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"Hope next time we play, you decide to show up."
Compared to the average chirp, it was honestly pretty tame. Unoriginal, even. But coming from Hollander, after a complete shutout game, it landed like a punch to the gut. Not because it was particularly hurtful.
Because it was true.
Scott's head was not in the game, hadn't been for a while now. But he knew that, damnit. He didn't need a kid he still considered a rookie to remind him.
Scott spit onto the ice, still breathing heavily from the game.
"Cheap."
"True," Shane countered, copying Scott. He dared to inch closer, the little punk.
Oh yeah. Scott was in this now.
"You're starting to sound like him."
A pause.
"I'm sorry, what?" Shane's voice shook a little, and Scott knew the jab had hit its mark. Shane hated Rozanov, everyone knew so. Scott would normally feel a little bad about the direct insult to Shane's character, but the kid had pissed him off.
"You fucking heard me, Hollander."
There was no going back now.
Scott wanted a fight. He needed a fight. He needed Shane to throw his gloves and throw a punch, and he needed to throw a punch back.
Shane's gloves stayed on.
He simply stood there, silent, something like dread settling in his eyes.
Oh.
Oh no.
Scott knew that look.
That wasn't the look you got when your feelings were hurt. That was the look you got when someone knew something that could destroy your life, and you couldn't do a thing about it.
Scott was now more sure than ever that he knew what that something was, and he suddenly wished he had just ignored Shane's chirp.
Because this was bad.
Scott knew exactly how bad it was. So did Shane.
It was, however, rather lucky that it was Scott that Shane was having this conversation with, and not someone like Dallas Kent. Scott would never purposefully use something like this against someone.
But Shane clearly thought he would.
Which was so, so much worse.
"Hollander," Scott starts, shooting a nervous glance at the camera a few meters away.
"No one can know," Shane quietly pleads, clutching his stick to his chest. There are tears in his eyes, and Scott feels immensely guilty that he put them there.
"Kid," Scott tries again, his voice lower this time. He doesn't know how to finish his sentence.
"Scott. Please." It's said with desperation, the kind that Scott understands all too well.
Hollander is expecting a response.
Scott doesn't have one.
But he knows that he's put this kid in a really tough spot, and the cameras are going to notice the tension of their interaction any minute now, so he sharply nods his head, and skates back to his tunnel.
He doesn't look back to make sure Shane is skating to his. He doesn't think he can handle the look on the kid's face much longer.
He really fucked this one up.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Scott had been sitting in his car in the parking lot of the Four Seasons Hotel for five minutes, trying to build up the courage to go inside.
Scott had sent the text after they had both awkwardly sat through the post-game media, pretending as if there wasn't something much more interesting than the game to talk about.
Can I meet you at a bar or something? I think we should talk.
Kip was crashing at his dad's place after a late shift, so there was no pressure for Scott to get home early tonight.
Shane had replied instantly.
Me too, but could we meet somewhere more private? Maybe my hotel?
Scott had agreed, and Shane had texted him the address of the hotel and his room number.
Now he just needed to go inside.
Taking a deep breath, he gets out of the car and heads for the entrance. He had a plan. He was going to tell Shane that he was sorry for anything he might've implied and that he was going to mind his own business, and then he was going to go home. That was it.
He walks through the lobby, an open elevator already waiting. He presses the button that reads 5, and the elevator begins to rise.
He could do this.
The doors slide open, and Scott makes his way to room 507. The door opens before he can knock.
Shane wordlessly opens it wider, and Scott follows him into the room. Scott sinks into the hotel desk chair, and Shane sits stiffly on the edge of the bed.
"I'm gay too." The words come out of Scott's mouth before he can process them. Shit. This was not part of the plan.
Shane opens his mouth to respond, but Scott cuts him off.
"--I mean, not too, you could be bisexual or something, I don't know. Or maybe you are gay, that's cool too. In fact, whatever you are--or aren't--is cool with me. I'm an ally! Not that you need allies, but you know, it's always good to have them, right? I just mean, you know, i'm not gonna tell anyone--if you are...whatever you are--cause now you know that i'm gay, which is something i'd like to keep on the down-low myself, so you know, i'm not gonna...say anything."
Shane simply stares at him, mouth slightly open, searching for something to say.
"Wow, Scott," He finally replies, "that's...wow." His voice is a little shaky as he processes the word-vomit that just came out of Scott's mouth.
"So...are you? Gay?"
Scott mentally kicks himself for how he's approaching this.
Shane purses his lips into a thin line, and his eyes get glassy again. Shit.
"I don't know," He responds slowly, his tone unnaturally measured. "I think...maybe."
"That's okay!" Scott states unhelpfully. "You don't have to know. I mean--I did, but that's--you're not me." He takes a deep breath, trying to relax. "Sorry. I don't really know how to do this."
"Me neither."
"Do your, uh, parents know?"
Shane shakes his head, planting it in his hands. "Nobody knows. Nobody but him and...you, I guess."
Scott takes a moment to process that, his heart aching for the kid. He knew how hard it was to hide such a big part of yourself. It was like this astronomical weight on your shoulders that never fully went away.
"Same here," Scott says. "Just you. And my boyfriend." The word is unfamiliar against his tongue, but it's liberating to finally say it out loud.
Shane lifts his head from his hands. "I'm happy for you, Scott. I'm glad you found someone."
"Thanks, man," Scott responds. "So...you and...Rozanov, huh?"
Shane lowers his head again. "Were we really that obvious?"
"Well, I mean, he did give you his room number right next to me, but...I didn't really think much of it, at the time. I really only fully knew tonight, after the game."
Shane grimaces at the mention of their earlier interaction.
"I'm really sorry about that, by the way," Scott adds. "I never would've said something like that if I knew...you know."
"No, it's my fault," Shane argues. "I was being an asshole."
"Yeah." That startles a laugh out of Shane, which Scott counts as a win. "You weren't wrong, though. I played like shit. My head wasn't in the game. But the way I reacted..."
"It's okay, Scott."
"It's not. I shouldn't have mentioned Rozanov. That was a dick move, regardless of how I meant it."
"Let's call it even," Shane suggests, "The assholery ends now."
Scott snorts. "Yeah. Okay."
They sit in the quiet for a moment, before Shane's expression sobers.
"Do you think...anyone else knows?"
"If they do, they're keeping it to themselves." The words do little to calm Shane, so Scott adds, "I wouldn't worry about it, Rook. My gaydar is much more accurate than others'."
The corner of Shane's mouth lifts.
"I'm sorry, but I gotta ask," Scott finally says, the question having been nagging at him for the past few minutes. "How long have you two been...?"
"We're not--he's not like my...boyfriend, or something," Shane quickly replies, noticing the second question hidden in the first. "It's...it's complicated."
Ah. So just sex, then. Probably some stronger feelings brewing, though, if Shane's face is anything to go off of.
"How long?"
Shane looks away. "Rookie season."
"Holy shit." That's...wow. "Rookie season!?"
"Well, technically the summer before, but that doesn't really count."
"And he's not your boyfriend?" Scott doesn't mean for the words to sound judgmental, but he's too shocked to control his tone right now.
"It's complicated," Shane repeats, looking down at the musty hotel carpet.
Scott suddenly gets the feeling that maybe this isn't a great relationship.
"Is he good to you?" He asks, leaning forward in his chair.
"Yeah." Shane seems like he wants to say more, but settles with his answer. "Yeah, he's...he's good to me." His eyes get glassy yet again. "We can't be anything."
Well if that's not one of the most heartbreaking things Scott's ever heard.
"Because of the league?"
"Amongst other things, yeah." He sniffles, swiping at his eyes. "This really fucking sucks."
"Yeah," Scott agrees, getting a little emotional himself. "It really does."
They sit in their self pity for a moment, before Scott stands and heads towards the phone plugged into the wall.
"What are you doing?" Shane asks.
"We're wallowing. I'm ordering an ice cream sundae, do you want one?" Scott had heard that Shane was on a pretty strict diet, and didn't want to press.
Shane huffs out a laugh. "Sure. Why not."
Scott orders two ice cream sundaes, and a plate of fries (for dipping), and they somehow end up sitting against the foot of Shane's bed with some shitty reality show playing on the hotel TV, room service food spread out in front of them.
"Joseph Gordon-Levitt in 10 things I hate about you. Absolutely adorable," Scott says, picking around the almonds in his sundae. Why did people always have to put nuts in everything?
The conversation had spiraled after the food arrived, and they had somehow landed on the topic of Scott's gay awakening.
"Really? Over Heath Ledger?"
"You have a type, Hollander, you know that?"
"I don't have a type."
"You so do." Shane rolls his eyes, which Scott takes as a cue to continue. "Let's compare Heath Ledger's character with your infamous rival, shall we?"
"Here we go," Shane groans.
"First of all, we got the hair. Those dirty blond curls have you in a chokehold, my friend. Next, we have the asshole demeanor. I mean, come on, tell me that's not Rozanov." Shane opens his mouth to argue, but Scott holds up a hand. "Lastly, there's the accent. It's not the same, I know, but it's proof that you love an exotic man."
"Ew, don't refer to Rozanov as 'exotic'."
"Alright, fine. If you 'don't have a type', then what do you like about him?"
Shane pauses, his eyes softening. "I don't know. He's...different, when he's we're alone. He's gentle. He's not--the asshole thing is mostly an act." His cheeks go a little pink. "And then there's, well, you know."
"I don't know. Please, enlighten me," Scott says, raising his eyebrows.
"You know," Shane says again, tiptoeing around the point. "There's the...physical aspect."
"Oh my god." Shane's cheeks flush deeper. "Shane Hollander!" Scott exclaims, mock scolding.
"What? You've seen him!"
"Clearly I haven't seen as much as you have."
"Can we please change the topic?"
"Alright, alright." The sound of glass shattering on the TV cuts through the sudden silence.
"What is happening?" Shane asks after a moment, gesturing to the TV.
"I'm pretty sure the blond chick is having an affair with the redhead's husband," Scott explains, though he isn't certain himself.
"There's like eighty blondes. Be more specific."
"I don't know, man, i'm not exactly an expert on...whatever this is. What is this, even?"
Shane shrugs, and pulls up the TV guide. "Mamas and Margaritas: New Orleans. Wow. Okay."
"Yikes," Scott agrees.
Shane starts flicking up and down the guide, looking for something new.
"Well don't change it now, they're about to have the dinner party!"
"Okay, okay, I didn't think you were so invested," Shane relents, clicking back on the TV slop.
"God forbid a guy enjoy some trash TV every once in a while," Scott complains.
They watch the show for a couple minutes, before it goes to a commercial break and Shane turns the volume down.
"So, tell me about your boyfriend. How did you guys meet?"
"I ran by this smoothie shop one morning," Scott responds, smiling just thinking about it. "It had been a rough few weeks, and I don't know, I just had this feeling that maybe I should go inside." Shane nods along. "Anyways, I went in, and there he was, sitting at the front counter. I asked him for a smoothie recommendation, we made some smalltalk, and then I came back the next day. And the next day. And the day after that."
"That sounds nice," Shane comments.
"It was. It is." He looks down. "I think he's the one, you know?"
"That's great, Scott. I'm really happy for you," Shane says, and he looks like he means it.
"Thanks, Rook, that really means a lot." He clears his throat. "So what about you and Rozanov? How did this thing between you two start?"
"We first met at worlds. But we didn't...hook up until the summer before rookie season."
Scott doesn't say anything, simply raising a brow.
"You know that commercial we did together?" Shane continues with a sigh.
"No way."
"Yeah, it was kind of weird."
"I remember seeing that commercial when it first came out. I did not think you two were..."
"We don't have to discuss it," Shane says quickly, before lowering his tone. "It's hard enough for me to wrap my head around it sometimes."
Scott notices the sudden dejected look on Shane's face, and decides that he's not gonna fail this kid the same way everyone else has.
"Look, I know this isn't easy. It probably won't ever be. But if you need someone to talk to about...all this, or just in general, I can be that someone." He places a hand on Shane's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "I've got your back, Rook. All the way."
"Thanks, Scott." Shane turns his head away, getting a little misty-eyed. "I've got yours, too. All the way."
They sit in silence for a bit after that, dipping over-salted fries into half-melted ice cream and pretending to pay attention to the TV.
It was nice.
No hockey-talk, no hiding who they were, just two guys participating in--let's face it--slumber party activities.
Just...being friends.
Scott doesn't have too many of those. Not friends like this, that is.
But eventually, he has to leave, Shane having an early flight, and Scott having a load of laundry waiting at home.
Shane gives him a stiff hug and promises to keep in touch. Scott tells Shane that everything will be okay.
He gives Shane one last nod, then exits the hotel room, feeling lighter than he has in years.
He has no idea how he's going to keep this from Kip.