to take it for him while they walked into the hotel lobby and said goodnight before going their separate ways. Despite his exhaustion and the reassurance of seeing Ilya awake and alert at the hospital, Shane hardly slept that night.

Chapter End Notes

Well... that hurt to write. Ilya will be okay though, and now at least the team knows about them. I wrote the last chapter the day I got a surprise day off and had to put my computer down for a bit so I actually didn't write this next chapter until the next day. All the comments where you guys pointed out how bad it could be that the Admirals thought Ilya was homophobic had me like: "yes, very bad. Very, very bad and I can't even tell you how bad because SPOILERS!" So..... in a way I'm glad you all know, now? Anyways, please don't kill me. I promised to post them together so I wouldn't leave you on a cliffhanger! Thank you again for all the awesome comments, they really make my day. I can't believe how many people are actually reading this... <3

Chapter 16: What the Girls Love

Chapter Summary

Scott breaks down with his boyfriend over his terrible day and finally gets a chance to apologize to Shane. Kip is very supportive and definitely an underappreciated comedian.

Chapter Notes

Kip

When Kip’s studying was interrupted by a FaceTime request from Scott on a night when they hadn’t planned anything, he knew immediately that something was wrong. He had a test the next day and didn’t watch the game, but it was about the right time for it to end. Someone would have told him if Scott was hurt, right? The whole team now knew about them.

Before he could spend any more time catastrophizing and imagining his boyfriend in a hospital bed, Kip slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. Nothing in the background suggested a hospital, it looked like he was back in his hotel room. He got his confirmation that something was definitely wrong from Scott’s heavy tears and flushed face. He turned his full attention to the screen, closing the textbook he's been studying from.

“Baby,” he whispered, tracing Scott’s image. “What’s wrong?”

“I fucked up,” Scott sobbed. “I really fucked up, Kip.”

Kip felt helpless, bringing his feet up to sit cross-legged on the couch and struggling to calm his racing thoughts. He needed to be there, to hold Scott, to help calm him down at least enough to explain what was going on.

"What happened? Did something happen at the game?"

Kip lost sight of Scott’s face as Scott brought the phone up to his forehead, the front-facing camera pressed up to the skin there, blacking out the screen entirely.

“I hit Rozanov,” he choked out, pulling the screen back so that Kip could see him again. He fisted his hair in one hand, looking off to the side and down at the floor. “Really fucking hard,” he explained.

"You got in a fight again? Did he say something to Shane?"

Kip watched as Scott pulled the phone in close again and heard him keen in distress. “No,” he said. “He was just going to board him. To get the puck. He wasn’t even going to do anything wrong, I don’t think. But I didn’t want him to hurt Shane. I skated so fast, Kip. So fucking fast. I skated right into him. He didn’t get up.”

Each statement was broken by hitching sobs. Kip could see Scott’s shoulders lurching forward as he rocked back and forth on the bed, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He seemed to be struggling to breathe, his face streaked with tears.

“Hey, baby,” he soothed. “I need you to breathe, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Scott shook his head, but he listened. Kip watched him take hitching lungfuls of air, hold them for a beat, and let them back out.

“Is Rozanov going to be okay?” he asked, once Scott had calmed down enough.

“I don’t know,” he said. The violent crying seemed to have calmed, a few stray tears still slipping through, but he wasn’t rocking anymore, and his face was calming down from its angry red as his breathing evened out. “They took him out on a spinal board. It looked really bad.”

“He’s tough,” Kip said then. “All you hockey boys are. He’s going to be okay, baby. You didn’t mean to hurt him like that.”

“You don’t get it,” Scott pressed, dread thickening his voice. “Shane looked… ruined, Kip. He shut down completely. Wouldn’t look at anyone. I’ve never seen him that lost.”

“Shane? What do you mean?” Kip asked, confused. What did Shane have to do with this?

“I think, maybe we misunderstood what was going on between them. God, the way he screamed when Rozanov went down. He called him Ilya-“

"What are you talking about?" Kip cut in. Scott couldn’t be serious.

“I don’t think they’re rivals, Kip,” Scott said, looking directly into the camera, eyes the clearest Kip had seen them since the start of the call. “He’s at the hospital right now. Coach got the address for him and sent Bennett along to keep an eye on him. He’s fucking distraught.”

"They’re together?" Kip asked.

"They have to be. I don’t know how they hid it."

"That explains why he wanted you to back off," Kip said.

"I don’t think he’ll forgive me. I just hope Rozanov is all right. What do I do?"

There wasn’t much good advice Kip could give about that. “Just be there,” he said. “Apologize to Shane and to Rozanov if you get the chance. If they haven’t told anyone, then there’s got to be a good reason why they don’t want anyone to know. Maybe you can do some damage control and make sure nobody else on the team says anything to anybody.”

Scott nodded. "He's Russian. Their laws are a lot different than ours. He could get in a lot of trouble if anyone there knew he was gay."

"Shit, Shane’s probably been trying to protect him—even if you all thought he was a homophobe," Kip said.

Scott nodded. “Yeah. I’ll talk to the team before Shane and Bennett get back.”

“Okay, baby,” Kip said. “It’s going to be okay, yeah? I love you. Call me after, or you can call me tomorrow if that’s better. Keep me updated.”

“I will,” Scott said. “Good night. I love you.”

Kip blew a kiss at the screen. “I love you too.”

Scott

Even after his conversation with Kip the night before, Scott hardly slept that night. He did as he said he would and went around to talk to the team, making sure to impress on everyone how dangerous it could be to share this secret and ask them to give Shane space until he was ready to talk. They were all really understanding, and most had already come to the same conclusions on their own.

Shane had already left for the hospital when Scott went down to grab breakfast, but Bennett was sitting at a table by himself, and Scott set his tray down to join him.

“Is Rozanov okay?” Scott asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah,” Bennett said. “Grade 3 concussion, but nothing’s broken, and he seemed lucid last night.”

“How’s Shane?” Scott asked, picking at his muffin. It was dry.

“He’s okay,” Bennett said, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork. “He wasn’t, not until he saw for himself that Rozanov was fine, but he’s okay now. Shaken up a bit, I think.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, focusing on his coffee. “Thanks for going with him last night.”

Bennett nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Couldn’t just leave him like that. I’m not sure who all on the Raiders figured it out, but Marlow knew already at least. He’s the one who told his coach to share what hospital they were at with Murdock.”

Scott nodded. “Good. Hopefully, the rest of his team is good about it, too. Seems like his coach was fine with him agreeing to reach out to Murdock in the first place. Some probably wouldn’t be so good with that.”

Bennett snorted. “Yeah,” he said, “I think LeClaire’s fine. Hopefully, it doesn’t come to that, though. That would be a really shit way to end up outed.”

“Shane probably wouldn’t forgive himself,” Scott said. Or me he thought, but didn't say out loud.

Later that day, they sat together on the bus to the airport. Bennett explained that Shane planned to meet them there. Scott felt terrible that Shane had to leave at all. It seemed incredibly unfair. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to do the same thing if it were Kip in that hospital bed. He guessed it at least helped that Shane knew Rozanov was doing as well as could be expected, that he was set to be discharged later that day, even.

When Shane met them at the airport, he kept his hood up, covering his face and had his headphones in. The message was clear: he wasn’t ready to talk. An airport was a terrible place for that kind of conversation anyway.

Scott knocked on Shane’s door that night instead.

Shane opened the door soon enough and stepped back to let him in.

“I’m so sorry,” Scott said, following Shane into the room and sitting on the lone armchair while Shane took the bed and sat with his knees hugged up to his chest.

“He’s going to be okay,” Shane assured, pulling at the sleeves of his hoodie. He sucked one of the strings into his mouth, worrying it between his upper teeth and his bottom lip.

“Have you guys been…” Scott hesitated. “Together,” he said. “For a while?”

Shane laughed, making eye contact for the first time since Scott walked in. “No,” he said. When Scott’s brow furrowed with confusion, he added. “But also yeah, kind of.”

“You know you have to explain that,” Scott prodded.

“We’ve been hooking up for a long time. Like, casually. We didn’t really start to talk about turning that into something more until after the game a few weeks ago,” Shane explained.

“The game where I punched him?” Scott clarified. Shane nodded. “I thought he was attacking you for being gay!”

Shane flinched, pain flickering across his face before he nodded again and shifted, finally uncurling his legs and crossing them loosely instead, jaw tense as he struggled for composure.

“Did he go to your hotel that night? Wait...that was a hickey on your neck? How’d I miss that?” Scott asked after Shane didn't say anything.

Shane laughed. “I freaked out when you texted that you and Kip were headed over.”

Scott groaned. “I knew you were hiding something!” he said. “Is he the one you’ve been texting this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Shane agreed. “Surprise?”

“I can’t believe you pulled this off. The league thinks you hate each other. Is the act on the ice, like, foreplay?”

“Pretty much,” Shane laughed at the expression of disgust that crossed Scott’s face. “Look,” he said. “I love being an Admiral, and I really appreciate you guys having my back, but you really don’t need to defend me from Ilya, okay?”

“Yeah, I’m getting that,” Scott agreed. “Okay. Well, this has been awkward. I mean it, though. I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to land your boyfriend in the hospital.”

“Thanks, Scott. But it’s ok. Really. That’s just hockey. We all accept the risks when we step out on the ice.”

“Still,” Scott said. “Tell Rozanov I apologized, yeah? I’ll have to apologize to him in person the next time I see him.”

Shane let him know he would, and soon enough Scott was back out in the hall, headed for his own room. They had early practice and a game tomorrow. He really needed to get some sleep.

Checking his phone as he reached for the charger, he saw an unread message from Kip.

Kip: How did it go?

Scott: Shane seems ok. He accepted my apology, and we talked for a bit. I’ll have to share the details with you when I get home.

Kip: Good, I’m glad he’s okay.

Kip: Does this mean we’re not trying to set him up with Kyle anymore?

Scott laughed. He imagined how well that would go over. He got the feeling Rozanov was a jealous type of guy, and Kyle went to the gym as regularly as Kip, but that didn’t mean he knew how to throw that weight around the way that Scott knew Rozanov absolutely could.

Scott: For Kyle’s health and safety, it’s definitely for the best that we drop it

Kip: Okay, but can we talk about how hot Rozanov is? Holy shit, good for Shane

Scott: Hey!

Scott: Can we not?

Kip, what? Jealous?

Scott: I just really don’t want to think about him like that. Or Shane. Or them, like, together. I know you don’t really get it, but the whole thing just feels so wrong.

Kip: ooo but the girlies love an enemies-to-lovers

Scott: What?

Kip: Don’t worry about it! I love you, good night!

Scott rolled his eyes. Kip could be so weird sometimes.

Scott: Love you too. Good night <3

Chapter End Notes

Well, I dropped a 45lb barbell on my toe at the gym this morning and wrote a few more chapters while feeling sorry for myself on the couch so... enjoy? Lol, not sure how great I will be about posting over the weekend but you know me, I probably won't be able to resist posting at least a couple more. Thank you again for the comments and kudos, it's been a lot of fun talking to you guys and hearing your thoughts on the story so far <3

Chapter 17: Contingency Plan

Chapter Summary

Shane picks Ilya up from Boston and brings him back to New York. With some solid advice from Scott, they start making contingencies for the future.

Chapter Notes

So, this chapter isn't nearly as smutty as chapter 11 but if you're not into smut and you want to skip it I recommend you stop reading at "Come kiss" and you can start back up again at "That night, he broached the subject-"

Shane

While the rest of his team left the airport to head home after their time spent on the road, Shane waited for a connecting flight to Boston. In a little over an hour, he would be able to see Ilya again and make sure that the stubborn, stoic Russian was actually doing as well as he said he was.

“Really, Shane,” Ilya said over the phone. Shane held it up to his ear as he sat and waited for his next flight to board. “I can drive to you. Doctors say I am okay to drive.”

“To the grocery store, Ilya, that’s not 5 hours to New York. Besides, I’m flying there, and we will take one of your cars. It’s not like you’re going to be stuck without your own transportation,” Shane argued for the tenth time that day.

“You will drive so slow. Will take forever,” Ilya complained. At this point, Shane was pretty sure he was just bored and taking any opportunity to distract himself from being confined to his couch with limited screen time.

“I will drive the speed limit, and it will take a normal amount of time,” Shane watched the gate. It looked like they were deplaning the incoming flight. Hopefully, they would start boarding soon.

“So boring,” Ilya sighed.

“How about safe and legal and an honest effort to keep you out of the hospital instead of sending you right back?”

“My car will cry at your boring driving.”

Shane laughed. He was getting some funny looks from the people around him. “I love you,” he said. “I’m hanging up because we’re about to board, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, yes, love you, too, boring Canadian man. See you soon.”

The flight itself was uneventful, and less than two hours later, a car dropped Shane off at Ilya’s house. He was standing at the door when Shane arrived, dressed for the road and suitcase ready.

Shane pulled him into a kiss, careful not to move too quickly and set off a headache. He kept it chaste. “I missed you,” he murmured into the space between Ilya’s lips.

“Hmm, missed you too,” Ilya replied, licking into his mouth and deepening the kiss. “The car can wait, no?”

Shane laughed. “No,” he said. “I want to make it to New York while we still have daylight. This can wait until we get there.”

Ilya pouted but didn’t protest. He handed his keys to Shane, and they closed and locked the door behind them. The car Ilya chose for the trip was his most practical, a simple Mercedes sedan that wouldn’t stand out among any other car on the road. Shane was just thankful that it was an automatic.

“Has Marlow been here with you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ilya replied. “He left this morning.”

“Good,” Shane said. “I’m glad he could stay. He seems like a good friend.”

Ilya smiled at that. “Yes, Marly is good,” he said. “He likes you.”

Shane laughed again, remembering the hospital waiting room. It had been tense and terrible, but he remembered Marlow laughing and saying as much then, too.

“He is wrong,” Ilya continued. “Because he thinks you are funny. Does not know you are very boring.”

“You’re lucky you’re recovering from a concussion, and I can’t hit you right now,” Shane said.

They arrived at the car, and Ilya walked to the passenger side. “Oh? My injury is all that saves me from your abuse? That is very bad, Shane. You said you love me.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Get in,” he said, then opened the driver's side door and climbed in himself. Ilya followed shortly after.

They made a few stops on the way to New York to break up the drive and use the restroom as needed, but overall they made good time and had little incident. Ilya was more prone to motion sickness from the concussion and ended up sleeping most of the way there, the anti-nausea medication making him drowsy. Despite hoping to finish the drive before night fell, it was dark by the time they hit the congested streets of New York. The underground parking garage for Shane’s building was quiet when they arrived, most people having already returned home and gone up to their apartments.

Shane took Ilya’s bag for him and ignored his scowl of protest.

“It rolls, Hollander. I can roll a bag,” Ilya protested on their way to the elevator.

“And yet,” Shane said. “You don’t have to. Come on, the faster we get upstairs, the faster we can go to sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

“This is why you should have let me drive down. You did not need to come get me. Is long day for you.”

Shane ignored the overdone argument and punched in his floor's number. Lazy handjobs in the shower might be about all he had energy for by the time they made it through the door.

The next morning, the doorbell rang while Ilya lazed on the couch and Shane puttered around the kitchen.

“I’ve got it!” Shane called, though Ilya made no move to get up. His head was bothering him that morning, and he lay with an arm stretched over his eyes to block out the light that got past the closed curtains. The TV was most definitely off.

“Morning,” Scott said when Shane opened the door. He spotted Ilya on the couch.

“You know you’re not going to be able to keep this a secret forever,” he said, following Shane in and over to the living room.

“That’s rich coming from you, Scott,” Shane said. He should probably feel bad; he knew Scott meant well, but it had been a difficult morning, and he was too tired to bother with a filter.

“I have a plan and a statement prepared with my agent just in case. Do you?” Scott asked, seemingly unaffected by the bite in Shane’s sarcasm.

“No,” Shane admitted.

“Agent is Russian,” Ilya grumbled. “So no.”

Scott looked horrified. “You should fix that,” he said. “By some miracle, nobody connected Shane’s reaction at the game to the truth, but that luck won’t last forever. Shane’s agent has done a really good job helping him weather the storm of being outed; maybe she could take you, too? That might make planning easier.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” Shane admitted, looking over at Ilya. “I could talk to Farah if you want?”

Ilya sighed. “My head hurts too much for this right now,” he said.

“I know I asked Shane to give you my apologies, but I really am sorry about that, Rozanoff.”

Ilya scoffed. “Was lucky hit for you, Hunter. Don’t think it will happen again.”

Scott grimaced and made eye contact with Shane as if to say, “Seriously? This is the guy you chose to be with?”

Shane laughed. “I’ll send her an email and see if she’s available for a video call later today. I can bring it up with her first to test the waters. I’ll just say I’m dating another hockey player and that we’re worried his agent won’t be supportive. She doesn’t have to know the details yet.”

“She will tell your mother,” Ilya protested.

“She works for me, not my mom,” Shane denied. Ilya waved the hand that wasn’t covering his face in denial of Shane’s claim.

“The world works for Yuna Hollander. She will know.”

Scott shifted in the armchair. Shane should probably offer him some coffee or something so he wouldn’t feel so left out.

“Well,” Shane said, getting up to go get some coffee from the kitchen for himself and Scott. “I was going to tell Mom soon, anyway. It’s better if she finds out from us than the press, and Christmas is coming up. You could come to the cottage with us.”

Ilya smiled, the expression just visible under the shadow of his forearm. “You want to bring me home to meet parents?” he asked. He sounded excited, even though he still came off as grumpy from dealing with a headache. Shane instantly worried he was already making some kind of devious plan.

“It’s Christmas,” Shane said, like that was enough of an explanation. “And I know you don’t do anything for our Christmas anyway.”

Scott coughed. “If you want, I can, uh- go…”

Shane waved him off and handed over a cup of coffee. “No,” he said. “It’s fine. I wanted to ask if it was okay for Ilya to know about, ah… you know.”

Scott reddened. “He doesn’t know?”

“He is right here,” Ilya griped from the couch. “He will know now. What are you talking about?”

“I have a, ah- boyfriend,” Scott explained. “Kip. He lives with me a few floors up, but he’s in class right now.”

“You are cradle robber?” Ilya asked.

“What? No!” Scott denied. “Why would you even say that?”

“Your boyfriend is still in school, no? Is that not too young for dating dinosaur?”

“Oh my god, he’s in grad school. He’s not a kid, Rozanov,” Scott explained.

“He’s our age,” Shane added.

“Still gross,” Ilya griped. “Scott is so old.”

Shane laughed, looking over at Scott for his reaction. If Ilya wasn’t careful, Scott might give him another concussion.

“I’m 3 years older than you,” he deadpanned.

“Hmm, seems like more. Is that gray hair in your beard?” Ilya provoked. The effect was softened by the arm that still covered his eyes, making it extra obvious he wasn’t seeing a single gray and was just pulling Scott’s leg.

The conversation wound down, and Scott asked if they needed anything. When Shane assured him that they would be okay, he left for his own apartment to run errands.

“Finally!” Ilya said. “Thought old man would never leave!”

He let his arm fall from his face and smiled at Shane. “Headache is okay now. Come kiss?”

Laughing, Shane put his coffee cup down and shifted on the couch to hover over Ilya’s sprawled form. He covered Ilya’s lips with his own, delving into his mouth with an easy sigh.

“Want you,” Ilya groaned, taking control of the kiss and grabbing Shane by the hips to drag him down against Ilya’s very interested dick.

“Ilya,” Shane moaned. He rocked his hips against him and cupped his face in both hands. Ilya’s hands slipped up his shirt, one hand holding his back for leverage while the other spread out over his stomach and trailed down to the waistband of his joggers.

“Can I suck you?” Shane asked, licking at the shell of Ilya’s ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. He pulled, and Ilya groaned and thrust up against him.

“Yes, Hollander. Fuck. Be good boy, and suck me,” Ilya demanded. He pulled the waistband of his own track pants down, freeing his erect cock.

Shane wasted no time in biting his way down Ilya’s torso and taking him into his mouth. He laved at the head with his tongue, lapped at his slit and braced himself to slide Ilya all the way back into his throat.

“Fuck, Shane. You’re so fucking good at this. Made to have my cock in your mouth,” Ilya praised. Shane hummed and hollowed his cheeks, using one hand to cradle Ilya’s balls while the other provided friction for his own dick.

It didn’t take long before Ilya was coming down Shane’s throat. As soon as he finished, he tugged at Shane’s hair to bring him up for a kiss.

“I love you,” he groaned, shifting a thigh to provide friction for Shane to rub against. “Love you so much. Fuck my leg, Hollander. Want to see you come.”

Shane cried out as he did just that, sent over the edge by Ilya’s words as much as he was by the friction. He came in his pants with a groan and lay breathless and gasping into Ilya’s neck.

“I love you too,” he said when he had enough air. “So fucking much.”

Ilya smiled and buried his fingers in Shane’s hair, kissing his temple. “Come shower with me,” he said.

Shane’s face twisted as the cum sticking to his pants registered on his skin. “Yeah,” he said. “This is gross.”

Ilya laughed. “Come on, Hollander. You can wash my hair, make sure my terrible concussion doesn’t make me fall in the shower and die an embarrassing death.”

“Don’t even joke about that!” Shane groaned. “You’re not the one who had to sit through the rest of that game thinking no one would even tell you if I died or not. It’s not funny.”

“Is a little funny,” Ilya said. “Now, maybe. The whole team knows because Hollander is so obvious he can’t keep a secret.”

“I might kill you myself,” Shane said, following him into the bathroom and peeling his clothes off to stow in the hamper.

“Will not,” Ilya denied. “You would miss my dick.”

Shane rolled his eyes and went to the large walk-in shower, hand outstretched to pull Ilya in behind him.

That night, he broached the subject of his hockey player boyfriend with Farah over the phone, and she agreed that it would be easier to work with them on a plan if she were their agent. With that in mind, he and Ilya made a plan to drop his Russian agent and work on contingencies. Scott was right; the way things were going, they definitely weren’t going to be able to keep this a secret forever, and both of them would feel better if they had a solid plan.

“What will you do?” Shane asked that night as they lay tangled together between the sheets. “If we’re outed, and you can’t go back to Russia?”

“I don’t know,” Ilya said. “My brother is an asshole. I don’t care what happens with Alexei, but he has a daughter. My niece. I want to help her have a good life.”

Shane hummed, stroking his fingers through Ilya’s curls and tracing down from his temple to his jaw.

“My father is sick,” Ilya whispered next. “Bad sick.”

“Like cancer?” Shane asked.

“Dementia,” Ilya said. “And he is proud. Will not accept nurse.”

Shane frowned; it was just barely visible in the dark. “Could you set money aside for them with a trustee? Someone you hire to manage the money and help them with bills?”

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. Will need to talk to a lawyer.”

Shane leant forward and kissed him. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I can help. And my mom is really good at logistics.”

“Yes, this I know,” Ilya laughed. “Mama Hollander to rescue.”

Shane smiled and kissed the corner of Ilya’s smile. “I love you,” he said. “Good night.”

“Good night, Shane. Я тебя люблю.”

Chapter End Notes

Scott has had Ilya in the same building for less than a day and he's already over it! When I say this fic practically writes itself, I mean it. This has been so fun to work on. I can't believe how quickly it's coming together! If I had to guess, I would say we're probably about halfway through (though I might already have some ideas for a sequel). Anyways, until next time! <3

Chapter 18: Boys' Night

Chapter Summary

Shane introduces Ilya to Kyle and the boys have a fun night in cheering for the Admirals (though Ilya will forever deny that any cheering took place).

Chapter Notes

So.... for anyone who wants to skip the smut, you should probably skip the part in Shane's POV from when he calls Kyle through to the time transition that starts "The Admirals had a game the next night..."

Kip

Kip left Scott in the kitchen with Ilya and went to find Shane. It was two days after Scott's road trip, with their first game of the homestand coming up. Practice that morning was optional, and Scott said Shane had actually stayed home, no doubt due to the sexy Russian he and Scott knew had invaded Shane's home. Said Russian was in the kitchen now making dinner for everyone. His ability to cook definitely didn't make him any less hot.

“Hey,” Kip said, walking over to sit next to Shane on the couch. Shane looked up, put his phone down and managed a small smile, but his shoulders stayed tense. “You holding up okay?” Kip asked, picking up on the tension.

“Yeah,” Shane replied after a pause. “The last few games were rough, but I’m glad we’re back.” He glanced toward the kitchen, the corners of his mouth twitching between uncertainty and relief. “It’s weird having Ilya here all the time, but also just really nice.”

"Too bad it took a concussion to get him here," Kip said, then winced. "I shouldn't joke. Scott's still having nightmares, I think."

“Pretty sure we all are,” Shane agreed. “Except Ilya. He’s pretty unfazed, actually. If it wasn’t making him take so much time on LTIR in the middle of the season, he probably wouldn’t even care.”

“He won’t be out too long, though, right?” Kip asked. “He seems like he’s doing really well.”

"He still gets headaches," Shane said. "They make him pretty nauseous. I don't think they'll let him back on the ice soon—too risky for Second Impact Syndrome. If he's symptom-free for a week, they might allow no-contact drills before his minimum LTIR is up."

A crash came from the kitchen, like a pan hitting the floor. Shane jumped up.

“I’m okay!” Ilya called before Shane could rush to the kitchen. “Sit down! Hunter can help me make dinner. No Hollanders in the kitchen!”

Shane scowled and sat back down. Kip laughed at him. “That bad, huh?”

“I’m really not that bad of a cook!” Shane protested.

“He thinks salt is seasoning,” Ilya rebuffed from the kitchen. “Never let this man cook for you. Is terrible.”

“How would you even know?” Shane asked. “I have never once cooked you dinner.”

“I have read your interviews,” Ilya said. “I do not need more evidence. I will cook.”

Kip could hear Scott laughing at them in the kitchen. He felt relieved—maybe this playful moment would help Scott see that Shane was actually doing fine dating his rival from another team. So far, Kip sensed Scott was unconvinced. Kip worried that maybe Scott was letting his role as captain and protector color his judgment, especially with all the mother-henning of Shane and his concerns over his dating life.

“Have you told Kyle about him yet?” Kip asked, returning to the subject he actually came in here to talk about.

"No, not yet," Shane said. "I want to. He can keep secrets, so that's not the worry. I'm just concerned he and Ilya could get along too well. That's a lot of chaos for one house."

Kip laughed and nodded. “You should tell him soon,” he cautioned. “Don’t make my mistakes.”

Shane shot him a commiserating look. “I won’t,” he said.

By some miracle, Ilya and Scott didn't kill each other in the kitchen, and all four sat down to dinner. They didn't stay long after, leaving Ilya and Shane to their evening.

“You know,” Kip said once they were in the elevator on the way up to their floor. “I think I like him. He seems like he’s good for Shane.”

Scott scowled. “I don’t know,” he said. “Shane doesn’t always speak up for himself as he should. I worry about him with a guy like Rozanov.”

“Are we talking about the same Shane?” Kip asked. “Because that man does not take shit from anybody. You should trust him more, babe. If he says he’s happy, let it go at that. Maybe you need to actually get to know Ilya.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “He’s just… such an asshole.”

“So is Wagner,” Kip pointed out and laughed. “You like him well enough.”

“Wagner’s harmless, though. It’s different.”

Kip shook his head, looking Scott in the eye. “You barely met the guy. You don’t know that. Give him a chance. Don’t you owe Shane that much, at least?”

Scott groaned but nodded, conceding. Kip silently counted it as a win, watching Scott for any lingering doubt.

Shane

Later that evening, after Scott and Kip had left, Shane asked, “Are you sure you’re ok with me telling him?” It was probably the sixth time since dinner.

Ilya groaned in exasperation and buried his face in the fabric covering Shane’s stomach. “Yes, Hollander,” he said. “You can tell your stylist bartender about me. He should know you are taken anyway. I won’t share.”

“Oh my god, Ilya, it’s so not like that. He doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“You are terrible at knowing when people have crush on you. I have not met him and can not trust your judgement,” Ilya replied. Shane could tell from his tone that he was completely serious, too.

“Whatever,” Shane groaned. He pulled out his phone and pulled up Kyle’s number, then listened to the line ring as he waited for him to pick up.

“Hey,” Kyle said on the third ring. “What’s up?”

Shane played with Ilya’s hair, prompting him to look up at him with a sleepy smile. “Well,” Shane said. “We got back a couple of days ago, and uh... I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh?” Kyle asked, sounding intrigued. “A special someone?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Shane laughed. “I kind of started dating someone about a month ago. He doesn’t live in New York, so I don’t get to see him that often, but he’s staying with me for… reasons, and I thought it might be nice if you could meet him while he’s here.”

Ilya rolled his eyes, probably at Shane’s phrasing. Obviously growing bored just listening in on the conversation, he lifted the hem of Shane’s sweatshirt and mouthed along the bare skin above his waistband. Shane swatted at him.

“Yes, I want to meet him,” Kyle said. “Obviously. Oh my god, my friends have got to stop hiding their secret boyfriends from me! How did you meet?”

Shane tried to answer, but he was getting distracted. Ilya had lowered the waistband of his sweats and was nibbling the skin there, just inches away from Shane’s dick, which was embarrassingly interested in the proceedings.

“He uh, he plays hockey,” Shane said, hoping he didn’t sound too out of breath. He covered the receiver with one hand and mouthed “stop it” at Ilya. Ilya, of course, had no interest in listening to him and kept full eye contact while pulling Shane’s pants all the way past his hips.

“Are all hockey players secretly gay?” Kyle asked, sounding flabbergasted.

Shane choked. Ilya had his dick in his mouth, and it was getting harder to hold the thread of the conversation.

“Pretty sure he’s bi, actually. We haven’t,” Shane cut off, bit his hand to stifle a moan and sucked in a breath. “We haven’t talked about it,” he wheezed into the phone.

Ilya’s cheeks hollowed around Shane’s cock, the wet sounds of his mouth as he slid up and down felt obscenely loud in the silent apartment. Shane worried Kyle could hear them through the phone.

“Hey,” he said, voice high on a whine. “Let me call you back, I gotta go.”

Ilya popped off his dick with a smirk.

“What the fuck, Ilya?” Shane demanded, aghast.

“You seemed very interested,” Ilya said, running a relaxed finger gently from root to tip down Shane’s cock.

Shane groaned and threw his head back over the back of the couch. “You’re such an asshole,” he said. “You better finish what you fucking started.”

Ilya was more than happy to comply.

The Admirals had a game the next night, so Kyle came over for lunch instead of dinner. He brought takeout from the restaurant down the street with him and knocked on the door, bag in hand.

“Hi!” Shane greeted, opening the door. “Come on in, Ilya will be right in.”

Kyle walked in and set the bag of takeout on the kitchen island. He smiled at Shane and sat at one of the barstools. “Ilya, huh?” he asked.

Before Shane had a chance to respond, Ilya walked in from the bedroom. His curls were still damp from the shower, shirt clinging to his damp skin.

“Oh wow,” Kyle said. “Fucking nice one, Shane.”

Shane grinned. "Kyle, meet Ilya. Ilya, Kyle."

"Nice to meet you," Ilya said, words curling around his Russian accent exaggeratedly as he extended his hand.

“Have I seen you before?” Kyle asked. “I don’t really keep up with hockey, but you look pretty familiar.”

“You’ve probably seen him in ads on TV,” Shane explained. “I think Ilya’s second only to me in endorsements and sponsorships.”

“I like to model for cars,” Ilya said. “You like cars?”

Kyle grinned. "I like hot men in cars. So, you also play hockey, but don't live in New York?"

“No,” Ilya agreed. “I play for Boston. Much better team, Shane is very jealous.”

Shane shook his head. "You’re lucky you’re concussed. I swear I'm going to hit you the minute I get medical clearance."

“Is not true,” Ilya said. “You love me. You tell me this every day.”

Shane crossed behind the kitchen island and planted a kiss on Ilya’s cheek. “I do,” he said. “But you’re still an asshole. Go sit down, and we’ll eat.”

Kyle took a plate. "You’ve been together a month?"

“Give or take,” Ilya answered for Shane. “We have known each other for a long time.”

“Oh?” Kyle asked. “Just how long is a long time?”

Shane smiled at Ilya, then turned to face Kyle. “Since before our rookie season, really. We’ve only officially been together for about a month, but we’ve been together in one way or another a lot longer than that.”

“That’s really sweet, actually,” Kyle said, looking back and forth between them. “I’m really happy for you two. How come you’re here, though? Doesn’t your own team need you?”

Ilya laughed. “Scott Hunter gave me concussion!” he exclaimed with a wide grin. “Now he has to deal with me for three whole weeks!”

“Wait,” Kyle protested. “Kip’s Scott?”

“Unfortunately,” Shane sighed.

"How did that happen?" Kyle cried.

“He thought I was mean to Shane because Shane is gay,” Ilya explained.

“He thought you were homophobic?” Kyle laughed so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes. “This might be the funniest shit I’ve heard all week, and I work at a bar. How the fuck did that happen?”

"Someone slams me into the boards every chance he gets," Shane griped.

Ilya gave an overdramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "Me? I just play hockey. Is my job, Shane!"

"And Scott thought he was straight? Does he have no gaydar at all?" Kyle guffawed.

Shane just shrugged. "He's European," he said, like that was an explanation.

"I’m done,” Kyle declared when he could catch his breath enough to respond. “That might be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I know getting that concussion had to have sucked, man, but I’m so glad you’re here, and I get to meet you.”

Ilya was smiling, a broad, genuine grin that lit up his whole face. It might have been the most beautiful Shane had ever seen him be. He blossomed under Kyle’s attention, thrived getting to sit here and joke with one of Shane’s friends. Is this how it would be once more people knew about them? Would he get to share Ilya with the ones he cared about and watch him glow under their attention? He wanted to frame a picture of that moment on the wall so he could show everyone who came by and say, "This is him, this is the man I’m so hopelessly in love with, isn’t he beautiful?"

They didn’t have much time together before Shane had to leave for the game, but Kyle was off work that night and asked if Ilya wanted some company to watch Shane play. Shane felt warm knowing that Ilya wouldn’t be alone, and that Kyle could come to care for Ilya as much as he had come to care for Shane in the few short weeks since Shane wandered into the Kingfisher.

Kip

Kip wandered down to Shane’s apartment 20 minutes before the game was set to start with a case of beer and a bag full of snacks that he knew Shane would never let past his front door.

“Hi!” he said as soon as the door opened. Instead of Ilya, it was Kyle who answered, looking bemused.

“We should probably stop meeting like this,” Kyle joked.

“KYLE!” Kip called happily, rolling through the door to put his contraband down so he could pull Kyle into a hug. “You’re here!”

Kyle laughed. “Yeah, yeah, let go,” he cajoled.

"What’s all this?" Ilya asked, eyeing the bags and beer.

“I figured Shane wouldn’t have left you with anything to enjoy the game with,” Kip explained. “And I know you need to limit your alcohol intake, but one beer can’t hurt too badly when you’re watching your boyfriend play from the couch, right?”

Ilya smiled and pulled Kip into a side hug. “You are much too good for Hunter,” he said. “Come, watch the game with us on the couch. We will leave crumbs everywhere and make Shane so red when he is home later, no?”

Kyle chuckled. "Hope you know where the vacuum is, or Shane will have you sleeping on the couch with those crumbs."

Ilya kept himself to one beer and filled up on chips while Kip and Kyle split the rest of the case between them.

"Are all hockey players this hot?" Kyle asked as the camera zoomed in on Eric Bennett. There was a break in play and the goalie for the Admirals used the opportunity to take his helmet off, hair plastered to his forehead as he reached behind the net for his water bottle and squirted a thick stream of water into his open mouth.

“No,” Ilya laughed. “Bennett is exception. You have good taste. Have you seen Dallas Kent? That man is ugly motherfucker,” he said.

Kip rolled with laughter on the couch. “Oh my god,” he said. “Or that one guy that plays for Denver? I never remember his name, but he has like no teeth. And he doesn’t get implants or anything! It's wild!”

Ilya nodded and tipped his beer at Kip. “Yes,” he said. “Is like this,” he agreed.

“Well, Scott’s nice to look at least,” Kyle continued. “And Shane is a total babe. Nice one locking him down, Ilya. I’m happy for you, man. Granted, you’re not bad to look at yourself. Maybe all the hot hockey players are just queer?”

“Nah,” Kip denied. “Bennett’s been married to Holly for ages. I hardly ever see her pop up in the WAG chat, and she’s been pretty distant this season, but I heard they met in college or something.”

"No hot sugar daddy hockey players for me. Guess I’ll have to make my own way," Kyle sighed.

Kip smiled at him. “I tell you what, if I hear about anyone else coming out on the team, you’ll be the first to know.”

The trio laughed and clinked the necks of their beer bottles together. Kip loved this. Just over a month ago, he was looking down the barrel of another long season pretending he wasn’t hopelessly in love with the captain of the Admirals, and here he was sitting on a couch with Kyle and Scott’s teammate's boyfriend, booing the refs and talking shit about the other team as they cheered the Admirals on. This was a much better way to live.

Chapter End Notes

Well, I'm spending a lot less time editing these days and I'm not sure if it's because I'm getting sloppy or if I'm just getting more comfortable with the characters and setting. Hope you enjoyed some Ilya and Kyle interaction! Poor Kyle got Haydened, although I honestly don't think he would mind if he figured it out. What do you think? Have you noticed a change in quality with less editing? I'm probably too close to it and biased to say lol

Thank you as always for the kudos and comments, I always get so excited to hear what you think <3

Chapter 19: Scout's Honor

Chapter Summary

Shane plays his first game back in New York, later he and Ilya make concrete plans with Farah moving forward.

Chapter Notes

Shane

The Admirals' locker room buzzed with noise when Shane arrived for their first home game back. He’d stayed late to make sure Ilya and Kyle were set, so most teammates were already there. Used to being early, walking into chaos threw him off.

“HOLLZY!” Cam cried when he walked in, bag slung over one shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us your boyfriend was staying over?”

“How do you even know that?” Shane asked, laughing as he walked into the room. He wasn’t sure whether the team was just collectively ignoring the part where his boyfriend is Rozanov, or if they really didn’t care. They hadn’t stopped ribbing him about it all morning at practice, though at the time it didn’t seem like they knew he was in New York. Apparently, the grace period after experiencing the traumatic near-death of his rival boyfriend ended the minute the team found out that said boyfriend was fine and going to make a full recovery. Shane blamed Bennett.

Wagner grinned and nudged Shane, filling the pause. “How’s Rozy with being a househusband? I heard he made you dinner last night!” Shane blushed, making the team chuckle even louder.

“Did you bug my house? What the fuck, guys?” Shane cried, looking from one cackling face to another.

"Oh man, he’s not trying to poison you, is he?" Vaughn laughed. "I mean, it might be the only way his team makes it to the playoffs, but that seems pretty low, even for him."

“Scott!” Shane yelled in a voice rarely heard from him, flat and deadly. “Have you been talking to the team about Ilya?”

Scott shuffled, smiling sheepishly and ruffling his hair. “I just said we had dinner. They’ve uh… had a lot of questions.”

Breezy, the rookie, crossed the locker room with his phone, confidence growing.

“Oh man, have you guys seen this video? It has over a million views!” he chuckled, walking over with a glint in his eye that Shane knew he didn’t like.

“What video?” Wagner asked, leaning over Breezy’s shoulder.

“My girlfriend sent me this. Apparently, there are a bunch of people online who think Hollander and Rozanov have been secretly together since like their rookie year or something.”

Shane shrieked, staring in disbelief.

Cam cackled, bending in half with laughter and bracing his hands on his knees.

Brisebois smirked at the team. “Someone posted game footage on YouTube. Their lip reader friend figured out what Shane said to Roz, and now they’re ranting that this proves ‘Hollanov’ is real.”

“Shane,” Bennett said, apparently noticing that Shane had shifted from embarrassed to panicked. He placed a warm hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Breathe. You’re not outed; they do this all the time. No actual media source has published anything and they’re not going to.”

“Oh!” Breezy looked startled, as if he hadn’t considered that this might be more frightening than funny for Shane. He hesitated before adding, “Yeah, no, there’s a million of these going back for years. Nobody actually thinks these are real.”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure whoever posted it thinks it's real,” Cam said, his usual unhelpfulness in the locker room seeping into his tone.

Wagner leaned back, shaking his head. “Man, the internet is going to break when this gets out. Sheer chaos.”

Shane shook his head, about to respond, when Coach stormed into the room and looked around. “Why the fuck are none of you dressed yet?” he barked. “Get on the fucking ice!” His abrupt entrance brought the conversation to a sharp halt.

“YES, COACH!” the team cried at once, turning back to their lockers.

Shane gave a deep sigh of relief.

“Sorry about them,” Scott said, his voice a whisper as he sat to lace his skates. “They mean well, I promise.”

Shane laughed quietly, shaking his head. “This team is so weird.”

“I wish you could bring Rozanov out with us, after. I don’t think there’s any way the paps would miss that, though,” Scott continued.

“Yeah, no,” Bennett added from Scott’s other side. “Shane already saw firsthand how the paps circle that bar like sharks in the water after every home game.”

The two laughed, and Shane shook his head. Not wanting to provoke Coach any more than they already had, the team was soon filing out onto the ice for warmups. They had a game against one of the West Coast teams that night, which, combined with it being a weeknight, drew a somewhat smaller crowd.

“Is it just me, or is that a ‘Hollanov’ sign?” Wagner pointed out, eyes streaming with laughter.

“Oh my god, that’s not funny, Wagner!” Shane protested.

“One hit on the ice and teenage girls all across America are losing their collective minds. I love this for you,” Wagner replied, cackling.

The video was one thing, but an actual sign at a game? Anxiety gnawed at Shane’s stomach for the first time since Bennett explained that the media hadn’t picked up on Shane’s rush to the hospital after Ilya's concussion. Sure, maybe the mainstream media didn’t know yet, but this increased scrutiny from fans wasn't going to help them keep this a secret. Shane really needed to talk to Farah again.

“Leave him alone,” Scott demanded, skating up to Shane and Wagner.

The game itself was nothing to write home about. The other team wasn’t terrible, but they also didn’t put up much of a fight, and Bennett netted himself another shutout for the season.

Shane skipped going out to celebrate with the team that night, and nobody asked why. Instead, they all shot him knowing looks and rude gestures. Maybe it would be less embarrassing if they were homophobic? Shane was starting to worry his face might stay red forever at this point.

When he got back home, he found Kyle and Ilya were both on the couch with the added bonus of Kip. There were empty beer bottles strewn across the coffee table, with a half-empty bottle of vodka. A crumpled pretzel bag lay on the floor with chip bags littering the sofa cushions.

“We’ll clean it up!” Kip cried, waving his hands before Shane even had a chance to say anything. He hiccupped, and Kyle laughed at him, face flushed.

“Are you drunk?” Shane ignored Kip’s statement, grabbed beer bottles, and rinsed them at the sink. He met Ilya’s gaze over Kip’s shoulder; Ilya smiled.

“They are so drunk,” Ilya said. Shane narrowed his eyes at him in scrutiny, but it didn’t look like Ilya was drunk, either. Granted, it could be harder to tell with him.

“You are recovering from a concussion,” Shane said, voice full of reproach for the man.

“I had one beer, promise,” Ilya said, holding up a hand with three fingers raised. “Scout’s honor.”

“Who even taught you that?” Shane laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking delight!” Kyle crowed, beaming as he stood from the couch, gripping the back for support. Kip slouched beside him, making no move to get up. Shane pulled out his phone and quickly texted Scott, letting him know he’d need to pick up his boyfriend when he got back—Shane doubted Kip could make it to the elevator alone.

“I like… Ilya,” Kip smiled, his statement broken by another hiccup.

“You are like cartoon,” Ilya cooed, pinching Kip’s cheek. “So cute. You must leave Scott so I can set you up with someone better.”

“Nooooo,” Kip cried.

“Yeeees,” Ilya teased. Kyle laughed and draped himself over the back of the couch to keep from falling over.

“Well,” Shane said. “Kyle, you should probably just stay in the guest room. There’s a toothbrush in there you can use. Ilya will get you something to wear.”

“I will?” Ilya asked, amused.

Shane glared at him. “You let them get like this, you deal with it.”

Ilya laughed and disappeared into Shane’s bedroom to grab something for Kyle to sleep in. By the time Scott arrived, Kyle had already changed clothes and passed out in the guest room. Seeing this, Scott just shook his head in amusement at Shane as he walked in.

“SCOTT!” Kip shouted, rolling from the couch to the floor with a goofy smile on his face.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” Scott laughed, smiling and shaking his head at Shane before going to collect his drunk puddle of a boyfriend. “See you at practice tomorrow!”

The next morning, Shane and Ilya were already in the kitchen when Kyle stumbled in. Shane had two cups of coffee poured already and pulled down a third mug while Ilya added a couple more eggs to the frying pan.

“It’s way too early,” Kyle complained, stumbling to the kitchen island and slumping into a barstool.

“Yes, well, some of us have to go to work today,” Shane laughed, taking a sip of his smoothie and knowing perfectly well that it was the sound of the blender that woke Kyle up.

Kyle sighed. “I have to get to class anyway,” he said. His next statement came through on a dramatic groan. “How much did we drink last night?”

Ilya laughed. “Too much shitty American vodka. Here, eat.” He slid toast and eggs to Kyle, who looked green and picked at the food.

Shane took pity on him and slid him a cup of coffee. “Ilya will be here all day, so if you need to stay for a bit to ride out the hangover, you’re welcome to.”

Ilya pouted. “Concussion is worst,” he said. “So boring, staying here like guilty little secret, Hollander.”

“Well,” Shane said. “I guess I can always call Marlow up and let him know you want to come home. Would save me from having to put up with your whining all the time, at least.”

“Oh, please,” Ilya smirked. “You would be sad. No more morning blowjobs.”

Kyle laughed, fighting through the hangover to high-five Ilya over the island.

“On that note,” Shane said. “I have practice to get to. Don’t burn the house down.”

Ilya

Ilya spent the time while Shane was at practice cleaning the living room after the chaos of the night before and running laundry. Kyle wasn’t wrong when he said Ilya was going to have to vacuum the crumbs off the couch. They were everywhere, between the seat cushions, under them, crammed up against the back, in the little crevices of the fabric; it really was a mess. Since he already had the vacuum out, he went ahead and did the whole condo. He had a nice break from his headache that day, so he might as well make the most of it.

He knew he was probably just trying to keep his mind off the scheduled video call with Farah that he and Shane had set for that afternoon. Shane was worried, and though Ilya wished there was no good reason for Shane’s anxiety, he knew that it was well-founded. It was one thing to hide a hookup now and then, but neither of them was cut out to hide a relationship like this long term, and they were under too much public scrutiny to think they could get away with it forever.

He did think the video was funny, though. And the other videos, he had gone back and watched. His favorite was a compilation of little clips of them in interviews, on the ice, teasing each other during warmups. Maybe they had never been as good at hiding things as Ilya thought.

He had his laptop pulled up and ready on the kitchen island when Shane walked in, hair still damp from showering after practice.

“Thank you for cleaning,” Shane said, kissing Ilya on the temple and sliding into the seat next to him. They navigated to the video invitation link and joined the waiting room. Moments later, Farah’s amused face filled the screen.

“Hello, Shane,” she greeted first, then smirked. “And Mr. Rozanov, I presume? I got the forms you emailed earlier. Everything is squared away so that we can move forward. It’s a pleasure representing you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jalali,” Ilya smiled, draping an arm over the low back of the barstool Shane sat in.

“Please, call me Farah,” the agent asked. “You’ll be hearing from me a lot from now on.”

“Then you must call me Ilya.”

Farah smiled and nodded. “All right then,” she said. “Let’s get started. Shane was right to contact me about this. We definitely need a plan. Now, Shane has a photo shoot with Vogue scheduled around All Stars in February. I think they would eat up a chance to have you in it.”

Shane and Ilya looked at each other, equally confused. “Together?” Shane asked.

“Look,” Farah explained. “We know this won’t be a secret forever. You told me that in our phone call this morning, and I agree, Shane. What we need to do now is prepare the public so it’s not such a shock. If you do Vogue together, we can start to get the public used to seeing you in a different light.”

Ilya nodded. “I like this,” he said, rubbing little circles on Shane’s hip with his fingers to soothe him. “And it would be hot, no?” he asked, smirking at Shane conspiratorially.

“You want to feed into the Hollanov angle?” Shane clarified, looking from Farah to Ilya. “Is that really a good idea?”

“I mean,” Farah started. “In a way, you already have some fans in your corner. And for others, it will have them start to question the rivalry. There will be an interview portion, where you can speak supportively about each other.”

“Okay,” Shane said. Ilya didn’t think he looked too convinced, but it was a start, at least. “What else?”

“I think it would be a good idea to have you seen out together. We can spin Ilya being in New York to see a specialist after his injury, especially since he lined up a few anyway to meet the league’s demands. We’ll have you papped getting lunch together after an appointment, and I’ll look into what games might be best for him to show up and come watch.

“Isn’t this a bit fast, though? We’re not trying to actually come out yet, we just want to be ready in case we get figured out.”

“No,” Ilya said. “Must start now, I think. Too much history.”

“Ilya is right,” Farah agreed. “We need to show the two of you as friends first. People need to see that it’s not interfering with how you play on the ice either.”

“Shane,” Ilya sighed. “This will come out. Today, tomorrow, next week, or next season. We know this.”

Shane bit his bottom lip. “But what about you?” he asked. “Are you really ready for that?”

“да,” Ilya said. “I have started work with the attorney Farah recommended. They will help with my father and my niece. Coach knows and does not care. My job is safe enough, and I will work more on residency with a different lawyer. Will be okay.”

Shane studied his hands in his lap. “Okay,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Farah spoke gently when she interrupted them, “Ilya will be fine, Shane. He’s in a way better position for residency than most, considering his job here and celebrity status. No one is going to force him back to Russia.”

“Okay,” Shane said. Ilya leaned over to lay a gentle kiss on his jaw and tightened his hold around Shane’s waist. They talked strategy for the rest of the video call, and when it was over, Ilya pulled Shane over to the couch with him and sat on his lap, pressing him into the deep cushions of the large sectional.

“I love you,” Ilya murmured, framing Shane’s face with one hand, resting the other over the back of the couch. He planted little kisses across Shane’s cheeks and the tip of his nose then kissed him gently on the lips.

“I love you too, Ilya,” Shane sighed. Ilya took advantage of his sigh to lean in for a deeper kiss.

“Will be okay,” Ilya reassured. “We are together. Is all that matters.”

Instead of words, Shane answered him with a kiss of his own, diving into Ilya’s lips and pulling a gasp from him. Ilya groaned and shifted his hips, grinding down into Shane’s lap. He moved both hands to tangle in Shane’s hair and fought back for control.

Ilya fucked Shane right there on the couch, thankful for his foresight in removing the crumbs earlier and Shane’s freaky little stashes of lube packets and condoms hidden throughout the apartment. His little ginger ale-drinking Canadian was a very good Boy Scout.

When they were done, they made plans to start being spotted together around town as friends.

Chapter End Notes

Well... there's officially a chapter count you guys! We're getting close to the end of this storyline. That said, I already have plans for a little interlude and a sequel squirrelled away so it won't really be the end...

I hope you found this chapter as fun to read as I did to write! Busy day ahead so I probably won't post again until tomorrow. As always, thank you so much for the comments! I swear I'm constantly reaching for my phone to refresh my dashboard and see if there are any more. They definitely help feed the addiction that has led me to write so fast... lol. Until next time! <3

Chapter 20: The Shirt™

Chapter Summary

Benny drops a bomb on his teammates during practice, then an even bigger one while hanging out with Shane, Scott and Ilya later that day. Shenanigans ensue.

Chapter Notes

Shane

SCOTT HUNTER AND SHANE HOLLANDER SPOTTED OUT WITH ILYA ROZANOV AFTER CATASTROPHIC CRASH ON ICE

Vaughn read the article headline aloud, turning his phone for Shane and Scott to see when they walked into the locker room together for practice.

“Man, Shane,” Vaughn said. “Your agent works fast!”

Wagner cackled, "So, Scotty, how were the lovebirds? Have you throttled Rozanov yet? Want help hiding the body? We could get Shane a New York rebound—hell, that Aaron guy was hot."

“Oh my god, Wagner. Can we drop it?” Shane groaned, throwing his head back.

“No,” Cam laughed. “Date who you want, Hollzy, but don’t expect us not to give you shit about it. I hope the dick is worth it.”

Shane blushed and threw a roll of tape at him.

“Your agent deserves a raise. This article’s impressive,” Vaughn said.

“Yeah,” Shane said. “She’s working hard to help with the optics. We’ve got a few more planned outings while he’s here. I think it seems a bit counterintuitive as far as damage control goes, but I’ve also been told that I don’t know what I’m talking about, so I’m taking a step back on this one.”

“No, this is good,” Breezy chimed in, already geared up and ready for the ice. “Ease the public into the idea of you being seen together and whatnot. Besides, this way, if someone paps you, you can just say you’re hanging out with a friend. What are they going to do? Say every hockey player they find hanging out with a player on another team is in a relationship with them?”

“No,” Shane said. “But other players aren’t openly gay either.”

Wagner scoffed. “So? Not like anyone’s going to suspect Rozanov. He’s got like a hundred chicks online bragging about hookups. That would be a lot to refute.”

“Bi people exist, Wagner,” Shane denied, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but people like to forget that,” Bennett tacked on, helmet under one arm. “I mean, I’m bi, but how would anybody even know? I’ve been married to Holly for over 10 years.”

“Well, that’s one way to drop that bomb, Benny,” Wagner deadpanned into the absolute silence that followed Bennett’s statement.

Cam whooped. "Damn, Bensy! That’s how you chose to do it?"

“Why not?” Bennett grinned with a devilish smirk. “See you on the ice, boys. Try not to be late for practice, yeah?”

“Oh my god, is this whole team gay?” Vaughn asked, staring vacantly toward the door that Bennett just left through.

“I don’t know, you got something to tell us, Vaughny?” Jalo asked.

Shane watched them all interact, most still hovering around his locker while he strapped his pads on. He locked eyes with Scott and he shook his head. “This team is something else,” he said.

“Yeah,” Scott smiled. “I like ‘em a lot.”

After practice finished, Shane approached Bennett. The two of them were among the first out of the showers; Scott followed shortly after and crossed to his locker to change.

“What’s up?” Bennett asked.

“I never really got to thank you properly for staying with me when Ilya got hurt. Maybe you could come over for a bit? Ilya’s probably cooking dinner, and I’ve got some beers in the fridge if you want to grab a drink.”

Bennett took mercy on him and answered before Shane could keep rambling. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Shane nodded. “Um, do you need the address?”

Bennett snorted. "Nah, Scotty’s lived there for ages. See you there. Need anything from the store?"

They didn’t, so Shane said as much and focused back on getting ready so he could get out of there. As more of the guys finished up in the showers, it tended to get chaotic.

“Mind if I come down too?” Scott asked.

“Of course not,” Shane said. “You’re welcome over anytime, Scott.”

Scott cracked a grin. "Sure, but you'd better check with your boyfriend first. Pretty sure he’s still not my biggest fan."

“No,” Shane laughed. “He just likes giving you a hard time. Trust me, you would know if he hated you. His chirps aren’t so funny anymore when he’s really being mean.”

He and Scott carpooled, so they left at the same time. When they arrived, Shane had just enough time to put his bag away and give Ilya a kiss hello before the doorbell rang.

“I hope you don't mind, but I brought sparkling water. I don't really drink,” Eric said, kicking off his shoes at the door. "Roz!" he called. "Good to see Scotty hasn't killed you yet!"

Ilya smiled up at them and got up from the couch to come shake Bennett’s hand. “Hi, Bennett,” he greeted.

“You might as well call me Eric. I try to leave Bennett in the locker room,” Eric replied, taking Ilya’s hand with a grin.

Eric was still putting his case of sparkling water in the fridge when the bell rang again. He closed the fridge door, then walked to the front to greet Scott as he arrived.

“No Kip?” Shane asked, letting him in.

“Nah, he’s having dinner with Elena and Maria tonight. Pretty sure they’re going to drink a bottle of wine each and watch the Bachelor all night so I’m staying out of it,” he laughed.

“Hey, Bennett!” Scott called.

“Is Eric,” Ilya corrected. “Is not work, Scott. Call your friends by their real names, no?”

Eric doubled over, laughing until he wheezed in the kitchen. "Oh, Shane," he choked, eyes sparkling. “I’m so glad Scotty didn’t give him permanent brain damage. Please keep him forever.”

Shane smiled and brought Scott a beer. “Sorry about that,” he said, not looking sorry at all.

Scott shot back. “I think you’re the meanest Canadian I’ve ever met. I take back everything nice I’ve said about you, Shane. The two of you deserve each other.”

Once everyone had arrived, Ilya smiled and brought Shane a ginger ale, ushering everyone into the living room to sit around the couch. A Raiders vs Guardians replay played on the TV in the background, the sound muted.

The group talked for a bit about division rankings and how their respective teams were looking for the season. Ilya seemed pretty confident that his team would be able to make the playoffs, even with him having to take off for almost a month, and the Admirals were actually fighting for the top spot in the division for once. It was a markedly better start to their season than the seven-game losing streak of the year before.

Eventually, they did manage to turn the conversation away from hockey, though. Ilya talked about how his visits with various specialists were going, but said it was mostly a waiting game for his head to be considered healed enough to play because he didn’t have any of the more severe symptoms associated with major concussions, like blurred vision or brain fog.

“They want to be very sure that I am not in danger if I hit my head again too soon,” Ilya explained, setting Scott and Eric at ease.

“What about you, Eric?’ Ilya asked, changing the subject. “How is wife?”

Eric grimaced down at the glass bottle in his hand, peeling at one corner of the label with a fingernail. “We’re getting divorced, actually.”

Scott choked on his beer. “What?”

Eric looked up at him and snorted. “Don’t drown, Scotty. It’s not worth all that.”

Ilya laughed and clapped Scott on the back. “You are okay?” Ilya asked, his tone soft and full of gentle care. Shane kind of wished no one else was there so he could kiss him.

“I think so,” Eric said. “Like, I feel like I should be a lot more upset about it than I am. I love Holly. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine ever not being with her, you know?”

“But you can now?” Shane asked.

“Yeah. We’ve hardly seen each other since the season started, and even before that, she spent a lot of time traveling with her sister over the summer. I think she’s been planning this for a long time.”

“Well,” Scott said. “If you ever need a place to crash, there’s always my guest room.”

Eric smiled at him. “Thanks, Scott. I've got a hotel for now but I’m working on getting a place here in the city, actually. No use commuting like that if it’s just me, you know? Besides, I want Holly to have the house.”

Ilya nudged Eric. "Ask Shane about a place. He’s Mr. Real Estate—knows all the good spots."

Shane elbowed him. Hard. “You’re such an ass,” he said.

Ilya clutched his side and flopped against the couch dramatically. “Oh no! Quick! Call ambulance!”

“Too soon, dude,” Eric laughed. Ilya smirked at him.

“We should go out,” Ilya said.

“Absolutely not!” Shane objected, the only voice of reason apparently. “You were in the hospital for a concussion less than two weeks ago. You can’t drink and going clubbing is probably, like, the worst thing you could do aside from hitting your head again on purpose.”

Scott laughed while Ilya pouted. “What about the Kingfisher?” Scott suggested. “It’s more of a bar, anyway. Probably wouldn’t be too bad.”

“Oh sure,” Shane said. “Let’s take a huge group of MLH players to a gay bar in the middle of New York, only one of whom is actually out. That won’t raise flags at all.”

“Will wear sunglasses,” Ilya objected. “And hats! How would they know?”

Shane widened his eyes at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

“You know, I think I like that idea actually,” Bennett said. “I never really dated any guys back before I got with Holly. Could be fun to… explore that side of myself.”

“Did I miss something?” Ilya asked, looking delighted as he scanned from Eric to Shane and back.

“Eric came out to the team today,” Scott explained. “In, like, the dumbest way possible. Apparently, you’re not the only bi hockey player.”

Ilya reached over for a fist bump. “Yes!” he cheered. “Girls are so pretty, but men very hot. Why choose, right?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “Are you sure it’s not too soon?” he asked Eric. He didn’t want to pressure him out to a bar if he wasn’t ready for it. Any bar, gay or otherwise.

“Probably,” Eric laughed. “But it’s not like there’s much point to moping. I know Holly’s not waiting around for the papers to dry.”

Shane groaned. “Okay,” he said. “Someone better go invite Kip and the girls. We won’t live this down if he misses introducing Eric to the Kingfisher."

Scott went upstairs to do just that, and Shane went to change. He knew Kyle had work that night, and he would never hear the end of it if he showed up in athletic clothes again. Ilya followed him, presumably to do the same.

“No,” Ilya said when Shane pulled the lace shirt he hadn’t had a good occasion to wear yet out of the closet and over his head. “Too sexy, Hollander. When did you get this? Will have to hit men with a stick all night to keep off you.”

Shane blushed. “Kyle and I went shopping,” he said. He noted the way Ilya’s eyes scanned his chest and smirked. “I think I will wear it, actually.’

“No, Shane. I will die. I will have sex with you on the bar for whole world to see. Is too much!”

“You will keep your hands to yourself,” Shane said, crossing the room to drape his arm behind Ilya’s head and bring him down for a kiss. “And later,” he said. “When you have been nice to my friends and kept your hands to yourself for the evening, I’ll give you a reward. Wearing nothing. But. This. Shirt,” he punctuated each word with a kiss to Ilya’s jaw and neck, finishing the statement with a harsh bite that would definitely leave a mark for the evening.

Ilya stared like he’d never seen him before. “Fuck,” he said. “Text Scott. We can meet there.”

“No,” Shane laughed. “Come on, Ilya, let’s go.”

Eric whistled when they walked back into the living room. “Damn Hollander,” he said. “Are we sure you haven’t been kidnapped and replaced with a lizard person?”

Shane rolled his eyes. “It’s just a shirt!” he cried. “Come on, you’re both making me late. Everyone else will be downstairs already.”

Shane was right. Everyone was already downstairs when they reached the ground floor. And everyone had something to say about The Shirt.

Kip and his friends were already tipsy, though they sobered up a bit over the 30-minute walk to their favorite bar. It was still somewhat early, so it wasn’t crowded when they walked in, and they managed to snag a round corner booth big enough for the seven of them.

“Well, well,” Kyle chided as he walked up to the booth, with a little black apron tied around his waist and a pen behind one ear. “Look what the cat dragged in. I wasn’t expecting you guys tonight.”

Kip smiled. “Eric’s getting a divorce!” he called cheerfully. Shane took it back. Kip hadn’t sobered up on the walk over at all, apparently.

Eric offered a little wave. “Uh, guilty?” he said, eyes crinkled with held back laughter. “Sorry,” he said. “This was their idea.”

Kyle laughed. “Nah, I’m sorry, man. Not sure you’re in the right place to pick up. Kingfisher’s a gay bar.”

“Oh, is ok,” Ilya said. “Eric is bi also. Right place is any bar, right Eric?” he winked at Kyle and turned back to Eric.

“You can’t just out people, Ilya!” Shane reprimanded. “Seriously. You’re not even drunk!”

Eric laughed. “It’s okay,” he said. “I mean, it’s not like it’s going to hurt anything.”

Kyle’s gaze sharpened from something playful to something more contemplative. He looked Eric up and down. “And what can I get a handsome divorcé like yourself to drink?” he asked, giving a flirty wink.

“Oh, uh…” Eric stumbled over the words. “I don’t actually drink.”

“I make a mean mocktail,” Kyle offered, smiling encouragingly.

“I don’t know, surprise me?” Eric replied.

Kyle nodded and took the pen from his ear, scribbling on a little spiral-bound notebook. He turned to Kip. Once the whole table had given their orders, he sauntered off with a little more sway in his step than when he arrived.

“You know something,” Shane murmured into Ilya’s ear, lips brushing the shell as he avoided being overheard.

Ilya smirked and winked. “Maybe,” he said.

Shane laughed at him and shook his head. He turned back to the table. It had been such a weird day, but he really loved his friends. His fingers laced with Ilya’s under the table, and he slouched against him, resting his head on Ilya’s shoulder. This was nice.

Chapter End Notes

Well, Kip did say that Kyle would be the first to know if another of Scott's teammates came out to the team. Meanwhile, Bennett, the secret chaos gremlin! At least Ilya won't let Kyle think the poor man is still married for any longer than necessary. Wonder if these two can get their act together faster with that cleared up from day one? Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter! I'll probably post at least one more today but it won't be for a couple hours at least. Let me know what you think in the comments! <3