Ilya slammed Shane into the boards hard enough for the plexiglass to shake. Troy, Harris, and Wyatt watched with a mixture of horror and awe. Practice had ended nearly ten minutes ago and yet their star players were still going at it. Shane, to his credit, maintained control of the puck and sped away.
“I know,” Harris said mournfully. “I seriously don’t think there’s any footage from today I can use without people being worried for their safety.”
“Roz is a madman,” Wyatt agreed, watching the Russian spew chirp after chirp. Troy nodded.
“I don’t know how Hollzy handles him.” A tense silence fell over them, an unspoken question hanging in the air. Troy cleared his throat. “Do you think—” He looked over his shoulder before lowering his voice. “Do you think Rozy’s too rough with him? Like… outside of the rink.”
The other two looked at him quizzically. Troy rushed to explain. “I mean, you know how he is. I’m not saying he’s hurting Shane or anything but do you think he forgets his own strength.” He looked down at the ground, suddenly embarrassed for some reason.
“What, like in the bedroom?” Harris asked without shame. Troy shrugged and Wyatt’s jaw dropped.
“Do you really think so?” Wyatt asked, squinting his all-powerful goalie eyes at the duo on the ice.
“Maybe we should ask Shane,” Harris said firmly. Speculating was getting them nowhere.
They waited until Shane was out of the shower and dressed before approaching him. By the way panic flared in his eyes, they probably looked like they were staging an intervention.
“Rozy was crazy today,” Wyatt began tentatively.
“Yeah,” Shane said slowly, narrowing his eyes. He bent forward to put on his shoes. “He’s an asshole.”
Wyatt glanced at the others helplessly. He might’ve been Ilya’s friend but he had no idea how to talk about stuff like this. Luckily, Harris stepped in. “Is he like that at home?”
“What? An asshole? Definitely.” Shane sat up and looked at the three of them suspiciously. “Why?”
Harris shrugged and looked at Troy for backup. None of them knew how to go about this. “But he’s not too much of an asshole, right?” Troy bit his lip. “He doesn’t act the way he does on the ice in your, um, romantic life?”
Shane stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. Then it dawned on him. A wide smile slowly spread across his face and he looked like he was fighting the urge to laugh. He looked over his shoulder and called, “Rozanov.”
Ilya appeared out of nowhere with wet hair and a towel around his neck. “Да?”
“Show these guys your back.”
It was Ilya’s turn to laugh. He didn’t even question it. He simply turned around and tugged his shirt off. There were red scratch marks everywhere, from the smooth panes of his shoulder blades to the top of his hips, not to mention about a dozen hickeys.
“Oh my God,” Harris said. Troy and Wyatt had already averted their eyes.
“Jesus, Hollzy,” Troy muttered. Shane grinned proudly and patted Ilya’s back, signalling to him to drop his shirt again.
“Thanks for the concern, boys.” Shane looked up at Ilya with nothing but total adoration in his eyes. “But I can assure you, I’m fine.”
