Chapter Text
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August 2021 – Florida
Saturday
As he lay back down on his huge beach towel—after carefully smoothing out all four corners—Shane Hollander thought that he and Ilya had had a brilliant idea to organize this vacation week.
"It’s still incredibly hot, isn't it? What time is it?" asked Maria, who was set up two towels over to the right. Maria was a friend of Scott Hunter and Kip, as well as Kyle—Eric Bennett’s sexy boyfriend. Her name had easily made the—long—list of guests for the Florida trip, especially since having girls along was essential for the perfect vibe. That’s why colorful beach towels lined up across the white sand of the private beach, accessible via a hundred-meter path leading from the ridiculously huge villa they had rented.
Shane glanced at his state-of-the-art watch. "Almost six o'clock," he noted. He was happy to strike up a conversation with Maria, whom he barely knew. Her orange two-piece was cut high and low in all the right places, and even he had to admit she looked stunning. It was their first day in paradise, and Shane was glad he’d invited J.J. as one of the few single straight guys in the group. He imagined the two might hit it off, though there were other girls invited, and Shane had always been pretty bad at playing matchmaker. Still, J.J. was bound to have a dream vacation.
Right on cue, Ilya, Hayden, and J.J. emerged noisily from the water, playfully heckling one another. Shane had given up hoping that the relationship between his two best friends and his husband—oh God, would he ever get used to that word?—would ever be truly harmonious. As long as they didn’t actually come to blows, he managed to convince himself that this was just how they showed their affection for one another. Or something like that.
Ilya practically threw himself onto the towel spread out next to Shane’s, kicking up a cloud of sand onto Shane’s beach towel and sending seawater splashing onto the page Shane was trying to read. He shot Ilya a glare and a growl, but his expression softened the moment he saw him leaning casually on one elbow—his glistening torso turned toward him, eyes sparkling with amusement as he anticipated Shane’s complaint. That man couldn’t look at him like that—with that perfect body and in such a flattering pose—without Shane instantly forgetting whatever annoyance he might have caused. He smiled back, looking like a lovesick fool.
A small group—consisting of Elena (another stunning friend of Kip and Scott’s), Svetlana, Wyatt Hayes (whose wife, Lisa, was held up by work at the Ottawa hospital), and Jackie (Hayden’s wife)—returned from a ruthless game of beach volleyball that had clearly worn them out. They were all sweaty and smiling. They had left Ryan Price and Troy Barrett to keep volleying the ball back and forth over the net—a rather surprising pairing, in Shane’s view. Neither man was the talkative type, to say the least. And Shane remembered that Ryan had played in Toronto with the old Troy—the Dallas Kent-era Troy, the one who hadn’t come out yet and was willing to stoop to any low trick to protect his secret.
"Who won? Ilya asked the volleyball players.
– We did! Svetlana announced proudly, though Wyatt immediately contradicted her.
– No, you won the last set by cheating, but we totally crushed you in the two before that, Wyatt protested with a laugh.
– Girls, back me up! Svetlana cried, high-fiving Elena and Jackie.
– You played girls versus guys? J.J. chimed in, amused.
– I really don’t like the disbelief in your voice, young man, Elena scolded him with a mock-haughty look. Next time, you can go up against us!"
Under his beach umbrella, elegantly stretched out on a lounger he’d brought along, Fabian Salah roused himself from a long doze—likely woken by the racket the rowdy group was making. He immediately scanned the area for his huge, calm boyfriend and spotted him easily: shirtless, wearing only long shorts, and still locked in a one-on-one match against Troy. Fabian was wearing stunning gold-framed sunglasses, and his slender, supple body looked like it had stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. He had a nipple piercing featuring a rhinestone-studded star pendant—something Shane couldn't help but glance at every now and then.
"Oh no, I think Ryan should have reapplied his sunscreen a while ago," Fabian sighed, looking dismayed at his boyfriend. And indeed, Ryan’s pale skin had turned a lobster-red across his back and broad shoulders.
"Too bad..., Maria confirmed, feigning exaggerated disappointment.
– Why is it too bad?" J.J. asked, surprised.
– Well, it’s a shame to waste..." Maria finished her sentence with an expressive gesture toward Ryan. Fabian chuckled, followed by Elena and Svetlana.
"Wait, are you saying you think Ryan Price is hot?" J.J. shot back in his unmistakable Quebec accent. "Sorry, Fabian, but..." he added, turning his head toward Ryan’s boyfriend, who kept a faint smile on his face. Shane thought the conversation was taking an interesting turn and tore his gaze away from his stunning husband’s eyes. The distraction was welcome, as he was starting to feel a certain tension rising in his swim trunks.
Maria sat up and took off the sunglasses that hid her face, pushing them up into her hair.
"For me, he’s a ten, hands down, she declared, locking eyes with J.J., who was left speechless.
– Okay, he said after a few seconds of disbelief. And you, Elena? How would you rate Ryan Price?
– I’d give him an eleven out of ten—even with the sunburn.
– It just keeps getting better; so everyone thinks Ryan is sexy? J.J. marveled. I’m taking a poll—no cheating." Fabian crossed his arms over his lean chest.
"I’m out of the race, he said with amusement.
– Alright, Jackie, what do you say?" J.J. asked, miming holding a pencil and an imaginary notebook to take notes.
"Ten, of course. That big, muscular, hairy body—it’s so hot." She winked at Hayden before he could even think of being mad.
Shane watched Fabian out of the corner of his eye; he seemed particularly proud of the praise being heaped on his boyfriend. Shane began to worry about J.J.’s plan, which might not stop at the girls.
"Svetlana?"
Ilya’s stunning Russian-American friend pretended to think hard before answering, a mischievous glint in her eye:
"He’s off the charts. I give him a hundred.
– A hundred? Damn, I think I missed out on something here,” J.J. exclaimed loudly. Fabian stepped in:
"Keep it down, J.J. If Ryan hears you, he’ll be incredibly embarrassed, and that’s the last thing I want. So, not a word when he gets back—clear?" Everyone nodded, with varying degrees of conviction. Maria continued:
"But what about you, J.J.? How many would you have given Ryan?” The big Montreal Metros defenseman—who coached the kids alongside Ryan during summer camps—looked flustered for once. Shane realized there would be no escaping it now for him too.
"Uh, maybe a five? What a weird question; I hadn’t really thought about it. Apparently, I don’t know how to rate guys.
– You’re the one asking everyone else, and now is weird? Ilya teased.
– We want your expert opinion, Rozanov, J.J. shot back. Your rating for Ryan Price?
– No problem. You know I don’t pretend not to have an opinion on hot guys—unlike you, replied Ilya.
– And girls,” Wyatt added.
Shane felt a twinge of jealousy at that clarification. He didn’t need a reminder that Ilya could appreciate both men and women; it was a subject that tormented him often enough. Twice the risk of losing him—a thought he couldn't help but entertain at times.
“Ten out of ten for Pricey, Ilya confirmed, glancing at the redheaded giant. He’s a fucking Viking; he is hot indeed.”
Shane felt somehow irritated. Oh no—he wasn’t going to get jealous of Ryan fucking Price.
“Before you ask, J.J., I give him a nine, Wyatt declared, even though I’m straight as an arrow, just like you. A bit too much beard for my taste, but otherwise, the guy is built. All over, I mean.
– Oh yeah, fuck, I’ll second that—all over!” Ilya added with a broad grin, which finally pushed Shane’s annoyance over the edge. Before he could fire back a cutting retort, Fabian stopped them:
“You bunch of perverts—can you stop getting into such graphic detail? I’ll say it again: if any of you says a word about this conversation to Ryan, I’ll tear you a new one. Clear?
– Who’s a pervert?” asked a surprised voice. It was Harris—Troy’s boyfriend—returning from the villa after a work session on his laptop that he hadn't been able to escape. His innocent tone sparked laughter, and even Shane smiled—as he almost always did around the social media manager for his future Ottawa team. Harris was largely responsible for the warm, inclusive atmosphere that defined the Centaurs.
J.J. and Ilya set about summarizing the group’s debate, constantly interrupting each other. At least neither Shane nor Hayden would have to rate Ryan Price’s physique. Shane almost regretted not having Hayden’s take on the matter.
"But of course, we don’t have a picture as complete as Fabian does on certain points, Ilya summed up with a knowing look.
– Oh, well, that’s a relief then," Shane couldn’t help but interject, his voice laced with biting irony. He couldn't manage to stay cool about it, even though he knew he should. He didn’t like picturing Ilya looking at a naked Ryan in the locker room. He’d never played on the same team as Price himself, but the hints about the man’s physique spoke volumes. And there was no denying it: the guy was a colossus—taller and broader than Ilya—making Shane look like a total twig by comparison. What if Ilya fantasized about that mass of muscle capable of swallowing him whole? What if he suddenly wanted to know what it felt like to be tiny and vulnerable with a man? Ryan was so endearing, too, with his constant shyness and awkwardness. Fortunately, he was head over heels for Fabian, so there was no risk there. But there was no risk on Ilya’s end either, right?
Shane realized Ilya was looking at him inquiringly. Lost in thought, he’d likely been glaring darkly for a few moments, though no one else had noticed; the debate had picked up again in full swing, fueled by Harris adding another "ten" to the long list kept by a flustered J.J.
"Not another word! They’re coming back this way," Fabian warned. Troy had probably spotted Harris on the beach and put an end to the volley of smashes he and Ryan had been trading. Both players looked relaxed—almost like they were in on a shared secret. To break the awkward silence settling in as they approached—with everyone trying not to openly size up the famous Ryan Price, who was nonetheless impossible to ignore—Harris called out:
"Any volunteer to help me get dinner ready?" He cast a pointed, flirtatious glance at Troy, who immediately smiled back—a smile that never failed to light up his face and his magnificent blue eyes.
"If you don't mind my culinary skills slowing you down a bit, I'm your man, he said, keeping that smile on his face.
– You are my man," Harris exclaimed, giving him a tender kiss. A few approving laughs followed them as they walked off hand in hand toward the small gate leading back to the villa—Harris in a brightly patterned shirt, and Troy shirtless in shorts, his skin golden from the sun. Only Shane and Ilya seemed serious; standing slightly apart, they were deep in an animated, low-voiced conversation.