Chapter Text
“I am no bird, and no net ensnares me.” Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre.
· ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·
”This could be bad. This could ruin his career, David.” Yuna Hollander snaps, running frantic hands through her hair. David Hollander sits on the bed next to his son, Shane, who’s curled into a ball, silent. There’s a sweet smell in the air that doesn’t come from either of his parents. Sweet like pears and freesias.
“There are male Omegas out in the league, honey.”
“There’s like, two of them, and neither are of Shane’s caliber! None of them have been the number two draft pick! Montreal just won against the Raiders! This could put him out. Those Omegas out in the league are seasoned. Shane’s new. New enough for them to boot him and no one say a word.”
”Yuna.” David hisses, Shane flinching on the bed. He peeks out from his arms and sees his mother’s eyes swirl with worry, guilt, and regret.
“I just wanna get ahead of this. When they do a physical on him, there will be no way for us to hide this. There’s not a soul that knows about this except us.” Shane makes a noise in his throat, both of his parents turning their attention to him.
”I know this is overwhelming, son, but we can work—“
”Someone else knows.” He says, voice squeaking. The air is sucked out of the room, silence so great one could hear a pin drop.
“Shane. Who else knows? Who else could possibly know?” Shane shuts his eyes, tries to will away the images of his rival, of the man who knows. The man who cornered him in the hallway after he lost the game, who sniffed once, twice, and stepped back. Eyes heavy in a way Shane’s seen before, but never directed at him.
“You smell sweet. Too sweet, Hollander. Get back to hotel. Quickly.”
The words are engraved into his brain. He could never forget them. They confused him, but the burn he felt underneath his skin two hours later didn’t, not to mention his body physically changing, an opening being created that had him so shocked he was practically comatose on his bed, sheets soaked in slick and a bit of blood. A body horror he had only briefly heard of from others, never thinking he’d experience it first hand. He had a heat. A very late heat, but a heat nonetheless. He was not a Beta, but a late-presenting Omega.
“Ilya Rozanov.” He whispers, something like shame coloring his tone.
Thank God they were in Montreal, and that his parents wanted to watch his first official game of the season. He called them in a panic, both of them knowing what the issue was immediately. Yuna handled everything—told his coaches he was sick and that they were going to care for him for a few days before sending him off.
So he’s at home, heat finally broken, and everyone on edge about what to do next.
“There’s suppressants. I can get injections, pills, scent patches—“
“You just presented, Shane. The amount you’d need with how many Alphas you’re around would make you sick. We have no time to figure out a right dosage for you, let alone find a specialist to trust with this that’ll actually help and not rat you out to the press for a check.”
“I’m not gonna stop playing hockey. No fuckin’ way.” David tuts at his son, his clean linen Beta scent souring a bit.
“Language. You won’t stop playing hockey. We need to figure this out, Yuna.” His mother’s Alpha aggression could be felt by the both of them, but underneath that aggression was fear. Fear for her son, for the things he will have to endure, now.
“No. You won’t stop playing. I’m going to make sure of it. First things first—we need to meet with Rozanov.” Shane sits up, blinking in confusion.
“Are you crazy? We can’t meet with him!”
“If he’s the only one other than us who knows, yes we can. We need to make sure he won’t say a thing to anyone.”
”We’re—rivals, Mom!”
”That’s not helping your case. He’s the one who’d want to spill to the press the most!”
”But he hasn’t. It’s been days, and he hasn’t.” Yuna whips out her phone, sliding the glasses back on her eyes that were resting on her head. She’s texting rapidly, concentrating.
”You need to be the one to control the narrative first. It’s one of the most important lessons I can teach you, Shane. If you control the narrative, you have a say in how it’s presented to the public. We meet with Rozanov, we set the tone. He’ll just have to comply.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Shane thinks of the look, the undercurrent of urgency in Rozanov’s tone as he told him to leave. Rozanov knew before his own body. He shivers, wondering why that is.
”He will.” His mother answers, voice hard as steel. When she finishes texting, she pockets the phone, body still pent up.
“We’re meeting with him next week in Los Angeles. You’re on bed rest until then.” Shane wonders just who the hell his mother contacted.
“Coach is gonna blow up my phone. I’ll have to get back to the team. I’m going to need suppressants, Mom. No matter what, I’m going to need them.”
”I’m aware. All of that will be taken care of when I find a specialist I can trust. But first, we go to L.A.”
· ─ ·𖥸· ─ ·
They have games to play, games to win, and yet the two of them are here in a random hotel room, David and Yuna between them. Ilya Rozanov looks sinfully good in a black V-neck sweater, dark wash jeans hugging his legs, gold cross necklace shining on his collarbones. His curls look impossibly soft, and Shane feels extremely awkward and out of place in a simple sweatshirt and light-wash jeans.
“You call my agent, say we need to have meeting? This about brand deal? Capitalize on rivalry?” Ilya asks, Alpha scent potent and on display. Rozanov’s never hidden his scent, woodsy and traitorously comforting. Shane’s felt a bit of comfort in his scent before he presented, the smell not as abrasive as other Alphas. When he sits and pays attention, all of their scents in the room mingle well together, like how a pack should. Shane blinks a few times, Ilya confused at the action.
Pack? What the fuck? There is no pack.
“I wish. But, no. It’s something far more serious.” Yuna says, linking her hands together. “We know that you know.” Ilya looks around, puzzled.
“Know what? That I am better player, maybe?”
”That I’m an Omega, Rozanov.” Shane spits, wanting to sink so deep into his chair he falls through the floor, far away from this conversation. Ilya pauses, scent sharp with something Shane can’t name.
“That’s what you call me here about? I have game tonight. You did not have to call, I would never tell.” His voice is serious, for once. “But…how long can you hide? We have physical every so often.”
“I know. I won’t be able to after this.”
“He’ll be put on suppressants. We’re going to keep it to officials only. No one else needs to know, only those that have to know.” Ilya gives all three of them a pitying look. It immediately irritates the hell out of him. He has the strong want to punch Ilya.
“Suppressants will only do so much. Alphas take them, too. He will need to have heats, he will be surrounded by sharks. We are best in league. Someone will find out, and expose him.” Shane stands up from the table, chest heaving with anxiety.
“No, they won’t. You say that like you’ve seen it.”
“I’ve seen it in Russia. Teammate did not make it to Russian league due to this.”
”But you made it cause you’re an Alpha.” Ilya’s eyes harden at that.
“Is because I am good. You know it. Do not deny.” Shane—for some odd reason—feels admonished at Ilya’s tone. It grates on his nerves, and he takes back his seat, looking anywhere but the Alpha’s blue eyes. Yuna eyes Ilya with curiosity.
“You warned my son, and I can never thank you enough for that. But what would you have us do, since you‘ve seen this before?” Before Ilya can answer, Shane interrupts him.
“How did you know? How’d you smell me before I even knew?” Ilya squirms a bit in his seat, shrugging his shoulders.
“I do not know. I cannot explain it—I just knew. No one else could smell you, I could tell. But you just smelled sweeter than before. Sweet in a way Omegas smell. I figure if you knew of designation, you would not be as loose as you were. You would run away. Leave.” Shane’s surprised. Ilya’s right. If he had already known he was an Omega, he would be way more controlled with his scent and his heat.
“As for what to do, I say own it. Find a worthy mate, be proud, play hockey.” Shane can’t help but laugh like Ilya’s told the funniest joke in the world.
“Maybe in Pretend Land I could do that, but I live in the real world. There’s no way they wouldn’t say the most foul shit known to man if I came out as a male Omega with a mate to boot.” To Shane’s surprise, Ilya looks serious.
“You know how society is. All male Omegas in league have mates. Is true, no?” Shane gets uncomfortable. It’s very true. They do have mates, and they’re all publicly together. Omegas without mates are just Omegas that haven’t found one, yet. Finding a mate is what an Omega is supposed to do, and for how far Omega rights have come, this one ideal still hasn’t really gone away.
“There’s not a soul I could mate that’ll allow me to play hockey. They’ll say it’s dangerous for the babies I’m supposed to have.”
”I will be mate.” Even David’s eyes almost bulge out of his head at Ilya’s words. Yuna’s shell-shocked, and Shane thinks he’s playing some kind of sick joke.
“Are you serious, son?” David asks softly. Ilya looks extremely uncomfortable that David just called him that, but he shakes his head yes.
“I am serious. I will be mate.” Yuna looks at him with sharp eyes.
“Why would you risk your own career like that? This would affect you, too. Mating a man is something serious, Rozanov.”
”He is male Omega, so there is still possibility of off-spring. Also, Hollander is my rival. No one else in league is better than him and I. I want my rival in game, and not even Omega status will take competition away from me.”
“There has to be another reason other than competition. You could get that from anyone else in the league!” Ilya bites his cheek, face scrunched up as he thinks of what to share.
”Father is a part of Russian government. I am strong Alpha, and they want me to mate. Father just entertains me playing hockey due to how good I am. I play for Russia. Playing hockey with strong mate will please those back home. Having rival be mate would be…sensation for you. Take bit of heat off designation. Win-win.” There’s more to it than that (Shane can tell), but he doesn’t care.
“I am not coming out as an Omega, and you will not be my mate. I’m not—I can’t—“ He can feel himself panicking. His pear and freesia scent becomes a bit rotten with fear, and he squeezes his hands rhythmically, trying to calm himself down.
It’s when he smells the woodsy (now with a bit of smoke) scent of an Alpha does he calm down a bit. He practically inhales gulps of the scent, willing himself to be cool, damn it.
Ilya’s releasing calming pheromones in the air for him. His Alpha is trying to calm his Omega down.
“You two smell compatible, at least.” Yuna comments, deep in thought.
“Stop doing that, asshole.” Shane snaps, Ilya quirking one eyebrow up at him.
”You calmed down. I don’t think I will.”
”Who the hell do you think you are? Just because you know doesn’t mean I’ll let you be my Alpha! I get to choose!” The words make Ilya’s scent become bitter, and Shane instantly wants to take them back.
”Choose to hide, and live in fear of getting caught. The league is dangerous. Someone will catch you.” Yuna leans back in her seat.
“Fuck.” His mother curses, Shane almost jumping out of his seat. David places a hand on her shoulder, the ever-calm Beta. For a split second, he really wishes he was like his father. Something must show in his scent, because Ilya lets out calming pheromones again. Shane bites his tongue this time.
“We have an angle we could play this. No matter what, they’re going to say…things about you. But if you win these games, we find you a doctor we can trust, and put you on a monitored regimen…we could let the news go at the NHL Awards. Ride out the rest of the year, then reveal it there. Neutral ground for everyone.” Yuna’s words bounce around in his head.
If you control the narrative, you have a say in how it’s presented to the public.
“You’ll have to be an Alpha, Rozanov. You’ll have to protect our son. They’ll hound at both of you. You’ll be questioned mercilessly. Are you sure about this?” Ilya takes a deep breath, and nods.
“Is about time I do something that really pisses the family off.”
“I thought you just said they’ll be pleased?” Shane points out. Ilya shrugs his shoulders.
“They’ll be mad, then they’ll be pleased. They have no choice. I do what I want.”
“I need a minute. I can’t.” Shane says, standing up and actually leaving the hotel room. The Raiders have a game here tonight, but Shane is still technically sick as far as the league knows. He’s aware he can’t really be seen, and yet, he’s going to have a full blown panic attack if he doesn’t get out of that room.
He slips on his hoodie, walking down the hall of the third floor until he gets to the exit door, jogging a bit down the staircase. He leans against the cool wall, closing his eyes, taking deep breaths.
This could not be happening to him. He’s a Beta, he’s just really sick, actually, and he’s going to play for the Voyagers when he gets better. He’s not an Omega, and Ilya fucking Rozanov did not just propose to be his mate. Aren’t there steps to this? Doesn’t he have to be courted?
He smells Ilya before he sees him.
“Go away.” Shane snaps, pressing his face to the tile even harder.
“I cannot. Your parents want me to bring you back to room.”
”Leave me to rot here. Go away.”
”Hollander. Is not end of the world.”
”Easy for you to say, you dick. You won’t be lambasted all over the fucking news for this shit.” Shane hisses, knowing Ilya didn’t understand half of his words. He doesn’t give a damn. He’s angry.
”I mean what I say. You are best player in league with me. It would be a shame for you to stop playing. You make hockey interesting. Fun.” Shane does turn around at those words, eyeing Ilya up and down. The sickly bright lights in the stairwell do not detract from Ilya’s natural beauty. His moles, his eyes, the smallest amount of chest hair he sees peeking out of the V-neck. Jesus Christ.
“I can’t do this. I’ve never done well with attention. I only do well with hockey. Only hockey, nothing else.”
“So you will play hockey. Nothing else.”
“It’s not that simple!”
”With me, it will be.” Ilya says it with such conviction Shane’s Omega feels it, he feels it deep within his soul. Ilya slowly moves closer to him, taking a hand and holding his cheek, rubbing a thumb over his freckles.
“You’d take a chance on me like this? For what, Rozanov? Why?” Shane was perplexed by this. He didn’t know a single Alpha that’d be willing to take the hit Ilya’s going to take if they go through with this.
“I cannot tell you everything, but hockey is the best distraction I have. You deserve to have good career, and I deserve to have good competition for my career. Simple.”
”What if I beat you? Again and again, huh? What will they say about your Omega?” Ilya’s nostrils flare at his words, Shane’s eyes widening a bit. That woodsy scent spikes with something spicy. It was just tongue-in-cheek. He wasn’t—he didn’t mean he’d really be Ilya’s.
Not yet, a traitorous voice whispers inside of him.
“Then I have strong Omega. And I’ll just win the next game. Simple.”
“Everything’s simple with you.”
”No. Not everything. But this, I will make it simple for you. I promise, moy sladkiy.” Shane has no idea what that means, but the words are said so softly he can do nothing but nod.
Walking back to the hotel room is short and brisk. There’s still a weird mixture of dread and apprehension in his gut, but he wrings his sweaty hands together as he looks his parents in the eye.
“I want to play hockey more than anything. Nothing’s gonna stop me. Not even this. I’ll do it.” Everyone looks at him as if he’s the bravest person on the planet. Shane feels like he just got drafted into the most violent war with no end in sight.