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There’s a chance that possibly, maybe, Hayden doesn’t hate Rozanov as much as he thought he did.
Or, is it that he’s starting to hate Rozanov less? Tolerate him? Accept the fact that the lightness and ease that’s come over his best friend is largely in part to the man currently being tormented by his children right now?
He glances over Shane’s kitchen island to the couch, where Rozanov is still allowing Jade and Ruby to “do his makeup”, a skill that has consisted of less makeup and more stickers than he’d known they packed. Arthur has made a nest on his chest, complete with not only his blanket but the one Ilya was meant to have on, and every car, truck, and stuffed animal he could fit, and while his youngest isn’t a part of the pile, when the girls turn around to gather more stickers he glances up to wave at her.
She waves from her bundle in Jackie’s arms, and something in Rozanov’s face melts which– understandable really, he and Jackie make really fucking cute kids, but there’s depth to it that Hayden refuses to call endearing. The fact that Rozanov is so mushy for Hayden’s kids, hell for Hayden’s wife, isn’t endearing in any way, shape, or form.
He takes another gulp of his beer and refuses to soften. Denies it with every bone in his body. There’s nothing sweet about the way Rozanov lifts his chin to allow Ruby to plant a rather gaudy unicorn sticker against his cheek, or that he lets Jade paint that awful not-quite strawberry lip gloss on his lips. And even in his own head, there’s no way he’d admit that Rozanov being so placid about Arthur swinging his legs up and down, so close to some very vital parts of his anatomy, is actually–
Wait, no Arthur’s not on his chest anymore. He’s migrated down to his hip, legs still swinging, which would be fine except that puts his feet right up against–
“Whoa bud!” Hayden is over in two strides. He steps over the girls to pull Arthur up as smoothly as he can, up and away from the thick brace around Rozanov’s knee. “I told you to be careful around Uncle Ilya. He’s still hurt.”
“But I wasn’t doing anything!” Arthur whines. “I was making a path with my truck!”
“Yes, Pike,” Rozanov whines, in a near identical tone. “He was making path with truck. Is fine.”
“Is not–” Hayden’s eye twitches. “It is not fine. There’s a tear in your MCL.”
A hand wave from below.
“Partial tear. Doctor says fine in a month.”
Behind him, Hayden can hear his wife giggling, and then, because the universe hates him, his youngest echoing her. Rozanov lifts up a brow as if to say see. Which no, not see. Not see at all. Unless for see, it means see Hayden you were right to hate this man. See Hayden, he’s just as infuriating as he’s always been.
“Your doctor said no roughhousing–” He refuses to stop at the smirk that crosses Rozanov’s lips. “For two weeks. That includes letting my kid kick you because you won’t tell him to move.”
Rozanov tilts his head again, partially to allow Ruby who hasn’t so much as flinched with the commotion to plaster yet another sticker to his face and partially to wink at Hayden.
“I have done worse things this week.”
Hayden fixes him with a glare.
“I’ve heard enough of Shane’s complaining to know none of that is true.”
Jackie has devolved into shrieking laughter, his kids, not understanding the joke, are starting to giggle as well. All except for Arthur, who has gone from whiny to still in his arms.
“I didn’t mean to kick you, Uncle Ilya,” he says, and shit, those are tears. Hayden can definitely hear tears.
Rozanov’s face does his alarming 180, cockiness into devastation, as Hayden gently sets his son down on the floor. He turns and kneels down to face him, hands coming up to cup his already ruddy cheeks.
“He knows you didn’t, right Uncle Ilya?” Hayden starts, hearing but not seeing the frantic nods and immediate ‘yes’ from behind him. “But we have to be gentle with our family. We don’t want to hurt anyone even by accident. That’s why we have to be careful with what, everyone?”
“Our hands and our words,” his kids echo dutifully. It’s something he and Jackie have instilled in them since they were old enough to toddle around.
Hayden swipes a tear off his son’s cheek.
“Even if Uncle Ilya says it's okay, I want you to think before you act, okay? Sometimes, that means stopping even if someone else says it's alright. Do you understand?”
Arthur nods, immediately folding into the hug Hayden offers. The sniff against his collar gets him an extra second of cuddling before he’s released and of course– bolts into Rozanov’s open arms.
“Sorry, Uncle Ilya!” He cries.
“Is no problem, zajushka,” Rozanov coos. “This time, we listen to your father. No one is angry.”
He pulls himself up slightly, so that he can more easily return Arthur to his lap. His large hands cradle him without hesitation, one at his shoulders, the other behind his head. Arthur is tiny beneath them, and Hayden should feel something, threatened maybe, by how easy it would be for Ilya to hurt him. He tries for a spark, for something, and all that comes is affection, the same he feels when Shane looks after his kids.
Hayden doesn’t have any living siblings, and even when Andrew was alive their relationship was… strained, at best. When he first learned Rozanov and Shane were dating, he’d been worried that it would feel like having Andrew around again, that uncertainty, that… impending threat that this man would somehow put his kids or wife in danger.
Now, he’s sitting at that man’s house, without Shane, watching Rozanov soothe Arthur almost as easily as himself or Jackie. They’re around not just because Shane tasked them with ensuring Rozanov rests while he’s stuck at that charity auction Yuna talked him into, but because his kids had begged him all week to play with Uncle Ilya again.
And damn it, if that isn’t endearing. Damn it, if that doesn’t make that ball of frustration in his chest crack ever so slightly.
“You’re staring,” Jackie whispers, gesturing to the empty spot at her side. She’s flushed and warm, the fire and wine doing their part to ease her into a languid puddle against his shoulder. She bats her eyes up at him and smiles when that finally serves to pull his attention away.
“He’s good with them,” she says, low and slow under the now screeching laughter as Rosanov pulls his kids into a different game, some sort of word play Jade seems especially good at. Jackie pokes at his side, her smile coy. “You’re happy he’s good with them.”
“I’m not… unhappy,” Hayden huffs. He chances another glance at his giggling children, before reaching down to settle his palm against Amber’s chest, the flutter of her heartbeat thumping easily under his hand. She’s asleep now, warm and safe in her mother’s arms. “I can be happy Rosanov isn’t the worst, and not be happy it's Rosanov.”
Jackie settles her hand over his.
“You called him Uncle Ilya.”
–which, true. Annoying but true. He tries not to let the pout show on his face.
“He’s engaged to Uncle Shane. They know him as Uncle Ilya.”
“Technicalities,” Jackie says. “They never called Andrew, Uncle Andrew.”
“They barely knew Andrew,” Hayden growls. “I didn’t want you to know Andrew. He was an–” he drops his voice. “A-S-S.”
Jackie raises a brow, needling with that same beautiful, coy little smirk.
“So that makes Ilya–”
“Not an A-S-S,” he whines back, careful to keep his voice low. He tips his head back to look at her, watches as the pride takes over her features. “You’re beautiful when you’re right, you know that?”
“And when I’m wrong?”
Hayden can’t keep the smile off his face. He flips his hand to catch hers.
“You’re never wrong.”
Jackie laughs, clear and crisp and bright.
“Right answer, Mr. Pike.” She plants a kiss on his cheek. “One that will be rewarded later.”
“Later as in–”
She pulls away to smack at his chest. A smile plays at her lips, despite her attempt to stay stern.
“Later, as in tonight. We have four children. We do not need anymore.”
“We don’t have the facilities to make anymore,” Hayden counters, as he brings the hand at his chest up to his mouth. “All reward, no risk, Mrs. Pike.”
“Hayden,” Jackie hisses, gaze darting over to where Rozanov is still preoccupied with their myriad of children. “We are not sneaking off to have sex while our injured friend watches our children.”
“Aw, come on. I’m certain they’ve done it while we’re here. Besides, if I have to admit I trust Rozanov with my children, I might as well reap the rewards.”
His wife rolls her eyes, an attempt to hide her amusement promptly foiled by his very clumsy wink. In an instant she’s giggling again.
“You are incorrigible.”
“My love, I’ve had too many concussions. Incorrigible means–”
“Depraved,” Rozanov calls, from his place on the couch. The smirk on his face only grows at the speed at which Hayden whips his head around. His children thankfully are preoccupied with Arthur’s truck instead of the adult conversation happening above them. “I do crossword with David. Is fitting word, yes?”
The look Hayden levels him could kill.
“I will fight you, Rozanov.”
“You’d lose, Pike.”
Jackie’s eyeroll might as well be vocal for how loud it is.
“Boys,” she warns. “Behave yourselves. There are children present.”
Then, because they are in Rozanov’s house, the annoyance in her voice turns sheepish.
“Which is why we shouldn’t have been talking like that either. Sorry, Ilya. Do you need us to go?”
Rozanov sighs, that sort of mock-offence Hayden can now spot from a mile away. He’s playing this up to gain rapport with Jackie! With Hayden’s own wife!
“If I can tolerate Pike for this long, I can continue.”
“Jackie,” Hayden whines, throwing his hands up because really, take back everything he was thinking. This man is an ass. An A-S-S ass, acting like Hayden flirting with his wife is something obscene when Shane once answered his call mid-blowjob, one Ilya kept up despite Hayden calling about the birth of his child.
The same Ilya who somehow had Hayden’s entire family wrapped around his finger.
“Good,” Jackie chirps, pleased as ever, and uses Hayden’s hand to leverage herself up to her feet. She stretches a little as she stands, passing Amber between her arms, Hayden’s hand right at her waist to catch her in case she stumbles. He knows she’s not that drunk, hadn’t even finished the full glass, but she’s still the love of his life. He has a right to worry.
“Do you need me to?” He asks, reaching for his daughter. She shakes her head, but pats his hand in thanks.
“She needs a nap anyway.” She nods to the pile of children at their feet. “They all do. Ilya, sweetheart, do you think we could take the guest room upstairs? Get the kids a little sleep before dinner?”
There’s immediate complaints from the kids, but they don’t last long. As usual, his wife is right on all accounts, because after the initial protest, there’s nothing, not even from even Ruby and Jade, who are always adamant they’re too old for naps. They all trail after his wife like ducklings, exhausted from the trip over and practically drooping into her legs.
He’d follow, offer to help get them settled, if Jackie hadn’t sent him a particularly pointed look over her shoulder.
“Pain meds,” she mouths, with a nod at Rozanov. Hayden sneaks a glance. Sans the kids’ buffer, he looks drained. There’s a pinch to his brows that wasn’t there when they arrived, and the careful way he’s holding himself speaks to an injury not only to his knee but his ribs as well.
The hit he took was bad, Hayden remembers, and dirty, off the board and then into the ice, with absolutely no time to brace. He’s lucky it hadn’t been worse.
Hayden doesn’t know what Shane would have done if it were worse. He tries to imagine himself in Shane’s shoes, Jackie just… going down one day and not getting back up.
He shuts that thought down the second it comes. No, nope. Not happening. Too much. He doesn’t want to think about it at all, but even in his refusal, he knows where Shane would be in that circumstance, just like he knows where he needs to be.
Even if Rozanov insists on being an ass the entire time.
He leverages himself off the couch with a sigh.
“Did Shane put your meds in the bathroom or the kitchen?”
Rozanov jerks his head up from where it’d been drooping into the armrest. Hayden amicably doesn’t comment on the string of drool starting to form at his lip.
“No meds,” he waves a dismissive hand around, wincing when it seems to pull something in his chest. “As best player in league, I have no need for such things.”
“Right,” Hayden says. “So on the off chance I trust Shane more, because he explicitly gave Jackie your med schedule, where would he keep the pain meds he’s likely forcing you to take?”
Rozanov stares him down from his point on the couch.
“If Shane trust you with meds, why do you not know where they are?”
“He trusted Jackie with the meds, you ass—“ Hayden clips the word best he can, and glares through the smirk now plastered on Rozanov’s face. “Just, c’mon man. My wife wants you to take the meds, your fiancé wants you to take the meds, just let me hand them to you so they both don’t yell at us when they get back.”
“Your wife will be back soon. Shane trusted her. She can hand them to me.”
This fucking—
“My wife is going to be sleeping, jackass. The kids cuddle up to her to take a nap. She’s not going to be able to move for at least an hour. Look just, we’ll trade. I’ll hand you this phone—” he snatches Ilya’s phone up from the kitchen island. “That Shane said you’re not meant to have because of that nasty concussion, if you take your meds and promise to try and sleep for a little.”
“I am not child, Pike.” Rozanov chides. Before Hayden can shout at him again, he reaches out for his phone. “Meds are in top drawer next to fridge. Shane did not want them where children may reach.”
He looks Hayden up and down.
“You are able to get past child lock, yes?”
Hayden throws his phone at him and feels more than vindicated at the startled hiss Rozanov lets out as he fumbles to catch it. He ignores the muttering in Russian to stalk over to the drawers and does not struggle with the child lock, no matter what the snickering behind him may indicate. There’s three pill bottles inside, a muscle relaxant Hayden’s had prescribed for himself a few times, an opiate, and another bottle containing a med Hayden doesn’t know, along with a paper taped inside the door detailing timings for all of them.
Hayden quells his desire to study the third bottle. As much as he hates Rozanov, he’s not big enough of a dick that Hayden has to go through a man’s medical records to one-up him, nor is Hayden a big enough asshole to chirp about an actual medical issue. There’s plenty more he could bring up before he has to butcher whatever fluoxetine is in casual conversation.
He squints again at the paper, noting the missed dosage from yesterday that even Shane, tamer of annoying Russian men, must have given up on, and does some quick calculations under his breath. The timing’s a bit off, but Rozanov should be able to have both his pain med and his muscle relaxant, which should hopefully give Hayden enough time to go upstairs and sleep with his family. Nothing as exciting as what he and Jackie were flirting about, but it is time cuddling with his wife and kids without his best friend’s asshole fiancé ruining it for him.
He counts out the pills, two of the pain meds and one of the relaxants, before reaching over to grab a bottle of water and a protein bar from the top of the fridge. No one deserves to have the nausea that comes from pain meds on an empty stomach. Hayden’s made that mistake more than once, and the resulting hours of misery isn’t something he wants to will on his worst enemy.
Even if that enemy is Ilya Rozanov.
There’s more Russian muttering behind him, angrier this time, and Hayden rolls his eyes. What is Hayden not moving fast enough for his highness? First he doesn’t want the pills and now he’s what, throwing a temper tantrum because Hayden takes a few minutes to calculate how safe it is for him to have? Asshole. Fucking asshole.
It takes genuine effort to keep the frustration out of his voice.
“Here. Pills, water, food, do you need anything else or can I– Jesus, what the fuck are you doing?”
Hayden drops it all with a thud on the coffee table, hurrying over to catch Rozanov by the shoulder. He’s standing, why the fuck is he standing, one hand braced against the arm of the couch to keep himself up and other hand frantically texting something Hayden can’t even hope to decipher. His balance is off, a knee injury will bench you faster than almost anything else, and there’s almost no hope Rozanov will make it further than a step before he falls.
He still tries, and Hayden will never admit the amount of strength it takes to keep him from going any further.
“Slow down! You’re going to end up on the floor! Let me get your crutches.”
“No, I–”
Hayden catches him again, dropping his shoulder under Rozanov’s armpit to keep him upright.
“No, what? You don’t need help? Fine, then let me get your crutches, and I can stop helping.”
“That wasn’t–” Rozanov swallows, audibly, and Hayden watches his whole expression tighten. What the fuck was happening? This isn’t the snarky chirping of earlier. “Чёрт, Pike. You need to go.”
Hayden rolls his eyes again and fishes for some normality in this mess.
“Sit down. I’ll get your crutches. Then I’ll go.”
“No,” Rozanov voice breaks, actually breaks, as he casts a frantic glance to his phone and then the front door. His shoulders are squared, face drawn, the same look Hayden’s seen on the ice when he’s bracing for a hit. No, he thinks, not quite. It’s deeper than that. It’s the look he gets when Shane’s about to be hit.
Something is wrong, he thinks. Something more than just Rozanov being an ass and refusing to let Hayden help.
“Rozanov, what–”
“You need to go,” Rozanov says, accent dripping off every syllable. There’s an awful flush deepening on his face, anger or worry, darkening his cheeks. “Upstairs. With your children. Your wife. Take your phone. Do not come downstairs until I tell you to come. ”
“Don’t come downstairs?” Hayden echos, dumbfounded. “What, do I need to barricade the door?”
He’s trying for levity. Rozanov actually nods.
“Is not bad idea.”
What the fuck?
“What the fuck.”
“Is not time for questions, Pike.”
“That wasn’t a fucking question. It’s a statement. What the fuck, Rozanov. What’s happening? My family is upstairs and you’re acting like a SWAT team is about to come through the door. Do I need to text Shane? The meds can’t be messing with you; you haven’t had any in hours.”
“It is not meds, it is–” Rozanov shakes his head, steps forward despite his knee nearly folding, despite Hayden being the only thing to hold him up. “It is none of your problem. I will handle it. He is only coming for me. He will not go upstairs. Your family will be fine.”
“Who will not go upstairs? Rozanov, fuck–” he drags him up again, wincing through the grunt of pain Rozanov lets out. “Settle down and talk, okay? You’re down a knee and I know your ribs look like one of Arthur’s art projects. I’m not leaving you to handle whatever this is alone. So you need to tell me: Who is coming in? Are they going to hurt you? Why haven’t we called Shane or hell, the fucking police?”
Rozanov jerks his head up from his phone for the first time, panic set in every line of his face.
“Are you stupid?” He hisses. There’s desperation there, beneath the panic, that has Hayden’s stomach flipping. “No police. If they find something wrong, if problem occurs—“
His voice cuts out, shreds, into ribbons between them.
“Hockey is visa, Pike. I cannot go back to Russia.”
He’s trying to sound direct. Hayden just thinks he sounds scared.
“Okay, okay,” Hayden lightens his voice, the same tone he uses when one of his kids is upset, and wills Rozanov to just accept it. “No police. Let me text Jackie to stay upstairs, keep the kids quiet and safe.”
There’s a screech in the driveway that sends both of their heads up. Hayden fumbles for his phone, hits his wife’s name, and prays she still remembers a code they haven’t had to use in years.
‘CANNON,’ he sends, all-caps. God please let mentioning his brother put it at the forefront of her mind. ‘CALL SHANE!!’
This isn’t the same as waking up to Andrew, high off his ass, breaking into their house to ask for money or steal god knows what, but the response is the same: the kids and Jackie under the bed, door locked, Hayden standing guard, 911 on standby in case they’re needed. He doesn’t want them to be needed, has no intention to break Rozanov’s trust, but if something happens and Jackie or the kids are at risk?
He knows what choice he’d make. He imagines he knows what choice Rozanov would make as well.
Another screech of tires, and then the slam of a car door. If Hayden thought ahead he could have locked the front, but all his attention had been on Rozanov and his family. Stupid fucking move on his part, but he can’t undo it.
Rozanov tries to steady himself, biting off another foreign curse to pull that hockey-bred steel into his shoulders. Hayden beats him to it.
Just as an angry man bursts through the front door, Hayden shoves himself between Rozanov and the threat. Rozanov makes a sharp sound. Hayden ignores it to square his shoulders, and braces for whatever is about to come.
He isn’t Shane, and Rozanov certainly isn’t Jackie, but the equation is the same as earlier. If he’d expect his friend to stand between Jackie and danger, Hayden’s sure as hell willing to do the same.
“Кто, черт возьми, это, Ilya?” The man screeches, taking the distance between them and the door in three strides. He’s older, with dark hair and a beer belly, but there’s something eerily familiar about him. If Hayden could think through the sound of his own heart hammering in his ears, he could probably place it. As it is now, Hayden does nothing but shift to cover Rozanov fully. “Ты уже нашла другого мужчину, чтобы сделать тебя сукой?”
“Он друг, Alexei. Отпусти его,” Rozanov says behind him. The hand not holding him up clamps onto Hayden’s shoulder. “Pike, get out of the way.”
“Like hell,” Hayden snaps back. “I leave when I’m certain this asshole isn’t going to kill you.”
“It is none of your business if he does anything. Is family business. You are not family.”
“Shane is family.” He can’t look at Rozanov, but he can feel the shift in his stance, the way both he and this stranger are now staring at him. “So I’m not leaving.”
He plants his gaze on this stranger –Alexei– if he understands at least that much correctly, and draws himself up to full height. Hayden’s far from the largest player in the league, but he’s nothing to scoff at. He is more than aware how intimidating he can be.
“Talk or get out.”
It’s a sentiment he hopes comes across from the way he refuses to let Alexei anywhere near Ilya. There’s a good chance the man doesn’t speak English, and Hayden’s rudimentary French isn’t likely to serve him any better. Still, he thinks fuck off isn’t necessarily something you need to say to understand.
Hayden has no problem deciphering Alexei’s hissed slurs as something equivalent. The look the man levels at him as he backs up says just the same.
“Does this man just guard you?” Alexei says, meeting Ilya’s eyes over his shoulder. “Or will internet show he bend you over as well?”
The sigh that brushes past Hayden’s ear is practically defeated.
“What do you want Alexei?”
“What do you think I want, Ilya? You think I come to this shit country for fun? Apartment is yours, you say. Never contact us again, you say. Last week Milena tell me she kick us out.”
“Milena won’t let me pay–”
“Херня!”
Hayden throws himself to keep his body between Alexei and Ilya, the same as he used to to keep Shane from a hit. His pulse thunders between his ears.
Please, he thinks desperately, as he watches Alexei’s face take on a new shade of red. Let Jackie have the door locked and barred, the kids quiet beneath the bed. Please let her have contacted Shane. Please, keep them all safe.
“Fag money is still money. Tell bitch to take it.”
“What do you want me to do, Alexei?” Ilya snaps back, rushing forward like any part of his knee can take his weight. He clicks his teeth together, swallowing down a whine that Hayden feels through the clench of the hand still on his shoulder. He’s shaking, trembling really, but fuck if that’s going to keep him down. “I send payment. She send back. Says she doesn’t take money from filthy, cocksucking Canadians.”
“Send payment to me!”
“She will still kick you out!” Ilya’s breathing is near frantic against the back of Hayden’s neck. His nails dig divots into Hayden’s shoulder. “I ask. Beg. Said she could talk only to you. Said I would give you money.”
“Milena would not say no. Milena is money-obsessed whore.”
“Milena is money-obsessed, homophobic whore. Just like all of Russia is money-obsessed, homophobic whores. Is Russia! You know this. They do not care that it is money; they care that it is my money. My filthy money I make with my filthy Canadian boyfriend.”
Hayden swallows down an overwhelming urge to throw up. Those words sound verbatim, rehearsed. He wonders how long Ilya spent calling around, trying to keep his family off the streets. He wonders how many of those calls ended in that specific slur, how many ended in worse.
He wonders if Alexei would have cared about any of this, had it not directly affected him. He stares down the man in front of him, frothing at the mouth to harm someone who has so obviously tried to help, and has to fight down an overwhelming urge to break his nose.
“I ask for Nadia and Alena. For my niece and for the woman who puts up with you,” Ilya intones, sounding frustrated and angry and heartbroken all at once. “Milena says no. All other apartments I call say no. They all say no because it is me. I cannot– I cannot go back to fix this Alexei.”
His voice shifts then, enough to draw Hayden’s gaze. Something shutters in his expression, rage falling over his face in a sheet.
“I should not have to! If you took care of your own–”
“заткни свой чертов рот–”
“Does your wife have your last name?”
Alexei and Ilya both jerk to a stop. There’s a similarity in the way they turn to him, that for the first time affirms to Hayden that they’re truly related. It’s been the only thing to do so.
The Ilya he knows would never put his brother in the position Alexei is putting Ilya in. The Ilya he knows would also never allow his niece to be homeless, even if that means dealing with his asshole brother.
Which means Hayden, whose kids adore their Uncle Ilya, has to deal with him as well.
He continues through the incredulous looks they both send him. Even if his idea feels a bit obvious, a bit dumb, if its enough to help, at this point, Hayden will try anything.
“If she doesn’t share your last name, can’t you have her call? If her last name isn’t Rozanov, she won’t be associated with Ilya. Have Ilya send her the money, have her set up the apartment, then as far as the owner’s concerned, Ilya was never involved in the first place.”
Ilya blinks at Hayden from where he’s pulled himself slightly off to the side.
“Alena isn’t his wife,” he says, slowly. His gaze is as narrowed as Hayden has ever seen it. “And she never, I did not speak of her in any interviews. This is–”
He looks back at Alexei.
“Alena has bank account, yes?”
For once there’s no argument from Alexei, no raised temper. He looks as dumbfounded as his brother.
“Yes. She has one for herself and Nadia. Allows for school funds.”
Hayden turns more towards Ilya.
“Ilya, would you be able to send her the money for the apartment today, and a hotel for them to stay in until then?”
There’s a distant look on Ilya’s face, but eventually he nods. Slowly he pulls his phone back up. In front of them, Alexei’s mouth shuts itself.
Awkwardness descends over them, settling in the sudden absence of volatile emotion. Hayden shifts slightly as Ilya hits a few buttons on his blackberry, something he has to do one-handed because he’s still, somehow, on his feet. Alexei stares at them both, before dropping back yet another step.
There’s something and yet nothing to do here, not in the wake of that single, stunning solution, there is just time that creeps slowly on, and the tense way Hayden refuses to give up his position between them. This is, of course, when Shane barrels in.
There must have been something to announce his arrival. Hayden had heard every screech and roll of Alexei’s tires as he coursed up the impossibly long driveway, and while Shane’s car is the most well-maintained vehicle Hayden has ever stepped foot in, it’s still a car. It makes noise.
Yet somehow Hayden hadn’t heard a damn thing until the door flings itself open and Shane, still in his stupid velvet-lined suit, flies through the front door.
All heads jerk towards him, Alexei’s in frustration, his and Ilya’s in obvious relief. It takes Shane barely any time to ascertain at least the barebones of the situation at hand, that is, Hayden immovable between an injured Ilya and his asshole brother.
Shane joins him immediately, shoving himself next to Hayden to take his fiance’s head in his hands. He cups Ilya’s cheeks, right over the unicorn sticker Hayden is now realizing is still there. There’s something so achingly tender about it that he has to look away.
“Ilya? Baby, you’re shaking.”
He has been this whole time, but it's Shane’s addition that pulls the final wind out of his sails. Both his knees buckle, injured or not, and Hayden jerks forward to catch him.
There’s no need. Of course, there’s no need.
Shane guides him down, hand under his elbow, at the back of his neck, steady steady steady. Ilya’s phone drops with a thud to the floor. His hands, now free, fist themselves in crushed velvet, as he dives forward to bury his face in the curve of Shane’s neck.
The noise he lets out is pitiful. The scoff Alexei gives is somehow louder.
Shane’s head whirls around. Hayden catches him across the shoulder before he can dislodge Ilya.
“I’ve got this,” he says, squeezing when the murderous look in Shane’s eyes refuses to dim. “Shane, I’ve got this.”
“If he touched–”
“He didn’t. I never let him get close, man. A foot away, the entire time.”
He releases Shane’s shoulder, keeping himself firmly planted between his friend and Alexei.
“Take care of your fiance, okay. I’ve got this.”
He and Shane haven’t been on the same team in over a year now, but eight years of having each other’s backs, of dogging him game after game, hot on his heels because like hell is someone going to touch his Captain when Hayden can take the hit, eight years have given him more than enough time to perfect that tone.
Trust me, Shane. C'mon Captain, trust me.
Slowly, Shane nods, before turning his back to them fully. A soft drone of Russian follows, Shane’s accent dampening the vowels.
I’ll have your back any fucking day, Hayden thinks, as he whirls around to a now infuriated Alexei. He gestures to his now pinging phone.
“Your girl got the money, right?”
Alexei practically snarls at him, shoving the phone back into his pockets.
“There is more needed,” he snaps. “Plane, car, food–”
“Why the fuck would he–” Hayden clamps his mouth down so quickly he bites his tongue. Behind him, Shane shifts, and Hayden lunges forward before his usually mild-mannered friend throws his soon to be brother-in-law through a window.
“Move.”
He fists his hands in Alexei’s collar and hauls, ignoring the blows that glance off him, and the slew of angry Russian curses that follow. Let him try and get out of this. Hayden’s laid out Cliff fucking Marlow. This asshole has nothing on him.
“Out of the house,” he says, lower, deeper, after a particularly furious shove. He’ll have bruises come tomorrow, but it’s not as if that’s anything new. “Or I leave you here for Shane to handle. Your choice.”
“Hollander will not touch me. I have seen him play. Not violent. Weak.”
There’s no part of this situation that’s funny, not really. His wife and children are upstairs, likely terrified out of their minds, his best friend and his fiance are being accosted by this idiot, and Hayden is seconds away from an assault charge. Yet, he can’t stop the startled laugh that slips out his mouth.
“You think you can win against Shane Hollander. Three-cup champion, world-renowned olympian, Shane Hollander,” Hayden says. A predatory grin twitches at his lips as he clears Alexei of the front door and throws him unceremoniously past the welcome mat. “If I wasn’t certain he would kill you, I’d let you try.”
“I will not be beaten by cocksucking Canadian fa–”
Hayden lunges forward and pins him to the door of his car. Alexei’s head bounces off the window, a solid thunk that Hayden would find satisfying if he could hear beyond the blood rushing to his ears. The air around them is acrid, thick; Hayden’s teeth bared; Alexei’s eyes pinpoint.
Hayden hopes he’s pissed himself. Weak men often do.
“Do you know what’s wrong with you, Alexei,” Hayden says, forearm over his throat to stop his frantic, squirming movements. “Not only are you lazy, you’re stupid too. You had money. You had enough money to feed yourself, to rent a car, a plane ticket, but did your family see any of it? No. You refused to put it towards them. The second you saw your brother was injured, the second you saw that you might have a chance to intimidate him, to have someone else provide for your child and her mother, you flew over here, and for what? To learn that he was already trying to do it himself.”
“Lies!”
Alexei rears up. Hayden slams him back into the door.
“Why would he lie to you? To impress me? Ilya doesn’t even like me, and still, if I found myself in your situation, I know he and Shane would help. I know because I have spent the last five years watching them build this life together, grow and struggle and hurt for the chance at happiness, and I will not sit by and let you take it all away. So take your money, provide for your own damn family, and let them be.”
“Or what?” Alexei taunts. “I see you before, Pike. Your interviews all say the same: family man. You have children. Wife. You are in no place to be making weak threats.”
“Your country makes their own damn threats,” Hayden says, and snarls through the bile coating of his next words. “You know this. Being the brother of an openly gay man is one thing. Associating with him is another.”
“Ilya and I do not—“
“Do not what? Meet up? Talk? You’re at his home now, took a personal trip, texted him, met his fiancé and friends,” Hayden says the last word with a sneer, more than aware of what Ilya would say at the description, before adopting a placid smile. “What reporter wouldn’t want to know about how kind and accepting you’ve been of this new phase in your brother’s life?”
There’s a slow horror dawning on Alexei’s face, as the pieces slowly fall into place.
Hayden’s smile sharpens.
“Like I said, you're not the smartest are you Alexei? I could, of course, keep this information private for the sake of all involved, if you agreed to stop contacting your brother.”
“You stupid fu—“
Hayden shoves him back into the car.
“Shut up. You terrified my family, and I am allowing you to leave with your face intact. For once, don’t be stupid. Take the fucking win.”
He lets go, dropping back to watch Alexei make his choice. There’s a part of him that almost wants Alexei to fight back, to give him the excuse to break his nose the same way he imagines breaking Comeau’s every damn practice.
But unlike Comeau, Alexei is about as spineless as they come. Harassing his brother over the phone? Fine. Flying to Canada when he’s injured? Just as well. But here, faced with a very real threat, he does what Hayden thinks the man will always do, he rips himself away, spits at Hayden’s feet, but finally, finally drives off.
Hayden watches him till the end of the driveway, until he loses sight of the car through the trees. There’s a flicker of something in his gut, quiet, angry, sparks igniting straw, a wildfire in the making, so quick he practically doubles over for a breath.
What the fuck, he thinks, hands on his knees as he fights to get his heart rate under control. He digs his fingers into his jeans, and lets the pressure-pain of it clear his head.
What the fuck, he thinks again as he forces himself back to his feet. He can feel the anxiety of it all biting at his heels, this incessant itch at the inside of his skull. How did Ilya deal with that asshole his whole life? Hell, how is he dealing with it now? Is he okay? Is Shane okay? How is Jackie—
Jackie. The kids.
Hayden clears the porch steps in two strides, clawing the door back open, with a ferocity he only notes in the back of his mind. There’s no room for anything else, not Shane’s startled yelp as he bullets back into the room, not the slam of the door behind him, nothing but the heavy drone that comes crashing over him.
Jackie and the kids. Jackie and the kids.
He takes the steps by twos, rounds the hallway with a clatter, he thinks he yells out his wife’s name, only knows it when she beats him to the guestroom door, the kids firmly set behind her; strong and steady until she sees him, until they’re arm in arm, and he feels her break.
“Love—“ she gasps, and it’s the best and worst sound he’s ever heard. Fuck, she’s beautiful, radiant, safe and whole, God how did he get so lucky as to have this wonderful woman as his wife. He kisses her, quick, deep, their breaths intermingling before he pulls himself away. It’s only instinct that opens his arms wide enough to catch his first bullet of a child —Ruby, headstrong but so quick to cry— his second —Arthur, toys in tow—, then Amber toddling in with Jade pushing her firmly along, only slower than the others because she’s so insistent that’s she’s the oldest, that I have to look after my little siblings, Dad. It’s my job. They’re crying, and his wife is crying, and he’s crying and only breaking away to pepper their faces in kisses.
“It was so scary—“ Ruby heaves, as she flings herself between them, Jade’s hand now caught in her grip. “It was so scary and Mom said we had to stay quiet but we didn’t know where you and Uncle Ilya wuh-wuh-were—“
“I know baby, I know—“ he darts forward to cup her cheeks, to pet back her feather-light bangs, hands shaking when that does nothing to calm her cries.
“Where were you—!” Jade hiccups, taking over for her now hysterical sister. Her teeth are bared, because she’s always defensive when Ruby’s this upset, even when it’s against them. “Daddy where—“
Fuck— Hayden pulls them all in closer. He hasn’t been Daddy in years, not since the girls started getting older and insisted that Daddy was a term only little kids used. Now it was back full force, complete with two hysterical twins and two toddlers working themselves into the same panic.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, baby,” he says, hands over her hair, over his son’s because he almost never speaks when he’s this upset, despite the desperate way he’s clinging to Jackie’s sweater, and the near silent sobs he’s burying in her hip.
“I never meant to scare you. I was looking out for Uncle Ilya, and it wasn’t safe to have you kids down there.”
Jackie jerks towards him then, her eyes wet and wide, dazzling as they always are when she’s upset. Amber is practically siphoned to her neck, curls clinging to her tear-stained cheeks, and the speed at which Jackie turns releases a series of hiccupping sobs.
“Is he—“ she starts, low but panicked, attempting calm if only for their kids. Hayden reaches over to pat at Amber’s heaving back.
“Fine. Fine, he uh, Shane’s with him. He’s okay.”
Gorgeous blue eyes rove over his face, then the rest of his body, as her hand comes up to meet his.
“And you?”
“Not hurt,” Hayden is quick to assure. “Not seriously. He didn’t— just a few bruises, I promise.”
“Bruises?” Jackie’s voice goes up an octave, his usually calm wife throwing herself into the same panic as the rest of them. “Who – where— Hayden–”
Her free hand reaches up to pull aside his clothes, to look for herself at the purpling marks he knows are forming under his shirt. He catches her before she can get any further, eyes darting quickly to their still teary eyed children. She follows his gaze, swallows hard, and then does what she always does. She plays his better half. She makes all their lives better.
“Later,” she whispers, protective, insistent, a mirror of the last look he saw on Shane’s face, before she pulls away. Slowly, she gets to her knees in front of the kids, angled so that she has all of them in view. Her hand comes up to tuck Jade’s hair behind her ear, to tilt up Arthur’s chin, to rub circles against Ruby’s shaking shoulder, before she returns it to the bundle of Amber against her chest.
“I love you all so much,” she says, as firm as she ever is with their kids. There’s something in the way she looks at them, in the way they look at her, that drives a knife into his gut. It feels like his lungs are being crushed, it feels like she’s splitting him open and stitching him back whole, it feels like he’s never been able to breathe before this moment and after, after it feels as if he’ll never be able to breathe again. He stumbles forward to bury his fingers back in Arthur’s hair, draws his twins, his babies in towards him, pins his gaze on his youngest and hopes she feels every bit of his love, because if they feel anything like he does now he needs them to know he’ll weather it for them, he’d take it, over and over again, for as long as they need.
Jackie continues, her voice soft and low, taking the time to look them all in the eye.
“And I have never been more proud of you. Ruby is right. That was very scary, and yet you listened to what me and Dad told you to do, and you stayed with each other, and you stayed with me. That is all that I ever want you to do. To be smart and safe and brave.”
She looks at each of them as she lists it out: Jade first, then Ruby, then Arthur, as if she knows exactly what each of them needs right now.
“I don’t feel very brave,” Arthur says. His little hands reach for his sisters, and as always they tug him in, planting him in between the curl of their bodies. “I cried a lot.”
Jackie tilts her head.
“Your dad cried a lot, and I think he’s pretty brave.”
His kids turn at once to him, blue eyes just as deep and wonderful as their mother’s. Sometimes Hayden feels like he could drown in it, the blue of his family’s eyes, an ocean he’s laid claim after claim to. The storms in their gazes calm, at least slightly, his girls’ more than his son’s, but Arthur has always needed a bit of extra time.
“But– but Daddy’s a grown up and we’re not–,” Arthur says, still sniffling. The twins, always his most steadfast defenders, decide they are having none of this. They smear the tears on their faces in one motion, spare hands against their cheeks before they grin identical, mischievous grins down at them.
“Dad’s a grown up with adults,” Jade starts, all haughty pride. She nudges her twin with her elbow when she doesn’t immediately pick it up.
“But you’re braver than him with something else,” Ruby finishes, leaning over to grin at Arthur.
Arthur blinks at them, looking between his sisters with confusion.
“What?” He asks.
“Bugs,” his twins say in terrifying unison. Hayden stills, feeling all at once proud and pinned. Even Amber grins up at him, her cheeks still flushed red from cheek to chin.
“Bwugs!” She echoes, waving one grubby fist.
“No, not b-ugs,” Hayden says, putting aside his pride to play up the crack in his voice that has all of his kids grinning. Behind them, Jackie settles more onto her heels. There’s a softness to her gaze that keeps him going. “I am just fine with bugs, thank you very much.”
“Not spiders,” Jade accuses. “You make Mom smash them.”
“Yeah!” Ruby yells, pointing a finger at him. “And she doesn’t even smash them! She takes them outside in a cup!”
“What?” He whips around to his wife. “You told me you got rid of them!”
Jackie raises a brow at his dramatics as if her own low, easy tone isn’t her own brand of dramatic.
“Taking them outside is getting rid of them, my love.”
“No its nooooot!” He whines over the sound of his children’s escaping giggles. “They’re still there, crawling–”
“They’re spiders, babe. They’re meant to crawl.”
“And climb!” Arthur’s voice pipes up, tears now dry, as he lifts himself up on his tiptoes to better enter the conversation. Hayden’s chest sings with pride. God these kids. He loves them so fucking much. “Didja know that spider silk is stronger than steel?”
“Nuh-uh,” Jade says, playing it up just as much as her parents. She shoves her hands on top of her hips. “I can break spider webs. You can’t break steel!”
“You could if it was the size of a spider web!” Arthur insists. “It said so in the book Uncle Shane bought me!”
“Uncle Shane bought you a book?” Ruby shrieks, and this, at least, doesn’t seem faked. Shane is unashamedly her favorite person in the world, and she gets obscenely jealous when his attention is focused anywhere but on her. “I want a book from Uncle Shane!”
“He bought you a new hockey stick!”
“So? It’s not a book.”
“You don’t like books. You like hockey!”
“I can like both!”
Jade raises a brow at her twin.
“You don’t like both,” she says, in a tone that Hayden knows is going to start a fight. He does his best to remind himself that he wanted this, that his kids arguing about gifts is better than them being upset about the stress of the last hour.
“Girls, you need to–,” Jackie starts, trying to get a handle on this before it blows out of proportion. It’s too late and they both know it, but Ilya and Shane are both getting a handle on themselves downstairs. They don’t need–
“Uncle SHANE!”
That. They don’t need that.
“Kids,” Hayden hisses, as Jackie reaches over to hush them. It’s no good. Within seconds, there’s footsteps on the stairs, and then his best friend in the doorway. He looks a mess: hair askew, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, panic in every line of his jaw.
Usually, Shane can discern his kids’ panicked screaming from their now more and more present demands. He’s invited to all their birthday parties, helped chaperone school events, has been quizzed by their kids on the inner workings of the Metro’s hockey clinic (Jade), the ins and outs of their actual hockey plays (Ruby), and every mammal this side of the US-Canadian border (Arthur). He’s held Amber more times than Hayden and Jackie’s parents combined. He knows their kids.
The day’s events seem to have scrubbed all that knowledge from his brain.
“Who’s hurt?” Shane demands, ignoring his and Jackie’s yelps to drop to his knees in front of them. The massive first aid kit he was dragging skitters on the wood, catching once, twice, on the paneling before it bursts open. Bandages and tape spill everywhere. Shane dismisses it to scan his gaze down their children, hands out and open and trembling like he’s expecting a bomb or an unholy amount of blood.
Hayden’s kids, of course, share none of his apprehension.
“Uncle Shane!” Ruby whines, jumping into his open arms with ease. He jerks as he catches her, with none of his usual grace but all of the support Hayden expects of him. The arms that wrap around his daughter are as stable as they ever are, even as he pulls himself back to better look at her.
“Ru–”
“Why’d you buy Arthur a book instead of me?”
“You know why he bought me a book!” Arthur interjects, dodging the kit to plant his hands on a now star-struck Shane’s arm. “And you got something too! Why would you get two things?”
“Yeah, Ruby,” Jade teases. “Why would you get two things?”
“At least, my one thing was better than yours!” Ruby snaps back.
Jade gapes, absolutely agast. Her foot stamps the ground.
“Was not!”
“Was too!”
“A slime kit is not as cool as a hockey stick.”
Jade scoffs as she runs up to pull Shane’s arm up and away from Ruby, settling it back about herself as she turns to her sister.
“It wasn’t a slime kit; it was a science kit!”
“See, boring.”
Arthur climbs under Shane’s other arm to also join their huddle. Hayden huffs out an incredulous laugh. Somewhere behind them, Jackie giggles. His son looks thoroughly frustrated as he worms his way to the middle.
“What does this have to do with my spider book?” He demands.
Shane for his part hasn’t done more than stare open-mouthed as the pack of bickering children in his arms, now completely dismissive of the uncle they’re still hugging. He whirls his gaze back around to Hayden, and then, seemingly dismissing it –which fair, but rude–, looks imploringly towards Jackie.
“What– I thought someone was hurt,” he says, sounding lost and stunned all at once.
Jackie, of course, takes pity on him.
“The kids and I are just fine,” she assures. “Arthur was telling his sisters about his spider book and they got a bit jealous, so they wanted to talk to you. Which doesn’t make any sense because we should be doing what instead, kids?”
Her voice sounds sweet, but there’s enough edge that all of his children, even Amber, freeze. Hayden has to bury his laughter in a cough when he sees Ruby swallow down an obvious squabble.
“We should be– thanking Uncle Shane for buying us gifts?” Jade tries, covering for her sister's screwed up expression. She kicks at Arthur’s shin when he doesn’t get the obvious hint. Thankfully, his son has enough sense to roll with it, nodding immediately.
“I know all about spiders now,” he says, turning to Shane with an earnest look. “That’s why Ruby was mean. It’s cuz your book was so good.”
“I wasn’t–!” Ruby starts before she catches the look Hayden now flings at her. Just because Jackie’s usually the stern parent doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a trick or two up his sleeve. “I mean, thank you Uncle Shane. I really do like my new hockey stick. The grip is better than my old one, honest. I scored like three goals with it at practice last week.”
She looks up at Shane as she says it, her little brows crinkling under her bangs.
“I don’t want you to be sad about it,” she says, reaching up with a small hand to brush under his eye. Hayden makes a low sympathetic noise in his throat when it comes back wet. “But if you are, that's okay. Mom just said we can cry and still be just as brave as Dad. Probably braver.”
She leans up to whisper, loudly, in his ear.
“I know you’re the one who handles the spiders.”
Shane blinks down at her, another tear escaping, through his lashes, before he huffs out a sad, shaky laugh.
“Is that right?” He says, brushing a hand over her hair, and then Arthur and Jade’s. There’s something in his softened gaze that pins Hayden to the spot. There’s no ocean there, no spray, no salt, but something nearly as precious, warm and solid, like the earth beneath his feet.
“I think your dad was plenty brave tonight. He kept your Uncle Ilya safe, and I can never thank him enough.”
Hayden fumbles for his wife’s hand and finds her already reaching for his, and her grip in his, the familiar slot of their fingers, is the only thing that keeps this conversation from flaying him alive.
“You don’t need to,” he rasps, over the now growing chatter of his children, all trying to get a smile out of their uncle, all insisting that their gift was so good that there was no need to cry about any of it. He tries for a smile over the ever-growing lump in his throat. “You're family, Ilya's family, we're--"
He chokes before he can finish, a single sob he fights all the way up. Shane seems to get it anyway. Some of the tension goes out of his shoulders, as he tucks his chin in a nod and turns back to the children vying for his attention. There's something more settled about him, some ease that releases the knot building in Hayden's chest. He slumps back towards his wife, settling their hands just over Amber's chest.
"We're good, babe," Jackie says, soft as she ever is. She leans over until her lips are just over the shell of his ear and does something she hasn't had to do in years. "Ilya's downstairs. You know Shane never would have left him if he wasn't okay. Our kids are in view. Shane is with them. Amber and I are with you."
"We're good babe," she repeats, and slowly, Hayden feels himself believe her.
"We're good," he echoes, and for the moment, it's enough.