Chapter Text
Shane felt the world shaking beneath his feet. The world had been shaking for weeks, but today the tremors were particularly fierce. He accepted the diagnosis the moment he heard it, but he was definitely not prepared for its consequences.
Permanent injury, the doctors said. You can’t play anymore. And they went on with their lives as if his hadn’t ended the moment he heard that damn sentence. He thought the weeks he spent recovering from the injury were hellish, but nothing compared to the days that followed his ultimatum. Yelling meetings, endless arguments with his mother, desperate calls from sponsors, and the looks of pity. Shane hated the looks of pity.
The stares came from those who knew he was an omega. Old, potbellied alphas who thought they knew something about hockey and were now whispering to each other things like See, I told you investing in an omega would end up like this, as if Shane hadn’t broken every bone in his body in a collision on the ice, but rather while having wild sex or something like that.
Shane’s head only stopped hurting when he was asleep, and he hadn’t had much time for that lately, with endless revisions of contract clauses and terminations. His mother insisted she could handle it on her own, so he’d explode, saying But it’s my life, and they’d be back to square one.
Today the floor was shaking like never before, and the sensation was so intense that Shane was almost starting to think it was real and there really was an earthquake underway. He took a deep breath and followed his mother toward the conference room, but his feet froze before the door. The older alpha didn’t notice that he had stopped walking, and Shane turned on his heel and ran off in the other direction before his absence was noticed and his presence demanded.
He’d been doing this over and over again the past few days, but all those suits looked the same and would say the same thing. It was like a template where only the names were changed, and Shane felt that if he heard that same old spiel now, he’d throw up.
Not today. He couldn’t handle it today. It was game day. And Shane couldn’t play. Not ever again.
Walking quickly to the back of the building, Shane passed two women smoking and a few trash cans. He stopped where it looked the cleanest and leaned against the yellowed wall, breathing heavily to try to get some air into his lungs while at the same time trying to keep stubborn tears from falling. He was just about able to breathe normally again and was wondering if he could go back to the meeting without crying when a cloud of cigarette smoke hit him in the face and made him cough. Shane turned around, unsure whether he wanted to say something about the rude behavior or just leave and find another place to freak out in peace. He couldn’t decide when his whole body froze at the scent that hit his senses a second after the smoke cleared slightly, just enough.
It was still smoke, but it wasn’t bad. He didn’t even know that a smell with those notes could be anything other than repulsive, but it seemed to fit perfectly with his senses and also with the tall, blond alpha puffing on a damn cigarette right in front of him.
He was dressed all in black, from his turtleneck to his dark blazer and even his shoes. His eyes were light and sparkled, even through the cigarette smoke, and his blond hair had adorable curls that somehow made him look even more alpha.
Shane thought he’d been staring for too long, because the rude stranger raised an eyebrow, pushed his cigarette away, and said, “What?” in a thick accent. Shane knew he was Russian because he had teammates who spoke the same way. Former teammates, he forced himself to correct, and the excruciating realization snapped him out of his daze.
“Sorry, I’ll leave you alone.” The omega felt embarrassed that his own voice sounded so small and choked up, but he was already doing more than enough by apologizing when he wasn’t at fault. Let the strange alpha deal with it.
Shane shoved his hands into his coat pockets, preparing to go back and face his disastrous reality, but he almost stumbled on his first step when the alpha spoke again.
“Why are you so sad, omega?”
Shane slowly looked up at the stranger, a cold shiver running up his spine to the back of his neck. He allowed himself to stare at the gruff alpha for another long moment while his brain refused to function. Had word gotten out that he was an omega? Shane had just retired, it had only been a matter of days. If word of his subgenre was getting around, people would start saying he’d been pushed out because he’d found an alpha and was going to become a housewife or some prejudiced nonsense like that. And he was already in deep enough shit without having to deal with that now.
Shane was terrible at reading people. Expressions, figures of speech, gestures. None of it meant anything to him. He didn’t understand how people could perceive feelings and emotions just by watching. But. He would venture to say that there was no malice or cruelty in that alpha’s gaze. Curiosity, perhaps, or concern. But Shane felt he didn’t need to deny it to himself, that the rude alpha wouldn’t tear apart what was left standing of his life. And he would deny forever that he’d only let himself be carried away by his scent, that his omega had surrendered to the aroma and wanted more.
“How do you know I’m an omega?” He didn’t exactly fit the mold. And he’d only managed to stay hidden for so long thanks to scent patches and suppressants. There was no way that stranger could have known just like that, out of the blue.
“Tsk, look at you.” Shane didn’t know what he meant by that, or just how mocking that tone had been at the start of the sentence. Should he feel offended? His omega wasn’t prepared to feel rejected by that man. For some reason.
“That was rude.” His murmur was uneasy, and he shifted when the alpha rolled his intense hazel eyes.
“I’ll ask you again, omega.” The man flicked his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped on it, glaring at him once more like someone who was used to having his questions answered immediately. “Why are you upset?”
Shane felt a ridiculous urge to throw himself into the stranger’s arms and start crying. If he stopped to think about it, he could tell that he felt this way because, ever since it all happened, no one had bothered to ask how he was doing. It was always just assumptions: you must be devastated, I bet you’ll adjust, you’ll get used to it eventually. Shane felt a weight in his heart when he realized that not even his mother had bothered to take a minute to listen to what he had to say about all of this.
Why was he sad? Why was he upset? Because of the injury? Because his career was cut short at its peak? Because everyone’s reaction to his forced retirement was to start arguing about money even though he hadn’t even recovered yet? Or because he knew, deep down, that people who were supposed to be on his side actually felt relieved that he was leaving the sport?
But he didn’t say any of that to the stranger. What came out of his mouth was a short, painful sentence that made no sense to anyone without the context. And his eyes quickly filled with tears again, once more on the verge of spilling over.
“My life is over.”
Shane felt the stranger’s eyes sweeping over his entire body. His omega, in stark contrast to Shane’s depressed state of mind, stirred with excitement as the alpha took a few steps closer, bringing his delicious scent even nearer.
The rough alpha touched his cheek with his fingertips. Shane didn’t like being touched. He felt uncomfortable with people rubbing their dirty fingers against his skin, but he didn’t pull away from this alpha. His touch didn’t feel repulsive, but rather comforting. His omega was stronger in reining in his impulses, and Shane found himself leaning toward the stranger’s hand, which opened its palm, covering half his face with its open hand.
“Nonsense, omega. You’re gorgeous. Your life isn’t over just because they forced you to leave the ice. You’ll find a strong alpha who’ll tie you in a nice knot and give you a litter of chubby pups, and you’ll feel better.”
Shane was horrified. He’d dealt with nearly a decade of rude journalists, crazy fans, and gruff suits, and that had by far been the rudest thing anyone had ever said to him.
And.
That man knew who he was and what had happened to him. When you come across a sad-looking person in the basement of an office building, the first thing that crosses your mind isn’t that he must be someone who makes a living off ice. For God’s sake. Shane should have guessed. He was far from anonymous, after winning the cup twice and countless titles, he should have guessed that a Russian alpha would know who he was.
“I… You…” Shane was speechless, at a loss for words. He doesn't know whether to start by pointing out how wrong it was to suggest that an omega could overcome anything with an alpha knot, or by expressing his outrage that the man hadn’t disclosed his knowledge of his identity.
The alpha gave Shane’s cheek two light slaps with his heavy hand and withdrew it, leaving Shane stunned as he began to walk away.
“I see you there. You walked out of the same meeting I did, Hollander.”
“Who are you?” Shane asked before the man could get too far away. He hadn't noticed the two or three hesitant steps he'd taken toward the man.
“Rozanov.”
[...]
The alpha waited for Shane to enter the meeting and went in afterward. He found out it hadn’t started yet because Rozanov wasn’t there. He also found out that the man was going to put a lot of money into the Metros, a lot of money into him, and Shane had kind of ruined his investment. Even though he knew rationally that it wasn’t his fault, his omega squirmed and whined at the thought of having disappointed that alpha. Despite the horrible thing he’d said minutes ago, Shane wanted to please him.
As expected, the meeting was exactly the same as all the others he’d been forced to attend over the past few days. Shane didn’t even understand why his presence was required, it wasn’t as if any of those alphas were going to bother listening to anything he had to say.
Shane spent the meeting trying, and he was sure he was failing, to glance at Rozanov discreetly. Ilya, was the name given to him on a paper from the stack his mother was holding. Ilya Rozanov had said something disgusting to him, and his omega had completely melted, clearly smitten by his scent. The omega had never felt anything like this before. His alpha friends were extremely dear to his omega. If they weren’t, Shane wouldn’t even let them get close. But to feel this urgency to please? To allow touches? He felt a little pathetic.
Jackie’s voice echoed in his head, hilariously accompanied by a baby’s grunts in the background, scolding him. You’re in a vulnerable place and you’ll cling to any genuine show of affection, Shane, she was saying, your omega is starved for alpha affection. In the scene playing out in his head, Shane buried his face in Jackie’s baby’s sweet-smelling belly so he wouldn’t have to face her in his embarrassment. Because maybe it was true.
When the meeting was over, he told his mother she could go ahead. He didn’t know what she was thinking, since every conversation they’d had had ended in an argument, but he missed her affection. Spending more time with her, especially after a meeting like that, would only reinforce his feeling that he’d permanently ruined everything for everyone around him.
Shane watched her car drive away and another pull up in front of him before he had a chance to move. The black rear windows of the expensive car slowly rolled down, and Ilya Rozanov’s intense eyes stared at him as he stood there in the parking lot.
“Come in.” The command was so unexpected that Shane didn’t react for a moment. That alpha was such an alpha. The most textbook example he’d seen in a long time. Rude, ill-mannered, and absolutely certain that all his orders would be obeyed without question.
Shane was too embarrassed to say he didn’t want to ask questions. The omega wanted to say ok and do whatever he was told, because that way he wouldn’t have to think, make decisions, or argue, and he wouldn’t feel so overwhelmed and on the verge of tears all the time.
That impulse startled him. He had never been so submissive before, not even to his parents, but suddenly he found himself wanting to offer his neck gland to an alpha with whom he had exchanged only three or four words, and who had said nothing but rude things to him.
“Have you lost your mind?” He only realized he’d said it out loud when the alpha let out a chuckle. The tall, blond man got out of the car and left the door open, making room for Shane to get in.
“Come on, Hollander, I want to buy you lunch. You’re way too skinny.” Rozanov undid the single button on his black suit, his eyes sweeping over Shane with that same look the omega hadn’t been able to place before. “Omegas like you need to eat well so you don’t suffer from vitamin deficiencies when you’re pregnant.”
“What’s your problem?” Shane exploded. “You’ve known me for an hour and you’ve already said every disgusting thing an omega like me could possibly hear. I bet you were happy about my injury, weren’t you, investor? Just imagine having an omega on your team—how absurd!”
Shane ran his hands through his hair and took a few steps back, feeling the urge to bare his fangs and growl, but he didn’t. He was far too civilized for that.
“Hollander, that’s not it at all.” The alpha mimicked his footsteps, but moving forward, closing in.
“So what’s the deal? My world is falling apart, I don’t have any plans for the future, and the last thing I need right now is some asshole alpha telling me I’m only good for having babies!”
His breathing was all over the place, and his eyes were wet again. God, he wanted so badly to let those stupid tears fall, but he wasn’t going to cry in front of anyone.
“I only made plans to invest in the Metros because of you. You’re the best player in the league, Hollander. But you’re right, omegas are meant to have babies. That doesn’t mean you can’t have both—one thing doesn’t rule out the other.” You are the best. The alpha used that verb tense, in the present. Shane softened a little at that. He noticed the man’s soothing demeanor, as if he were dealing with a wounded and frightened animal, and Shane reluctantly accepted the alpha’s traditional nature. These rich men never learned that omegas could do anything other than marry and have children, and even if they accepted that, they didn’t seem willing to let go of the other part. Anyway, it’s not like Shane was going to see him again. After today, that alpha would be the problem of some poor russian omega who would have to give him a bunch of kids. Shane felt sorry for that person in advance. Needy or not, submissive omega or not, overwhelmed scent or not, that wasn’t the life he wanted, and those weren’t the people he wanted to be around. “I’m trying to take care of you. Now get in the car, omega, we’re going to lunch.”
[...]
A few days earlier, Russia.
Ilya couldn't take his eyes off the news on the sports channel. He had turned on the TV without really meaning to, exhausted from work and curious.
Shane Hollander was facing a forced retirement from hockey. The NHL’s greatest player was being forced to leave the ice for good because of an injury. Ilya was certain that his world had come to an end, and surely the world of thousands of fans as well.
Ilya’s world was also shaken a bit by the news. His trip to Canada had been postponed many times in recent weeks, and now it was too late. He’d gone through a lot of trouble trying to convince everyone that it was a good idea to sponsor the Voyageurs for the next few seasons, given how disappointing Boston was becoming. Hollander was his strongest selling point, and now he’d lost him.
The growl that tore through his throat was too loud for him to hold back, and his fingers were quick to fling the remote across the room. Now he had to continue the negotiations and pray that the team wouldn’t fall apart without Hollander and ruin his reputation.
Hockey was the only thing Ilya still truly loved, but that love was imposed on him conditionally: you can pretend to like hockey as long as it keeps bringing money to the Bratva. He had chosen the Bears to sponsor when he was still a teenager, and had been trying for years to redirect the organization’s support elsewhere. Finally, when he succeeded, Hollander turned around and did this to him.
Ironically, the spoiled whim of the rebellious teenage Ilya, who had been prevented from pursuing his dream, was now one of the best cover stories and a legitimate source of income for money laundering by his family’s organization outside Russia.
His father was on his deathbed, and his older brother was a disgrace. Everything rested on his shoulders, and if he made a mistake, even the slightest slip-up, he’d have guns pointed at his head. Literally.
This couldn't just be left like that. Ilya saw Hollander's accident, it was a horrible hit, but he couldn't believe it was enough to end the other guy's playing career for good.
Another frustrated growl escaped his lips as he opened the team files, looking for Hollander’s record. Omega, Ilya stared at the designation with curiosity. That was something kept hidden from the public; Hollander was a beta, for those who wanted to know.
He couldn't help but wonder if the injury had become a convenient excuse to get rid of Hollander because of his subgenre. Which was a huge mistake, because Ilya could have sworn that the last player to even come close to Hollander had died before he was even born.
Ilya closed the file and let the reporter’s voice fill his ears as he thought. He couldn’t just give up. He would go to Canada tomorrow and get an answer, and if the reason they’d pulled Hollander off the ice was anything other than I can’t even walk, he would fix it.