J.J. turned his back to him, the rage obvious in the rise and fall of his shoulders. Shane folded his arms, and waited.
“Look,” J.J. finally said, in English. “I don’t think this is okay. It’s fucked up that you’re dating the captain of the team we’re probably going to be facing in the playoffs.”
Shane immediately got angry. He couldn’t help it; he’d had enough of people being grossed out by his relationship for one day. “Thanks for your fucking input. You think maybe that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you?”
“How did Hayden react at first? Thrilled for you, was he?”
Shane’s mouth dropped open. He tried to think of a defense, but in the end he just closed his mouth again.
J.J. huffed. “That’s what I thought.”
“Look. The less people who knew, the better. It’s nothing personal.”
“It fucking feels personal.”
“God, would you stop? I’ve been hiding this thing for eleven fucking years. It sucked, okay? I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt, but come on, man.”
Somewhere in the middle of Shane’s outburst, J.J. had gone very still. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Eleven years?” he said quietly.
“Um,” Shane said, “give or take.”
J.J. walked to the staircase that led to the second floor and sat down hard on the third step. “Eleven fucking years. The entire time I’ve known you.”
A lump formed in Shane’s throat. “We haven’t been, like, a couple that whole time.”
J.J.’s shoulders slumped. “Fucking hell, Hollander. Who are you?”
Shane took a chance, and sat next to him on the step. It was…cozy. “I’m your friend. And your teammate. And I fell in love with the most complicated person I could possibly fall in love with.”
“Ilya fucking Rozanov.” J.J. shook his head. “Jesus, Shane. Why?”
“Because…” Shane didn’t even know where to start. Finally he just said, “He makes me happy. I know it doesn’t make sense, but he’s it for me. We’re getting married.”
J.J.’s head whipped around to face him, eyes wide. “Married?”
“Uh, yeah,” Shane said nervously. “So, y’know. Watch for an invitation.”
“Fuck, Hollander. This is a lot.”
Shane nudged him. “I’m the same friend you’ve always had. And I’ll still be the same when I’m Ilya’s husband. I swear I’m normal.”
A long, tense silence fell between them. Then J.J. sighed and said, “No one who’s never heard of Cardi B is normal.”
Shane barked out a surprised laugh. “Fuck off. I’d heard the name, I just didn’t know any of his songs.”
“Her, you fucking dipshit.”
They leaned against each other and laughed, and it felt like things might be okay between them.
“I don’t want to be mad at you, Hollander.”
“I know. But you can be.” Shane smiled. “Until tomorrow. Then we’ve gotta play hockey.”
J.J. smiled back. “Deal.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
April
“The king is back!” Bood yelled as soon as Ilya entered the Centaurs locker room.
Everyone in the room clapped and whooped in excitement. Ilya felt himself blushing a bit.
“Thank you,” he said, meaning it. Shane had told him a bit about his own team’s reception of him earlier that morning, and it had been a lot more wary and awkward than this, which made the warm welcome back even more touching.
It felt so fucking good to be on the ice again. Sometimes he thought he was getting tired of this game, but being kept away from it for a week had made him realize how much he still loved it. Needed it.
“All right,” Coach yelled after he’d given everyone time to warm up. “Gather ’round.”
Everyone grouped around him at center ice, most taking a knee. Ilya stood at the back with Wyatt and Bood.
“What’s happening next week, Dykstra?” Coach asked.
Evan smiled. “Playoffs, Coach!”
“That’s right. Who here has been to the Stanley Cup playoffs before?”
An alarmingly small number of the guys raised their hands, including Ilya and Wyatt.
“To be honest,” Wyatt said, “I was mostly watching the playoffs, in Toronto.”
Coach waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter that we don’t have the playoff experience that most teams have. Some people will say that experience is the most important thing, but I think it’s heart. I think it has more to do with working together than it does with following a few leaders. I believe in this group. These past few months we’ve shown everyone how well this team works together.”
There were stick taps and murmurs of agreement.
“Bood,” Coach said, “what was the attendance at our last home game?”
Bood grinned. “Full house, Coach.”
“Who was the player of the week last week?”
“Wyatt fucking Hayes,” said Dykstra.
“Because we’ve got the best goalie in the league,” Coach confirmed.
“Aw, thanks,” said Wyatt.
“We’re going to be playing Montreal in the first round, and that’s going to be tough, no question. They’re the defending champions, and the number one ranked team in the league at the moment.”
And, Ilya added in his head, everyone is going to be gossiping about the two captains, which is going to be a huge distraction.
“We’ve beaten them before, and we can do it again,” Coach said. “Roz, you’re back on the line with Bood and Barrett. Let’s get to work.”
The coaches worked them hard all practice, and the whole team was exhausted by the time they were allowed to return to the locker room.
As he was getting undressed, Ilya decided to clear the air. There’d be enough going on over the next few weeks without having an elephant in the room to deal with.
“I want to say something,” he announced.
The room was dead silent.
“You read the post, probably, about me and Shane.” He glanced around the room, and saw a few nods. “So. Yes. We are together.”
There was a long, weird silence, and the Bood broke it by saying, “Figures.”
Ilya raised his eyebrows at him and waited.
Bood smiled. “You stealing the fucking spotlight. Barrett comes out, announces his relationship with Harris, and then Roz says ‘hold my beer.’”
“Yeah, Ilya,” Troy said with a grin. “What the fuck?”
The room erupted with laughter, and Ilya’s heart swelled. He loved this team.
After more playful ribbing, everyone got back to the business of getting changed and showered. As Ilya was pulling on his sweatshirt, Wyatt approached him.
“Is that what the ring’s about, then?” He pointed at Ilya’s chest.
“You noticed?”
“I’m a goalie.” Wyatt pointed to his own eyes. “I notice everything.”
“You are perceptive,” Ilya said, trying out a word he’d recently learned.
“It’s my superpower. I didn’t want to ask, but now it seems kind of obvious that it’s from Hollander.”