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Hayden was standing in the hallway outside the dressing room, having showered and changed in record time. He was eager to get to the hospital as quickly as possible to check on Shane when the thought occurred to him.
Someone should update Lily.
He pushed back into the dressing room, passing some teammates as they started trickling out towards the players’ parking garage.
“Just gonna… Shane’s stuff…” he gestured vaguely towards Shane’s stall. They knew he was headed to the hospital. They all gave him the same tight smiles and grim nods.
There it was. Shane’s phone, lit up with 6 messages from Lily. Hayden couldn’t tell see what they said, but he figured Lily had seen the hit and was frantically checking in. Shane had turned his message previews off years ago after a particularly graphic text came through, screen up, on their shared nightstand in the hotel during a long stretch of away games.
Shaking away the memory of Lily promising to choke on Shane’s cock in her newly installed rain shower, Hayden pocketed Shane’s phone and tossed a few other things into his coat pockets that he thought Shane might want with him if he ended up stuck in the hospital for a few days. The team staff would collect the rest and make sure it was locked up safely.
On the drive to the hospital he idly flipped Shane’s phone back and forth in his hands while he was stopped at red lights. He should wait, probably. Check in on Shane first and see if he was awake. Shane could talk to Lily on his own. He was such a private person and clearly there was a reason he kept Lily away from the team and the WAGs.
But if Shane wasn’t awake…
His own phone lit up with a text from Yuna. He’d asked for an update. Despite being miles away Yuna was, of course, all over the doctors, making some veiled and not-so-veiled threats about what poor publicity it would be to be the hospital that failed to protect the greatest player of all time, and yes she was including Gretzky thank you very much.
Mama Hollander: Still in and out of consciousness, but scans look good. Please call me when you get there.
Hayden fired off a quick reply, then threw his phone down on the center console. He was idling in the city traffic. He tapped the screen of Shane’s phone gingerly.
Face ID not recognized. Passcode required.
Hayden frowned. It wouldn’t be…
He tapped in the four digit code for Shane’s front door and sure enough, the phone unlocked.
Telling himself it wasn’t snooping, he wouldn’t look, he didn’t want to see whatever Lily had promised Shane earlier that evening or, worse, how Shane might have responded.
He tapped the message icon.
Tapped on Lily.
Lily: please text me when you can
Lily: you will be ok
Lily: please baby you are ok?
Lily: I know you will be
Lily: I need to see you
As he finished reading the messages he saw the tell-tale bubble with ellipses appear, disappear, appear, disappear.
He should just send a text and leave it be. Maybe, “this is Shane’s friend just wanted to let you know he is unconscious but scans look okay. He’ll text you when he wakes up.”
That was really the absolutely limit of acceptable meddling. Even that, for Shane, would be pushing it.
The ellipses continue to appear, disappear, appear, disappear, and Hayden had a fleeting image of what it would be like to know Jackie was lying in a hospital bed, and he was unable to get to her side.
His fingers hit call before he was able to talk himself out of it.
The line had barely rung when Lily answered the phone. Hayden heard a deep sigh and then, startlingly, a low male voice.
“Shane… malysh…”
Hayden pulled the phone away from his ear, glanced at the screen. But no, he hadn’t misdialed somehow. Lily shone out, stark white letters against the black glass.
“What,” he said stupidly.
“…Shane?”
Hayden opened his mouth to ask… something. Ask for Lily, for clarity, for anything. And then:
Hollander?”
And Hayden felt as though he had been plunged unexpectedly into an ice bath.
Ilya Rozanov.
It was, unmistakenly, Ilya Rozanov on the other end of the phone. How many times had he heard Rozanov chirp Shane’s name on the ice? How many post-game interviews had he watched after a loss to the Bears?
“Shame Montreal had second draft pick and had to settle for Hollander, second best player.”
“I am unconventional player? Hollander is focused on technique, yes. I focus on winning.”
“Da, yes Hollander’s injury is shame. His back must already hurt from carrying Pike.”
The line crackled to life.
“Hollander? Sha—“
Hayden ended the call and stared dumbfounded at the screen while his brain, reeling, tried to reorganize its shattered pieces. Two seconds passed before the screen lit up with an incoming call from Lily. Hayden turned the phone off, heart beating rapidly in his chest.
Boston Lily.
Boston Lily.
Boston Lily who met up with Shane in Boston and in Montreal. Who loved hockey. More than loved it… knew it. Who had to be kept a secret at all costs, even when it was obvious it wasn’t just a fling or a casual no-strings-attached arrangement.
For years.
And sure, over the years he had theories. Well. For the first couple of years Hayden didn’t need a theory, because he didn’t think anything of it. Plenty of guys had a girl in each city. Hell, sometimes two or three. It was a little out of character maybe, but hey even an uptight dude like Shane needed to get laid. Probably needed it more.
And Hayden had been happy for Shane. He was getting some and, based on some text conversations Hayden had seen (before he learned to subconsciously avoid the glow of Shane’s unlocked screen), Lily was a hockey expert. Knew it inside and out like someone intimately familiar with the sport. It felt good to know that Shane had a girl the way he had Jackie — a soft landing spot for support, and good sex, and good hockey talk — even if it was a secret.
But then he realized after a while that Shane only had a girl in two cities: home and Boston. And then he realized Home Girl and Boston Girl were the same girl.
And then came the theories.
First, he figured Shane didn’t want anything serious. On the road so much, a distraction from hockey. But that just didn’t fit with Shane, who had, if nothing else, the DNA of a down-bad Wife Guy. Hayden could feel that in his bones, being the trademarked Wife Guy of the Voyageurs.
So then, he figured, Lily didn’t want anything serious. A guy always on the road. Reputation of hockey players. All that. But for years? Loyal, lovely doesn’t-kiss-and-tell Shane? And, not for nothing, rich-and-famous-best-player-in-the-league Shane? Who wouldn’t want to lock that shit down?
He and the few other guys who knew about Lily by virtue of glancing at Shane’s phone in a hotel room or while they sat next to one another in their stalls had landed on her being married. It was the only thing that made sense. Why the secrecy, otherwise?
Hayden had an elaborate theory, a few years back, that one of Boston’s hot PTs was the mysterious Lily. Wanting to keep quiet about sleeping with the opposing team’s staff was more likely than morally righteous Shane fucking a married woman.
And it made more sense because Lily, Hayden pointed out when he was two tequilas and a shot into the night, didn’t just show up in Boston, she showed up in Montreal every time Boston was playing and only when Boston was playing, so ha!
“Every time though?” J.J had asked doubtfully, “She’s probably some married CEO who flies to Montreal for work a lot. Probably why they got beyond a one night stand in the first place, knowing they could keep it going when either of them was on the road. You said it’s definitely on and off. ”
“Well. Yeah but it’s been on-on for a while and I think it is every time Montreal plays.”
But then the Voyageurs had been hiring a slew of new PTs and, as J.J. helpfully pointed out the next morning as they nursed coffees and aspirin, if Lily was a PT, had experience working on a Cup-winning team, and had a chance to move to be with the love of her life year-round she wouldn’t not apply.
“Maybe she’s bad at her job and you know, didn’t get hired.”
“And Shane wouldn’t put in a word for her? She’d have a job even she wasn’t qualified,” J.J. scoffed.
“Well. I mean…” Hayden grasped at straws, glancing towards the door where a hangover-free, post-gym Shane was walking in carrying a protein shake, “it’s Shane. Maybe he felt it would be unprofessional to give a reference because of a conflict of interest.”
J.J. laughed.
“If a girl’s doing a bathroom remodel and her first words are ‘let me choke on your cock’ instead of ‘help me grout this tile’…”
(Because Hayden had to tell someone about that text, I mean christ it was Shane who massaged kale and looked like he’d show up at your front door with the Book of Mormon.)
“…you give her a reference. Even if you’re Shane Hollander.”
So Hayden had conceded the point and assumed, like the rest of them, that Shane had a dirty little secret on the side, something he had to keep quiet because of circumstances beyond his control - Lily’s marriage, maybe a shitty boyfriend. A contested divorce where the wrong text could lose her custody of her kid and the legal process was taking years. He’d known a friend of Jackie’s like that. Or maybe she was a CEO who didn’t want bad publicity. It could be a million things.
Life was complicated and Shane was so painstakingly good, that even certified Wife Guy Hayden, chose to look the other way and let Shane have a tiny sliver of pure, dirty, happiness, no matter what kind of complication was underpinning it.
So yeah, when Hayden hit call he expected complicated.
A whispered thank you for letting her know and a promise to get away as soon as her husband was asleep. Or maybe a quickly declined call and then a text saying thank god you’re okay enough to call me, I can talk in the morning once you-know-who is at work. Maybe an angry husband, finally demanding to know what Montreal number with the contact name “Shane” was calling his wife every few months.
Complicated he could handle.
Ilya Rosanov he could not.
~~~
Twenty minutes later Hayden was pressing the hospital visitor badge against his chest and pushing his way into Shane’s room.
Shane was lying in a shockingly decadent private room (thank you, Yuna) staring vacantly at a TV on mute, a small crease between his eyebrows.
His expression cleared and dopey grin rose on his face when he saw Hayden.
“Hey, Hayd… hey, buddy… c’mere!”
“Shane, Jesus man,” he crossed the room in a few steps and bent down into Shane’s open arm, giving him a loose hug, “you scared the shit out of me. Hey, watch your sling.”
“‘S fine, fiiiine.”
“They got you on the good stuff, huh?”
“Wha’ the TV? No, i’s… ‘s extreme home-over. Esstream make homer… you know the one with the… um. Paint. ‘S bad, not good. I don even think this kid even likes NASCAR he jus’ like saw it once and now they’re gonna… gonna…” he gesticulated vaguely at the screen, which was now playing an ad for dentures, “… jus’ gonna make it his whole life ya know like, like he can’t escape it jus’ cause when he was four he saw a fuckin’… a freaking… a car!”
In spite of all of his anxiety about telling Shane his misstep with Lily, he had to stifle a smile at the indignation on his very loopy friend’s face.
“Okay, man, shh. Yeah that’s… that’s rough. Listen, I gotta, uh, I gotta call your mom. Promised her I would check in.”
Hayden stepped back out into the hallway, hot and anxious. He dialed Yuna’s number, meandering down the hallway as the line rang, happy to have an excuse to occupy him while he tried to come up with a way to tactfully let Shane know he knew about his secret.
Twenty minutes — and a laundry list of tasks to complete for Yuna — later, Hayden headed back towards Shane’s room.
A nurse eased her way out before he could pull open the door. He peered past her shoulder to see Shane, fast asleep.
“He’ll be out for the night. Pretty heavy dose of tramadol.”
“Oh uh, right. Thanks.”
Well. At least one of them would get some sleep tonight.
~~~
Hayden drove back to the hospital bright and early the next day. Visiting hours started at seven, and the team had practice at noon, which gave him enough time to sit with Shane until the Hollanders showed up at ten.
The ride to the hospital was short that morning, without the congestion of last night’s traffic. Too short. Hayden still didn’t have a clue how to start this particular conversation.
Hey man, we thought you were fucking a married chick but we didn’t realize…
Or maybe, no. Scratch that. Definitely not the tone to start with.
Hey so, sorry I was worried out of my mind that you were brain dead, and if I was brain dead I’d want someone to tell Jackie, even if she was fucking…
Yeah, probably not that either.
Hey so, you know how you’re insanely private? And you know about that definitely not-casual hookup that I pretend is totally casual that also maybe…?
No. Not good. Backpedal, backpedal.
Hey, so. I did something?
Fuck.
He walked into the hospital in a daze, absentmindedly sticking his visitor badge to his chest and taking three tries to get the elevator to reach the right floor.
Pushing open the door to Shane’s room he wasn’t sure what would be worse: a drugged-up Shane, unable to comprehend his apology, or a sober one who could.
“Hey, Hayd,” Shane looked worse for wear, bruised and battered, but he was smiling softly.
So, stone cold sober it was.
“Hey, man. How’re you doing? You look good!”
“Fuck you,” Shane huffed with a laugh, “I look like shit.”
“Well, you know. Better than yesterday.”
“I must have looked really bad then, I guess.”
“I was mostly concerned about your sudden and very passionate interest in Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
“Oh, Jesus. I don’t want to know.”
“Yeah you were pressed about a little kid getting a NASCAR bed, dude.”
They melted into their usual banter for a while. Extreme Makeover led to Jackie’s love of HGTV which led to Shane’s last remodel project (funding an en-suite at his parents’ cottage) which led to his parents…
Every tick of the clock reminded Hayden of what he wasn’t saying.
“You gotta get going?” Shane asked.
“Uh, what? Um, no, not for a while.”
“You keep looking at the clock.”
“Oh, sorry. Your mom will be here soon.”
“Yeah at ten. We covered that. Everything okay, Hayd? I mean, obviously not,” he gestured at himself, “but anything… else?”
Hayden rubbed the back of his neck. It was 8:17am. T-minus 1 hour and 33 minutes until Hurricane Yuna touched down. 1 hour and 33 minutes to come clean and figure out… well… what the fuck to do next.
“So, um. I did something.”
Shane looked at him expectedly.
“Something… bad?”
“Yeah,” Hayden say slowly, “yeah, bad. Pretty sure it’s bad.”
“Well… okay. What?”
“I called Lily.”
Shane stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. His eye brows creased in confusion, then his face slid into the mask Hayden knew meant he was guarding shame, or pain, or fear, or panic.
“What, um…?” Shane asked, his voice carefully measured, “Why did you do that?”
“I’m so sorry man, I just… I grabbed your phone before coming to the hospital and uh, I thought like, if I was down and Jackie didn’t hear from someone, or if I had to watch something like that happen to Jackie and couldn’t—“
“Right,” Shane swallowed thickly, cutting him off, his ingrained need to be polite and comforting outweighing the obvious frustration bubbling under the surface, “Right. Okay, it’s uh, fine. Understandable.”
They stared at each other for a moment before Shane started.
“Wait, so you have my phone?”
“Yeah, uh, here. I turned it off and didn’t… I haven’t gone in… I mean I haven’t gone in again…”
He passed Shane his phone.
“So what, um. What happened?” Shane asked flatly, eyes glued to the screen as the phone turned on.
“Fuck,” he whispered, tapping aggressively.
“Um so, Lily didn’t answer, per se…”
Shane didn’t respond for a moment, eyes frozen on his screen, hands shaking almost imperceptibly.
“What do you mean?”
“A, uh, a guy answered.”
Shane didn’t respond, didn’t look at Hayden.
“He answered. I mean, I know his voice, Shane. And I mean, Jesus… it… I’m not going to lie to you, man, it threw me, but it’s okay. I won’t tell anyone Lily is Rozanov’s—“
Shane held up a hand.
“No. Stop,” Shane’s breaths were coming sharp and shallow, “Just. Give me a second.”
Hayden clicked his mouth shut and stared down at his shoes. The clock ticked, monitors beeped, air was thick with tension and fear and that carelessly uttered name: Rozanov, Rozanov, Rozanov.
“I can explain,” Shane ground out after a few minutes, words like gravel, “or, I can’t, but—”
“No, no you don’t have to,” Hayden said imploringly, staring at Shane with wide eyes, “It’s none of my business. I mean, I assumed she was married or separated and it was complicated or… I mean I guess it is complicated, if she’s dating Rozanov.”
Shane stared. Unmoving. Unblinking.
Hayden wrinkled his brow.
Opened his mouth.
And then door opened and there he was. Ilya Rozanov in the flesh, six feet three inches of muscle, brow creased, frown firmly fixed in place. He stopped short.
“Pike.”
Hayden stood, pushing the hard plastic chair he had been sitting on to the side. If Rozanov was here to kick Shane’s ass or smother him with a pillow or, god, could pull the plug!? No, wait, Shane wasn’t on life support…
…was he?
He positioned himself between Shane and Rozanov.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is duty as captain of opposing team.”
“Bullshit. That’s not a thing.”
Was it?
“Is… polite.”
“Oh yeah, well that tracks,” Hayden said viciously, "You’re always concerned ab—“
“Hayden. It’s fine.”
Hayden spun around, aghast.
“You really think he’s here because of some bullshit like, captain check-in thing? Not…” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “you know… the thing?”
Shane sighed, looking pained, and let his head fall back on the pillow. He kept his eyes squeezed shut and did some patented Shane Holldander Deep Breathing.
“Can you give us a minute?”
Hayden spun back to Rozanov and gave him a smug little grimace and sharp nod towards the door. But Rozanov didn’t move.
“Hollander,” he said slowly, “you mean me, da? Or Pike?”
Hayden barked out a laugh and bit out, “he obviously means you, asshole.”
“Actually,” Shane said apologetically, opening his eyes slowly, “Hayd, do you mind…?”
There was a tense silence and then Hayden opened his mouth. He couldn’t find the right words.
His brain could literally summon… nothing.
He looked at Shane, whose brown eyes were pleading. Then over to Rozanov, who was staring at Shane, looking impassive and uncomfortable. Hayden glanced back quickly at Shane, who had clearly just finished mouthing something to Rozanov.
What was going on? The men were acting just a little too familiar with one another…
Something occurred to him, suddenly, short-circuiting his brain. Hayden took a few steps back and angled himself so he could see both men. He wanted to see Rozanov’s face.
“Shane,” he said slowly, “does he… know?”
Rozanov fixed Shane with a piercing look.
“Do I know what?”
Shane hesitated, shaking his head almost imperceptibly and giving Rozanov a complicated look, one that expressed more pain than Hayden had ever seen from a hit on ice.
“Do I know what, Hollander? What does he think?”
“That I text…Lily,” Shane said slowly, “who is your… girlfriend.”
Rozanov was a statue, eyes slightly glazed over. Then, suddenly, he rubbed a rough hand across his face.
“Da, yes, okay. Lily is girlfriend,” he shoved this hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched, and turned to Hayden, “I know about this texting. You can leave now, Pike.”
Neither man met Hayden’s eye, but Rozanov had drifted closer to the bed and suddenly Hayden felt distinctly wrong-footed. These two were far too comfortable with each other, and Rozanov seemed entirely uninterested in Hayden’s revelation about Lily. which meant Rozanov hadn’t come to kick Shane’s ass after learning Shane was fucking his girlfriend. And Hayden would give up his both twins before he believed that Rozanov regularly came to visit the injured players taken down by his enforcers. Something was happening, just under the surface. Just beyond the reach of Hayden’s understanding.
And then remembered a conversation he and Jackie had had a few weeks ago, while Jackie was tipsy and laughing, recounting a story her friend had told her about one of her ex-husband’s strange proclivities. Things started clicking into place, slowly, slowly, as the gears turned in Hayden’s brain.
“Oh my god,” he said, “you two… you’re both with… but… Rozanov? You’re a, a—?”
Both Shane and Rozanov froze. The Russian turned slowly to fully face Hayden.
“I’m a what?” Rozanov said dangerously, taking a step closer to Hayden’s chair.
“Ilya…”
Hayden threw his hands up defensively, “I’m not judging. Just. I wouldn’t expect… from either of you, honestly. I know it’s like, a thing. Jackie has a friend… uh, I just—“
“Maybe Pike is not such good friend, Hollander,” Rozanov was saying, “maybe he leaves.”
Hayden took a few steps toward Rozanov, pushing into the other man’s space and only sort of regretting it when he felt the full force of his intimidation a mere foot from his (breakable) face. Then Rozanov put a hand on his shoulder, turned him around as easily as Hayden could pick up one of his toddlers, and started pushing him towards the door.
“No,” Shane said quickly, “no, Hayden don’t leave. You can’t… Ilya, stop, he can’t leave. We need to make sure… Hayden you can’t tell anyone about this, or—“
Ignoring Shane (sorry, buddy) Hayden spun and smacked Rozanov’s arm away, hard.
“Who the fuck are you to say I’m not a good friend? You don’t fucking know him. You should get the fuck out.”
“How you think I don’t know him after you just figured this out?” Rozanov spit furiously, gesturing vaguely between he and Shane.
“Just because you’re a… into being a cuck or whatever, doesn’t mean you know him.”
Rozanov tilted his head in confusion and Shane let out a choked noise.
“Oh my god,” Shane muttered, “oh my god, oh my—“
“What is this? What is cuck? Is homophobic, da?”
“No, man! What the fuck?” Hayden protested, “It’s not homophobic, it’s like, the term for what you and Shane have going on with Lily. And like I said I don’t—“
Shane sounded like he was being strangled. Hayden ducked his head to peer behind Rozanov and look at Shane, desperate for some clarity, only to find the other man with his knees up, face pressed into his hospital gown. His heart monitor had been steadily increasing for the past few minutes and was now reaching an alarmingly quick speed.
Both he and Rozanov moved to Shane’s bedside, jostling one another slightly to secure the better position at the head of the bed to get close to him. Rozanov won and knelt down beside the bed.
“Shane, it’s okay. Breath. You are good, we are good. Even Pike is good. He is just idiot, I think.”
“Hey! I am n—“
But he fell silent when he saw Rozanov’s gentle hand at the back of Shane’s neck, the look of soft concern on his usually stony face.
Rozanov’s fingers were tangled in the hair at the base of Shane’s neck, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. Whispering something quietly (something Russian?) that Hayden couldn’t understand.
And, oh.
Maybe he was an idiot.
“Oh. Not a… okay.”
Rozanov spared him a withering glance.
“There’s uh, there’s no Lily, then?”
Shane, forehead still between his knees, shook his head.
For a few seconds, Hayden just stood there, listening to Shane’s barely controlled breathing and the soft scratch of Rozanov’s nails against his scalp. Then, abruptly, he averted his eyes and backed away. The moment was so unexpected, tender and raw, that witnessing their intimacy felt like touching a flayed nerve. Hayden pushed his abandoned chair towards Rozanov, muttering something like here or you take it before he took a few long strides to reach the door.
“Hayden,” Shane called out, “Hayd… I’m sorry.”
Hayden looked back at the fear in his friend’s eyes and, God help him, Rozanov’s.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, voice suddenly thick and scratchy, “Um, I’m sorry. I… just. I didn’t know how bad the hit was and thought… thought Lily should know. I know you kept it private but I also know you…”
The words love her died on his tongue.
He looked at the two men again, Rozanov — Ilya — kneeling beside Shane, their fingers tangled together, looking equal parts terrified and relieved.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said more firmly, “I’m not going to say anything. Obviously. I’m, uh… I’m gonna go, but I’ll call you later. Love you man.”
Hayden nodded to both men. Shane still looked anxious, like he was standing on the edge a cliff.
“Seriously, man. I love you. Not that this isn’t like a total mindfuck… but I love you.”
Shane smiled tentatively and Hayden finally relaxed
“And bye, I guess, Roz— Ily—“ (no, too soon), “Rozanov.”
Ilya gave a tight nod in return.
As Hayden left the room, mind reeling but happy, he pulled the door shut firmly behind him. Just before the soft click of the latch, he heard Ilya’s voice — low and puzzled — and Shane’s answering exasperation.
“Shane. What is cuck?”
“Oh my fucking god.”