"Troy, my boy," Boodram greets him with the biggest smile before hauling him over the threshold into his house and into a crushing hug.
"Hmph," Troy huffs into Boodram's shoulder. Eloquent. "Thanks for the invite."
Boodram laughs and lets him go, but not without patting him firmly on his back. "Thanks for coming. Might not be a full house here tonight, but the food is just as good as always."
"Stop beating your own drum, Bood," Wyatt Hayes shouts from somewhere. Troy follows Boodram further into the house, where he finds their goalie behind the island of what is a massive open-plan kitchen/living room. A slim, dark-haired woman, who Troy assumes is Boodram's wife, is standing in the open door of an almost industrial size refrigerator filled to the brim with bowls and tubs of all sorts of different type of barbecue ingredients.
Behind her, fairy lights are hung along the floor-to-ceiling windows, and despite the freezing temperatures, the doors to the patio are wide open. Outside, the fairy lights continue, and the patio itself is sheltered by a walled barbecue area with a covered pergola roof. Outdoor furniture and space heating lamps are dotted all over. A small Christmas tree balances on one end of the wall, golden and blue lights flashing merrily against the dark night sky beyond.
"Troy, meet my wife, Cassie," Boodram says, and Cassie gives him a playful salute in between the dishes she pulls from the fridge. "And you know that weird guy over there." He nods towards Wyatt.
"Hey, I'm not the one opening the conversation with a brag about my food," Wyatt says, and Troy barks out a laugh. He wasn't quite sure about coming when the invitation came through on the group chat. He is still so new to the team that he wasn't quite sure he was welcome just yet. But then Luca Haas messaged him privately, asking if he was going, and the kid was new, too, and sounded so keen to go, Troy couldn't say no.
The fact that Harris replied on the group chat that he might pop by as well may have helped the decision along, too, but no one needs to know that.
"There is definitely plenty of it," Cassie smirks as she nudges the fridge closed with her backside. "Go take a seat outside. The others should be here any minute."
As if on cue, the doorbell rings.
Troy follows Wyatt out onto the patio and takes a seat on one of the large sectionals while Wyatt deposits the bowls he's been carrying near the barbeque. It's an impressive barbecue, not that Troy has any idea how one would operate one, but it looks fancy enough with the cast-iron hood and the chrome piping. And whatever is already cooking on it smells incredible.
"We take the piss, but he is an absolute beast behind that thing," Wyatt says as he opens another smaller fridge hidden under the outdoor kitchen worktop. He pulls out two beers and holds them up. "You drinking?"
"Yeah, absolutely." Troy grins. "I took an Uber."
"Good man." Wyatt chuckles. He opens both bottles, hands one to Troy and flops down on the sofa next to him.
It's surprisingly warm out with the heaters overhead, and Troy shucks his coat just as the noise level inside rises dramatically. A moment later, Evan Dykstra and his wife Caitlin, as well as Luca and Harris all spill out through the patio doors.
"Hey Troy, you made it," Harris hollers, that infectious grin of his growing as wide as his face, and Troy is sure he's glowing like a glow stick in the dark with how much his cheeks are burning.
He can't stop his own smile, though, and gives a shy wave. "Hi Harris." Next to him, Wyatt chuckles, and Troy quickly ducks his head, cursing himself for how obvious he must be. He is relieved to be saved from any further unwanted scrutiny when Luca hands Cassie a bottle of wine.
"Man, I said no presents." Boodram playfully slaps Luca over the back of his head.
Now it is Luca who is blushing furiously, but he's still laughing. "My mother made me bring it," he says. "It's French. It's a very good year. I don't even know why I have it. It would be wasted with us rookies, so I thought I might as well give it to someone who can appreciate it."
"Are you calling us old, Haasy?" Wyatt teases, and Luca's face turns an even darker shade of pink.
"Leave the kid alone," Cassie chides. She gives Luca's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you. I most certainly appreciate it. They're just heathens."
Caitlin takes the bottle off her and studies the label. "So do I. Ooh, this is good. Don't mind me, but I'm going to open this. Cassie, where are your bottle openers?"
Cassie laughs and follows her back into the kitchen.
"Already wrapping the ladies around your little finger, Haasy?" Dykstra teases, and Luca groans. He looks like he wouldn't mind being swallowed by the patio floor.
"Leave him alone, guys," Harris says, grinning, as he sinks down onto the sofa on the other side of Troy. "It's only his first party."
Dykstra grabs another three beers from the fridge and passes them to Harris and Luca before making himself comfortable on one of the loungers. He looks around their little group and takes a swig from his drink. "Is this it, or is anyone else coming? I'm fucking starving!"
"Just Roz." Boodram smirks. He opens the lid of his barbecue and casually places a few steaks onto the grill. The burning fat sizzles and crackles, the spicy smell making Troy's mouth water. "He's bringing his partner."
"Excuse me?" Harris jolts up straight while Wyatt huffs a "What?". Every single head, including Troy's, turns towards Boodram.
"You are joking?" Dykstra has moved to the edge of his seat.
"Fucking finally," Wyatt says.
"You knew he had a girlfriend?" Dykstra stares at Wyatt.
Troy thinks back to their last game in New York, when Rozanov took him to the Kingfisher. When they walked back to their hotel together and unexpectedly shared their sexual preferences with each other. If only they knew that for Rozanov, partner doesn't necessarily mean girlfriend.
"Well, why else do you think he's always busy every time we have time off?"
"You know who she is?" Harris leans forward so he can look past Troy at Wyatt.
Harris' hand rests on the back of the sofa, delightfully close to the back of Troy's neck, and Troy tries to hide his smile behind taking another swig from his beer. If only they knew.
Wyatt just shrugs, and that makes Troy look at him. Wyatt meets his gaze, the smirk on his face all too knowing, and Troy wonders if they're both thinking the same thing. Surely not.
"Do you?" Harris has now turned his attention to Boodram, who is piling more food onto the grill.
"I haven't got a clue. He just texted me earlier, saying he will drop by with his girlfriend." Then, apparently realising that Wyatt didn't actually answer the question, he narrows his eyes and points the tongs at him. "You know who it is."
"I have an inkling," is all Wyatt says, now grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"I bet you a thousand it's that Russian girl from Boston," Dykstra says just as Cassie and Caitlin return from the kitchen, both with big wine glasses in their hands.
"Who are we betting on?" Caitlin squeezes onto the lounger next to her husband, who shuffles back to make room for her.
"Rozanov's girlfriend," Boodram supplies. "He's bringing her with him."
"Oh." Caitlin looks at Cassie. "You didn't tell me that little titbit of news?"
Cassie laughs and flops into the big armchair next to them. "Sorry, I haven't got that far yet. I have no idea who he's bringing, but I'm just glad we'll have a bit of extra girl power with this lot."
"What if it's a guy?" Harris throws in, and Troy just about manages not to choke on his beer. Wyatt snorts, and Troy is convinced Wyatt is purposely looking the other way when Troy glances at him. Wyatt knows something.
"Hah, you wish," Luca chimes in from the other end of the sofa, which earns him a round of laughter, and the shy smile on the rookie's face turns into a beaming grin. "I bet five hundred it's someone high profile. Like the US president's granddaughter or something."
"Oh, we are taking bets now?" Boodram says. "I think it's someone who's married. Why else would he make such a big secret of it? I'm in with a thousand."
"Nah." Dykstra waves him off. "He might be a womaniser, but he's never been one for drama. It's that girl from Boston, I'm telling you. She's Sergei Vetrov's daughter, isn't she?"
"I bet two thousand it's Jane," Wyatt throws in.
Troy snorts. "Who the fuck is Jane?" Maybe Wyatt doesn't know shit after all.
"You fucking know something." Again, the tongs are pointed at Wyatt as Boodram glares at him.
"Yes, who the fuck is Jane?" Harris is now almost leaning over Troy, and Troy has to stop himself from laughing at the whole scenario. Harris will lose his shit when he finds out how close to the truth he is with his guess. If Troy is right, that is.
"Just someone Roz used to text," Wyatt muses. "A lot."
"And how do you know who he's texting?"
"Man, I'm a goalie, I see things. Even if they make my eyes bleed sometimes. I have also been living next to him in the locker room for the last three years."
"Anyway," Cassie interrupts them. "We have Sergei Vetrov's daughter, a married woman, Joe Biden's granddaughter, and Jane. Troy, what about you?"
Troy grows tense, caught a little off guard by the sudden attention. He manages to pull himself together before anyone seems to notice and waves her off. "I'll pass. I know way too little about Rozanov's love life to speculate."
"Hah, cheapskate," Dykstra says.
"Fair enough." Cassie chuckles. "What about you, Harris?"
"Oh no, I'm not getting involved." Harris holds up both his hands. "This is way above my pay grade."
There is laughter all around, loud enough that they almost miss the doorbell ringing. It rings again, and it's almost comical how quickly it goes quiet as eight heads simultaneously turn towards the house.
Boodram is the first to move. He drops his tongs and wipes his hands on his apron. He points a finger at the whole round as he strides inside. "You all behave. We don't want to scare her off, is that clear?"
There is more laughter. Troy holds his breath. His heart is definitely trying to climb up his throat. Harris bumps his shoulder, completely unaware of how big a thing this might become in just a few seconds' time.
Boodram disappears into the foyer and out of sight, and they all listen as the front door opens.
"Shane Hollander, bro. What the fuck are you doing here? We were all taking bets on Roz' secret—" Boodram cuts off and they hear Rozanov snort with laughter. It's followed by an awkward chuckle and a "Hi Zane" from Hollander.
"What the fuck?" Dykstra is on his feet, his hands at his head, staring into the house. Luca looks equally gobsmacked, his mouth hanging open.
Troy can't help but chuckle.
Harris instantly narrows his eyes at him.
"You knew, didn't you?" Wyatt taps Troy's arm with the back of his hand. He's grinning like mad.
"I guessed," Troy says quietly. "Wasn't sure, though. For a while there, I thought you knew too."
Wyatt cackles. "Who do you think Jane is?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Jane—Shane. He's not the most creative with names."
"No fucking way." Harris is looking at them as if they've sprouted extra heads.
The conversation is interrupted when Shane Hollander steps through the patio doors, closely followed by Rozanov and a very confused-looking Zane Boodram. Absolutely no one misses the hand Rozanov gently places on the small of Hollander's back.
Troy is grinning so much his face is hurting. This is fucking huge.
"Nice surprise, Hollander." Wyatt is on his feet and pulls Hollander into a tight hug. He pats him on the back before letting him go. "It's good to see you."
"You too, Hazy," Hollander says, his smile a lot more reserved. Everyone knows how neurotic Shane Hollander can be. Troy can only imagine what chaos is raging in his head right now.
"Roz, you sneaky bastard," Dykstra teases as Hollander shakes Caitlin's hand. "You kept that one quiet."
"Be nice," Rozanov snaps back, but the smile splitting his face betrays the bite in his voice. "It almost took a domestic crisis to convince him to come with me."
Troy has to laugh at that. He also doesn't miss the quick glance Rozanov and Hollander share with each other and wonders what made them finally decide to go public. On a very small scale, admittedly, but still.
Then Hollander turns towards him, and Troy is suddenly hyper-aware again that he's sitting next to Harris. That Harris' thigh is almost touching his own, that his arm is still casually thrown over the back of the sofa behind him.
"Troy, good to see you," Hollander says and shakes his hand. Then his eyes flicker to Harris. "And you must be Harris. I've heard a lot about you."
For the briefest of moments, Hollander looks back at Troy, and their eyes meet, and oh fuck, Hollander knows. He so fucking knows, and Troy wants to combust on the spot.
Thankfully, Harris seems to be none the wiser. "I hope only good things." He laughs and shakes Hollander's hand.
"Of course, only good things," Rozanov says from where he's spying over Boodram's shoulder, already eyeing up the goods on the grill. "He's very good at doing thirst traps for Instagram. Always gets my best side."
"It's called good PR," Harris shoots back at Rozanov. Then, with a glint in his eye, he leans forward and fake whispers to Hollander, "He loves it, really."
Hollander laughs, and Troy thinks he looks a little less tense than he did a few minutes ago.
"Oh, I know," Hollander says. He shakes Luca's hand and then sits down next to him. Mumbles an almost shy "thank you" when Wyatt hands him a beer.
Troy chuckles. Harris definitely knows how to make them look good. Troy is no prude, but he certainly doesn't flaunt his body quite as much as Rozanov does. Still, he can admit, the way Harris always manages to catch them is impressive. And most of the time it isn't actually the posed shots that ultimately make it online, but the candid ones taken right before or after the pose. Or the random ones taken in the chaos of the locker room when they're chirping, laughing or arguing. The ones when they're still themselves before the focus of the lens makes them put on that carefully sculptured mask that comes with living life in the public eye.
"So, who won the bet?" Rozanov grins as he sinks onto the cushion next to Hollander. He steals the bottle from Hollander, takes a long gulp and then winks at him.
Hollander just shakes his head, but the fondness on his face is unmistakable.
"Hold up, Roz," Boodram says. "Who wants a burger? First ones are ready. And you said you were going to bring your girlfriend. Not fair."
"Uh-uh." Rozanov wiggles a finger at him. "Partner. I said partner. You need to learn how to read."
Across the patio, Cassie leans towards her husband and snatches his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. She taps in the code to unlock it and then snorts. "He's right."
"I still can't get my head around this." Dykstra is still openly staring at Rozanov and Hollander. "How?"
"Well, you know." Rozanov grins, in his element. "One day, we were doing this commercial, and you know, we had to do a lot of skating, and after a lot of skating, a man has to take shower–"
"Ilya, I swear to God, if you keep going, you're sleeping on the couch tonight."
Rozanov's mouth snaps shut.
Oh wow. The air is filled with cackles and snorts of laughter, but Troy can only stare at Hollander in awe. He doesn't think he has ever witnessed anyone ever shutting Rozanov up. But here he is, Shane Hollander — quiet, meticulous, polite Shane Hollander — and Rozanov is smitten. Clearly.
"Wait, what photoshoot?" Wyatt asks. "When did you ever do a photoshoot on skates together?"
Rozanov opens his mouth, but Hollander grabs his thigh and stops him, which earns them more laughter.
Cassie is still tapping away on her husband's phone. Then her fingers still and her eyebrows shoot up. "CCM?"
Troy doesn't even remember them ever doing a photoshoot, never mind anything for CCM. He knows they're both sponsored by them, but—
"Oh, I remember that." Wyatt lights up next to him. He frowns. "That was ages ago."
Rozanov is staring at his feet. He bites his lip to hide a grin. Hollander shakes his head, but he is smiling too.
"2009," Cassie provides helpfully, because apparently the internet is in on their game of murder mystery too.
"What the fuck?"
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Twelve fucking years ago?"
"Yes, involved a lot of fucking back then," Rozanov says, straight-faced.
"ILYA!"
"Oh, this is better than any Christmas Hallmark movie I was planning to watch over the holidays," Harris comments, and Troy can't help but elbow him playfully. He feels his cheeks heating up when Harris smiles at him, wide and— happy?
In the corner of the sofa, Rozanov is directing a similar smile at Hollander. He whispers something too quiet for anyone but Hollander to hear, but Troy doesn't miss how Rozanov's fingers brush against Hollander's arm almost unintentionally when he leans closer. Or that Hollander takes Rozanov's hand and intertwines their fingers.
"Twelve fucking years," Wyatt says again, more to himself than to anyone else, before he remembers himself. "Uhm, everyone, just to be clear. This obviously isn't public knowledge, so we all understand that this doesn't leave this room, right?"
"Of course," Troy says to a round of agreement from the rest of them. He still can't quite get his head around twelve years. Suddenly, his two years of sneaking around with Adrian seem pretty insignificant compared to twelve fucking years. How are Rozanov and Hollander not exhausted? And how has no one ever found out?
"Yeah, naturally," Dykstra says. "We're not twats."
"Thank you," Hollander says, and he visibly relaxes a little more.
"I don't know." Rozanov smirks. "I've been called a twat plenty of times."
"That's because you don't have an off button when it comes to running your mouth," Luca says.
Rozanov glares at the young rookie, then back at Hollander, scandalised.
Hollander just laughs. "He said it, not me."
"Right! Again! Who wants a burger?" Boodram hollers over their heads. "Steaks are about done as well for anyone who wants them bloody. God, it's like trying to feed a bunch of pre-teens with you lot. Not all at once, hold up, not all at once," he adds when almost everyone rises to their feet at the same time.
Harris' hand lands on Troy's shoulder and he squeezes it lightly. "You want me to grab you some? Saves both of us queueing."
The touch lingers, and Troy meets his eyes, lets out a quiet breath through his nose. He's not the one that came out tonight, so why does he feel so giddy. "Yeah, uhm, that would be cool. That would be cool. Thanks." He knows he is all over the place, but he doesn't care.
"Grab us another round from the fridge, would you?" Wyatt asks.
Harris grins. "Will do." He gives Troy's shoulder another quick squeeze and then he's gone, and the sudden breeze of air in the empty space left behind makes Troy shiver.
Rozanov and Hollander haven't moved either. Sitting close to each other, knees touching, they seem to be simply observing the scene in front of them with fondness, and possibly some awe on Hollander's part.
Troy isn't surprised by how everyone is reacting. This whole team the Centaurs have is built differently than any other team in the league. More genuine. More open and accepting of everyone, no matter their background, mental state, or sexuality. Less stuck up their own asses.
But Hollander didn't necessarily know that before he met them. Or didn't believe a team like that was out there, which is understandable. Troy hadn't thought there was either, but here he is.
And he just witnessed two of the most talented and well-known players of the NHL come out to a bunch of weirdos from Ottawa. Crazy. Cool, but crazy.
"So, Roz. Shane." Wyatt leans forward in his seat. "Want to tell us who Jane is?"
Rozanov bursts out laughing. Next to him, Hollander groans and buries his face in his hands.