Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Wyatt Hayes heard that Shane Hollander was joining the Centaurs, he actually cried. He suspected plenty of people around the league had, but his were tears of pure relief. He might’ve been the happiest man in hockey, well, other than Roz, of course.

Hollander on the Centaurs meant Wyatt would never have to try to stop him again. And Hollander was every goalie’s nightmare: impossibly accurate, relentlessly patient, and somehow always aware of exactly where your weaknesses were. It was like facing a fucking hockey sniper. Wyatt figured he’d get at least fifty percent more sleep now that he didn’t have to lie awake replaying those shots in his head.

So yes, Wyatt had cried real, undeniable tears when he read the news. Lisa could confirm it.

Plus, Hollander was a nice guy. Wyatt didn’t know him well, but he knew this much: he took hockey seriously. And he seemed to make their captain happy. So yeah, he was thrilled. 

In addition to all that, having Hollander on their roster meant the Centaurs would have a literally unmatchable depth at center. The two best centers in the league, both future hall-of-famers, on one team. Probably both on the same power play. He doesn’t envy whoever has to guard against that. If he wasn’t so damn excited about it he might even pity the other teams. Imagine facing a line with the whirlwind of unpredictability that was Ilya Rozanov, and then after trying to defend against that you got Shane ‘Impossibly Accurate’ Hollander. Yeah, the rest of the league was crying for very different reasons. 

So when he pulls up to the first day of training camp, he expects it’s going to be a great season. When he sees Roz and Hollander already on the ice, skating laps like they’re being chased, he has a momentary moment of apprehension. 

That apprehension is unfortunately very warranted. Rozanov in past seasons was a great captain, fairly laid-back, but occasionally a bit of a hard-ass. He was also a cocky sonovabitch and could back it up. Rozanov with Hollander on the team, it turned out, was a madman. Every drill somehow turned into a competition. And then when one of the two lost to the other they would immediately suggest another drill for the team to do. 

“They’ll calm down, right?” Luca asks from the bench, out of breath and watching Rozanov challenge Hollander to another shot accuracy contest.
The rest of the team exchanges wary looks. They have to, right? No one could keep up like this forever. How would their marriage even survive this? It’s not like they don’t play well together, they definitely do. Wiebe puts them on the power play together and it’s actually kind of scary how well they seem to work together. But then when Rozanov scores on a Hollander assist (on Wyatt, dammit) they don’t even really celebrate it together. Just a quick helmet knock. Wyatt shares a concerned look with Bood, who’s watching the interaction from the bench. 

No one brings it up until they’re at Monks later, celebrating the first week of training camp being done. Roz and Hollander haven’t shown up yet, Roz having stayed late to meet with Wiebe and Hollander to do some sort of agility and stability routine. 

It’s Bood who broaches the subject first, “so it’s been a week and I think we officially have cause to be concerned about Roz and Hollander. I mean if I hadn’t been at their wedding I would be 100% convinced the rivalry is real and alive.”
“I think the rivalry is real and alive,” Dykstra observes, “we’ve all been at practice.”

“I mean I know we all saw them get married, but are we sure they don’t hate each other?” 

Troy frowns, “Harris and I went out with them a few times this summer and they were reasonably affectionate. Nothing crazy, but not this complete avoidance of each other.”

“I don’t know,” Luca muses, “Roz has seemed happier overall.”

This statement is met with a lot of nodding. Roz has been in an exceedingly good mood. He comes into every practice humming to himself and has been even more of a pest than normal. He probably wouldn’t be that happy if he and his husband were on the brink of divorce. 

“Hello sluts!” their captain’s voice cuts through the low din of conversation happening around them. 

“Oh my god, Ilya,” the chastising voice of Shane Hollander follows him. 

Ilya is grinning widely as he slides into the booth next to Luca, ruffling the younger man’s hair. “First round is on me,” he proclaims grandly.

Bood holds up his half-finished glass of beer, “too late.”

“Boo!” Ilya frowns, exaggerating the motion, “what kind of team does not even wait for captain?”

“Anyone want anything?” Shane offers, “I’m heading up there.”

A couple people pass their orders on to Shane who returns with an entire tray of drinks balanced on one hand shortly after.

“Were you ever a waiter, Shane?” Wyatt asks. 

Shane shakes his head no, laughing a little, “literally the only thing I’ve ever done is hockey.”

“I was,” Young offers, “I worked at an Applebee's for six months.”

“Why Applebee’s?”

He shrugs, “guess they were desperate.”

“I worked for a comic store,” Wyatt offers. “I was terrible at it.”
“Really?” Shane asks, “that surprises me.”

Roz shakes his head, mirth written all over his features. “No, makes sense. Hazy talked too long about boring stuff. Made all the customers run away. I see this.”
Wyatt glares at him. It’s sort of true. When he doesn’t respond verbally, Ilya grins widely, taking it as an admission that he’s right. 

“I knew it!”
“Aw, Hazy, I’m sure you were a great employee,” Bood grins.

“Wait who here has had a job other than hockey?” Chouinard asks. 

Almost no one raises their hands. It’s difficult to reach the professional level without having dedicated your life to a sport, even as a high schooler. For most of the guys Wyatt knew in the league, they’d dedicated all of their free time to hockey since they were like five. So had Wyatt, to be fair. He just happened to come from a family that couldn’t afford the expensive travel team unless he contributed. Bood, it seems, had been in a similar position. 

“Bood, man, what did you do?” 

He grins, “worked at a barbeque joint and then a 5 Guys. Where do you think I got my mad grilling skills?”

“Not 5 Guys,” Luca mumbles. Wyatt is inclined to agree. Bood’s grilling skills are obviously the result of hard work and passion. 

The rest of the team goes around sharing their part time jobs. Most people apparently were doing things like shoveling snow and raking leaves. Ilya immediately begins complaining that that does not count, as if he’s an expert on part-time employment. 

“Ilya, you’ve never had any job other than Hockey,” his husband says, voicing Wyatt’s thoughts, “I don’t think your opinion counts.”

“I would be an excellent employee,” Ilya declares, “the best.”

Probably as a direct result of the part-time job conversation at Monks, Wyatt has an email sitting in his inbox three days later about a ‘New Community Engagement Opportunity’ to serve customers at a local Tim Hortons. Wyatt very much suspects Rozanov to be behind the idea. How he’d gotten Harris to buy in was beyond him. The email explains the logistics: how long they’d be working, how many of them they need, their expected duties, and the day this will be taking place. Wyatt checks the date with Lisa’s schedule. She’s working, so he replies to the email, volunteering to be one of the people working.

The email is already a topic of discussion when he enters the locker room. Harris is there, talking with Troy, to no one’s surprise. He looks up as Wyatt enters, holding a hand out for a fist bump, “hey man, thanks for volunteering.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Troy adds, “he was going to make me do it if no one else volunteered. As if it’s my fault Rozanov is insane.”

Across the room, Rozanov frowns, “am not insane! Is important to interact with our community.”

“So this has nothing to do with you deciding you’re an expert on minimum wage jobs?” Bood checks.

Ilya grins, “perhaps this too.”

“We do need at least one more volunteer,” Harris tells the room at large. 

Ilya immediately spins to face Shane, “Hollander will do it. Right, moy granat?” 

Hollander sighs. “Yeah, sure.”

It’s sweet, in a way, because he’s so obviously only agreeing for Ilya. It almost makes him hope they can have a normal practice today. 

They don’t. Whatever tenderness has existed in the locker room gets lost the second Hollander and Rozanov step out on the ice. They’re back to arguing and picking apart each other’s performance, flying around the rink smashing each other into the boards when they’re on separate scrimmage teams, and slapping pucks mercilessly into the net Wyatt is trying to guard when they’re on the same play. He does manage to stop most of them, which he’s pretty proud of. Unfortunately for Shane, Ilya’s team scrimmages against Watson, the rookie goalie they picked up in the draft. He’s a nice kid, fresh out of college with a degree in physics from Cornell, but he’s clearly never faced anyone like Rozanov before. That, combined with the fact that Hollander and Haas are still adjusting to a new linemate and Dillon’s unfortunate passing skills, means Roz wins the points scored competition between him and Hollander for the day. 

Roz skates to a stop right in front of Hollander, “I win today!” He sing-songs cheerfully. 

“Fuck off,” Hollander responds icily, “I won the accuracy drill earlier.”

Wyatt doesn’t bother pointing out that you can’t win a drill because you also generally don’t keep score of total goals at practice so he thinks this observation will fall on deaf ears. They’re still bickering as they all file into the locker room. Roz shucks off his gear and heads immediately into the showers while Hollander methodically strips and neatly organizes each piece of gear in his locker. It’s a funny contrast made especially obvious by the fact that their lockers are next to each other. 

Ilya returns from the showers at about the same time as Shane finishes packing up his gear. 

Shane and Wyatt hit the showers at nearly the same time, both slower than their teammates who don’t bother properly arranging their gear. Well, that and Wyatt happens to also have more of it than most of the rest of the team. Watson seems to suffer from the same affliction because he straggles in behind them. They don’t have any team events planned tonight, so once Wyatt gets cleaned off he heads immediately to his car. 

Lisa’s there when he gets home, which is a pleasant surprise. He figured she wouldn’t be back for another half hour at least. She often stays late talking to her patients and their families. 

He kisses her gently on the lips, “how was your day?”

“Great, actually. Johnny got discharged today, so we had a little party.”

“Fun.”

“How was practice?”

“Good. I signed up to do a community outreach thing at Tim Hortons.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah it’s like a Centaurs takeover of the Tim Hortons by the rink. We’re going to, like, serve customers for a couple of hours. It was Ilya’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

Wyatt plods into the kitchen and begins opening the cabinets, trying to figure out what to make for dinner. Lisa watches him with amused eyes. “What if we just ordered something?” She asks. 

He frowns. He likes making dinner for his wife. But also, they have no food to make dinner with, so her suggestion is a good one. Maybe they can go to the store together when they’re done eating. “The Greek place you like okay?” He checks, pulling up their page on his phone.

“Yeah, perfect,” she agrees. She’s already getting out a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. 

They meander to the couch, where they sit quietly together. Lisa scrolls the news on her phone and Wyatt starts making a grocery list. He’s got a list from the team nutritionist already, but he wants to make sure they have stuff Lisa wants to eat too. They’d actually gotten a new nutritionist this year. Wyatt hadn’t really intended to go see her, but apparently everyone was meeting with her, so he’d trudged down to the office at his appointed time, met Evaline, and left with grocery lists and recipes. She seemed like a nice girl, fresh out of college, but he hadn’t really had any intention of actually using the grocery lists. But then he’d looked at them and it was a lot of stuff he already ate during the season, but organized and planned for him so he figured why not.

“Any snack requests?” He asks Lisa

She hums thoughtfully, “string cheese?”

He nods and writes that down. They lapse into comfortable silence that’s only broken when when Lisa starts laughing. 

“What?” He asks, craning his neck to see what she’s looking at. 

“Harris added Ilya to the WAGs chat.”

Wyatt laughs too. Of course Ilya would want to be in the WAGs chat. “I never really thought about that before. I guess both him and Hollander are technically WAGs as well as players.”

Lisa laughs again, still looking at her phone. “Sounds like they’re having dinner with Harris and Troy.”

“Oh I think Ilya did mention something about that at practice today,” Wyatt recalls, “he was trying to cajole Troy into doing this Tim Hortons thing.”

“It’s a fun idea, actually,” Lisa says, “I think people are going to love it.”

“And I’m sure Harris will make it into a great video for the team socials.”

Lisa nods, “I love watching crap like that.”

Suddenly, the doorbell announces their dinner has arrived. Wyatt dutifully goes to fetch it, and gives the delivery driver a generous tip. Also his autograph, because the boy is a fan. It makes him grin a little. He’s still not used to that kind of thing happening. 

They eat their dinner together and then Lisa offers to do the minimal cleanup. There’s not much other than their glasses and the knife Lisa had grabbed to spread the sauce. While she does that, Wyatt gathers their grocery bags and then they head off to the store together. 

Chapter Text

Wyatt pulls into the parking lot at the practice facility with ten minutes to spare. Harris is already outside talking with a cameraman, so Wyatt shuts off the car and heads over.

“Hey man, thanks for doing this,” Harris greets him.

“No problem,” Wyatt grins, “I’m kind of interested to see how this goes, to be honest.”

Fear briefly shines behind Harris’ eyes. “Me too,” he confesses.

The likely source of Harris’ fear pulls into the parking lot in an ostentatiously colored Spyder. The driver climbs out gracefully, swinging the keys on his finger like he’s in an ad. Probably something he’d picked up from actually being in an ad for the company over the summer. The passenger door opens as well, but that occupant stumbles slightly as he exits.

“Good morning,” Ilya calls to them cheerfully, pocketing the keys.

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into taking this car,” Shane says under his breath as he approaches the group.

Ilya grins widely, “because you love me.”

Shane sighs.

“Okay so we’re just waiting for Sherlock then,” Harris says, “and then we can head to the Tim Hortons.”

Ilya claps his hands excitedly. Shane looks vaguely ill. Wyatt just takes in both of their reactions. He’s still trying to suss out their dynamic. Sherlock Watson comes rushing into the parking lot.

“Sorry, sorry! The bus was late!”

“Rookie! No need for bus. We could’ve given you a ride,” Ilya tells him.

Shane throws an incredulous look at him and then the sports car they’d arrived in. “Oh yeah? Where would he have sat? My lap?”

Ilya’s eyes flash with a possessive fire. “Absolutely not,” he says, tone unrecognizable. He softens just a little before he says “is for me only, da?”

Shane rolls his eyes, “I was joking, Ilya.”

Watson looks between the two of them, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“I’ll drive you home,” Wyatt offers.

“Thanks.”

“Let us know if you need ride in future, da? We can drive Hollander’s boring car.”

“It’s not a boring car, Ilya, it’s practical. And you have an SUV too. We could also take that.”

“I can drive you as well,” Harris offers, “where do you live?”

“I’m staying at the Holiday Inn just down the road. It’s only a fifteen minute bus ride.”

“I know the place. That’s not far at all,” Wyatt tells him.

“If you need any help finding a place, let me know,” Shane offers, “I know the team has resources as well but I’m from the area and I helped Ilya pick out his house when he moved here.”

“Yes, he is Mr. Real Estate,” Ilya purrs.

Share pinks. “I’m sure any of the other guys would be willing to give you advice as well.”

Wyatt nods. “Most players live pretty close. I think we have most of the nearby neighborhoods covered between all of us if you want opinions.”

“Thanks guys, really,” Watson says, “but I’m waiting to find out if I make the team before I get a place.”

“Oh, you will,” Shane says, surprised, “you were a first-round draft pick and your team made it to the frozen four both years after you were drafted. Statistically speaking, most first-round draft picks…” he launches into a spiel about the likelihood that Watson will make the team. At the end of his rant, Hollander blushes a little, “also, the Centaurs traded their backup goalie to afford me. They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t think you’d be up to the task.”

“Oh.”

Ilya blinks at his husband, looking, for the first time Wyatt has seen since their wedding, absolutely besotted. He files that away in his mental folder of Shane-Ilya interactions. He’s beginning to suspect there’s a pattern to the way they interact with each other, and he’s determined to figure it out.

Harris also is watching the whole conversation with a critical eye. He seems to remember they’re all gathered here for a reason though, because he claps his hands and begins giving them the rundown on how the whole thing is going to work.

“Any questions?” Harris asks when he’s done.

Ilya raises his hand.

“Yes, Ilya?” Harris asks, sounding apprehensive.

“Where is Troy?”

“At home.”

“You did not bring him for video?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Ilya asks as they all pack into the van. They’re being driven the short distance to the Tim Hortons for security reasons as well as logistics. The parking lot had already been full at the Tim Hortons when Wyatt had driven past, people already lined up outside hoping for the chance to get served by one of their favorite players.

“Doing this kind of stuff isn’t Troy’s favorite thing. You know that,” Harris tells Ilya.

“Shane doesn’t like it either, and he is here,” Ilya says matter of factly.

“You don’t?” Watson asks, “then why are you in all those commercials?”

Shane shrugs, “my mom and my agent find them for me. At first it was mostly about having a nest egg, if things didn’t work out with hockey. Now, I guess it’s just habit.”

“Nice of you to come today then,” Wyatt says.

Shane shrugs again. “Ilya was going to be insufferable about it if I didn’t. And it’s important to connect with fans.”

“I thought it was, like, a team bonding thing,” Watson admits.

Harris laughs lightly, “I think it will be! Sorry if we gave you the wrong impression and you thought more of the guys would be here.”

Watson shrugs, “oh, no. I think it’ll be fun. Plus, it’s not like I have anything else to do.”

Ilya nods sagely. “Ottawa is very boring.”

“Hey!” Shane exclaims.

“Sorry, moya lyubov, but is true.”

“Some of the younger guys meet up and play video games pretty often,” Wyatt tells Watson, “if that’s something you’re into.”

“What do you guys do on your days off then?”

Wyatt shrugs, “chores. Sleep. Bood sometimes has a barbecue. If my wife’s days off overlap with mine we like to do something together. Sometimes I play DnD at a store downtown.”

“Chores and work out, mostly,” Shane says.

“We cook also,” Ilya says. “And I sleep in. My husband gets up at 6 am to run, like usual, because he is a crazy person.”

“Troy and I like to take Chiron for walks,” Harris volunteers.

Watson nods.

“Like I said. Boring.” Ilya grins.

“You’d be better off asking the younger guys, really,” Wyatt smiles at him. “We’re all married men here.”

“Harris you count,” Ilya interjects before Harris can even speak, “you and Troy are…what is word? Not ever apart?”

“Inseparable,” Shane fills in.

“Da. Inseparable,” Ilya agrees.

Harris just shrugs. If he had planned on saying anything to disagree with that statement he never gets the chance because the van pulls into the Tim Hortons parking lot. They all clamber out and are ushered quickly into the building. The actual staff is initially fairly starstruck, but the manager on duty is decidedly not. Maria looks them over once, hands them aprons and gives them a thorough rundown on what to expect. It’s essentially the same as Harris’ instructions from earlier, but the men all nod along anyway as if the information is completely new. After that they film a quick intro to Harris’ video and then get started.

Wyatt and Ilya get assigned in-store customers to start while Shane and Watson take the drive through. Wyatt can’t decide if it’s better to split the couple up or not. Is it easier to compete with each other when they’re doing the same job or are they going to fight over which service has more customers? It’s hard to say. Both seem equally likely to Wyatt right now.

Wyatt’s fears are ultimately unfounded. Shane and Ilya don’t even really have the time to talk to each other, both busy with the hordes of customers the Centaurs’ presence has drawn. Ilya is a natural, passing out coffees and timbits boxes that he glibly adorns with his autograph. His husband, working the drive through, has to be asked every time of maybe he’d add his signature on the coffee cups he’s handling out. Watson, too, seems awkward as well. It doesn’t help that the customers seem to not know who he is. Nearly three fourths seem to think Watson is actually just an employee. Only the more diehard fans know he is one of the new rookies. Watson doesn’t seem too bothered by that from what Wyatt can tell. He’s pretty busy scribbling his own signature on what he’s handing out. He’s following Ilya’s method: scribble down signatures without being asked. 90% of the clientele is in Centaurs merch, so he thinks the assumption they want an autograph is a fair one.

They spend the first half of their shift in the original pairings before Shane and Ilya switch places, Shane coming up to the front with Wyatt.

Wyatt endures the back and forth of Shane handing customers their order and then them asking for it to be signed three times before he suggests Shane should maybe just sign all the bags, cups, and boxes he is handing out.

“Oh. Really?” Shane asks, “that’s not presumptuous?”

A nearby fan overhears that reaction. “No, man, we’re here to see you! Of course we all want your autograph!”

“Oh. Wow. Thanks.”

It’s then that Wyatt realizes Shane Hollander doesn’t know he’s Shane Hollander. If he wasn’t so busy taking orders and signing every style of to-go container present at a Tim Horton’s he’d have thought about this realization a bit more and wondered exactly what the hell was in the water up in Montreal, but as it was he barely had enough time to process what was happening around him.

The rest of the shift passes in a haze of coffee and donut orders and then they are blissfully alone in the van heading back for the player’s parking lot. No one talks much on the ride back, save for Harris who is exclaiming over the excellent footage he’d gotten. He leaves them with a promise to send them the final version before it’s posted and then heads off to his office to work on editing it.

“You still need a ride?” Wyatt asks Watson.

“Sure, thank you.”

“Take care of our new rookie, Hazy,” Ilya grins at him, “and try not to bore him to death with your weird comic book stuff.”

“Hey!”

“See you tomorrow!”

Wyatt rolls his eyes and turns back to Watson. “C’mon, I’ll drive you to your hotel.”

Wyatt leads the way to his car and they both clamber in.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Wyatt says as he pulls out of the spot, “are your parents big fans of British mystery novelists?”

Watson groans, “and they think they have a sense of humor. I mean naming your kid Sherlock is bad enough. Do you know how bad it is to be Sherlock Watson? The kids at school never used to let me live it down.”

“Sorry.”

“But actually, this kind of brings up a subject I was curious about. Do any of the guys prefer certain names or nicknames? All my teammates and friends call me Watson exclusively and I prefer that. But, I don’t know, what guys are more of the first name type? Or are there any nicknames I should know about?”

Wyatt laughs, “everyone calls everyone everything. Most people use first names off the ice and nicknames or last names on it, but we all really just use everything interchangeably. As far as nicknames, uh, the guys call me Hazy, Roz or Rozy for Rozanov, Bood for Boodram, D for Dykstra. He’s trying to make Big Dyck happen, don’t feed into it. Uh, who else? Oh, Haasy for Haas, Bergy for Holmberg, LP for LaPointe, Shoe or Chewy for Chouinard, Young is just Young, Dills or Dilly for Dillon, Boyle is just Boyle, oh and Barrett we sometimes call Bear, but only when we’re chirping him because he hates it.” Wyatt takes a breath, “I think that’s everyone. But don’t feel too worried about it. Everyone here is great, seriously. They won’t care what you call them as long as it’s not anything hateful. It’s a good group here. You'll fit right in.”

“Thanks,” Watson says sincerely. “I know it’s a weird thing to be nervous about. I haven’t been on a new team for a long time now. Four years.”

“Trust me, I know. I was traded here after thinking I’d spend my whole career with Toronto. Same with Barrett and Hollander. But like I said, this is a good group of guys.

“Yeah, but kinda crazy going up against Hollander and Rozanov every day in practice, right?”

Wyatt laughs. “Just be thankful it’s only in practice and not in games. The nightmares Hollander used to give me…”

Watson gets a haunted look in his eyes, “I can only imagine. Thanks for the ride,” he adds as they pull up to the hotel, “and, you know, the team advice stuff.”

“Yeah, of course. Let me or any of the guys know if you ever need anything.”

Watson thanks him again and gets out of the car and then Wyatt drives home to rest and relax a little.

A few days later the video goes up on the official Centaurs page. It opens with Ilya, grinning madly.

“Hello YouTube! I’m Ilya Rozanov, captain of the Ottawa Centaurs, and today our team will be serving customers at our local Tim Horton’s because we are very Canadian.”

“Everyone else introduce yourselves too,” Harris says from off-camera.

“I’m Wyatt Hayes,” Wyatt-in-the-video introduces himself, “and I am the Ottawa Centaurs goaltender.”

“I’m Sherlock Watson, also a goaltender,” Watson says.

“And I’m Shane Hollander. I’m a forward with the Ottawa Centaurs.” Wyatt appreciates once again the smooth use of ‘forward’ instead of one of the more specific positions. There’s been a lot of speculation both within the league and online about what positions exactly Shane and Ilya will be playing this season. Most people think Hollander will be their second line center, others think he’ll play left wing, and still others think he’ll play first line center and Ilya will move to wing. So far they've mostly been practicing with Hollander as the second line center and Haas and Dillon as his wingers, but Wiebe has been testing a few other combinations.

On-screen the Centaurs begin tying on their aprons. Ilya struggles with his for a moment before Shane steps up and ties it neatly for him, which then prompts Wyatt and Watson to get him to tie theirs as well. At the time Wyatt had just thought it would be funny, but watching the playback it’s actually just kind of a cute moment. Ilya goes to repay the favor with his husband, but is swatted away, Shane turning to Wyatt instead. Wyatt had missed the pouting face Ilya had made when it had actually happened, but it’s the focus in the video. The pouting face morphs quickly into excitement when Shane is given a headset. Something Wyatt hadn’t missed in real-time: Ilya whips out his phone and takes a few covert photos of his husband. Shane and Watson don’t seem to notice, but video-Wyatt fixes Ilya with a knowing smirk, which the other man just shrugs off, not looking one bit guilty.

They then all head to their stations and the video splits into two, divided by a white line down the center. On one half of the video Wyatt and Ilya are chatting easily with Olivia, who was one of the actual Tim Horton’s employees and their designated backup in case anything got too complicated. She had ended up doing most of the actual ringing up. Shane and Watson in contrast were shown on the other side of the video hovering nervously near Simran as they awaited their first customer. In retrospect, Wyatt and Ilya probably should’ve been separated so each team had one more outgoing member.

The video goes back to full screen, showing just Watson and Shane working the drive-through. Shane gets his first customer. “Hello and welcome to Tim Horton’s. What can I get for you today?” Shane asks awkwardly, stumbling over the words a little. The video switches to Wyatt and Ilya, also greeting their first customers, a family of three. “Hello!” Ilya greets them enthusiastically, and then clocks the Rozanov jersey on the little girl. “You have excellent taste in hockey players,” he tells her, smiling widely. “Free donuts for you, I think.”

“Ilya, this is for charity,” Harris says, off-screen.

Ilya waves him off, “I will pay charity. Good taste must be rewarded, da?”

The little girl just stares at him with wide eyes, clearly starstruck. Ilya asks her what kind of donut she wants and her mom answers for her, ordering for her and her husband too. Ilya slips the donuts into bags he scribbles an autograph on and then gives the little girl a fistbump. Meanwhile, Wyatt is helping two college-aged kids who quiz him on his comic book knowledge. Wyatt grins a little fondly seeing the interaction back. They’d been almost as wowed by his comic knowledge as they had been to meet him. Wyatt has signed both their bags with a reference to each of their favorite characters.

The video flips back to the drive through where Watson is struggling to open the window. Wyatt had vaguely registered this happening in the background; a goalie sees all, but seeing it clearly is undeniably funny. Hollander is eyeing him with a conflicted look, still speaking to someone over his headset about a coffee order. Simran comes to Watson’s rescue and opens the window.

The video hits some of the highlights of the day: Wyatt and Ilya goofing off a little and playing a game where Ilya threw TimBits into a box that Ilya moved around to try and catch them, an entire peewee hockey team in full gear, Ilya nearly falling out the drive-through window in an attempt to pet a dog, and then being sent to go wash his hands after petting said dog. They also captured Watson’s face the first time someone recognized him, and Shane’s look of befuddlement when a fan just started regurgitating his stats at him, as well as Ilya’s call of “NO! Do not seduce my husband with hockey facts!” from across the restaurant.

It’s a good video. Wyatt watches it shortly after the release and it already has accrued several thousand views. The comments below are mainly positive. People are befuddled and charmed by Shane Hollander seemingly being unaware that he’s Shane Hollander. People are also supportive of Watson, who they call ‘adorably awkward’. Wyatt has many supportive comments as well. People are complimenting his speed with the coffee machine and saying he could have a backup career as a barista. The comments about Ilya are…well Wyatt supposes the word people would use to describe it is ‘feral’. Or possibly just horny. Him fist-bumping all the kids had gone down very well with a specific type of fan. A lot of the comments were just regular ones also. Fans excited to see them out and about and getting pumped for the coming season.

Wyatt was getting pumped for the season as well. Training camp was wrapping up this week and the team was looking strong. Watson had secured his roster spot, as had another one of the promising rookies. The veterans were clicking and the Haas-Hollander-Dillon line was rivaling the Bood-Rozanov-Barrett line. Dillon was simply clicking better with Hollander than he ever had with Rozanov or the other centers on the team. The Centaurs were going to be a force this year. Wyatt couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

The first game of the preseason is unfortunately against Toronto. Wiebe has the Dillon/Hollander/Haas line as the first line, prioritizing helping Dillon adjust to left wing. He was so far much better at it than he was at right-wing, which was good, but that had only been in practice. They were also starting Watson in goal, to get a sense for how the rookie would perform on NHL ice. Their second line for the day was the LP/Young/Bergy line and Bood/Roz/Barrett was all the way down at 4th. They were used to playing with each other and didn’t need the ice time so there was no reason to have them out there risking injury when other guys would benefit more from the time anyway.

Toronto’s made some pretty big changes in the off-season as well. Not big enough, because Wyatt still recognizes and despises most of the faces on the bench, but there’s several new players they’re trying out. Wyatt hopes the new faces are decent guys, because they don’t seem to have what it takes to go up against Ottawa's temporary first line, seeing as Hollander scores on his second possession.

Hollander vaults back over the boards with a smile lighting up his face. “First goal of the season!”

“Hell yes!” Roz yells back at him, “that’s what I’m talking about! Fuck Montreal!” To anyone not familiar with the story of the so-dubbed ‘First Husbands of Hockey’ it might’ve seemed like Ilya was confused about what opponent they were playing. But Wyatt was familiar and he knew that Montreal hadn’t even tried to re-sign their franchise player. Hollander scoring so early in the game was a little bit of a ‘fuck you’ to his former team.

Hollander only blushes a little in response, not saying anything about the Montreal bit. “Great assist, Haas,” Hollander compliments the younger player instead.

Luca also blushes. “Thanks.”

They don’t score again until right at the end of the first period. This time it’s Haas’ goal, and they’re all still celebrating him as they make their way back into the locker room. They’re winning 2-1 right now, Toronto’s point having come from an unfortunately clever goal by one of their veterans. Watson looks a little down on himself for having let it in, so Wyatt seeks him out and compliments the kid on the shots he did block and tells him he probably wouldn’t have blocked the shot either.

“Fucking beautiful first goal!” Bood bellows from the other side of the room, fist-bumping Hollander.

“First goal as a Centaur!” Dykstra cheers, slapping him on the back.

“We snagged the puck for ya,” Young grins.

“Oh, thanks guys,” Hollander says, looking rather embarrassed to be the center of attention all of the sudden. “I’d love to have that.”

Wyatt’s expecting Roz to say something, he’s not sure what, but all their Captain says is a simple “congrats, Hollander,” before launching into his spiel.

Wyatt tunes him out a little. He’s not playing the second period either, so he doesn’t need to listen. Instead he thinks over the way Hollander and Rozanov have been acting. He’s still not seen them be more affectionate than a casual pat on the back or high-five since their wedding. It was certainly possible they were still adjusting to being out, though. So many years of having to be very careful about this kind of thing couldn’t be erased in a few weeks. Wyatt wasn’t too worried about that, unlike the rest of the team. He was more worried about the competitiveness. Roz had initially been excited about Hollander’s goal, but if practice was anything to go by, Roz was very conscious of the fact that he hadn’t matched his husband’s goal and itching to rectify that. Most players probably wouldn’t be concerned about that, given that it was the preseason, but Hollander and Rozanov weren’t most players. Most players didn’t keep track of who scored more goals in practice either. Wyatt was starting to get seriously concerned that this competitiveness was going to put significant strain on their marriage. It had to be exhausting.

The team trundles out of the tunnel and back onto the ice. Wyatt’s not playing again this period. He probably won’t play for the rest of the preseason, given that they have a rookie goalie who will benefit from the lower-stakes ice time more than him. Roz plops down beside him, grinning widely.

“Mini-Hazy is doing great so far.” He observes, nodding towards where Watson is crouched near the net. The poor kid is radiating nervous energy.

“He has a name, you know.”

“Sherlock,” Roz says distastefully, “terrible name. What were his parents thinking?

“Not an Arthur Conan Doyle fan, Roz?”

“Who?”

“You know, the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“I do not know names of all these boring Canadian writers, no.”

“He’s not Canadian,” Wyatt is actually, genuinely scandalized, “he’s British. Surely you must’ve heard of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Da. But I do not care who writes. I saw movie. With guy who plays Ironman, da? Was good, but not as good as Ironman. Less cars.”

Wyatt has a whole slew of opinions on the Ironman movies he’d love to share, but he doesn’t see Ilya as being particularly enamored with that conversation and despite what his teammates think he does know how to read a room when it comes to his opinions about comic books, and in the middle of a game on the bench next to Ilya Rozanov when his husband’s line has just gone out for a shift is probably not the best time to get into it. So he bites his tongue and refocuses on the original conversation topic.
“Well anyway, the doctor that Sherlock Holmes works with is named John Watson. I guess Watson’s parents were fans and saw an opportunity. He told me he doesn’t like it, though, so stick with Watson, yeah?”

Ilya nods, “da. We will find him a nickname anyway. Maybe Mini-Hazy,” Ilya grins widely again. Wyatt rolls his eyes.

“Watty?” Bood suggests.

Ilya wrinkles his nose in an expression of distaste Wyatt can feel mirrored on his own features. “No.”

Out on the ice, Dillon suddenly gets control of the puck. He goes zipping towards the goal, and then, in the blink of an eye, puts the puck in the back of the net. For a moment, there’s silence from both benches. Then the Centaurs erupt in cheers. “Did Dills just score on a breakaway?” Chouinard asks, a touch disbelieving.

“Where was this last year?” Ilya grumbles, but his tone is distinctly proud.

When Dillon comes back to the bench he’s met with many affectionate slaps on the back and an aggressive noogie from Roz.

Unfortunately, Toronto answers quickly with another goal, bringing the score to 3-2 for the Cens. The goal is from one of the new guys, possibly a rookie, who skates right up to the Cens bench, coming to a stop in front of Wyatt and sneering at him, “back on the bench where you belong, huh old man?”

Wyatt just gapes at him. First of all, he’s 29, which isn’t even that old, and second of all he’s never even spoken to this kid before. He definitely wasn’t on the team with Wyatt, so there’s no personal connection at all. As if those two facts don’t make it baffling enough for this kid to have said something like that, Toronto is also playing their backup goaltender right now.

“What the fuck?” Ilya wonders from next to him, sounding more confused than offended as they both watch the kid skate away.

“I see my hope that Toronto would draft some decent guys was unfounded,” Wyatt jokes.

Ilya shrugs. “Is better this way. Keep all the assholes on one team. We don’t want any here.”
“And this way we don’t have to worry Toronto’s traumatizing some perfectly nice rookies with their toxicity.” Bood jokes.

“Toxicity,” Ilya repeats after Bood. “Funny word.”

Wyatt must admit he has a point. He knows all about Toronto’s culture, and as nice as it would be for someone to try and change it, it would be miserable to be a real human being and exist in that locker room every day, especially now that the few guys Wyatt had liked well enough while playing there had been traded or retired. Wyatt stares after the new rookie, still confused as to why he’d stopped in front of him specifically. The name on the back of his sweater, Andrews, doesn’t help clear up the confusion. Wyatt is almost positive he’s never met the kid.

Maybe he’s just an asshole, though, and thought Wyatt would be an easy target. ‘Asshole’ does seem to be Toronto’s type. Wyatt wonders idly if they had thought that about him too, and that was why they drafted him. He hopes not. If it is he might need to seriously rethink what kind of image he projects.

The rest of the second period passes without anything else dramatic happening, and then Bergy scores a nice goal in the third. To add insult to injury for Toronto, Hollander scores right after, a beautiful slapshot that sails right over the goalie’s right shoulder. Wyatt shudders in sympathy before remembering it’s Toronto. Unfortunately Watson misses a block just two minutes later. It doesn’t ultimately matter because the Dillon/Hollander/Haas line comes back out shortly after and it probably should be criminal how quickly Hollander sinks the puck into the back of the net.

Holy fuck, we’re winning the cup, Wyatt thinks. He’d thought it when Hollander signed as well, but this time it settles into his bones as inevitability.

Wiebe calls Hollander’s line off the ice, sending out what will eventually be their fourth line instead. Rozanov’s line has only gone out once. He doesn’t look as upset about it as Wyatt was expecting.

“Move over, Hazy,” Roz elbows him. Wyatt obliges and Hollander slips between them, sweaty and grinning broadly.

“Hat trick,” Roz observes, staring out at the ice, watching the game.

Hollander grins even wider, and he responds in Russian. Wyatt isn’t fluent in the language, knows exactly five words: da, blyat, mudak, govno, and nyet. This encompasses most of Roz’s regular Russian exclamations. They mean, respectively: yes, fuck, asshole, shit, and no. None of those words seem to feature in whatever Hollander has just said. Whatever it is makes Roz tear his gaze from the rink and fix Hollander with a look that’s - shocked, maybe? Definitely shocked, with an undercurrent of something else. Hollander smirks and looks back out toward the rink. Roz squirms on the bench a little and reaches for a water bottle.

Wyatt makes eye contact with Bood, who’s also been shamelessly watching whatever-this-is going down. Bood raises a single intentional brow at him. Wyatt shrugs his shoulders slightly, communicating his confusion right back.

Out on the ice, Boyle catches a bad edge and goes into the boards. He gets back up quickly, which is good, because they don’t have nearly the same depth in defense as they do in forwards. Boyle skates over to the bench. “Ow,” he mutters with feeling, swapping with one of the new prospects, “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.”

“You need medical?” Wiebe asks.

Boyle waves him off, “nah. Wasstupid, really. Just caught a bad edge.”

“Funny how that happens sometimes,” Shane mutters bitterly under his breath.

“Funny,” Rozanov echoes darkly.

Before that interaction goes any further, there’s a commotion out on the ice. Holmberg is absolutely pummeling the shit out of the little asshole rookie from earlier. Wyatt gapes at the scene, wondering what could have happened in the few seconds he’d been looking away to start that. Although the guy was pretty obviously an asshole. It probably didn’t take much more than that.

“What happened?” Haas asks, “I wasn’t looking.”

“Dunno. The Toronto guy checked him and Bergy just decked him.” Dykstra says.

“He was asshole to Hazy earlier,” Roz chimes in, “not a nice guy.”

“To Wyatt?” Shane asks, “but he’s not even playing.”

“Yeah, it was weird,” Wyatt agrees, “I’ve never even met the guy.”

The ref pulls Bergy off the Toronto rookie and he is sent to the box for a fighting major. It doesn’t matter much anyway, there’s only a minute left in the game and Ottawa is leading by three points.

Sure enough, the buzzer sounds and Ottawa wins the game one minute later.

“What did that guy say to you, Bergy?” Haas asks.

Holmberg just shrugs, “he was being a dick about you guys all night. About how we’re a second-rate team or some bullshit. And ragging on Hazy and Barrett specifically. And then he said some nasty shit about Harris, so I punched him.”

“Yes, Bergy!” Roz cheers, “all your drinks are on me tonight!”

The team cheers and then lines up to shake hands with the scowling Toronto team and then Roz gives them all fist bumps as they file into the tunnel.

Wyatt can hear him saying his customary “good game, I love you” to all their teammates as he makes his way up the line.

“Good game, I love you,” Roz tells Wyatt.

“Love you too, man,” Wyatt responds easily.

Then Roz hesitates for a second. Hollander is lined up behind Wyatt. Instead of saying the words in English, he says them in Russian. Hollander parrots it back.

The mood in the locker room is light. They’d just won their first preseason game pretty handily. Granted, Toronto hadn’t sent out their first line, but the Centaurs hadn’t really either, so it was reasonably indicative of how they’d matched up in the later games. Someone, probably Evan from the sound of things, starts playing music.

“Ahhhh, no!” Ilya complains. He somehow is already mostly out of his gear and already shirtless. “Who let Dykstra pair with the speaker?”

“No one let him,” Young calls back, “he just did it.”

“I am going to have to remove you again,” Ilya threatens and then stalks off to the showers. Wyatt hazards a glance towards his locker. It’s a disaster.

The rest of the team follows their captain into the showers gradually. Wyatt, Watson, Shane, and Luca are some of the last to make their way in, by which point Ilya and Young are already done. Shane always seems to take an inordinately long time to organize his gear. Wyatt knew the man was pretty particular about his things, but there wasn’t that much gear to organize. It prickled at him somehow. Like maybe there was something about it that he was missing.

He doesn’t think about it much more though because he has to shower and dress and then they’re meeting the SAPs (which was the new inclusive term for WAGs Harris had been promoting) at Monks. Lisa’s working tonight, but that’s okay because she has the whole day off tomorrow and so does Wyatt so they can spend the whole day in their pajamas playing board games. Wyatt’s been looking forward to it.

When Wyatt re-enters the locker room after his shower, Harris is there. He’s ostensibly tapping people for media, except Troy probably isn’t doing media and Harris is standing behind him, idly giving him a shoulder massage.

“Shane,” Harris says when the man comes in freshly showered just a few moments behind Wyatt, “you’re wanted for media. I’ll be escorting you down there as soon as you’re dressed.”

Shane nods, looking resigned.

“Anybody need a ride to Monks?” Wyatt asks, “I’ve got space for at least four and I’m not planning on drinking more than one beer.”

“Oooh, Hazy offering to be designated driver. I’m in!” Young cheers. Predictably, his lineys get in on the deal too, which is fine since they all live in the same building. It’s not necessarily on Wyatt’s way home, closer to downtown and what little nightlife Ottawa has, but he doesn’t mind the drive.

Watson raises a tentative hand, “I could use a ride too. Also, what is Monks?” “Team bar,” Ilya says simply.

“At least a couple of us go there after every game,” Chouinard explains, “and I’ve got the sub today, so if anyone else is interested in carpooling I’ve got you.” This offer is accepted by a good chunk of the prospects, who start filing out of the locker room after Chouinard like a bunch of baby ducks following their mother.

“Okay, press time,” Harris says. Troy tilts his head a little so Harris can plant a chaste kiss to his lips and then Harris ushers Ilya, Shane, and Luca out the door.

“You ready boys?” Wyatt asks, hefting his bag. There’s a chorus of yes’s so he leads the way to where he’s parked, guiding his own little flock of baby ducks to his car.

Chouinard’s group has beat them there and already secured a couple tables in the back. From the looks of things, Cassie, Caitlin, Selena, and Arti are already there as well. Wyatt greets Mike the bartender on his way in, ordering a beer and a plate of popcorn chicken before heading back to join the group. Bood, Dykstra, Boyle, and Dillon wander in just behind him. They must’ve carpooled too.

Wyatt’s popcorn chicken arrives and Bergy and LP immediately start helping themselves. He’d been more or less expecting that, so he’s not offended. He thinks Young would probably be doing the same except he’s busy flirting with a redhead at the bar.

“Guess his cheerleader is out of the picture then,” LaPointe observes, gesturing towards Young at the bar.

“Jordie was dating a cheerleader?” Tanner asks.

Louis nods, “he met her when he went home for the summer.”

“What does she cheer for?” Wyatt asks, trying to picture it.

“The Cowboys, I think? Whatever NFL team is in Dallas,” Louis answers.

“He bagged a Cowboys cheerleader?” Tanner checks, astounded.

Cassie smacks him on the head lightly, “never say ‘bagged’ about a woman and especially don’t say it in front of women, Tanner,” she chastises.

Selena, Caitlin, and Arti raise their glasses to that.

“Sorry,” Tanner says, properly apologetic, “you’re right.”

“Hey guys,” Harris greets them, slipping into a seat, “what are we talking about?”

“Young got a cheerleader girlfriend over the summer, but apparently,” Bood gestures to the bar where Young is still chatting up the redhead, “they’ve since parted ways.”

“A Cowboys cheerleader,” Tanner adds.

“Is that a big deal? What are the Cowboys?” Troy asks as he comes to sit next to Harris, handing his boyfriend a drink.

“God, you Canadians. It’s a football team. A pretty famous football team, actually,” Tanner tells him.

“You follow football?” Watson asks.

“Yeah, of course. Born and raised Bears fan, unfortunately. You?” Watson nods, “a little, maybe. I’m from Michigan so my family are Lions fans.”

“Packers,” LaPointe offers.

“What about you, Evan? You’re from the states,” Tanner asks.

He grins, “oh I’m a proud Lions fan. My grandparents had season tickets and brought us to a lot of games when I was younger.”

“You’re from Michigan too?” Watson asks, “where at?”

“Grand Rapids area. How about you?”

“Just outside of Detroit.”

“Are you bonding without me?” A familiar pouty voice floats over the noise.

“Hi, Roz,” the table calls out, nearly in sync and all sounding fond but tired. He grins at the reception. “Who wants to play first round of pool? Shane agreed to be on my team on the ride over.”

“I’m down,” Bood agrees, “Cass, how about it?”

She grins, “so long as your Captain doesn’t mind if we wipe the floor with him.”

“Will not happen,” Ilya assures her. The four of them make their way to one of the pool tables. Most of the rest of the team follows, drawn in by the promise of witnessing the strange Hollander/Rozanov dynamic off the ice.

Shane, it turns out, is absurdly good at pool. Wyatt guesses he shouldn’t be surprised, because he clearly has exceptional hand-eye coordination and excellent aim. It makes sense that those skills transfer to off-ice endeavors. It doesn’t end up being a very close game, but it is a very interesting one to watch. Shane and Ilya continue to goad each other the same as they do on the ice, but Ilya is unreasonably smug every time his husband sinks a ball. At one point Wyatt swears he hears him whisper “I love it when you play with balls” in a distinctly low and sultry tone, but the din of conversation makes it hard to know for sure and he prefers living his life without having heard that sentence, so he tells himself that was not what he actually said. Knowing Ilya though, it probably definitely was.

Cassie and Zane do put up a decent fight, Cassie carrying their team, but it’s over quickly. Ilya, who had only sunk one ball the whole time, boldly challenges anyone else to try and best them. Bergy and LP take the challenge, but they’re both two drinks in to Shane’s stone cold sober and the contest is really not a contest.

“C’mon, Max!” Louis cheers as his poolmate lines up what should be an easy shot. Somehow Holmberg misses the ball entirely with the cue, which bounces into favorable positioning for Shane and Ilya’s final ball. Ilya sinks it easily in the pocket and whoops loudly. “Hell yeah!” Shane cheers, exchanging an elated high-five with his husband. “Who’s next?” He challenges. Pool, it seems, bring out Hollander’s competitive side. Wyatt is beginning to suspect any kind of game or competition brings out Hollander’s competitive side and he’s starting to understand how Canada’s golden boy can handle Ilya Rozanov 24/7.

The Hollander/Rozanov terror team terrorizes anyone on the team stupid enough to take them on for nearly the rest of the evening. With every ball in the pocket, (and probably also with every sip of the beer he’s nursing) Shane seems to relax a little, chirping not just his husband as usual, but whoever’s playing them as well. Wyatt can see him starting to come out of his shell in real time.

After the Hollander-Rozanovs take out a fifth straight opponent, the party starts to wind down. The pool game has become less entertaining now that it’s not novel any longer, Young has left with the redhead, and the couples are starting to head out as well. Wyatt corrals his group, minus Young and with the addition of Luca, who’d hitched a ride from the arena with Shane and Ilya.

He’s herding his group of young guys into the car when he sees it. Two people, mostly obscured by the shadows, making out very passionately. He looks away quickly, but after he’s gotten the very drunk Bergy and LP into the car and is backing out of his space, the couple emerges from the shadows. Ilya’s face is unmistakable in the dim parking lot lighting, as is that of his husband, who he’s dragging along rather purposefully towards their car.

Huh Wyat thinks.

Chapter Text

Wiebe sits both Shane and Ilya for their preseason game against Montreal, which tells Wyatt there must be more to the story than what the press releases said about Hollander’s move. Wyatt still suits up for it and travels to Montreal, but Coach puts Watson in goal. This means Wyatt gets an up-close view of how Montreal is faring without their star center. The answer is not well. Their first line just isn’t clicking. Hayden Pike, used to playing with Shane Hollander, is instinctually looking for his center places where he isn’t.

Wyatt recognizes the new first line center as the previous second-line center, but he doesn’t know the guy well. It’s increasingly obvious to Wyatt just how much Montreal had relied on Hollander, though. And also that the league had clearly undervalued Hayden Pike. He looked - well, rather a lot like how Rozanov had looked before Barrett arrived. A comparison both men would find deeply insulting but was true nonetheless. Hayden was playing a one man game on the first line and his linemates were a liability, not an asset.

Wyatt wonders idly why he’s never made it to All-Stars as Comeau misses another perfect pass. Probably had just been overshadowed by his generationally-talented best friend. Something similar had happened with Marlow in Boston. Once Ilya Rozanov left for Ottawa, Marlow was suddenly lauded as a star player, despite putting up the same numbers as he always had. It wasn’t particularly fair, but it did happen a lot. Sitting on the bench, Wyatt wonders why Pike isn’t captain, now that Hollander’s out of the picture. Or Boiziau, for that matter. Wyatt glances around, trying to figure out who’s wearing the C. Is that Philips? Strange choice. He hadn’t been one of the As and probably wasn’t their best player. He certainly was also not the same kind of player as Shane Hollander.

They lose the game, which isn’t shocking since they aren’t playing arguably their two best players and LP, Young, and Bergy are their first line for the night and they’re facing off against a much more seasoned, albeit disjointed, first line. Also Montreal’s playing Drapeau, who is significantly more experienced than Watson. So it’s not a shock loss, and keeping it within one point is actually kind of a huge win, given the circumstances.

Wyatt lines up for the handshakes, adding an additional “great game man, nice to see you,” when he reaches Pike. They’d met at Shane and Ilya’s hockey camps and though Wyatt wouldn’t consider the guy, like a close friend, he’d probably be down to crack open a beer with the guy.

“Good to see you, man,” Hayden replies in kind.

Wyatt spends the whole trip home wondering about the Montreal dynamics. Something was kind of obviously afoot over there and Wyatt was nosy, so he wanted to know what. Also he suspected it involved Hollander and possibly the reasons why he’d left his former team aside from wanting to play with his husband. Wyatt was going to get to the bottom of that mystery too, though he had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t going to like what he found out. If that was the case, Wyatt was determined to rally the rest of the Cens into making sure Hollander felt truly welcome and safe with them. It could take a while to adjust to a friendlier team dynamic. Wyatt knew that from experience.

He’s thinking about if he should say something to the rest of the team now instead of waiting for confirmation or if rallying the team is the right move at all or if Hollander will take it as pity and not friendship when Wiebe stops him and asks to talk.

“Sure,” Wyatt agrees, baffled.

Wiebe leads him to his office, gesturing for Wyatt to sit, “I’d like to talk about Watson.”

For a moment, Wyatt is sure Wiebe is going to bench him. That he’s seen something in the kid that Wyatt doesn’t have. Wyatt allows himself to be sad about it, even as he feels proud of the kid and happy for him. It stings a little, but it’s the game. If there’s someone better, Wyatt can handle that. He just might need some time to process.

“I was wondering if you might consider hosting him for a few months,” Wiebe finishes.

Wyatt’s quick flurry of catastrophizing thoughts come to an abrupt halt. “Oh,” he says, recalibrating.

“Just temporarily, of course. I think living with a veteran player can be helpful for assisting the rookies in acclimatizing to the team. It’s something I wish we’d done with Haas last year.”

“I’ll have to check with Lisa, of course, but I’m sure we’d be happy to host Watson. We have a mother-in-law suite in our basement that would be perfect.”

“Wonderful. And like I said, this won’t need to be a long-term arrangement unless you both want to extend it. I’m just hoping to give the kid some time to discover where he might want to live and get a chance to look at more than one apartment before he moves in.”

Wyatt nods. He gets that. He hates moving. “Yeah, of course. When would he be moving in?”

“His hotel is booked through the next week.”

Wyatt nods. Their last preseason game is just four days away so that makes a lot of sense.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I speak with Lisa,” Wyatt promises. “But I’m almost sure it’ll be a yes. I assume this means he’s going to make the roster?”

Wiebe just grins at him, saying nothing and reshuffling some papers. Wyatt takes that as a yes. He wonders who the other players will be. They hadn’t had too much movement on the team over the summer, aside from their second-line center and a defenseman retiring, and their backup goalie getting traded. They’d had a few draft picks at their camp but most of them had been sent down for further development pretty early on, so it seems like the other positions they need to fill will be filled by guys coming from the affiliate team.

“Thanks for agreeing to do this. I really think it’ll help Watson adjust to life on the Centaurs and in Ottawa. Now go ahead and get home.”

“Thanks, coach, see you tomorrow, not, wait, the day after that!”

“Goodnight.”

Wyatt goes home and asks Lisa how she feels about having a second hockey player underfoot. Because she is a goddess amongst women she agrees easily, immediately inquiring about what the kid likes to eat and wondering aloud what kinds of food they should stock in the kitchenette downstairs. They go down there after they finish eating dinner together, to take stock of the space. It’s not like they don’t know what it looks like, but knowing it’s about to get an occupant always makes you look at a space differently. He probably hasn’t even been told he’s coming here yet; Wyatt doesn’t even know if the coaches have asked him officially if he wants to live with a veteran teammate or not, but Lisa starts fussing over the room anyway. The space is functionally a one bedroom apartment, the bedroom and bathroom coming off of the kitchenette and living room area. Part of the reason they’d bought the house was because of this setup in the basement. It was a nice space for hosting guests and Wyatt’s sister and her family had stayed there several times, as had Lisa’s younger siblings. He hadn’t really thought they’d use it to host other players, but it’s kind of perfect for that too. It should give Watson plenty of privacy should he want it.

“Do you think he’ll be fine with it just being a double mattress?” Lisa asks.

“The kid’s coming from a hotel. I think he’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” she agrees. She gives the room one final look and then grins at him, “I got you something while you were gone today,” she tells him, “c’mon.”

She takes him by the hand and leads him up the stairs, pulling him in the direction of their special room. Lisa must read the excitement on his face because she grins even wider. Anyone who said romance was dead had never met Lisa Hayes. She opens the door, revealing her surprise.

“Have I mentioned you’re the perfect woman?” Wyatt asks.

She giggles, “yes, but I always like to hear you say it anyway.”

“You’re the perfect woman.”

She flushes a little at the praise and goes to the wine fridge they keep in here for this exact purpose. She selects a bottle and pours them both a glass as he settles onto one of the oversized beanbag chairs. She sits next to him, the motion unfairly elegant. God, he loves his wife.

“This just came out today,” he observes as he opens the box.

She smiles and begins sorting through the pieces to find what they need for the first step. “I know. I saw you looking it up last week and figured it would be a nice surprise.”

Has he mentioned he loves this woman? “I love you.”

“Love you too, now let’s build this!”

They spend the next hour or so building the Lego set, drinking wine, and talking about their days. Wyatt tells her about the weird vibes he was catching from Montreal and Lisa tells him about their new resident. It’s nice. It’s maybe possibly the reason he loves legos as much as he does. Well, he’d probably still like them a lot even without Lisa, but getting to do this with her makes it even better.

The next morning Lisa has book club and Wyatt’s secured an invite to FIFA with Ilya, so he drives down to his teammate’s house. He and Ilya had done this a couple times in previous seasons, but this time when his friend greets him at the door and lets him in, there’s photos lining the entryway. Images from Ilya and Shane’s wedding, photos of them with Anya, pictures of them kayaking, images from their honeymoon in Spain, and several of them from various hockey games and events over the years. In the center of all of them, arranged almost like a focal point is a large photo of the two of them laughing at each other in head-to-toe CCM gear. Wyatt vaguely remembers that campaign, though he hadn’t been in the league himself at the time. It had been a rather big deal when it came out. What doesn’t remember any of the images from it featuring them looking quite so happy.

As Ilya leads the way towards the living room Wyatt notices other, more subtle, differences. A blender in the kitchen that hadn’t been there before. A bookshelf in the living room stuffed with hockey books. New throw blankets on the couch. New throw pillows on the couch. An obscene amount of lamps. It was as if two individual people with a penchant for lamps had gotten married and both had refused to compromise and give up a single lamp in the marriage. Actually, that was probably exactly what had happened.

“No Shane?” Wyatt asks as they sit on the couch.

“He’s at a photoshoot,” Ilya explains, “and he doesn’t like this game anyway.”

They play for a bit, discussing mostly who they think will make the team. Wyatt tells Ilya about how he and Lisa are going to host Watson, which Ilya also thinks is a good idea. He then tells Wyatt about how his coaches had wanted him to live on with one of the veterans his rookie year but that he hadn’t wanted to.

“No one would have wanted that either,” Ilya admits laughing, “I was an asshole."

“You still are,” Wyatt teases him.

Ilya shakes his head, “not the same kind. I was arrogant? And I went a little wild, too, being free from Russia for first time.” Ilya grins a little, obviously reminiscing, “cannot believe Shane did not kick me to curb.” He takes his eyes off the screen for a moment to grin at Wyatt. “New saying. Learned it last week.”

Wyatt doesn’t really process the fact that Ilya has expanded his collection of idioms, stuck instead on the implications of what he’s just said. “Sorry, are you telling me you and Shane were together when you were rookies?”

“Da, yes. Since the summer before. But not exclusive. Just hooking up.”

Wyatt is absolutely going to lose this game, because this information has made him unable to focus on the screen at all. Wyatt can’t even come up with a response to that. He feels like a real life buffering screen.

“Your whole careers?” He checks again.

“Da.”

“Fuck.”

Ilya laughs, like it’s funny that Wyatt’s worldview has been fundamentally changed.

“So you never hated each other?”

“No, in the beginning I think we maybe did. Shane is annoyingly good at hockey.”

“And you were an obnoxious asshole who was also annoyingly good at hockey,” Wyatt fills in.

“Both of us wanted to be the best. But even when I hated him I loved him too, I think. But eventually, no, we didn’t hate each other any more. And that happened earlier than most people think.”

“Most people don’t think you’ve been in some kind of relationship with each other your entire careers,” Wyatt points out.

“Almost no one,” Ilya agrees affably.

Wyatt loses. He wonders if it was strategic on Ilya’s part, bringing this up now to secure his win. He would definitely do that. Ilya was maybe the most competitive person Wyatt knew. Well, actually, he was beginning to think maybe Shane was more competitive. Wyatt didn't quite understand how that wasn’t exhausting in a marriage but clearly that dynamic had been at play with them for a long time, so who was he to question it.

They play almost another full round before Wyatt brings up the question he had been planning on asking all day.

“So what’s up with Montreal?” Wyatt asks, the question tangentially related to a comment Ilya had just made about how the LP/Young/Bergy line had been doing well lately.

Ilya puffs out a breath of disinterested air. “Is shitty team that lost their only not-shitty player.”

It’s a very Ilya answer. It also doesn’t answer the question Wyatt is trying to ask, although the tone of the response pretty much clues him in on Ilya’s thoughts about the team. Wyatt thinks he’s probably right, then, that not all had been well between Shane Hollander and the Voyageurs.

“I noticed they didn’t make Pike captain.”

Ilya frowns, “he would not have wanted to be, anyway, I think.”

“But…shouldn’t he have been?” Wyatt asks.

Ilya sighs and pauses the game. Wyatt sits up a little straighter.

“Shane, he would not want us to be talking about this, okay? But the team is going to have questions. I know this. So maybe I tell you and you tell them, but if Hollander says something on his own, you act surprised, da?”
Wyatt nods, “yeah. Yes, of course.”

“Voyageurs were not good about me and Shane. Maybe not good about Shane being gay at all, I do not know. Only Hayden Pike and Boiziau were…openly supportive, when Shane came out. Some of the guys stopped showering with him, stopped asking Shane to go to bars with them after games. This, I do not think he minded so much,” Ilya smiles a little, “Pike, he guessed that it was me. He was not so happy about it at first. But Hayden, he is a good friend. And his wife is too good for him and does not let him be stupid. More stupid than he already is,” Ilya amends, “plus he has very cute kids. Jackie’s genes, you know. So he helped us. Covered for Shane when he broke curfew to see me and always stood behind Shane, even when the rest of the team was not so good.”

“And J.J.?” Wyatt asks.

Ilya wrinkles his nose in distaste, “Shane thinks he is a good friend too.”

“You don’t?”

Ilya glares at a wall, “he asked Shane if he tripped on purpose. Made Shane feel guilty about not telling him about me. I do not think this is good friend behaviour. But Shane forgives him. He came to our wedding,” Ilya tacks on sarcastically at the end, “low standard,” he adds, rolling his eyes.

Most of the Centaurs had gone to the wedding. The only ones who hadn’t were the guys who had already left for home for the summer. And even then, a fair few of those guys had flown back for the occasion. As far as Wyatt knows, Haydne and J.J. were the only Voyageurs at the wedding.

“Management would not re-sign him,” Ilya says voice lethal, “they told him there were complaints about locker room culture and team dynamics. They let the best player in the league walk because they cared more about a man kissing another man than ever having a chance at another cup.”

“Wow,” is all Wyatt can think to say.

“When we play them, Hazy, you have to promise me you will do everything in your power to not let a single shot in.”

It seems pointless to argue that he usually tries to do that, but he agrees anyway, “of course, man. Fuck those assholes.”

Ilya nods, satisfied. “Luca told me they chirped him about Shane yesterday. Very nasty stuff. Asked if Shane blew me in the locker room and if Luca liked watching it.” Wyatt feels a sudden white-hot burst of rage. “Those motherfuckers!”

Ilya nods, grim. “I think they have said worse than this to Shane. I do not know. He does not tell me, I think, because he knows I will murder them.” Ilya’s eyes have a dangerous glint that tells Wyatt Shane might be right about that. “But he does not want you to pity him. He does not want the team knowing how bad it was for him there. I think he wishes I did not know and I do not even know how bad it was. So you must tell them not to ask.” Wyatt nods, though if the Voyageurs are chirping like that even hockey players can probably figure out something had been majorly wrong in the Voyageur’s room.

“Wiebe knows, doesn’t he? That’s why he sat you.”

Ilya nods once in confirmation, “he knows some.”

“And this is why they didn’t make Pike captain,” Wyatt realizes.

Ilya shrugs, “maybe, yes. Pike was team Hollander. Team was not. Phillips was not bad to Shane, but not good either. And I do not think they would have picked another captain who was not white, so it was not going to be Boiziau.”

Wyatt raises an eyebrow, “so, just to summarize: Montreal is homophobic and racist.” Ilya nods, “yes. I think so. And probably also sexist. Lots of guys in the room felt bad for Kent.” Ilya spits out the name like a curse.

“Wow. Thank god Hollander got out of there.”

Ilya nods seriously, “yes.”

“Well, don’t worry, Cap, we’ll show him what a real team is. And we’ll win some games while we do it.”

“Fucking right!” Ilya grins at him. “Any more big questions, Hazy, or do you want to play the game?”

Wyatt fixes him with look. “I want to win the game, not play it.”

“In your dreams.”

Chapter Text

The preseason comes to a close and for the first time in recent history, Ottawa has a winning record coming out of it. It doesn’t matter officially, but it’s a nice boost nonetheless. Gives them some confidence going into the regular season.

The end of preseason also means Wyatt has gained a new housemate. Their new rookie is immensely grateful to have made the team, despite practically being a shoo-in. Wyatt understands the feeling. He’d been similarly thankful when he made the team after his training camp. Watson moves into the room in the basement and so far has thanked them every day for hosting him. He also insists on making dinner at least three times a week for the duration of his time with them, which he says is his way of thanking them for opening their home to him. He admits to having taken some culinary classes in college as well as a class on wine. So far though, the addition of Watson to their house is practically unnoticeable. He keeps to himself for the most part, not emerging too often from the basement. Wyatt is giving him time to adjust a little before he starts trying to coax him out more.

Two days before their home opener Wyatt, Lisa, and Watson drive down to Bood’s house for a celebratory barbecue. It’s the first with the new roster. Cassie greets them at the door, smiling widely. A few of the guys are already there. Ilya is holding Milo and talking with Caitlin, Evan, and Zane near the grill. Luca is talking to Shane near the fire pit, both of them nursing a beer. Nick and Selena arrive just as Wyatt and Lisa claim seats by the fire as well. Troy and Harris arrive next, followed by Arti and Boyle and then Tanner comes traipsing in with a new girlfriend. Almost all the new guys come in just after that and the backyard starts filling up. Jordie, Max, and Louis are the last to arrive.

Wyatt spends most of the night talking with Tanner’s new girlfriend Josie who worked on the set of an upcoming tv series Wyatt is looking forward to. She can’t tell him a lot about it but she’s happy to dissect the trailer with him and give him her opinions on the cast. Tanner attempts to be interested in the conversation for a while before he peels off to go converse with Boyle and Chouinard. Lisa spends the majority of her time with Cassie, Caitlin, Selena, Arti, and Ilya, all of whom are sipping wine while conversing animatedly. As far as Wyatt can tell, Ilya hasn’t put down Milo since he’s been there.

Eventually, Josie does excuse herself to go fall in with the circle of women, and Wyatt then migrates to where Shane, Troy, Harris, and Luca are sitting at the fire. The conversation is about hockey, naturally. Harris is talking about being a Cens fan growing up, as is Shane. Luca blushingly admits to being a Bears fan because he was a Rozanov fan.

“Absolutely never tell Ilya that,” Shane tells him, “we will never hear the end of it. The whole team will suffer, but he will never let you or I live it down. Ever.”

Luca nods seriously.

“Seconded,” Troy agrees.

“I also liked the Voyageurs, though!” Luca says earnestly, “it’s just that…”

Harris grins, “it’s just that you had a crush on Ilya.”

Luca sputters, going rather red and looking guiltily at Shane.

Shane laughs a little, “it’s okay. I had a crush on him too.”

It occurs to Wyatt it’s the first time since their wedding that he’s heard Shane say something like that about Ilya. Something that normalizes or even acknowledges that they’re married. Ilya’s made a couple offhand comments, jokes mostly about Hollander being ‘his’ or things along those lines. But this is the first time other than on the way into the tunnel that he’s heard Shane say something like this about Ilya. And since Ilya tells everyone he loves them then, Wyatt’s not sure he can count that.

“You mean you had a crush on him at Luca’s age?” Harris asks.

Shane nods.

“You both had terrible taste,” Troy tells them.

“Who has terrible taste?” Tanner asks, flopping onto one of the chairs.

“Luca and Shane,” Wyatt tells him.

“They both had crushes on rookie Roz.”

Harris eyes Shane suspiciously, “you didn’t say rookie Roz specifically. What does Wyatt know?”

Shane turns an appraising look towards Wyatt, which makes him feel rather sheepish. Wyatt’s not sure if it’s a secret, necessarily, how long Ilya and Shane have been together, but he hadn’t even been thinking about that when he’d spoken. He had just assumed that was what Shane had meant. He should probably check in with them about what they’re comfortable with being common knowledge going forward though.

“Isn’t that what you meant?” He asks Shane, not outwardly denying he knows anything, but giving Shane space to drive the conversation a different direction if he wants.

“I mean, yeah, I guess,” Shane agrees, “I did have a crush on him then. In a way I guess he was kind of my gay awakening.”

Harris starts choking on his drink. “Sorry, what?”

Shane shrugs, looking embarrassed, “yeah, I mean he just, like, touched my wrist and I suddenly realized I kind of wanted to kiss him.”

“Wait, this happened in person?” Harris asks, “I was assuming you saw like video of him or something, but I guess it would’ve had to have been in-person, wouldn’t it have?”

Shane nods, “yeah. At the draft, actually.”

“At the draft?” Luca squeaks.

“After the draft really. Neither of us could sleep so we ended up in the hotel gym at the same time.”

“That’s how you know they’re made for each other,” Wyatt jokes, “both went to work out the night of the draft.”

Shane laughs. Wyatt eyes the beer in his hand. He hasn’t seen Shane share this much information openly and although it looks like the same beer he’s had all night, Wyatt isn’t certain it isn’t simply the same brand and in fact his second, third, or fourth because he hasn’t been watching him and he hopes Shane is sharing this because he feels comfortable with the team and not because he’s drunk. He doesn’t look drunk and he isn’t acting drunk, but then again Wyatt doesn’t know him well enough to say that with any real definitiveness.

“I just can’t imagine anyone crushing on rookie Roz,” Tanner frowns, “I watched a good bit of his press while I was in Juniors and he was kind of a dick.”

Harris laughs. “And that’s how you know Tanner is definitely straight.”

“What?” Tanner asks, “what do you mean?”

“I think he means there was a reason Ilya had the reputation he did,” Wyatt tells him.

“He really was insufferable though,” Shane tells Tanner, “you’re not wrong about that.”

“I was always Team Hollander, you know,” Harris says to Shane.

Shane looks genuinely taken aback, like he’s forgotten Harris had ever heard about him before he’d signed with the Centaurs, “oh?”

“I mean, I’m a hockey fan from Ottawa. I think it’s practically a requirement to be a Shane Hollander fan. It didn’t hurt that you also happened to be hot.”

Shane blushes bright red. “Oh. Thanks, I guess?”

“You know, I almost asked Ilya for your number once,” Troy confesses. The confession lands rather like a bomb amongst everyone in the circle, disbelieving screeches and gasps of surprise overlapping.

“What?!” Harris squeaks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Troy shrugs, "kind of forgot about it to be honest. And I was already pretty hung up on you anyway."

The commotion draws the attention of the rest of the party guests, who all pause their conversations and eye their group critically.

“Are we missing good drama?” Cassie calls out teasingly.

“Yes!” Harris replies back, “Troy wanted to ask Ilya for Shane’s number.”

Both Shane and Troy hide their faces, obviously embarrassed as the rest of the crew gathers around. Ilya, now sans Milo for the first time Wyatt has noticed all night, perches on the arm of Shane’s chair.

“He would have given it to you, too,” Shane mutters from behind his hands, “just to mess with both of us.”

“Oh, I know,” Troy agrees.

“And then he’d be jealous because Shane wouldn’t have realized Troy was hitting on him,” Wyatt grins, confident in his assessment of the situation. He is sure Shane Hollander is generally oblivious to people flirting with him and he knows Ilya is possessive.

Ilya frowns, seemingly realizing Wyatt is right. “You are probably right. Shane barely knew I was flirting with him and I was very obvious.”

Shane looks up from behind his hands to glare at his husband. “Fuck off, I knew you were flirting.”

Ilya eyes him with extreme doubt. “No you did not.”

“It wasn’t even flirting anyway,” Shane shoots back, “it was straight up-” Shane stops abruptly, and looks at the circle of people around them, seemingly remembering they have an audience. Ilya smiles smugly.

“I was flirting before that,” Ilya says, not acknowledging whatever ‘that’ was, “I called you pretty, remember?”

“That was chirping, not flirting. Do you know how many times I’ve been called a pretty boy in my career?”

“Ah, but I did not call you a pretty boy. Just pretty.”

“Nah, that probably definitely sounded like a chirp, coming from you,” Evan tells Ilya.

“Thank you,” Shane tells him sincerely.

“When did you two get together anyway?” Cassie asks. It’s a question Wyatt is pretty sure everyone here is dying to know the answer to. Ilya looks to Shane, clearly ready to follow his lead on if they’re going to answer the question or not. Shane gives him a nod.

“We hooked up for the first time the summer before our rookie season,” Ilya tells the assembled crowd.

“Jesus,” Bood exclaims. Similar sentiments ring out from everyone else. Troy and Harris don’t look as surprised, so they must’ve had some idea of the timeline before this. Maybe they’d told them like Ilya had told Wyatt.

“So you two have been sleeping together for your entire careers?” Dykstra confirms.

They both nod, Hollander sheepish and Rozanov distinctly proud.

“Wow.” Luca says.

“We weren’t like dating, the whole time, though,” Shane clarifies, “it was just casual for many years.”

“Wow.” Jordie says. “I spent a month doing ‘casual’ with Claire this summer before we had to have the ‘what are we talk’. I can’t imagine doing that for years.”

“I mean, it was…different for us,” Shane says carefully, “we were almost never in the same place and there’d never been a gay hockey player before. Not to mention, there was all that marketing about us being rivals.”

“And also he ran away the first time I ever said his name and started dating a movie star.”

Shane rolls his eyes. Wyatt gets the feeling this is a common argument in their household.

“Wait are you telling me you’d been hooking up regularly for years and never said each other’s names? Were you just silent the entire time?”

“Of course not. We were very loud,” Ilya says suggestively, waggling his eyebrows, “but last names only.”

“Ew,” Troy says, “please spare me the details.”

Ilya frowns at him, “don’t be homophobic, Barrett. I thought you’d grown out of that.”

Everyone present sighs with exasperation. Now that he’s out, Ilya’s go-to joke is about everyone and anyone being homophobic. Any minor inconvenience also falls into this category, so they hear this refrain quite often nowadays.

“Oh my god, Ilya, I am literally gay,” Troy complains, “and not wanting to hear about your sex life doesn’t make me homophobic."

“I also don’t want you to talk about that,” Shane offers.

“Exactly! See? Are you going to say he’s homophobic?” Troy asks.

“No, of course not. Shane is super gay. He cannot be homophobic."

“You can be gay and homophobic,” Wyatt points out at the same time Shane says, “I am not super gay, Ilya, I am just gay. Just regular gay. Please stop saying that.”

“Now, see, that sounds homophobic,” Louis jokes, “not wanting to be super gay.”

Ilya nods seriously. “LaPointe is right. I have married a homophobe.”

Shane throws his hands up in the air and rises out of his seat. “I’m going to get something to drink.”

Ilya raises his eyebrows and grins as he watches his husband retreat. A few seconds later he rises too and makes his way towards where Shane is opening a ginger ale. The conversation begins to shift and diverge back into smaller side-conversations. Lisa and Wyatt are pulled into one such conversation with Nick and Selena. Over by the refreshments, Shane and Ilya seem to be arguing.

“Do they argue a lot?” Selena asks, “I feel like they argue a lot from what I’ve seen.”

“All the time,” Nick tells her.

Dykstra, who had been nearby jumps in and agrees, “basically nonstop at practice. We can’t believe they haven’t killed each other.”

Wyatt is still sorting through things in his head. He’s thought the same at first, naturally, because before being on a team with them he’d actually thought they were deeply in love. Unlike the rest of his teammates, Wyatt had guessed Ilya was probably seeing someone he was very serious about. The man had missed the first practice after their plane nearly crashed and come back in a fantastic mood with a ring he hadn’t had before on his necklace. Wyatt wasn’t a genius by any means, but that had been a pretty fucking obvious sign. Plus, Ilya was always smiling down at his phone when he thought no one was looking. And then there were the camps. Whenever Ilya was on lunch pickup duty he always went to a separate restaurant to get food Shane would eat. He checked in with him constantly. One time one of the parents had said something about Ilya being a better coach than Shane and he’d kind of blown up at the guy. Wyatt hadn’t guessed from that that Shane was the mystery someone Ilya had, but in retrospect those things taken all together were evidence of Ilya Rozanov being very in love with Shane Hollander. And then after they’d been outed, Ilya had been only too eager to talk about Shane. Jokes about how he’d been seduced by a ‘weak backhand’ and ‘cute freckles’ had been prevalent in their locker room towards the end of the season. And when the guys had joked about Shane Hollander being his WAG at that one playoff game, Ilya had only smiled widely and proclaimed that was evidence he was the best hockey player, because only the best hockey player could have a WAG who was the second-best player in the league.There’d been a series of Instagram posts over the sumer, too. Nothing crazy, but videos and photos from their shared summer where they looked very in love.

So that was what made all of this very strange. It was possible distance made the heart grow fonder and they weren’t used to spending so much time together, which was causing some of this tension. Somehow Wyatt felt like that wasn’t it either. But it wasn’t like this was unusual, exactly. It was consistent with how Wyatt had seen them interact basically every time he’d seen them. Except for their wedding, of course. There hadn’t been much bickering then.

Ilya and Shane happen to come by just then, “we are leaving,” Ilya tells them, “Hollander has to get to bed by 10 pm.”

Shane rolls his eyes, “fuck off, I do not.”

“No?” Ilya asks, and there’s a hint of something teasing in it. He leans in close to Shane and whispers something lowly in Russian.

Shane turns bright pink and shivers slightly. “We do have to let Anya out, though.”

Ilya grins smugly and Wyatt realizes exactly what had just gone down. Holy shit, was that what they were always doing when they were speaking in Russian? That would re-contextualize a lot of interactions if that was true. For the moment, Wyatt plays it off like he’s none the wiser.

“Say hello to Anya for me, would ya?” he tells them, “and see you tomorrow.”

“I will give her lots of affection, no need to worry, Hazy,” Ilya tells him.

Lisa, Selena, Nick, and Zane bid them goodbye as well and then they leave to go say their goodbyes to everyone else.

“Maybe we should get going as well,” Lisa suggests, checking her watch, “I was hoping to decompress a little before bed and I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wyatt agrees easily, especially because he knows what the twinkle in her eye when she said ‘decompress’ means. “Let me go find Watson and see if he’s ready or if he’s gonna catch a ride with someone else.”

Watson is ready, so they head out in a little group.

“This really is a great team,” Watson tells them in the car. “I didn’t really know it could be like this.”

Wyatt nods. “I know what you mean. I was with Toronto before I got traded here. The vibes were very different.”

Watson nods, “yeah, I could kind of tell. Actually, one of my old teammates is on Toronto now. That guy who Holmberg fought. Andrews.”

If Wyatt wasn’t currently operating a motor-vehicle he’d probably turn around and gape at Watson. The asshole rookie from Toronto had been teammates with Watson? “For your sake, I hope he wasn’t representative of the average team member.”

“He kind of was. He also was our captain.”

“Who’s this?” Lisa asks.

“Remember that random rookie I told you about? The one who came over to the bench to chirp me?”

Lisa nods, “right, yeah. So he’s basically just a dick, then?” She directs the question to Watson.

Wyatt can see him shrug in the rearview mirror, “basically. I didn’t know he did that to you, though. I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault. You didn’t choose to be teammates with him.”

Watson avoids eye contact in the rearview mirror. Interesting. Wyatt thinks. Maybe there’s not a story there, but maybe there is. There’s so much going on this season Wyatt’s not sure how to keep track of it all. Maybe he needs to start keeping a little notebook or something. Lisa would probably tell him to be less nosy, he thinks, looking over at her in the passenger seat. But deep down, Lisa is no better than him. She loves to hear about all his theories. She usually helps him analyze all the clues too.

Wyatt turns onto their street and then into the driveway.

“Thanks for the ride,” Watson tells them both once the car is in park.

“Yeah, of course,” Wyatt tells him, “we were literally going to the same place.”

“Thanks again anyway,” the kids says. “Um, I’m probably just going straight to bed, actually,” he tells them, “I’m meeting Shane Hollander and Tanner at the rink early tomorrow.”

Wyatt notes the full first name and last name usage for Shane and smiles a little. The kid clearly hasn’t gotten past his hero-worship stage. The other young guys hadn’t seemed to either. It was still ‘Shane Hollander’ anytime most of the guys talked about him, actually. The funniest part was Shane himself seemed to be completely oblivious to this.

“Oh, that’s nice. You guys getting in some extra practice?” “I guess Tanner asked for some extra help on his passing and accuracy and they’ve been going in early pretty often. And then I was talking with Hollander a little after practice and he suggested I could join as well. Give them more of a challenge and work on my own skills too. But, uh, Tanner offered to pick me up, so no worries there.”

Wyatt nods, “cool. Sounds good.”

“Also, um, my family is coming to town for the opener and they’re going to help me buy a car. So hopefully you guys won’t have to keep shuttling me around.”

“Oh great! That should be nice for you, having your family at the game,” Lisa tells him.

“They want to meet you guys, actually,” Watson tells them, “they’d like to take you out for dinner.”

“Sure, of course,” she agrees, “sleep well, Watson.”

“Sleep well,” he echoes, and then heads down the stairs.

Once he hears the door close Wyatt turns to his wife and waggles his eyebrows, “now, what was that I heard about decompressing?”

She laughs and shoves him a little, but takes his hand and pulls them toward the bedroom.