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“He says the code is 1506,” J. J. says. “And he’s still like twenty minutes away. You know how fucking slow he drives.”
Hayden punches in the code to Shane’s door. “I drive carefully, too.”
“You have half a dozen kids in the car whenever you go anywhere, that’s different.”
Maybe Hayden should argue, but too be fair he does enjoy going over the speed limit on the rare occasions that he doesn’t have the kids or Jackie in the car.
“I can’t believe Hollzy convinced us to do this,” J. J. mutters as they enter Shane’s hallway. “I wanted to hang out with him, not review Boston’s last game.”
“You know how he’s been lately,” Hayden says. “I’d rather analyse Boston’s performance than not spend time with him at all.”
Shane has spent even more time on his phone this season than he used to, and he’s been cagey about what he gets up to on days off. Hayden is pretty sure he’s back on with Lily, but he hasn’t pushed. He figures Shane will talk about her when he’s ready, if he ever is. Well, Jackie figures that, and she told Hayden to wait for Shane to open up, so that’s what Hayden is going to do. Jackie is loads better at this kind of thing than he is, and he’s not risking his friendship with Shane by asking too many questions about Lily.
J. J. grumbles but doesn’t argue. “Let’s see if he has any snacks besides celery sticks.”
Hayden follows J. J. into Shane’s living room, intending to go on through to the kitchen, when J. J. stops so abruptly that Hayden walks right into his back. J. J. doesn’t even stumble, but Hayden loses his balance a little. Once he’s regained it, he looks around J. J., and is faced with Rozanov – the Boston Bears’ fucking Rozanov, in the flesh – standing in the middle of Shane’s living room. Rozanov is wearing sweatpants and a Boston hoodie and no shoes. He’s staring at Hayden and J. J. with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open.
“What the fuck, Rozanov?” J. J. says.
What the fuck, Rozanov? seems like a very appropriate thing to say. Points to J.J. for coming up with that. Hayden himself can only stare at Rozanov, who is holding a hoodie in one hand and a book in the other.
No one speaks for what feels like an eternity, until J. J. chimes in with another suitable comment. “Are you breaking into Shane’s apartment?”
“Yes,” Rozanov says, after another much-too-long silence. His voice sounds strange. Shakier than usual, which is understandable considering they just caught him during an actual break-in. Rozanov isn’t one to worry about bad press, but Hayden supposes something like this would become an issue even for him. “Yes, is… part of rivalry.”
“Um, what?” Hayden says.
“Is to… mess with Hollander’s head,” Rozanov says. “Yes. I break into his house and leave Bears clothes in his wardrobe. Take his boring fucking hockey books. Makes him go crazy.” He sort of waves the hoodie that he’s holding around, showing the Boston logo on it.
“Man, that is low.” J. J. sounds somewhat impressed.
Hayden shoots him a glare, because they can’t let the enemy get into their head. Then he looks back at Rozanov and glowers. Rozanov visibly winces. He actually seems nervous, which is great. Hayden is scaring Rozanov right now. Jackie’s going to be so proud of him.
While he has the upper hand in this conversation, he might as well press his advantage. “That makes no fucking sense,” he says. None of this makes any fucking sense. “So tell us the truth, now.”
Rozanov glares at him. “You cannot understand, Pike. You are 15th best player on the Voyageurs. Of course you have no rival, you don’t need to have strategy for this. This is why Hollander and I are the best.” He frowns for a second, then adds, “I am the best, and he is second, I mean.”
“Fuck you!” Always a solid way of responding to any Boston player. Still, Hayden’s momentary feeling of triumph is starting to ebb away.
“But – but,” J. J. says. “There is no chance our captain would break into your house and mess with your things. He just would never. So have you been doing this to him and he’s never even complained or got you back? Come on, you know how he is, this is so uncalled for.”
Fuck. J. J. is right. Shane would absolutely never. So to make up for years of Rozanov fucking with Shane without retribution, Hayden and J. J. are going to have to do this on Shane’s behalf going forward, right? Messing with Rozanov’s head? Hayden absolutely can do that, wants to do that, even, but he suspects it will involve a lot of logistics. He hasn’t slept enough for intricate plans since Amber was born. He might not have slept at all since Amber was born, now that he thinks about it.
“How long have you been doing this?” he asks.
Rozanov’s face does something strange. “Since summer before rookie season.”
“That’s crazy,” Hayden says. “You can’t – you can’t do shit like this. I know you’re an asshole but I thought you had more respect for Shane than this.”
Rozanov’s glare hardens. Hayden’s reminded of the time he watched him punch out three of Comeau’s teeth. Shit. But Rozanov only says, “I respect him, Pike. You would not understand.”
“You’re fucking right, we don’t understand!” J. J. takes a step towards Rozanov, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
They can hear Shane moving around in the hallway, taking off his coat and shoes, and then his voice calling out to them as his steps get closer. “The traffic got better in the end, and I had a run of green lights. Thanks for waiting for me, though, I’m sorry I’m -” He stops abruptly at the sight of Hayden, J. J., and Rozanov all standing there in silence. He looks between Hayden and J. J. a few times. Then his eyes glue onto Rozanov, and he doesn’t look away again.
“Hollander,” Rozanov says. “Is all fine. They caught me.”
Shane’s mouth moves, but no words come out.
“Caught me messing with your things to fuck with your head,” Rozanov says slowly, eyes fixed on Shane.
Shane sort of backs himself up against the wall. He’s not moving otherwise and his eyes still aren’t leaving Rozanov. Hayden decides that whether Rozanov is telling the truth or not, if he is making Shane look like this, it’s time for him to go. “You want us to throw him out, Shane?”
Shane barely reacts, only clenches his fists and blinks a couple of times. Rozanov snorts, though. “You will throw me out, yes, Pike? How?”
By letting J. J. take care of it, most likely, but Hayden isn’t going to give Rozanov the satisfaction of hearing him say that.
“Fucking leave, all right, Rozanov?” J. J. is squaring his shoulders, so it looks like Hayden won’t even have to ask him to physically remove Rozanov. “Look how you are freaking him out!” He gestures to Shane.
Rozanov stays rooted to the spot. “You will be okay, yes, Hollander?”
“Yeah, he will be!” Hayden says. “No thanks to you.”
Shane flinches, still silent.
“Don’t worry, capitaine, he’s leaving now and he won’t come here again. We’ll make sure of that,” J. J. says.
Rozanov ignores that completely. “Hollander, is all okay. I will go.”
He pushes past Hayden and J. J. Thank god he’s finally leaving. Hayden wants to be able to sit Shane down in peace and get him a cup of tea or a ginger ale and reassure him they’ll pay Rozanov back on the ice.
They watch Rozanov cross the living room. When he’s halfway to the door, Shane says, “Ilya.”
The three of them all freeze at the tremor in his voice. Hayden almost says what the fuck is an Ilya out loud before he realises Shane is addressing Rozanov by his first name. Obviously, it’s just – fucking Ilya, what the hell.
“Is fine,” Rozanov says. His eyes are wide, and his fingers are clutching the Bears hoodie so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“You don’t have to do this,” Shane says. His voice is shaky, but he looks like he’s keeping it together for now, his chin raised, his eyes still firmly locked on Rozanov’s.
“Is fine, Hollander,” Rozanov says again. His eyes dart between Hayden, J. J., and Shane. He licks his lips, almost like he’s unsure what to say. “Is part of rivalry. I will go now to meet my team. Pike, Boiziau.” He nods at them. Like he’s trying to be a person, or whatever. Hayden automatically nods back, because he was raised right.
“Ilya,” Shane says again.
Rozanov shakes his head, a short, tiny jerking motion, like he’s tensed his body up too much for anything else. His face is flushed, and his eyes are glassy, and it hits Hayden like the worst kind of check that he’s holding back tears. Rozanov is about to cry in Shane’s apartment, after breaking in and trying to… steal his books? Mess with his wardrobe and therefore, somehow, with his mind? Hayden is starting to think that was not the truth. Probably, he should have started thinking that a while ago.
Shane takes a couple of hesitant steps forward. He carefully tugs the Bears hoodie out of Rozanov’s hand, folds it, and puts it on the armrest of the sofa. He takes the book from Rozanov’s other hand and looks at the cover. His lips twitch. “’Greats of the Boston Bears’?”
Rozanov shrugs. “Has chapter about me.”
“Of course it does.” Shane’s voice is shockingly soft.
“Was gift for you,” Rozanov mumbles. He’s looking at the floor. “You finished your other book.”
Shane very gently puts the book down on the coffee table. For the third time, he says, “Ilya.”
Rozanov collapses into Shane’s arms like his strings have been cut. “I am sorry, Shane,” he says. His voice is muffled against Shane’s neck. “I did not know your teammates would come here. I had extra time but you were not home, so I thought you would find the things before the game, like surprise. And be happy. Was stupid. I am so sorry.”
“No, don’t,” Shane says. He reaches up to tangle his hands in Rozanov’s hair. “You couldn’t have known. Don’t say sorry, please don’t.”
Hayden looks at J. J., hoping for an indication what to do. J. J. meets his eyes and mouths What the fuck? Do something!
Why me? Hayden mouths back.
J. J. shrugs and goes, You’re a dad!
Hayden narrows his eyes at him before risking a glance back at Shane and Rozanov, who are still holding on to each other. They’re swaying slightly, like they’re physically holding each other up.
And then Rozanov practically coos sweetheart at Shane, and it breaks Hayden out of his stupor. “What the fuck?” he says.
“Fucking sweetheart?” J. J. says at the same time.
“Ah, this is where you draw line?” Rozanov says, lifting his head from Shane’s shoulder. Hayden can see his arms tightening around Shane’s waist, and it’s like a punch to the gut to see him acting like Shane belongs to him.
“Why the fuck are you calling him sweetheart?” Hayden demands.
“Because he is sweet,” Rozanov says. It brings Hayden up short, because he can’t argue with that. Shane is the sweetest guy he knows.
Shane, who is blushing right now, one hand still in Rozanov’s hair. Shane, who looks overwhelmed and tense and yet somehow more at ease in Rozanov’s hold than Hayden has ever seen him anywhere. Shane, who slides his hand down from Rozanov’s curls to his jaw and looks at him, with an expression Hayden’s never seen on Shane’s face. Not even when he was handed the Stanley Cup.
“Shane,” Hayden says. He feels faint, like that time they took the kids to the beach and he lost sight of Ruby for a just a minute, and the whole world dropped out from under his feet until he found her. “Are you okay?”
Because the thing is, Hayden’s an ally, right? He reads And Tango Makes Three to the kids. He watches Queer Eye with Jackie. Being an ally is a different prospect when Shane isn’t with a random guy, but with Rozanov, though.
“He hasn’t, like, brainwashed you?” J. J. asks. His voice sounds hollow, like he might be remembering Comeau’s teeth as well, and comparing the image to Shane and Rozanov’s embrace before them.
“I will punch them, yes?” Rozanov is looking at Shane. Hayden realises that he’s waiting for permission, which is fucked up. This whole thing is so fucked up.
“No, you won’t,” Shane says. “And J. J., what the fuck? Of course he hasn’t.” He sounds offended, though Hayden doesn’t find J. J.’s question that unreasonable.
Rozanov, though, leans in, presses his lips to Shane’s ear, and whispers something that makes Shane blush violently and squeak, “Ilya, don’t!”
Rozanov laughs wetly. “Is true, no? Is brainwashing. Too good for you to think about anything else.”
Shane makes shushing noises and blushes harder. Hayden stumbles over to the sofa and sits down. “Fuck,” he says for what feels like the tenth time. “Okay, just tell me. How long has this been going on?”
“I already told you,” Rozanov says.
“No, you fucking didn’t!”
“Summer before rookie season,” Shane says.
Rozanov looks at Hayden triumphantly. Asshole.
“That can’t be true,” J. J. says.
“Oh, you think Shane does not know when he first sucked his own boyfriend’s dick, do you?” Such a fucking asshole.
“Shane, that – that’s – that’s… a long time.” Even though he’s sitting now, Hayden feels a little weak.
Shane fixes first Hayden, then J. J. with a long look. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Okay, sure,” J. J. says. “But don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical to not -”
“This is not about you, or me,” Shane cuts him off. “If people find out, Ilya can never be safe in Russia, and he doesn’t have Canadian citizenship yet -”
“Yeah, because he doesn’t live in fucking Canada!” J. J. says. He adds something in French that makes Shane narrow his eyes.
Hayden is a little stuck on the yet. Before he can ask, Rozanov glares at J. J. and says, “I am moving to Ottawa next year.”
There’s dead silence for a moment. Then Hayden hears himself saying, “No, you’re fucking not.”
“Shane, please,” Rozanov whines. “Let me punch Pike. Only once.”
“Ilya,” Shane says, more fondly than Hayden would like.
“You’re never going to win anything again!” Hayden says. “Ottawa are shit!”
“I understand hockey very well, Pike. I know they are shit.”
“Then why are you -”
“Is obvious, no?” Rozanov pulls Shane closer.
J. J. curses in French and sits down next to Hayden.
Shane finally lets go of Rozanov, only to physically put himself between him and the couch Hayden and J. J. are sitting on. Like he has to protect Rozanov from the two of them. Which is kind of wild considering Hayden still has that visceral memory of Comeau’s teeth on the ice at the forefront of his mind.
“This all doesn’t matter right now, you need to promise you won’t tell anyone! You have to promise,” Shane pleads. “You have to – you can’t -”
Something switches to autopilot in Hayden’s brain. Maybe it really is part of being a dad, but when someone talks to him in the voice Shane is using, he has to comfort and reassure. It’s not like he hates Rozanov so much that he wants him persecuted in fucking Russia. “We promise,” he says firmly. “Shane, trust me. We’re not going to say anything, to anyone. Not even Jackie, okay?”
“He’s right, we’re not,” J. J. says, thank fuck.
Rozanov cups the back of Shane’s neck and leans their foreheads together. “See, sweetheart? Is all good. We are safe. Okay? We are safe.”
Shane nods. “Yeah.” His voice is shaking again, and Hayden feels like a shit friend. He’s been a shit friend since walking in here today.
“Sit down.” Rozanov pulls Shane to the sofa and gets him to sit, then disappears into the kitchen. Hayden and J. J. exchange looks in silence.
When Rozanov comes back, he hands Shane a ginger ale and puts three glasses and a bottle of clear liquid on the table. He pours out what must be vodka.
“We can’t get drunk at 11am!”
“Oh, so a little bit of vodka will get you drunk? You are sad, Pike.”
Hayden takes a deep breath and counts to three very slowly. He has to be the bigger man and ignore Rozanov for the time being. For Shane. He realises he hasn’t made one important thing clear. “So. Shane. You being gay is cool, yeah? You know we’re totally fine with that, right?”
J. J. is nodding along with with Hayden is saying, his expression serious.
Shane looks at them, like he’s deliberating whether to believe it. It stings until Hayden remembers Drapeau calling Scott Hunter a cocksucker a couple of weeks ago. Hayden didn’t say anything then. He tries to remember Shane’s face when that happened, but the moment barely registered at the time. Now he feels like a complete asshole and a hypocrite for not calling Drapeau out. For never calling anyone out when they say shit like that in the locker room.
“We’ve got your back,” Hayden says more firmly. “We won’t tell anyone, and we have your back. Even if it’s this asshole you’re dating.”
Shane meets his eyes and nods.
“I will punch you on the ice, Pike,” Rozanov announces. He picks up his glass and drains it. “I have to go, the team is waiting for me. See you at game.”
And, holy fuck, they’re all going to play a game this afternoon. Shit. How the hell is Hayden supposed to play a game against Rozanov after all of this?
It’s made worse when Shane and Rozanov kiss goodbye in the hallway, still half-visible from the living room. The kiss starts soft and close-lipped and chaste until Rozanov turns it into something definitely not chaste. There’s sounds. Hayden is one hundred percent convinced that Rozanov is doing it on purpose, knowing Hayden and J. J. can see. Shane surely wouldn’t.
Hayden is, oddly enough, also relieved by the realisation that Rozanov acting this obnoxiously presumably means he is back to his normal self, not the terrifyingly human version of him that was tearing up and clinging to Shane and calling him sweetheart and apologising.
The front door falls shut and Shane comes back. His gaze darts around the room, avoiding Hayden and J. J.
“I meant it,” Hayden says. “We have your back.”
“We do, capitaine,” J. J. confirms.
“Thanks, guys.” Shane drinks some more of the ginger ale Rozanov brought him. He twists his hands around the can. “I – yeah. Thank you.”
“Sorry for, you know. Accusing your boyfriend of breaking into your apartment,” Hayden says.
Shane smiles tightly. “Weird conclusion to jump to but I get it.” He blows out a breath. “I probably would have told you guys at the start of this season, if it was anyone else.”
“Right,” Hayden says. “But it’s him.”
This time, Shane’s smile is real. “It’s him.” He takes another sip of ginger ale. It seems to relax him. At least his shoulders drop slightly. “Let’s watch the Boston game now, otherwise we’ll run out of time.”
“We’re still doing that?” J. J. asks.
“Yes,” Shane says. “We have to be prepared, they’ve played a great season so far. We can’t give them a chance to win.”
“Uh, sure,” Hayden says. “Just – so, you and Rozanov are in this, um, obviously loving committed relationship and then whenever you play each other, you – want to destroy each other?”
Shane nods. “Of course.” He sounds like this should be obvious. It sort of is, even though it’s a bewildering concept.
“And you like it?” Hayden asks.
“I love it,” Shane says quietly. The unspoken I love him reverberates around the living room.
It’s so nice to see Shane like this that Hayden thinks that perhaps, with a lot of work, he might be able to get on board with this whole thing.
Until Shane pulls on Rozanov’s fucking Bears hoodie over his t-shirt, and Hayden’s brain goes fuck it all. The game isn’t for another five hours. He drinks his vodka. He’s earned it today, and at least that way he might not feel it as much if his best friend’s boyfriend decides to knock out some of his teeth.