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Shane came back to hazy consciousness a little bit at a time, small details and memories filtering in slowly as he did. A strong arm thrown over his middle. A thigh pressed between his legs. Blond curls on the pillow next to him.
Rozanov.
They'd hooked up last night. Three times, actually. Shane smiled without opening his eyes, feeling the languid relaxation of several good orgasms still humming under his skin. They must have fallen asleep at some point, because light was shining through the windows. Maybe that was what woke him.
Knock, knock, knock.
“Shane?”
Shane sat bolt upright. That was his mother’s voice. An annoyed voice that said it wasn’t the first time she’d called out.
“Shit! Fuck!”
He shoved Rozanov’s shoulder, and Rozanov groaned in protest, rubbing his face into the pillow.
“Get up, get dressed, my mom is here.” He raised his voice. “Hold on, mom!”
Shane launched himself out of the bed and over to where his folded clothes sat, dragging his boxers up his legs as Rozanov stumbled to standing, getting tangled in the sheets and flailing into the wall, morning wood swinging in full view. Shane grabbed Rozanov’s boxers and pitched them to him just as his mom knocked again.
“I’m coming in, Shane,” she called, and the door beeped and whirred as she used her key.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Shane chanted, hopping on one foot as he tried to get into his sweatpants. Rozanov managed to get his jeans up in record time and was just zipping the fly when Yuna Hollander rounded the corner.
Everyone froze.
Shane and Rozanov stared at Yuna.
Yuna looked between them, her eyes wide and stunned, staring right back.
Rozanov snorted, and then started laughing.
“Fuck you,” Shane snapped.
“Sorry, sorry,” Rozanov said between giggles, which were apparently contagious, because Shane felt the nervous laughter bubbling up in his own chest too, finally escaping as he yanked his shirt over his head.
“You’re such an asshole,” he said through his laughter.
“I think you like it,” Rozanov teased, and if Shane‘s face weren’t already bright red, that would’ve done it. Rozanov quickly got his shirt, socks, and shoes on without looking at Shane’s mom again, then edged toward where his jacket still lay on the floor by the door where it had landed moments after his arrival the previous night.
“I have flight to catch very soon,” he said, still not meeting Yuna’s eyes. “Sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep.”
“Rozanov, wait, one sec,” Shane said, then grabbed the pen on the bedside table. On the little free hotel branded notepad, he scribbled his phone number and ‘When in Montreal.’ He folded it in half and handed it to Rozanov, who peeked at it and burst into a wide grin.
“I’ll text you,” he said, lifting the paper in acknowledgement, then grabbed his jacket and leaped for the door. “See you in October. Sorry again, Mrs. Hollander.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and then Shane was alone with his mother and the largest elephant that had ever been in any room ever.
He flopped back on the bed and threw his arms over his eyes.
“I don’t suppose we can just not talk about this,” he said.
“Not a chance,” his mom said. “Rozanov? Really?”
“Obviously,” he grumbled. And it had been really, really fucking good, so he couldn’t even feel bad about it. Maybe he would later.
His mom huffed. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a dangerous choice?”
“I think it’s pretty much the safest choice there is.” Shane sat up but kept his eyes on the ground, rubbing a hand over his face. “What, you want me to get on Grindr and hook up with some random guy who might leak it to the press? Or should I go with the guy who has just as much to lose as I do, who knows exactly what’s at stake, who can’t out me without outing himself?”
“Okay, those are all good points,” his mom admitted. “It just seems rather… sudden.”
Shane gave a single bark of laughter. “It’s not.”
“What do you mean?”
Everything in Shane wanted to snap and snark back at her, or stonewall her, refuse to answer any of the many invasive questions he was sure were coming. But Yuna Hollander was nothing if not terribly persistent, and Shane had gotten so little sleep. The fight was just not in him.
“We’ve been working up to this since the night of the draft,” he said wearily. “We weren’t even supposed to shoot this commercial together, it was supposed to be separate. Rozanov requested it.”
His mom sucked in a little breath. “Oh my god, that’s why they changed plans so suddenly.”
“Yes.”
His mom walked closer, her sensible, stylish shoes entering his field of vision as he continued to glare holes in the ground. “Did something happen the night of the draft?”
Shane’s cheeks burned. “Not exactly. I couldn’t sleep, I went to the gym, he was there, we talked.”
“And?”
Shane threw his hands in the air, trying desperately to avoid thinking of how he’d ended draft night by getting himself off to the thought of Rozanov’s mouth.
“God, I don’t know, Mom, he was hot, I noticed, I got the fuck out of there before I could do anything about it. Clearly he picked up on it.”
“And then arranged this whole photoshoot a year later so he could see you again. It’s actually kind of sweet.”
Shane groaned as if in physical pain, locking his hands together at the back of his neck. “This is actual torture. Are we done?”
“Oh, sweetie, no,” his mom said, amused. “Everything was consensual? He didn’t take advantage or anything—”
Shane launched himself off the bed and was across the room in three long strides, needing far more distance than a hotel room could provide. The fucking sun might not be far enough.
“Jesus, Mom, I’m not… an innocent maiden or something!” Shane snapped, speaking his words to the fake plant in the corner. He closed his eyes to get the next part out. “He asked if it was my first time with a man, he checked in with me, he was a perfect fucking gentleman. I can’t believe we’re even talking about this.”
“Ilya Rozanov, perfect gentleman, not a thing I ever thought I’d hear,” his mom quipped.
Shane briefly pondered death. Then his mother made it worse.
“I just didn’t even know you were into men,” she said, trying her best to sound casual and failing. She was clearly hurt he hadn’t told her. Unfair. As if it weren’t relatively new to him, too. He’d only started really noticing men after Rozanov had awakened something in him the night of the draft. One year of dragging his gaze away from the shoulders of the man in front of him at the grocery store or blushing at a male barista’s wink and trying to process what it meant. Shane half-turned toward her and waved his hand vaguely.
“It’s… I’m… still figuring things out. I guess.”
She hummed noncommittally.
“Well, was it… better with a guy?”
So much better, Shane’s traitorous brain instantly offered up. He shut it down and thunked the back of his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.
“God, mom, why would you ask me that?”
Embarrassing enough the time he’d gotten a box of condoms and a humiliating talk when he’d come home late from a date with his girlfriend at seventeen. He didn’t know how they’d known he’d slept with her (badly), but they knew. Now, his mother was asking if the sex he’d just had with a man was good. He wanted to melt into the nasty hotel carpet. He wanted to fling himself out the nearest window. He wanted to flee the room and never see his mother’s face ever again.
“Well, it’s part of figuring things out, right?” she said as if her question had been totally normal and not at all invasive. “So? Was it?”
Shane thunked his head back against the wall three more times. One for each time he’d gotten off with Rozanov last night. He’d gone back for more again and again, and that was… a first. How bad was it that he’d never really wanted a repeat blowjob from his girlfriend?
“I don’t know, was it better because he’s a guy or because it’s him? It was one night, how am I supposed to judge?”
“Well, you never really seemed all that… enthusiastic about your girlfriends.”
There was a telling pause.
“Not really, no,” he admitted.
“So maybe that tells you something.”
Shane shoved his hands into his pockets and folded in on himself, gaze back on his socked feet. “Or maybe I just wasn’t very into those particular girls. I’m not really ready to slap a label on myself yet, okay? Fuck. I’m sure there’s some girl out there who I can… be happy with.”
When his mother next spoke, her voice had gone soft. “Shane, you don’t have to force yourself to be something you’re not.”
Shane’s head snapped up and he met his mother’s gaze for the first time since the conversation had started, his mouth tight and his eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t know what I am yet, and neither do you. Maybe I’m bi. Maybe I just need the right girl.”
Sure, the ship had definitely sailed on straight, but maybe bisexual was still an option? Hopefully?
His mother held up her hands and took a step back. “Okay, Okay, I’m just saying, don’t feel like you have to fit into some particular image. I want you to be yourself and be happy.”
Shane scoffed, shaking his head. “You talk to me constantly about my image and what it means for me to be a public figure. You can’t seriously say you want me to be the perfect Asian-Canadian, role model, sponsor-approved hockey player and also say it’s okay for me to be gay.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Shane,” his mother replied without missing a beat. “I’m not saying it will be an easy road, but I would never expect you to hide a huge part of yourself and lie about it and deny yourself happiness for your entire twenty-year career. Maybe you’ll just be a role model for a different kind of community. There’s a world of opportunity here, if we play our cards right,”
Momager mode engaged. Shane pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Mom, can we take three steps back, please? I’m not ready to be the MLH’s gay icon or something. Again, I hooked up with one guy one time.” Well, three times in one night, but she didn't need that level of detail. “And… yeah, okay, if I’m honest I would much rather see him again than pick up girls at bars after games like the other guys.”
He shuddered a bit at the thought, and that should probably tell him all he needed to know, but that was a problem for another day.
“Can I at least like… get through my rookie season first?” he pleaded. “Can I have a year to figure myself out and get settled in the league before you start trotting me out for pride campaigns?”
His mom held up her hands, a flash of hurt crossing her face. “Of course, honey. I am your mother first and foremost, always. I want you to be happy and safe. You tell me when you’re ready and I’ll back off until then. But… just keep me in the loop, okay? You can talk to me about this. I love you and I support you no matter what, and so will your father.”
Oh god, his quiet, mild-mannered father would hear every detail about his mother finding a half-dressed man in his hotel room. He was saved from picturing the horror in detail by a buzz from his phone over on the bed. He scooped it up and opened the text.
hi jane, here’s my number for when you’re in boston. see you soon ;) xo lily
“What are you grinning at?” his mother asked in a teasing voice. Shane slapped the phone face down on the bed and wiped the smile off his face.
“Nothing.”
“He texted you, didn’t he.”
Shane shook his head, looking anywhere but at his mother. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”
“Probably not, no,” she said, folding her arms and smirking. “I, your mother, had to endure watching your hookup get dressed and do the walk of shame out of your hotel room. Now you get to endure this.”
She bit back a smile and shook her head. “Ilya Rozanov. Your rival. Of all people.”
Shane felt the silly grin take over once again, eyes darting back to where his phone lay on the bed.
“Yeah. Him.”