Chapter Text
“Dude, you were almost late,” Hayden says, over his shoulder, tossing his clothes in his bag. He grins at the note Jackie had slipped in, a tiny we love you! signed by the girls and picks it up, to show Shane, eager as always to talk about his kids. “Look at what—”
He cuts himself off, staring.
Shane looks ruined, his face a mask of pain, his shirt distinctly not his; dressed in completely different clothes than he left in. Hayden drags his eyes down his body, frowning at the sheer mess of him, before he snaps his gaze up, his brow furrowing.
“Uh,” he says, blinking. A sour worry begins to build in his stomach. Fuck, he should have packed those antacids like Jackie always tells him to; he definitely has heartburn, because what the hell is this? Is he dying, and Jackie told Shane to break the news? Wait, fuck, is Shane? “Are you okay?”
Shane nods.
“Do you—do you want to try that again, and maybe not lie this time?” Hayden asks. He's—he's absolutely not equipped for this, whatever the fuck this is. Fuck, did Lily fucking die? He's not smart enough to be a grief counselor, and he knows that absolutely none of the others on the team are either. Holy shit, this is bad timing; they have so much shit to do later. “Did something happen?”
“I—” Shane starts, before he closes his mouth. “Hayds—I—”
Hayden shifts closer, careful and delicate, well aware of how easily Shane can spook.
“Yeah?” Hayden says, soft and thin. Shane's really starting to freak him out now, his eyes dead as they stare at nothing, pain still etched across his face.
Shane's left eye twitches, and abruptly Hayden realizes he's crying silently, the rest of his body completely still.
“Buddy,” Hayden says desperately, and decides, fuck it, Shane can be touched a little as he scrambles over to him, one hand settling on his shoulder. It's another sign of how fucking out of it Shane is when he doesn't even shift under the touch, a strangled sort of fear rising fast and hot in his ribs. “Hey, hey—what's the matter?”
“I did something stupid,” Shane confesses, inhaling rapidly. He's still crying, still frozen in the doorway, besides his hitching chest and watering eyes. Hayden's never seen him like this, overtaken with emotion, bitter exhaustion in his voice. He makes a soft choked noise, and Hayden immediately wants to kill something, whatever it is that's making him feel so awful. “I—Hayds—you're gonna hate me—”
“No,” Hayden says before he can even finish the thought, almost hurt by the accusation. “No way. You're—I wouldn't. I won't.”
Shane sniffs, offering him a sad smile, his eyes watery and solemn. It's an unfamiliar look, burnt through with sorrow and twisting doubt, sharp worry in the furrow of his brow. “You are,” he says, soft and certain. “I do, and I'm the one who's doing it.”
Hayden blinks at him. “Well, aren't we our own greatest critics?” he asks, vaguely dumbfounded. He doesn't even know where he got that from, but it sure sounds good. Maybe Jackie said it to him once? He pats his shoulder, trying to smile, even though he feels like he's going to throw up. Could he ever hate Shane? No fucking way. “Isn't—never mind. What matters is that I'm not gonna hate you, Shane, that'd be, like, impossible.”
Shane stares at him for a beat before he shakes himself, wiping at his eyes. “I'm being dumb,” he says, shaking his head. He shifts under Hayden's hand, as if to break away, but Hayden tightens his grip, scorched through the soft middle of him with a desperate need to understand.
“You're going to have to—” he blinks at Shane, shrugging as he fumbles for his words. Jesus Christ, he wishes Jackie were here; she always knows how to translate for him when he gets tangled up in threads. “Or, not have to, but—Shane, you can't—what the hell happened? Are you—did you get—did—?” He doesn't even know how to ask any of the questions bubbling up inside of him.
He just—he's always thought that he knew Shane. Has always felt that they were, well, best friends, to sound a little soppy with it. But this—he's never seen him like this.
“I'm fine,” Shane says, like a fucking liar. He pulls himself away, Hayden's hand slipping from his shoulder, the too-big t-shirt sliding across his palm. “It's—I just…I miscalculated. That's all.”
Hayden almost wants to laugh.
Shane miscalculated? Shane Hollander? The guy who's so zealous about routines that the entire team has a tiny briefing packet for newcomers so they don't disturb his captaincy? The guy who's so neurotic about the exact things he does with his time that it took Hayden almost two years to figure out that when Shane says I'll be there in seven minutes, he means exactly seven? He washes his fucking hands when he plays in Ruby and Jade's fake kitchen, for fuckssake. He doesn't do miscalculations.
“Okay,” Hayden says into the silence when Shane says nothing else. “Uh. I don't want to say that you're a liar, but—” Shane stares at him, and Hayden flushes, shrugging. “Dude, you look wrecked,” he says, as gently as he can. “I don't—do you—are you sure there isn't anything I can do?”
Shane nods and shrugs and nods again, like that clarifies anything, and Hayden swallows down the urge to scream.
“Okay,” he repeats carefully. “Do you want to shower?”
Shane blinks at him before he nods slowly. “Do you—”
“All yours,” Hayden says immediately, gesturing towards it. “Go wild.”
He backs up, pretending he isn't tugging his phone out to text Jackie as he settles in on his bed, his eyes darting between Shane's sluggish movements and his screen.
sos, he sends. shane's fucked up.
The text turns to read immediately, and Hayden swallows back a swear as his phone begins to vibrate, Jackie's name flashing at the top.
he's still in the room, give me a goddamn second, he types out, swiping away her call.
what the fuck do you mean, sos? Jackie texts. is he hurt? do you need help? what room? are you still at the hotel? do i need to call yuna and david?
holy fucking shit, DO NOT, he sends. he's crying. or was. i don't—something happened, and he's not in the clothes he was last night, and he looks
He swallows, glancing up to track Shane's back as he heads into the bathroom, still moving slowly. He's seen Shane walk off harder injuries on the ice with more grace.
he looks wrecked. idk. give me a second until he's showering, and I'll call. he's not hurt, like physically.
you're lucky you're cute, Jackie sends after a long moment. i went into full panic mode.
yeah, Hayden types out, warmth curling around his heart at how much Jackie cares. i could tell.
The shower turns on, water thrumming through the pipes. Hayden waits a moment before he rises, heading to the corner farthest away. He'd leave, except he thinks that might be worse, because what if someone overhears him? Shane would kill him. Shane's probably going to kill him if he finds out he's even mentioning this to Jackie, but Hayden's lost; he has no idea what else to do.
He inhales. Exhales.
Fuck it. If it helps Shane, he'll take the anger.
The phone doesn't even ring once before Jackie picks up.
“What's going on?” she asks immediately, concern suffusing her tone. “Is Shane okay? Are you?”
“No,” Hayden says, honest and raw. He feels better just hearing her voice, and all the worse too. He wishes she were here, in arm's reach. “I don't—Shane went out to meet up with a friend last night—”
“Lily?” Jackie asks, and Hayden hums an agreement.
“Think so,” he says, his heart in his throat. “And he stayed the night—”
“That's a big step,” Jackie murmurs. “Before a game, too? He hates a disrupted routine.”
Hayden nods before he remembers she can't see him. “I know," he says, solemn and earnest, the gravitas of everything bowling him over. “And I think it—” He glances at the bathroom door, pausing to be sure the water is still running, before he continues. “I think it ruined his life.”
“What?” Jackie says. “How?”
“He came back, and he was crying,” Hayden mutters. He feels like he's going to cry, just thinking about the devastation that was painted across Shane's face. “He’s—everything is in pieces. He's showering now, and we have to be at the rink in half an hour, and he's still in the shower, and he never shows up later than half an hour early because he's neurotic about shit, and I can't—what if this—what happened?”
“Breathe,” Jackie orders, her tone firm before she softens it, careful and gentle. “I'm assuming you asked, and he gave you nothing.”
Hayden makes a noise of disagreement before he can stop himself, and she pauses.
“Or not?”
Hayden steals another look at the shut bathroom door. “He said I would hate him,” he whispers, unable to cull the worry from his voice. “That he hates himself about it and that I would too.”
Jackie inhales sharply. “What the fuck?”
“I don't know,” Hayden says, desperate for any reassurance, shifting on his feet. “Babe, what the fuck do I do?”
“Could he realistically do something that you would drop him over?” Jackie asks lightly, and sighs when he makes a shocked-sounding noise of disagreement. “Then there's your answer.”
“How is that a—” He cuts himself off as the door swings open, steam billowing out, another sign of how out of it Shane is. He only takes sweltering showers when he's trying to drown himself because he thinks he's fucked up.
“Give Shane the phone,” Jackie says immediately; her sixth sense for somehow just always knowing shines through. “Now.”
Hayden blinks at Shane. “Jackie wants to talk to you,” he says dutifully, and steps over to hand the phone to him.
Shane takes it without a word, lifting his phone up to his ear.
Hayden feels insane as he watches Shane's face, tracking the press of his lips, the tremor of his jaw as he listens to whatever Jackie is saying. He still looks quietly ruined, soaked through with an awful sort of pain, but the edge lifts ever so slightly as he cocks his head, stepping over to his suitcase to carefully fold his clothes.
The delicate care as he smooths out the crumpled creases on the t-shirt, the soft touch of his fingers to the collar; Hayden's not the most observant, but this is—Shane's got to be in love with Lily. There's no fucking way it can be anything else. Fuck, what if she told him that she was done with him? Oh, god, Hayden would've died if Jackie had done that to him; his stomach hurts just thinking about it.
“Tell them thank you,” Shane murmurs, splintering his thoughts. “And yeah, we can have dinner when we get back.” He sighs, a soft smile curling at the edges of his lips at whatever Jackie's saying, and something eases in Hayden's stomach, the hard knot of worry unraveling. At least they're okay; one less thing for him to worry about. “Yeah, I am still on that bird food diet. Yes. Okay. No, this was—yeah. Okay. Thank you. Do you want to talk to Hayds?”
He pauses, a pulse of shock spilling across his face. “Oh,” he says, after a long, long pause. “I—” He sniffs, chewing on his bottom lip. “I love you, too, Jackie. That's—yeah.” He meets Hayden's eyes and flushes. “No, he's here—here you—yes, thank you—” He hands over the phone, and Hayden doesn't think too hard about the way his hands are shaking.
“Hey,” he says, lifting his phone to his ear. He pauses, almost uncertain how to continue after hearing half of that. “Any—”
“He's your best friend,” Jackie interrupts. She sounds worried still, but softer, as if she can feel the odd pain that’s swirling through the room. “You just need to make sure he knows that, babe.”
“Oh,” Hayden says, feeling dumb. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“I know you can,” she says, earnest and kind. God, he loves her so much. “Break a leg at the game, honey. We're rooting for you—for you both. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Hayden murmurs, pulling his phone away from his ear and tossing it on his bed. He stares at it for a beat, unsure what to do. He doesn't want to not acknowledge that this is—that things are weird, but he also doesn't want to force Shane into anything.
“I—” He starts, and then falters, peeking at Shane, who's staring down at the black t-shirt with a lost expression on his face. “Shane. You're—there's nothing you could—”
“I'm sleeping with Ilya Rozanov,” Shane blurts out, so fast that for a second Hayden thinks he's imagined it. “And it got too real, too fast, and I—” He pauses, blinking rapidly. “It…ended poorly.”
Hayden stares at him.
“What about Lily?” he asks, faint and shocked. Is he having a heart attack? Is this—is this real life? He thinks he's going to pass out. He wants to laugh, but he's pretty sure Shane will punch him in the face, and Jackie will somehow appear and punch him too. And he'd deserve it, he knows, but also what the fuck is going on. “You've been—you went to see her last night.”
Shane snorts, shaking his head. He's shaking, Hayden realizes, his whole body shivering. “Lily's Ilya.”
“So this has been…”
“Years,” Shane says, dashing away his tears angrily. “Fucking—it's been for basically—as long as we've been in the NHL together.”
“Holy shit,” Hayden says. He feels useless, mouth agape, as things rapidly click into place. “Holy shit.”
“I know,” Shane says.
“You play better after you sleep with him,” Hayden blurts out, holding his hands up when Shane jerks around to glare at him. “Holy shit, are the games fucking foreplay? Afterplay? Aftercare?” He gestures at the room, trying to capture what the fuck he means. “Flirting?”
“I don't—” Shane bites out. He looks shattered, adrift. “It's not—I don't know if it'll ever happen again, okay?”
Oh my god, Hayden thinks, high-pitched screaming rattling through his ears. The shy smiles, the gentle touches, the fucking texts, the besotted expression that Shane’s never owned up to, even when Hayden’s tried to tease it out of him. Shane's in love with Rozanov.
Oh my god, he realizes, like some fucking idiot three passes behind. Shane's gay.
“I don't care that you're gay,” Hayden blurts out. “I don't even—I mean, I think you can do better than fucking Rozanov. Can Jackie introduce you to one of her friends? A gay friend, I mean. A guy. He's nice! He does, uh, construction?”
Shane stares at him for a beat before he bursts into silent tears.
“Oh, shit,” Hayden yelps, scrambling over to him. He scoops Shane into a hug, not even thinking about it. “I'm sorry, I didn't—was it the construction thing? I didn't mean to upset you.” He swears under his breath. Holy shit, Jackie is never going to let him live this down. “I don't—was it insensitive to assume?”
Shane sniffs, tucking his face in tighter as Hayden clings to him, desperate to make everything better. “Was what insensitive to assume?” he croaks out after a moment of silence as Hayden wracks his brain for how to fix his own goddam idiocy. “You're not making any sense, Hayds.”
“I don't even fucking know,” Hayden answers, feeling dizzy with relief. “I just—you know. Foot in my mouth syndrome.” Shane sniffles again, and Hayden holds him tighter, all the words he doesn’t know how to say thick in his mouth.
He’s your best friend, Jackie had said, fuck, he has to say something, doesn’t he? Shane’s sure as hell not going to, not that Hayden can really blame him. He’s sort of already said everything there is to say.
“I don’t—I can’t say this—this is a shock,” he says, tightening his grip when Shane tenses in his arms. “But Shane, buddy, c’mon. I fucking,”—shit, he’s tearing up, thinking about how long it’s been, how much they’ve been through, how long he’s stood at Shane’s side, grinned at him over the ice, how instinctive it is, to glance up and find him, skating across the rink—“I don’t, or well, it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care if you’re gay. I mean, I care if you want me to set you up with someone other than an asshole, but I don’t—you can—it’s all—whatever you want. Whatever you need.” He pats his back roughly, unsure what else to say. “Dude, I love you. And that’s—you’d have to like kill Jackie or one of my kids for that to change, and even then, it’ll probably depend on the day.”
Shane snorts, a wet, sad sound, but relaxes.
For a long, somber moment, they stay pressed together, Hayden carefully holding him. They’re both going to be late, but fuck it, this is way more important.
“You’re my best friend,” he finally says, flushing hot at the honesty that crackles through his words. It’s almost embarrassing how it feels to say it so bluntly. “That’s—I’m not gonna drop you over anything. And nothing like this. I mean, I have opinions, like, c’mon, Rozanov, but I’m not—that’s—” He pauses, trying to pull himself back on track. “He made you like, stupidly happy. I think. Unless you have a roster of men, in which case, pick another.” Shane makes a tight sound in his throat, and Hayden sighs, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry. Sorry—I just. I want you to be happy.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Shane mutters. “I just—I left. I panicked.”
“Well,” Hayden says, disbelief coursing through him at the fact that he’s about to advocate for fucking Rozanov. God, he hates that guy. “Maybe you take a little bit of a break and then, uh, text him back.” He scowls at the wall. “After we beat him.”
“Oh, fuck,” Shane says, tearing himself out of his arms. He glances at the clock on the nightstand and swears, darting to the bathroom. “We needed to be at the rink twenty fucking minutes ago.”
“This was a little more important,” Hayden says, scooping his phone up. “I can text the team and say we’ll be there in ten—something about traffic?”
“Yeah,” Shane agrees, emerging with all his toiletries, before he dumps them into his bag, another sign of how rattled he is, Hayden notes anxiously. “Yeah, uhm. Yes. And, uh. Thank you. And Jackie. And—” He meets Hayden’s eyes. “Please don’t, uh, tell anyone. You can tell Jackie, because I know that she’s—well. I know that you can’t keep a secret from her.”
“Yes, I can,” Hayden says instinctively, frowning at him, before he caves under Shane’s raised brow. They both know he’s right. “I mean, why would I though?”
Shane sighs, but he’s smiling faintly, the closest thing to any positive emotion Hayden’s gotten from him all day.
“C’mon,” he settles on, grabbing his bag. “We’ve got a—well, we’ve got a game to win.”
Shane inhales, closing his eyes as he zips up his bag, before he nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, and just like that, he’s Shane Hollander, Captain of the Metros, the ocean of despair sweeping away as he runs through his usual patdown check to be sure that he’s gotten everything. “Yeah. Let’s—let’s go.”
“Dude,” Hayden says, pausing right at the door, twisting to look at him. “I mean it, alright?” Shane looks vaguely confused, and Hayden sighs, reaching out to press his hand to his shoulder. “I love you,” he says again, flushing slightly. He’s absolutely not used to saying that to anyone other than his kids and Jackie, but he’s not going to let Shane go another moment without understanding how much he means to him. “And I just want you to be happy.”
Shane blinks, emotion swirling through his eyes, before it shutters, pressed away carefully.
“I—I love you, too,” he says, quiet and tired. Hayden aches, for a moment, about everything that’s still unsaid between them. He just—he wants to understand, but he knows, he can’t press. Not here. Not now. Not with the game. “Thanks for not hating me.”
Hayden scoffs, squeezing his shoulder hard, before he lets go and tugs the door open. “Dude,” he says, honest and a little too raw as they spill out into the hotel hallway. “It’s never gonna happen.” Shane hums, and he shakes his head, meeting his eyes again. “Never,” he promises. “And not over something like this.”
Shane stares at him for a beat before he sighs, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Alright,” he says, before he straightens up, rolling his shoulders back as they step into the elevator. “How about we make Boston really hate us, then?”
Hayden grins back at him, relief swirling through him. “That’s what I like to hear,” he says, eager to take to the ice, shaking the tension from his body. God, he’s going to fucking check Rozanov so fucking hard, the absolute ass. He doesn’t even care if Shane thinks he’s done something wrong; Hayden knows the truth: Rozanov definitely did something.
He beams at Shane, a little too wide, a little too bright, but he can’t stop it. They’re going to crush the fucking Raiders tonight, and he’s going to make Rozanov suffer for everything that he’s ever put Shane through.
“Let’s win this fucking game,” Hayden says, holding the door open so they both can step out onto the street, cold swirling around them. It smells like a snowstorm is rolling in, thick pressure on the wind.
Good, he thinks, the sharp ice skittering down his throat, curling in his lungs. Jackie’s probably going to be unimpressed when he gets punched in the face later tonight, but she’ll understand when he tells her. She loves Shane, too.
He grins, barbed and furious as he looks off at the slowly setting sun. Good, he thinks again, aching and upset at all that Shane’s been hiding, at all that he felt like he couldn’t say. His hands are tight around his bag, his feet furious as he steps down towards the car that Shane’s ducking into.
He can’t wait to see Rozanov. He’s got a smile to bloody.