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It started, as most things did in the Raider’s locker room, with a joke. Rozanov had been staring at his phone before the game, the way he always did before a Montreal game: his gold cross between his grinning lips, one hand running through his golden curls non-stop, the other clutching his phone like a fucking lifeline between heaven and whatever personal hell Roz lived in the rest of the time. Cliff knew the guy had bad days – not like the bad days the rest of them had, but really truly can’t get out of bed bad days – but for the last several years none of those kind of bad days happened when the team was in Montreal to play the Metros. Or when the Metros where in town to play the Raiders. And by now everyone knew the reason was Roz’s extremely elusive but long-term situationship, Jane.
“What’s it going to take for you to lock Jane down, Captain?” Connors called out. The locker room quieted down. Rozanov looked up, startled. He let the chain fall from his mouth.
“Yeah man,” Vic added. “You’ve been down bad for her for literal years. What does she need to do to get you to marry her?”
Rozanov scoffed at that. “Maybe problem is me, you idiots think of that?”
“I don’t know, man, is it you? Stanley Cup winner and captain of the Boston Raiders isn’t good enough for Montreal Jane?”
At that, Rozanov laughed. Like actually fucking laughed. The rest of the guys looked at each other, confused.
“My Jane is not swayed by only one Stanley Cup,” Rozanov said, grinning.
“Seriously?” Cliff asked. “She won’t be your wife until you have more than one Stanley Cup? That’s…” Cliff thought about what word he could say that wouldn't cause Rozanov’s fist to violently interact with Cliff’s face. “Rude.”
Rozanov scowled then. “You think I ask Jane to by my wife? No, no, I would be wife. I stay home with babies and dogs and learn to drink white wine at 11 AM while my very successful Jane is being rich and famous on tv at night.” He sighed. “But sad Russian hockey players cannot give Jane anything she does not already have.”
For as much as it was said like a joke, just another one of Rozanov’s clever chirps at his own expense, Cliff thought Rozanov might actually be sad about this. He thought for a second.
“Okay, so we’ll pitch in,” he said.
Rozanov looked confused for a moment. “What?”
“Yeah, like the team. All of us. We’ll pitch in and help you get whatever it is Jane needs, so she can wife you up.”
“You mean like a dowry?” Connors asked. Some of the other guys talked among themselves.
“What is this, dow-ry?” Rozanov asked, his Russian accent manhandling the word.
“It means like, uh, bride price?” Connors said, sounding maybe less than 100% convinced that this conversation wasn’t going to end in bloodshed. “Cows, goats, gold bracelets, that kind of thing.”
Rozanov laughed. “My Jane cannot be bought. Also has no need for livestock. Gold bracelets, maybe, but she has fancy gold watches she doesn’t wear so probably not.”
Okay, the chick has money, Cliff thought. “What about a car?”
Rozanov shook his head, but was still smiling. “No, no, boring Canadian only drives boring Canadian car. Well, is British, but… good in the snow.”
“We could buy her a house?” Vic suggested. But Rozanov shook his head again.
“Jane has condo in Montreal, commercial building, even fancy house on the lake.”
“Damn, girl, get it,” Carmy said appreciatively. “She does sound too good for you, Cap.”
“Yes, very much too good for me. But also very bad for me too,” Rozanov said with an exaggerated wink.
The team groaned as one. Years of Rozanov’s sex jokes, lewd comments, hickeys, and even scratches down his back after some of their particularly contentious Montreal games had made it clear to everyone that Jane was a wildcat in the sack.
“We’re not taking no for an answer, boys!” Seb declared. “Cap needs to get locked down, and we’re going to figure out how!” A cheer went up at that.
Rozanov looked, for just a moment, genuinely touched. But his Captain face came back on a second later. “You want to help me? You go out there tonight and win! You score every point thinking about Jane crying on my cock, is so good Captain, you were so hot with your many goals and your manly Boston teammates slamming that fucker Comeau into the boards.”
The rest of the guys rallied then, slapping each other on the backs and grabbing their sticks. “For Jane!” they yelled. Rozanov picked up his phone again and texted something, that Jane grin back on his face.
“I’m serious about this,” Cliff said, leaning over Vic to talk to Connors.
Vicky slapped him on the back. “I’m in,” he said. Connors nodded too.
Good. At least now they could start working on a plan.
The second part of it happened directly after the game. The three of them were headed out together because Rozanov had been pulled back at the last minute to go over something with Coach. Cliff had his bag slung over his shoulder; Vic and Connors were both carrying theirs in one hand and happened to have their water bottles in their other hands (hydration is important, okay?) so it worked out that Cliff opened the door for them. Which is why they walked straight out into the lot but Cliff was at a bit of an angle, so he was looking right at a startled Shane Hollander just as Connors said, “Wow, Montreal Jane, can you believe it?”
So Cliff saw Shane Hollander go pale and mutter, “What?”
Cliff let the door shut behind them. Vic and Connors turned around at the sound of the door closing, saw that Cliff had stopped moving, then saw that Cliff was standing directly in front of Shane fucking Hollander, Captain of the Montreal Metros, who also just happened to be waiting outside of the visiting players exit for some fucking reason.
“Jane,” Cliff said.
In his defense, he didn’t mean it as an accusation. He meant it as a clarification. Hollander had asked, Cliff was just repeating the topic of conversation. He wasn’t trying to, you know, say something important.
“Oh god,” Hollander said. He dropped his bag. “Oh fuck.”
Cliff would admit later that it took him almost three seconds to put Hollander’s reaction together with Montreal Jane to get Montreal Shane. He wobbled, unsteady on his feet, as years of Rozanov’s comments about his mysterious girl collided with the image of Captain Shane Hollander, two time Stanley Cup winner, Golden Boy of Canada, who’d been in a documentary about a fucking lake cottage and drove a Range Rover and
“Oh fuck,” Cliff said.
“How did…” Shane’s voice trailed off. He stared at Cliff, his lips open a little bit, like he’d meant to say more but the words had turned to dust and drifted away.
“Uh, guys what’s happening here?” Vicky asked.
“Jane,” Cliff said again. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. No other words were leaving his mouth.
“Oh fuck,” Connors said, clearly having just put it all together. Cliff couldn’t blame him, really. It was a lot to take in.
“You can’t… please,” Hollander said quietly. “Please.” Cliff looked at this man with his black hair, tanned skin, and beautiful features – the man voted sexiest MHL player a couple of years in a row – and just for a second thought yeah I get it.
He immediately resolved to never, ever, tell Roz about that thought.
“What’s happening right now?” Vic asked, looking between them all. “Why is Shane Holl- oh, fuck.”
Well, that was all of them then. They were on the same page now at least.
And then the door opened with a loud clang, and Rozanov stepped outside.
He looked at his team, saw they were staring at the space next to the door, then turned and saw Shane Hollander standing there, wide eyed like a frightened deer on a highway.
“Hollander?” he asked gently.
“No, nope, no,” Hollander said suddenly, shaking his head. He grabbed his bag and walked off into the dark parking lot.
“Hollander, wait!” Rozanov called after him. He glared at the other Raiders.
“No idea, man,” Connors said helpfully.
Cliff just shrugged.
“Fuck,” Rozanov said, then jogged after Hollander.
“We need to go like right fucking now,” Vic said quietly. As a group they turned and walked quickly away, in the opposite direction from whatever conversation was happening behind them.
By the time they’d gotten around the building (the long way, but no one even mentioned the idea of heading back to get out of the lot through the main exit, not when their Captain and his previously secret long time gay hookup turned possible husband material might be having a very private conversation in public right about now) twenty minutes later, they had the third thing sorted out: the Raiders group chat.
Marly removed Rozy from the chat
Marly: LISTEN UP FUCKERS EMERGENCY ROLL CALL GET OFF YOUR ASSES, LEAVE THE CLUB, TELL YOUR WIVES YOU LOVE THEM WE’RE GOING TO WAR
Seb: wtf you removed cap?
Seb added Rozy to the chat
Con removed Rozy from the chat
Con: for cap’s own good and your lives do not add him back
Vic: trust
Seb: ??
Marly: FIRST STEP WHO HERE HAS A PROBLEM IF A HOCKEY PLAYER IS GAY?
Con: Marly, no
Carmy: who’s gar?
Carmy: gay?
Vic: doesn’t matter you got a problem with it?
Carmy: fuck you no I don’t
Seb: is cap gay?
Koslov (respectfully): no
Fel: how do you know?
Koslov (respectfully): goalie eyes, also pap pictures
Vic: fair
Vic: and this is not about cap
Marly: ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION
Con: jesus Marly stop with the all caps
Marly: NO
Vic: seriously before we can tell you something important, any of you fuckers gonna be homophobic?
Fel: no
Seb: no
Big Ivan: no but Russia
Cady: no
Cady: also why Russia?
Big Ivan: gay is very bad in Russia
Big Ivan: if I am seen being okay with gay in public I can’t go home again
Seb: that’s fucked up man
Big Ivan: yes
Mira: same gay ok but not ok at home
Vic: can we trust you guys to keep secret?
Big Ivan: yes
Seb: yes
Fel: yes
Mira: yes but if this is what I think this is I can’t be in the chat
Mira: sorry cap
Vic removed Mira from the chat
Con: anyone else?
Koslov (respectfully): I’m good
Marly: LISTEN UP FUCKERS WE HAVE NEWS ABOUT JANE
Seb: for real, cap’s jane?
Fel: is Jane ok?
Seb: is cap ok?
Koslov (respectfully): you finally figured it out?
Con: what the fuck man you knew?
Koslov (respectfully): 3 years now
Seb: fuck you Kos (respectfully)
Fel: no way you knew
Big Ivan: goalie eyes
Vic: goalie eyes
Con: goalie eyes
Marly: WE KNOW WHO JANE IS AND JANE IS A MAN ANYONE GOT A FUCKING PROBLEM WITH THAT?
Vic: I’m really gonna need you to calm down dude I’m sitting right next to you
Seb: cap’s gay?
Con: I think bisexual
Vic: walked in on him fucking a woman too many times to be fake
Koslov (respectfully): his boyfriend is gay though
Seb: how do you know?
Koslov (respectfully): boyfriend’s goalie told me
Seb: oh fuck Jane is a player
Fel: oh fuck
Big Ivan: !!?????!!?!?!?
Vic: we’re not sharing his name in the chat
Con: we’re getting the hotel ballroom for a team meeting tomorrow morning, 7 AM
Marly: THIS IS MANDATORY BITCHES
Vic: for fuck sake Marly I’m taking your phone if you don’t chill the fuck out
Marly: THIS IS FOR CAP THERE IS NO CHILL
Con: we’re going ahead with the dowry plan
Fel: what
Seb: what?
Vic: everyone look at your pocketbooks, check your bank balances, talk to your wives and girlfriends
Vic: we need a proposal by 7 AM
Seb: are we buying cap’s boyfriend
Con: no
Vic: yes
Marly: WE ARE CONVINCING CAP’S BOYFRIEND TO WIFE HIM UP WITH A VARIETY OF CASH AND PRIZES
Seb: seriously?
Vic: god dammit Marly give me your phone
Marly: NEVER
Con: and now they’re wrestling in the hotel lobby
When Shane Hollander’s alarm went off the next morning, he wriggled his way out from underneath his very warm and very heavy… guy he fucked occasionally? That he might also be desperately in love with? Who somehow managed to convince Shane to come back to his hotel room even though he was 99% sure some of the Raiders had figured out their (relationship? no Rozanov didn’t want a relationship) the night before.
Shane hadn’t told Rozanov that, though. As much as the idea terrified him, the thought that he might not get another night with the Russian menace scared him a little bit more.
So he’d let himself be coaxed back to the hotel (only panicking a little when he remembered that it was full of Raiders and their coaching staff), let Rozanov strip him naked and whisper reassuring things to him while he planted kisses all over Shane’s skin, let Rozanov fuck him (twice), let himself relax enough to actually shout Rozanov’s name out loud the second time he came, and finally, for the first and probably last time, let himself fall asleep tangled in the other man’s arms.
If this is how it ended, Shane thought, at least they went out with a bang.
Turning off his alarm, Shane saw the texts.
Unknown number (1): We know about you and Roz. Come to ballroom A at 7:30 AM.
Unknown number (2): Do not bring Roz.
Unknown number (1): This is not negotiable.
Unknown number (3): SERIOUSLY HOLLANDER DON’T FUCKING BRING HIM
Unknown number (2): jesus fuck again with the all caps
It might have been the panic attack that woke Rozanov up.
Looking back on it, Shane thought, that’s most likely what it was. He wasn’t for sure sure, he just knew that at some point, Rozanov’s warm voice was asking him to breathe, and Shane thought that was a probably a good idea.
Giving Rozanov his phone was possibly not a good idea, but in that moment where Shane’s brain could barely handle making his own lungs work, silently handing it over seemed like the best way to answer the questions he was vaguely aware Rozanov was asking.
Then there was swearing, in Russian. A lot of swearing in Russian.
“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh, no, moy lyubov, it not your fault,” Rozanov was saying then, nuzzling Shane’s ear.
It felt nice.
“I go instead,” Rozanov added. “You stay here, I find out what these fuckers want, yes? You stay safe.”
Shane shook his head. “No, you can’t. They don’t know anything, not for sure, but if you go down there they will.”
“So?” Rozanov pulled back just enough to look Shane in the eyes.
“But your career,” Shane said. “Russia,” he added, because he knew now, had learned in the years since Sochi, exactly what that meant.
“So?” Rozanov said again. He shrugged a little. “I will not let anyone hurt you, Hollander.”
Shane could feel his eyes getting moist. Surely, Rozanov hadn’t meant it like that, hadn’t meant to casually suggest he would throw away hockey and his chance to go home again for Shane Hollander.
He wanted to ask.
He couldn’t.
Instead he nodded gratefully and let himself be pulled back into Rozanov’s arms.
“I need to tell you something,” Shane whispered.
“I think I probably do too,” Rozanov mumbled into Shane’s neck. “I’m scared though.”
“Me too,” Shane sighed. “But it’s important.”
“Yes.” He could feel Rozanov nod his head against Shane’s shoulder. He heard the other man sniff loudly, like he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.
Of course, he’s already realized it’s his teammates, Shane thought. No wonder he cares so much.
“I think they figured it out last night,” Shane said.
“What?” Rozanov said, pulling back quickly. He stared at Shane with a mix of emotions on his face that Shane couldn’t read.
“Marleau, St. Simon, and Connors,” Shane said. “Last night, in the parking lot. I think that’s who this is.” Please don’t let it be three other random people who’ve figured out our biggest secret, he thought to himself.
“That’s what you wanted to say to me?” Rozanov looks shocked at that, and Shane runs through their conversation again on 2x speed, trying to figure out what else his boyfriend – no definitely not boyfriend just uh guy he was fucking? lover? ew no gross – could have been expecting.
Nope, Shane had no idea.
“Yes?” he said weakly.
“Of course,” Rozanov mumbled. “Get dressed, Hollander. I need much more coffee before this day begins.”
A shower, clean clothes, a soy latte from the Timmy’s down the street (Rozanov ate two of their gross breakfast sandwiches and washed it down with a depth charge, which Timmy’s called something else but was basically black coffee with an espresso shot dropped into it), and two near-panic attacks later, Shane and Rozanov found themselves outside of ballroom A in the Raiders’ hotel.
“Ready?” Rozanov asked.
“Not at all,” Shane admitted, but he opened the door anyways.
He was expecting three of the Raiders to be seated at a conference table. He expected vague threats. He expected blackmail, maybe. They’d want money, or for Shane to throw a game? He expected menacing.
He did not expect the absolute chaos of half the Boston Raiders arguing over a printer.
They had printouts.
They had scotch tape.
They had a fucking white board.
Marleau was standing next to the white board with two different colored markers in his hand, gesturing wildly at their goalie, who was shaking his head while also trying to shove a handful of pages at the other man.
Someone else (Feller? Shane thought) was arguing about… vacation properties? with Connors, who apparently had some deeply held beliefs on the subject.
Someone had written “DOWRY” on the white board in big letters, and then a bunch of other things Shane couldn’t read from the other side of the room.
He felt Rozanov step into behind him, heard the door click shut.
“Okay you fuckers listen the fuck up!” Rozanov roared.
The room fell silent as the assembled Raiders turned to toward them.
“You’re going to tell me what the fuck this is right the fuck now!” Rozanov added.
“Told you he was gonna bring him,” Vic said.
“So it’s okay when Cap is all caps but not me?” Marleau said.
“All caps is never okay,” Connors said, shaking his head.
“Start fucking talking!” Rozanov yelled.
“Okay, okay, chill man,” Marleau said. “You and your boy take a seat over here,” he pointed at a couple of chairs close to the white board. “We put together a, uh, presentation.”
“You made a presentation on how you’re gonna blackmail us?” Shane said with a huff. “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Oh no, man, you got the wrong idea!” Vic said. He seemed genuinely surprised.
“This is not blackmail?” Rozanov asked. He didn’t sound convinced.
“No!” several of his teammates said at once.
“This is, how you say, intervention?” Rozanov asked. “You want to, uh, stop us from being together?”
“No, man,” Marleau said gently. “We’re here to convince Hollander to wife you up.”
“What?” Shane said in a strangled voice.
“Can we all just sit?” one of the guys asked. Sebbin, Shane thought, though his brain didn’t feel completely inside of his head at the moment. Like part of him was done with this whole ridiculous life and had simply started floating away.
He let Rozanov put one hand on his back and guide him over to a chair, and fuck if it didn’t feel good not to be standing anymore.
“You get get five minutes to explain yourselves,” Rozanov said menacingly, “and if you make him upset I will murder you all then make you do bag skates until your legs fall off.”
“Yes, cap,” most of the guys said.
“Okay, first off, Hollander, glad you could make it man,” Marleau said.
Shane nodded, because what else was he going to do? He might be going insane at the sheer fucking casualness of Marleau’s attitude. This might be what insane feels like.
“So, a little back story: we know our cap has been head over heels for his Montreal Jane for years now,” Connors said.
“What?” Shane said, his voice very small.
“It’s not…” Rozanov said. He looked at Shane. “Whatever, keep going.”
“Yeah, he stares at his phone and gets heart eyes,” St. Simon said.
“Since at least 2012,” Marleau added, nodding as if this was helpful information.
“Longer than that,” Koslov said.
“How the fuck do you know?” Shane whispered.
“Goalie eyes,” Koslov said. Right, yes, Koslov was their goalie, Shane knew that. Or at least the other version of Shane, the sane one who knew hockey stats and had memorized the Raiders lineup long ago, knew that. This Shane had probably was probably already deceased and his ghost was haunting his body, unable to move on until he’d suffered through whatever purgatory this was.
“We met in 2008,” Rozanov said. As if it cost him nothing to admit.
Like everyone had already agreed about the rest of it and he was just correcting a slightly misinterpreted fact.
“Okay, good job Roz, locking that down early,” Sebbins said, nodding.
“The Shane Hollander,” Carmicheal added, whistling.
“Wow, eight years, okay,” St. Simon said. “So we were definitely right to think this is serious.”
“Uh, no,” Shane said, blushing. “Rozanov doesn’t… I mean, we’re not… I’m just… You know. I’m just sex. After games.”
He looked down at his hands.
“I mean, is that true though, Rozy?” Marleau asked.
Yes, of course, he is just boring Canadian I give my big Russian dick to in between hundreds of others, Shane expected him to say.
“No,” is what Rozanov quietly said instead. “I love him.”
The rest of the Raiders had the audacity to fucking cheer at that.
Fuckers.
Shane had no idea what to say next. Not out loud, anyway. But somehow he managed to say, in a small squeaky voice, “You love me?”
Rozanov sighed. “Yes, Shane. I love you.”
The words flowed out Shane then, like a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in until it was about to choke him. “Oh thank god, I love you too, I love you so much Ilya, so much it fucking killed me.” Then there was Rozan- Ilya’s soft lips on his own, and Shane’s brain was back in his skull and his heart was in his chest and everything was better.
“All right, settle down!” someone was yelling. “This is great news, cap, happy for you, but we need to wrap this up so we can eat and get on the bus.”
Shane wiped the tears from his eyes. Ilya was still staring at him, soft and pleased. God, he was so beautiful.
“Now what we’ve done is put together a list of contributions we’re willing to make to convince you to marry our Captain,” Connors was saying.
“What?” Shane asked. He felt like he was asking this too often, but there was just so many impossible things happening at once he really was struggling to keep them all straight.
“What the fuck, Marly, that was joking!” Ilya said.
“Please tell me what the fuck is happening right now?” Shane asked, as calmly as he could.
“Woo, Hollander swears,” Sebbin said. “Who knew?”
“Man you’ve seen Cap’s back after we play Montreal, we all knew his Jane was a freak,” Marleau said. “Respectfully,” he added quickly.
“Can I just ask, are you gay Cap?” Carmichael didn’t look disgusted by it, just confused.
“No, am bisexual,” Ilya admitted. “Shane is gay.”
“I am not!” Shane stuttered. Except… maybe he was?
“You are,” Koslov said. “Your goalie said.”
“How the fuck does Mitty know?” Shane asked.
“Goalie eyes,” several of the Raiders said at once, as if that explained, and okay, maybe it did.
Shane knew the way he looked at Ilya whenever they were on the ice together. If anyone was going to notice, it was going to be a goalie. Or in this case, at least two goalies.
Fuck, maybe every goalie in the league knew Shane’s sexual preferences before he did? That was a nauseating thought.
Ilya put one of his hands on top of Shane’s thigh, and squeezed gently.
“Okay so you know Shane is super gay, you will keep this to yourselves yes?”
“Fuck you I’m just regular gay,” Shane said, as the Raiders all chimed in to swear a vow of silence.
“I know, sweetheart,” Ilya said softly.
“Fuck, I just told you I was gay,” Shane said, quieter this time.
“Is okay, Shane, I already kind of knew,” Ilya said, a teasing smile on his face.
“I told your team I was gay,” Shane said.
“Yes, but I think also this they have figured out.” Ilya waived toward the white board. “They have presentation.”
“Right, we really got to hurry through this,” Marleau said, looking at his watch. “We all put something into the pot. Con has a cabin in Vermont, which is about halfway between Boston and Montreal. Vicky has some stocks, Carmy put in a condo in Florida, Seb has got-”
“Wait, stop,” Shane said. “I hate to keep saying this but, what? Like what is actually happening here.”
Ivonov spoke up first. “You will not marry Cap because he has only one Cup. We make, what you call, bride price? We pay, yes, you marry our Captain, he has big happiness, we win many games, no more bag skates forever, thank you.”
Ilya broke first. “You are all fucking idiots,” Ilya laughed. “I love you all but you are all idiots.”
“You want to pay me to marry your Captain?” Shane said. “Me, the Captain of the Monteal Metros, a gay man, married to the Captain of the Boston Raiders? You want to actually pay to make this happen.”
“Yes,” Marleau said. Several of the other guys nodded.
“Okay, Ilya’s right, you’re all idiots.” Shane waved his hands. “We’re not even… boyfriends, and you want us married? I give up.”
“I think we are boyfriends now, sweetheart,” Ilya purred.
“Fuck you can’t say that to me and not fuck me immediately,” Shane said, twisting toward him.
Right before he realized they were still in a hotel ballroom with half the Boston Raiders.
“Cap can get it,” Carmichael said, visibly impressed.
“Yes, yes, we all know Jane is wild for me,” Ilya said with a grin. “You have seen the proof in the locker room. Do not need financial incentives,” he added. “Is very sweet, but when I propose to Shane I do not need to pay him to say yes.”
“You’re gonna propose to me?” Shane said. His dick was definitely hard now.
Ilya shrugged. “I mean, someday.”
“You need citizenship,” Ivanov said. “Russia is no good for this type of love. Mira could not be here even. He supports you but could not risk even being in the chat. His mama is sick,” Ivanov added, as if that explained it, and yeah, it did. “He must go home again for her.”
Ilya nodded. “I know, I know. I have been thinking about marrying my friend Svetlana, she has American citizenship. Would just be friends, but she would do it I think.”
“You just said you wanted to marry me,” Shane said.
“Yes, but that is for love. Svetlana is for not being deported.”
“Fuck you, you can marry me and not be deported,” Shane said angrily. “It’s legal in Canada.”
“It’s legal here too,” St. Simon said. “We got it last year.”
“We checked,” Sebbins added.
“You would do this?” Ilya asked.
“Yeah of course,” Shane said, softening.
“You can also just apply based on your work,” Carmichael said. “We checked that too. Your, uh, extraordinary abilities. It’s a thing.”
“Okay,” Ilya said. “I do this.”
“And you don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane said.
“I don’t marry Svetlana,” Ilya agreed. “And you don’t need my team to pay you to marry me. Would probably be illegal anyway.”
Shane grinned. “No, asshole, I don’t need your team to pay me to marry you. I do want a nice proposal though.”
“Oh yes, very romantic. I will put candles all over the dock at your stupid lake mansion, get down on one knee, very boring. You will love it.”
“How do you even know about my cottage?” Shane asked. “Wait did you watch that documentary?” He was grinning now.
Ilya shifted in his seat and rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay, I watch your boring documentary. It helps me fall asleep.”
“Oh god the chirping,” Connors said. “I can’t unsee it now.”
“Yes, is foreplay,” Koslov said.
“How the fuck do you- you know what, never mind,” Shane said. “Fucking goalies.”
“Does this mean we convinced you?” Marleau said. “Cause I have some charts, too.”
“Yes, Marly, he is very convinced, you have wooed Shane Hollander with your white board and your print outs. Now he will sit on my dick before team bus leaves and make pretty sounds for your Captain.”
“Oh my god, shut up!” Shane yelled, but he smiled at Ilya all the same. He stood up. “Thank you, for being so weird about this,” he told the rest of the Raiders. “I’m going to be embarrassed for three to five business days but yeah, thank you.”
Ilya stood too. “You are worst and best team,” he said. “I love you all.”
“Yeah, Cap, get it,” Sebbin said. Carmichael shoved him.
“Yeah, we’ll uh, get everything cleaned up and get out of your hair. You want us to save you breakfast?”
“Is okay,” Ilya said, pulling Shane close. “I know what I want to eat.” He smiled again, wide and unguarded.
“You’re objectively terrible,” Shane said.
“You love me,” Ilya cooed, putting his hands in Shane’s hair.
“Fuck, I really do, Ilya,” Shane said, sighing. “Bed?”
“Yes, right now,” Ilya agreed.
Shane waved at the other guys as he walked toward the door. Ilya blew them a kiss, then hurried to catch up, slapping Shane on the ass as they left the room.
“I think that went pretty well,” Marly said. “Time for breakfast!”
The rest of the guys cheered.