Which is, of course, when another man – of a similar age (and build) to the Ottawa veteran – appears behind him and hands him a beer with a kiss to his cheek.
"Everything okay here, babe?" he asks, glaring daggers at Ilya, who has fallen uncharacteristically quiet at his appearance and being met with the same energy he was just giving.
"All good," laughs McKay, the former player, taking the beer and then the man's hand. "Just finally getting to meet two of my favorite players. Hollander, Rozanov, meet Mark, my husband."
And that's how Shane learns that his favorite player has been quietly married to a firefighter for the past decade and even though it's so cool and it feels like a sign from the universe or something, he can't help but also feel disappointed.
"You're literally married to me," says Ilya, frowning when he realizes why Shane's frowning slightly.
"Yeah, but now I know there's a world where I maybe could have..."
"Could have what? He's twenty years older than you. You think it would have been easier to figure out the gay thing with a man who is old enough to be your father? If he made you a tuna melt you would not run away screaming like you did with a younger man?"
"Okay a couple of things," says Shane, grabbing the front of Ilya's shirt and tugging him closer. "One, I did not run away screaming from your house. I had a slight freak out and then later let you fuck me stupid about it in that Tampa hotel room. Also it's been almost a decade since then, so can we let it go now?"
"Fine," says Ilya, rolling his eyes even as he moves closer to Shane, snaking his hands around his hips. "What's the other thing?"
Shane closes the last of the distance between them and kisses him.
"That it's so fucking hot when you get jealous."
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