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HAYDEN
The first hint Hayden gets that something is going on is when Shane declines Thursday drinks with the boys in favor of a mysterious coffee date.
This is suspicious for a number of reasons. First of all, it’s seven p.m. on a Thursday in the middle of December. It’s pitch black outside and freezing cold, and as far as Hayden knows, the only coffee place open at this hour is Tim Horton’s. Nobody, not even a dedicated Canadian like Shane, actually enjoys a Tim Horton’s coffee date. And, anyway, it’s halfway through hockey season: who the hell could Shane be meeting that’s worth mixing up his routine for? Not any of the other players, that’s for sure, and it’s unlikely to be any of their spouses or family members either. Rose, maybe? But when Hayden asks as much, Shane just shakes his head and says, “No, she’s in Tampa filming a movie. It’s not someone you know.”
And, okay. Hayden and Shane might not be as close as they once were, before Shane revealed he was secretly in love with Ilya Rozanov and left Montreal for the shittiest team in the NHL. But this is Hayden’s second season in Ottawa, and he likes to think that they’re getting back to where they used to be. Shane’s always over at Hayden’s, visiting his nieces and nephews, and on the rink, Hayden and Shane have the same kismet they always have. Hayden’s even learned to tolerate Rozanov, for Shane’s sake.
So while, sure, Hayden can admit he’s not the expert in Shane he once was, he also knows him well enough to know this is weird for him. Like, fully odd. And he might dismiss it as a one-off, a sign that Shane has, like, grown as a person and shed his rigidity for structure, except for the fact that it keeps happening.
Three weeks in a row, he begs off Thursday drinks for random reasons. First it's this coffee date. Then it's something about a once-in-a-lifetime yoga class. Then a spontaneous-but-essential haircut. The fourth week, he suddenly declares he’s started going to a book club, and that’s why he’s not available, both this week and for all future Thursdays.
“A book club?” Bood asks. “On Thursday nights? Come on, man, couldn’t you find one that's another day of the week?” Thursday guys nights are about as close to sacred as Centaurs' traditions can get.
“Sorry,” Shane says, sheepish. “My mom asked me to join. It’s not forever, just for long enough that she knows I tried.”
There's a chorus of groans and gripes at that, but one thing about this group of players is that they’re not into peer pressure: they let it drop.
That afternoon, walking out to their respective cars, Hayden says, “So what’s the book club you’re in, anyway? Jackie’s been looking for one to join.”
“Book club?” Shane says, sounding confused, before his face suddenly smooths out. “Oh, right, book club. Uh, it’s my mom’s book club. It’s only, uh, only Asian women allowed.”
Hayden raises an eyebrow.
“Uh, I got a special exception,” he adds hastily. “Family member, you know. Look, I gotta be going, or Ilya is going to start bitching—“
“Hollander, move your ass!” a Russian voice calls from the SUV down the line, the lights already on and engine roaring. Shane flashes Hayden quick smile and says, “See you tomorrow, yeah?” then scuttles away like his ass is on fire.
Hayden squints after him. Something is definitely up.
Because he’s a good friend, he decides right then and there he’s going to figure it out.
—
Hayden works very hard to discourage his kids from snooping. This is partially for principled reasons—he believes his kids deserve their privacy, and if he gives them tacit permission to go shifting through each other’s things then they will never stop—but also practical ones—he and Jackie do have a drawer of sex toys, and yes, it does require a key to open, but, sue them, they’re parents of four young kids, sometimes they forget to lock it.
Having said that, sometimes, snooping is necessary. “Something could be really wrong,” Hayden justifies as he lays in bed clicking around Shane’s instagram, squinting at the backgrounds of his pictures to see if there’s anything notable visible. Hayden has learned his lesson about looking closely at Instagram backdrops.
Jackie, curling her hair in the bathroom for date night, rolls her eyes. Hayden doesn’t see her do it, but he knows she’s doing it. “Maybe he’s just doing something he doesn’t want you to know about,” she says. “Have you considered that?”
Hayden huffs. “What would he want to hide from me? We’re best friends.”
“Don’t you hide things from him? Like, I'd hope you don't tell him all about our sex life."
Honestly, Hayden wouldn't mind telling Shane about his sex life, mostly because he knows it won't make Shane super into Jackie or anything, but Shane has set that boundary pretty firmly, so Hayden shakes his head. “That’s different. This is, like, a Shane-only thing. It can’t be a kinky sex secret if Rozanov’s still coming out with us every Thursday night.”
Speaking of Rozanov—Hayden switches over to his instagram. There’s a lot more for him to dig into there. He zooms in on a photo of Anya, Shane and Rozanov’s criminally adorable dog, because he thinks maybe there’s something like a pill bottle in the background. In the process he accidentally likes the photo. Fuck. Now Rozanov is going to think Hayden tolerates him, or something. Too late to go back now. He flips to the next picture.
“What trouble do you really think he could be into? It’s Shane,” Jackie says, emerging from the bathroom with her hair beautifully coiled. The bouncy curls really highlight her bouncy tits. Fuck, Hayden loves his wife.
“Sorry?” Hayden says, and Jackie smiles, crossing the room to straddle Hayden where he sits on the bed. His phone falls out of his fingers and lands fuck-knows where.
“I said, what do you really think Shane could be into that’s such a problem?”
“I don’t know,” Hayden says, trying very hard to keep his train of thought chugging when his beautiful wife’s beautiful breasts are pressed up against him. “Sometimes Shane gets into stupid situations. Like, just look at the way he found his husband. He’s a lunatic.”
Jackie hums, conceding the point. “Well, he’s lucky to have a good friend like you to look after him,” she says.
“Oh, yeah,” Hayden says, barely knowing anymore what he’s saying. “Totally, that’s—Jackie, get down here.”
He doesn’t do much more research that night.
—
But the next morning, while he’s rocking a screaming Amber to try to get her to go back to sleep, Hayden makes a plan.
It’s unlikely Shane is into anything really bad. Drugs, or money laundering, or something—these are not Shane things. But honestly, Hayden wouldn't be that surprised if Shane somehow tripped into something nefarious. It wouldn't be his fault, of course: someone probably tricked him, told him some sob story about starving orphans or rotting palm trees and now he's being milked for all he's worth, his bank accounts being used to fatten the pockets of some wrinkled old catfish. Or maybe it's not that subtle, maybe it’s just blackmail. Shane is very much a private person, and Ilya is very much not, and it would surprise Hayden not one ounce if Ilya somehow got them caught in a compromising position and now Shane has to pay out the ears to keep his sex tape off Pornhub, or something.
No, Hayden's not 100% clear on why Shane would need to meet his blackmailer every Thursday evening, but, hey, Hayden's not a cybercrimes detective. Someone else can figure that out.
In any case, Shane undoubtedly needs a bro to help him out. That’s where Hayden comes in.
First step: steal Shane’s phone. On the one hand, no, Hayden is not proud of this. On the other hand, yes, he is proud of this, because he was super subtle when he pretended to need to go back to the locker room for his mouth guard and used the opportunity to take Shane's phone. Also, he is a hacking genius, because it only takes him three tries to guess Shane’s password (0615, Rozanov’s birthday. Barf).
Once he gets into the phone, though, he realizes he doesn’t really know what to do. He scrolls through the camera roll, but there’s nothing too suspicious there, nor in Shane’s phone log. It’s in the messages that he hits the jackpot—texts from someone named “Jamie” going back six weeks. The most recent text exchange makes Hayden’s stomach twist.
Jamie: Are we still on for tomorrow at seven? 😘
Shane: Totally!
Jamie: Great, see you then 😉
Which is confusing, but potentially tame enough, except for the fact that right under the text, Jamie has sent a gif of a very hot man gyrating on what looks like a stripper pole.
And, look. Hayden’s first instinct is that there must be some innocent explanation for this, because there his no way that his best friend is cheating on his husband. His husband who he sobbed at the altar for two years ago, his husband who he is constantly and egregiously having loud sex with at team hotels, his husband who admittedly is a complete asshole but who is at least really good at hockey. But as Hayden scrolls back through the text chain, hoping for some kind of explanation—is this a weird old lady friend who thinks sending images of gyrating men supports Shane’s sexuality? Did Shane meant to text this person 'fuck off' and accidentally agreed to meet up?—Hayden finds nothing but more of the same. Lots of winky faces, lots of hearts, lots of very explicit gifs. And at the very beginning of the chain, in Jamie’s first message to Shane, an address.
When Hayden clicks on it, it takes him to Google Maps, where street view reveals a beautiful colonial house in a residential neighborhood just a little bit south of where Shane lives.
Can’t wait to see you tonight and get those muscles working! that first text had said.
“Hayden?” someone calls from the hallway, and Hayden jerks out of his stupor with just enough time to scramble the phone back into the cubby before Bood appears. He raises his eyebrows at Hayden, who offers what he hopes is a casual smile.
“Sorry,” he says. “I got caught up texting Jackie, I’m coming.”
Bood rolls his eyes. “You two are as bad as Roz and Holly.”
Thank god they’re only practicing, not playing a game, because Hayden plays like shit for the rest of the morning. He can’t think about anything but those texts. Is there any universe where those are texts inviting Shane to an Asian women’s book club? An Asian women’s book club with sexually explicit undertones where Shane works his muscles and hangs out with his mom?
Hayden knows Yuna; she’s a lovely woman, and intelligent, and for all he knows she is very into reading smutty books and discussing them with her friends, but he cannot fathom a world where she feels compelled to bring her son along and have him perform like some kind of two-bit stripper.
Just to be sure, though—and because, frankly, Hayden is struggling to come up with any alternative explanation that is not much much worse than a troublesome mother-son relationship dynamic—Hayden brings up the topic with Shane on a quick water break between scrimmages. “So, what book are you reading this week for your book club?” he asks.
“Oh,” Shane says, looking taken off guard. “Um, that one that was really popular a couple years ago, about the dogs in the animal shelter that learn to talk? And shame humans?”
Okay, so definitely not a sexy book club.
“Fuck,” Hayden hisses to himself, watching Shane skate out to where Rozanov is waiting for him on the ice, helmet in one arm, stick in the other.
"Did you say something, Pike?" Haas asks.
Hayden forces a smile for the rookie's sake. "Just that I love my life, so much, and this team is super great!"
Haas gives him a weird look and skates off.
None of this bodes well.
—
The next few weeks, Hayden watches Shane closer than he has in a long time. He doesn’t like what he sees.
For one, Shane seems tired a lot, or at least a lot more than usual. It isn’t exactly surprising—it’s the middle of hockey season, playoffs are coming up, they’re all fucking tired—but it seems worse than usual. Like maybe he’s been up to more at night than he usually is. Like he’s not getting proper rest.
He’s also got all these weird bruises that Hayden can’t explain. And, okay, Hayden knows Shane and Rozanov have as very active sex life, and no, he does not want to know any more about it. But the bruises always seem to show up in the locker rooms on Friday mornings, after Hayden knows Shane’s been out with Jamie and Rozanov’s been out with the boys. Sure, it’s possible he and Shane are fucking into the long hours of the morning, but a) Shane goes to bed at 10:30 on the dot during hockey season, and Hayden has never seen Rozanov leave the bar before eleven, and b) one night, Rozanov crashes on Bood’s sofa instead of driving home during a snowstorm, and when Shane meets them all at the rink the next morning, he still has a brand-new, massive bruise on his thigh. Unless Rozanov has figured out a way to be in two places at once, someone else gave Shane that hickey.
“What happened there?” he asks casually, pointing to Shane’s leg. Shane glances down like he’s forgotten about it. The back of his neck flushes, a telltale sign of an incoming lie.“Oh, it was just a puck, I think. Hit me in a weird spot.”
But Hayden was on the line next to Shane all day yesterday, and he would have noticed if Shane almost got nailed in the balls by a puck.
He very much did not.
Later, Hayden tries to sneak another look at Shane’s phone, to see if he’s sent any more texts to this Jamie dude. But when he tries to enter Ilya’s birthday, the phone buzzes angrily and asks him to try again. He googles it to be sure he's got the date right, but it's no use. The password’s been changed. No matter how many different combinations he tries—Rozanov’s name written out in numbers, Rozanov’s jersey number, the anniversary of their wedding—he can’t crack it.
“Maybe you’re overthinking this,” Jackie tries, but after having heard all his evidence, even she looks worried. “There’s got to be an innocent explanation. I mean, it’s Shane.” She chews her lip for a moment, then tries, “Have you asked Ilya about any of it?”
Hayden blinks. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“He probably knows what’s going on,” Jackie points out. “And even if he doesn’t tell you what it is, he'll at least tell you it's nothing to worry about."
“I don’t know,” Hayden hesitates. “I don’t think I can ask Rozanov if his husband is fucking someone else. We’re not even friends.”
Jackie rolls her eyes. “Sure you’re not,” she says. “Look, it doesn’t have to be that bold, just—ease into it. Ask if he’s been to Shane’s book club, or if he knows Shane’s friend Jamie, or something. For all you know, Jamie is some middle-aged woman teaching Shane crocheting, and this is all a bunch of stress over nothing.”
Hayden thinks of the gyrating stripper gifs. “Right,” he says. “Nothing.”
—
It’s hard to get Rozanov alone—he and Shane are practically joined at the hip, like they’re trying to make up for all the years they spent barely seeing each other—but Hayden gets his opportunity one Friday morning when Shane is pulled away for a scheduled sports massage, and Rozanov is left in the locker room, doing half-assed stretches while he waits for Shane to be done.
“Hey,” Hayden says, glancing around surreptitiously at the few guys left hanging around. It’s mostly rookies, who would try very hard not to listen in to any conversation they’re not meant to be part of, but, shit, there’s only so much you can do in a room that echoes as much as this one. “Do you mind if we—“ He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the equipment room.
Rozanov narrows his eyes. He’s still half-naked—he has some strange propensity for walking around shirtless that Hayden really, really hopes is not some form of foreplay—but he grabs a pullover and yanks it over his head as he follows Hayden into the dark little equipment room.
“What do you want?” he says, only after the door has clicked shut behind him. “You plan to kill me? If so, I have bad news for you. Russians are trained for combat since birth. I will snap your neck like a chicken."
Hayden huffs and closes his eyes. The things he does for Shane. “Look, I just wanted to ask you a question, and I didn’t want anyone else to overhear.”
Rozanov waits. “Well….” he says, one hand gesticulating in the air like get on with it, then.
God, he’s such a dick. “What does Shane do on Thursday nights?” Hayden blurts, before he can think better of it.
Rozanov’s brow furrows. “What? This is what you want to ask me?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you not ask Shane? He will tell you. He has book club.”
Hayden swallows hard. “Rozanov,” he says. “You can’t tell me you honestly believe he’s going to a book club.”
At this, Rozanov stills. His expression sharpens, closes off. There’s a long moment of heavy, sweat-scented silence. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says.
“Look, I didn’t—I don’t want to get involved with anything, if there’s nothing to get involved with,” Hayden says. “But he—I asked him about his book club, and he couldn’t tell me anything about it. And I saw his text chain with Jamie, okay?”
Rozanov narrows his eyes. “You are looking through his phone?”
“No,” Hayden answers reflexively. “Well, yes, but—I’m concerned about you, okay! This is clearly the person he’s meeting every week, and there’s all these explicit images—if you guys have an open relationship or something—“
Rozanov huffs out a half-laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I do not need to hear any more,” Rozanov says, voice low and dangerous. “There is nothing going on with Shane. There is no open relationship, no man, no affair. He is going to a book club on Thursdays, and that is it.”
“Rozanov, come on, man,” Hayden says. “You think I like this? I don’t fucking like this. Shane is my best friend.”
“Some best friend you are,” Rozanov says, “To imply he is a cheater. Shane is better than that.”
Hayden goes quiet. “If there is an innocent explanation, I just want to know what it is.”
"I have told you,” Rozanov says. "There is nothing else to say." He’s halfway out of the room, one hand on the doorknob, before he pauses, glaring over his shoulder. “If I hear you are telling this garbage to anyone else, I really will snap your neck.” Then he’s gone.
Just because he’s an asshole, he turns the lights off on Hayden as he goes, leaving him standing in the dark like an idiot, with no idea what to do next.
—
“I think it’s pretty obvious, honey,” Jackie sighs, bent over the kitchen island where they’ve been exchanged hushed whispers while the kids play in the next room. “You have to talk to Shane.”
Hayden thunks his head on the counter.
—
And, look. Hayden can’t exactly be accused of being Rozanov’s biggest fan. The opposite, probably. His cocky grin grinds Hayden’s gears, Hayden hates the way he blows kisses at the cameras after a goal, and his relentless teasing has more than once had Hayden contemplating excuses for punching a teammate in the face.
But he also threw away an entire career in Boston to be with Shane. He threw away friends, family—fuck, he can’t go back to his home country, ever, because married Shane.
And Hayden has seen the way he and Shane are together. As much as it used to irritate him, they’re a good couple. Rozanov is good for Shane. In the way he tidies up after their dinner parties, even though Hayden knows Shane is the only one who actually gives a fuck about cleanliness; in the way that Ronzanov slings his arm around Shane’s shoulder and guides him through every pulsing, bright, overwhelming party the team is dragged out to; in the way that Rozanov can get Shane to calm down and take a deep breath just by looking at him in the eyes.
Fuck, it's more than just Shane. Rozanov is good for the team. His constant mouthing off might be annoying, but there's nothing better for pulling shy rookies out of their shells. His irreverence turns into playfulness whenever he's around kids, and Hayden knows that his kids, at least, love how inventive their Uncle Ilya can get. Rozanov's even generous, if his charitable donations to the Irina Foundation are anything to go by.
Hayden can make all the justifications he wants, but in the end, it's simple: Rozanov doesn't deserve this.
More than a few nights, Hayden finds himself lying awake in bed next to Jackie, watching her slowly breathe in her sleep, wondering what could have possibly gotten Shane to this point. He knows Shane loves Rozanov. He knows he does. So what changed? Did they have a fight they didn’t tell the others about? Did they grow apart in a way that Hayden didn’t notice? Or—worse—is it just that their marriage wasn’t strong enough to begin with?
He twists his wedding ring around his finger, and he wonders.
—
Hayden figures this conversation will best be had in private, so he invites Shane over to see the kids after practice, on a day that he knows Rozanov has captain duties to take care of. Rozanov squints suspiciously at Hayden’s fumbling invitation, but it’s not exactly strange for Hayden and Shane to hang out without him, and he can’t say anything without revealing that he and Hayden have already talked.
When Shane and Hayden get to the Pikes’ house, though, it’s silent. Jackie already cleared the kids out. Shane frowns at the empty house as Hayden fumbles through some excuse about forgetting which day of the week it was.
“Are you okay, man?” Shane asks. “You look a little off. Let me make you a cup of tea.”
Hayden waits until they’re both sitting at the kitchen island with steaming mugs, before he says, “Look, there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Shane raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his tea, waiting.
“It’s about you book club,” Hayden says, looking down at his tea so he doesn’t have to see Shane’s face as he prepares a lie. “As in, I know there’s no book club.”
A brief silence. “Excuse me?” Shane says finally.
“I know you’re cheating on Rozanov,” Hayden says. “And, fuck, man, you gotta cut it out.”
This time the silence is so long that it forces Hayden to look from his tea. Shane looks—he looks genuinely shocked, like there was no universe in which he imagined that he could possibly get caught. Well, all cheaters probably feel like that, Hayden thinks. Why else would they take the risk?
“I’m sorry,” Shane says. “What?”
Hayden sighs. Of course he’s going to have to spell it out. “You said you have book club on Thursdays, but you don’t. You’ve been going to Jamie’s house.”
Shane looks like he’s choking. “How do you know—“
“I saw your text thread, okay!” Hayden says. “All those stupid—sexual videos and kissy emojis and—you are being so obvious about it, man, I can’t be the only one who figured it out, and—you know, I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t believe that you, of all people, would do this! If you’re not in love with the man anymore, at least divorce him before you go to fuck someone else!"
Shane’s expression has turned from shock to fury. Yeah, Hayden can imagine it would piss you off to get caught being a fucking asshole. He straightens his shoulders.
“Tell me you didn’t talk to Roz about this,” Shane says.
Hayden squares his jaw. “I did.”
“Jesus Christ!” Shane exclaims. “Are you trying to send him into a depressive spiral?”
“I’m trying to make sure he gets the truth,” Hayden says. “Since you’re not the one telling him.”
“What did he even say?”
Hayden huffs. “He’s in denial. He thinks you would never cheat on him. Which I would have said too, three months ago, but…”
“Jesus Christ,” Shane groans as presses his face into his hands. For several long moments, neither of them say anything else, both waiting the other out. Finally, Shane says, “I can’t decide if I should be pissed at you for meddling or happy that you care enough about Ilya to risk destroying your relationship with me.”
“I don’t care about Ilya,” Hayden lies. “It’s a matter of principle. I’m not interested in being friends with a cheater.” Even if he is my best friend, Hayden tacks on silently.
“Okay,” Shane sighs. “Please, stop. It was meant to be a surprise.”
“An affair is a pretty big surprise,” Hayden grumbles.
Shane glares at him. “Are you going to shut up and listen, or do you want me to leave you in the dark?”
Hayden clenches his jaw. “Continue,” he says, reluctantly.
And then Shane tells him the truth.
—
SHANE
That night, Shane waits until after he and Ilya have made dinner—dancing around each other in the kitchen, chopping spinach and tomatoes and frying ground beef in a pan with garlic oil—and have eaten—leaning over the kitchen island, watching the highlights from New York’s last game on Shane’s propped-up phone—and are slumped on the couch digesting before he brings it up.
“So,” he says, casually as he can manage while still eyeing Ilya for his response. “Hayden wanted to talk to me today.”
Ilya hums disinterestedly, but Shane sees the way his fingers pause on his tablet. “What about?”
“He said he thought I was having an affair.”
Now Ilya looks up from his tablet, and—is that a smirk on his face? “Ah, finally he grows some balls.”
Shane shakes his head, disbelieving. “How long have you known about this?”
Ilya tilts his head, considering. “He talked to me—two or three days ago, maybe?”
Two or three days ago. Shane tries to think if Ilya’s behavior has changed at all, but all he can remember from three days ago is a vague impression of a macaroni and cheese dinner and an early bedtime before practice. “And you didn’t believe him?”
Ilya scoffs. “Of course not. You could never find somebody as good at sex as me. Besides.” Ilya’s gaze turns dark. “If you were fucking anyone else I’d be able to tell. Your pretty hole is very revealing.”
Shane goes very hot, very quickly. “I don’t think that’s how that works,” he manages.
Ilya shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. But don’t you think I would notice, if you were wet and open from someone else?”
Shane wants to argue, because yes, actually, he totally could get away with an affair if he wanted to—but that isn't the point, and he forces himself to focus. “Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m not cheating on you,” he says.
Ilya rolls his eyes, turning back to his iPad. “I know this," he says. "I just said so.”
“Maybe I wanted to say it anyway,” Shane says. He waits, but Ilya just scrolls idly on his tablet. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve been doing on Thursdays?”
“Ah, your weekly meet-up with Jamie,” Ilya says. He hasn’t looked up from his iPad, so he misses the pained expression that flits across Shane’s face. Of course Ilya knew Shane wasn’t going to a book club. It was stupid, to think he could slip something this big past him. “I don’t want to know if you don’t want to tell me.”
Shane studies his profile for a second. He seems outwardly serene, cocky as always, but Shane thinks maybe there’s a flicker of uncertainty under that, masked by all the bravado. A little bit of doubt.
“I was taking dancing classes,” Shane says. “Pole dancing classes.”
Ilya whips his head around fast enough to pull a muscle.
“I wanted to surprise you for your birthday,” Shane continues, fighting down the blush he can already feel rising on his cheeks at the sight of Ilya’s dawning, delighted smile.
“You want to surprise me on birthday with a sexy pole dance?” Ilya asks. It’s stupid how good happiness looks on his pretty, perfect face. Shane wants to hump a couch cushion, or eat sawdust.
“With a sexy pole dance,” Shane confirms. “Jamie is my teacher. She’s very… thorough. That’s why I keep getting bruises all over my thighs. It’s really fucking hard to hold onto that pole.”
Ilya looks Shane up and down slowly, like he’s trying to fully visualize him on a pole. “I am the luckiest man alive,” he says.
“No,” Shane says, lurching forward to grasp Ilya’s hand in his. Ilya squeezes back just as tight, no hesitation. “I am. I’m sorry that I’ve been lying to you.”
Ilya shrugs shoulder. “Is okay. Was for a surprise. Good surprise."
“Yeah, but I should have thought about what it might look like,” Shane says.
Ilya raises an eyebrow. “I never thought you were cheating,” he says.
But Hayden did, Shane thinks, which maybe, for Ilya, is worse.
“I know,” Shane agrees, instead of saying that. “Because I’m the luckiest man alive.” He leans in slowly, giving Ilya time to catalogue the dip of his eyelids, the parting of his mouth, before he kisses Ilya, slow at first but quickly growing deeper, hungry. “I love you,” he murmurs, when they part. “More than anything in the world.”
“I know,” Ilya says. “It is the arms, right?” He performatively flexes a bicep.
“And the ass,” Shane agrees, slipping his hand down Ilya’s side to squeeze at it. “And your mouth.”
Ilya’s eyes darken. “My mouth? What about your pretty, cocksucking lips?”
Slowly, Shane licks those lips, enjoying the way Ilya’s gaze tracks the movement. “Speaking of,” Shane says, “I was thinking that I should find some way to say sorry for lying. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”
Ilya growls and all but pounces on Shane, who, laughing, lets Ilya press him back into the cushions. The laughs quickly fall off, though, when Ilya starts kissing his way down Shane’s neck.
“I think,” he says, his teeth against Shane’s jugular, “I can think of something.”
—
HAYDEN
The next morning, in the locker room, Ilya finds Hayden as he’s lacing up his pants.
“Look,” Hayden starts, when he sees Ilya coming towards him, “I just—“
But he’s cut off by the wide smile Ilya is giving him, and the enthusiastic clap on the back that follows. “Pikey! It is a beautiful morning to skate, yes?”
Hayden narrows his eyes suspiciously. He actually had a terrible morning, given that Jackie couldn’t stop laughing last night after Hayden told her what happened with Shane. Just when he thought she'd calmed down, something would set her off to giggling again. It lasted for hours. “I guess,” he says.
“I have never been so happy to be in the rink,” Ilya continues. “Shame we do not have a game today, I would score five goals.”
“Yeah,” Hayden agrees. “Look, Shane told me what happened, and—“
“Yes, he told me, too,” Ilya says. He’s crossed the locker room to his own stall, where he’s stripping off his hoodie in exchange for a jersey. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to try to kill Hayden with his skate blades. “I am very lucky, to have husband who will spend so much time to make me happy in bed.”
“Uh,” Hayden says.
“And last night, after you talked to him—we do not have a pole in our house yet, you understand, but we have other things. Like Shane’s pretty little lips. I have to say, I do not think I have received such a good blowjob ever before in my life. So thank you! Your—what do they call it, meddling? It was very good for me.”
Ilya shoots Hayden a wink and offers him another pat on the back as he slips out of the locker room, still half-clothed, to go God knows where.
Hayden doesn’t want to know. He really doesn’t.
In front of him, Shane’s smiling face stares at Hayden from the picture marking his stall. Hayden blinks. Try as he might, he can’t look away from Shane’s pink lips.
“Fuck my life,” he says aloud, to nobody in particular.
He’s never going to try to be a good friend again.