Archive of Our Own

Shane Hollander meets Ilya Rozanov when he is seventeen. They meet in a parking lot. Regina doesn’t have a lot to offer, but Shane hadn’t noticed. Not with the way Rozanov skates, the way he plays hockey. It’s a disconcerting feeling, like his world tilting on a whole new axis and suddenly everything he thought he knew isn’t quite true anymore. Rozanov is good. Really good. Maybe even better than Shane. He’s smoking in a parking lot after practice with his team. A practice that Shane had stayed to watch, at first because he wanted to see his competition and then because he couldn’t not. It’s the World Junior Ice Hockey Championships, and they only get one, or maybe two more shots at winning here before they’re playing in the MLH.

Shane Hollander is seventeen, and he’s standing in a parking lot in Regina, Saskatchewan, watching Ilya Rozanov place a cigarette between his pouty lips. Like he isn’t an elite athlete. Like he doesn’t care. Like he can break the rules and still be great. The best.

“Ilya Rozanov?”

Shane’s sitting on Claire’s bed, watching her pack for college. She isn’t packing with a ton of precision, mostly just going through her drawers and making piles of what she is taking, what is staying, and what can be donated. When she’s unsure, it’s Shane’s job as her boyfriend to state an opinion. It’s June, and they still have plenty of time before Claire moves to Toronto and Shane is back in training.

It’s not a great use of their summer, but Shane likes Claire’s bedroom. Likes that her parents make her keep the door open, watch him like a hawk whenever he is over, because he is a boy and Claire is a girl. It is how dating is supposed to be like, based on the movies and TV shows he’s seen.

“Qu’en pensez-tu?” She’s holding a faded red shirt up. She’s smiling shyly, and Shane tries not to think about how deeply it had been buried under all of her other shirts and gives a thumbs up.

“You gotta take that one.” It’s from when Shane played on a local AAA hockey club. It is probably three years old by now, back when the team made it to the playoffs and before Shane’s career really picked up, back when hockey was still a maybe and not a sure thing.

“I think it’s got a hole in the armpit,” Claire mumbles in English, flipping the shirt in her hands so she can inspect it.

“Sleep shirt?” Shane suggests, leaning back on Claire’s quilt and admiring the glow-in-the-dark stickers on her ceiling.

“Bien sûr, for you,” she wanders over the bed, hovering over him, eyebrows raised.

“I mean, I can get a shirt from Kingston. But it isn’t the same, is it?”

“No,” she’s smiling softly, tucking her long brown hair behind an ear before bending over to kiss him quickly on the lips. Her lip gloss smears across his mouth, and he hates the tacky feeling that it leaves behind. “It’s nostalgic. La p’tite Claire voit le p’tit Shane on the ice for the first time.”

“Thinking to herself, Mon Dieu, I hope he’s cute under that helmet?”

“Taisez-tu, s’il tu plaît,” she whacks him on the shoulder and goes back to her dresser. “I knew you were cute before I knew you played hockey. But seeing you play explained why you sucked so bad at pop quizzes, even though you didn’t seem stupid.”

“Hey!” Shane wipes away at his lips with his hoodie sleeve, trying to get the lip gloss off his lips discreetly while Claire’s back is turned.

“You just took all your brains and filtered it into hockey.”

“C’est vrai,” Shane admits.

They had met in history class, and they were in the same grade. Shane’s family had enrolled him at the private Catholic school because they were flexible with his hockey schedule. Claire’s family had enrolled her at the private Catholic school because they were Catholic. When he’d first noticed Claire, it was because she was noticing him. She had been looking at him over her shoulder, a slight blush on her cheeks.

Then she came to a hockey game, and Shane had spotted her, and the week before, she’d let him study off of her notes, and so Shane had waved at her. After the game, his mom asked Shane if they wanted Claire to come out to dinner with them. Claire’s parents had said okay. So they went out to eat and dropped Claire back home, and his mom and dad were suspiciously quiet on the way home.

The next day, Shane asked if she wanted to hang out without his parents. When she asked if he was asking her out, he said yes. And that’s how they started dating, and they didn’t stop when Shane was scouted for a junior team in Kingston, because he was still close to home. That meant his parents could pick her up and take her to his games. That they could see each other on weekends, and they could still hang out even though they were no longer in school together.

They had only managed to fool around when they were left unsupervised and they’d only had real sex one time. Shane was sure it would get better with time, but he didn’t have time and when he did there was never an opportunity. Now the clock is running out. First there’s the draft, then Claire goes to Toronto for university, then it’s the JWC. Everything that he’s worked towards is right around the corner. Everything is about to change. He wants to be the number one draft pick. And then he wants to win gold at the JWC. He wants to beat Ilya Rozanov. He wants it so badly it hurts.

Maybe it was a good thing that they’re going to be separated for the first time. Shane can actually focus on hockey. His mom is freaking out. The draft is in LA this year. Shane’s never been to California, so he’s excited to go to the States and for it to be over. Settled. Mom had floated the idea of getting Claire a ticket, but Shane hasn’t asked yet.

“You want to come to the draft?” Shane asks, and his stomach is roiling, and he doesn’t know why.

“Oh,” Claire turns back around, now tucking the other side of her hair behind her ear. They stare at each other across the room, and Shane wishes he could read her better. He should be able to read her better. Their eyes glance off and away from each other. “When’s that again?”

“A couple of weeks.”

“That’s short notice.” Claire’s frowning now, and Shane mirrors her. “I don’t think my parents will go for that.”

“Really?” Something settles in Shane’s stomach.

“No, it’s not even worth asking. But I’ll watch!” She’s smiling. “Who gets first pick this year?”

“Boston,” Shane knows that the team is looking for a young center. Boston’s a good team that’s just in a slump. He could do something there.

“Boston,” Claire says, thinking. “That’s a good sports town. Football, baseball, hockey. Lots of historic teams.”

“Yeah, it would be really cool.”

“But even if it’s not Boston, whoever you end up with will be lucky to have you.”

It’s not Boston.

“Tu me quittes?” Claire’s voice is flat over the phone, and Shane can hear her moving around, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Tu déménages à Toronto. Je déménage à Montréal. Vous ne voulez pas recommencer à zéro?” Shane is standing by the window at a nearly empty gate in LAX. His parents are chatting happily. His dad takes hold of his mom’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. Shane refocuses his attention, staring at the Starbucks off in the distance.

“Non, Shane. On a parlé de relations à distance.” There’s a guy ordering, he has messy, dirty blond hair, and Shane’s stomach leaps.

“Je suis désolé.” It isn’t Rozanov. But he’s almost as good-looking.

“Je te crois,” she laughs. “Bonne chance, Shane.”

Samantha, Sammy, is blonde. She only comes up to Shane’s shoulder, and she keeps laughing every time she has to crane her neck to look up at him. Shane thinks she’s a teammate’s sister’s friend. He’s never talked to her before, but she’s been to a lot of games this season and always waves at Shane when he skates off the ice.

She’s cute, in a classic girl kind of way. She twirls her hair around her finger as they talk. She’s smiling and just seems pretty bubbly. She had offered to get Shane a beer, he had said no thanks, she hadn’t even fought him on it like his teammates would’ve.

“You’re kinda a serious guy, Shane Hollander.” She jokes. Shane blushes. Mostly because he can see right down the v-neck of her shirt and catches a hint of her hot pink bra. He thinks she notices because her grin turns into something sharper. “You broke up with your girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah, she was going away to uni.” He shrugs, and she nods.

“My high school boyfriend and I broke up, too. We’re both staying in Kingston, but he’s going to Queen’s, and I’m going to St. Lawrence.”

“What are you going to study?”

“Nursing.” And suddenly she doesn’t seem like just another flirty girl at a party.

“Wow,” Shane says, impressed.

“I’m kinda nervous, what if I don’t like it? But I keep telling myself it’s not like I don’t know what I’m getting myself into.”

“I get that.”

“Really? I decided on nursing like, three months ago, but I bet you’ve always known you were going to play hockey.”

“What I wanted and what I could achieve are two different things,” Shane mutters. He hadn’t been the first round draft pick, but he’s still got a chance to redeem himself this December at the WJC and finally beat Rozanov at something.

“Uh, but you did make it. You’re drafted to the Metros.”

“Yeah,” Shane laughs, and then Sammy’s hand is on his wrist.

“You should celebrate,” and her eyes dip down for a moment as she bites her lip, and Shane feels himself flush.

It’s 8:42 pm according to Shane’s watch. The grocery store closes at 9. But someone from his billet family must have eaten the last of his granola, and it’s the only thing that Shane wants to eat right now. He’s not really craving granola, but he is craving milk. And he’ll only have whole-fat milk if he has it with granola, so he’d trudged out because Shane doesn’t eat dessert, but he can rationalize a midnight snack that may as well be dessert.

He makes a beeline for the correct aisle, but stops short when he notices there is a guy standing right in front of the section with his preferred brand. He has dark brown hair, and he’s on his cell phone, chatting away as he makes an aborted grab for a box and stops midway.

“Calme toé!” He’s laughing, and Shane’s eyes snap to the guy. He’s maybe a year or two older than Shane, and he’s got a sly grin on his face as he tucks his cellphone between his shoulder and ear. He spots Shane and mouths with a roll of his eyes, “désolé, ma blonde.”

Shane admires how long his eyelashes are. He’s taller than Rozanov, but nowhere close to being as built. Then he mimes sneaking in, and the guy nods and takes a step back.

“Mets-en. Oui.”

When he grabs the box of granola, he’s firmly in the guy’s personal bubble. But he doesn’t seem to mind, still chatting with his girlfriend, and he winks at Shane as he ducks away. Shane mouths a “merci,” and the guy flashes him a thumbs up.

His heart is pounding all the way to the cash register. Shane had felt crowded when he’d grabbed the granola. That must be why he feels so uncomfortable.

Shane beats him. He defeats Rozanov. He had made sure that Canada is taking gold home this year. His parents are roaring up in the stands. His teammates are pulling him into rough hugs.

When they shake hands, Shane doesn’t even care how sweaty his hand is. How sweaty Rozanov’s is. They both played hard out there, but Shane is the one who won. He squeezes Rozanov’s hand hard.

Another house party. Another girl that’s touching him too much. Her name is Katie?

“What are you watching?” Shane asks, peering over the back of the sofa where Michael, whose family he’s living with in Kingston, and Sofia, his girlfriend, are curled up.

“Friday Night Lights!” Sofia is grinning as she turns to look at Shane. “It’s about a high school football team in Texas.”

“It any good?” Shane scratches his chin, eyes flickering to the TV and catching on the actor. He’s got long brown hair, and he looks a little too old to be playing a high schooler, but there’s something a little intense but also a little sad about him. It reminds him a bit of how Rozanov looks when nobody’s paying attention to him.

“I guess,” Michael sighs. “I like when they’re actually talking about sports and not like, drama.”

“Well, I’m never watching actual football with you, so suck it up.” Sofia jokes, settling back into the couch. “Sit, Shane.”

“Sure,” Shane sits. Sofia is trying to catch him up on the characters and their relationships while Michael explains what the characters’ positions are and tries his best to translate it into hockey. But Shane isn’t really paying attention, too busy watching number 33 pull off his helmet and shake out a head of sweaty hair.

“Hi, honey,” and Shane melts a bit into his car seat. He’s outside the arena, waiting for his car to warm up before he heads home. His mom’s voice unlocks something, and he doesn’t know why he is feeling so anxious, but he is.

“Mom,” Shane sighs, leaning his head up against the steering wheel.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asks, sounding worried. Like she’s about to go grab her car keys. But now he’s in Montreal, and she’s two hours and a whole province away.

“Nothing.” It’s a lie.

“How was practice?” and Shane’s smiling, and he lifts his head up. It’s like his mom has a sixth sense or something.

“It was fine. They haven’t kicked me out yet.”

“Well,” his mom huffs, “like they ever would. You’ve got talent, but you also have so much potential, Shane-Chan. But I bet it is a bit of a shock?”

“Yeah.” He’s thinking of how big the Bell is. How many seats there are. And even worse, that Shane’s no longer a star. He’s on a team, and he’s still good, great, but the difference isn’t as obvious as it was in Juniors. It was fine when it was just Rozanov. Because firstly, Rozanov was on a whole other continent, and secondly, because they’d never be on the same team. It was okay because Rozanov was a competitor, not a teammate. But now there are plenty of guys on his team who can play center. Who are also good.

“Maybe Dad and I can come down in a few days? We can go out to lunch.”

“That’d be nice.”

“I’ll take a look at your schedule. Make Dad take a day off.”

“Daisuki, mama.”

“Oh,” his mom’s voice catches. “Daisuki da yo, Shane.”

Shane just needs to commit. So the sooner he hits the “place order” button, the sooner it will be over and the sooner he will have to stop thinking about it. And he’s been thinking about it a lot. Thinking about Rozanov’s smirk, thinking about a cigarette dangling from his lips. Thinking about his flashing a single finger for the camera, smiling big and wide. The bead of sweat falling off the tip of his nose.

So what if he orders a sex toy? Shane knows that plenty of girls have them, and that they use them with their boyfriends. Shane is eighteen. He’s had sex, hooked up, has had a girlfriend. It isn’t weird. What’s the worst that could happen? That people think he’s a little kinkier in bed than they would have suspected. That’s not bad. Shane’s spent what feels like half of his life in locker rooms, and the older he’s gotten, the more graphic the conversations. Honestly, it would barely even register.

He hits the button, and two weeks later, there is a plain-looking package waiting for him when he gets home from practice.

Rozanov is already dressed, and Shane’s heart is racing, and he isn’t quite sure why. Was it the sex? Was it because it was with a man? With Rozanov? Is it because he doesn’t know what is going to happen next, or if it will ever happen again? He wants Rozanov to say something because he knew what he was doing, and Shane has no idea.

“Good night.”

“Night.”

He needs to get Rozanov out of his system. Erin has curly, dirty blonde hair and a mole on her face. It doesn’t help.

He needs to get Rozanov out of his system. He digs through his closet to find the toy he bought months ago, the one he had mentioned to Rozanov. It doesn’t help. Because he keeps thinking about Rozanov. And later, he’s got Rozanov’s 857 number saved in his phone.

How long can they keep doing this? Shane is quickly putting his phone away, the image of Rozanov’s cock seared into his head. They can’t keep doing this.

Shane never wants to stop doing this. He can’t believe it took them so long to do this. How the fuck was that so good? The few times they had hooked up were good, but that was something else. He’s sweaty, and the bed is a mess, and Rozanov had kissed his fucking armpit like a total freak, and he doesn’t even care. But he just feels happy. Good even.

The shower’s running, and he knows that as soon as it turns off, the countdown begins. Rozanov will take off. Then it’s the Olympics. Shane hides his smile behind his hands, listening to the water running a room away.

“Hey!” Shane’s eyes flick up. He doesn’t recognize the player he’s facing off against. Which means he isn’t any good and hasn’t been worth Shane’s time. So he looks for the ref, wanting to get back to the game. “Hey, ching-chong! I’m talking to you.” Well, that’s one of the least imaginative chirps Shane’s ever gotten, so he just rolls his eyes. “You even speak English?”

The ref’s back. Shane wins the face-off.

Later, when JJ punches the opposing team’s player, Shane isn’t surprised.

“Shane,” Hayden is holding up his phone, and there’s a picture on the screen. It’s a photo of Jackie and two other women. They’re smiling at the camera as they lean closer together around a table. They’re stuck on the plane for at least another hour, coming back from a game, and both of them have been dicking around on their phones.

“Nice,” Shane says, absorbing the picture, noting that Jackie looks relatively happy before he turns back to his own screen.

“That’s Jackie’s friend from high school, Sarah. And that’s Sarah’s roommate from uni, Jessica. When Sarah got married, Jackie and Jessica were bridesmaids, so they all got close.”

“Cool,” Shane is scrolling through an email his mom has sent him. It’s the contract for a brand deal, and he knows he should read it, so he’s trying. So many deals these days want Instagram posts, and stuff like that, but Shane hates doing social media. It always feels fake to him, but he knows it’s not something he can really push back on either.

“Sarah works as a graphic designer, but Jessica’s a chemist. She got a job in Montreal a few months back, so now they’re all hanging out pretty regularly. I think she grew up in Vancouver?”

“Vancouver’s nice.”

“So,” Hayden waits, and Shane looks over to where Hayden is looking expectantly at him. “Jessica?” Hayden double-taps on his screen this time, and it zooms in on one of the strangers’ faces. She’s Asian, and Shane can tell that she’s attractive.

“What about her?”

“She isn’t really into hockey,” Hayden starts. “But Jackie likes her, says she’s pretty down to Earth.”

“Fine?” And now Shane sees where this is going. This isn’t the first time Hayden and Jackie have put their collective heads together to find Shane a date. This is just the first time Hayden has bothered to start with photos. He knows that Hayden doesn’t care that he’s half-Japanese, but maybe he thought the problem was that Shane was having a hard time finding his type. Claire was white. So were most of the girls he’s hooked up with. But he was a hockey player, and that was the fan base. Shane guesses that Rozanov is white, too, but does that really matter? Rozanov being a guy is much more of the determining factor there.

“Single girl in a new city. She’s cute.” Hayden pokes him in the ribs. “You’re a single boy in the city. You’re cute. Jackie gives her approval. Do you want her number?”

“Hayden,” Shane sighs. “I’ve got the Olympics coming up. I don’t have time for a girlfriend right now.”

“Who said girlfriend? You have time for a date, singular. She’s busy too. Got a new job, learning a new city. Jackie says she’s very lowkey.”

“Does she even want to go out with me?” Shane asks, putting his phone down so he can actually look Hayden in the eyes. “Or are you just assuming because we’re both Asian we’d want to date?”

“Well, she is half Japanese, half Korean,” Hayden says, shoulders drawing up. “But I thought the whole, lowkey, doesn’t care about hockey thing was more of the appeal there. And that Jackie approves, but it wasn’t a factor. I’ve met her! She’s funny and was nice to the kids. I don’t think she’s rushing off to get married.”

“If she’s lowkey and doesn’t like hockey, why would she want to date a professional hockey player?” Shane says, sighing.

“I don’t know, again, you are objectively good-looking; otherwise, they’d stop having you take your shirt off in all of those ads. And I know I said dating, but what about just having some fun?”

“Hayden,” Shane sighs.

“I know I’m a bad example, because Jackie and I have been together forever, so it’s not like I ever had a girl in every port, but I have hooked up once or twice. When was the last time you got laid? When we were in Boston?”

That signals the end of the conversation for Shane. Sure, it isn’t over yet. He’s going to have to actually end it with Hayden, try to reassure him while shutting him down. Because yes, that was the last time he had gotten laid. When he’d met up with “Lily” and celebrated their win against the Raiders by getting fucked up against the cold glass of a hotel shower, steam clinging to the air and curling his hair. And then Rozanov had tossed him on the bed for round two, and they’d end up back in the shower, lazily making out until it was time for Shane to get back to his actual hotel room before curfew.

Hayden knew that he had gotten laid because Shane had stumbled back to their shared room smiling, with damp hair and a hickey blooming on his neck. He’d even highfived Shane over it, which was dizzying in its own way.

“It’s not like you’re hiding some girl I should know about?” Hayden prods.

“No. Nothing serious.” Shane says with a sigh.

“So what’s the harm?” Hayden asks, and Shane shrugs. “I can understand not wanting to settle down, like on an intellectual level. But I highly recommend settling down, you know?”

“I’m aware, Hayden. You are the picture of domesticity.”

“Thanks. And I get I’m the annoying married guy who wants everybody to be paired up and boring like me, but being paired up isn’t boring. It’s nice to have somebody who is happy to see you when you get home. Having a partner. Here,” he takes a quick selfie with Shane, and Shane knows he’s frowning in it. “Let me send it to Jackie. And she can ask Jessica if she’s interested, full disclosure about you and your job, and I won’t bring her up again.”

“Fine,” Shane rolls his eyes. “But not until the games are over. She’s going to say no.”

Boston’s having an amazing season. It’s like the loss at the Olympics lit a fire under Rozanov. Shane’s rewatching the Raiders game for a second time today. He can’t believe how fast Rozanov is skating. Shane leans forward, eyes on Rozanov’s form. He’s about to score a hat trick. When the camera cuts to Rozanov’s screaming face, Shane bites his lip and feels himself getting hard.

Jessica Yukimura doesn’t say no. She picks a random weekday to meet with Shane, and it’s after practice, and there’s no way they’re making the playoffs this year. She comes dressed in slacks and a button-down and not looking like she’s on a date, but like she just got off work. They meet in a chain cafe, and Shane gets there first, a baseball cap on his head like that is going to disguise him, and Jessica looks a bit concerned when she slides into the seat across from him.

“Is it just me, or is half of the shop staring at you?” Is the first thing she asks, brows furrowed and clearly distracted by the amount of attention Shane is drawing. A digital camera shutter sounds just over her shoulder, as a guy quickly snaps a photo of Shane and hustles out the door with a sheepish wave.

“No, it’s not just you.” She looks at his coffee, then rises from the table.

“Watch my purse.”

When she comes back, she has a to-go cup and an empty cup for Shane. He transfers his drink, and they walk out onto the street together, bundled up in their coats. Jessica’s purse is slung across her chest, and she is looking up and down the street.

“There’s a park maybe half a block away?” Shane suggests, which is stupid, because it is March.

“Yeah, no.” Jessica sighs, getting out her phone and texting someone. “We can go to mine, it’s not too far. If you end up murdering me, I’m going to haunt Jackie for the rest of her life.”

“Not me?” Shane jokes, a little startled as Jessica starts to walk away, presumably towards her apartment.

“Men I expect to be secret axe murderers. I don’t expect my friends to set me up with one, though.”

“Makes sense.”

“Also, terrible for your career. And people have probably already taken a picture of us together, so you’re not going to be able to get away with it easily. Dead girl last seen with Metros’ Star Center, Shane Hollander. That’s the headline.” Shane’s smiling as they go down the block. A few streets away, they stop at a high-rise, and he looks away as she punches the code into the door. On the elevator ride up, he asks her about the building, about her apartment search. Her answer is perfunctory, and when they get into her apartment, a brown tabby cat comes up to greet Jessica, meowing.

Shane toes off his trainers, and Jessica does the same, dodging the cat. The cat takes a moment to sniff at Shane’s socked foot before wandering away again. He stands awkwardly by the front door as Jessica peels off her coat and tosses her purse onto the nearby table. The apartment is nice. It’s not fancy, but it isn’t run down or anything. The furniture looks like it is either secondhand or from Ikea, and Shane hasn’t been in an Ikea since he was sixteen. He wonders if it is still overwhelming. There’s a nice big window, where the cat’s already back in its cat tree. He can see what looks like the kitchen from his vantage point, and a hallway that presumably leads to a bathroom and bedroom.

“Come in, Hollander,” Jessica says, shaking her head, and Shane shucks his coat and puts it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs and stands awkwardly for a moment, sipping his lukewarm coffee as Jessica bustles into the kitchen and grabs a kettle. “Might as well drink good coffee if we’re here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Shane hoovers, fetching a coffee bag and grinder from a cabinet as he is directed, and when the kettle’s on, coffee is ground and waiting in the French press. Jessica turns to face him, hands on her hips. She tips her head back with a shake of her head, as if she forgot that Shane is close to being tall.

“That happen a lot?” She asks. He assumes she means being recognized out in public, and he shrugs.

“Kinda. Especially in Montreal. Ottawa too.”

“So weird. I went out for lunch with Jackie and Hayden once, and nobody recognized him. Well, we may as well sit while the water boils.”

She leads him to the living room, and they sit on the couch. She’s got a nice enough TV and a desktop computer set-up. The art on her wall is mostly prints of nature, and there’s a scattering of cat toys on the floor, and the blanket Shane’s half-sitting on is covered in fur.

“Sorry. I probably should have realized when you suggested a Columbus Café what was going to happen.”

“I probably should have looked you up on TMZ or something. I mean, I do know who you are, even though I don’t follow hockey, but I just figured it was more of my dad being excited about a nice Asian boy being on a team than you being famous, famous.”

“Oh,” Shane’s blushing. Because his mom always talks about Shane as a role model, but she had always framed it as kids looking up to him. Not grown men. “I’m assuming your dad’s Japanese?”

“Second generation, but yeah. What? Did the Yukimura give it away?”

“Just a bit.”

“And your mom is Japanese?”

“She was born in Canada, but my grandparents are from Hokkaido. They moved back when I was ten, I think?”

“Really?” Jessica raises her legs up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged, and props an elbow on her thigh, so she can rest her chin in the palm of her hand.

“I think my grandma missed it, and they had retired by then.”

“My mom’s parents are like that, but I don’t think they’d move back. They’re from Seoul, and South Korea’s changed so much since they’ve lived there. They went to visit not too long ago, and all they could talk about was how different Seoul is now.”

“What, they don’t like K-Pop?” Jessica laughs.

“Harabeoji, my grandpa, calls it propaganda.” Now Shane’s laughing, shaking his head.

“So he doesn’t like it?”

“Oh no, he loves it. He doesn’t understand it, but he thinks it’s hilarious that American girls are crying over Korean boys like they’re The Beatles.” The kettle starts to whistle, and Jessica goes to grab the coffee.

While she’s messing around in the kitchen, the tabby has decided to come check out Shane for a second time. It perches on the end of the couch, staring at him. Shane doesn’t really know what to do, so he ignores the cat. Which is apparently the right thing to do. It slowly crosses the cushion, sniffing Shane’s arm, and when Jessica comes back with the French press and a pair of mugs, the cat’s got its front paws balanced on Shane’s thighs as it sniffs him some more.

“Uh, what’s its name?” Shane asks.

“Octavius, but I mostly call him Tavi.” She watches amused. “He isn’t going to bite. If you relax a bit, he’ll probably want to sit in your lap. I think men run hotter or something, because he always makes a beeline for their laps.”

“Sure,” Shane relaxes, and sure enough, the cat is settling into his lap.

“If you want him to move, just stand up. Or I can get him to leave you alone.” Jessica sets a timer on her phone, letting the coffee steep. “If you want, you can pet him; he’ll either dodge or take off if he doesn’t want you to. He’s a chill guy.”

“Where’d Octavius come from?”

“I was watching Rome when I adopted him.” She shrugs. “It’s better than the name the shelter had for him.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Jetski.”

“Huh,” Shane rubs under Tavi’s chin, and the cat leans into his touch. “Jetskis are cool though.”

“You’re such a boy.” She tuts, and Tavi looks curiously at her for a moment before melting into Shane’s lap.

“What made you notice?” Shane says, smiling the way he knows he is supposed to when on a date with a girl.

“I told you, Octavius always wants to hang out with the boys.” Jessica’s blushing, and Shane’s smile falters for a second.

“Maybe he’s just a guy’s guy?” Jessica laughs him off, and her timer goes off as they’re both watching Tavi. She pours them both a cup, and Jessica considers him as they drink their coffee.

“I get why Jackie wanted to set me up with you.”

“Oh?” Shane looks up to meet Jessica’s eyes.

“You’re cute. You’re a very polite, nice boy.”

“I’m sensing a but,” Shane says.

“But I’m not really interested in someone who is always two seconds away from a photo op.”

“Oh,” Shane frowns, looking away. “So you knew thirty minutes ago that you were out?”

“Yup,” Jessica hums, smiling ruefully for a moment. “Maybe if you like, tear your ACL and only come back at 90% or something. You know, still a great hockey player but not, apparently, the best. Somebody who can go out in public.”

“I go out in public,” Shane counters. He may not actually care if Jessica wants to date him or not, but it is the principle of the matter. She had said he was cute, and he thought she was easy to talk to. Like she was interested in Shane, and not Shane Hollander. Shane didn’t get a lot of chances to be just Shane. If he was going to get a girlfriend, that was the type of girl he was interested in. Somebody who knew that hockey was a part of Shane, but that it wasn’t all that Shane is.

“What? To VIP sections?” She shakes her head. “I’m a pretty normal girl, I’m not Posh Spice.”

“I’m not David Beckham.”

“Seemed kinda Beckham-y to me.” She shrugs.

“Sorry,” Shane mumbles. Rozanov would probably think this whole thing is really funny. The comparison to David Beckham. Shane being dumped, unknowingly, three seconds into a date.

“What for? This was pretty much a blind date. The only thing we’ve lost out on is our time. I was going to watch Real Housewives or play a video game or something after work. Hanging out with you hasn’t been a waste of my time. You?”

“No,” Shane shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t have a lot of free time, but it wasn’t like I had big plans.”

“So, no harm done.” Jessica smiles. “You play Mario Kart?”

“Not recently,” And Jessica’s up, grabbing game controllers and messing with the TV remote.

“I’ll take it easy on you and take repayment for my kindness in the form of you ordering out for dinner.”

“Oh, is that all it’ll cost me?”

“Only one of us pulls in a salary, that I assume, is in the millions, Hollander. I intend to reap the benefits while I can.”

“Sure, Yukimura. You’re on.”

“Oh ho, the boy is competitive! Who could have guessed?”

Shane shoves his phone into his pocket. He’s so fucking pathetic. He is not going to, what, cry? In an elevator? What the hell is wrong with him? He needs to get back to his hotel room. He hates this stupid, itchy shirt. He wants to go drown himself in the shower. Erase this day from his memory. Maybe even the last five, or is it six, years.

“Fuck.”

“Hey, Shane.” Dad hands him a beer. They’re sitting outside the cabin, and Mom is inside making dinner. Shane’s grilling, but his dad waves for him to move over. “Enjoy that, let me finish these.”

“Sure.” He stands to the side and passes his dad the spatula. He takes a long drink from the bottle, watching his dad’s hands. Wondering why he took over grilling, but not willing to ask.

“Got any plans this summer?” Dad asks, flipping a burger.

“Not really,” Shane starts to pick at the label, but stops himself.

“Okay? What’s going on in that big brain, bud?” Shane laughs, shaking his head.

“I’m winning the Cup this year.” And his dad blinks a few times before nodding.

“You,” he starts and stops. His dad looks up towards the house before he finishes his thought. “You don’t need to win the Cup this year just because Rozanov got there first.”

“I need to win the Cup because it’s my job, Dad.” Shane automatically replies. “I’m the captain. I’m the star player. It’s my salary taking up most of the cap. I know we can do it. I just have to get us there.”

“Alright,” he holds up his hands, spatula going into the air. “A hundred bucks.”

“What?”

“A hundred bucks says you don’t win the Cup this year.” His dad is smiling, eyebrows raised.

“You’re on.”

“You’re Shane Hollander?” The girl’s hair is up in a high ponytail, and it swings down her neck and brushes up against the middle of her back. Her exposed back. Her dress is completely backless, and there’s a long stretch of tanned skin available for all to see. Shane wonders how long her hair is when she takes it down.

“Yeah,” Shane makes space for her at the bar and signals the bartender. She orders, and Shane puts it on his tab. “What’s your name?”

“Ashley.” She’s grinning, and Shane notices that one of her canines is maybe a bit crooked, but it makes her look more human, so he smiles back. “Look, I swear I don’t normally do this, but my ex is a huge hockey fan, and you just trounced his team.”

“I mean, no offense, but his team kind of sucks. They haven’t made it to the playoffs in over ten years.” It’s kind of a dickish thing to say. Something he can imagine Rozanov saying.

“Want to get out of here?” And Shane laughs, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

“Really?”

“Like, nobody would ever believe me. But I’d know.” Her smile goes wider.

“Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Shane’s phone is vibrating in his pocket, so he’s distracted when Rozanov comes into the hallway. He’s stomping snow off his shoes and cursing in Russian. When Shane doesn’t look up, he snaps his fingers impatiently.

“Hollander,” he barks, and Shane’s eyes dart up, and he puts his phone away. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Shane grins, hooks a finger into Rozanov’s collar, and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Oh, now I am worth attention?” Rozanov chirps, digging a hand into Shane’s sweats to grab his phone.

“No!” Shane lets go of his shirt and twists out of Rozanov’s grasp. “That is so fucking rude. Did you seriously just make a play for my phone?”

“Hollander, why you texting anyone but me?” His grin is wolfish as he starts to stalk Shane up the stairs. “You knew I was coming here.” Shane walks backward up the stairs, towards his condo, and has to fight back a grin at the way Rozanov prowls after him, the bulk of him filling up the stairway.

“I do have a life, you know?”

“Oh, do you, Hollander?” Rozanov mocks, his grin widening as they’re halfway up the staircase. “What you have dentist appointment tomorrow?”

“I take dental hygiene very seriously, Rozanov.”

“Prostate exam?”

“You don’t need those until your 40s.”

“You not old man?”

“You came all this way to fuck an old man?” Shane raises his eyebrows and now Rozanov is outright laughing as he crowds Shane up against his door. He presses a smacking kiss to each of Shane’s cheeks, pointedly dodging Shane as he tries to get an actual kiss out of him.

“I love fucking boring, old men.” He whispers into Shane’s ear before grabbing him by the back of his thighs and lifting him up. Shane scrambles for the doorknob and lets Rozanov carry him over the threshold.

“You’re so gross,” is all Shane can manage to get out before there is a tongue other than his own in his mouth.

Rozanov isn’t that much bigger than Shane, so he can’t carry him for too long. And that is how they end up horizontal on Shane’s couch, making out and grinding up against one another. Shane’s got his fingers tangled in Rozanov’s curls, occasionally pulling him off so he can get a great heaving breath in before pulling him back in. It’s not like he minds. Each time Shane tugs on his hair, a broken little moan escapes his mouth, and isn’t that something? Rozanov is vocal in bed, but that’s a new noise. Shane doesn’t really ever bully him physically, but maybe he should? He doesn’t seem to mind. Kinda seems into it.

So he pulls Rozanov’s head up and exposes his throat. Watches his Adam’s apple bob and sets his teeth against it, just to hear him let out a low “fuck” and press into the palm of Shane’s hand. Which is, of course, when his phone vibrates between them, and Rozanov is pulling out of Shane’s grasp, brows furrowed.

“Ty, blyat’, izdevayesh’sya?” He mutters in Russian, and Shane’s been around Rozanov enough to know what “fuck” is in Russian. Shane wiggles a hand into his pants and draws out his phone. He unlocks it quickly and starts typing in a response, and Rozanov lets out a loud groan of frustration. “You are killing me, Hollander!”

“I’m gonna put it on do not disturb,” Shane says, typing away.

“You are taking too long!” He reaches for the drawstring of Shane’s pants, but he squirms out from under Rozanov and off the couch. “Where you going?”

“Bedroom,” Shane calls, grinning at the picture of Tavi in front of Jessica’s TV.

She has tonight’s game on, and there’s a little Shane on the screen, about to score his goal during the second period. Jessica sent a second photo, probably from Twitter, of Shane’s pregame stretches and had simply texted him, “This you?? 👀” Shane sends back a simple “lol” before going into his settings to turn on DND, but Rozanov is pressed up against his back, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Looking at kotyara picture is not turning off your phone,” He grumbles, peering over Shane’s shoulder.

“Kotyara?”

“Big cat,” Ilya nips at his earlobe. “Milyy kote. Cute cat.”

“It’s a friend’s. Apparently, he was watching tonight’s game.”

“Oh? He likes to see you lose?” He’s running a hand up Shane’s abs, and he shivers into the touch.

“I don’t think the cat cares one way or the other.”

“So, it is boy cat. Boy owner?”

“No girl owner. She’s friends with Hayden Pike’s wife, Jackie.”

“So why are you not with Hayden Pike’s wife, Jackie’s friend, and her cat tonight?” Rozanov tweaks one of his nipples, and not in a sexy way. In a playground bully kind of way.

“You jealous?” Turns around in Rozanov’s grip and raises his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Is cute cat.”

“You really want to talk about cats, or are you going to take my shirt off?”

“I can talk about kotik all night, Hollander.” But he’s pulling Shane’s shirt over his head, grinning.

“Really?” Shane goes for Rozanov’s shirt and gets it off of him before they start walking backward towards the bed.

“Really.” His big hands are in Shane’s sweats, and he’s tugging them down, going to his knees as he does so. “This word kotik, in Russian, means kitty.”

“Yeah?” Shane’s got a great view of Rozanov, his big eyes staring up at him after he shakes his hair out of his way. He wets his lips and yep. Shane was ready, but now there’s no doubt, because Rozanov now has got one finger hooked into the waistband of his underwear and he is inching them down Shane’s hips. He swallows, watching.

“But has second meaning. You know this Hollander?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Similar to English, yes? Also means pussy. And if you want, Hollander, I can talk about your tight little pussy all night long.”

Later, when he’s all wrung out and only a little distracted by the sight of their scattered clothes on the bedroom floor, Rozanov smacks a hand against his chest and makes a grabby hands gesture.

“What?” Shane asks, sitting up so he can look down at him and not think about the mess waiting for him.

“You have cat pictures? Give.”

“Really?” Shane laughs. He gets up. It gives him the opportunity to fold his clothes, and Rozanov’s too, for good measure, before he unlocks his phone and hands it over to Rozanov. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you,” and then Rozanov is sitting naked in bed, grinning at Shane’s phone as he flicks through pictures of Tavi. It’s the only kind of photo that Jessica sends him, and it’s not like there is anything incriminating in this message thread with her. Just plans to meet up, followed by lots of cat pictures and memes. Rozanov doesn’t bother with reading his texts. He happily scrolls through pictures of Tavi until he reaches Shane’s first text with Jessica. Rozanov smacks an obnoxious kiss on Shane’s cheek. “You make me very happy, Hollander. Next time you get picture of cat, you send to me too.”

A girl in every port. That is what Hayden had said. So that’s what Shane does. He’s got Jessica in Montreal, Lily in Boston, and he hooks up at least once a year on the road. Sure, Jessica is just a friend, and Lily isn’t even a girl, and the girls he meets in clubs and bars never get his phone number, but he’s trying. He just hasn’t met the right girl yet. Someone who can tolerate his lifestyle. Who doesn’t see him as just a friend. A girl who fits right.

He knows he’s not really trying, because he’s got Rozanov a few times a year and the sex is so great that everything else pales in comparison. But hooking up with Rozanov isn’t the same as having a girlfriend. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

“Shane!” His mom calls him over to where she’s got her phone pressed up to her ear. He’d been raiding their cabinets, looking for granola. If he can’t have Christmas cookies, he can make a healthy, bad choice instead. “Here he is.”

“Ojiisan,” Shane walks away with the phone. “How are you?”

“We are just fine, Shane-Chan.” Shane can’t help but notice just how thick his grandpa’s accent has gotten over the years. But his English is still great. “Your mother says you are having a good hockey season, yes?”

“Yes,” Shane grins because he knows his grandparents don’t get hockey, but they try. “And if she says it’s a good season, then it must be.”

“Ano, your mother. She always loved hockey. I guess that is what happens when you grow up in Canada. Eh, Shane-Chan?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re making a lot of money, right?”

“Ojiisan!” Shane laughs, and then his grandmother is on the line.

“Your grandfather is so rude. Now, Shane-Chan?”

“Yes, Obaachan?”

“Your mother will not tell me, so I will ask you. Any special ladies in your life?”

“Ah,” Shane looks away. “No, not right now, Grandma.”

“Well, how old are you now?”

“Twenty-three.”

“That is still young. Your mama did not have you until she was thirty-one! There is still time for you, but Shane-Chan?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t live forever.”

“Obaachan!”

“Shane!” And that’s his dad. “Your mom’s got something for you. Here, I’ll take that. Hi, Okaasan. Happy Christmas! Oh, we’re all doing fine. You?”

“Mom?” Shane rounds into the living room, bowl in hand, where his mom has got last week’s Raiders game on.

“Here, watch this. I think Rozanov hurt his shoulder. Look.”

“You want to go out?” Shane asks, Tavi’s sitting on his chest, so he can’t actually see Jessica’s reaction. “Fuck. Never mind.”

“Okay,” Jessica stretches the word out in disbelief, and she’s focusing on the quicktime events on the TV. Shane’s been watching her play a video game, and every time they die, they swap the controller. Jessica’s a lot better than he is at shooting games, so he’s mostly just been watching. “Do you want to go out?”

“I-,” Shane is torn, but he nods. “Sometimes. We never actually tried dating. You just said no right away.”

“I stand by my no. I don’t want to date someone who is probably going to win the Cup this year and whose shirtless ads I have to look at every time I’m on the Metro.”

“We don’t have to date,” Shane tries, and Jessica pauses the game and pushes Tavi out of her way so she can look at Shane. “Like the whole boyfriend, girlfriend thing. It could be casual.”

“For some reason, Jackie’s already under the impression that we are doing something casual. And I thought it was just her being weird about boys and girls being friends. But half the time I see her, she asks me how you are, and I have to sit there confused for a second before I say that you’re fine.”

“Okay, so?” He can feel tension rising within him. Like he’s at center ice and any moment the ref is going to blow his whistle.

“Fine,” Jessica sits up on her knees and crosses into Shane’s space. Her eyebrows are raised in challenge, and she’s wearing her ratty PJs, and her hair is in a messy bun, but Shane knows that she is attractive. So what if his stomach doesn’t dip the way it does when he sees Rozanov dressed in a similar state? He still knows that she’s, technically, hot.

“Really?” Shane repositions himself, and she nods. So they kiss. He tilts his head so that they can fit together better. It is a quick kiss, and Shane goes back for a second, runs his tongue against her lips. Asking for entrance, but she’s pulling back and laughing.

“Nope!” She’s smiling, pecks him on the cheek before going back for the controller.

“Wait? Really?” They’d barely even kissed.

“Like technically, sure. It wasn’t the worst kiss of my life. But the whole time I was just thinking that it was you, and nope.” She’s shaking her head. “If there was ever a moment, it’s passed. Sorry. Maybe if I weren’t inundated with those shirtless ads, and every time I see them I’m like, oh, I need to make fun of Shane about this, not like, god, he’s so hot. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize," Shane curls up, unable to meet her eyes.

“You’re still very hot.” She pats him on the knee, grinning, and Shane huffs a laugh.

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“But now we know, right?” And he’s nodding as she unpauses the game.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Rozanov is moaning much too loudly, and all Shane was doing was kissing his neck, so maybe it is the proximity, but he slaps a hand instinctively over his mouth. The loud smack startles them both, and Rozanov is pushing Shane off, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” Shane’s pretty sure he’s blushing, but when he wipes his bottom lip with his thumb, Rozanov tracks the movement like they’re on the ice and Shane’s finger is the puck. Which is to say, intensely.

“You own the building?” And Shane furrows his brow, and Rozanov starts flapping his hands around in a gesture he doesn’t quite understand. “Do you own building or not, Hollander?”

“Yes?” He hesitates, and it elicits a groan from Rozanov.

“Then we can be as loud as we want.”

“I’m not loud! You’re the loud one!” Shane argues. And Rozanov is standing up and retrieving his shirt, and what the fuck, they haven’t even done anything yet. “What the fuck? Where are you going?”

“Hmm, what’s that?” And he’s fucking with him.

“Rozanov,” Shane starts and then, unsure, looks away. “What? Do you want me to apologize?”

“Hmm,” he makes a show of thinking, and Shane might strangle him. He doesn’t know if he could get away with manslaughter, but that’s the thing about manslaughter. You don’t plan for it. It just happens.

“I’m sorry you’re such a baby and couldn’t handle a little tap.” When Rozanov turns around, he looks like he’s holding back a laugh. “You see, I thought you were a big, mean hockey player. But hey, if I was too rough with you-,” And now Rozanov is doing his best to wrestle him off the couch. Shane flails, laughing.

“You want rough? I show you rough, Hollander!”

Shane’s twenty-fourth birthday is coming up. He’s been playing professional hockey for five seasons. He thinks, all things considered, he doesn’t have much to complain about. He knows he’s lucky. That no matter how much he may have honed himself to be a good player, that there are some things he was just born with. There is only so far you can push your body and brain. There are some things out of his control. He knows that. He’s accepted it. Accepted that because he’s been lucky so far, one day he’ll undoubtedly be unlucky.

But there are things he can plan for. He can invest his money wisely. He can seize opportunities when they arise. His dad is eyeing retirement, and Shane knows retirement is a thing he may not get to choose for himself, so he’s got to be smart. He watches what his teammates are doing with their money, with their time. Watches who they make sponsorship deals with, and what they spend their offseason doing.

And there is one major difference. Well, obviously, Shane’s getting sponsorships on a bigger scale than his teammates. He’s pretty sure he’s getting paid more, and the brands, outside of the athletic ones, are considered luxury brands. But most of them aren’t planning their summers around trips to Toronto, LA, and New York. Most of his teammates are planning on spending their summers with their families, because most of his teammates have families that aren’t just their moms and dads.

He isn’t an outlier, not yet. Give it a couple of years, and Shane will be. He’s not married. He doesn’t have a serious girlfriend. That’s unusual for a hockey player, even at twenty-three, almost twenty-four. But he’s not worried about it. If he finds the right girl, he wants to date her for a couple years. His schedule is so crazy, it’s not like he could get to know anyone well in anything less than two years. And then he’d want to live with someone before he got married. Make sure they don’t kill each other or hate how they do laundry or something. So two, three years tops before getting married.

If he met someone now, he’d be married by twenty-seven. That’s acceptable. He wouldn’t want kids until he was thirty, anyway, so that is a good few years of being married before kids. He doesn’t even have to meet someone right now. It could be next year or the year after. He’s got some time left on the timeline.

He’s just got to find the right girl.

His dad hands him a brown, hundred-dollar bill. Robert Borden’s mustached face looking up at him. His mom raises her eyebrows but says nothing, and Shane slides the money into his back pocket.

Shane doesn’t really watch movies. So he has no idea what is going on when Jessica turns on Captain America 2. She keeps pointing out characters like Shane should know who Black Widow and Nick Fury are. At least he’s heard of Captain America before. And maybe he gets a little distracted when the bad guy is shirtless for some reason, and Jessica must have been distracted too, because when the overhead light switches on, they both jump up, startled, on the couch.

“Jess?” A tall Asian man is standing in the hallway, staring at Jessica, and then his eyes catch on Shane, and he turns bright red. The front door is already closing as Jessica scrambles off the couch. Shane had been wearing his fleece blanket like a hood, so he’s busy untangling himself and accidentally dumps Tavi onto the floor.

“Derek, wait!” Jessica’s in her socks as she skids after him.

Who the fuck is Derek? A minute later, Jessica and, apparently, Derek are back in the apartment. Tavi happily winds his way around their ankles as Derek gawks at where Shane is awkwardly standing next to Jessica’s couch.

“I knew you had a friend called Shane,” Derek hisses at Jessica, and Shane is slightly taken aback by his posh British accent. “But you didn’t say that you’re friends with Shane fucking Hollander.”

“Don’t be mad that I’ve never invited you over to the Secret Cool Asian Kids Hangout Club. Derek, Shane. Shane, this is Derek. My boyfriend.” Shane’s already stepping forward to shake Derek’s hand, and he cuts a look at Jessica.

“But I’m Chinese?” Derek is shaking Shane’s hand, as if he is on autopilot, shooting a confused look at Jessica.

“Pretty serious boyfriend, if he’s got a key to your place.” They’re still shaking hands, and Jessica pries their hands apart.

“It’s a secret club.” That's all Jessica has to say for herself. Then they’re both peppering Jessica with questions, and she wanders away to pause the movie. When they run out of questions, she throws her hands up in the air. “Finally! Okay, Shane, can Derek join our club, or do we need to rename it to the Secret Cool Japanese Kids Hangout Club?”

“I mean,” Shane looks at Derek and shrugs. “Seems kinda weird if I say no.”

“Great, welcome to the club, Derek. Put on some sweats and join us on the couch. Shane’s never seen a Marvel movie.”

“I can’t say that he’s been missing out on much,” Derek mutters as he wanders away. When he comes back, he sits next to Jessica. “Oh, this one’s actually good.” And then they finish the movie.

Later, Derek starts asking Shane questions in French. They talk for a while, while Jessica holds Tavi and stares at them like she’s watching a tennis match. Finally, she points between the two of them and simply says “no,” and they’d swap back to English. Before he leaves, Shane gets Jessica to take a picture of him and Tavi for Rozanov.

He responds in a flurry of Russian text, and Shane, in the back of his Lyft, plugs it diligently into the private window of his browser to translate. Blushing, he sends his response back in French, since it is on the tip of his tongue. Rozanov texts him the whole ride home, and Shane stumbles into his apartment, turned on, and he calls Rozanov, and they don’t speak a word of English to each other as they jerk off.

“Delete that picture,” Shane pants, and five hundred kilometers away, Rozanov chuckles.

“Konechno, moy kotik.”

Rozanov’s penthouse is great. He’s got an amazing view, and Shane wants to admire it, but Rozanov is already stripping, and Shane gets a little distracted. He wants to ask him about how much it cost him. Wants to know where he stores all of those cars he sees in the tabloids. But Rozanov is shirtless, just wearing a pair of low-slung track pants and leaning up against the kitchen island like he’s on offer.

Shane can’t help but take in his sculpted chest, the way his abs are defined. The trail of dark hair that leads from his belly button into the elastic waistband of his pants. He’s so fucking hot that Shane feels like he is going to explode. He can’t believe that he’s here, in Rozanov’s apartment, and that they’re about to have sex, and that is going to have to tide him over for a few weeks until Rozanov’s in Montreal.

“Like what you see, Hollander?” Rozanov is grinning, and it makes him look young. Boyish. They’re only twenty-four, and sometimes he can’t believe that he’s been doing this for five years. It is so stupid, and at the start of every season, he thinks that this is finally it. He’ll stop answering Rozanov’s text. Rozanov will ignore his. But they’re like magnets, snapping together whenever in close proximity.

Does he like it because it’s wrong, because they shouldn’t be hooking up? Or because he doesn’t have to think about it and can just get laid? Does he only like it because Rozanov is a guy, and this is the only chance he’s ever going to get?

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs, and Rozanov is rolling his eyes.

“It is always fuck off with you, Hollander. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is all you ever say.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” Rozanov pulls Shane to him, a hand caught up in the sleeve of his hoodie as he drags Shane forward. “Is all you can say to me.” He’s pushing Shane’s hood off, nosing up the side of his neck.

“Fuck,” Shane stutters as Rozanov fixes his teeth to where Shane’s neck connects with his jaw, eyes fluttering shut as he wraps his arms around Rozanov.

“See? Just like that.”

“Okay,” Hayden starts. It’s the middle of the day, so there’s nobody at the little park near Hayden’s house but him, Shane, Ruby, and Amber. Jackie’s pregnant and napping, and so Hayden and Shane had taken the girls to the park to try to blow off some post-lunch, pre-nap energy. “Jackie’s got this friend.”

“Oh my god,” Shane groans, and suddenly there are two two-year-olds parroting him.

“Oh my god!” Ruby groans.

“Oh my god!” Jade echoes.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Hayden laughs, pushing Ruby higher on the swing.

“If you push her 360 around the swing, I’m telling Jackie.” Shane chirps.

“Fuck, call Guinness if I manage that.” Hayden laughs, and now there’s a chorus of “fucks” from the twins, and Hayden curses even louder.

“I won’t have to tell Jackie about that one.” Now that the twins are talking, they’ve all had to watch their language, but Hayden is worse at it than Jackie. Shane’s never been a big curser, it really only comes out around Rozanov.

“You’re a menace, Hollander.”

“Menace!” Ruby screams at the top of her lungs.

“Ruby must get it from you.” Hayden jokes.

“Oh, so you’ve finally found out about my torrid affair with Jackie? Sorry, I wasn’t brave enough to tell you.”

“Menace!” Jade calls, giggling.

“You tell him, Jade. That one’s all mine.”

“How does that work out?” Shane asks, laughing.

“I don’t know the science, buddy. I just know what’s in my heart.” They’re grinning, pushing the twins on their respective swings, and Shane checks his watch, because the twins have a schedule that Jackie likes to pretend she’s lax about, but isn’t actually lax about at all.

“I’m still hanging out with Jessica every now and then,” Shane says, and it isn’t a lie. It’s just now that when he hangs out with Jessica, he’s also hanging out with Derek.

“Really? See, I told you something casual could be fun. Good for you, man,” Hayden thumps him on the back, and Shane’s able to steer the conversation back to safer topics.

“What are you up to, honey?” Shane’s got his mom on speaker phone, and he’s running around the condo, trying to tidy it up. He’s got a cleaning service, but they’re under the impression that Shane’s investment property is an Airbnb, so Shane has to do some cleaning before he texts them.

“Laundry,” Shane says, stifling a yawn. He should have just bought the same washer and dryer that’s in his apartment, but he couldn’t justify buying new units when these two work perfectly well. He always gets a bit turned around when he has to do a load here.

“You sound tired. Late night?” Shane nods, then, remembering, hums an affirmative. His mom sighs on the other end of the phone, and Shane doesn’t want to hear it.

It’s only a few months into the season, and it’s going well. They beat the Raiders last night, and Rozanov had come over. They’d both been pumped because, despite Rozanov pulling off a hat trick, Shane had still won. It had been good. It was always good, but Shane had a lot of fun last night that resulted in Rozanov finally stumbling back to his hotel around 3 AM. Unfortunately, Shane’s too well-disciplined to enjoy a lie-in. He was up at 6, went for a run, and now he’s got to take care of the laundry and the trash and make sure a sock or something didn’t get left behind.

“Just up late celebrating, mama.”

“Alright, what are your plans for the day?”

“Finish cleaning, go over game footage.” Shane yawns. “Maybe take a short nap and then head to the gym.”

“I’m sure your cleaners wouldn’t mind coming for an extra appointment. Did you have a party or something last night?”

“Just a couple of people,” Shane doesn’t like lying, but he’s been pushed into a corner, and it is easier. “They made a bit of a mess, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Okay, but I don’t know why you don’t just use the cleaning services you have. You’ve got bigger things to focus on.”

“Mom,” Shane snaps. “Sorry.”

“I’m trying to understand, Shane.”

“I’m twenty-four. I’ve been living on my own for seven years. I’m not helpless, useless, or stupid. I can do a load of laundry and take out the trash. Clean a countertop or two. I have two days off, if I want to spend it cleaning and napping, I can.”

“Of course you can,” his mom at least sounds apologetic.

“Sorry. I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I don’t know if you realize how weird all of this is sometimes.”

“What’s weird?”

“My life!” Shane laughs. “It’s really fucking weird. And I do something most moms would be happy about, their kids cleaning up after themselves, and that’s what you get worried about?” Now his mom is laughing as well.

“Okay, when you’re right, you’re right. But Shane,” his mom soothes. “You’ve always been weird. And I’m always going to worry.”

“Alright, but unless you come into the apartment and it is a complete disaster, maybe don’t worry about this?”

“Hmm,” and Shane can picture her. Hemming and hawing, stalling because she thinks it’s funny. “If you say so. Hey, Dad and I were thinking of coming to your next home game. That okay with you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Shane admits, “about why my grandparents even moved here in the first place.”

“Why do immigrants ever leave home? To find something better for themselves,” Jessica shrugs. “Sometimes that means your daughter marries a Japanese-Canadian boy and you have to make yourself okay with that, but that’s the risk you take for a better future for your family.”

“Wow,” Shane considers. “My dad’s parents weren’t happy when he brought my mom home. For racist reasons, not like, because of generational trauma.”

“Yikes.” Jessica pats Shane on the knee. “Bet they love how you turned out.”

“It was really messed up. Nothing for years, and when I started to get scouted, all of the sudden I had grandparents in the country. My dad was so pissed, it’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him. They just showed up to one of my games.” His mom had lost all of the color in her face, and his dad had gone startlingly red. His dad yelled at the TV, he yelled at newspapers, and he yelled at CBC when driving in the car. He didn’t yell at actual people, and Shane had been hustled off by his coaches before he could catch more than a glimpse of a white-haired couple.

“Double yikes!” Jessica squirms.

“I’m sure they’re dining out on the fact that they’re Shane Hollander’s grandparents, but I’ve never even met them. I don’t know. It was the 80s. People were weird about Japan then, apparently.”

“And now everybody loves Surpas, and anime.” Shane laughs, and Jessica is grinning.

“Congrats, man, a boy?” Shane is enjoying what little sun is left in the day, trying to convince himself that driving up to the cottage was a waste of time in the middle of winter. Hayden sounds equal parts exhausted and excited on the other line.

“Yeah. Arthur. Oh god, I’m going to fuck this up.” Shane sits up in his chair, staring out across the frozen lake and wondering if he needs to drive back to Montreal.

“No man, come on.”

“Boys are different than girls!” And Hayden sounds a little bit hysterical, so Shane has to hold in a laugh.

“Uh, Hayd, I’m pretty sure you knew that already.”

“No, you don’t get it, Shane. They’re terrors. Even at like, two. You should see some of the nightmares that go to daycare with the twins. There aren’t any, like, gun toys, obviously, but they made them out of fucking Duplo. The teachers sent an email about it.”

“But your kid won’t,” Shane reassures, and Hayden’s breathing hard, so Shane has to say it again. “Hayden. Arthur wouldn’t do that because you’re a great dad and Jackie is an awesome mom.”

“No, right.” And that’s better. “Fuck. Okay, next time we find out the sex first.”

“That’s a good plan, Pike.” And Shane frowns. “Next one?”

“Shane Hollander!” The girl is gasping, her eyes going wide as she realizes who is standing next to her. “Oh my gosh! Hi!” Shane forces himself to smile.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Can I get a selfie?”

“Oh, sure.” He ducks, and the girl cozies up to him as she pulls out her phone.

“I thought I recognized a few players, but wow!” The flash blinds Shane, and he blinks as he rights himself. “Hey, so…” she trails off, blinking up at him, her eyelids are painted a glittery pink.

“It was nice meeting you.” Shane smiles and ducks through the crowd. “Curfew is in 15!” He yells, and somewhere further into the club, Hayden echoes him. “Rookies get a free lift to the hotel if you leave now!”

“So handsome,” Rozanov is practically cooing. He’s lying in bed, starfished out and swiping through Shane’s phone. “This cat is the best.” He declares happily, and Shane’s watching him in the mirror from where he is brushing his teeth.

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Shane jokes, spitting in the sink and wiping his mouth. When he turns around, Rozanov props himself up in bed, and Shane has to hold back a laugh.

“What?” Rozanov frowns, he’s all laid out and creased at the edges, and Shane snorts.

“Should I draw you like one of my French girls?”

“Huh?” Rozanov blinks, then flops onto the bed. “Right, that is from movie.” Shane climbs over him, going for his phone and dodging as Rozanov makes a grab for him.

“I’ve got places to be,” Shane tuts, but Rozanov has got a hand up the back of his shirt, and it is nice and big and warm, so he leans into the touch. Rozanov is smirking until Shane pulls away, and he groans.

“Come back.”

“No.” Shane grins, retrieving his trackies from where he left them folded on the dresser and slipping them back on.

“You are a stubborn man, Hollander.” Rozanov groans into the pillows before he sticks an arm out, and Shane pulls him out of bed. Shane watches Rozanov as he struts off into the bathroom, biting his lip as he checks out his ass. When he looks up, he meets Rozanov’s blue eyes in the mirror and flips him off.

“You know what I’m going to do with my stubbornness?” Shane calls, and Rozanov grins as he flips the shower on.

“Something sexy?”

“Win back-to-back Cups.”

“Sure, Hollander.” He’s laughing, ducking under the water. Shane waits a moment, letting steam build up in the hotel bathroom before he pulls the glass door open. “Cold!”

“It’s happening.” Shane might get a little wet, as he drags Rozanov over and kisses him meanly. “Just you watch.”

“First, you have to beat me this weekend,” Rozanov taunts, and Shane laughs, pushing him back into the shower.

“Nobody cares about All Stars.”

“You do,” Rozanov sing-songs, and Shane checks his pockets to make sure he’s got everything before knocking on the bathroom door.

“I’m off. Try to win some games if you want to do this again anytime soon.” And Rozanov barks out a startled laugh.

“You’re such a little shit, Hollander.”

There’s only a handful of players on the Metros who speak French, and as captain, Shane is often the one getting pulled from the locker room to talk with the local media. They’re going to the play-offs. And Shane answers questions about their chances, and he’s answering as thoughtfully as he can. But he knows that he’s brimming with energy. One of the reporters notices and is able to squeeze in a last question.

“Croyez-vous que Montréal ramènera la Coupe à la maison cette année?”

“Je pense qu’on a la bonne équipe pour y arriver, oui.”

“Qu’est-ce que ça voudrait dire pour vous ? Gagner le championnat deux fois de suite?”

“Ça serait formidable. J’adore jouer pour cette équipe. Et on pourrait rien faire sans nos supporters. Alors oui, je veux une autre Coupe. Merci.”

When he checks his phone, he’s got messages from several people. Mom is sending her congratulations. Derek sends him a text in French that makes Shane snort, because it’s mostly making fun of his accent. Dad sends a simple “yeah,” which Shane knows by now to translate into a “yay.” His phone pings one last time. Lily had sent him the clip of his interview.

Shane hates seeing himself on TV, but from the thumbnail, he looks pretty relaxed. Happy. Still a little damp, but oh well, at least his hair looks okay.

His phone vibrates again. Another text from Lily.

🥵

This time, they hadn’t even made a bet. His dad just hands him a hundred-dollar bill, smiling broadly at Shane.

“Fuck, what are you wearing?” Rozanov’s hands are down the back of his dress pants, and Shane’s grinning because he knows he can’t see him. It’s a tight fit. When they had been making out, Rozanov had been trying to get his pants off, but got distracted. Now he’s touching the bare flesh of Shane’s ass, fingers tracing up the elastic. “Hollander.” Rozanov is groaning, and Shane feels like he could fly.

“It’s just underwear.” Shane schools his face to something neutral, and Rozanov pulls back, looking affronted.

“It’s a fucking jockstrap. That you have been wearing tonight under your pretty little tuxedo.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, Hollander.” He gives Shane’s ass one last squeeze before he’s maneuvering Shane out of his pants, and when Shane’s standing in the hotel in just his underwear, Rozanov takes a step back to admire him, then circles Shane so he can get the full picture. “Bozhe moy.” He’s already moaning, and they haven’t even done anything yet.

“Good?” Shane raises his eyebrows, knowing he’s smirking, but he can’t help himself.

“What do you want?” His eyes are big, and he sounds like he’s seconds from begging. “I’ll do anything you want. Please, let me.”

“As the president of the SCAKHC, I call this session into order,” Jessica announces, pulling apart her chopsticks. “Vice chair?” Derek and Shane exchange a look before Shane rolls his eyes.

“Seconded.”

“What does that make me?” Derek asks, already wielding his chopsticks expertly and doling out dumplings onto Jessica and Shane’s plates.

“Treasurer,” Jessica says with a wave of her hand, and Shane’s eyes catch on the diamond ring she’s wearing on her left hand. She notices Shane noticing and presents her fingers. “It’s going to be a very long engagement, don’t freak out.”

“Oh my god!” Shane leans around the table to hug her. “Congrats!”

“Long engagement, the longest!” She reiterates, and then Shane shakes Derek’s hand. “I’m talking at least two years.”

“Wow, that’s so exciting. When did this happen?”

“Only last week, mate.” Derek claps Shane on the back, but he’s smiling happily at Jessica.

“Oh, when you were in Vancouver?" They nod, and Jessica is handing over her phone so Shane can see the engagement photos. Apparently, Derek had arranged a stealth photographer to catch the moment he proposed. “Wow.” Shane swipes through the photos. Watches as Jessica and Derek go from posed and smiling to Derek placing the ring on her finger, Jessica turned away, clearly freaking, and then to facing each other with Derek holding a ring box.

“I was a little surprised,” Jessica says with a laugh.

“Only a bit,” Derek says, taking her hand and smiling happily.

“Oh, are these your parents?” Shane has scrolled back to before the engagement, where Derek and Jessica are posed with an older couple.

“Yes! And my grandparents and grandpa.” And there they are. Three generations. Shane drinks it in. The faces that could be his grandparents, his mom. The way they’re all smiling happily around a dinner table, and he hands the phone back.

Something gets caught in his throat. It’s like he’s suddenly realized he’s never going to have that. It’s not just that his grandparents live in a totally different country. The longest relationship he’s ever had isn’t even a relationship. It’s a creeping, sudden horror. One that he has to push down because he is happy for Jessica, and he has to act like it and not be so goddamn self-absorbed. Remember? Timeline. He’s got time to figure it out. It’s not impossible.

“Omedetō, Jessica. Derek.” 

“Arigatō, Shane. Okay, enough sappy shit. What’s this one, Derek?” She points at a dumpling, and Derek’s grinning, shaking his head as he starts to explain what he ordered for the table.

He’s not sure what they’re selling today. His mom had sent him the sides last night, but he hadn’t actually read them. His phone goes off in his pocket, and Shane tugs it out. He’s doing the mental math of how late it is in Moscow. Rozanov is seven hours ahead? So it’s not too late, and he’s been texting Shane steadily since he woke up this morning.

He fires off a quick message and puts his phone into the pocket of the pants that wardrobe had supplied him with. At least for this commercial, he gets to wear a shirt, and nobody is going to be spraying him down. His mom is sitting a few feet away, tapping on a laptop she’s got propped up in her lap, and when she sees Shane looking her way, she smiles.

He thinks it’s cologne. Right? He doesn’t have any lines or anything. The director had already talked with him while he was in make-up. Just walking from point A to point B.

“How’s that fit?” The stylist asks, adjusting Shane’s sleeve. They’re waiting for the lighting department to be done, for the director to give the go-ahead. With any luck, they’ll be out of here in a couple of hours. Mom has already found a couple of options for dinner in Toronto before they head back to Ottawa tomorrow.

“Good, thanks.” She gives Shane a thumbs-up before she wanders back to the rack of designer clothes. Shane pulls his phone out because Rozanov hasn’t let up, and he sends him a quick text to say that he’s working.

“Hey, Shane? We’re about ready. Can you go to your mark so we can finish with the lighting?” The director calls, and Shane puts his phone away again.

“Sure. The red X?”

“Yeah. This is gonna be a quick shoot. Shane here is a pro.”

It’s only after the first three takes that his mom rises from her chair. She pretends like she has something to show Shane, but before she goes back behind the camera, she holds out her hand expectantly. Shane rolls his eyes, shuts his phone off, and hands it to his mom.

“What about Jessica?”

“I think she’s engaged.”

“Fuck, Shane…”

“Ilya.”

And then, “I should go.”

So, timeline. The last time he thought about it was right before he turned twenty-four, and now he’s twenty-five, and somehow Hayden is the same age as him and is going to have a fourth kid. Why was it that eighteen months ago Shane felt like he had time, but now he doesn’t? There’s something at the back of his head, a panic of some sort that he doesn’t have the right word for.

If he meets someone now and dates them for two or three years, he’d be married by twenty-eight? And then two years before thinking about kids. And then the twins would be what, eight years old? That’s a terrifying thought. But that was roughly his parents’ timeline for having kids. Kid. But that wasn’t quite true. They’d met in college, so they’d been together for close to a decade before they had Shane.

If Shane met someone now, following that logic, he would be thirty-five. That doesn’t seem too old. Right? For kids. He’d know his wife really well a decade into a relationship. But it would be weird. The twins would be thirteen? That’s middle school. His teammates would be married for a lot longer than Shane would have been. And that’s only if he meets someone in the next six months. Then he’d be thirty-six, and why does that seem so much older than thirty-five?

He doesn’t want to think about it. He’s young. He’s got time.

Shane’s phone vibrates, and Rose is up at the bar, ordering them another round. He pulls his phone out and frowns when he sees that it is a text from Jessica. It’s a TMZ article followed by a bunch of question marks. Then a third text comes in.

“OMFG! David Beckham and Posh!!!” Shane’s stomach lurches, and he puts his phone away.

There is something broken in Shane. He doesn’t know when it broke, but he knows there’s something wrong with him. It’s in the way that he cares too much about what he eats. The way he can’t ever sleep past 6 AM. How bad he feels if he skips going to the gym. That he likes his things set-up in a particular way and that it bugs him until he fixes it. That he’s dating a beautiful movie star and that he’s so unhappy.

Because Rose is more than just gorgeous. She’s nice, funny, and thoughtful. She’s coming to his games, wearing his jersey. His parents have floated the idea of meeting her. He knows that his parents will love her. Because she is lovable. She deserves so much more than what Shane is able to offer her.

He’s trying so hard. He’s playing well. He thinks they could actually get a third Cup this year. It would be insane, but he could do it. He already knows that they’re making it to the playoffs. He’s built a dynasty. On paper he’s got everything, so why?

The only explanation is that it’s Shane himself. There is something fundamentally wrong with him. If he can figure it out, he can fix it. He knows he can fix it. He knows he can.

“Was it better?”

“Yeah, it was, uh. It was better.”

Okay. Okay, fine. He’s not broken. He’s not wrong, and there’s nothing to fix. Due to circumstances beyond his control, he happens to be gay. And wow. Okay. He knew he had preferences, but he figured that was whatever. Something that maybe he could discuss with a girlfriend, and that they would figure out together.

But he wasn’t ever going to have another girlfriend. He was going to stop having meaningless hookups with girls in bars and clubs and that he meets through friends. He doesn’t ever need to figure out if a girl is hitting on him, and to work up the effort to respond again.

He’s got another big secret. And it feels bigger, but also smaller.

It’s like, and it’s stupid, but it’s like when he first learned how to ice skate. His mom had taken him to the rink for the first time when he was three. Had led him around on the ice, encouraging him. He started lessons not too long after that. Everyone had called him a natural. And Shane had felt so good. So right. When he was skating, nobody cared if he was a bit too sensitive or if he looked a little different. He’d found his place, and it was like the world had unlocked for him.

He’d been so focused on that world, from skating to hockey to pewee to AAA to Juniors to the MLH. That was his path. And girls were supposed to be a part of that path. He wasn’t stupid; he had just never thought to question it. Any of it.

It had been too easy not to. But because Ilya Rozanov had made it easy. He’d been the one who asked Shane for his room number. The one who put his number in his phone. It was Rozanov who had pursued him for years. Who had reached out when Shane was sure that they were done. And Shane had been happy playing along, following Ilya’s lead. Because it had been so easy. The way it hadn’t been with Claire, or Sammy, or Katie, or Erin, or Jessica, or Ashley, or Rose, or any of the nameless girls he thought might fit but never did.

And he’d been the one to fuck it up. Because he liked Ilya Rozanov. And Rozanov had asked him to spend the night, and made him a tuna melt and called him Shane. So, of course, he had run away. But maybe he hadn’t ruined it yet. Now that he knew, now that he could properly apologize. Maybe it could be fixed. He didn’t want to be done.

That wasn’t as terrifying a thought as it should be.

“Good night, Shane.”

“Good night, Ilya.”

He’s never had someone die in his family. Shane doesn’t know what he can do to support Ilya, 7,000 kilometers away. So he does what Ilya asks of him. He wears his stupid reading glasses. He listens when he talks, and talks, and talks in Russian. He stops listening for words, but tries instead to listen for tone. He hangs his head, absorbing all of Ilya’s frustration and sadness.

Shane can speak two languages and knows a bit of a third. When they say good night, Shane wonders if he should learn Russian. He doubts he can become fluent, but he could maybe be a better listener for Ilya. He can’t imagine how frustrating it would be to live his life in translation.

He can’t fall asleep tonight. He’s too worried. He’s drawing too many parallels between Ilya and his grandparents. The ones who had come to Canada for a better life. Raised their daughter so she would be Canadian. Who got so homesick that they returned to Japan, leaving her and Shane behind.

He doesn’t want Ilya to stay in Russia. He’s so fucking selfish. He’s all torn up, and he can’t imagine what Ilya is going through. He has to be better. Has to be something sturdy for him. Has to be a place of peace, of understanding.

He should invite him to the cottage this summer.

“You’ve got texts,” mom says. Hayden had brought his duffle from the locker room when he had come to visit, and now his mom’s holding his phone, and Shane’s heart monitor makes a little noise, and his mom shoots him a worried look.

“Oh, um.” He tries to focus. “From who?”

“Let me see,” she tries to unlock the phone, but can’t. She only sees who’s texted, not the actual messages themselves. “I’m seeing some of your teammates. JJ, Drapeau. Your coaches. Oh, that’s nice. Some people from Reebok. A Derek? I don’t think I know him. And, um.” She clears her throat. “Rose, Lily, and Jessica.”

“That’s nice.” Shane settles into the pillows of his hospital bed. He’s got such nice friends.

“What’s your passcode? I can text them back for you.”

“Huh?” Shane feigns. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s okay, honey. It can wait.”

Shane watches as the fan hops the boards. When Hunter pulls him onto the ice, he’s literally pulling him. His sneakers slip on the ice as Hunter tows him along. And then they’re talking, and then they’re kissing, and Shane’s mouth is hanging open.

“Wow.” His mom sounds stunned.

Hunter’s hugging a man on the ice, they’re laughing and then kissing again, and the Cup is maybe only ten feet away. His phone is still unlocked from when he was texting Ilya. Then, the screen changes because Ilya is calling him, and his phone is vibrating in his hand. This is crazy. Shane has to walk away from his parents as he answers the phone, a laugh half caught in his throat as he puts the phone up to his ear.

So, timeline. He used to say he wanted to date someone for at least two or three years before they got married. That still feels right at twenty-six. The problem is that he and Ilya have been involved? Involved. They’ve been involved for almost seven years. Doesn’t feel like it should count towards the two or three years of dating, but it also doesn’t feel like Shane should be starting the clock at zero.

He wouldn’t ask just anyone to come to the cabin. So, how much credit should he allot? Six months? That’s almost back to All Stars this year. That doesn’t seem right. Nine months? A year? A year in, Shane could imagine inviting someone to the cabin. But seven years in and Ilya’s only ever seen his apartment through Facetime, so yeah. But they don’t live in the same city?

Shane knows he shouldn’t be counting his chickens before they hatch. Ilya’s coming for a visit, but that’s all. They’re not dating. His insane timeline does not matter because the timeline is for marriage and kids, and there is no indication that, despite the fact that Shane’s 98% sure he is somehow, inexplicably, in love with Ilya Rozanov, that does not mean that they are heading down that road.

They should probably figure that out. What this is leading to. Because right now Shane’s timelines don’t matter because, for one, they aren’t in a relationship, and secondly, they’re never going to be able to come out.

So maybe the timeline isn’t about marriage and kids, but about retirement. That could be thirty, but it probably won’t be. This was the worst injury he’s ever suffered, and he’s got no doubt that he’s going to come back at full strength in September. So, barring something even worse, maybe thirty-five? It would be nice to do twenty years. That’s not unheard of. Rare, but possible. As long as it isn’t, like, pathetic for him to still be playing.

Twenty seasons in the MLH? That puts him at thirty-nine. That’s…

He’s standing in the middle of a Super C, trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to feed Ilya Rozanov when he comes to his cottage. Basics. Right. Now is not the time to weird Rozanov out with his strict diet. The season’s over. He’s got months off from hockey, even though he never really gets a break from hockey. He’s got a cap on, and he’s shopping as quickly as possible. Shane really should have made a list, but he had to work up the courage to leave his parents' house. He hasn’t been seen in public since his injury, and he really doesn’t want to be recognized.

So he’s not thinking. He’s just shopping like he used to back in Kingston. He’s trying to remember what his billet family had on their grocery list. Stuff like hot dogs and hamburgers. Chips. Soft drinks. They can grill, so it’d be worth getting some vegetables that can go on the grill too.

“Shane? C’est toi?” There’s a woman standing in the aisle looking at him like he’s a ghost. She’s maybe his age, with long dark hair, and she looks familiar, and then, like a punch, he knows who she is.

“Claire Bertrand? Wow. Ça fait une éternité que je ne t’ai pas vu. Comment ça va?” Claire comes over closer, puts her grocery basket on the floor, and takes him in.

“Bien. Mon Dieu! J’ai vu le choc que tu as reçu pendant le match des Raiders. Ça va?”

“Je suis complètement guéri.”

“C’est une bonne nouvelle. But, seriously, ça va?”

“Okay.” Shane smiles ruefully.

“I was always a little worried about you.” She says, tucking her hair behind one of her ears. And Shane smiles, remembering the nervous tick she had even back in high school. “You seemed so lost when we were young.”

“Oh?” Shane blinks, smile faltering.

“Like, je ne vais pas le dire correctement.” But Shane waves her on. “I knew you were driven, and you were very set on hockey. But everything else?”

“I,” he laughs. “I can understand why you would have thought that, yeah.”

“But you look very content, Shane. Settled, no.” She’s grinning widely, “comme un grand.” Shane laughs, and Claire joins him. “It is so nice seeing you. I feel like something has just settled in my heart. Tu sais?”

“Yeah, I know that feeling.” She picks her basket back up, and then she’s waving goodbye.

“Bienvenue chez vous.”

“Where are you?” Jessica asks, and Shane can hear Tavi in the background meowing. It’s a little after 6pm, so Jessica must be walking into her apartment. “Derek wants to know if you wanna go out for dim sum again, but there’s a new pho shop opening up in Chinatown that I want to try out.”

“Oh, I’m up at the cottage.” Shane raises his eyebrows at Ilya and shakes his head when he emerges from the bathroom. “Sorry.”

“Oh, the cottage.” Jessica says conspiratorially. “I’m starting to believe it doesn’t exist.”

Ilya hauls himself up on top of the kitchen island, eyebrows raised, and Shane holds a finger up. He’s not having a repeat of the Hayden experience with Jessica.

“Hey Jess,” Shane smiles and walks into the kitchen. “Can you do me a weird favor and not like, ask any questions about it?”

“Um,” she hesitates. “I guess it depends.”

“Can you put Tavi on FaceTime?” Jessica laughs, and Shane leans against the counter. Ilya perks up, confusion on his face. Shane pulls his phone back and accepts Jessica’s FaceTime. He quickly flicks his camera off.

“Are you there?” Jessica asks, camera wandering towards the window where she keeps Tavi’s cat tree.

“Yep.”

“I think something is wrong with your camera?” And then there’s Tavi filling up the screen, and Ilya snatches the phone from Shane, mouth open.

“Uh, no. I’m keeping it off, that’s the weird part.”

“Oh, I thought you wanting to FaceTime my cat was the weird part.” She laughs.

Ilya tilts the screen so Shane can see where Tavi is lounging in his cat tree. The skyline of Montreal is starting to light up, but there’s still some daylight left in the day. Ilya’s smiling that big goofy grin that makes Shane think of draft day. It’s the only photo Shane has of Ilya on his phone. Because it had made him so mad, it had motivated him to push himself harder when they rematched at the JWC. Maybe he should’ve known then.

“Kotyara.” Ilya mouths, pointing at the screen as Shane nods.

“So, Derek wants to do dim sum?”

“You know he likes showing off his Mandarin.”

“Is it showing off if he grew up speaking Mandarin?” Shane wonders, and Jessica laughs.

“We’ve gotta keep him humble, Shane.” She puts on a British accent. “Did you know he speaks four languages?” Shane laughs, and Ilya’s handing back the phone, grinning.

Later in bed, Shane yawns. He goes to take his glasses off and put his book away, and Ilya rolls over, a questioning look on his face.

“Tonight, your mother called you Shane-Chan?”

“Oh,” Shane rolls his eyes and settles under the covers. “It’s like a cute pet name in Japanese. You add Chan to someone’s name. But you normally only do it for children, or like, childhood friends. Only my grandparents call me Shane-Chan, and my mom when she’s feeling, like, extra.”

“Extra what?”

“Anything?” He shrugs. “It’s just another way for her to say she loves me.”

“My mother,” Ilya pauses, and Shane turns to face him. “She would call me Ilyusha.” Shane moves closer to him. Puts his head on his pillow, and their noses touch. Ilya grabs his chin and holds Shane steady.

“Ilyusha.” Shane tries his best to copy Ilya without also copying his accent.

“Shane.” They’re kissing, and Shane wiggles even closer. “I don’t-,” Ilya starts, but stops. He tilts his chin up so he can rest his head on top of Shane’s. Shane’s got a really great view of Ilya’s neck, so he closes his eyes and burrows into his hold.

“We don’t have to.”

“YA tebya lyublyu.”

“Je t’aime.”

“I know that one. I love you.”

“Mmm, how about, daisuki?”

“Japanese?”

“Yep. I think it actually means that I like you a lot.”

“Oh, is that all, lyubimyy, just a lot?”

“Until I know the right word, yep.”

“Then I guess I will wait.” Shane pinches his side and smiles when Ilya flinches.

“Not for too long.”

“Tired of waiting,” Ilya yawns.

“Me too.”

Shane Hollander is twenty-six, driving Ilya Rozanov to the airport parking lot. The drive from Lanaudière to Montreal isn’t the most exciting, and Shane chose to drive the long way to YUL because it’s a bit more scenic and a lot more private. The last thing he wants is to be driving on Route 25 and someone spotting Ilya in his car. Not that Shane cares about the scenery. He just wants more time with Ilya. They’re talking about hockey, and they only have one or maybe two more hours before they go their separate ways. He watches Ilya gesticulate from where he’s sitting in the passenger seat because he just can’t not.

Shane Hollander is twenty-six, and he’s driving Ilya Rozanov to the airport in Montreal, Quebec, watching his boyfriend’s pouty lips as he complains about the music on the radio. Like it’s normal that he’s in the car with Shane Hollander, his arch-rival. Like he doesn’t care about all the pressure surrounding their careers. Like they can break the rules and still be great. The best.

“Shane?”