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“Do you want to meet after the game tonight?”
The unanswered text from over three months ago stared right back at Shane as he debated whether to text Ilya again or not.
The last time they saw each other had been great. Ilya had come to Shane's actual apartment instead of the dodgy building Shane had bought specifically for their hook-ups. And Ilya had said some things.
Things that might've frightened him into ghosting him after.
“You don't know how many times I fantasized about fucking you in your own bed, Hollander.” he'd said while thoroughly kissing every inch of Shane's body.
“God, Hollander, you are the most beautiful creature in the world.” Whispered directly into the back of his neck as he entered him.
So many things that felt like a confession and that Shane didn't process until Ilya had abruptly left once they cleaned up their mess.
He didn't think it'd become an issue, though.
Shane had thought about that night more than he'd like to admit, going through every single detail. Did he react badly to Ilya's word? Was he supposed to say something back? Were they allowed to tell each other those kinds of things at all? Should he reach out? Should he call?
Shane wants to call. He wants to make sure he and Ilya are okay, and that they can continue with their fucked up arrangement in which they fuck every time they play against each other and then chirp each other on the ice.
He wants to kiss Ilya senseless, breathe him in and feel his skin so close it might as well fuse with his own. It's the only time his mind is able to completely quiet down and feel something very close to peace and relaxation.
He'd never admit it out loud, but the nights after Ilya fucks him are the only nights he's able to just sleep through the night, without replaying every single second of his last game, going over what he could've done better, the times he could've been faster, the play that could've been tighter…
Fuck it.
It's the middle of the season and he really shouldn't be breaking his regimen, but JJ swears there's nothing better for these things than a good drink. So, might as well try.
The bar he walks into is packed with groups of happy looking people. The men huddled at the bar seem completely at ease, staring shamelessly at the bartender's breasts, who seems happy that they're noticing her impressive pair under that low V neck she's wearing.
The tables are also packed. There's a particularly gleeful group of women right at the center of the bar, they're all wearing tiny veils, and one of them, the one that seems the most tipsy at the moment, is donning a cheap looking sash that reads Bride in pink glittery letters.
The happiness around him feels like a slap, and effectively sours his mood even further. So with what he's sure is the most bitter looking face he's ever allowed himself to pull in public, he approaches the bar.
There's an empty stool at the corner opposite from the booby bartender, he sits and is immediately greeted by a bartender that's dressed more modestly than the other one.
“Can I get a beer, please?”
“Of course, handsome.”
Before the beer had even landed in front of him, he heard his name being shouted behind him.
He shouldn't look.
But he does.
The bride is smiling brightly at him, ushering to go over to them, the rest of her party seem embarrassed by her, but aren't trying to stop her.
He had two options: stay here alone and wallow in his own misery. Or he could at least try to charm some women… maybe he'd even get brave enough to take one home and forget all about his stupid rival that he shouldn't be fucking in the first place.
Mustering all his courage, he paints his brightest smile on his face, conscious of his face muscles tightening and making sure not to over do it because he will end up looking scary.
“You're Shane Hollander, right? The cute hockey player?” The bride slurs her words just as he gets close to them.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” He answers as he sits in the only empty chair around their table.
“Oh, my god! My fiancé never shuts up about you! You'd think he's more in love with you than with me! It's honestly annoying. He's gonna be so jealous when he sees that you're with us!”
This group is easy to be with. They don't expect much from Shane, his whole role is to be there, smile, and go to the bar to refill their drinks. Honestly, at this point, he's just happy for the distraction. And he’s happy to continue drinking while they laugh around him.
Shane is a lightweight. He doesn't drink at all for most of the year, and when he does, it's usually never more than one or two beers. So, after three beers and one round of shots (that he paid for, as a wedding present for Katelyn, the bride) he is utterly gone.
“Shane, you need to tell us why you're here alone. You're so famous, surely you'd have someone to get shit faced with!” Hannah asks, resting her head on Shane's shoulder.
“Is it girl problems? We could help you with those!” Amy provides, and then flags the bartender to bring another round.
“Sort of. Kind of.” He replies, a voice in the very far back of his mind pleading him to order a water and shut the fuck up.
He ignores that voice. That voice is annoying.
“C'mon, Shane, tell us. We won't tell a soul about this. Pinky promise.” He learned from the Pike children that pinky promises are a big deal, so really, there's no reason to doubt when Daniela says they won't tell. Pinky promises are sacred.
And maybe it's because he hasn't told a single soul about anything going on between him and Ilya. Maybe it's the fact that his head is spinning and the floor feels wavy. Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't thought about the tag in his joggers digging into his lower back since he took that shot. Maybe it's Maybelline.
But he can't think of a single reason to keep his mouth shut when the group of eight women look at him with puppy eyes and seem so eager to hear him and help him.
So, he tells them.
“So there's this guy I've been hooking up with since we were… 18? 19? I don't even remember, but the thing is…”
He told them everything.
Left not a single detail out.
Their faces were the best part. It was like when his grandma used to gasp and scream at the TV when she was watching her soap operas.
“No way!”
“Did you actually do that?!”
“I can't believe he'd say that!”
And other expressions of disbelief and amazement.
It was plain to see that this was the best gossip they had ever heard, and they don't even really know who Ilya— or Shane, for that matter— is. It's oddly freeing.
“So… that's it. I haven't heard from him and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now.” He finishes with a final gulp of his (he swears) last beer.
“Well, I don't know what you could do, but for now… Fuck him!” Katelyn raises her long island iced tea and all the girls follow, chanting the same thing. Reluctantly, he raises his own beer.
“I'm not sure that's a good idea, that's what got me into this mess in the first place.” The group dissolves into loud laughs, making him feel warm inside, and he's suddenly smiling easily, not using the careful training of his face muscles, because it doesn't matter if his smile looks silly or scary, it is genuine.
Women are truly amazing beings.
What a shame that he doesn't feel an ounce of sexual desire for them.
A few “okay but this is the last one” later, he's in a limo with the girls, vibing to loud pop music, giggling and feeling invincible.
“You know what, Shane?” Sophie yells at him through the music. “You should tell Ilya exactly what you think. Tell him you're simply too good for him and that he doesn't deserve you, because that's the truth.”
For once, Shane agrees. Fuck Ilya! Shane is definitely too good for him.
“Yes, Shane! Y'know what? We should call him right the fuck now and tell him!”
“YEAH!” all the girls shouted in unison.
Daniela shamelessly searched Shane, touching him pretty much everywhere just to find his phone (he suspects she just wanted to feel him up a little). When she did, he took the phone from her and unlocked it and went to his contacts to find ‘Lily’.
Sure, at the moment he's grinning and giggling as he hits the call button, but somewhere in the back of his mind he's also aware that he's gonna regret it really bad tomorrow.
It takes 5 tries for Ilya to pick up.
“Hollander, what the fuck? It's 3 am!” He croaks into the phone, and Shane realizes that he must've been asleep. Whatever.
“Fuck you, Rozanov! I did nothing wrong and you ghost me? Out of fucking nowhere?! You are quite literally the biggest asshole I've ever met! And you definitely don't deserve me!”
Ilya stays quiet, but he doesn't hang up. Before he can chicken out, Shane continues.
“You know, my hole was a virgin when I met you! Have you ever stopped to think about that? I could've found a nice man that would treat me like I deserve and give him my anal virginity! But, no! I decided my asshole rival was the one! I can't believe you've had me wrapped around your dick for so many years! And I can't believe that you'd ghost me after saying all those beautiful things! But you can't tell me all of that mid thrust and then get mad at me when I don't respond! Did it occur to you that I'm too focused on not cumming to say shit back?!”
“Hollander.” Ilya tries, but Shane won't let him interrupt him.
“And you know what's the worst part of this? That no matter how many times I tell myself it's the last time, I always want to have you again! Because somehow, even though you're an asshole, I've managed to fuck shit up and fall in love with you! Fuck I wasn't supposed to say that, because we don't do feelings, but it's the truth. I love you and I can't keep denying it.”
“What did you just say?”
With the sudden realization that he just admitted his feelings for Ilya Rozanov to Ilya Rozanov, his throat goes dry, and it becomes hard to even formulate a thought, to form words, to move or even remember where he is, who he's with or how he ended up here.
“I— shit. Shit. Fuck!” He hangs up before anything else happens and he fucks this up even more than he already has.
His stomach starts to feel funny, the place feels crowded and stuffy, his skin is too sticky, his hair is damp and he's being touched by too many people right now.
“Pull over. Pull over, I'm throwing up, please!”
The limo stops and he practically jumps out of it; he's puking all over the curb, feeling the burn coming from his stomach and up to his throat.
He's crying. He's aware of the tears falling down his eyes, hee feels his eyes burning with them, but he doesn't know if it's because of the vomit or because of everything that has been going on.
Once his stomach settles, he walks to a nearby tree and sits, leaning his back on it and focusing on the cold grass under him and the prickling of the wood in his back. He needs to ground himself and stop fucking crying.
“You alright?” Katelyn comes and sits next to him. She's still wearing her Bride sash and the cheap looking veil on her hair, but her eye makeup is smudged and there's no trace of her red lipstick.
A wave of emotion hits him, and he's crying even harder now, overcome with how grateful he is that he bumped into these beautiful women who provided him with a safe space to talk about his feelings and work through everything going on in his life that is a mess. If it's up to him, he'll choose to keep them in his life forever.
The ladies gather around him, seated around him in a circle. Like in kindergarten. And just like kindergarten, he feels just as light, and loved, and normal.
He can't help but wonder when he started to feel so alien among his peers. It was long before he started fucking his rival and he knows that.
His mom always used to say that being different is a blessing, because it gives him the opportunity to break the mold and become greater, but at some point, he stopped believing that. At this point, everything that has happened because he's different is that he's lonely.
But not right now.
Right now he feels accepted and embraced, right now, him being different is irrelevant because these women took him in regardless, without questioning if he's good enough at hockey, if he's social enough, is he's straight. Nothing really mattered to them, just that he was alone at a bar and he looked sad.
“You guys are really nice. Thank you for everything.” He manages to say between sniffles.
If he fucked up everything with Ilya tonight, at least he got a group of friends out of it.
“Let's get you home, sweetie.” Katelyn whispers as she leans into him, holding him with a strength he didn't think she'd have.
“Let's go.” He responds with a smile.
When he wakes up, he's immediately aware of three things.
One, his head feels like an overfilled balloon about to explode.
Two, his stomach feels like high tides in open sea, and he's bloated as fuck.
Three, his phone is incessantly buzzing in the nightstand next to him.
He reaches for the phone just as another call goes to voicemail, and looking at the screen, he forgets all about everything he was physically feeling.
He has 15 missed calls and about 30 texts from Ilya.
He’s about to open his messages when another call comes through. He lets it ring about three times before taking a deep breath, stilling his head and grounding his feet to his floor, and answers it.
“Hi.” He says, simply.
“Hollander, fucking finally!” Ilya’s voice sounds urgent, like he’s been running all day.
“What the fuck was that last night?” He asks, and though the wording feels strong, there is no bite in the tone, just confusion.
Shane takes a moment, trying to will his entire body to stop shaking, and his mind to stop spinning, and his heart to stop jumping.
“I was drunk, and pissed because you haven’t answered my texts. Listen, I’m sorry, it was way out of line and I shouldn’t be angry at you because this is our agreement, and we don’t h—“
“Are you really in love with me?” The question cuts his rambling, it’s so blunt and direct that he almost drops the phone.
There’s no point denying it now. He admitted it already, anyways.
“I am.”
“Fuck. Holy shit, Hollander. Where are you?”
Weird.
“My apartment in Montreal. Why?”
“Fuck it. Don’t move. I will be there soon.”
“What do—” once again, Ilya wouldn't let him finish his sentence. He hung up and left Shane to wonder what the actual fuck this man is gonna do.
In the meantime, Shane tries to follow his morning routine as normally as possible. Although his usual breakfast tried to make him puke again, and his morning run accomplished what the meal attempted.
He did a solid job, honestly.
As good as anyone with a tequila hangover and crazy hangxiety would do following a professional athlete routine.
Once it's time for him to finally sit down and check his phone, he realizes that Ilya isn't the only one who contacted him today.
He has been added to a group chat called “Katelyn's bitches 👰🏼♀️💃🏼 + Shane!🕺🏼” and they have been asking how he's doing all morning. He kind of forgot he gave Kate his number.
“Hey, ladies. I'm doing alright. I think Ilya is on his way over? I'm not sure” he texts
“Doesn't he live in Boston?” Daniela responds.
“Google says he has a game against Toronto today 👀” Amy adds.
“That's like a 1 hour flight, isn't it?” Scarlett texts, then adds a screenshot from Google, confirming the information.
Holy shit.
“Ngl guys I wasn't expecting anything like this!”
“Me fucking either!” He answers Fatima's text immediately, because what the fuck is his life right now?!
“Wouldn't he at least wait until after the game?” Rachel adds.
“Getting his man is more important than hoChet, Rach!!!!”
Shane can't help but laugh at Sophie's text, because it sounds absurd that Ilya would throw his chances at a Stanley Cup away for anyone! Much less for Shane!
But three hours later, his phone buzzes again. This time, it's Ilya.
“Open the door, Hollander”
What.
The.
Actual.
Fuck.
Shane checks the cameras. Ilya Rozanov really is standing right outside the back door of his apartment.
Holy shit.
“He's at my apartment!” He texts the group chat.
“I say you leave him waiting there for a few minutes 😈” Scarlett replies quickly.
“Are you insane?! He could be seen! And then what? Open the fucking door Shaney” Katelyn, ever the voice of reason.
Shane follows her orders and mechanically moves towards the back door, walks down the stairs and just… opens the door.
Ilya steps forward immediately and pushes Shane against the nearest wall. Next thing he knows, Ilya's lips are devouring his own, his tongue demanding entrance and immediately getting it.
Shane's hands react only a second later, and they're tangled up all around Ilya's hair, neck, back, sides… everywhere he can reach.
“Fuck, Hollander!” Ilya whispers against his mouth, and pulls back. He holds Shane's face upright, forcing him to look him in the eye. “Say it again.” He demands.
“I love you, Ilya.” Shane admits, using his first name because why the fuck not? He wants to claim this man as his, might as well start by calling him by his name.
“ya tak sil'no tebya lyublyu Shane.” It comes out choked by a sob, tears clouding Ilya's hazel eyes. “I love you so much, Shane.”
And now, Shane is crying too.
Never, in all the overthinking he did over the past eight years did he think Ilya Rozanov would ever say those words to him, or that he would say them while actively crying and kissing him like he's the most precious thing that's ever walked the earth.
They kiss and cry for a long while, not caring that they're not even in Shane's apartment yet. They're not in a rush to escalate things, happy to just be here in each other's space drinking it all in. Like the first time.
“So… why the call?” Ilya asks him as they finally make their way up the stairs.
“I met some really cool women and they kinda… adopted me? They're actually really nice.”
“Cool. It's good that you have friends that are not boring.” Ilya teases and Shane smacks his arm. And then pushes him to the couch and lays on top of him.
“Didn't you have a game tonight?” Shane asks.
“Ah, yes. I told the coach there was emergency. Not lie. This is more important than hockey.”
It's two weeks later and Shane is watching Katelyn walk down the isle. He's standing next to the altar, along with the rest of the friend group.
When Katelyn asked him to be his “bridesmaid”, he was a little hesitant because they haven’t known each other for that long, but she insisted that it would make her happy, and she also wanted to keep it a secret just to see her fiancé’s face when he saw the best player of the NHL standing along with her bridal party.
Shane agreed partly because he found this incredibly funny, but mainly because these women have been a more solid presence in his life than most of the teammates he’s had since he started his career. And because they’re the reason why Ilya is now his boyfriend.
Who knows how much longer it would’ve taken for them to get their shit together if he hadn’t gone drinking with them.
But now? Now, Shane has real friends that text him nonstop and force him to get his head out of the gutter when his “emotionally constipated” and that got him out of “situationship hell” (like Daniela named it), and he has an amazing boyfriend who loves him and will be meeting his parents over the holidays.
Shane smiles as he watches Katelyn kiss her new husband, thinking that maybe, in a few years, he’ll get to do this with Ilya as his groom, and with his girls standing right by him.