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As the Centaurs leave the ice after their fifth game, and fifth win, of the season, Shane is feeling good. Great, even. He had expected that after playing for the same team for over a decade, he would take some time to feel comfortable playing on a new one. Sure, training camp had been slightly awkward, but that had more to do with Shane’s nerves than anything else. The team had been nothing but welcoming; maybe a little too welcoming. Ilya had clearly given them a talk about making sure Shane felt comfortable, and the team had perhaps overcorrected. His stall had been decorated with rainbows and cutouts of Ilya’s face, and he’d been practically tackled in a group hug on day one. Which led to a fun conversation about Shane’s dislike for excessive physical affection.
It took some getting used to. He shouldn’t have expected anything less, given what he’d heard from Ilya over the years, but it still caught him off guard how much it felt like…well, not like he’d always been here, but at least like he’d been here for a while. Coming off the ice tonight, he feels comfortable in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Certainly not in the last few years he’d played for the Metros.
Since being out, Shane has found it easier to relax. It isn’t that he stopped being anxious; he’s still Shane Hollander after all, but in safe spaces like the Centaurs’ dressing room, he finds it easier to breathe. To let his shoulders drop. To playfully chirp his teammates and openly flirt with his husband. He’s certain that the flirting is already starting to wear at least a little bit thin for his teammates, which only adds to the fun that Shane and Ilya have being mushy in public. Of course, they keep it pretty tame, resorting to speaking in Russian if they’re seeking more privacy in front of their coworkers.
Shane reaches his stall and starts removing his gear when Harris is suddenly standing at his elbow.
“Um, hi,” Shane says, only startling a little at his unexpected appearance.
“Hi, sorry,” Harris replies, taking a step back when he notices that he may have unintentionally surprised Shane. “They’re practically chomping at the bit out there to grab some sound bytes from you. Are you good to do some press?”
“Oh, sure…uh, can I shower first?”
“Oh, yeah! Take your time!” With a final nod, Harris makes his way over to Troy, and Shane proceeds with removing the rest of his uniform.
“Ty v poryadke?” a familiar voice murmurs near his ear. He turns to find his husband standing a little too close, given the public setting, with a slightly concerned look in his eye.
“Konechno,” Shane replies giving Ilya what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Judging by the hesitant look in his husband’s expression, Ilya is still unconvinced. Shane places a hand on his arm. “Pravda, ya v poryadke.”
Ilya gives him one last dubious look before placing a kiss on his cheek and saying “Ya lyublyu tebya, moye solnyshko.”
The whole room groans as Ilya walks over to his own stall, smirking.
“You know, eventually one of us is going to have to learn Russian so you guys stop flirting in front of us,” Wyatt called out over the din of grumbling.
Shane barks out a laugh at that. “Be my guest.”
Shane had been particularly motivated and persistent in learning Russian for Ilya, and even then, he felt like he couldn’t learn it fast enough. Hell, he still wishes he understood it more reflexively. He is in no way worried that one of the Centaurs could pick up enough Russian before they retired to actually ruin their fun. Besides, he knows the chirping is all in jest. Fans like to joke that this team is fueled by the power of friendship, but Shane has found that not to be far off the mark.
Finally showered and changed, Shane met Harris out in the hall leading to the press room.
“So,” Harris starts as they walk, “I know you are not new to this. I’m not going to try to tell you what to do. But I’ll just remind you that you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, you can end whenever you’re done, and ‘no comment’ is an acceptable answer.”
“Thanks, Harris,” he responds. Honestly, Shane is impressed they’ve managed to keep the media at bay this long. Aside from statements right after signing with Ottawa, Shane hadn’t really had to do any press about the move. He’d been able to focus on his wedding and camp and settling in. He knows they must have been getting endless requests, but he’s so relieved he didn’t have to do this any earlier. Now that he’s got some games under his belt, he’s not as nervous about facing the questions.
“Do we need a signal?” Harris asks, stopping in the middle of the hall. Shane stumbles to a halt, trying to keep up.
“What?”
“You know, like, should we have a nod or hand gesture or something that you can throw me if you need me to, like, step in or shut down a question?”
“Uh…I can just wave at you? If I need you to come save me or whatever.”
Harris lets out a relieved sigh. “Good, that’s the plan then.”
With that, they walk into the fray. Once Shane gets situated, he’s very grateful he had been permitted to shower and change first. It’s so much easier to focus on the questions being asked when he’s not distracted by the tacky feeling of sweat sticking to his skin. The first few questions are pretty par for the course: How’s your season starting? How do you like your new teammates? What is your plan to win a cup this year? But they start to get more personal: What’s it like playing on the same team as your husband? What’s the vibe in the dressing room since your arrival? Do you miss playing in Montreal?
And then the question he honestly should have been expecting: “Shane, you haven’t really addressed the tripping incident from last season, do you care to comment now?”
Anger flares up in his stomach. He answers with every ounce of media training monotone he can muster, “I’m not sure what there is to say. I lost an edge at a pivotal moment, and it gave Ottawa the opportunity they needed to move ahead. It was an unfortunate mistake, but that happens in hockey and will probably happen again.”
“Right, but it doesn’t often happen when one of the best athletes in the league is playing against his boyfriend,” this annoying reporter pesters again.
Shane can feel his media face slipping as his restraint snaps, “Why don’t you just ask the question you clearly want to.”
“Did you intentionally trip to let your boyfriend win?”
The room goes silent. Shane can see Harris against the wall start to make his way towards him, but Shane quickly shakes his head. He wants to answer this one.
“First of all, Ilya is my husband. Or, if we’re going to be technical, he was my fiancé at the time. That may not have been public knowledge then, but I want to make sure you have your facts right later.” Shane can hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he presses on, “Second, it’s probably fair to say that my relationship with Ilya did cause some problems for the end of my season, but not because of Ilya. I don’t think it’s a surprise to hear that the Metros no longer trusted me to play, let alone lead that team. If there was any pressure that led to mistakes in my game, it was because of team dynamics, not playing against my husband.”
Shane can feel his eyes prickling with unwanted tears and pushes through, needing to get the rest of it out, “Lastly, the idea that either of us would throw a game for the other is laughable. We are better athletes because we want to play against the best and win. Being together sure didn’t stop us from winning four cups between the pair of us, and won’t stop us from winning more. Our decade-long professional career should be evidence enough that our relationship has never interfered with our game.”
And with that, Shane gets up and walks out, leaning against the wall in the hallway to collect himself. He takes some deep breaths, trying to settle his emotions. He knows that was not professional or polished, but he’s so tired of this discourse. He just wanted to say all the things that had been cycling in his head for months. He doesn’t regret it. Well, he doesn’t until Harris walks out with wide eyes.
“Oh my god, Harris, I’m so sorry. I know that was not the way to handle that-”
“Eleven. Years.”
“What?”
“Your whole careers?”
Shane stares at Harris in confusion, trying to make his words make sense. And then it suddenly all clicks. In the heat of his outburst, he’d just casually revealed to everyone the timeline of his and Ilya’s relationship. Oh, fuck. Shane closes his eyes and drops his head, trying to figure out how to fix this.
“Uhh, yeah…yeah, our whole careers.”
“Holy shit!” Harris says with a hysterical edge in his voice. “Well, I just lost the office pool big time.”
Shane’s head snaps up at that. “You guys are betting on my love life?”
“Oh, please,” Harris retorts with a dismissive wave as he starts pushing Shane to walk back towards the dressing room. “You can’t expect people to not place bets when the two most famous players in the league reveal they’ve been in a secret relationship for, quote, ‘several years’.”
Now it’s Shane’s turn to let out a shaky laugh. “Honestly, I kind of assumed Ilya would’ve told Troy, and you’d have the inside scoop.”
“If I find out that’s true, my boyfriend and I are going to need to have a serious discussion about trust.”
As they round the corner to the dressing room, they hear it before they even catch sight of the door. Shane walks into quite the scene: everyone appears to have stopped in various stages of getting redressed and crowded around Ilya’s stall instead. They’re all talking over each other with a litany of questions. It takes the room a moment to realize that Shane has returned, and he enjoys watching some truly cartoonish double takes from his teammates before the cacophony descends on him instead. Just as Shane is starting to get overwhelmed by the volume of the room shouting at him, Ilya climbs up on one of the benches.
“Hey!”
The room drops silent and turns to look at their captain.
“You all have questions for me and Shane, yes?”
The room nods almost in unison.
“Okay. And I want to celebrate our win by getting very drunk. You can all come and ask questions at the bar.”
With that, Ilya jumps off the bench, crosses the room to Shane, and takes his hand to lead him out.
Safely in the confines of their car, Shane slumps forward to lay his head against the dash. Ilya rubs soothing circles on his back.
“What happened, moya mikrovolnovka?”
“Microwave?” Shane asked, picking up his head, unable to resist the game. Ilya nods and gently runs a thumb over his husband’s freckles.
Shane briefly leans into Ilya’s hand before responding, “I’m just so tired of everyone talking about that game. And I wanted to answer it so people would stop asking. I’m sorry I just blurted that out without checking with you.”
Ilya is shaking his head before Shane can even finish his apology. “You do not need to say sorry. Is fine. Would’ve come up soon anyway.”
That’s true. Most of the team had been in their house for their wedding. And even if they hadn’t been paying attention to the photos on their wall then, they would eventually see them at some point soon. Not that Ilya and Shane couldn’t trust their team to keep a secret, but after eleven years of secret keeping, neither of them wants to ask people to cover for them anymore.
“So, I guess we just need to come clean, huh?”
Ilya smiles that devious smile Shane secretly loves but will never admit to. “I think train has already left, Hollander.”
Shane groaned and put his head back on the dash. His husband simply chuckled at his distress and started the car.
To an outsider, the image of the Centaurs at the bar right now was probably pretty funny. Typically, the guys would split into smaller groups of guys sitting and drinking, or playing pool, or trying to pick up girls at the bar. Tonight, however, the whole team is crowded around Ilya and Shane like an eager kindergarten class at story time. Ilya, ever the captain, is taking turns calling on guys with their hands raised.
“Barrett,” Ilya says, picking his waving hand next.
“When exactly did you guys get together? Was it your first All Stars?” Well, that settles the question of how much Troy might know. It seems Ilya had not disclosed this particular information.
“No, it was before then…” Shane trails off, unsure of whether or not Ilya wants to disclose details. Initially, they hadn’t wanted to give away too many specifics because they wanted some things to stay special just for them. Now, though, Shane feels comfortable with the team knowing. He doesn’t want the whole world to know everything, but he trusts his team. Even more, he loves his team, and he knows they just want to know Shane and Ilya better. Fuck, he and Ilya really should have made a game plan in the car. Shane squeezes his husband’s hand hoping to relay through the touch that he’s fine with Ilya taking the lead on this answer.
“Was Summer before rookie season,” his husband provides. Shane is glad he seemingly picked up on his husband’s nonverbal cue.
“Oh, it must have been the CCM shoot,” Haas blurts out and everyone’s heads whip around to stare at the no-longer-rookie.
“Oh my god, the picture at their house,” Bood calls out, “I told you they looked too young in that photo!” he exclaims at Dykstra who throws his hands up in concession.
“Is that true?” Troy asks turning back to Shane and Ilya.
“Don’t know why you’re surprised Haas is right. He is obsessed with me,” Ilya responds matter-of-factly. “Who’s next?”
“What about all the girls, Roz?” calls out Chouinard without waiting to be called on.
“And Rose Landry!” Wyatt chimes in.
Ilya waves his hand dismissively, “You already know I’m bi. And Shane had to sleep with hottest movie star to confirm he was gay for me.” Shane rolls his eyes at that one.
“That’s not the question,” Chouinard clarifies, “were you guys cheating? On them and each other?”
Shane hadn’t been afraid of the team hating him until this very moment. He quickly jumps in before Ilya can fumble this answer with a joke, “No. We weren’t cheating on anyone. Ilya and I weren’t really exclusive until 2017.”
“I’m sorry,” one of the rookies pipes up, “you guys were ‘casually’ hooking up for seven years without being exclusive?”
“Oh, you two were deep in denial, weren’t you?” Troy piles on.
“You would know about denial Barret,” Ilya chirps back.
“Not about us right now,” Harris retorts from under Troy’s arm.
“Of course we were in love before. Is not my fault Shane panicked so bad after I made him tuna melt that he started dating first woman he could find.”
“Excuse me,” Shane interrupted, “you were the one who ignored me for six months because I kissed your forehead once.”
“And we let this man be captain,” Dykstra mumbles.
“Wait, 2017…did that have anything to do with Scott Hunter?” Leave it to Luca Haas to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the intricate timeline of the gays in the league.
“Sort of,” Shane says.
“Yes,” Ilya replies at the same time.
“I mean, 2017 was a big year for us…a lot happened. I was ready to say it in Tampa, but Ilya wouldn’t let me.”
“I did say it in Moscow.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t count because it wasn’t in English. Besides, you were going to break up with me if it hadn’t been for the concussion.”
“Then oldest hockey player ever decided to come out, and I decided we couldn’t let Hunter be hotter than us. And we went to the cottage, and you came up with Ottawa plan, and now we’re here.”
“What do you mean ‘Ottawa plan’?” Coach Weibe speaks up for the first time, and Shane had honestly forgotten he's here. He didn’t usually hang out with the team. Then again, it’s not every day that one of your star players makes headlines…actually, for Brandon Weibe it kind of was. Damn, Shane and Ilya need to get him a very nice Christmas gift after all the hell they’ve put that man through this year.
“Shane came up with very romantic plan for us to be together. He suggested I move to Ottawa after I left Boston.”
“Holy shit, why do we let you be the captain?” Bood calls out, “Apparently, we owe everything to Shane.”
“Rude. And you call me asshole,” Ilya whines.
For the first time in 30 minutes, no one immediately asks another question. They all sit there sipping their drinks, absorbing what information they’ve already collected.
“When did you get engaged?” Harris asks a little sadly. And maybe Shane understands that feeling. If they’d been out to the team, Ilya could have celebrated that moment with his teammates. Shane could have been welcomed into the fold earlier. The guys had been robbed of sharing in their joy for so long and part of Shane wishes he could go back and change at least some things.
“Was right after almost plane crash,” Ilya said softly, squeezing Shane’s hand again. Shane responded in kind, letting his husband know he can tell the whole story if he wants. Ilya continues, “Was very romantic. Shane surprised me when I got home. Whole living room was covered in candles. He got down on one knee and everything.”
Shane couldn’t help what must be the softest expression taking over his face as he looked at his husband.
“Of course, we’d already been married by the baby Pikes anyway so.”
That launches a whole new flurry of questions from the team about who all knew and for how long. And Shane just sits there enjoying the chaos. Maybe it all makes sense that this team would feel like home. They have the same chaotic fondness that Shane loves in his husband. They’re a lot, but they care. They would go to war for their teammates, but they’re not afraid to be soft with each other. While Shane wasn’t yet over the hurt Montreal had caused, he couldn’t be more grateful for where he is now. So Shane just lays his head on his husband’s shoulder and laughs as Ilya gives their teammates maybe more information than they actually want.