Chapter Text
Shane would never admit it, but he was beginning to regret continuing his mom’s role as his manager into adulthood. Sure, she worked harder than anyone else he had ever met, held him accountable to always playing his best, and supported him with the ferocity of a brown bear, but right now, as he was forced to stand in the blistering cold in order to hear her voice down his phone, he would give pretty much anything to join his team mates in their hotel’s old fashioned, but more importantly heated, lobby.
This wasn’t Shane’s first time visiting Winnipeg, but it was the NHL’s first time running a Two-Team "Away Week." Not a single soul was happy with this situation. Five long days of enforced team building, training, and supposedly "friendly" games between the Montreal Metros and their frequent opponents, the Boston Bears. Until now, the teams’ rivalry had been encouraged, even weaponised, by their coaches. “You think Boston gives a fuck about whether your form is perfect?” Coach had hissed at Shane during a recent halftime, where he had hurriedly approached his mentor, sweating and pink, to whine that his new, NHL-issued skates were changing his gait enough to throw off his concentration.
Shane had wanted to remind him that this particular issue wasn’t with the other team but with Shane’s singular need for control, familiarity, and routine in all he did. However, any hope of a discussion was shut down by Coach turning Shane by his shoulders, pushing him forward, and exclaiming, “Now get your pansy ass back out there, Hollander!”
The word pansy rang around in Shane’s skull, and as he glided back towards his teammates, he felt dangerously exposed, his skin tingling with nerves as he grabbed Hayden by the arm, not caring that he was interrupting an animated discussion about gameplay.
“Do I look the same as usual?” Shane garbled, his fingers still digging into his friend’s bicep. Hayden’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning over Shane’s panicked face.
“Holz, what are you talking about?”
“I know, I know this is dumb, I just…” he let Hayden’s arm go, bringing his hand up automatically to rest on his chest, rubbing his thumb over where he knew a silvery scar ran beneath his left pec.
Hayden Pike was Shane’s closest friend, a sweet, easy-going guy whose own calm approach to life somehow always managed to cut through Shane’s tension. He also happened to be the only other person in the NHL who knew Shane was trans. The summer after his rookie season, Shane had panted through one of his fairly common freak-outs following an invite to a pool party at Dagenais’ house. His Mom had approached the issue with her usual poise and determination, stroking a tear away from Shane’s cheek and bringing his eyes up to meet hers.
“Maybe it would be good if someone else knew”, she wondered out loud. “Someone who could quietly support you, someone who understands, at least a little?”
As it turned out, Hayden’s understanding went above and beyond what Shane and Yuna Hollander had expected. He had even joined Shane in wearing a t-shirt poolside, using Yuna’s well-rehearsed white lie to explain away their situation.
“Yo, Pike, embarrassed of your pale little titties?” Dagenais blocked the sun as he leaned above them, beer in hand, droplets of cold water beading down from his chest.
“Nah, Hollander and I have a sponsor photoshoot on Monday, can’t risk burning the goods.” He flexed a bicep, slapping at the firm skin over his arm. “You go ahead and get pink, though, bro.” Dagenais had retreated with a roll of his eyes. Hayden slapped the back of his hand to Shane’s chest quickly, meeting his eyes. I’ve got you.
“Shane, did you hear what I said?” Yuna’s voice snapped him back to the present, where he was now shifting from foot to foot to fight the cold stiffness taking over his shins.
“Yeah, Mom, probiotics, I’m taking them!” He had zoned out again, letting her list off various herbal medicines and teas he had to drink daily, when a gust of cigarette smoke flew into his face.
Stepping out of the hotel’s entrance door was the Boston Bears’ Ilya Rosanov, a freshly lit cigarette between his lips. Shane had never spent any time with him off the ice before, purposefully avoiding the opposing player whose imposing height, gravelly voice, and annoyingly hard muscles had always put a bitter, jealous taste in his mouth.
The Russian leaned against the rough brick of the hotel’s outer wall, a few metres away from Shane, looking at ease in the biting Winnipeg cold. Rosanov’s gaze found and stayed on Shane, looking somehow both inquisitive and completely neutral. After a long moment, Shane broke their eye contact to pointedly glance up at the faded red no smoking sign above his head. Ilya followed his gaze up before shrugging, leaning even more comfortably against the wall, and taking another long drag; his blue eyes seemed darker as they bore into his opponent.
What the fuck is he staring at? Shane thought, aware that he himself wasn’t choosing to look away. He needed to focus.
“Mom, I gotta go rest before tomorrow, can I call you back?”
“Sure, honey, just don’t forget what I’ve said!”
Shane sure hoped she hadn’t said anything important, feeling a small pang of guilt for not paying more attention when she worked so hard for him. He kicked away from the wall, picking up his heavy kit bag and heading towards the hotel’s revolving door. He coughed performatively as he passed Rosanov, who was stamping out his cigarette, and followed closely behind Hollander to the entrance.
“How’s Mommy?” Ilya smirked.
“Fuck off”, Shane entered the revolving door, purposefully quickening his pace so the Russian had to wait for the next opening.
As he entered the hotel lobby, the artificial heating hit him immediately. Shane looked around and wondered how long his mother had been talking. The rickety chairs, cracked sofas, and squeaky linoleum floor were empty, where just twenty minutes before they had been full of disgruntled hockey players complaining about the delay. All that was left were the two teams’ coaches, leaning against the main desk, speaking animatedly at a stressed-looking receptionist.
“Boys!” Shane’s coach exclaimed upon spotting them, “Just in time for the last room!”
“Last room?” Ilya repeated.
“You two missed the whole shebang. Turns out the hotel double-booked some of our rooms because of a conference happening down the road, which apparently someone had down as happening next week. Anyway, they just about managed to squeeze us in, but it's two to a room, and you dipshits are the last to claim your spaces.”
“Wait, I have to share with Rosanov? We’re not even on the same team!” Panic rose in Shane’s chest. He hadn’t accounted for a change of plans today. The Bears’ coach smiled at them both apologetically before walking past, pushing two thin keycards into Rosanov’s chest and swiftly moving away to avoid further questions.
Both boys moved slowly, slightly stunned, to the elevator. Shane let Ilya press the button, stepping inside behind him and letting out a large sigh as the lift whirred them upwards. Both stared forward into the huge mirror of the elevator wall, eyes once again finding each other. Ilya opened his mouth to speak.
“What is shebang?”