Chapter Text
The game was… interesting. Shane had tried to keep up with the puck and who was who but was easily left behind as the players charged across the ice. It was hard not to yelp and gasp like an idiot when a player experienced even the gentlest hit, but it was just all so violent.
Ilya seemed to deal out more than he was dealt. He skated like the fates were with him, electric on the ice. When he collided with a Voyageur it always looked painful for both, the two bodies imploding like planets in the solar system of the rink.
It was easy to get captivated just watching the skating, the smooth way that each player seemed to embrace the ice and even the refs caught Shane’s eye with their easy backwards skating and the casualness with which they took to the ice.
This meant he stood out like an idiot whenever Ottawa scored, while everyone else was swept up in the joy and seemed to leap up as one homogenous unit he stayed sitting, just trying to process the change on the scoreboard above.
Eventually the game was over, a definite victory for the Centaurs as his mom had predicted. He watched as the players disappeared down the tunnels, mourned the loss of Rozanov and then followed his parents as they went down to the staff areas.
There was something undeniably exciting about seeing everyone clambering for a hint of their favourite player, buying scarves and shirts to feel included and involved and then Shane being able to casually follow his parents into the restricted area. He’s instantly wrapped in a layer of calm. There’s few staff around, and the ones that are in the corridors don’t linger. They nod at Yuna in acknowledgment and scurry off, all clearly busy. His dad even gets dragged off by a harried looking woman who his mom tells him is one of the finance wizzes.
“We haven’t had a good team in so long,” Yuna explained to Shane, “now people actually want a piece of us, it’s good, but everyone's in panic mode. I’m having to convince Harris to hire some new interns to help, poor mans overworked.”
Harris, as though summoned by an invisible force, suddenly appeared looking vaguely distressed.
“Sorry, Yuna,” he sputtered, “we’re having an issue with CBC?”
“Yes, of course.” She turned around to speak to Shane, “sorry honey, I just have to sort this out. Go and find something to eat, you didn’t have any of the popcorn and you know I worry.”
He could understand why, there was a time when he was a little younger that he’d get all wobbly when his blood sugar dropped, but having it mentioned in front of Harris made him flush ugly.
“It’s fine mom,” he assured her, “CBC is important.”
She gave him one final wave before striding confidently after Harris down the winding corridors.
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He was a little bit lost. On his quest to find something edible he’d found himself stuck in the intertwining areas and rooms across the rink. When he’d initially come back out into the spectators areas he’d been hesitant to reenter the doors with large ‘staff only’ signs, considering he definitely wasn’t staff. He wasn’t sure he could even be considered a fan. But he’d been gifted some amount of luck as he was able to easily walk through the areas with a confident enough step that nobody had challenged him.
The outside world had been found. There was no chance of him buying any food in the vicinity, it was both absolutely terrible for you and overpriced in a way that made his stomach turn. If the additives wouldn’t make him ill, then five dollars spent on one hotdog definitely would.
The door he’d used had led to the back of the rink, not where the myriad of fans were spilling out with triumphant, hungry gazes ready to take on the worst drinking spots in Ottawa. He could see them through the barriers, shedding clothes like lizards in the evening sun.
He’s figuring out how to escape the enclosure he’s found himself in when he spots a child.
Shane had some complicated feelings regarding children. On one hand too many were loud, difficult to deal with and often turned up to consults for no reason and stressed out the animals. They were also much more easy to deal with than the adults. Children always seemed to understand animals a lot better than adults did, they didn’t try to place human emotions or experiences onto their pets, so Shane often found himself talking to an interested ten year old during a consult rather than talking to the ‘actual’ owner.
This child was running at full pelt away from the building like an excited labrador. She was surprisingly fast for someone with such small legs, and he could hear her giggles as she approached the fence.
“Hey!” Shane yelled out to her, “hey, woahh, steady down!”
The girl just laughed and slowed to a lazy skip. She looked, what, about seven? She was wearing a Montreal Voyageurs jersey and there was a blue ribbon in her hair. There was nobody else outside looking out for her, and Shane realised with horror that he was going to have to stop her from doing something stupid like running into the hordes of fans.
“Hey,” he said, a bit softer this time as he stood just in front of her. “Where are your parents at?”
“Somewhere,” she replied with a shrug.
He looked down at her defiant gaze and found a small smile on his face, “are they in the rink?”
“Yes.” She replied, matter of fact, “my dad’s in the changing room. He forgot his phone.” She giggled to herself, “mommy says it’s because he’s too silly.”
Right. A changing room, that must mean he’s a player right? Or, he could even be one of the mascots which might make him even harder to track down. He was connected to the Voyageurs in some way presumably, from the jersey the girl was wearing. It was a ‘Pike’ one, Shane didn’t dwell on it.
“Alright,” he crouched down to see the kid properly, “can you lead me to your dad?”
“My mom says I’m not allowed to follow strangers.”
“Ah,” Shane murmured, “that’s okay. Do you mind just standing here with me, though? I’m Shane, Shane Hollander.”
“Okay.” The girl replied, “but it’s boring just standing.”
Ah. Entertainment, yes.
“I’ve erm,” he fiddled around with the larger pocket on his cargos, “I’ve got a ball here? It bounces pretty well.”
It was a tennis ball, thankfully unchewed, that he kept in his pocket to distract dogs with. He bounced it casually over to the girl who grabbed it with two hands and cackled.
“I can bounce it higher than you,” she taunted, “look!”
She bounced it back, using her whole body to slam it into the floor for a pretty impressive bounce that made it sail over Shane’s head.
“Alright,” he said to the girl, “I think I can do even better.”
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Shane really hoped he didn’t look like a massive weirdo to the few people around the back of the rink. He and the girl, Ruby, were quietly talking while passing the ball back and forth between them.
“I like watching hockey,” she was saying, “but it can be annoying.”
He found himself agreeing with her assessment, “it’s very loud, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” She furrowed her brow. “I keep on asking mommy to buy me horse riding lessons for my birthday, but daddy wants me to try hockey instead. But hockey is too annoying for me.”
“Your dad’s a player then?”
“Yep.”
“That must be cool.”
“Sometimes.”
She came back to him with a particularly hard bounce.
“Oh my god!”
A man in a suit was running towards Ruby. He lifted her up, strong arms contracting to hold her midair in one clean swoop. The poor thing looked beyond stressed as he bounced her, like he was making sure she was really there.
“Ruby, Ruby, oh my god, you can’t just run away like that! I was just in an interview, sweetheart.”
“Boo, boring,” Ruby moaned, “I got to play with Shane instead.”
“Shane?” The man asked, gaze bitter as he turned to look. “You are Shane, I’m assuming?”
“Hi, yeah, er… I just saw Ruby running so I thought I better stop her before she gets somewhere she shouldn’t be.”
The man looked unconvinced and entirely massive in his smart black suit. Shane could see his biceps expanding as he held Ruby casually, like she was still a baby.
“Oh?” He questioned, “I haven’t seen you around this rink before, I haven’t heard of a Shane.”
“Oh no,” Shane laughed anxiously, “no, no, my mom is the er, brand manager for the Centaurs, I was just invited to the game.”
“Just call them the Cens, bud,” the man laughed, “everyone else does, doesn’t make them seem scary enough in my opinion. So, Yuna Hollander is your mom?”
“Yep.” Shane answered, only now realising that Hayden Pike was holding his daughter and casually threatening Shane around the back of the rink. It wasn’t necessarily hard to recognise the players when the helmets were off, but the panic waltzing through his veins was making it hard to think of anything.
“Yes, daddy. Now if I could get back to playing, Shane Hollander was about to lose our game.”
Pike’s eyes flashed with something.
“Oh shit!” “Swear jar, daddy.” “Shane Hollander! We played together, hell, you were a beast on the ice!” He finally relinquished Ruby who returned to bouncing the tennis ball to herself. “Oh man,” he approached Shane to clap him firmly on the shoulder. It felt almost biblical, the true original bro hug from an iconic jock.
“How you been, man? What you were, hell, about fourteen last time I saw you, jesus!”
Shane laughed, “been good. You’re doing really good though, haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Hayden chuckled, “yeah, bud. I couldn’t have imagined I’d be doing this… but, here we are!”
“Pike!”
“Oh, jeez.” Hayden muttered, “I hate these things.”
He smiled back at Shane, patting him again on the shoulder. Shane felt his whole body shake at the heavy handed man.
“See you after, yeah, man?” He grinned, “oh wow, your mom’s working for the Cen’s now! I knew I recognised her, I’ll say hi, yeah? She’s a total force of nature, they’re so lucky to have her. She’ll be needed with Rozanov, anyway.”
He clapped his hand again on Shane, letting it linger for a moment with a steady shake. “Don’t be a stranger, bud.”
He scooped up Ruby who threw the tennis ball back to Shane with a foul expression directed towards the back of her dad’s head. “Bye, bye Shane Hollander!” She yelled, “I beat you!”
He smiled back at the child as Hayden disappeared back into the building. The man stopped for a moment, Shane assumed he was putting Ruby back on the ground or opening the heavy doors but instead he saw his body tighten as he moved past someone else, who was awkwardly standing in the way.
“Pike,” Shane heard a voice say, “surprised you can carry child, thought Montreal’s eleventh best player would want to protect his back after bad fall last season?”
“Fuck off, Rozanov,” Hayden replied, voice muffled from the distance.
Shane’s twisted with anxiety so much he had a fleeting concern about colic, the subject of his anxieties was then revealed when Hayden slid into the building to reveal a Russian with a damnable smirk written on his face. Like Hayden, the man was in a full suit, but it was a softer grey and the top buttons were undone enough to catch a glimpse of the man’s chest. Shane realised he couldn’t remove his eyes from the pale swatches, and even more concerning was the fact he didn’t want to. He was now openly ogling him.
If the jeans Ilya wore were bad, the trousers were somehow even worse. The material looked thin, Ilya shifted slightly and it was obvious that the material was aggravatingly thin. Shane knew about the whole ‘grey sweatpants’ thing, but this was so much more explicit in the way the tailored fabric hugged the man’s body. While sweatpants showed hints, these trousers announced them. His chest was ridiculously delicious, but the bulge that dented out from the grey like a mountain made Shane feel ravenous.
Ilya Rozanov was looking back with an expression that Shane couldn’t understand, like a signature on the Russian’s face