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Everything had gone perfectly up to that point.
The Ottawa Centaurs had crushed the Los Angeles Kings 4-1. Shane had convinced Ilya to go celebrate with the guys because they deserved it. It took a little persuasion, because the Russian had only one thing on his mind.
“Come on, just for a little while,” Shane said as he got dressed in his hotel room. He looked at him with those eyes that had the other man spellbound. “Is it wrong that I want to celebrate?”
Ilya walked toward him, trapping him between the wall and his chest. “Is it wrong that I want to celebrate alone with my husband?”
Shane punched him in the chest jokingly as he chuckled. “Just a couple of hours and then...”
“One.”
“I said a couple of hours.”
“Fine, two.” Ilya took him by the waist, planting a kiss on his collarbone.
They made up with laughter and stolen kisses. Ilya tried to convince his husband to stay in the room and celebrate on their own terms, since there would always be another opportunity to celebrate with their colleagues.
And that was the problem.
They didn't go out much to celebrate with the guys; they preferred to celebrating on their own, in their beds and with little clothing.
A couple of hours of dancing and drinking —just a little— wouldn't hurt either of them.
In fact, it ended up hurting both of them.
If we were to make a competition out of it, we could say Shane had it worse because he was the one who ended up with a broken shoulder. Although he didn't feel anything because he was so drunk.
We could also talk about how bad Ilya had it. He didn't break anything, but having to watch your husband tell the firefighter he had ‘pretty’ eyes hurt a lot more than a broken shoulder. Or anything else. Ilya definitely had it worse.
If we were looking for someone to blame, we could say that it all started with Troy. Their plan was simple: dance, have a few drinks, and save as much energy as possible for their big celebration together.
The plan went a little awry when Troy and Harris approached with drinks in their hands, intending to give them to them. Ilya had been about to refuse, since they had both already had a beer, when Troy said, “Hey, take these...” He winked at Shane. “They're ginger ale-based.”
Shane's bright eyes stared into Ilya's. Oh man, those eyes had been his weakness for years, and he couldn't say no to Shane when he looked at him like that.
Before his brain could connect with his body, he was already drinking both drinks. Shane leaned in close, giving him one of his crooked smiles, “Let's have some fun, sweetheart.”
Between the loud music and the ginger ale drinks, they lost track of time a little.
They were in a corner of the bar, in their own bubble, Shane's back pressed against Ilya's chest as they moved to the beat of pop music.
Shane finished his drink in one gulp. He was tipsy—or was he already drunk?—and his body seemed to move on its own. He pressed himself closer and turned his face toward Ilya. His hands roamed eagerly over his body, searching for something more.
Ilya understood instantly. “Honey...” His lips traced his neck until they reached his earlobe. “I think it's time to go back to the hotel.”
He shook his head vigorously. Shane's hands and mouth continued to explore his husband's body as he whimpered. He shook the glass, indicating that it was empty. Ilya didn't understand a fucking thing. He wanted to go back to the hotel and put his husband in questionable positions while tasting him the way he liked best. Why did Shane want to drink more when he could be doing more pleasant things?
“Just a couple more of these...” He looked at him again. Shane knew very well the effect he had on Ilya and knew how to take advantage of it.
“You've been saying that for hours.” Ilya made an uncomfortable noise. “I want to take my prize now.”
Shane hummed as he nodded toward the glass again. “Just one more.” He kissed him lightly on the lips. “I promise.”
“Da, right. You better.” He took both glasses, and before heading to the bar, he kissed him on the forehead. “Wait here for me. I'll be back in a second.”
Shane giggled as he nodded vigorously. Ilya chuckled as he took a few steps and heard his husband shout. “Troy, Harris, come here, lovebirds!”
Ilya was gone for no more than five minutes, but those five minutes of Shane being alone and unwatched were enough for everything to go wrong. One minute was enough for Shane to miss Ilya's presence close to his. Blame him, maybe they were a little codependent.
“I'll be right back,” he said to Troy, who didn't pay much attention to him.
He slipped between the sweaty bodies filling the bar, and when he spotted Ilya at the bar, his brain drunk from so many ginger ale-rich drinks with a high dose of alcohol, decided that the most reasonable thing to do was to run towards him. He was dizzy, his footsteps weren't very coordinated, and what was bound to go wrong went even worse.
He had barely started running when his foot stepped into a puddle of what appeared to be beer. He felt himself skid for a few seconds, it felt like he was flying, and for a moment it was funny until he fell hard to the ground and felt a sharp crack deep in his shoulder, followed by a sickening jolt of pain.
Oh God, Ilya was going to kill him.
A wave of gasps sounded around him, and he couldn't help but laugh. He didn’t feel much at first—just a dull pressure, and he was sure that in the morning his shoulder would hurt like hell.
He tried to get up, and oh, apparently he wasn't that drunk because a sharp, blinding pain shot through his shoulder, pinning him to the floor.
“Shit, shit...” Troy's worried face filled his field of vision, and he couldn't help but laugh again.
God, he was so drunk that he had tripped and apparently broken his shoulder. He had a huge group of people surrounding him and asking questions that his brain couldn't process. Stuff like this only ever happened to him, swear to God.
He was seeing double and still couldn't see Ilya.
“Ilya...” he muttered, seemingly the only thing he could process. Everything would stop hurting if Ilya showed up.
“Shit, he's going to kill me.” A panicked Troy tried to lift him up. The hiss Shane let out as soon as they touched his shoulder made him stop abruptly. “Is it your shoulder? Does it hurt a lot?”
“I'm calling 911,” he heard Harris say from afar.
Shit, he was so drunk, his shoulder hurt, and all he could do was laugh because what else could he do? Uh, he could already see the message boards tomorrow when the photos leaked. How embarrassing, he felt like crying now.
And on top of that, the paramedics were coming.
Great.
Ilya was drunk enough not to care about the commotion. Apparently, some drunk had tripped and fallen, and now the paramedics were on their way.
His eyes searched for Shane in the crowd, but he couldn't find him. He hadn't strayed far from the group, so where was his husband? He tried looking for Troy, whom he had asked to keep an eye on him, but he couldn't see him either.
His heart began to race, and he was sure it wasn't because of the adrenaline from the alcohol. His hands searched for his cell phone with the intention of calling one of them, but it was turned off. Damn it. He just wanted to find Shane. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom? But alone, with so many strangers around him?
He was about to shout when a group of firefighters arrived on the scene.
“LAFD, clear the way, please!” They quickly approached the crowd that had gathered around the injured man.
Ilya's heart skipped a beat when he saw Harris signaling for the firefighters to come closer.
Please let it be Troy on the floor and not Shane, please...
And as if it were a bad joke, Troy was the next to get up, trying to move people and make some space. Shit, it was Shane. Troy's eyes met Ilya's, and he could see fear taking hold of his body. He shook his head as if that would help him muster up courage and shouted, “Ilya, it's Shane! Come here!”
Of fucking course it was Shane.
Shane felt dissociated for what seemed like hours. He tried to act serious because his shoulder was really bothering him, but he failed. He had a little smile on his face—which was entirely the fault of the alcohol—and he imagined Ilya when he saw him lying on the floor. His poor boy, he might be scared, thinking it was something bad. Or maybe he'd want to rip Troy's head off for losing sight of him, and he'd have that frown and scowl he always had when something bothered him. He was so hot when he made that face, he smiled more just imagining it.
A blinding light brought him back to reality and a pair of very familiar eyes greeted him. “Hey, that's it. Follow the light.” The firefighter approached and yes, he had beautiful eyes. Beautiful, with a hue very similar to his husband's. His husband, Ilya, where...? "My name is Buck. Can you tell me yours?"
Buck continued to examine him closely as he felt other hands adjusting a neck brace.
“Hollander...”
“All set, Mr. Hollander. Look, this is my partner Eddie,” he said, pointing to the firefighter standing next to him. His eyes caught a glint on his left ring finger. Oh, he was married. Were firefighters allowed to wear rings?
Eddie greeted him, and he couldn't help but notice that he was also wearing a ring. Well, it seemed like everyone at that station was married. Nice.
“Eddie is going to secure your shoulder, and I’ll…”
“They’re cute.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Hollander?”
“Your eyes... your eyes look like my husband's.” Shane grimaced. “His are much prettier, obviously.”
Eddie burst out laughing. “Did he just insult your eyes?”
“No!” Shane and Buck said at the same time.
“I think what Mr. Hollander means is that...” Buck began to explain.
“Shane is fine.”
"...what Shane means is that my eyes are beautiful, thank you very much. But they don't come close to his husband's. Buck gave him a little smile that made Shane smile even more. “I can't blame you. No offense, but your eyes look a lot like my husband's too,” he leaned toward him as if to tell him a secret. “But I definitely think his are one of a kind."
“You have a husband too!” Shane exclaimed, almost shouting.
Buck's gaze softened as he looked up at Eddie. He recognized that look instantly; he gave Ilya the same one. Buck nodded toward him, and Eddie waved the hand with the ring that had caught his attention a moment ago.
Oh my God, he couldn't believe it. He was surrounded by queer people. Fantastic. Los Angeles was definitely a one-of-a-kind city.
Shane was already hatching a plan for him and Ilya to take a trip to this city in the summer. He felt himself being moved to a firmer, cleaner surface.
“All right, Shane, now you...”
“It's Hollander-Rozanov to you.”
That voice!
“Ilyaaaa...”
“I guess you're the husband,” said the brown-haired firefighter. “I'm Eddie, this is Buck, and we're taking Mr. Hollander-Rozanov in the ambulance.”
“Ambulance? Is serious?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” said the other one with curly hair and a distinctive mark above his eye. “It’s just protocol, standard procedure. If everything is fine, as I believe it is, he'll be discharged in a couple of hours.”
Buck smiled, thinking that those words would calm him down. If his English wasn't too bad, wasn't a buck a deer or something? Why would you name your son that?
Fucking Americans.
A hand grabbed his and gave it a squeeze. He looked at Shane and realized he had those beautiful, slightly unfocused brown doe eyes. Why had he thought it would be a good idea to have a few drinks?
“Hey, look at me,” Shane said. Ilya had been looking at him for a while. As if there was anything more important to look at than his husband. “I’m fine, see?”
“Yeah, sure, very fine.”
His damn shoulder was broken, of course he wasn’t fine.
“We're going to get him into the ambulance now. Will you come with us?” Buck said, addressing Ilya.
What kind of question was that? Of course he was going to go in the ambulance with him. He was his fucking husband.
“Da.” The word came out before her brain could translate it. They both looked at him questioningly. Ah, he had said it in Russian. “Yes. I go.”
Shane squeezed his hand again and wiggled the other, trying to get his attention. He always had his attention, without exception, so why was he acting like this?
“Stop it.” Shane's voice became accusatory. Ilya just gave him a questioning look. He didn't understand a bloody thing anymore; he was too drunk to understand anything. “Stop making that face.” Shane frowned exaggeratedly, apparently imitating Ilya's reaction, which he hadn't noticed. It came out a little naturally, especially when Americans asked stupid questions.
The trip from the bar to the hospital was... interesting. It only took about 20 minutes. But it was the worst 20 minutes of Ilya's life. Okay, maybe he was exaggerating. He had dealt with a drunk Shane a couple of times before. But a drunk and injured Shane? That was new. And weird.
Shane turned out to be quite the talker.
“Have you seen his eyes?” Shane said in an excited little voice.
“Whose?” By this point, Ilya knew it was best to just go along with it.
“His!” he exclaimed with even more enthusiasm as he pointed to the guy with the deer name.
Ilya turned to look at him and noticed his eyes. He didn't see anything interesting about them other than that they were blue. Which made sense because he was terribly pale and almost blond.
“What about his eyes?” Ilya had noticed that Buck and Eddie had stopped talking and were watching them intently.
Shane snorted as if the question were obvious. “They're very pretty.”
What the hell? Had he heard wrong, or had his husband, the love of his life, said that the guy's eyes were pretty?
“And have you seen his hair?” Shane exclaimed even more ecstatically. “It's sooo curly. And it has these waves that are so similar to—”
“I don't give a damn if—”
“Ilya!” Shane scolded him.
In the background, he heard both Buck and Eddie burst out laughing. Ilya glared at them with the most hostile look he had, and Buck had the decency to look scared and immediately shut up. Eddie just seemed to find the situation even more entertaining.
“What's so funny?” Ilya growled at Eddie.
Eddie burst out laughing again as if what he was seeing was the funniest thing in the world. Ilya was about to lose his cool.
“Ilya, stop being an asshole.” Shane gave him a playful slap.
“Now I’m the asshole?” He looked at Shane, offended. “I sit here listening to you talk about this—” He gestured toward Buck angrily.
“Ilya—” Shane tried to cut him off.
But Ilya had had enough.
“...guy and his pretty eyes. They're not even pretty!” Buck made an offended sound. “And you talk... you talk about his hair. Why do you care about his hair?”
“Can you let me—?”
“Why you even look at him?” Ilya pointed emphatically at himself. He felt the alcohol strike a nerve and cause the next sentence to sound pained. “I—I’m here. I’m not enough?”
“My love…”
Ilya suddenly let go of Shane's hand. Shane made a wounded sound, and suddenly his husband’s eyes were filled with unshed tears. He made a move to get up from the stretcher to try to reach Ilya, who had moved out of his range.
Eddie moved instantly, trying to push him back into place. “I think we should calm down a bit and—”
Ilya seemed to be in a trance where he couldn't shut his mouth. “Is that it? You saw him and now you want him?” A tearing sound came from his throat. The mere idea that Shane wanted to be with someone else made him want to kill himself.
“N—No!” Shane said desperately, trying to get Ilya to shut up and let him explain.
But her husband was not listening.
“I didn't even want to come to this stupid party,” Ilya said in an exasperated tone. “I just wanted to be with my husband.” He ran his hands over his face and made a sound of frustration. “At the hotel. Alone.”
“Ilya, please—”
“And now I have to listen to my husband talk about how wonderful this firefighter is,” he pointed at him with a trembling hand. “While I'm wracked with guilt because I left you for a fucking second and you went and got yourself hurt, and it's all my fault. F—fuck…”
Ilya didn't seem able to close his mouth.
“And now my marriage is fucking over because apparently my eyes and hair aren't pretty enough and my husband has to look at someone else's and—”
“We're married!” Buck shouted at the top of his lungs.
That did shut Ilya up.
“We're married,” Buck said in a calmer tone of voice.
He raised his left hand at the same time as Eddie, and Ilya could see that they were wearing matching rings. Eddie's mocking smirk was gone, and now he was giving him a somewhat sympathetic look.
Oh, he was an idiot.
“Is that… even legal?” But apparently, he could be even more of an idiot.
“Yes, in fact, since 2013, marriage—”
“The rings,” Ilya cut him off. “I thought you couldn't wear metal and stuff.”
“They're silicone,” Eddie said, playing with the ring on his finger. “We keep ours safe in our locker.” He played with Buck's hand. “When our shift ends, we leave these and put on our normal ones.”
They had left Ilya speechless. He felt very stupid and thought he might have said too much.
A small hand brushed against him and his eyes met Shane's. His eyes were still red, as if he had been holding back tears. Fuck it, Ilya felt terrible. He had made his husband cry over something stupid.
“I... I was telling him that his eyes were beautiful.” Shane gave him a crooked smile. “But that yours were far more beautiful.” Shane's thumb began to trace a pattern on Ilya's hand. “They're my favorites. They can't be compared to any others. They're the most beautiful eyes that exist."
Ilya loved him so fucking much.
“I disagree,” Eddie said from the back.
“Oh, shut up,” Ilya blurted out without thinking.
Shane was about to scold him, but Ilya stopped him. His lips pressed against his husband's in a kiss that was not family-friendly, but Ilya couldn't care less. The pressure in his chest dissolved, and the kiss seemed to clear his mind completely. He could hear Buck and Eddie chuckling softly and thought he heard one of them say they were cute.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Now it was Ilya's turn to fix the mess he had made. “I was just really frustrated and the alcohol...”
It was Shane's turn to shut him up.
Unable to get up from the stretcher, he used one of his hands to pull his body closer to his and kiss him. A moan escaped him unintentionally, and sadly he had to pull away when he heard the ambulance stop.
Shane gave him a smile that took his breath away. “It's okay. I love you.”
Ilya kissed his lips once more. “I love you more,” he said, caressing his cheek affectionately. “I can't believe you broke your shoulder.”
Shane's laughter was like breathing again after being underwater for a long time. Loving him was an extension of his body; it was as simple as saying that without Shane, he couldn't function. That was it. And the mere idea that he could lose him terrified him and caused him to lose his cool a little. Just a little.
Buck and Eddie accompanied them only to the hospital doors, where nurses were waiting to take Shane's stretcher.
“Well, this is as far as we go.” Buck clasped his hands together and started walking back to the ambulance. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Hollander-Rozanov.”
“Ilya.” Buck and Eddie stopped short and looked at him curiously. “Ilya is fine.”
They both smiled, and this time it was Eddie who spoke. “It was nice meeting you, Ilya. Take care of Shane, I think he had a little too much fun today.”
Ilya laughed for the first time since he had decided to leave his husband and go get those drinks. “Always.”
The ambulance siren blared, and someone shouted, “Time to go, you two. Get in already.”
They both started to walk away but had to stop again when Ilya spoke. “Wait!”
Ilya ran as fast as he could and grabbed a flyer he found at the front desk along with a pen. He quickly wrote his cell phone number in a blank space and ran back to Eddie and Buck.
“Here, take this.” He handed them the flyer.
Some might think that giving your number to two people you barely knew was the riskiest thing someone as recognizable as Ilya could do. But there was something about them that inspired enough confidence in him to give it to them without hesitation.
“It's my number,” he said matter-of-factly. “We don't live here, we're from Ottawa.” Maybe he was giving away too much information, but it was nothing that wouldn't come up on Google if they searched his names. “In case you ever need anything or... I don't know, just in case.” He smiled at them.
Buck took the flyer and stuffed it into his pocket. He held out his hand and Ilya shook it. He said goodbye to Eddie in the same way, and the three of them shared a smile.
“We'll call you,” Buck began with a smile. “And if you're ever back in town, maybe we can go out and have a double date.”
“But no broken shoulders, please,” Eddie said humorously.
Ilya snorted mockingly as he shook his head. “Thanks for today. And sorry about—”
Eddie shook his head vigorously. “It's all good, man. I get it, no big deal.”
“It's a secret between the four of us,” Buck said as he gave a scout salute.
They rang the doorbell again, and Ilya realized he had spent too much time away from his wounded husband. It was time to go back and make sure he was being taken care of and wasn't talking too much.
“I have to...” Ilya pointed inside.
“Go, go, it's okay.” Eddie waved him off.
They walked away, and before Ilya lost sight of them, Buck shouted, “Say goodbye to Shane for us. We hope he gets well soon.”
Ilya nodded and ran back to his husband's side. He found him pretty quickly. He heard his little voice telling the nurse that he had the hottest husband in the world and that he was very lucky. If only he knew that it was the other way around, that Ilya was the lucky one to have a man like Shane by his side.
The nurse shot him an accusing look as he entered the small space and closed the curtain behind him.
“Sir, you can't—”
“My hot husband!” Shane said in a drawling voice. He took his hand with his good arm and began to babble incoherently. He felt a strong sense of déjà vu when he saw him in that state and couldn’t help but smile warmly.
“You gave him something?”
The nurse pointed to a syringe. “We gave him a mild sedative and a local anesthetic so we could reduce the dislocation without causing him too much pain.”
“I didn't feel a thing!” Shane exclaimed enthusiastically. “I think, I think I'm stronger than you,” he winked at him.
Man, Shane was going to be the death of him today.
Ilya leaned over to kiss him affectionately on the forehead. “Always, my love, always.”
He sat down in a chair far away from Shane, so he had to move closer. The nurse's presence wouldn't prevent him from climbing onto the stretcher, but he'd rather do it once she was gone.
He listened carefully to all the instructions the young woman was giving him and tried to remember only the most important ones. Ilya asked her if the injury was serious, and she shook her head, although she said he would probably have to miss a couple of games. Before leaving, she told him that they would only keep him under observation for the rest of the night and that they could leave in the morning without any problems.
It was going to be a long night. But honestly, it wouldn't be long before dawn.
Shane wasted no time and as soon as the nurse disappeared, he tapped on the bed. “Come here, come here,” he said with a smile as he moved to one side.
“Are you sure? Doesn't your arm hurt...?”
“Am I sure I want my husband to lie down next to me?” he laughed mockingly. “Yes, I'm very sure. Come on.”
Ilya settled down on Shane's good side. He put one arm around his shoulders, careful not to touch the injured one. Shane settled down as best he could and let out a sigh of relief when he managed to rest his head on Ilya's chest, very close to his heart.
“Are you comfortable?” he said as he began to play with his hair.
Shane made an affirmative sound and looked up to meet his husband's gaze. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You in the ambulance, saying those things.” He grimaced as if remembering those words hurt him. “Were you jealous?”
Ilya snorted derisively. Him jealous? Impossible. “Not at all.”
Shane gave him a look of disbelief that screamed, “You're not fooling me.” He moved closer to him and began to whisper. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“I thought we didn't have secrets.”
“Oh, shut up.” Shane scolded him. “I'm trying to do something important here.”
Ilya raised his hands in a gesture of peace and kissed him on the forehead again. “Okay, tell me.”
“You're stuck with me.”
Ilya felt like his heart could explode at any moment.
“Oh yeah?”
“I'm not leaving you.” Shane nodded firmly. “Never.”
Years could go by, and Ilya would never get used to the different ways Shane had of telling him he loved him without actually saying the words.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Now it was Ilya's turn.
“Uh?” Shane looked at him, confused.
Ilya gently ran his finger over the freckles he had memorized long ago and which were one of his favorite parts of his husband's body. He couldn't help but look at them and adore them every chance he got.
“Sometimes it scares me how much I love you,” Ilya said in a thick, serious voice. “It scares me that I might lose you.”
“Ilya, that will never...”
“You're Shane Hollander. You could have anyone.”
“Actually, it's been Hollander-Rozanov for a while now,” Shane said quite seriously, and Ilya couldn't help but burst out laughing.
“I guess I'm lucky you took my last name.”
Shane gave him a dirty look. “Stop it.” He pushed himself up from where he was, and Ilya tried to stop him, but Shane was faster and pushed him back onto the stretcher. He kissed him on the forehead. “I chose you years ago.” He kissed his left cheek. “I choose you now.” He kissed his other cheek. “And I will continue to choose you.” He kissed him on the mouth, too briefly for Ilya’s liking. “Forever.”
Ilya looked at him with an intensity that he hoped would express everything he couldn't put into words.
He used to think that God had never been on his side, and that since he was very young, He had been punishing him by taking away what made his life less painful. He didn't know at what point God had grown tired of tormenting him and decided to give him Shane as a consolation prize. But he was grateful to have crossed paths with the Canadian.
He was sure that no matter the place, the date, or the universe, he would always have Shane holding his hand.
“I love you,” he said in Russian because English had escaped him long ago and he felt that expressing himself in his own language was more intimate.
“I know.” Shane’s lips moved closer to his after saying those words. He gave him short kisses before pressing his nose against his. “I love you even more.”
Ilya could be trapped in this moment forever and die a happy man.
The moment shattered a little when Shane let out a hiss as he tensed his shoulder. Ilya forced him back down and made sure they were both comfortable on the small bed. After a couple of adjustments, they ended up intertwined, with Ilya supporting Shane's entire weight and trying to keep anything from pressing against his shoulder, and Shane lying in his favorite spot—his husband's chest—and coordinating his breathing with Ilya's heartbeat.
Ilya had what mattered most to him in the world in his hands. That was enough to know that everything was going to be alright.
“You know what? I have a feeling I recognize those names.” Buck's voice made Ravi lift his head from his plate and study the married couple with curiosity. “But I don't know where... It's on the tip of my tongue.”
“What names?” Ravi spoke impetuously, startling them out of their bubble for a moment.
Buck sat down next to him at the table, stealing a ham roll from his plate. He took out the pamphlet he had saved and read it with a diplomatic tone. “Ilya Rozanov.”
What?
“Well, actually it was Hollander-Rozanov. Ilya and Shane Hollander-Rozanov.”
Ravi spat out what was in his mouth and jumped up from the table, startling Buck and Eddie in the process.
Were they for real?
“Did I hear that right?” Ravi looked at them frantically. “You... you guys knew Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov.”
“Yeah, but you know they’re married, so it’s actually—”
“I know they’re married, you idiot!” Buck put a hand to his chest, pretending to be offended.
“Wait...” Eddie looked at him with his head tilted. This idiot, they really were two of a kind. “You know?”
“Of course I know!” he shouted. “Everyone knows!”
Ravi wanted to bang his head against the wall a million times until he forgot that the two people who knew the least about hockey and cared about absolutely nothing other than each other had met two of his favorite players.
“Oh,” Buck said thoughtfully. “So they're like... famous or something?”
“Or something?” Ravi was one step away from ripping both their heads off. “They're like... really, really famous. The damn NHL stars. The ones who took the Ottawa Centaurs to the top. They're...”
“Oh yeah?” Buck smirked. “How cool. We have their numbers, you know?” he said cockily.
“Yeah...” Eddie said with an equally amused smile. “I think we're friends now.”
Buck laughed. “We'll probably go out for drinks next time they visit Los Angeles.”
“You damn bastards, I'm going to—”
“Don't worry, Ravi. We'll tell them to send you an autograph by text.” He winked.
Oh, Ravi was going to kill them.