Chapter Text
Vincent LeMaire is an old friend of Shane Hollander, back from his junior days in Kingston. Their draft differences didn’t keep them from maintaining a friendship, though Shane was still somewhat surprised when LeMaire asked him to be part of his bachelor party after getting engaged.
Shane couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Vinny, but he was glad to be here. He’d hoped he would get the chance to embarrass him and tell the story about how they’d driven all the way to practice, only for Vince to realize he had left his skates on his bed.
As teenagers, the two had spent plenty of time in BPs with Vince trying to convince Shane to try whatever new wing flavour they’d rolled out, with Shane declining, sticking to his usual order.
Vinny’s cousin, Patrick, reached out a few months later with some loose plans to get the men of the wedding party together for a trip to California. Very little was said aside from dates and where to fly into. Shane liked a solid plan, but by the time this rolled around it would be summer, meaning it would be off season and the need for concrete plans was less.
When Shane got off the plane at Sonoma County Airport in June, he’d been met with a cloudy but blue sky. Still, the sun was warm.
He noted that the airport was much smaller than he was used to, but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, it was somewhat comforting, because he knew it meant there was practically zero chance he would be recognized.
He’d been met with a car waiting for him, specifically the blacked out SUV type he’s used to. Only this time, the vehicle was white instead of the usual black, and Ilya Rozanov was in the back seat.
Shane’s heart stopped.
Then, it began beating rapidly.
He hadn’t spoken to Rozanov since Sochi, where he’d made his feelings clear: he wanted nothing to do with Shane. He reminded Shane that they were nothing and to stay away from him. He hadn’t answered his texts or started any more new conversations of his own. It was radio silence. Shane couldn’t help but feel terrified.
Did Rozanov know Shane was coming? Was this a surprise for him, too?
As he made his way to the Yukon, he considered taking the passenger seat, so as to avoid Rozanov, but it was already taken. Rats.
Vincent came around from the other side of the vehicle and greeted him. “Hollzy! What’s good?”
Shane laughed quietly. “Not much! You know the drill.”
The two embraced in a half-hug like they’d always done, doing little to calm Shane’s growing nerves about this trip. How did Rozanov even know Vince? Shane had assumed it would be a small group, assuming mostly family.
Shane was wrong.
“Are you ready to party?” Vince scrunched his face in excitement and led Shane to the trunk to place his bag.
“Hop in!” Vince opened the door and returned to his seat in the back row, Shane joining beside him.
Vincent continued. “The thought of having to deal with baggage claim is a nightmare.”
“Agreed.” Shane replied, eyes locked on the landscape outside.
“Glad we don’t have to deal with that.” Vinny pulled on his seatbelt.
Shane nodded.
Shane was mostly silent for the drive back to the airbnb. Vincent trailed on and on, an attempt to fill Shane in on everything he’d missed since the last time they’d seen each other before they even got out of the car. Shane’s responses had been short, focusing on his attempt to ignore the knowledge of who sat in the seat across from him. The XL SUV felt claustrophobic.
The roads had been windy and twisty, and Shane had hoped to himself that nobody here got carsick. He remembered all the times he had gotten carsick as a kid, dreading any car ride longer than an hour. Thankfully, he had grown out of it, but knew not everyone was as fortunate.
He stared out the window at the trees, taking in the greenery. Playing hockey had allowed him to travel around North America, seeing it for what it truly is. Still, he favoured the more rural, secluded areas over the hustle and bustle of cities. He loved not having neighbors as far as the eye can see, the way the stars were always visible at night, never shrouded by light pollution.
This was nothing like he’d come to learn of Los Angeles, where the noise never stopped, you couldn’t see the stars, and it took an hour to drive five miles to an arena. He decided he very much preferred this.
Shane was daydreaming about having a place of his own on a lake as they came to an abrupt stop, accompanied by an apology. The car waited for another to pass, then crossed the road, pulling down onto a rocky-dirt path. Patrick read a code from his phone, punching it into the keypad.
The keypad screeched a high pitched sound and the wooden gate slowly opened.
Patrick pulled in slowly, all of the guys taking in the sight. The property had opened to a wide open field of grass and dirt. In the distance, horses could be seen beside a barn. There were two houses: one straight ahead and one off to the left.
“Follow me!” Patrick piped.
Everyone let themselves out of the car and grabbed their bags from the trunk.
Patrick led the way to the front door of the house on the left, punching in a door code also from his phone.
An old-looking, probably fake, wagon wheel laid against the side of the house. Flowers lined the brick walkway that their suitcases waddled against. Shane could hear birds chirping from every direction.
It was calm.
The living room was cosy: the floor was an old wood that had been painted over, with a patterned rug in the center of the room. There was a long couch, a shorter one, and two chairs on either side of a fireplace.
Patrick led everyone to the stairs. “So,” he began. “This isn’t the biggest house, but it has a lot of charm.” He tapped on a dark brown, wood trim that surrounded the staircase.
After everyone made their way to the top of the stairs, he stopped at the first door just off the landing.
Shane looked around the hallway, noting the dated details of the home. The doorknobs looked original and the wooden floor creaked.
“So, this is Vince’s room.” He opened the door, throwing it inward to show everyone the contents.
Rozanov chimed in, “Bo-ring.” punctuating the syllables.
Rozanov’s voice sent chills through Shane’s body. Shane could count the number of times he’d heard it, up close and personal like this, and all the times that nobody knew anything about could fit on one hand.
Vince entered, setting his bag beside the bed, then laying back on it.
Patrick continued. “Vince technically got the smallest bed, but it’s fine because he gets the room to himself.”
“Looks like a King’s Palace to me!” quipped Marc.
Rozanov scoffed as Shane took in the absurdity of the situation. How was he supposed to survive being in such close proximity to Rozanov for the next few days? How did Rozanov and Vince even know each other?
Vince’s room was plain as can be, uncharacteristic to the rest of the house. It almost looked like a hotel room: plain white sheets tucked immaculately, a simple lamp on a bedside table, and now, a man and his suitcase.
A moment later, Patrick quickly threw open the next door and said, “This one’s mine and Marc’s,” but kept walking down the hall. The room had looked like two messy brothers had taken over because the two had been to the house already to set up.
Shane’s heart stopped and hoped the two doors were two different bedrooms.
Patrick continued down the hallway without stopping. He pointed at a cabinet and told them that’s where the extra towels were. He stopped at the next door in a corner.
“This room,” Patrick turned the doorknob, “Is for Ilya and Shane.”
Shane felt every hair stand on end. Without his permission, his head nodded silently. He hadn’t considered the sleeping arrangements. He lowered his standards when Vince said his Patrick had booked an airbnb in the countryside, and lowered them further when he learned it was a small house. What he couldn't have anticipated was being assigned a room– a bed with Rozanov.
Generally speaking, it’s not weird. The Voyageurs had found themselves in a hotel mixup before and Shane had to share a bed with Hayden. However, Shane and Hayden had never crossed the invisible line of intimacy, unlike Shane and Rozanov.
He wondered if Rozanov still wanted to keep extreme distance between the two of them, if he’ll ask one of Vinny’s cousins to swap with him, even if they don’t know each other. He and Rozanov hadn’t as much as acknowledged each other so far. For all anyone knows, Hollander and Rozanov don’t know each other, and their rivalry is real and runs deep.
Shane pondered the possibility of just sleeping on the floor. There’d be spare blankets somewhere; he could make a bed on the floor and make do for a few nights.
As if Rozanov could read Shane’s mind, he lolled his head toward the door and smirked in the general direction of the group.
Shane blinked longly, forcing away the flashback of seeing Rozanov with hooded eyes looking down at him. Something about this grin said more than any word in the English (or French) language could. Shane told himself the smirk wasn’t directed toward him, because if he didn’t, his knees might give out.
The voices around Shane had slowly faded out and began to fade back in, Patrick’s voice trailing. “This room actually has the biggest bed. I figured since you two are the tallest, this made the most sense.”
From what Shane could see, that was true; the bed was definitely a King.
Rozanov squeezed in between all the men and laid down on the mattress, on the side that he usually ended up on in hotel rooms.
That was the whole problem: Shane knew what Rozanov was like in bed, learned which side he preferred, had this sight burned into his memory.
Patrick had kept walking, snapping Shane back to reality.
Shane set his bag just barely inside the bedroom and followed for the rest of the house tour, hands clammy. He learned that his room was next to the bathroom and the door next to the bathroom was just another closet.
Shane tried to ignore his dry mouth as he followed the guys back to the living room, pretending Rozanov wasn’t actually there.
Vincent continued to fill everyone in on what his life was like at the moment. His fiancee, Mayra, had gotten a promotion at her job and she would likely be moving offices, but that was about all Shane was able to retain. He felt bad about it, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the hockey player with light brown curls wearing a cutoff Boston shirt.
Patrick leaned back, exhaling a sigh. He checked his watch. “So we have a dinner reservation at Stark’s Steakhouse for 6:00. We should probably head out in about 30 minutes.”
“Alright.”
“Sounds good.”
Patrick nodded. “I know I was in charge of planning most of this, but there’s not too much set in stone. There’s a couple of reservations, but other than that, I think we could just roll with whatever.”
Vince nodded as he stood. “Fine by me. I’m gonna go get changed, then.”
Shane turned his head to Marc, who was just enamored by his phone, half paying attention. Out of the corner of his eye, a pillow flew at Marc.
“What the fuck was that!”
“Did you hear Patrick?” Rozanov asked.
Marc mocked Rozanov, but added, “Yes. I heard my brother.”
Rozanov threw his hands in the air as an apology. “Just making sure.” He stood up and headed, Shane assumed, to their shared room. The thought sent a chill through his body.
Shane was glad he had worn an outfit that was fine to wear to dinner so he didn’t have to face his (temporary) roommate in such close quarters. He hadn’t been sure of the rest of the day’s plans, or how far the airport was from the airbnb, so he wore something that would work for most events.
He thought about sleeping on the couch for the whole trip, but he knew that could come off as suspicious. He didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention or be rude.
Rozanov was the last to return to the living room. He’d traded his t-shirt for a subtle black button down and a pair of jeans.
Shane allowed himself a glance at him. His glance lingered for a moment too long, and he snapped his head away when his eyes stopped at Rozanov’s to find him staring back at him.
He looked good, even with his hair still unkempt from the flight. Shane felt his cheeks heat up.
“Ready?” asked Patrick.
One by one, they filed back into the Yukon, Shane still taking a seat as far as possible from Rozanov.
The drive to dinner was a bit more lively. Vince had taken control of the driver’s seat, insisting that Patrick was a horrible driver. Patrick took it as an opportunity to blast music, specifically a song Shane had recognized but couldn’t name.
The restaurant wasn’t too far away, much to Shane’s ears' joy. He’d already needed some fresh air, too.
Shane caught a glimpse of Rozanov’s lower back as he was bent over as they climbed out of the car. His stomach felt the same way it feels when they hit a specific dip in the road on the way to his family’s cottage.
The host seated them in a round corner booth. Shane was happy that they all seated in the order they walked in, because it meant that he would sit next to Marc and Rozanov across from him. A small part of Shane wondered what it would be like if they did sit next to one another, thighs pressed against each other through jeans.
The dim lighting of the restaurant would have made an excellent natural sleep aid except for the fact that Rozanov had been giving him a specific look for half of dinner.
He tried his hardest to look at Rozanov only half the time he spoke, to not make his attempts to ignore him obvious.
Shane felt a foot on his a few times, which he chalked up to everyone’s feet bumping under the table.
Maybe Marc, who sat next to him, had two left feet.
The group made a stop at a supermarket for alcohol before heading back to the airbnb. They perused the snack aisle for twice as long as necessary, ogling at the difference in selection, and not leaving without plastic red cups.
Back at the airbnb, Shane hadn’t realized how much alcohol they actually bought until they ran out of room in the fridge. In their defence, the fridge looked bigger than it actually was, and they were a bunch of guys on a bachelor trip. Sue them.
After a few rounds of pong, Marc insisted that Rozanov was cheating. Patrick wanted the noise to stop, which is how they ended up at a 100-something year old dining table playing Cards Against Humanity.
Vince looked disappointed before reading the next card in the deck. “What is George W. Bush thinking about right now?” As he set the card down, he said, “This one isn’t even funny. Off to a great start.”
Marc looked confused as he said, “Who is George W. Bush?”
“Marc. Are you serious?” Rozanov tilted his head down and raised his eyebrows in Marc’s direction.
“Yes!” Marc practically screamed.
Rozanov motioned outward. “Are you stupid? He was American president!”
“I don’t live here!”
Shane chuckled as the two bickered.
The winning card, which did not come from Shane, said, “MechaHitler.”
As it was read aloud, Shane couldn’t hold in the gasp that escaped his mouth as he heard it. His eyes grew wide, but he thought it was amusing at the same time. After all, this was a card game for horrible people, as the box said.
Rozanov leaned forward, elbows on the table, staring intently at his cards, before slyly reaching forward to claim his victory.
The next round was Vince’s turn, and he announced, “A Pick Two, Gentlemen!”
Patrick groaned as he shuffled through his hand.
Vince read his black card aloud. “And the Academy Award for blank goes to blank.” He paused. In a dramatic announcer’s voice, he followed up with “And the Stanley Cup goes to the Minnesota Nomads!” which elicited a groan from all of the guys.
“In your dreams.” Marc laughed.
“No. Never happening.” Rozanov shook his head.
“When pigs fly,” Shane said and leaned back in his seat.
Vince’s eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped. “You have that little faith in Minnesota?!”
Everyone nodded, doubtful comments still overlapping.
Rozanov continued. “Mairey, I love you, but that is never happening.” He shook his head and leaned forward to collect two more cards.
“Anyway…” Vince’s voice trailed off as he stared at the card pairings on the table for longer than the last round.
Shane listened as Vince read the contenders aloud. His heart skipped a beat inside his chest when he heard one of the pairings include the word gay. He quickly glanced around at the room. No one else seemed to have any sort of reaction. He didn’t doubt that this group of guys were safe. He knew at least one of them was capable of keeping a secret.
“I only feel comfortable picking this pair because it means someone has an equally bad sense of humour.” Vincent picks up the pair “Running out of semen.” and “The gays.”
And the Academy Award for running out of semen goes to the gays.
Marc whooped and wailed. “Give it to me, baby!”
“We’re cousins?”
“The card, dumbass.”
Marc snatched the card away.
Shane wondered if Marc was gay, and that’s why he put that pair down.
“I swear I don’t have a problem with gay people. It’s just funny.” Vincent clarified.
Rozanov hummed. “I hope Hayden Pike is on next card series. I wish he would run out. His kids could fill a penalty box.”
Everyone laughed. Shane knew that these people didn’t know Hayden personally, but they knew hockey.
Shane felt a sense of defense for his friend, even if this was all playful. “C’mon. He doesn’t have that many.”
Rozanov had joked about Pike before, behind closed doors.
Shane hoped it wasn’t too suspicious that Rozanov knew this detail about his best friend. He was still dying to know why he was here at all. Why hadn’t Vinny ever mentioned Rozanov in any of their conversations?
“More than me.” Rozanov responded flatly, shrugging.
Shane’s eyebrows furrowed as he tested the waters. “And how many kids do you have?”
“None.” He smirked.
“That you know of,” interjected Patrick.
Shane hoped Rozanov didn’t have any kids. He tried to not think about why he cared about that detail. The two of them weren’t anything. They had hooked up a few times. That was it. That was all they were, all they could be.
The laughter died down as they prepared for the next round.
When Shane put down “Geese.” as the winning card in response to “What would grandma find disturbing, yet oddly charming?” and he was the only one to laugh, he was reminded of how he doesn’t really like playing games with anyone outside of his family.
Shane hates Cards Against Humanity sometimes, always feels like his cards only make sense to him or a few people, and never the people he’s with.
Still, he wasn’t really that bothered, so he said nothing.
Thankfully, the feeling passed when Marc won “A romantic, candlelit dinner would be incomplete without” with “Licking things to claim them as your own.”
Vincent leaned forward, mouth forming an O shape. “Isn’t there a player who does that?”
“Yeah! On the ice. I heard that.” Rozanov added.
“What?” Shane asked.
“Maybe you will be next, Mairey.” Rozanov chirped.
Vincent scrunched his face at that. “No thanks.”
They made it through the entire deck of cards when they decided to call it quits on the game, but not quite yet the night.
Marc emerged from another room with a ski.
Patrick ran an exasperated hand down his face. “It’s June in California. There’s nowhere to go skiing, Marc.”
Marc turned the ski around to reveal that he only had one, and it wasn’t an ordinary ski, but rather a shotski. “Shotskis!” He shouted, and hurried back into the kitchen.
Shane watched as the other guys got up eagerly and he followed behind them.
They did a skishot together, Shane making sure he didn’t stand next to Rozanov.
Shane wasn’t a huge drinker, but he could handle his liquor. The first time he got so drunk that laying in bed felt like he was on a rollercoaster, he vowed to never drink that much again.
This shot, however, was perhaps the most disgusting he’d ever had, and Hayden once dared him to take a bar mat shot. He winced after they set the ski down, wiping his mouth. He opened his mouth to complain, but Rozanov beat him to it.
“What the fuck was that?”
Marc laughed for a moment, but quickly jumped to defend himself. “My favourite!"
Shane grabbed a ginger ale from the fridge.
Rozanov looked pissed. “That tastes like floor cleaner. What is this?”
Marc retrieved a bottle from the counter that was tucked behind a coffee machine.
Vince closed his eyes and looked away at the sight of the plastic bottle. “Oh, come on! You know we have money. Why do you still insist on buying the cheap shit?”
Marc raised a shoulder and leaned into it. “It brings back memories. My favourite cousin is getting married. I had to!”
“It will be a war crime if you pull this shit again.” Rozanov points an accusing finger at Marc.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
The evening continued on in a similar fashion, drinks outnumbering the hours they’d spent together, cards scattered across the table.
Shane learned far more than he’d cared to about Vincent’s cousins, but still found them to be an interesting duo. They weren’t hockey players, never played anything beyond rec, but knew the game well.
Eventually, Rozanov was laying on the sofa, arms folded around a bottle of water. He did not look comfortable at all, but Shane had no intention of missing the opportunity to have the bed upstairs to himself.
The others were scattered about, one on his phone, another cleaning up in the kitchen.
Shane murmured quiet goodnights to everyone so as not to disturb the sleeping Russian on the couch.
Upstairs, Shane set up his toiletry bag on the back of the door. He quickly brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas.
As a kid, Shane hated sleepovers with other kids because they made fun of his pajamas. He always wore a matching set and they wore a regular t-shirt most of the time. For Shane, having specific pajamas helped him fall asleep, like the clothes told his body it was time for bed because they were so different from day clothes. Before he could overthink his clothing choices further, he turned out the light and headed for the bedroom.
He was looking forward to getting into bed and rubbing his feet together when he opened the door to find Rozanov snoring in their the bed.
Shane’s breath gets caught in his throat, his body unsure if it wanted to sigh or gasp. He swallowed thickly.
Quietly, he stepped across the room to the other side of the bed. He gently peeled the duvet from where it was tucked, and slipped into bed with calculated movements. He forced himself to not toss and turn in bed like he normally would.
Shane eventually fell asleep in the middle of tapping his fingers against his chest in succession, a sleep tactic he learned as a kid.