Chapter Text
November
Maybe he should ask Ilya for Shane Hollander’s number. Hollander was a fucking babe.
The thought didn’t leave Troy for the rest of the day. The more he thought about it, the less abstract the idea sounded.
His brain had decided to really like this idea. Troy couldn’t concentrate on his training for the rest of the day.
The rumors about Hollander’s sexuality had come from inside the hockey bubble. Apparently, he’d come out to his team a few months ago.
If Shane Hollander was gay, would there be a slight chance that he’d go on a date with Troy?
Troy desperately hoped so. Who wouldn’t do anything to catch a glimpse of those freckles and the golden-boy smile?
Troy certainly would.
He just didn’t know how he should approach this topic. It seemed weird to ask Ilya directly, knowing that he and Hollander shared a close bond.
He didn’t want to invade their privacy and the small friendship both “rivals” had built over the years. Maybe Rozanov wouldn’t care. Maybe he would support his gay friend and Troy.
Unfortunately, Troy first needed to come out to Rozanov if he wanted to explain why he needed Hollander's number. He didn’t think his captain would mind, since Ilya seemed to accept Harris whole-heartedly and had never made a single homophobic comment when Troy had been present, but still.
Troy couldn’t just go to him and say: “Hi, I’m gay.”
Just the thought of this interaction caused a shiver to run down his spine.
Ugh.
Way to ruin the relationship with his Captain.
Troy was so lost in thought he didn’t notice everyone else had left the locker room, leaving him alone with his spinning mind. Now that silence had settled over the empty room, he felt like he could finally breathe and think clearly again.
He leaned his head back against the wall, staring at an empty space, trying to make sense of everything he was feeling.
He missed Adrian, more than he wanted to admit. He missed the late-night talks, the soft laughter, hell, he even missed their secrecy.
It sounded pathetic, but Troy would give everything to get such a connection back. He wanted someone he could confide him, who would understand his struggles and fears. He wanted someone to hold, to whisper sweet nothings in his ear when Troy was about to fall asleep.
And he missed the sex.
It had been months since the last time Troy felt the deep connection that could only be found in someone else’s arms, and he craved it. He and Adrian had tried a lot of different things, trying to figure out what each of them preferred in bed. For a tiny second, Troy had contemplated to also give women a try, but when he’d went out one night with his teammates, it became quickly apparent that his dick didn’t want to cooperate.
Long story short, Troy was very gay.
And maybe so was Shane Hollander.
Excitement bubbled up inside him. What if this was really going to work out? What if he were to take Shane Hollander out on a date soon?
Dumbass, Troy scolded himself. You don’t even have his number.
And now Ilya had already left.
Troy groaned, looking back at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he promised to himself. You will ask Ilya tomorrow.
The next day started without any major incidents, but with an early morning practice that forced Troy to wake up at 5am. He drove to the arena sleep-deprived. As always, he was the first to arrive, enjoying the calm and quietness before the storm. In the background, machines hummed lowly, producing the undistinguishable sound only an ice rink could make.
Troy put on his hockey gear, checking the pads another time so they would still be in place when he’d go out onto the ice. Meanwhile, his eyes didn’t leave the door for a second. He hoped and feared at the same time that Ilya would be coming through the door any second.
Troy liked Ilya.
He was also deeply scared of him, as every player in the NHL should, but Troy respected Ilya for what he'd done. The Russian seemed like someone standing up for people’s rights. Ilya also did volunteer work.
Troy had always put Ilya in the same corner as Dallas, but he’d been wrong.
To Troy’s surprise, Wyatt entered the locker room a few minutes later, hair still rustled and eyes tired. When he saw Troy, he gave him a wary, not unfriendly smile.
“Barrett.”
“Hayes.”
Their conversation stalled. Troy was fidgeting with them hem of his shirt, an uncomfortable nervousness settling deep in his bones.
This was Wyatt. The league-wide nicest goalie.
Troy needed to get his shit together.
Maybe Wyatt was able to help him with his goal to get Hollander’s number.
When Troy dropped his water bottle a second time within a minute, Wyatt looked up from his stall, staring at Troy expectantly. “Are you okay?”
“Eh, yes, of course. Just a little bit nervous.”
“Why?”
Maybe Troy could tell him a part of the truth. “I was just wondering if Cap would mind if I’d ask him for Hollander’s number?”
“Shane Hollander?”
“Do you know anyone else with that name?”
Wyatt seemed to seriously contemplate Troy’s question. Then he shrugged, shaking his head. “No. And I think he’d be fine with it. Why do you need Hollander’s number?”
“I wanted to ask him something.”
“Something you couldn’t have asked anyone else?”, Wyatt asked, frowning.
Troy shrugged helplessly, trying not to panic. This sounded more like an interrogation than a nice conversation between two teammates. “It’s a very specific question.”
Wyatt seemed happy with Troy’s answer, standing up from his stall to move next to Troy. “Good for you that I also have the number of the infamous Shane Hollander.” He paused for a second. “But I’d feel better if you’d ask Rozy first. If he refuses, I’ll give it to you.”
Troy stared at the goalie. Why would Wyatt…?
“It’s from camp last summer”, Wyatt explained, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “We had a great time, and in case of any emergencies Roz and Hollander gave out their numbers to us coaches.”
“Ah.” Troy nodded. That made sense.
His fingers were slightly shaking as he tipped Hollander’s number into his phone.
The door to the locker room crashed open, making Troy and Wyatt flinch.
“Good morning, my dears”, Ilya sang as he entered the room in long strides. A shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, and he looked like he was about to burst with joy.
Troy and Wyatt exchanged a confused glance.
“What is going on?”, Troy whispered.
“I don’t know”, Wyatt replied. “But he’s scaring me.”
Ilya Rozanov scared Troy most of the time, but he would never admit this out loud.
They both watched their captain walking to his stall, humming the melody of a song Troy didn’t know.
“Are you okay, Cap?”, Wyatt asked gently.
“Yes.” Ilya laughed out loud. “Life is beautiful. Life is perfect.”
Troy had to slightly disagree with this statement.
Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to ask Ilya for Hollander’s number.
Troy gathered up all his courage, ready to get humiliated and stood up. Right before he’d reached his oblivious Captain, the door opened again and Bood, Haas, Dykstra and Chouinard entered, loudly arguing about something.
“I say there’s zero chance that he’s anything but straight. I mean, look at him. Does a gay dude dress like that?” Dykstra sounded stunned.
“He always gave me queer vibes!”, Haas argued, pouting like a little kid. “You know the fashion thing is a huge stereotype, right?”
Dykstra had the decency to look a bit ashamed. “I know, but I just can’t believe that someone so masculine could be gay. I like gay people, I just always pictured them differently.”
“The more you talk, the worse it gets”, Bood joked, patting Dykstra’s back as he walked past.
“What are you even talking about?”, Ilya asked, looking up from where he sat.
“Do you know this famous actor, Adrian Dela Cruz? Apparently, he came out as gay!”, Dykstra exclaimed, sounding shell-shocked.
Hearing Adrian's name made Troy uncomfortable.
Ilya furrowed his brow. “Why would that be crazy?”
Bood shrugged, a red shade creeping up his neck. “Me and Nick just never expected him to be queer. For us he transmitted… different vibes.”
That got the full attention of their captain. “Different vibes in what way?” Ilya's Russian accent became heavy, making his words sound hard and unforgiving.
Dykstra and Chouinard looked like they wanted to be excluded from the argument immediately.
“More masculine? Like a Ladies' man, a playboy. Like you are, Cap”, Chouinard tried to argue, his ears shining bright red.
Ilya had gone completely silent. He didn’t confirm nor deny Chouinard’s statement, just smiling tightly.
Huh, Troy thought. Interesting.
Practice went well. Ilya forced them to do fifty laps until their legs gave out. Their captain was relentless, demanding more than the team could give, while also encouraging them to push over their limits.
When they were finally released from Ilya’s sadistic training, Troy couldn’t feel his legs anymore, humping to the cabin. The rest of the team seemed to have had a similar experience. No one was in the mood to talk, most of them trying to catch their breaths.
Ilya let out a loud sound of joy, filled with adrenaline and excitement as he sat down on his bench. “Great practice, guys.”
If one of them had had the strength to open their mouth, they would’ve objected, stating that they were almost dead. Ilya didn’t seem to care.
Ilya good mood didn’t waiver. Player after player showered, changed and then left the locker room, mumbling good-byes under their voices, exhaustion etched into their faces.
Troy waited for the right moment, stalling time, glad that he was able to catch Ilya in such a good mood.
Ilya came out of the showers, a towel hanging low on his hips, showing his impressive abs and chest muscles.
Troy lowered his gaze instantly, not wanting to make the impression of lusting after his captain.
Without doubt, Ilya was hot and most would consider him a very attractive man – Troy included – but Troy was not a creep. Teammates were a no-go for him.
“You still here, Barrett?”, Ilya asked casually, walking slowly to his stall, not bothered by his own nakedness at all.
Troy blinked, trying to comprehend Ilya’s words. “Uh, yes, sure. I actually wanted to ask you something.”
Ilya turned around, brows lifting expectantly. “Me?” A devilish grin appeared on his lips. “Do you need some advice? I can you give you great sex advice. Never let woman wait. She comes first, always. Make sure she is ready…”
“Okayokayokay, I got it!”, Troy yelled, trying to get the unwanted pictures out of his head. An uncomfortable shiver ran down his spine. If Ilya only knew that Troy wasn’t even remotely interested in women.
“I wanted to ask you about something else.”
Ilya shrugged, not seeming offended by the rejection of his sex advice. “Ok. Go on.”
“I… couldyougivemeshanehollandersnumber?”, Troy mumbled, hiding his face behind the towel as he dried his hair.
Ilya blinked at him, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. For a few seconds, Troy’s captain seemed lost for words. If Troy hadn’t been so nervous, he would’ve used the moment to take a picture of Ilya’s face.
It was hilarious.
“You want what?”, Ilya asked, frowning, and Troy felt the blood drain out of his face.
This had been a mistake.
A big, big mistake. Troy felt like the biggest asshole in the world.
He almost backed down, not wanting to bother Ilya. It would’ve been an easy way out.
But… maybe Ilya hadn’t understood him acoustically?
Troy took a deep breath, trying again. “Could you give me Hollander’s number? I know you have it.”
Ilya seemed to wake from his state of shock, watching Troy with narrow eyes. “Why do you need Hollander’s number?”
“I want to ask him something important.”
Not a lie, exactly. Ilya would probably assume it was something related to hockey.
The tight expression on Ilya’s face vanished, replaced with a bright, friendly smile. “Oh, yes, of course. Give me your phone.” He still looked a little bit suspicious.
Hesitantly, Troy handed his phone over to Ilya. After a few seconds, Ilya typed something on the screen vigorously, before giving the phone back. Troy recognized the new contact, saved under “Shane Hollander, 2nd best hockey player”. Troy couldn’t hide his smile.
Then he realized something. Ilya hadn’t even pulled out his phone to check Hollander’s number. He had memorized it.
Weird, but endearing.
Who was Troy to judge? His last friendship hadn’t ended very well. He was glad that two rivals could keep up such a close connection over the years.
“Thank you”, he said earnestly. Maybe, if Shane agreed to go on a date with him, Troy would tell Ilya about it.
He left the locker room with a bright smile on his face.
At home, Troy contemplated multiple times whether he should really go for it. His fingers were twitching, hovering over the keyboard, the empty chat already open.
What would be the worst-case scenario?
Hollander might laugh at him, telling Troy he wasn’t his type. Hollander might reveal Troy's sexuality to the world out of spite.
No.
Shane Hollander was kind. He’d never do such a thing.
Troy swallowed thickly, gathering up all his courage.
There it was. Troy had done it. He’d asked Shane Hollander to go out on a date with him.
Shane’s response came instantly:
Troy watched the three dots on the screen appear, disappear and then again. It took almost a minute until Hollander responded, giving Troy enough time to check his game schedule. They would play against the Metros this Sunday.
Shane sent a thumbs-up back.
Troy stared at the screen in disbelief. Then, suddenly, laughter burst out of him. He would go on a date with Shane motherfucking Hollander.
Life was not real.
He couldn’t wait.
Relief flooded through him. He was thankful that Hollander hadn’t laughed at him or even blocked him. In contrast, Shane had sounded genuinely interested.
Troy leaned back against the grey couch in an apartment he didn’t feel a connection to, staring at the white ceiling, a smile crossing his face.
He opened the browser on his phone, googling Shane Hollander.
The more Troy read about Shane Hollander, the more obsessed he became. It seemed like Shane Hollander wasn’t capable of having flaws. He was a golden boy, Canada’s sweetheart, who kept his private life private and his hockey stats were exploding through the roof. In his late twenties, Shane Hollander was on the top of his career, scoring more goals than any other player in the league for consecutive seasons.
Troy would’ve liked to admit that he knew all of that already, but Shane Hollander had always been this unreachable superstar. Troy never looked up his numbers, afraid he might spiral into an obessive competitiveness he would never overcome.
Hollander was that good.
The only other player in the league close to his level was Ilya Rozanov.
And Troy had asked Rozanov for Shane’s number.
Suddenly, he felt very, very stupid.
But what had happened could not be undone and now Troy’s only hope was that the date with Hollander would go well.
He stumbled upon an old ad from 2015, showing Hollander in a buttoned-up white shirt, wind rustling through his hair, his dark eyes alluring everyone to come closer. Troy shivered, licking his dry lips.
Fuck.
He was completely out of Hollander’s league.
The next day, he felt giddy, and couldn’t stop smiling. His teammates noticed, but decided not to comment on it, until… well, Rozanov.
“Barrett”, Ilya yelled over the ice from where he stood next to the coaches, gripping a clipboard like his life depended on it. “Who put this shit-eating grin on your face today? You play like you’re distracted.”
“Leave him alone, Cap!”, Bood jumped to Troy’s defense, “you’re not the only one who’s allowed to be happy.”
“At least it’s not influencing the way I play!”, Ilya fired back, sounding slightly annoyed. “Get your shit together, Barrett, I mean it.”
Troy lowered his gaze and obeyed, not wanting to argue with his captain. To the team’s general relief Ilya wasn’t in the mood to let them suffer today, making the training short yet valuable. The more Troy played with his linemates, the easier it got to shoot passes and score goals.
“You’re getting better every day, Barrett”, Bood said to him after training, voice vibrating with pride. “I must admit I doubted about your value to this team, but if you score like you did today in our next games, I see our future, and it’s very bright.”
Heat crept up Troy’s neck at the compliment, and he mumbled a low thanks, not wanting to let Bood see him blushing. It was hard to hide his face when changing his clothes, but he somehow managed to do it.
The rest of the team was chattering casually, not caring about a single thing except hockey and their next game, which would be tomorrow night. Against Toronto.
An uncomfortable shiver ran down Troy’s spine. He’d do everything to avoid Dallas Kent, but knowing Toronto, they’d do everything to make it hurt.
“Barrett.” Ilya stepped beside Troy, his sweaty chest gleaming in the low lights of the locker room, his dark curls tousled and sticking out in all directions. “We need to talk.”
Fear took root in Troy’s heart, and he managed to offer Ilya a weak smile before nodding. “Sure. What’s up?”
Ilya looked over his shoulder, assessing the room, watching their teammates work busily. “Not here. Too crowded. Come.” He wouldn’t take no for an answer, stalking through the room like the king himself – if Canada had a king – out into a small hallway that was usually only used by the equipment staff. Troy followed without resistance. He knew when to fight, and when to obey.
“What is it?” His voice quivered and Troy hated him for sounding so pathetic. This was Ilya Rozanov. A much-respected captain of a not-so-much-respected NHL team. Ilya wouldn’t hurt him. At least that’s what Troy hoped.
“You texted Hollander yesterday?”, Ilya asked almost casually, the mean glint in his eyes betraying calm voice.
Troy nodded slowly.
Was this about Hollander? Did Ilya regret giving Troy his number? Did Ilya think it would make him a bad friend?
“What did you ask?”, Ilya asked bluntly, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Panic shot through Troy. He could’ve answered easily, playing it down, saying he’d just wanted to know about a certain move Hollander excelled at.
It would’ve been easy.
It would’ve been a lie.
Still, He didn’t feel ready to tell Rozanov.
Maybe Rozanov was an ally who supported his friend on and off the ice. This didn’t mean that Rozanov would be happy about one of his teammates asking Hollander out.
Rozanov seemed like a decent guy. Troy still didn’t want to get on his bad side.
“It was – eh – about hockey”, he lied, trying to meet Rozanov’s assessing gaze. “He’s a role model, the best in the league and I wanted…”
“Not the best”, Rozanov interrupted, an angry frown forming between his brows. “I am best. He is second. You could’ve asked me.”
Troy would never, never in his life even think about telling Ilya Rozanov to his face that in fact most of the world considered Hollander to the better player.
He didn’t have a death wish.
“Hollander has a different playing style”, he still said, praying that Rozanov would accept that excuse. “He plays differently than you do. I’m learning from you every day, but sometimes I need another input.” He sounded pathetic, like someone desperately trying not to anger the big strong Russian in front of them, because that’s exactly what Troy tried to do.
Rozanov seemed to consider his answer, then shrugged. “Ok. Is ok. You can go back.”
“Thank you”, Troy stuttered, hurrying back, trying to put as much as space between him and Ilya as possible.
This man was intense.
“You okay, Barrett?”, Nick Chouinard asked, laughter seeping out of his voice. “Or did big bad Rozy spank your ass?”
“What?! No!”, Troy exclaimed, equally shocked and repelled at the same time. “Why would he do that?”
Dykstra, who had followed their conversation with rapt attention, shrugged, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. “That’s our initiation ritual. Has no one told you yet?”
The whole locker room fell silent, and Troy felt the eyes of twenty people burning holes in the side of his skull. He wanted to sink into the ground and stay there forever, trying to get rid of the humiliation coursing through him.
There was an initiation ritual where Rozanov spanked the new teammates?
Had he actually spanked the rookies?
“I-I-”, he began, stuttering. “I didn’t know–“
The whole room broke out in roaring laughter, making the equipment shake and the floor vibrate. Troy felt like a deer in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable. On his right side Bood had started to laugh so hard tears streamed down his face, while on his left Chouinard was holding his belly, almost toppling over.
If Troy hadn’t been in the center of attention, he might have laughed as well.
“So, there’s no initiation ritual?”, he asked hopefully after everyone had caught their breaths.
Bood was shaking his head, still grinning from side to side. “Nope. No initiation ritual here.”
The door burst open, and Rozanov stepped back into the locker room, brows raised. “What initiation ritual?”
Again, a few teammates began to grin, and Troy resisted the urge to burrow his face in his hands. He almost had to grin himself.
Looking back, it was hilarious he ‘d even believed them for a second.
Ilya walked into the middle of the room, brows still raised, looking expectantly at them. “Tell me.”
“Barrett thought you’d spank new teammates as a welcome-gift”, Dillon explained helpfully, which made Troy groaned.
Great.
Now he would never hear the end of it.
Ilya pursed his lips, pretending to seriously consider this idea. “Don’t think I can, is probably work violation. But I might test you. You must hold up with my speed and score goals, otherwise you’re useless.” He shot a pointed look at Tanner Dillon, who blushed from head to toe.
“Fuck you, Rozanov.”
A wide, dangerous grin appeared on Ilya’s face. “You wish, Dillon, you wish.”
The game against Toronto went surprisingly well, with Troy avoiding Dallas most of the time and even scoring one goal. This earned him an exaggerated applause from his teammates, who celebrated him like he’d just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup final. Their reaction made Toronto angry, and they played harder and dirtier than ever before, which led to two major penalties and lot of powerplay for the Centaurs. In the end, they won 5-2. The Toronto crowd had gone dead silent while watching their team lose against the worst team in the league.
It was utterly satisfying.
The flight home the same night was different than the games before. The air was buzzing with energy and no one in the small plane had settled in their seats to take a nap. Everyone was standing, celebrating, listening to Bood’s terrible music no one could usually bear, but tonight was an exception.
Ilya was dancing a weird dance he insisted was Russian, moving his body parts in ways that made Troy question whether Ilya’s reputation as a ladies man was true after all. If he’d danced like this in the clubs, the only ladies willing to go home with him would’ve been out of their mind.
In the row behind Troy, Hazy passionately told Holmberg a story about a superhero becoming a cucumber and then saving the world.
Someone tipped Troy on the shoulder, and when he turned around Chouinard’s face was right in front of him, only a few inches away. His breath smelled of beer and Troy tried not to look disgusted.
“Great game tonight, Barrett! You showed those motherfucker’s how it feels to let a great forward go. Absolute dumbshit idea, if you ask me. I was so angry at Toronto for trading you. You are so talented, bro! It’s like watching Elsa spin on the ice!”
Troy blinked several times, trying to make sense of Chouinard’s rambling. Elsa on ice? Who the fuck was Elsa? It was nice of Nick to praise him so much, but Troy wasn’t sure whether it wasn’t the alcohol speaking out of him.
“Uh, thanks.”
“You’re welcome, man, you’re welcome.” With that, Chouinard moved away, stumbling through the narrow aisle to reach Rozanov. Both men embraced each other briefly, before whooping loudly and then starting to move to Bood’s music together.
A sight Troy wished to erase from his mind forever.
He still took his phone out and shot some photos, reminding himself to make a new folder titled: “Private pictures only to be released after Stanley Cup championship.”
There was a high probability that no one would ever see those pictures, but he was happy with that.
He was about to turn off his phone when he noticed the few screenshots he’d taken this morning. They all showed Shane Hollander in various positions, freckles on display and a small smile ghosting his lips.
Fuck.
Troy still couldn’t believe he was going to take Shane Hollander out on a date.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
It was already past midnight. The small date in the upper left corner of his screen showed 1am, meaning that it was already Saturday. Tonight, they would play against Montreal. And the day after, he would meet Shane.
Troy could hardly believe his luck.
Maybe Shane would like him. Maybe they would find something outside of hockey to talk about, sharing funny stories from their childhood, realizing that they liked to hang out with one another.
Troy stared at the perfect face and plush lips of Shane Hollander and couldn’t hold back his smile.