Chapter Text
Shane stared at the quarter-sized brown stain on the floorboard by his brakes, wondering vaguely how it got there given he’d just had his nice, practical, boring Land Rover detailed. The stain was one of five things he could see, something to focus on to regulate his breathing before beginning the two-hour drive back to Ottawa.
He’d driven into Montreal the day before. Just a quick early June trip to check on his Brossard house and meet with Metros management before wedding planning took up his time and brain space. Now that both Ottawa and Montreal were out of the playoffs—Ottawa at the hands of Scott Hunter and Montreal at the hands of Ottawa—he and Ilya both had plenty of time on their hands. Shane had wanted to head to the cottage for his yearly reset, but between his obligatory contract negotiations with Montreal, his more-than-likely free agency and signing with Ottawa, the upcoming wedding to be held in Ilya’s backyard, and Ilya’s desire to actually spend non-working time with his teammates now that he and Shane were out, there simply wasn’t enough time. And the cottage was no place for a honeymoon.
He’d spent the evening before with the Pike family. Ostensibly, it was to spend time with Hayden and JJ. On this occasion; however, the Pike ladies proved to be much better company. He and JJ had said the air was cleared, but JJ’s look of distrust showed a latent doubt that Shane hadn’t actually tripped on purpose. While Shane, as usual, attempted to school his face into his practiced friend mask, a looser version of his media mask, he was sure he had sent JJ his own look of betrayal at some point.
Hayden had treated the visit as business-as-usual, offering ginger ale and attempting to discuss the Conference Finals between New York and Detroit. Then, the surprise matchup of Utah and Anaheim in the Western finals. Finally, he tried the upcoming Seattle expansion draft. But every time Shane looked him in the eye, he was reminded of the upcoming meeting with Metros management and the reason why his contract renewal hadn’t been completed the second they were out of the playoffs. That reason being Hayden’s carelessness when creating Fanmails.
Ilya had forgiven Hayden immediately. Had been relieved to shine their love for the world to see. So Shane had ignored the nightmares of Ilya being hauled back to Russia and murdered. Ilya wanted Hayden to remain his friend. So what right did Shane, who only risked his career and hadn’t dealt with Hayden’s insults to his face, have to say differently?
So Shane allowed himself to be dragged off to play Pretty Pretty Princess with the Pike girls, with Jackie taking pictures of him wearing the crown at the end. Shane was amused to see the construction paper pink and purple rings to replace the plastic versions that now lived in Ottawa.
Arthur, as usual, was the best company though, curling up in Shane’s lap with his copy of Z is for Zamboni, content to fiddle with the dreaded black ring until poor Amber was forced to wear it. He’d read Arthur that book at bedtime before making his excuses to head back to his house to rest for the meeting tomorrow.
Now it was tomorrow, and his meeting was complete, and all that remained was a two-hour drive on Canada’s worst stretch of road before hopefully falling into Ilya’s arms in their hopefully quiet Ottawa house. Ilya had intended to have dinner with Troy the night before, so with all luck and a few orgasms, he would have several days reprieve from that headache.
Shane inhaled for four counts and exhaled for six.
Shane had wanted to tell Montreal to kick rocks. Ilya said he should just say that with some fucks thrown in (don’t be boring Shane!) However, he had a decade-long relationship with the Metros, and he had worked too hard to develop his polite reputation. So, with more than a little nudging from his mother, Shane had agreed to the meeting.
The offer was both a surprise and made all the sense in the world.
He understood where Montreal management was coming from. He and Farah had sat down with the GM (much cooler head than Coach) in the chilly air conditioned conference room, nursing glasses of ice water while discussing the basics. The outing was still fresh, the vitriol of the locker room raw and cutting, and the trip was an unfortunate coincidence still being talked about on podcasts (why though Man in the Crease, with darling Cinderellas Utah and Anaheim right there battling for the West?)
So their proposal was this: a one-year contract renewal with the same terms as before, same salary and preserved captaincy, and everyone would reassess at the end of next year. Comeau and Drapeau would just have to suck it up in the meantime. It would give Shane and Coach time to get a feel for the locker room once tempers had faded. Time to see if this situation was sustainable. If the team chemistry that had led to three cups was salvageable.
It was tempting. Perfectly reasonable. If not for the fact that Shane never wanted to step foot in the Metros locker room again, Shane would have signed it that second, and not just because Shane was desperate for the uncertainty to be over.
The Montreal GM had even said that Shane was perfectly welcome to test free agency and that the offer would be on the table until August 1st, to give Shane time to weigh his options and the Metros time to make necessary trades. Completely fair for them both.
Shane knew he would never be signing that contract.
Unrestricted Free Agent Shane Hollander. A phrase he never expected to put together. And then home to Ottawa.
Ilya wanted Ottawa, and therefore Shane wanted Ottawa. So Ottawa it would be.
Ottawa, with no captaincy and therefore no permission to discuss rule interpretations with the refs, likely a small pay cut to keep the salary cap open for Luca and Wyatt, and a reputation that went from best-hockey-player-in-the-world to captain’s husband. Ottawa, where he would have to fake friendship with Troy Barrett.
Ottawa, where he would wake with his husband every morning, the morning light making his curls sparkle. Where he would fall asleep with his husband’s arms available whenever he needed them and his husband’s sprawling body to act as a living weighted blanket. Where his husband was there to switch the big light with a soft lamp and pull him out of his head when the thoughts raced too quickly.
And as a bonus, his parents nearby to support them both and his dad to make chicken Parmesan.
Some trades are worth making.
Shane breathed deeply, pulled his vehicle in reverse, and backed away from the Metros offices for the last time.
When Shane pulled up to Ilya’s their Ottawa house, he noticed the extra vehicle in the driveway.
Troy fucking Barrett. Back again. He’d become a household staple in the time since the season ended. Shane tried so hard not to hate him. After all, it had been him who convinced Ilya to give Troy a chance.
However, Shane thought that chance meant playing together like teammates, not Troy coming out to Ilya and Ilya coming out right back, not Troy making himself a regular fixture on their couch, sometimes with his boyfriend in tow. Not Ilya making jokes about a threesome with the man who sneered and laughed across the ice while his best buddy Kent made jabs about Shane’s likely small dick, Shane taking it up the ass, and Shane not being able to see the puck because of his Japanese eyes.
Montreal and Barrett in the same day were too much.
Shane took another deep cleansing breath, opened the door, and tossed his keys in their bowl.
“Ilya, I’m back.” Shane walked to the plush leather couch, where Troy and Harris were cuddled on one end, facing Ilya. Suppressing a grimace, Shane plopped next to Ilya, making sure Ilya was between him and the cuddled couple.
“Moy loshad’ how was the meeting?” Ilya turned to kiss him, and Shane could have melted into the contact.
“My horse?”
“Yes, you travel like horse all day. Carry strong load. And soon you will be horse creature like us. How were Metro losers?”
Ilya should have known it was inappropriate for Shane to discuss his contract negotiations with a division rival with Centaurs employees in the room. Ilya was smarter than that. Perhaps he simply didn’t think of the meeting as having any consequence?
“It was fine.” Shane sighed. Then, leaning forward to whisper in Ilya’s ear, “Pozzhe,”
Ilya chuckled, “I think you mean pozdneye, solnyshko. You need to work on your Russian.”
Plan wedding. Sign new contract. Prepare for next season. Try to make nice with Troy Barrett. Shane would add “perfect his Russian” to the list.
“Secret languages don’t make friends,” Troy sing-songed from his place across the couch.
Shane bit down a reply about how he really didn’t want to be friends in the first place. Instead, he conjured his smile, a bit tighter and more media friendly than the one he had worn at the Pike house. “Sorry Barrett, but I can’t really talk about my contract negotiations with another team.”
Barrett whined, “But you aren’t really part of that team anymore. You’re our teammate now. And I bet you’ll talk about it with Ilya as soon as we leave.”
“Ilya is going to be my husband. Plus, I already told Metro management I would be discussing my contract offers with him. He signed an NDA and everything.”
That part was true. Almost immediately after their season ended and contract negotiations ramped up, Farah had drawn up an NDA for Ilya to sign. Ilya had glanced and signed quickly, considering it a mere formality. Shane would be a Centaur soon, and then they could discuss the team together all they pleased. But while Shane was going through the grueling process of extricating himself from Montreal without looking more disloyal than he did already, it helped to have concrete assurance Ilya wouldn’t blab secrets while giving Shane the support he needed.
Not that there had been much support. Just “Why does this bother you? You’ll be a Centaur in July. Tell Metros to go to hell.”
Ilya could get away with that. Could probably tell the media he said that and they would laugh. Shane had been taught from childhood that he couldn’t do the same. It would make him look weak when he was already perceived as such.
“Let my Shane keep his secrets Barrett. Tell us about new dogs while we wait for pizza.”
In a rare but welcome show of intimacy, Shane allowed his head to rest on Ilya’s shoulder as the conversation about a mama dog and her puppies washed over him. He barely paid attention. Ilya, sensing through the minimal contact Shane’s bone-deep exhaustion, let him stay quiet.
And when the pizza came, he managed two whole veggie slices. With real cheese. Oh how he had missed pizza, the tangy tomato sauce tickling his taste buds and the pull of the mozzarella. The slight crunch from the peppers. The crispy, buttery crust. It had probably been two years since he had last savored it.
For once, Ilya refrained from chirping him. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling that came from eating the same flavor as Troy, along with the suspicion that this flavor was only ordered because Troy was visiting. If they had been alone, it would have been a meat lover’s pie and a quip about bird food while Shane nibbled at the pizza, filled up on salad (he was trying to relax the diet, really), and pushed down nausea.
With the empty pizza boxes stacked by the kitchen garbage to be recycled, and with the setting sun casting a golden hue around the living room, Shane felt his obligations had been completed.
He’d attended the meeting.
He’d been given a reasonable, very tempting offer that he was going to be rejecting.
He’d driven home to Ilya.
He’d spoken with Troy fucking Barrett.
He’d eaten pizza.
He’d helped cleaned the mess.
All in all, a pretty good day.
So why was a headache twisting his temples until they felt like they would snap?
He had lost track of the conversation again when he heard Ilya say the word cottage.
“What was that about the cottage?”
Ilya turned to him. “I invited Troy and Harris to the cottage next time we are there. Maybe end of August before season starts?”
Shane suppressed another grimace. They were already having limited cottage time as is, what with the camps and the wedding and the honeymoon Ilya wanted in Ibiza. And now he was expected to share his limited recharge time.
Shane mustered up some energy and turned to Ilya. “I think I’m getting a headache. Going to turn in early, ok?” A statement phrased as a question, polite enough to satisfy the company while firm enough to tell his future husband his battery was depleted and he was absolutely done with this day.
Ilya looked at him with furrowed brows. Concerned? Upset? Finally, he sighed, “All right moya lyubov. Go sleep. I’ll check on you when we are done here.”
“Night Barrett, Harris.” Shane gave a half-hearted wave and got up from the couch, stretching his tense muscles. Shane’s shoulders slumped with relief as he headed to the kitchen for a water bottle, swallowed some headache relief tablets, grabbed his head wrap from the freezer, and slowly slumped into their bedroom for the night.
At last, Shane was free to change out of his business casual slacks and button up, pull on a wash-worn t-shirt that used to be Ilya’s, along with plaid boxers, and crawl into ice cold sheets, the frozen gel pack squeezing his pounding temples into numbness while muted happy conversation carried on outside the closed door.