Chapter 3
Glenhaven Vanguards at Ridgemont Monarchs
– October 30th, 2021
It wasn't a secret that Mikhail hated Ridgemont.
He'd hated Ridgemont even before the absolute clusterfuck of the summer (Knox' term, which he'd found accurate enough to steal).
Obviously at the start it had been a sort of manufactured hate.
The Marauders hated the Monarchs.
Mikhail was a Marauder so he, too, had to hate the Monarchs.
It helped that Rowe had been on the team, obviously – made their rivalry and the team rivalry all that much sweeter, and it made them easier to hate.
But then
had turned into
, and sometime between an ill-advised glance in the shower and starting an actual charity together, playing Ridgemont had become a thing Mikhail, horribly, started looking forward to.
And then, well, it'd all blown up.
He'd known that it would not be well-received when they came out, not by the Monarchs locker room.
He knew that a few of the guys were almost certainly
deeply
uncomfortable with Declan being gay, and held that in only because he was
literally Declan Rowe
, and he was still winning them Shields.
Mikhail had always figured there were some secret group chats or bar hangs where those assholes gathered around and talked all their shit to their hearts content.
He wondered, sometimes, how things might have gone if their original plan worked out.
If they had come out on their own terms, over the summer.
There was no doubt that it would have been better to have that happen, in nearly every way.
But he thought that maybe the Monarchs never would have accepted Declan – or, at least, not Declan-and-Mikhail.
Not Rowe-Sorokin.
And if they didn't learn that until too late then, what?
Another year on the Monarchs for Declan, surrounded by a team who hated him, suffering in silence, separated most of the time?
He wasn't
grateful
for Brendan Shaw, alright, not for
a lot
of reasons, but he did sometimes think that at least Brendan throwing them into the fire showed them who was actually on their side, in the end.
The point being:
Ridgemont.
He'd hated them before.
hated them now.
He wasn't exactly
subtle
about it.
Most of the boys knew that this was the game Mikhail was looking most forward to – the one he most wanted to win.
The first match up against the Monarchs, in Ridgemont, with Rowe on
their
side.
Prove those fucking assholes wrong about Declan.
Declan, meanwhile.
Public Declan was, of course, always deferential and kind when asked.
The Monarchs are a great organization and I'm thankful for my years there.
There's a lot of strength on the team, and I don't think it will be an easy match.
I loved Ridgemont, but I'm incredibly happy to be in Glenhaven now
Mikhail knew that some of this was bullshit (
strength
On
Ridgemont
Be realistic.) But he also knew Declan was Declan, and that the professional demeanor he carried around was not going to be shed overnight because of one asshole team full of assholes.
(Or because he was now living full time with Mikhail, who'd barely ever had a professional persona to start.)
Private Declan was a bit of a different thing.
Mikhail knew they were on the same page about this game mattering.
About proving something.
A revenge match, if you will.
But while Mikhail expressed that in motivational speeches to the team at practice about making Ridgemont cry and constant chirping about their terrible lines, Declan sunk further into himself as the game approached.
More than once in the days leading up, Mikhail had awoken in the middle of the night to find Declan still awake, peering at his iPad.
At first, he'd assumed it was classic Declan, watching old Vanguards footage to learn from mistakes.
But he leaned over, once, and realized Declan was watching the Monarchs play the Commanders.
He'd been tempted to tell Declan to stop and get some rest – if not as his husband, then as his captain – but he knew the look of determination and focus on Rowe's face meant he wouldn't be easily swayed.
He also knew it meant that Declan was
thinking of something.
As a captain, Mikhail had always been about the energy – about getting the team together, about camaraderie, about reminding everyone that this was
fun
and they could have fun while doing it, about riling up the troops to play well.
Declan, he knew, was more analytical – more of a playmaker, a strategist.
More of the guy who told people what to do, and who people listened to because he was usually right.
Banks had joked a few times about losing his alternate captain status to Declan in the next season, and while Mikhail was sure Declan no longer particularly cared about the role even he could admit that Declan's perfect recall of hockey knowledge might be more useful when talking to referees than Banks's.
. whole thing.
All to say that in the days leading to their first game against the Monarchs, Mikhail knew Declan was planning something.
So while he rallied the team into making it personal, he sat back and let Declan plot.
Declan brought his plan to everyone just before the game, while they were getting ready in the locker room.
"I know how we beat them," was all he said.
Straight forward and unflinching.
"We beat them because we are better, and sexier, and have best hockey player in the world – me," Mikhail said back.
Mostly because this was just the type of thing he always said back.
Declan rolled his eyes, but it was fond.
"Look, I've been watching them play and they're not as disciplined this season.
Not as organized.
They don't look
bad
but they rise to the occasion more.
They fight more." He looked at Mikhail, now.
"You've gotta piss them off."
Mikhail touched a hand to heart and fluttered his eyelashes.
"Me?
Rowe, I would never be so mean to my good friends on the Ridgemont Monarchs."
Declan tried and failed to conceal a laugh.
Morrison clapped Mikhail on the shoulder.
"This guy," he said, "is the
picture
of grace and decorum." Mikhail pointed to Morrison agreeably and shot his best smile at Declan.
"Well, even so," Declan said, "tonight I give you permission to be something better than the picture of grace and decorum."
"What's that?" Mikhail asked.
Declan's grin, now, turned a little predatory.
It was horrifically hot.
"I give you permission to be Mikhail Fucking Sorokin."
Declan's plan, when it boiled down, was actually incredibly simple.
The Monarchs were playing pissed off.
Every game they had a chip on their shoulder that Declan had noticed.
They were quicker to throw punches, sure, but mostly they were quicker to make stupid penalties – bad checks, slashing, tripping.
They were
at the penalty kill, but hockey was a numbers game, so playing down too often was never a good idea.
And Declan, being Declan, knew
they were so pissed.
Him.
While Declan and Mikhail had been badgered with their own flood of annoying press questions over the summer and at the start of the season, Mikhail had largely ignored what
other
teams were being asked.
He spent the preseason trying not to roll his eyes at every slightly rude question about playing on a team with his husband and the gritty details of their personal and private lives.
The Monarchs, meanwhile, had been asked, over and over again, one question:
What about Declan Rowe?
Was it a mistake to let Declan walk away?
Did they think they could be as strong without Declan?
After all, they hadn't gone to the playoffs in ages before Declan showed up, and hadn't won a Shield without him for longer.
Were they worried?
Declan, being Declan, had studied the fucking
interviews
And he'd noticed that as the season continued on, and their losses piled up, the Monarchs got less
enthusiastic
in their insistence that they were the same team without Declan Rowe, if not a better team.
They got more clipped.
They got more annoyed.
He was a ghost haunting their locker room.
And so they, too, had something to prove tonight.
And it would surely be easy for Declan and Mikhail, in particular, to get under their skin.
Declan by merely existing; Mikhail by merely being, well, the hockey player he'd been for his entire career.
"An asshole," Declan said, easily.
"An asshole you
married
," Mikhail pointed out, with a grin.
"Yeah, like that," Declan said.
"That'll piss them off really good."
So, while Declan and Mikhail tried to goad the players into penalties and distractions, the rest of the team would be open for scoring.
Pierce, in particular, Declan called out.
They'd underestimate him for sure – if he could get the puck past them a couple times, it'd be smooth sailing.
The thing about Declan was that, when it came to hockey, he was pretty much never wrong.
(He could be wrong all the time outside of hockey, though, like when he said two dogs was too many or told Mikhail the Velocity movies weren't that good, but hockey he was pretty much perfect at.
It would be annoying if it wasn't so attractive, really.) So it wasn't surprising to see how quickly his strategy worked.