Chapter Text
June 2019
“So, we hear you’ve got an announcement?” the TSN correspondent prompted.
Shane stayed leaning against the door frame, trying to make no noise that could be picked up by the mics, as Eric Bennett stood in front of the cameras after their last practice before Game One of their final series against Minnesota.
They were all exhausted. They’d gone to Game Seven against Pittsburgh in the first round, Game Seven against Boston in the second, and Game Six against Tampa Bay in the Eastern Conference Finals. All of them were beat to shit and hanging onto their sanity by a thread which probably explained why Eric was about to do what he was about to do.
“Two, actually,” Eric said, flashing Shane a grin that he was somehow able to interpret as it’s time to test a theory and Shane just shot him a thumbs up.
They maybe needed to make more friends outside of hockey.
Existing inside an echo chamber of superstition and adrenaline fueled questionable decisions simply had to start leading them toward equally questionable outcomes at some point.
But no matter how much Shane wished that someone would step in and tell them all that this was insane, there was no way he could stop the ball from rolling now.
Eric unzipped his hoodie, revealing a t-shirt Ilya had given him for his birthday, and then promptly announced, “I’ll be retiring at the end of this season.”
The t-shirt, featuring a drawing of a racoon riding a bicycle with the words BISEXUAL and STILL NOT INTO YOU, promptly overshadowed the end of Eric’s 20-year career.
“He actually fucking did it,” Scott whispered, staring blank-faced at their wildly grinning goalie.
“At least he won’t have to deal with Crowell,” Shane muttered back, flashing Eric another thumbs up when his eyes darted over searching for a reaction.
“Thank fuck.”
It’d taken eight months for the Governors to finally hold a meeting on the matter of Roger Crowell but, in that time, an independent investigator had been able to find evidence of coercion, money laundering, and, somehow, insider trading, so by the time the meeting finally rolled around, it hadn’t taken all that long for them to decide to boot him out and then wish him well on his brief stint in whatever fancy jail they kept white collar criminals in.
Their new Commissioner wasn’t liberal, by any means, but he was a far sight better than Crowell had been.
Progress, it turns out, is a rather slow path to climb.
“I need fourteen hours of sleep,” Scott whispered, his head hitting the wall next to Shane’s with an audible thud. “I woke up this morning to your goddamn husband banging on the door and I’ve known not a minute of peace since.”
“I haven’t known peace since December of 2008 so I think you’ll live.”
“Why did you let him leave the house?”
“I didn’t let him do anything,” Shane huffed, turning his head slightly to catch Scott’s eye as Eric carried on with his increasingly chaotic interview in the background, “he was gone by the time I got out of bed, what was he even doing at your place?”
“Something about flower arrangements and Kip promising to help?”
“Of course,” Shane said, utterly unable to keep the fond smile off his face even if he’d tried, “I don’t know why that needs to be dealt with here and now when the whole thing’s happening in Ottawa in August but I’m not about to stop him.”
“He’s excited,” Scott said softly, smiling almost despite himself, “you’ve already been married two years and he’s this excited about a vow renewal, you’re lucky, Rook. You got a good one.”
“I’m telling him you said that.”
“Please don’t. He’ll never let me live it down.”
“We’re gonna walk in the Pride parade,” Eric announced, appearing in front of them with a grin so wide it looked a little painful.
“Are we now?” Scott said, turning around and leaning back against the wall rather than simply slumping over on it. “Why?”
“Gayest team in the League!” Eric said, waving his hands for emphasis.
Shane felt a little like he was having a stroke.
He had no clue who this man was and what he’d done with Eric Bennett but apparently they were all being dragged along for the ride.
“There’s three of us,” Shane said, not quite sure whether he was attempting to temper Eric’s insanity or feed it, “and you’re retiring.”
“Three out,” Eric corrected, his gaze rather unsubtly flicking toward Conor and Luke who were pressed together on the bench so closely that they were both within the boundaries of Luke’s stall as they waited for Shane to be ready to leave.
“Don’t mention them,” Shane sighed, looking skyward with a silent plea for patience, “they give me a headache.”
“You really can’t be one to talk,” Scott teased. “Mr. It Took Me Nine Years to Say My Husband’s First Name.”
“Hey,” Shane grumbled, shooting Scott a rather ineffective glare, “that’s a sensitive subject. Also, I had Ilya’s dick in my mouth literally the fourth time we ever met. Those two have spent like 90 hours a week living in each other’s pockets for the past two years and we’re still at whatever stage this is, it is in no way comparable.”
“I didn’t need to know all that,” Scott said, his nose wrinkled in feigned disgust.
“I could tell you more,” Shane offered, wondering, not for the first time, how Eric was actually 40 years old with the way he giggled every time Shane tortured Scott with details about he and Ilya’s sex life, “like how one time, after a preseason game in Boston, we -”
“No more!” Scott yelled, smacking a hand over Shane’s mouth dramatically enough that Eric full on snorted.
“Boys!” Shane called, his voice muffled by Scott’s hand but thankfully still loud enough to pull Luke and Conor out of whatever earth shattering conversation they were having that required them to sit so close together that their ears were touching, “let’s go.”
Shane was pretty sure that Conor still lived with the Huffs but the sheer amount of his clothing that’d ended up in Shane and Luke’s house was enough to make Shane wonder if he’d moved without remembering to let anyone know.
“Can we pick up food?” Luke asked, dutifully slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way through the door, yanking Scott’s hand away from Shane’s face as he went because that was the brotherly thing to do.
“Ilya’s making dinner,” Shane reminded him, deeply grateful that Ilya actually enjoyed cooking so they could consume something other than the pre-made meal prep containers passed out by the team nutritionists.
“I love him,” Luke decided.
“Me too,” Conor echoed, clapping Eric on the shoulder as he approached, “and congrats, Benny. I'm gonna miss you."
"Do you like my shirt?" Eric asked, gesturing to the purple racoon monstrosity that Ilya had more than likely purchased in a 2am fit of insanity in the middle of a roadie.
“It’s great, I might need to get one for myself.”
Shane blinked, Eric’s grin grew somehow wider, Scott choked, and Luke started visibly buffering.
“Gayest team in the League,” Eric said again, his voice entirely conversational, like he was simply announcing a fact of life.
“I think one bisexual racoon shirt is enough,” Shane said after taking a second to force himself to function like a human, “maybe we can find you a different animal.”
“I like sharks,” Conor offered.
“Solid choice,” Shane said, “you two ready to head out?”
“Yup,” Conor chirped, slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders and heading down the hall. Shane watched as Luke dutifully followed, his face very carefully blank.
“I sense a headache incoming,” Scott said, patting Shane’s back as he turned to follow his brother and his brother’s freshly bisexual best friend out of the building.
“Me too,” Shane said. He paused for a moment, tugging Eric into a tight hug before actually following them out of the room, “I’m really proud of you, Eric.”
“Thanks, Shane,” Eric responded, his voice rough with emotion in a way it rarely got, “you made this so much easier,” he choked out, lifting one arm away from Shane long enough to pull Scott into their hug, “you both did. Thank you.”
“Ah, we’ve gotta stick together,” Scott said, clearly trying to wave it off as the tender moment pressed into the soft spaces below their ribs.
Shane held on a little longer, let himself sink into the comfort of his teammates, his friends who’d changed his life in their own special, wonderful ways, “let’s hope Benny’s theory pays off, I want another Cup.”
“Me too,” Eric laughed, the sound heavy with emotion, “one for the road.”
“Exactly,” Shane said, blinking hard in an attempt to keep his tears at bay. Crying could wait until they had the Cup in their hands again, crying could wait until he’d played his last game with Eric on the ice.
“We’ll get it,” Scott said, his voice making it sound like it was a promise, “I can feel it, it’s our year.”
“Two people coming out might help our chances,” Eric mused, “even if only one of those was public.”
* * *
Eric was fucking right.
Shane felt Luke slam into him seconds after the puck slipped past the Nomad’s goalie, the goal light casting the Xcel Center in shades of red mere moments before the game buzzer sounded.
“Let’s. Fucking. GOOOO!” Luke shouted, his visor knocking against Shane’s as he pressed their helmets together, the sounds of screaming fans turning into a din in the background as the noise hit a fever pitch.
Shane loved winning.
He’d always loved winning, but there was something a little extra magical about victory when his little brother had been the one to feed him the game winning pass and Ilya was somewhere in the crowd wearing a WAG jacket that Shane was fairly certain he wasn’t planning to ever take off.
“There’s something you don’t see every day, folks!” Carter said, his ‘announcer voice’ not quite hitting the mark as his own excitement bled through every word. He crashed into them, crushing them into a group hug that rearranged a couple of Shane’s vertebrae. “The Hollanders connecting for the buzzer beater!”
Shane let out a bright laugh, “we’ve connected for buzzer beaters several times, Vaughny.”
“But this one won us the Cup!” Luke shouted, knocking his helmet back and forth against Shane and Carter’s like a pin ball for a couple of seconds, entirely unable to contain his excitement.
“Fuck yeah it did!” Shane agreed, wrapping his arms around Luke’s waist and taking him clean off his feet, delighting in the peal of laughter Luke let out.
“Fuck it feels good,” Carter breathed out, skating a half step back before not so gently shoving Shane and Luke down the ice toward where the rest of their team had jumped the boards to crowd Eric.
“So good,” Luke sighed, “happy goddamn birthday to me, boys.”
“Does anyone know where the hell you’re supposed to celebrate shit in Minneapolis?” Breezy asked, slinging an arm around Shane’s shoulders as they approached the dog pile their team had turned into around Eric’s net.
“I think we’re technically in St. Paul,” Matti corrected, “also, no.”
“It’s fine!” Nick yelled, “we’ll just have to keep drinking until we get back to NYC!”
“You did not just say NYC,” Cameron groaned, ruffling Nick’s hair hard enough that Nick damn near lost his balance. The post-win adrenaline high was clearly making all of them underestimate their own strength.
“Coulda called it the Big Apple,” Nick shrugged with a crooked grin.
“Thank Christ you didn’t,” Greg laughed, grabbing Nick by the shoulders and shaking him around, much to the kid’s delight.
* * *
Drinking until they got back to New York proved to be more challenging than any of them thought seeing as the team plane didn’t leave Minneapolis until 10:00 the following morning. By the time they touched down in Westchester, they’d been awake for well over 24 hours, every last member of the team was blackout drunk, and they’d spent an entire hour wholeheartedly believing they’d somehow lost Luke midair only to find him passed out cold on the floor of the plane bathroom.
“We rally,” Nick announced, standing at the front of the plane like a general leading his men into battle. Well, ‘standing’ was maybe a bit generous. He was more half upright, half leaning his entire body weight against one of the seats in a vague approximation of standing.
“We rally!” Cameron shouted back, leading to a criminally loud rally cry from everyone else on the plane. Shane was fairly certain his brain was going to start leaking through his ears.
Shane checked his phone, sent up a brief thanks to Steve Jobs for his iPhone automatically correcting to the time zone so he wouldn’t have to try to remember whether he was meant to add or subtract an hour, and said, “it’s two in the afternoon, where the fuck are we meant to go?”
He should not have spoken.
Thirty minutes and several handsomely tipped rideshare drivers later, 22 sleep deprived, bruised, and completely sloshed hockey players had invaded his home.
* * *
Ilya walked into the house an hour and a half after Shane had texted him they’d landed, having taken a commercial flight along with several of the other families, to find his husband’s entire team freshly showered and asleep across every bed, couch, and chair in their home.
He made his way up to their bedroom as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake any of them up, and found Shane, Scott, Carter, Luke, Eric, and Conor asleep in Shane and Ilya’s bed.
Shane was on his back with Carter to his left and Scott, who was fully being spooned by Eric, curled up against his right side. Luke was laying entirely on top of Shane and Carter both, his head tilted at an angle he was assuredly going to regret upon waking up.
Conor, having apparently decided there wasn’t enough space to cuddle up with his teammates, was asleep across the foot of the bed holding onto Sunny like he was afraid someone was coming to take her away.
Ilya took a picture, sent it to Amanda, and then went in search of Luca who’d stayed back to watch the dogs and would, fingers crossed, be sober and awake enough to explain what the hell was going on.
He found him a couple of minutes later, hiding in Shane’s office watching Netflix on the desktop with Anya curled up at his feet.
“I don’t know,” he said, unprompted the moment Ilya opened the door, “they just showed up. Shane made them all shower before they were allowed to touch any blankets or pillows and I’m supposed to wake them up ‘when the bars open.’ The issue, though, is that I don’t have one single clue when that is.”
“We can wake them for dinner,” Ilya decided, wondering what the hell had happened in the 12 hours between the last time he’d seen them all when the bar they were at shut down at 2am and now.
“Did you have fun?” Luca asked, pausing his show and turning his attention toward Ilya.
“Yes,” Ilya answered immediately, sitting on top of Shane’s desk since Shane wasn’t there to grumble at him for misusing furniture. “Was very fun to kiss Shane on the ice in front of a Commissioner who only kind of grimaces at gay things instead of trying to kill us with his mind.”
“Progress,” Luca said, a wry sort of grin on his lips.
“When is your flight?”
“Tomorrow at noon out of JFK then I’m flying into Ottawa when I come back, you’re bringing my training stuff for me, right?”
“Is on my list,” Ilya promised, “I’ve never been to summer camp before, I’m kind of excited.”
“I went once when I was really little but it wasn’t a hockey one, I think it’ll be fun. Did everyone do the training they were supposed to do?”
Ilya opened the drawer by his right knee and pulled out Shane’s camp folder, double checking the printed spreadsheet, “yes, thank fuck.”
They had 150 campers signed up for the weeklong overnight camp, not to mention the nearly 300 kids they had signed up for day camps in Ottawa for the two weeks leading up to the overnight program.
The day camps the prior summer had gone off without a hitch but the added chaos of the overnight was truly testing everyone’s patience.
All of their coaches from NHL and CWHL teams had been required to complete additional training for the Ontario Camps Association, their legal team had spent ages figuring out the necessary forms and waivers, and they’d had to find a week the facility wasn’t being used for an already existing camp that also fit the schedules of a dozen professional hockey players.
Also, more importantly in Ilya’s mind, they’d had to make sure it wouldn’t conflict with the vow renewal/wedding reception he and Shane (and Yuna, Svetlana, Jackie, and Rose) had been planning for the past several months.
He and Shane had been married two years and they still hadn’t gotten to celebrate with their friends.
They’d wanted to do something the prior summer but life had gotten so chaotic that anything they would’ve pulled off would’ve been half-planned at best and Ilya was adamant that they deserved something better.
They deserved beautiful flowers and painstakingly organized seating arrangements and a perfectly curated playlist.
They deserved having the chance to plan far enough ahead that they got to send pretty invitations with enough time to wait for RSVPs.
They’d fought an uphill battle to get here, to be in a place where they were safe enough to celebrate their love, and Ilya wanted them to do it properly and Shane was more than happy to give Ilya anything he wanted. He was more than happy to let the WAGs introduce Ilya to Pinterest which had led to him being woken from a deep sleep on more than one occasion to look at different décor options and floral combinations, he was more than happy to let Rose pick out his suit so Ilya could sleep peacefully knowing that Shane wasn’t in charge of his own clothing.
“Will the dogs be okay here if we both go out with them?” Luca asked, pulling Ilya out of his silent reverie. “I kinda want to see Shane drunk.”
“He was drunk in Vegas last year, also at our parade.”
“He was barely tipsy then,” Luca said, shaking his head a little in mock disappointment, “he came in here an hour ago claiming he was going to challenge Scott to a cage match and when I asked why he said, ‘for the love of the game,’ I would like to experience more of that Shane.”
“The dogs will be fine,” Ilya said, blinking a little as he attempted to adjust to whatever new level of wasted his husband had apparently reached.
Shane had built a decently sized fenced-in dog run attached to the mudroom so it was rather easy for them to leave Sunny and Anya to their own devices for a couple of hours without having to have someone come let them out. He still either brought Sunny with on game days (to the point that several people had seemingly forgotten she was Shane’s dog and not the official Admirals mascot) or hired a dog walker but if they were just going to be gone for a few hours, the little addition worked perfectly.
“Yay,” Luca said, a bright grin on his face that spelled chaos.
* * *
Shane woke up to the sound of someone letting out a pained groan and found himself buried under the weight of both Luke and Scott, a situation he’d unfortunately found himself in on more than one occasion after a team night out.
“Kill me,” Luke muttered, digging his head into Shane’s shoulder like he’d be able to block out the light through sheer force of will.
“I don’t feel like committing fratricide today, thanks,” Shane huffed, squirming a bit in an attempt to remove Scott’s bony elbow from his ribcage, finding himself grateful that Scott was on his right because he was fairly certain he’d decided to update his Stanley Cup tattoo while drunk in the middle of the night. His movement, though, only succeeded in rousing Scott enough that he cuddled closer before falling soundly asleep again.
“Don’t throw biblical words at me right now,” Luke said, shifting off of Shane in a display of hungover, loose limbed chaos that put his knee precariously close to Shane’s groin.
“We’re supposed to rally,” Conor groaned said from somewhere near the foot of the bed which shocked Shane less than it probably should’ve, “I don’t know how to rally.”
“You have to keep drinking,” Carter said, his voice dropping into a truly shitty British accent in some sort of reference that Shane wasn’t even going to attempt to place.
“I vote we only go to gay bars,” Eric decided, “since being gay made us win.”
“I hate that your theory paid off, I really didn’t think you could get more superstitious.”
“It’s been six years since the Cup was won by a straight Captain,” Eric said, “that’s not superstition, that’s a fact.”
* * *
“Drunk Shane!” Luca cheered, pointing toward Shane and Scott, two of the most socially awkward people Ilya had ever had the pleasure of meeting, as they joined their teammates on the impromptu dance floor that’d broken out in the middle of the Kingfisher, Kip happily following on their heels.
Ilya scanned the room and found Eric indecently making out with the bartender he’d been silently checking out for the better part of two years, Luke looking a little like he wanted to melt into the floor as he awkwardly attempted to figure out how to flirt with Conor, Matti Jalo dancing with Kip’s friend Maria in a way that could really only lead to one outcome, Cale attempting to pull Cameron and Farmer - the team’s newest rookie - off the bar, Nick and Greg dumping champagne into the Cup that’d seemingly appeared out of thin air a half hour after they’d walked through the door, and finally landed back on Shane, Scott, and Kip dancing like they were trying to feed the throuple rumors.
It wasn’t anywhere near as chaotic as the Bears had gotten in Vegas after their win the year prior, but it felt comfortable in a way random celebrations could never quite be.
They looked like they belonged in this bar, like it was a place they could claim.
The team blended seamlessly with the other patrons, not a one of them uncomfortable with the clientele to the point that it somehow looked entirely natural for the Stanely Cup to be in an East Village gay bar for the second time in three seasons.
They’d created a safe haven, a shining example of acceptance and inclusivity in a sport where a space like this was never meant to exist.
Ilya loved it, he loved getting to be a part of it as Shane’s husband instead of as one of the players, it felt more important, somehow. Like being accepted by the Admirals was a bigger sign that hockey was changing. Being accepted by Boston meant he was a good Captain who commanded respect no matter what was going on in his personal life, but he wasn’t New York’s Captain; he was simply their Alt’s husband who they’d accepted with open arms.
Boston had accepted Shane in the same way, proving all over again that this community could exist, that people like them were allowed in this sport.
Ilya grinned over at Luca and then hopped up from the booth to join Shane on the dance floor, deciding to take advantage of the freedom Shane was allowing himself for as long as it lasted.
* * *
“We need to pack the car,” Shane said, dropping onto the couch next to Ilya with a groan.
It was the last day of June and Ilya had never been more grateful to see the end of Pride Month.
Don’t get him wrong, he loved Pride. He thought it was incredibly important and he was grateful that so many companies and organizations had chosen to work with them, Scott, and Eric, jamming all of their campaigns into the final weeks of June after their seasons had ended, but he was sick and goddamn tired of being in front of the camera.
He and Shane had done a full day of interviews with several different sites talking about their relationship and what it was like to be queer in professional hockey, they’d done a Pride-themed callback to their original CCM campaign (during which Ilya had taken the liberty of happily explaining to the crew just how funny basing the commercial on their relationship was, much to Shane’s horror), Scott had enough rainbow themed Under Armour gear to outfit the entire New York National Guard for the next several years, Nike had all but tattooed a Pride Flag on Eric’s forehead, Ilya had somehow been harangued into appearing on Late Night just ahead of the summer hiatus (which had made zero sense seeing as he was the only one not from New York), they’d all ended up in the New York Pride Parade at Eric’s insistence, and Shane had been thoroughly slutted out by Reebok of all companies.
The Twitter spree following the release of that particular shoot had, unfortunately, ended in everyone finally figuring out that @lilyhollander1221 was actually the Captain of the Boston Bears but that was bound to happen sooner or later so Ilya wasn’t all that effected.
Boston’s PR team, on the other hand, had been about 5 seconds away from handing in their resignation letters.
“Ugh,” Ilya huffed, letting his head fall onto Shane’s shoulder and smiling to himself as Shane’s head immediately rested against his.
“Exactly.”
“What time do we need to leave?”
“I told mom we’d be in Ottawa by dinner,” Shane said, looking down at his watch, “so an hour ago.”
Ilya’s smile grew as a quiet pressure built behind his eyes.
Shane did that all the time, simply calling Yuna and David mom and dad whenever either Ilya or Luke were concerned, he never said my mom or my dad, they were just everyone’s parents, no possessive determiner required.
“We should probably leave, then,” Ilya said, clearing his throat and trying not to cry. They did not have time for a minor emotional melt down if they were truly that far behind. It could wait for the car.
With a groan he’d vehemently deny if anyone ever attempted to call him old, Ilya started to get off the couch, intent on getting things properly packed so Shane wouldn’t have to track stuff down by himself or wait on an Ilya who’d gotten entirely distracted by something random but, instead of getting to do any of that, he was unceremoniously yanked back down onto the couch, “no,” Shane grumbled, wrapping himself around Ilya like a tiny, incredibly insistent octopus.
“We need to leave, котик,” Ilya reminded him, wrapping his arms around Shane and dropping a kiss into his hair.
“Just a minute?” Shane begged, looking up at Ilya with big brown eyes he’d happily go to war for if asked.
Ilya almost suppressed the urge to bite Shane as he was overcome with (what his extensive research had assured him was a very real biological phenomenon) cuteness aggression but then he remembered that they were married and he didn’t need to hold himself back.
“Ouch,” Shane grumbled, fondness bleeding through his tone as he wriggled away from where Ilya had decided to bite down on his shoulder, though his movement had the wonderful effect of bringing him somehow even closer so Ilya was counting it as a major win.
They didn’t make it to Ottawa until midnight.
* * *
July 2019
“I’m never having children,” J.J., who’d been (happily) traded to Ottawa just before the trade deadline that season, announced, throwing himself into a chair at the table their day camp coaches were gathering at with a level of dramatics that far exceeded the situation.
“I want kids,” Ilya grumbled, pouting over at Shane like he was asking to keep a puppy he’d found on the street.
“We live in different cities and travel 100 days a year,” Shane said, raising an eyebrow at his pouting husband and wondering why this conversation was happening now in front of a dozen different people instead of, you know, in their home while no one was watching.
“Well, not now,” Ilya conceded, “but eventually?”
“Eventually,” Shane agreed, reaching out to run the backs of his fingers across Ilya’s cheek, an action that always seemed to soothe him, an action that’d come to serve as a reminder that Shane loved him.
It was the final day of their day camps in Ottawa and their coaches were gathered around, waiting for final instructions regarding the sleepaway camp that would stretch over the final days of July and the first few days of August the following week. Where the Ottawa camps were mainly for young kids of any skill set, the sleepaway camp had somehow turned into more of a true Development Camp. All of the coaches, despite having played professional hockey for years, had completed several coaching modules to get the camp certified with various youth hockey organizations and they were all excited for the thing to just start so they could finally stop worrying about planning it.
“I want to move here,” Troy said, trudging into the room and immediately slumping into the seat next to J.J., “I still can’t believe you left me in Toronto without you.”
It was still, even after two full years, shocking to watch Troy Barrett display an emotion other than contempt or apathy.
J.J. had well and truly yanked him out of his shell.
“There’s only one year left on your contract, mon ami,” J.J. reminded him, “you could always become a Centaur then.”
“Or I could scream at management that they’re a bunch of racist, homophobic assholes, and hope that they send me packing.”
“Yes,” J.J. agreed, nodding seriously, “you could always do that.”
“That plan feels like it has a lot of room for error,” Harris said, settling into the seat to Shane’s left with much less dramatics than the man across the table.
“It worked for Hollzy,” Troy argued.
“That’s a really interesting perspective of what happened in Montreal,” Shane said, shooting Troy an almost fond half smile, “but I can promise you that, no matter how much I wanted to, I did not yell at management.”
“No, you just took one of their lawyers, half their first line, their rookies, and their backup goalie with you on the way out.”
“Fair play.”
“Alright!” Yuna called, clapping once to get their attention and doing a rather shit job of hiding just how much Troy’s analysis amused her, “parking is a little limited so figure out who you’re driving with, I’d like you all at the facility by 3:00 tomorrow so we can settle in before the campers start arriving at noon on Sunday. I know my boys all fit in one car but I am not in charge of the rest of you so figure yourselves out.”
“We’re seriously putting all four of us plus two dogs, four gear bags, and four duffels in Shane’s Jeep?” Luca asked, his tone of voice making it more than clear that he was preemptively dreading what was sure to be a chaotic two-hour drive.
“Wait, then who am I going with?” Conor asked, looking at Shane with something akin to fear in his eyes, like he expected Shane to tell him he was going to be hitchhiking or, worse, driving with Cliff and Hayden.
“He’s going with us, right?” Luke asked, flashing Shane big blue puppy dog eyes.
Shane wasn’t even phased by the slightly panicked codependence at this point, but everyone who didn’t play for New York was studying the pair in a clear attempt to figure out what the living fuck was happening.
“Okay, maybe my boys don’t all fit in one car,” Yuna said, adjusting easily to the addition of Conor to the group.
“Admirals in the Jeep, Luca and Ilya can drive with you or Hayd,” Shane decided, realizing it’d be far easier to just split by team, especially considering the fact that Carter was going to walk in from wherever he’d wandered off to and demand to be in Shane’s car sometime before this meeting ended.
“I’m with Shane, right?” Carter asked, appearing as if summoned, holding a bag of chips from the vending machine that was clear on the other side of the building.
Just as Shane opened his mouth to tell him off for disappearing, he was hit in the face by a Snickers and decided to be kind and let Carter get away with wasting everyone’s time.
“Right,” he agreed, opening the candy bar, tearing it in half, and handing a piece to Luke before he could even ask.
“What sort of hive mind are you all working with in New York?” Troy asked, studying them like they were some sort of lab experiment.
“The kind that wins us Cups,” Conor answered, happily accepting a handful of chips from Carter as he slid into the last open seat.
“Fair enough,” Troy said with a nod. “J.J. and I can probably fit two more in my car.”
“I’ll go with you guys,” Tanner Dillon said, “saves me from having to drive myself.”
“Scott and Eric fly in tomorrow, who’s dealing with them?” Carter asked.
“I will take Kip,” Ilya said, perking up from where he’d been at least half asleep with his head on the table.
“Kip wasn’t one of the offered parties.”
“Still, Kip will come with me. Someone else take the dinosaurs.”
“I’ll take Eric and Elaine,” Wyatt offered from where he was sitting next to the Markham Thunder’s starting goalie, “my trunk’s big enough for three goalie bags if we put the third row down.”
“I guess I’ll take Ilya, Kip, and the kid,” Hayden sighed, setting off a rather impassioned speech from Luca about how he was 21 whole years old now and, as such, they should stop calling him the kid.
Shane decided not to mention that he was 28 and Scott still called him Rook, he didn’t think the information would be all that helpful at the moment.
“Does that mean Scott’s with us?” Conor asked, leaning around Harris to meet Shane’s eye, looking a little bit ill at the prospect of being trapped with their Captain which, fair. Shane would also like to avoid spending two full hours listening to true crime podcasts and playing iSpy under threat of bag skates if at all possible.
“Cliff,” Shane said, flashing his husband’s best friend and his best friend’s boyfriend his most innocent smile, “would you mind giving Scott a ride?”
Cliff, either too trusting of Shane or too tired to notice the way the other three Admirals had gone stock still awaiting his answer, simply grinned right back and said, “I’d be happy to.”
* * *
“I hate you, Hollander,” Cliff hissed, climbing out of his car the second it was in park. Shane could still hear the voices of Scott’s favored podcasters coming through the speakers.
“I’ll live,” Shane said, ticking off the arrived boxes next to Cliff and Scott’s names.
He felt Luke shift behind him, a rather clear indication that he was attempting to hide the fact that he was laughing which wasn’t all that effective seeing as the sounds of him and Conor giggling were fully audible.
“Tell Baby Hollander I hate him too,” Cliff added, grabbing his bags from the backseat and starting to stomp off before realizing that he had to continue speaking to the Hollanders he apparently hated in order to get directions. “Where do I go?” he asked, his voice rather comedically dejected.
“That way,” Luke said, climbing back forward to sit next to Shane where he was perched in the open trunk of his Jeep with Sunny (and Carter) happily sprawled out at his feet waiting for everyone to arrive and pointing down the wooded path, “you’ll find J.J. and Barrett near the main building and they’ll tell you which cabin you’re in.”
Cliff rather begrudgingly thanked them and then trudged down the path.
“Scott must’ve picked a bad one,” Conor choked out, attempting to bite back his laughter at Cliff’s expense.
“I don’t think he was properly socialized as a child,” Carter said, “there’s really no other explanation.”
“Are you talking about me?” Scott asked, tossing his bags aside and sitting down next to Shane, happy as a clam and apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d put Cliff in a mood. “You think I pissed him off enough that he’ll just avoid me instead of using me to demonstrate checks?” or, well, maybe not.
“You fucking genius,” Luke breathed out, staring at Scott in complete awe.
“Okay but that doesn’t explain why you make the rest of us suffer,” Carter pointed out.
“No,” Scott agreed, “I just do that because I’m your captain and you have to listen to me.”
“Oh piss off,” Shane laughed, “go put your stuff in your cabin, you’re lucky I like you, by the way, you and Kip are in one of the staff rooms so you don’t have to bunk with the kids.”
Scott grabbed Shane’s cheeks and smacked a kiss to his forehead with an overexaggerated, “mwah, I love you, Rook.”
“Love you too, Scotty,” Shane said, shaking his head a little in amusement, “now get out of my sight.”
* * *
Over the next hour, the rest of their staff (and a few random assorted friends) trickled in.
It was a great mix of players from across various NHL and CWHL teams along with a couple of former players different people had known through various connections Shane had stopped attempting to track.
The camp was situated on a little lake north of Ottawa, about 45 minutes away from the cottage. It was peaceful, quiet in a way that New York could never be, no matter how far out in the suburbs you drove, and Shane felt a little like every ounce of stress he’d been carrying in his body was slipping away, little by little, with every minute he spent on the grounds.
After touring the camp and going over their schedules for the week, they’d built a bonfire down on the little beach and Shane was happily sitting in a camp chair, Ilya to his right and Luke to his left with Sunny passed out in her own chair between them, listening to the chatter of their friends as they leaned in to the easy peace of their surroundings.
Meghan, a forward from the Worcester Blades, had challenged Carter to a rock-skipping competition that was being judged based almost entirely by sound given the sun had already set, Ilya was evenly dividing his time between chirping Scott and talking to Kip, Luke and Conor were dutifully listening to Wyatt explain the significance the reference to the multiverse in Doctor Strange held in regard to the rest of the Marvel franchise, and Cliff had decided he was done being annoyed at Shane in favor of asking him not even sort of subtle questions about Rose’s jewelry preferences.
Shane dutifully answered the questions with the responses Rose had been drilling into him for the better part of a year while also side-eying the truly horrendous attempt at flirting Troy was putting on with Harris, who’d been so kind as to join them for the week to document the camp for their social media seeing as Amanda was busy ‘avoiding wildlife at all costs’ back in New York.
“I lost,” Carter announced, meandering back into the circle of chairs and planting himself at Shane’s feet, Shane moved his legs just enough for Carter to have space to settle between them, using the inside of Shane’s thigh as an impromptu pillow in a display of physical comfort that you could really only achieve with people you spent every waking hour with for 10 months out of the year.
“You’ll get her next time,” Shane said, patting his head as if he were Sunny.
“You always believe in me,” Carter said, sighing rather dramatically. “What would I do without you?”
“God only knows.”
* * *
The campers started rolling in a little before noon on Sunday and Ilya happily sat between Shane and Hayden at one of the tables in the main hall, listening to them arguing about absolutely nothing of consequence over his head.
Ilya had discovered, over the past couple of years, that when those two got back together after too long apart, they started bickering like an old married couple as some sort of strange tactic to settle back into their norm. At the moment, they were arguing about how Shane tied his skates.
Hayden insisted Shane’s way was insane while Shane was adamant that his way was the reason he won so often.
Ilya sincerely doubted Shane’s success had anything to do with the way he tied his skates, but he wasn’t about to trash one of his husband’s superstitions. He’d made that mistake in the past. Never again.
Hayden, however, tended to escape Shane’s superstition-related ire because he had superstitions of his own while Ilya was often arguing against the worth of them at all.
He let their voices wash over him as he watched the camp start to fill up through the windows.
Luke was guiding a kid and his mother down the path to show the kid to his cabin, pausing to introduce Conor to the pair as he returned from doing the same thing, Carter was in the corner organizing the final box of gear that Boodram had carried in from Yuna’s car, Harris was wandering around taking pictures while Kip followed him with a folder full of media release forms making sure he was only taking pictures of the kids who’d submitted them.
Everyone else was scattered around, happily fulfilling the tasks they’d been set and making sure all of their campers were settled in.
Watching as everything came together, Ilya was struck once more with the thought of how lucky they’d gotten, of how incredible their friends and teammates were.
“This will be a fun week,” he declared, interrupting whatever Shane was saying, “I’m happy, I think.”
“Good,” Shane said, running his hand gently down Ilya’s back, “you being happy makes me happy.”
Ilya turned to grin at him, somehow still in awe of just how loved he was even after all this time and found Shane already smiling at him, his eyes full of love and his smile so beautifully fond.
“Gross,” Hayden grumbled, though he couldn’t quite keep the fondness out of his own tone. “I’m gonna go help Cliff.”
“Have fun,” Shane said, not looking away from Ilya, “if you see my brother, maybe tell him to stop flirting with Conor in front of the children, especially if he’s not planning to actually do anything about it.”
“Will do,” Hayden said, “and while I’m at it, I’m going to find and murder whoever it was who made him so repressed.”
“Give me deniability, I promised no crimes.”
“I’ll be discreet,” Hayden promised before wandering off, whistling a little as he went.
Shane shot him a half-assed salute and then turned his attention right back to Ilya, “you’re good? Happy?”
“I’m perfect,” Ilya said, reaching out to hold Shane’s hand. “Excited for this week, I think it will be good.”
“Me too,” Shane whispered, leaning over to press a quick kiss to his lips, sweet and full of familiarity Ilya had never dared to hope for.
He loved this life they’d built, and he hoped he never lost sight of just how much they had to appreciate.
* * *
The camp went off without a hitch. Well, mostly.
They had to break up a couple of fights between kids who were rivals in their youth leagues and deal with more teenage drama than Ilya thought was strictly necessary, but no one got injured and no one begged to leave and, overall, they seemed to have a good amount of fun.
It was truly enjoyable getting to watch them learn, getting to experience just how excited they got when they performed a new skill or improved on something they already knew.
Ilya watched as the last car drove off, leaving only the staff behind for one final night on the grounds before they dispersed back to wherever they were spending the offseason.
“This is kind of like your bachelor party if you think about it,” J.J. said as he followed Ilya down the path.
“Is it?” Ilya asked, shooting J.J. a rather confused look.
They were still a month out from the wedding, Svetlana, Rose, and Jackie weren’t there, and, maybe most importantly, Ilya really didn’t picture a youth hockey camp in Ontario as the ideal site for a bachelor party.
“Well, not really, but we can still drink.”
Ilya let out a laugh at that, slinging an arm around J.J.’s shoulders as they walked, “you have good ideas, Boiziau.”
* * *
August 2019
“Shane, trust me, this is perfect,” Rose said, undoing the button Shane had just done up. “This shirt looks weird if you’re too buttoned up.”
“Alright, alright,” Shane agreed, holding his hands up in surrender.
He thought the white silk shirt and goddamn Bulgari necklace were a bit much, he thought all of this was a bit much, but, at the same time, he was beyond grateful to have the opportunity to celebrate his love for Ilya with this many people watching so he decided to keep his mouth shut.
It’d been two years and three months, to the day, since their courthouse wedding in Windsor.
27 months to the day since Shane’s parents, Svetlana, and the Justice of the Peace were the only people to witness their wedding, the only people who got to see just how much they loved each other, even when it was hidden and terrifying.
Today, though, over 100 people, including Shane’s extended family, Ilya’s childhood friends from Russia, both of their teams, and the other friends they’d gathered along the way, would be here to see that love in broad daylight.
What had started as wanting to host a reception with their friends had very quickly turned into planning a full vow renewal after Shane’s paternal grandmother spent their most recent 3-day Christmas break sighing and pouting about never getting to see her ‘sweet little Shanebug’, her only grandchild, marry their ‘sweet little Ilyushenka.’
Ilya had folded almost immediately and Shane was utterly useless against the combined pouting of his grandma and his husband so here they were, hosting a vow renewal instead of a reception.
“Ready?” Luke asked, all but skipping into the room and immediately slouching over the back of the chair Yuna was sitting in, greeting her with a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, mom.”
“Hi, Luke,” Yuna said, sending him a fond smile, “are they ready for us?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, standing back up and dramatically presenting his hand, “may I escort you, my lady?”
“You may, kind sir,” she laughed, taking his hand and pulling herself to her feet. She paused in front of Shane and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to meet her eye, “I love you, I’m proud of you, and I’m very happy that everyone is here to celebrate you two.”
“Thanks, mom,” Shane said, sniffling once and steadfastly refusing to start crying before he was even at the altar. “I love you too.”
“Good,” Yuna said, tugging his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “See you in a minute.”
Rose finished sorting out Shane’s hair, bouncing slightly on her toes in excitement in a way that made it impossible for Shane not to smile, “Rosie?”
“Yeah, Shane?”
“Thank you,” he whispered, hoping she understood what he meant without him having to say. He was dead certain that if he started explaining just how much she’d changed his life he’d lose whatever remaining handle he had on his emotions.
She studied him for a second, a warmth in her eyes that he felt in his bones, and then said, “you’re welcome.”
* * *
“This feels like a lot of responsibility,” Carter said, chasing after Amber as she toddled away. Again.
Ilya watched in entirely unconcealed amusement as Carter scooped her up with a frantic look on his face.
“Vaughan, you’re in charge of flower girls,” Ilya said, “is not a difficult task.”
“They’re fast, Roz!” Carter said, shooting Ilya a rather ineffective glare.
Ilya just huffed out a laugh and leaned back against the wall, waiting for Shane and Hayden to come back.
Rose was fussing over Cliff’s tie, Luke had just returned from walking Yuna to her seat after David had walked his own mother down the aisle, Luca was having a minor panic attack over having to walk down the aisle with Scott fucking Hunter while Scott pretended he didn’t know what Luca was panicking over which was more than a little amusing, and Svetlana was standing next to Ilya, also happily watching the chaos unfold.
“Where are your husband and his boyfriend?” Svetlana asked, looking around for any sign of Shane and Hayden.
“Talking to Arthur,” Ilya explained, feeling his smile tilt into something fond, “he got nervous. Hey, Jade!” he called, realizing that Carter had well and truly lost control of the situation as Amber was attempting to Houdini her way out of his grasp while Jade was trying to climb his leg like a tree. Ruby, the sweetheart, was peacefully sitting on the ground petting Sunny and Anya. He didn’t quite buy her innocent expression but she was behaving for the moment so he decided to let her be. “Can you find your basket for me please?”
Jade nodded and quickly stopped her attempt to scale Carter who, when they realized they had uneven numbers of people Shane and Ilya wanted in their wedding parties, had suggested that Hayden officiate while he corralled the Pike girls so Jackie could simply enjoy the wedding.
Ilya had happily agreed to that because he really wasn’t quite sure who else he’d want to add to his side without having to add too many. Adding St-Simon meant adding Carmichael which meant adding Connors and so on and so forth. Cutting himself off at Svetlana, Cliff, and Luca was far easier to manage.
Having Hayden officiate had also made it a lot easier for Shane to admit he wanted Luke as his best man without feeling guilty about the fact that he’d been Hayden’s and, also, feeling guilty about not including J.J. in the wedding party.
Ilya hadn’t quite realized just how difficult picking a wedding party would be but he was more than thankful that particular task was over.
“We’re good,” Hayden said, half jogging back into the room, turning around to clap Shane on the shoulder, shooting Arthur – who was holding Shane’s hand and trailing slightly behind him - a big thumbs up, clapping Ilya’s shoulder, and then calmly making his way down the aisle to take his spot at the altar.
Ilya blinked, a little startled by his appearance and subsequent disappearance, but then his focus caught on Shane and he lost all other train of thought.
“Hi,” Shane greeted, looking a little nervous.
“Hi,” Ilya echoed, “you look beautiful, любимый.”
“You too,” Shane said, stepping forward and pressing a soft kiss to Ilya’s cheek. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Ilya echoed, grinning hard enough it started to hurt.
* * *
Shane opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck, the subtle warmth of the setting sun settling over him like a blanket as a late summer breeze rustled through the trees.
Ilya was in the hammock down by the water, Anya curled up in the last rays of sunlight as they reflected off the glassy surface of the lake.
It’d been a week since their wedding, a week since they got to say their vows for an audience, since they got to take pictures that could be framed and hung with pride instead of hidden in locked folders or tucked into drawers when visitors came. A week since they got a proper first dance and a night of pure joy celebrating with their friends.
A week spent hidden away at the cottage, soaking up the final moments of summer before they had to jump headfirst back into preseason training.
In the past two and a half years, Shane’s life had turned entirely on its head. Everything he’d known, everything he’d planned for, had fallen apart with one decision.
One monumental decision.
It hadn’t been simple, it hadn’t been a ripple in a pond or a flap of a butterfly’s wings. It wasn’t one little decision that then subtly changed the course of his life, it’d been significant. That decision had taken years of hiding, of pain, of abject terror to reach. It had taken the love of a friend, of Rose holding his hand through the first admission, the love and acceptance of his parents through the first true confession, the love and care of Hayden, Jackie, and J.J. as he’d made that second confession, as he’d come to that monumental decision.
It had taken him standing in a room, surrounded by teammates he’d known for years, by the team that’d drafted him, knowing it could go wrong, knowing that it more than likely would. It had taken strength to fear the outcome and do it anyways.
It had taken Scott’s apology and his promise that New York would be better, it had taken Murdock knowing the truth and signing him anyway, it had taken Carter’s open acceptance the first day Shane walked into the building, it had taken an iron will to tell their team even when he knew how bad the response could be, it had taken their team’s steadfast support and easy acceptance to prove Scott right.
It had taken the subtle strength of the rookie who’d become his little brother, the knowledge that coming out publicly would help ease the way even after Scott had done it first.
It had taken the all-encompassing love of the first and only person Shane had ever loved. It had taken the kind of love that dug its claws in and refused to let go, no matter the cost, no matter how difficult, how terrifying that love might be.
It had taken the kind of love that, when let free from the shadows, bloomed into something beautiful, something that fed their souls and made them better, that helped them grow.
It had taken everything.
It had taken everything and it'd been more than worth it.