Chapter 1
It came up for the first time the week before the home opener.
Or, really, Mikhail brought it up for the first time then after much,
much
nudging from his therapist.
The thing was she was right: he knew she was right, which made it worse, actually.
They'd had a
lot
of conversations about him asking
around
things instead of just asking them outright.
Or him wanting things but never
saying them out loud
and then lashing out when he didn't get them.
It was a work in progress, shedding all his childhood trauma and Muskovian sense of
push everything down until you die
to try and have a healthy, communicative relationship with someone else.
But he was working on it.
Hence:
The Conversation.
He and Declan were alone in their house in Glenhaven.
Declan had just come back with a run from Nika, who had flopped on the floor dramatically the moment they returned like she was an exhausted old lady and not a very spry puppy.
Declan was at the sink pouring himself a glass of water.
Mikhail was watching him do that because Declan doing even mundane tasks still managed to make him breathless.
It was a real effort to not crowd him against the sink and kiss him senseless, but he made that effort because he knew Declan would want to shower first.
Mikhail was thoughtful like that.
Or, shit.
He was
trying
to be.
"So," he said, abruptly, into the silence of the room.
Declan looked up and took a long sip of water.
When Mikhail still hadn't spoken before he was done he raised both his eyebrows.
"So?"
Mikhail cleared his throat.
He felt awkward.
Awkward like the first time he had asked a girl for sex – like he didn't know what he was doing and he was going to fuck it up.
Declan made him feel like that a lot, actually.
He figured it was because he'd never been in love before – sex was easy, but he was in uncharted territory here, trying to make a life with a person.
"It has.
. come to my mind that we should discuss boundaries."
Declan's face scrunched up in that horrendously adorable way it did.
"What, with Nika?
I think she likes the runs."
Nika loved the runs.
Nika loved
, perhaps even a little more than she loved Mikhail, which was frankly deeply unfair.
And also: not the point.
"About us," he clarified.
Now Declan frowned.
"What do you mean?" He seemed suddenly uncomfortable, shifting a bit.
"Is.
. did I do something wrong?"
Mikhail remembered that Declan, too, was new at this – was fumbling through the sudden openness of their relationship.
He was doing a bad job at saying what he meant.
"No," he said, moving to cup Declan's face in his hands.
"No, I mean.
How to say it?
At the start of their thing, Mikhail had been the one with more to lose.
A whole country to never return to.
And it was
supposed
to be casual, really, it was, but then before he could stop it they were both so emotionally caught up in it that it practically hurt.
And Mikhail had been
afraid
Had wanted more but didn't have the capacity to ask, too petrified that Declan would run.
So instead he had danced around the subject in a way that hurt them both, and Declan had responded in ways that hurt them both,
had
run, and it had all felt so dramatic and brilliant and fucking awful all at once.
Then Mikhail's father had died and he realized he had no
reason
to go back to Muskovia and he decided to try and stop being afraid and give them an actual shot.
And then the tables had turned, and suddenly it was
with everything on the line – the hockey golden boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Mikhail had been the one desperate for more, had been the one ready to throw his career to the wind for love, and Declan had been the one who struggled with what that meant.
And that was okay – it had taken them a while to figure it out, that was all.
They hadn't meant to hurt each other – sometimes people just did that, navigating the terrifying new steps of their relationships, figuring out how to be someone's partner.
But now they were
open
, they were
out
living in the same city
playing on the same team
married to each other
and sometimes it was so overwhelming how happy this made Mikhail that he thought about doing reckless things like pulling Declan to him and kissing him breathless in the locker room in front of their coach and their team and reporters and God and
whoever
And these were things that
, who was awkward and unpracticed with public affection, would probably hate.
"I love you," Mikhail said.
Declan raised his eyebrows, like this was not surprising news.
"I want to .
. to show people I love you.
All the time.
Loudly."
Declan's face furrowed again.
"Are you .
. not getting enough from me?"
"No, no, I am, I–" he bit off a sigh.
This had been easier to discuss in therapy, in Muskovian.
It had made more sense when Declan wasn't standing in front of him with his stupid kissable face, being all distracting.
"I do not want to make you uncomfortable.
With how I talk about us.
To others.
Like .
. reporters.
Or how I treat you in front of others, like the guys on the team."
Something like understanding settled on Declan's face now, and it immediately made Mikhail's heart stop racing.
"You think I don't like PDA."
"First time I held your hand in public I thought you were going to have a panic attack," Mikhail admitted.
That, at least, made Declan laugh.
"I mean, yeah, I almost did." He frowned.
"I think I got so used to hiding that part of me still thinks we're
to be hiding, you know?" He looked at Mikhail with a lot of earnestness.
"I'm trying to get better about that."
"I know," Mikhail said.
"But you have a very kissable face.
And now I
can
kiss it in public.
It might.
. be hard for me.
Not to.
But I will not, if you don't want me to."
Declan thought about it for a moment.
Weirdly that made Mikhail grateful.
If Declan had answered too quickly it would have maybe felt like a knee-jerk reaction to make Mikhail feel better.
Here, it seemed Declan was at least taking what
he
really wanted into account, which would be better than both of them trying to bend themselves into some weird shape for the other.
At least, that was what Katya had said.
"I want you to show how you feel," Declan said finally, after a long pause.
"I don't want you to feel like you have to hide anymore.
I don't want to feel like
have to hide anymore.
It might take me a minute to get used to it.
. to catch up .
. but.
I want you to do what makes you happy." He let that hang for a second.
"Including kissing me in public.
Even at games."
"And dirty jokes?"
"I have no expectations that I could
stop
you from making dirty jokes even if I
didn't
like them," Declan said, grinning.
He wrapped his arms around Mikhail's middle, brushing their noses together.
"So you admit you like them."
"I admit nothing." Declan took a deep breath.
"Look, I'm not saying you can tell reporters about the size of my dick or the details of our sex life or anything, okay?
And we should probably try to avoid traumatizing our teammates or getting called into HR and shit like that.
But we're together.
And we're
playing
together.
And it's going to come up.
So as long as it doesn't get us suspended from the league, I'm okay with public displays of affection." His face scrunched again.
"But it might take me a minute, you know?
To be the one giving them to you."
"Is okay," Mikhail said, kissing Declan on the tip of his adorable little nose.
"I will do it enough for both of us."
Declan groaned, and went bright red, but Mikhail could tell he was happy.
And that made Mikhail happy.
And so did the permission to kiss Declan Rowe in public.