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Hayden had no knowledge of what happened to Shane. One minute he was flying confidently down the ice, and the next he was on the ground. Slammed into from the side by Marleau.
Hayden had immediately grabbed Marleau by the collar, swinging without thinking. It was a natural reaction. A player went down from a big hit, and people started swinging. That’s just what happened.
The other guys had joined in, and Hayden’s only focus for the next 120 seconds was to not get his nose broken and to come out victorious for his team. Hayden had been defending his captain. His best friend.
But now he was kicking himself, as he sat on the bench with a bloodied ice pack pressed to his split lip. He hadn’t paid enough attention to Shane before the medics were surrounding him and he was being loaded onto the spine board, and Hayden had no idea if Shane had even been awake. He hadn’t thought to check in on him, assuming, like in most cases, Shane would push himself up, shake it off and keep playing.
There was a pit in Hayden's stomach. Why didn’t he just pay more attention? Even if Shane had twitched or groaned, that would have been a good sign. A cold knockout like that could be bad news. Really bad.
But Hayden didn’t even know that much, because Shane was being wheeled off the ice on a goddamned spine board by the time his fight had been broken up. And now, he had to finish playing out a game before he could rush off to the hospital in tow of his best friend on the team.
God, hits like the one Shane had taken could be career-ending. Hayden felt sick.
The rest of the game passed in a blur, and Hayden found himself hoping for the first time in his life that they would lose a game, rather than go into overtime. No one was playing right. Even on the other team, Rozanov was clumsier, agitated, and less aggressive. A big accident like that threw everyone off.
Hayden was the first one off the ice, mumbling something to the coaches about needing to get to the hospital, who nodded in agreement. A bad sign. If they thought Shane was fine, they would have made him stay for the post-game press and interviews
Shane’s parents weren’t even in town. It was Hayden who was Shane’s emergency contact in cases like this. He blew out a sharp breath, sent a quick text to Jackie, who was already well aware of what happened, considering she always watched his games, and took off at breakneck speed to the hospital.
Shane was on the good stuff when Hayden arrived.
“Haydeennnn,” he drawled with a big goofy smile on his face, when Hayden opened the door to his private room.
Hayden’s whole body immediately unlocked. Shane was alive. He was well enough to make a face like that.
“Hey buddy,” Hayden said, unable to help his fond smile, even as his voice wobbled.
Shane was hooked up to a heart monitor and an IV, and his eyes were lidded and glassy. His arm was bundled in a padded sling.
“What’s the damage?”
“Dunno,” Shane tried to shrug and then immediately made a drawn-out, pained noise. He closed his eyes and blew out a few breaths through his nose. “Owwww. Note to self, no shrugging.”
Hayden winced sympathetically.
“They don’t have you on pain meds?”
“They do,” Shane laughed in a way that told Hayden he was definitely on some form of morphine. “The good stuff. That’s what they call it. Still,” he winced, “hurts.”
“Can I—?” Hayden gestured towards the chair, and Shane made an exaggerated gesture for him to sit. Hayden had never seen him like this before. The Shane he knew was usually so shy and stoic. It was cute.
Hayden sat down heavily in the chair and blew out a hard breath.
“You scared us pretty bad, man.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it's fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
The door opened, and Hayden looked up. A nurse.
“Oh!” she said, “visitors!”
“It’s Hayden,” Shane said helpfully.
“Hi Hayden,” she said, indulging Shane’s doped-up commentary. “How are you feeling, Shane?”
“‘M okay.”
She smiled like she was already a fan. It was hard not to like Shane. Especially when he had all his guards down like this. The nurse fiddled with the IV stand.
“And how’s the pain?”
“S’okay.”
Hayden rolled his eyes. “He just said it still hurts.”
She smiled knowingly, “Trying to be a tough guy, huh? Well, we can up your dosage a smidge more, see if that doesn’t help. The doctor will be by in a few moments, but you’ve got a pretty nasty break in your collarbone and definitely a concussion. So no screens. Your doctor walk you through the results of your CT, and then we’ll decide if you need an MRI or any further testing.”
“CT?” Hayden felt a shock of worry, “he’s okay though?”
The nurse smiled again, and not in the fond way that she just smiled at Shane, but in the professional way that meant she wasn’t going to tell Hayden one way or the other.
“We won’t know anything for sure until the doctor goes over those scans for you. But Shane’s on the good stuff, so just sit tight until then.”
“Told you that’s what they called it,” Shane said, throwing a thumbs up with the cutest little smile Hayden had ever seen.
From the adoring look on the nurse's face, she felt the same way: “I’ll be back in a bit, to check in.”
And then she disappeared from the room.
It wasn’t more than 10 minutes later before the door opened again. Shane was in lala land, dipping in and out of sleep, and Hayden had been texting with his parents to keep them updated. Hayden looked up, expecting the doctor, and was shocked when he found himself face-to-face with the massive Russian center of the Boston Raiders, who was looking at Hayden with an equal look of surprise. He looked caught out.
“Ilyaaaaaaa,” Shane said dopily, and Hayden couldn’t help the double take he did at that. Ilya? When had Shane ever referred to Rozanov that way? Hayden shook his head. That morphine was doing a number on him.
Rozanov, for his part, looked pained. He had a nervous energy coursing through him, one of his fingers tapping subconsciously against his leg. Good, Hayden thought. He should feel bad; it was his teammate who put Shane here in the first place.
Hayden glared, but Rozanov was staring at Shane with a look on his face Hayden couldn’t place.
“I um. I wanted to—” he swallowed thickly, and Hayden thought, for one insane moment, that Rozanov looked like he might cry. But then the expression was gone. He stared at Shane like Hayden wasn’t even there. “Are you okay?”
“Broken collar bone and concussion,” Hayden interrupted, glaring.
Rozanov’s eyes darted to Hayden like he had forgotten Hayden was even in the room. He cleared his throat and grimaced.
“Marleau is really sorry.”
He sounded downright contrite. Something about it rubbed Hayden the wrong way. The cocky Russian player coming here for publicity. Coming by with an apology so the Raiders would come away from this looking better than they had before. Hayden glowered.
“Seriously? He’s sorry? Shane could have lost his career. He could have died!”
Rozanov’s jaw clenched.
“Marleau didn’t mean it, Hayd,” said Shane, wincing as he tried to push himself up, “we all get our bell rung eventually, right?”
Hayden wasn’t so sure Shane would be saying that once the morphine wore off and he was feeling the full force of Marleau’s hit. But Hayden couldn’t help smiling at his friend's sweet temperament. Even in front of his biggest rival, hopped up on drugs, Shane was gracious and forgiving.
“Da, well. Good. That Hollander is okay. I should uh— I will go now.” He gave a tight-lipped smile to Hayden, and then it died on his face when he looked back at Shane.
“Hey,” Shane said softly to Rozanov, and the man froze. He glanced at Hayden.
“Hollander,” he said, almost like a warning.
“Heeeeey,” Shane reached his hand out towards the broad-shouldered man taking up too much space in the room. The heart rate monitor started to beep.
Then Rozanov was taking steps across the room to Shane’s bedside.
“Shhh, Shane. Shhh. Okay,” He was murmuring in a tone Hayden had never heard before, looking pained. He took Shane’s outstretched hand. Hayden blinked.
“Better,” Shane smiled and closed his eyes, “better.” The word was whispered, a little slurred, and Hayden wondered how much of this Shane was going to even remember tomorrow.
He had no idea what was going on, but it was Hayden’s job to make sure Shane didn’t embarrass himself right now, especially in front of the Boston Raider’s captain and the one and only nemesis that Shane Hollander seemed to have.
“Okay. That’s enough.” Hayden stood up from his chair and took steps towards the bedside, where Rozanov stood on the other side. “I don’t know what you’re playing at here, but it’s time to leave.”
Hayden thought Rozanov had never looked more uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to answer, tried to pull his hand from Shane’s grasp. “Hollander, I think maybe—”
“Nooo,” Shane pulled Ilya’s hand towards his chest, cradling it like some stuffed animal. He turned to glare at Hayden, the effect lessened by the glassy look in his eyes. “Don’t be so mean to him, Hayden. He’s soft.”
“I am not soft,” Rozanov sounded affronted.
“Soft,” Shane repeated, hugging Rozanov's hand closer. Rozanov could have easily pulled himself away, but instead, he let himself be tugged closer, hunching over Shane in his hospital bed. He looked at Hayden with something like an apology on his face. Hayden felt almost bad for the guy. He was clearly out of his depth here.
“Okay, Shane. Let the nice man go now. I fear you are going to be super embarrassed about this tomorrow,” Hayden said gently.
“Hollander, I think Pike is maybe right,” Rozanov said tightly, but made no move to pull away from Shane’s grip.
“Why are you calling me that?” There was a little pout on Shane’s face.
Rozanov took a deep breath and didn’t exhale. Then after a moment,
“I will go now.”
Shane looked ready to argue, and Hayden could only imagine the look on Shane’s face when Hayden relayed to him the next morning that he was hugging his rival's hand like he was a child and it was his favourite teddy bear.
But they were all saved by the door opening, and a short, dark-skinned woman walked in.
“Crowded in here,” she remarked good-naturedly, her eyes darting between the three of them.
Hayden backed away, sitting back down and Rozanov went to do the same, but Shane stubbornly refused to let go of his hand.
“That’s okay,” the doctor said, “you’re welcome to stay like that.”
Rozanov gave her another signature tightlipped smiled and didn’t move.
“Hi Shane, I’m doctor Woldu.”
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she smiled.
“Hi.”
Dr. Woldu laughed. “Okay, which one of you is Hayden Pike?”
“Thats me,” Hayden said.
“Great. You’re listed as Shane’s emergency contact aside from his parents, so you don’t mind if I give you the rundown?”
“Please.” Hayden gestured for her to continue.
“Alright, so Shane does have a fractured collarbone, which I know you may have already suspected. The good news is that this type of injury usually heals very well. He’ll need to keep his arm supported in a sling for about six weeks, and then we’ll reassess to make sure it’s healing properly.
The concussion is a bit more complex. It’s on the more significant side, so I’ve ordered a CT scan to be cautious. This will help us rule out any fractures, bleeding, or swelling in the brain.
Shane, over the next few days to weeks, you may notice symptoms like brain fog, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, sensitivity to light or noise, and possibly some mood changes. All of these can be normal after a concussion. What’s important is that they gradually improve. If any symptoms suddenly worsen, become severe, or persist beyond a few weeks without improvement, please let someone know right away or come back to see us.
For the first 48 hours, I want you to completely avoid screens, including phones, tablets, computers, and TV. After that, we’ll recommend a very gradual return to screen use, as long as it doesn’t worsen your symptoms. This initial rest period is important to give your brain the best possible environment to heal.”
Shane gave a little salute, and Hayden was nodding, trying to remember everything so he could tell Shane’s parents when they arrvied. He didn’t notice Rozanov going completely still while Dr. Woldu spoke.
“Okay, great, I’ll be back a bit later for that CT scan!” She said and slipped out the door.
As soon as the door snicked shut behind her, Rozanov was demanding, “What is she saying? Shane’s brain is bleeding? What did she say?”
“You were literally there when she said it,” Hayden said, confused why Rozanov was acting this way.
“English is second language, Pike. I can’t understand stupid English medical words.” The Russian growled in frustration, his accent thicker than usual. “Shane’s brain is bleeding?” He demanded again, sounding panicked. And in his panic, he stood up, pulled away from Shane without thinking, and Shane made a little noise as his shoulder was wrenched.
Rozanov was immediately hunched back over Shane, “Izvini, Shane. Is your shoulder okay? Izvini. Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”
He cupped a hand around Shane’s cheek gently, like Shane might break. Shane smiled goofily back up at him.
“My brain’s fine, Ilya. I’m fine. They just want to check to be safe.”
Shane reached above him to thumb at Ilya’s cheek where, Hayden realized with a shock, a single tear had dropped. What the fuck is happening?
“You scared me,” Rozanov said, quietly, voice breaking.
“I’m mostly mad at Marleau for fucking up tonight. I was excited to see you. I had a plan to ask you a question and everything,” Shane said, still rubbing a thumb back and forth across Rozanov’s cheekbone.
“Uh, Shane?” Hayden said, feeling like he was the odd one out in the room. He was in a room with Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, and he was the odd one out. “Can I just ask what the fuck is happening?”
They both looked at him, eyes comically wide, like they both forgot Hayden was there. Hayden would have laughed if he wasn’t so fucking confused. He didn’t even know Shane and Rozanov spoke to each other, let alone like this. Like they were— like they were—
“Oops,” Shane said then, giggling. He looked up at Rozanov, “Hayden’s here.”
“I don’t think you will be laughing so much about this tomorrow, Shane,” Rozanov said, straightening.
“He won’t tell,” Shane whispered conspiratorially. “He’s so good. The best. My best friend, Hayden. You won’t tell right Hayd?”
Hayden felt like he was the one who sustained a concussion. His mind was slower than usual, trying to fit puzzle pieces together that just didn’t fit.
“Yeah, Shane, buddy. Tell what?”
Shane stared at him for what felt like ages and then burst into dopey giggles.
Rozanov pushed a hand into the bridge of his nose. “This is not funny.”
“It’s kindof funny.”
“What’s kind of funny?” Hayden asked, exasperated.
He knew what he wanted to think. He knew what this looked like. What it sounded like. But there was just literally no way. He needed another explanation. Because if he jumped to the conclusion he wanted to make, he was going to sound like an insane person.
Rozanov gave him a long-suffering look. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” Hayden was reeling, “I’m not just going to jump to the conclusion that you two are— are— whatever you are, without some real confirmation here, okay? So, and I repeat, what the fuck.”
“I’m fucking Rozanov,” Shane stage whispered, then laughed again, “or actually, Ilya’s—”
The rest of the words were muffled as Ilya slapped a hand over Shane’s mouth.
“Okay, enough now, Shane.”
Hayden was at a loss for words. His face was flaming hot, and he maintained Shane’s drugged-up, glazed eye contact, feeling like he’d never seen this person before in his life. This person, who swore and was willing to be slightly vulgar, and who was apparently fucking Ilya Rozanov.
But Shane did look happy. He had both hands around Rozanov’s, resting on his mouth. Not with the intention of pulling it away, but just holding on. Hayden looked to Rozanov, who looked like he would rather eat glass than have this conversation with Hayden.
“Yes. We are…” he hesitated. Cleared his throat, “together.”
“What the fuck,” Hayden said under his breath. Then, not really thinking before he spoke, “You’re gay?”
Rozanov’s gaze turned stormy, and Hayden thought he hadn’t seemed dangerous until this moment, when he was reminded freshly that it was Ilya Rozanov standing in front of him with a hand still pressed to Shane’s mouth. “You have problem with this, Pike?”
“No! No, of course not,” Hayden backtracked, and then he scowled. Why was he defending himself to Ilya Rozanov? “Although I might have a problem with Shane’s choice of partners.”
Rozanov stared at him for a breath longer, then seemed to accept this. His entire demeanour changed, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a little smirk. “Why? You wish it was you instead, Pike?”
“No!” Hayden spluttered, on the back foot again. God, Rozanov was irritating off the ice, too. “You—”
“Shhhhhhh,” Shane interrupted them, pulling Rozanov’s hand from his mouth, his eyes pinched shut. “Too loud.”
“Izvini, Shane,” Rozanov said, his voice immediately changing back to that comforting murmur as he sat down on the bed beside Shane, looking concerned, brushing through his bangs. Hayden stared in shock as Shane somehow tamed the infamous Ilya Rozanov with two words.
Rozanov glared at Hayden like this was his fault. Hayden bristled.
“This is not— you know what. Whatever. This is insane, but fine.” Hayden blew out a breath, looking at his friend. “You and Rozanov.”
“Me and Ilya,” Shane repeated dreamily. And Hayden swore he didn’t have a better description for what Rozanov did other than melt. The look on his face was pure adoration as he gazed down at Shane.
“You are on drugs, Hollander,” he said fondly.
“Mmm,” Shane agreed.
Hayden couldn’t believe how much he felt like a third wheel in this moment. If someone came in and told him he was on morphine after a bad concussion and this was all a fever dream, he would believe them. He sat back down in the chair.
“How long has this been, um, going on?”
There, that was a normal question after your best friend confirmed he was banging his rival, wasn’t it? Rozanov interrupted before Shane could reply.
“We should maybe have this conversation when Shane isn’t on drugs, yes?”
Hayden had to respect that. It hadn’t crossed his mind, but Shane may not have consented to any of this if he was sober. If nothing else, Rozanov was protective of Shane, and Hayden couldn’t begrudge him that.
“No, you’re right. I—”
“Since rookie season,” Shane said, earning him a long-suffering look from both of them. “What?” he asked, looking way too innocent.
Then Hayden's brain did a double-take.
“Wait, what? Since rookie season?” he stared at the two of them with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
“Yessss,” Shane said, sounding pleased as punch.
“Shane.” Rozanov rubbed a stressed hand down his face.
“You can’t tell,” Shane said to Hayden, ignoring the exasperation that exuded from Rozanov like he didn’t even notice it.
“I won’t say anything,” Hayden said, making eye contact with Rozanov seriously. This was one thing he would make sure they both knew. Hayden was well aware of the industry they worked in and what that was like. He would never endanger Shane’s career or livelihood for anything. “I swear.”
Rozanov nodded back.
“The question I wanted to ask you,” Shane went on, continuing his last conversation like this one never happened. “Was, will you come to my cottage thissummer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun. Is so private. No one will know.”
Rozanov looked up at Hayden, and Hayden thought this whole experience might have taken years off the Russian center's life.
“We could have a week or even two. Completely alone. Together.”
Rozanov stared at Shane with a look that was almost the perfect cross between pained and adoring. He opened his mouth to reply. Glanced over at Hayden. Closed it.
It was obvious the two of them were having a moment, so Hayden mumbled some excuse about finding coffee and slipped out of the room. On his way back, he paused at the door, peeking in through the window.
Rozanov was leaning down to brush careful lips over Shane’s. Shane’s good hand snaked around the back of his neck, curling into his hair. Well, if Hayden hadn’t believed it before, there was no denying it now.
He knew he would have to have a longer conversation with Shane about this later. But Hayden thought it worked out this way. It gave him some grace to have his freak out now, so when he spoke with Shane about it later, he had already digested the information.
He stood by the fact that Rozanov was incredibly insufferable, but he couldn’t help but be happy for his friend. Shane, who was so uptight and careful. Who didn’t seem to know how to let loose or have fun. And now here he was, secretly making out with the world's biggest heartthrob hockey star in his hospital room.
Hayden had always worried that Shane was too serious. Had been pushing him to let Jackie set him up with a friend, or indulge in a beer after a big win. Hayden smiled to himself. Good for Shane. He deserved some excitement in his life. Something that wasn’t work or his career.
Hayden almost looked forward to the conversation they would have tomorrow. Maybe the first one Shane had ever had with him where he could be wholly truthful to who he was. Hayden wasn’t going to mess that up.
He turned away from the door, making sure no one else was in the hallway that might walk past, and then decided to take his coffee on one more loop of the floor before he returned.