Chapter Text
Shane Hollander was fine. Really. He told people so on a regular basis. For instance, his best friend Hayden Pike as they finished changing after a game.
“Okay,” Hayden sighed. “If you say so.”
“We won the game. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” His hockey stick kept leaning the wrong way in his locker and he slammed it back into place with more force than necessary. He checked his phone. No messages. Made sense. His parents were in the audience, his friends were his teammates, and Ben knew he was playing a game and wouldn’t text him tonight.
“I don’t know, you get into a weird headspace sometimes when we play Ottawa. I wish the press would cut it out with that over the top rivalry narrative about you and Rozanov. You’d think they’d have found something else to move onto by now, especially after he got traded out of Boston.”
Shane shrugged a shoulder as he tossed his phone in his bag. He didn’t want to talk about Rozanov. He didn’t want to explain that he’d stared at Rozanov’s mouth a little too long once in a hotel gym, and the thought of kissing him had never entirely left his head. It still managed to pester him when they played against each other and he feverishly worried that each look he stole at Rozanov was too much, too noticeable, too full of what if, though? What if I had kissed him?
It was a bad question considering the answer was obviously, I would have ruined my entire life.
“Come over for dinner Friday,” Hayden said. “Bring Ben. We’ll crack open a fresh bottle of wine and a case of ginger ale and play Yahtzee.”
Shane didn’t know much about wine, but he was pretty sure fresh was not an indicator of quality, wine-wise. “Well you’ve lured me in with Yahtzee,” Shane said. “I’ll have to ask Ben. He might be busy.”
“We can work around no Ben,” Hayden said. “Jackie would-” He cut himself off and acted like his socks were in sudden need to attention.
“What’s her problem with Ben, anyway?”
“Nothing,” Hayden said. “What problem? Ben is fine.”
“Great. Awesome. I’ll text you about Friday.” Shane was pretty sure that Jackie did have a problem with Ben, but it was so covered in politeness that it was difficult to complain about. Besides, Hayden was the only one of his teammates that acknowledged Ben’s existence at all.
It wasn’t that Hayden was the only one who knew. Ben was only mildly secret, at best. A year ago Shane had gotten a little too careless about mentioning his boyfriend, apparently, because the MHL commissioner had invited him to talk then made a few pointed comments about not wanting a media circus. The commissioner hadn’t said he didn’t want another Rozanov, but he’d kind of implied he didn’t want another Rozanov.
Ilya Rozanov had come out in spectacular fashion when an entertainment site had published a photo of him grinding on some random man in a club with the headline “Ilya Rozanov gay???” If it had just been that one trashy article on a site no one took seriously, the whole thing probably would have blown over. Rozanov, though, had gone on some kind of social media bender and reposted the article with “FUCK YOU, I’M BISEXUAL” and “I FUCKED YOUR MOM AND YOUR DAD.”
Boston had immediately published a statement about their support of diversity and inclusion in hockey, and then they’d traded Rozanov to Ottawa as quickly as possible.
Based on how soon after Rozanov’s father’s death the incident had occurred, Shane suspected a mix of grief and alcohol was involved. No one ever said anything about it, though, so Shane didn’t, either.
When it came down to it, Shane Hollander was not Ilya Rozanov. Shane had agreed that the last thing he wanted was to make waves. Shane would hold himself perfectly still for as long as it took to avoid making a single wave. So Ben was known to everyone in Shane’s personal life, and completely unacknowledged in the press. Shane did not bring him up in interviews, mention him in award speeches, or ask for him to have any of the same privileges as the WAGs.
Jackie had attempted to intervene on Ben’s behalf several times and offered to introduce him to the WAGs, but Ben had always declined. Maybe that was why Jackie didn’t like Ben? No, that would be a ridiculous thing to hold a grudge over. Ben’s disinterest in being involved in the hockey part of Shane’s life was what made their relationship work. It kept everything tidy and easy to compartmentalize. So easy to compartmentalize that Shane had to admit he forgot he had a secret boyfriend half the time.
Shane reached his apartment with a feeling of deep relief. He was glad he lived close to the arena, both to get to practice more quickly and so he could collapse on days like this.
“Hey, Hollywood,” Ben called from the kitchen when Shane walked in the door.
Shane paused. Ben rarely ever stopped by on weekdays, and especially not on game nights. Shane tried to mentally restructure his evening in his head and felt even more exhausted. The aroma of Ben’s go-to salmon and rice recipe drifted out of the kitchen. Shane was lucky to have a boyfriend who liked to cook, he told himself. He stepped into the kitchen and focused on how very lucky he was as Ben flashed him one of his dimples in a quick smile.
If there was such a thing as boyfriend stats that Shane could break down, Ben would have a near perfect score across the board. Even if Shane’s relationship did ever wind up on a front page someday, no one could possibly have a problem with Ben. He was as vanilla ice cream as it was possible for a human being to be: sweet, but not cloying; rich, but not excessively so; nice, but not virtuous in an annoying way; thoughtful, but not clingy. Shane’s relationship was so normal it was outright boring. They’d even had their own meet-cute.
Shane had been at a photoshoot for some ad that had required way too much water and too little clothes, and when he’d gotten lost looking for somewhere to refill his water bottle (because they had plenty of water to spray on his shirt but none for him to drink), he’d run into Ben.
“I’m not usually dressed like this,” Shane had said.
“I hate to tell you this,” Ben had said, “but I was at the meeting for the ad campaign and I know why you’re dressed like that.”
“I’m sorry, this outfit was your idea?”
“No, no.” Ben had held up his hands in mock innocence. “I actually argued against the what if Shane Hollander takes off his clothes pitch. I said we should get Rose Landry and do a superhero thing. Now that I’m here, though, I have to admit I suddenly see the appeal in Shane Hollander taking off his clothes.”
Shane had laughed, and Ben had given him his phone number, and the story charmed at parties. Even Jackie had been delighted the first time she’d heard it, back before she’d met Ben and done an abrupt one-eighty on her opinion of him. Which was absurd, because Ben was a perfect boyfriend.
“Did you catch the game?” Shane asked, not entirely sure whether he was reminding Ben that there had been a game or not.
“No, I’ll watch the next one. Did you win?”
You didn’t even check the score. Shane made himself smile. This was fine. “Yeah. Salmon?”
“Thought I’d make us something to eat before we go out to get drinks with Marissa. Don’t think the bar she chose has anything you’d eat there.”
See? Thoughtful. Shane took a deep breath. “I didn’t know we were going out for drinks with Marissa tonight?”
“It’s on the calendar. Hollywood, I mentioned it to you twice last week.”
Shane glanced at the fridge and yes, it was on the calendar. Noted right there beneath the game against Ottawa. Shane had been so focused on playing against Rozanov that he’d forgotten. Unlike Ben, Shane was a shitty boyfriend.
“Okay,” Shane said. “Drinks. Great. How late do you think we’ll be out?”
Ben let out an annoyed breath.
“I’m not going to leave early,” Shane said quickly. “Just, you know. Calibrating.”
“It doesn’t need calibrating,” Ben said. “It’s just a fun night out with a friend.”
Shane nodded, even though it did need calibrating. He would need to mentally rearrange his entire night in his head over dinner. But that wasn’t Ben’s problem, of course.
“And can we please not talk about hockey tonight while we’re out with Marissa? There are other topics of conversation that exist in the world.”
Shane closed his eyes briefly. “Yeah. I can manage that.”
He couldn’t manage that.
He spent fifteen minutes perusing the drinks menu looking for something that was non-alcoholic yet would still be considered a “drink” while his boyfriend and Marissa chatted about office gossip and Shane contributed nothing at all. He ordered a near-beer with a name confusing enough he hoped no one would notice it wasn’t an actual beer. He continued failing at adding a single word to the conversation as they discussed the weather, Marissa’s in-laws, and streaming services causing the death of day time TV. Finally, in a clear bid to include Shane in the conversation, Marissa asked him about Montreal’s chances of winning the cup this year and Shane was so relieved that he started rattling off variables until Ben gave him a Look.
So. The night wasn’t going well.
And then the cherry on fucking top dropped when Ilya Rozanov walked in with his Ottawa teammates Wyatt Hayes and Zane Boodram. Shane wished he had a menu to comically hide behind, but he wasn’t sure it would have done him any good since Rozanov had clearly already clocked him by the time Shane noticed he was there. Shane’s hopes of being ignored died as Rozanov leaned insolently against the booth where Shane’s party was sitting.
“Hollander,” Rozanov said.
“Oh, sorry,” Marissa said. “Are you Shane’s friend?” Her eyes widened when she recognized him a beat later. “Rozanov, isn’t it? You know, I’ve always been a big Ottawa fan, painful as that is to say. I was thrilled when I saw you’d joined the team.”
“Happy to be here,” Rozanov practically purred. He couldn’t possibly mean that, Ottawa sucked.
“Sorry,” Ben said. “I don’t really follow teams other than Montreal that closely. You play hockey like Shane does?”
“No one plays hockey like Hollander does.”
“He’s on the team we beat tonight,” Shane said. He tried to shoot Rozanov the most vicious smile he could manage, but it clearly failed because Rozanov grinned. Shane wanted to fall into the floor and never be seen again.
“You could have told me you were texting your friends to join us.” Ben’s voice had a hint of disapproval.
Fuck, he thought Shane had planned this mess? “I didn’t text them. It’s just a coincidence.”
“Not coincidence,” Rozanov said. “There was a post on Instagram saying Hollander was here and I thought, must be a good bar.”
Of fucking course someone had posted it. There was nothing incriminating about any photos that could possibly come from this night, though. It would just look like three friends at a bar. Publicly, that was all Ben was. Shane’s long time friend that he was frequently spotted with, but always at a safe distance. There was nothing scandalous about having a friend.
“It is a great bar,” Marissa said. “Did you want to join us?”
Shane felt like he was watching a disaster unfold in slow motion, but he didn’t possess the quick thinking social skills required to make it stop. “I’m sure he wants to sit with his teammates,” Shane tried.
Sweet, kind Ben said, “They could move over one of the tables to add to the booth.”
Rozanov lit up like wrecking Shane’s night had just made his entire week. Tables and chairs were rearranged, introductions were exchanged, and Shane somehow wound up with Rozanov sitting next to him in the booth, Ben and Marissa across from him, and Hayes and Boodram sitting at the two-top table extension they’d made. A sane universe should not allow Ben and Rozanov to exist in the same room, let alone share drinks together. Even worse, Shane found himself being drawn into the conversation about the constant traveling required during hockey season.
“I think I’ll keep my nine-to-five,” Marissa said. “I’d go crazy being away from home that much. How do your wives manage it?”
“Cassie’s a superstar,” Boodram said. “All the WAGs are.”
“I think the acronym needs updating,” Hayes said. “What if Roz gets a boyfriend? What would we call him? WAGAB? WABAG?”
For some reason, Rozanov looked right at Ben and opened his mouth.
“I think it’s SOAP,” Shane said before he’d have to exist in a world where Rozanov had asked Ben which acronym he preferred. “I’ve heard it used in women’s hockey.”
“SOAP?” Hayes said. “I hate that. I prefer WAGAB.”
“Not like Roz is getting tied down anytime soon,” Boodram said. “Unless Svetlana decides to drag him to the alter.”
“Who’s Svetlana?” Shane asked. Fuck, did he sound churlish? He was literally sitting right across from his actual secret boyfriend. Rozanov’s dating life was irrelevant to him.
“My best friend,” Rozanov said. “But I think her girlfriend would take issue with me trying to marry her.”
“Good,” Shane said. “I mean, good for her.”
“Rozanov.” Ben clicked his fingers. “I remember that name now. You’re the one with the social media scandal. That’s why I always say nothing good ever happens on social media. Might as well not even have an account. Shane’s agent manages his.”
“But how will I upset the entire hockey world at once if I don’t use Twitter?” Rozanov asked.
“It’s not that hard,” Shane said. “Ruin their playoff brackets then make out with a man on the ice.”
Hayes blinked. “Was that a joke? Is Hollander funny?”
“He’s always been funny,” Rozanov said. “One time in Tampa-”
“Shhhh.” Shane kicked Rozanov’s foot under the table in a panic.
Rozanov rolled his eyes. “Fine, it’s a secret that Hollander is funny. Don’t tell anyone or else he’ll have to kill you.”
“Asshole,” Shane muttered.
“I think we’re cutting Hollywood off,” Ben said when the waiter reappeared to refill their drinks. “How many of those have you had, anyway?”
Shane realized he’d forgotten he had a secret boyfriend again.
Rozanov’s face spasmed with contained laughter. “You’re cutting Hollander off from fake beer? Hollander, are you drunk on fucking grape juice?”
“Fuck off,” Shane said, but it was too late. Ben was looking more closely at the labels on the bottles now, his brow furrowed. Fuck my entire life. Ben had asked for this one night out and Shane had managed to ruin it on every level.
“Hollywood? That’s cute,” Boodram said.
“Ben found out about hockey nicknames and thought I needed one.” Shane hoped it wouldn’t catch on. The one good thing about Montreal ignoring Ben was that they hadn’t picked up on the nickname yet.
“Can Ben make me up a cute hockey nickname?” Hayes asked.
“Not unless you also-” Ben seemed to recall who he was talking to just in time. “I only made one up for Shane because he’s a good friend.”
“I need a cigarette,” Rozanov announced abruptly and left the table.
Hayes and Boodram drifted off shortly after that, as if Rozanov had been the only thing tethering them to the table. Or maybe they weren’t strong enough to withstand the force of Ben’s polite disapproval without their captain.
Marissa sipped at her martini. “Well, they were loud. There should be a word for a group of hockey players in the wild. A chaos racket, maybe. You’re lucky, Ben. You snagged the only quiet hockey player known to man.”
“I know.” Ben shot Shane a smile. “Do you ever get tired of that, what do you call it, when the other players shout nonsense at each other?”
“Chirping,” Shane said.
“It’s like hockey is a game played by ornery toddlers,” Ben said. “I’m glad you’re not like the rest of them. You could always quit and be a model.”
He had to be teasing. If he wasn’t teasing it would be painful, and Shane couldn’t let himself interpret it that way.
“I’d rather stick with hockey. I need some air.” He got up and made it away from the table before Ben could protest. It wasn’t the first time he’d slipped outside at a noisy bar when Ben had dragged him out for drinks. Ben would no doubt give him a long suffering sigh about it when Shane got back.
It was quiet outside, and the air had an icy bite to it. Shane had assumed Rozanov would have left by now, but it felt inevitable that he was leaning against the gross brick wall idly smoking a cigarette.
“Those things will give you lung cancer.”
“Yes. I’ve heard that before somewhere.” Rozanov took another negligent puff of smoke into his lungs. “Your boyfriend seems boring. Is too much boring in one relationship. You’ll get halfway through kissing and fall asleep.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Shane said automatically, because Ilya Rozanov sure as hell wasn’t part of the circle who Shane allowed to know his secrets.
“Okay. Your very good friend you take romantic trips to Finland with.”
Shane blew out a breath and watched it mist in the air. That fucking Canadian tourist with a camera had posted those pictures all over Twitter. Luckily most people had dismissed it out of hand as traveling abroad with a friend. “That’s a deep cut, Rozanov. Are you stalking me?”
“Stalking you? Why would I need to? You’re everywhere, Hollander. You’re on the fucking billboards. Impossible to talk about hockey online without someone bringing you up. Even Instagram thinks if I like hockey I must want to watch a million videos of Shane Hollander scoring goals.”
“Score a million goals and maybe Instagram will like you better.”
“Hah.” Rozanov aggressively puffed on his cigarette. “Everyone knows the internet only cares about who is prettiest, Mr. Voted Most Handsome Man in the MHL Three Times in a Row.”
“Those polls are bullshit and you know it. Can we just- can we not do this right now? I’ve had a long day and I can’t-” Shane gave up and leaned against the disgusting wall as he took a deep breath of frigid air.
Rozanov took a step towards him then stopped. “Do you need me to get your… Ben?”
Shane scrubbed a hand across his face. “No. He doesn’t need to think he’s dating even more of a fuckup.”
“He knows he’s dating Shane Hollander, yes? He doesn’t think he’s dating a fuckup.”
“You’re not the one who has to put up with me. If I ruined your social life on a regular basis and made you fold the fitted sheets correctly you’d be sick of me, too.”
Shane didn’t look up, but he heard the scuff of Rozanov crushing his cigarette with his shoe. “I’d love to learn how to fold fitted sheets. Is like wrestling a bear that eats all my pillow cases until I give up, roll it all into a ball, and stuff it in the closet.”
Shane finally turned to look at him in horror. “Taking the pillowcases out and ironing them is step zero!”
“You iron your pillowcases?”
“It makes them crisp!”
“And Ben doesn’t like crisp pillowcases?” Rozanov flinched a little bit at his own words, which didn’t make sense.
“Ben would prefer I just… cared less.”
“I don’t like Ben.”
This couldn’t be fucking happening again. “Join the club. Jackie Pike would love to have you.”
“Your boyfriend has an anti-fan club? Is there a group chat?”
“No. It’s nothing. Ben is fine.” Shane realized a beat too late that this was not the correct way to describe his own boyfriend. “I mean, I’m fine. Everything is… I have to go.”
“Hollander,” Rozanov called after him, but Shane ignored it. He needed to get back to his normal secret relationship with his normal boyfriend. The only thing Rozanov was calling him towards was disaster.