Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Kip Grady

Additional Tags:

Second Chances, Book 2: Heated Rivalry (Game Changers), Heated Rivalry (TV) References, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Shane Hollander Loves Ilya Rozanov, POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov, Ilya Rozanov is Obsessed With Shane Hollander, Retired Hockey Player Ilya Rozanov, Retired Hockey Player Shane Hollander, Happily Ever After, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, Makeup Sex, Shane Hollander Pursues Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-03-19 Completed: 2026-04-03 Words: 41,824 Chapters: 10/10

Chronically Late

Summary

Ilya ignored the request from the NHL twice. The first time they asked through his agent, the second time the director of marketing called his personal number directly. He never got along with the league as a player, and he certainly didn't need to make them happy now.

The next attempt to reach him was harder to ignore. A phone call from an unknown number. A voicemail that made his blood run cold.

"Hi Ilya. This is Rose Landry. We've never met, but Shane speaks so highly of you. I think the NHL has been trying to get in touch. Shane said you probably wouldn't talk to them. But...think about it, ok? I know it would mean a lot to him."

The final request crumbled his resolve. The caller ID blinked "Jane," and Ilya stared at it.

***
Canon divergence, Shane and Ilya are estranged for a decade. Shane finally reaches out to Ilya when he retires.

Chapter 1

Ilya ignored the request from the NHL twice. The first time they asked through his agent, the second time the director of marketing called his personal number directly. He never got along with them as a player, and he certainly didn't need to make the league happy now.

It was stupid. Pandering to a media sensation that hadn't been relevant for years. Ilya had his own reasons to ignore the calls. But the easy answer, the one he gave his agent, was that he didn't feel like being trotted out as a relic, and absolutely not for somebody else's ego and benefit.

The next attempt to reach him was harder to ignore. A phone call from an unknown number. A voicemail that made his blood run cold.

"Hi Ilya. This is Rose Landry. We've never met, but Shane speaks so highly of you. I think the NHL has been trying to get in touch. Shane said you probably wouldn't talk to them. But...think about it, ok? I know it would mean a lot to him."

Ilya played the voicemail at least twenty times. He tried to make sense of the tone in her voice, his stomach churned every time she said Hollander's name. He didn't even know how to process that Hollander had talked to Rose about Ilya.

Ilya typed out draft after draft of a reply to Rose.

Sorry, I'd rather get run over by a Zamboni.

I don't know what you think you heard, but I know he doesn't want me there.

Please tell me what he told you. I didn't know he had anything nice to say about me.

In the end, Ilya ignored Rose. He thought about it constantly, but it was for the best. He suspected if he responded she would have found some way to grind him down, to twist his arm. Her tenacity to call him, a virtual stranger, with a bizarre favor to ask, spoke volumes. Ilya wasn't sure he had the willpower to hold firm against her.

The final request crumbled his resolve. He had gotten home from a run, throwing his keys and phone on the counter in the kitchen. He was about to step into the shower when his phone started ringing. He had a wild thought that it might be Rose again, but when he looked at the phone the caller was far worse.

The caller ID blinked "Jane," and Ilya stared at it. His brain completely shut off for a moment. By the time he started to reach for his phone, still unsure if he would answer or decline the call, the call had gone to voicemail. He paced back and forth for a while before pressing play.

"Hey."

Ilya's throat tightened. It was Hollander, the way Ilya used to hear him. Not the chirps from the ice, not the canned interview responses. Soft, gentle. He sounded apologetic.

"Uh, this is Shane. I don't know if you still have my number anymore."

Of course he had Shane's number.

"Anyway. I know people have tried getting in touch with you, but...I never really expected you to respond to them."

Ilya could feel his eyebrows furrow as he listened to the voicemail. Why was Hollander letting the NHL and Rose Landry harass him, when Shane knew Ilya wouldn't even pick up the phone?

"It’s ok if you don't want to come. I get it, it's probably going to be weird for you. But...I would really like you to be there. Please. I want you there."

Ilya sank, resting his forehead on the countertop of his kitchen island. It was all too easy. Ilya had held out for weeks, ignored attempts from the league and Rose Landry. Hollander just needed to utter a simple "please," and "I want you there," and all rationale went out the window.

Ilya: ok, I'll come

Rose: THANK YOU. I'll send you all the details

***

It was surreal to enter the Bell Centre again. Ilya had never pictured returning to Montreal, let alone this rink. He used the player's entrance, security guiding him through the tunnel to an elevator. It felt theatrical and stupid, and he resisted the urge to turn tail and run. In fact, he thought about turning around no less than five times, but his feet carried him to the already rowdy box. When he entered, it was like he was enveloped in a sick riptide of nostalgia.

"No way, Rozanov!" JJ was closest to the door, and judging by his breath when he pulled Ilya in for a hug, he was already several drinks deep.

Hayden Pike gave him a half-hug and a weird look. That should have been expected. Other teammates of Hollander's throughout the years greeted Ilya, slapping him on the back like an old friend. Nobody accused him of being out of place, and Ilya supposed it made sense. If the league had tried multiple times to get him there, it was probably a natural idea. Get Hollander's rival in the building for his final game. Doesn't matter that they don't speak off the ice, cue up the hits for one final run.

Ilya made his way to the front of the box to take in the sight of the ice, the players were warming up now. There was a fluttering sensation in his stomach as he watched #24 swooping slow circles on the rink below. Rose was sitting with Shane's parents, and she stood as soon as she recognized Ilya.

"I'm so glad you came. I told him you'd come if he asked himself." She gave him a gentle hug. Rose smelled like expensive perfume, and her hug lasted a moment longer than Ilya expected.

When they pulled apart, Ilya could feel himself staring. So far everything she had said to him-over the phone, just now to his face, it all demanded further explanation.

"Is that Ilya Rozanov?"

Ilya had been waiting for a reaction like this. Yuna Hollander's tone was incredulous as she craned her neck around Rose.

"Hello," Ilya shuffled around Rose to shake Yuna, then David's hands. Rose moved down a seat and patted for Ilya to sit, to sandwich himself between Hollander's parents and Rose. Ilya considered jumping over the railing of their box to avoid sitting there.

"So, what have you gotten up to in retirement?" David asked.

Ilya shrugged. "Travel, enjoy all my free time," he could see Yuna squinting at him with disapproval. "And I rebuild cars."

"That sounds fun!" Rose chimed in. She gave Ilya a nod that felt overly encouraging.

"What did you do when you retired, Mr. Hollander?" Ilya asked. He knew Yuna hadn't retired yet. Maybe she would when Shane hung up his skates.

"Lots of puzzles," David chuckled.

Ilya nodded. He felt like rebuilding vintage cars was a form of puzzling. Before he could say anything else, find some pathetic small talk to say to the Hollanders, the arena was booing. He looked up to find his own face blown up on the screen above the ice.

The rivalry between Shane and Ilya might have lost its luster years ago, but Montreal fans had bottomless hatred for a former Boston Raider. Ilya felt muscle memory kick in, smirking for the camera and waving. He glanced at the ice and his heart stuttered for a moment. Hollander was frozen, staring at the screen. He wheeled his body around as if he was trying to look for Ilya in the box, but Ilya knew between the lights and the distance, there was no chance.

The camera panned up to the rest of the box, Hayden and JJ receiving loud cheers from the crowd. Ilya wondered, ruefully, what the fans thought about his presence. Maybe that Ilya had gotten soft since retirement. With a stinging sensation, Ilya wondered if the fans would have cared if they'd done this sooner. Show respect off the ice, coexist. It had felt impossible when they were both playing, but nobody seemed to give it a second thought tonight.

Ilya tried his best to not feel sorry for himself. The retirement game reminded him of his, which was bittersweet. Ilya was ready for retirement two years ago, he couldn't really imagine Shane being ready for it. Shane wasn't as fast as he once was, not as nimble. But his accuracy was still uncanny, and he scored a goal. The place went crazy, as if he just secured a hat trick. Ilya leapt to his feet with Shane's parents and Rose, and for a moment it felt sweet and right. He was only ever able to celebrate Shane when they were on the same All-Star team. He'd never admit it to Shane, but it was a privilege to watch him when he was in his prime. It felt like a privilege tonight, that Shane wanted him there, that he got one opportunity to cheer for him.

The Metros won, Shane skated out for a curtain call and some words for the fans. At the very end, he said something that tipped Ilya off center.

"Most of all, I want to thank my family and friends for coming tonight. It means the world to me that you all came out one last time. That means you too, Ilya."

Ilya felt his ears burning with embarrassment at being called out, for Shane teasing him. Something even deeper inside him stirred, Shane had almost never used his first name. Rose nudged him, Yuna and David laughed. Nothing about it felt funny to Ilya.

Shane skated off to face a gauntlet of press for his final post-game. Ilya knew what was coming next. Rose had given him all the details when they had first texted, and Ilya had known he would ignore it, go back to his hotel and get on his flight tomorrow.

As if she could read his mind, Rose grabbed Ilya's arm. "Ilya, can you drive me to Shane's? I think I had too much to drink."

Ilya narrowed his eyes. Rose had one beer, two hours ago. She smiled at him brightly, betraying no subterfuge.

"I am tired. Early flight tomorrow." Ilya lied. His flight was in the late afternoon. He wasn't sure why he booked it that way. He was desperate to get out of Montreal right now. He had come, he had done what Hollander had asked, and he could leave now.

"You can't get out of this, sorry," Rose whispered, her sugary tone evaporating. "Shane's my best friend, and if he wants Ilya Rozanov at his retirement party, I'm dragging you kicking and screaming."

***

It was like there was an electrical current running under Shane's skin. Years ago, he had pictured this night and only imagined sadness. A deep melancholy at his career ending. But tonight had been perfect. One last good game to go out on. Everyone he loved, together, here for him. Hayden and Jackie, with the kids. JJ, ebullient as ever. Ilya between his parents and Rose, looking nervous, but still there.

Shane wanted the post-game to go quickly. He had an objective, and he wanted to exit as soon as possible so he could go to his home. He worried that the longer he took, the more time Ilya would have to reconsider and leave. Maybe Rose had been unsuccessful in wrangling him to begin with.

Shane sat down after his shower, answering all the expected questions reflecting on his career. He answered a few about Ilya, and he was careful with his words. Neutral terms like "appreciation," "competitive edge." Because eventually, he needed to get to the final note.

The questions were drawing to a close, and Shane cleared his throat.

"I have one last thing to say. I wanted to end my career on my own terms. But I hid part of myself from the public for the past twenty years. At the time, I worried it would impact how people saw me as a player. Maybe how the league would treat me. But I'm finished now, that's behind me. So I want to say... I'm gay."

The room erupted, but Shane just stood and left.

***

Shane pulled up to his house, staying in the car for a moment to collect himself. He felt lighter. He felt off-kilter. Retirement was finally here. He had come out. Two permanent changes that he had dwelled on for years.

Shane got out of his car at the same moment that his front door opened. The sounds of laughter and music floated out for a moment before Ilya slipped out, closing the door behind him. Shane's stomach sank.

"Leaving already?" He called.

Ilya jumped. Shane was surprised that Ilya startled easily. He shook his head vigorously.

"Cigarette," he waved a pack that had been in his hand. As Shane neared him, he took stock of the changes. Faint creases on either side of Ilya's mouth. Some silver streaking his golden curls. He looked as beautiful as ever.

Ilya slipped a cigarette in his mouth and grinned at Shane like he was taunting him to say something about his smoking habit. The smile faltered when no retort arrived.

"How was the last game?" Ilya asked, blowing a curl of smoke out of the side of his mouth.

Shane settled against the railing on his front steps, a few steps down from Ilya. "It felt like a good note to end it on."

Ilya's eyes were flicking across Shane's face, like he was looking for a deeper answer.

"Thank you. For being there. It was important to me." Shane knew he had said something to that effect twice already, but he needed Ilya to hear it.

Ilya shrugged as if it was nothing.

"I came out during the post-game," Shane told him. He doubted anyone inside was watching their phones. His friends and family knew he had planned this tonight, Ilya was the only one who would be surprised.

And Ilya looked stunned. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened.

"What for?" Ilya's question was not one that Shane had anticipated.

"Because it feels stupid to keep that a secret now," this was the truth. Shane bit his lip. "I feel stupid keeping it a secret this long, honestly. But by the time I felt ready...I don't know. I didn't have a...it felt like the end was in sight with hockey, and I could just take the easy out."

Something crossed Ilya's face. It looked like a flash of hurt or disappointment, but it settled into something soft.

"I am happy for you," Ilya said quietly.

Shane and Ilya stood there, silence stretching between them. There was so much that Shane wanted to say. Explanations, apologies, questions. He had invited Ilya without knowing anything about his current life, just that he was retired and lived in New York.

Ilya was staring at him with that piercing gaze that had haunted Shane for twenty-one years. There was a heat behind his eyes that made Shane feel urgent.

"I missed you," Shane cleared his throat. Ilya frowned, which was not the response Shane had dreamed of.

"I mean, I've missed you this whole time," Shane continued. He was nervous, frankly terrified, but he'd rehearsed these words for hours. "All these years. I hope you stay tonight. I want to talk more, later."

Ilya was staring at him like he had grown a second head, but he nodded slowly and then stepped to the side, sweeping his arm out to encourage Shane to go inside.

***

Ilya felt foggy for the next few hours. He knew Hollander would do something like this. All it took was one look, one unguarded statement, and Ilya felt like Shane had speared a fish hook through him, reeling him in.

Former players milled through the party talking about retirement, kids, and wives. David Hollander tried to talk to Ilya about cars but he was endearingly ignorant about the topic.

Rose found Ilya at one point when he was slipping out for another cigarette.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Rose's eyes flashed, and Ilya knew even if he was, she probably could have scared him into staying.

"No. Hollander asked me to stay," Ilya hoped that would be enough, but Rose followed him outside. She stared pointedly at his cigarettes until he offered her one.

"Surprised Hollander is friends with someone who smokes," Ilya said.

Rose shrugged as she lit hers. "He's never complained about it."

That didn't make much sense to Ilya. Shane had harped on it constantly when they were hooking up.

Rose was looking at him with an expression that made Ilya squirm.

"I didn't know if I'd ever get to meet you," Rose finally told him.

Ilya wasn't sure why she would ever want to. Maybe she had dreamed of yelling at him, telling him off like Hollander had at one point, years ago.

Rose charged ahead, as if reading his mind. "Shane's thought a lot about this," she waved her hand towards the house. "Retirement, what comes after. What he wants his life to look like now."

Ilya had to look away. He didn't like the emotions rising in him as Rose's words sunk in, heavy with meaning.

"Thanks for coming." Rose stubbed out her cigarette.

"Did I have a choice?" Ilya asked. She smiled.

"No, I don't think you did."

***

The party was winding down. Shane hugged everyone goodbye. He had noticed Ilya slip into his backyard when the farewells started, as if he wanted to avoid being seen as the last to leave. Something about that felt shameful and familiar.

Hayden and Jackie squeezed Shane with a group hug, and left to relieve their babysitter. The house was quiet, and after a moment Ilya slid the door open from the backyard.

"JJ is still here," he said quietly. Shane looked over Ilya's shoulder, searching for him.

"He is not in the yard," Ilya shook his head. "But I did not see him leave."

Shane wondered for a moment how intently Ilya had been lurking, counting everyone who left. But he scanned his memory and realized Ilya was correct. He started to wander through his house, Ilya following a few paces behind him. Shane could hear him slow as Shane approached his bedroom, and then Shane's own steps jerked to a halt.

JJ was passed out in Shane's bed, all six feet of him sprawled out like a starfish. Ilya snorted behind Shane.

"He cannot hold his liquor, hm?"

"No, he never could," Shane tried to shove down the irritation he felt for his friend. He turned around, and tried to muster a casual expression.

"Can I get you something to drink? My dad gave me some nice vodka a while ago." Shane started towards the kitchen and Ilya followed.

The mess in the kitchen was stressing Shane out immediately, and he had to take a deep breath as he surveyed the counter with half-drank beers and dirty glasses. He reached into a cabinet for fresh cups, and when he turned around Ilya was...cleaning.

"You don't have to do that," Shane said, watching Ilya pour beer down the sink and toss bottles into the recycling.

Ilya shrugged. "Would annoy me if this was my house."

There was a moment where the statement ached. Years ago, for a fleeting moment, Shane had allowed himself to fantasize about exactly that. A shared home with Ilya. Shane blinked the thought away, refocusing on the vodka he was pouring now.

He set the glass next to Ilya. "Please, stop."

Ilya locked eyes with him, something flaring in his hazel irises. He nodded and grabbed the glass, looking around awkwardly. Shane walked to his living room, sitting on the couch, Ilya trailing behind him. He sat on the opposite couch, avoiding eye contact.

Ilya's shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath. "You were right," Shane's mind raced, trying to pinpoint what he meant. "Was weird, being there. But I am glad I went."

Those words made Shane happier than they had right to.

"I wanted to go to your last game. So badly." Shane's confession finally snapped Ilya out of his intent stare at the carpet.

"You were in the playoff hunt," Ilya shook his head. "Metros couldn't have spared you, even though you were so slow."

Shane felt a smile creeping across his face. A tiny one played at the corner of Ilya's mouth.

"Do you like retirement?" Shane genuinely didn't know.

Ilya looked at his drink and took a sip. "Mostly, yes. Some things I miss," his eyes shot furtively to Shane for a brief moment. "But I do not miss the league."

Shane nodded. The commissioner, the shitty side of the fanbase, the machine of it all. He had known for years the parts he wouldn't miss.

"What will Shane Hollander do in retirement?" Ilya settled back in the sofa, a determined look on his face. As he needed to force himself to relax into Shane's furniture.

"I have some ideas. Charities, maybe commentating eventually. But we'll see. Maybe nobody will want to work with me because I'm gay."

Ilya frowned at that. The question was clear on his face, the one Shane had kind of answered earlier. Shane's stomach was twisting now, and he took a steadying sip of vodka. Ilya's eyes followed the bob of Shane's throat as he swallowed.

"I've thought about you a lot." Shane said. His voice was hoarse, he wasn't sure if it was the sting of vodka or if his emotions were already betraying him.

Ilya was running his fingers through his curls, something Shane had seen him do before to soothe himself. Shane waited for him to say something, but it seemed like no response would come.

"I never stopped thinking about you. I tried, I really did," Shane was horrified to feel tears welling in his eyes.

"Hollander..." Ilya squeezed his eyes shut.

"Do you...would you ever want to...?" Shane had rehearsed this, but all of his planned words were escaping him now that Ilya was actually in front of him.

"Hollander, I cannot do this." Ilya whispered. He looked so tired, and Shane felt shame curling inside of his stomach.

He'd harassed Ilya into coming here, asked him to stay, and he couldn't even get words out now. Anything he had planned or rehearsed slipped through his fingers as he locked eyes with Ilya.

Ilya was clenching his glass, and then he slammed it down on Shane's coffee table and crossed the room, grasping Shane's chin roughly as he leaned down to kiss him.

Shane had spent years imagining this moment. It felt familiar and exhilarating, catching Ilya's bottom lip between his teeth. Ilya groaned, slipping his tongue between Shane's parted lips. Shane's hands grasped at Ilya's curls, and he tugged, prompting Ilya to stagger on top of him. They tumbled back on the couch, Ilya pinning Shane beneath him as Shane arched his back, trying to press every inch of himself to Ilya.

Ilya's breath was ragged as he began kissing Shane's neck, scraping teeth against sensitive skin and drawing a gasp from Shane's lips. Shane could feel Ilya getting hard as he ground against him.

For the briefest moment, Shane allowed himself to imagine it. Years of distance, longing, fuck ups, and avoidance finally erased. Nothing separating them, just Ilya fitting his body against Shane's, the way they had before, like two pieces of a puzzle.

The moment was wrenched away from them by the horrifying sound of JJ retching down the hallway. Ilya froze for a moment and then leapt off the couch. Shane felt like his insides turned to ice at the absence of Ilya's touch. He reached his hand out to Ilya, who looked as white as a sheet.

"Please, stay. Just...fuck, hang on."

He raced down the hallway to find JJ, thankfully, with his head in the toilet in Shane's ensuite. Shane had feared for his bedding or his rug.

"Hey man, went a little too hard, huh?" Shane rubbed a circle in JJ's back while his friend nodded weakly.

Shane retraced his steps quickly to get water, but when he got to his living room his heart plummeted. Ilya was gone.

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

Ilya's heart was pounding out of his chest when he got back to his hotel. This had been a catastrophically stupid idea. Shane had beckoned, and Ilya had come running, and he had forgotten for a moment that this was impossible. He sat on the edge of his bed, head spinning. Memories from a horrible night five years ago swam through his head, reinforcing his resolve. Humiliating, regretful memories of a phone call ten years ago hammered into his brain. He threw himself back on the bed and fished out his phone. He had a missed call from Shane. He had a disconcerting text from Rose.

Rose: it was really great meeting you tonight. hopefully we'll see you around more.

Ilya pulled up Svetlana's number and dialed.

"Sveta, I did something so dumb." This was not the first time Ilya had called her with that opening. He could hear the sounds of a party in the background, and his friend sighed.

"What did you do this time?" Svetlana asked patiently.

"I'm in Montreal," Ilya knew that alone sounded dire. "I went to Hollander's retirement game."

Svetlana inhaled sharply. Ilya had told her about Shane ten years ago, he had to. She never brought it up. She had asked once, and the look on Ilya's face had been all the answer she needed.

"Did you speak to him?" She asked.

Ilya stared at the ceiling. They had spoken. Barely. Not about anything important. They had kissed. Ilya could still feel Shane's breath, hot on his ear, as Ilya kissed his way down Shane's neck.

"Yes," Ilya groaned. "I went to the party after the game ended." He bit the inside of his cheek before he delivered the rest of it.

"It was at his home. And he asked me to stay, after everyone left."

Svetlana was completely silent, eerily so. This was her method to work things out of Ilya. Let him spin out.

"Sveta, I would have fucked him tonight."

Ilya could feel the truth of that weighing on him. His heart had sunk when they found JJ passed out on Shane's bed. All his daydreams about passionate hate sex banished immediately. And then just as quickly, Ilya had promptly forgotten. He'd sat on a couch and Hollander had batted his deep brown eyes at him, and he'd noticed new freckles on Shane's cheekbones, and Ilya had been ready to fuck Shane in his living room, because he forgot anyone and anything else existed.

"Would have?" Svetlana was probably raising an eyebrow right now.

"His friend was there. He threw up, Shane went to take care of him. I left." Ilya winced. It was cowardly. He had been cowardly about so many things between them.

"How long are you in Montreal?" Ilya could hear the wheels turning in Svetlana's head.

"I leave tomorrow afternoon. I'm not seeing him again." Ilya said firmly.

"Ilya," Svetlana's tone was sharp, jabbing Ilya through the phone.

Ilya pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't. I know I can't, and I shouldn't have come here."

His tone was decisive enough for her to let it go. When he hung up, he stared at the ceiling and tried to forget the new freckles on Shane's cheekbones.

***

"Shane, I am so sorry," JJ emerged from Shane's bedroom looking like death.

Shane gritted his teeth, looking up from his mug.

"All good, JJ," he lied. JJ slid in next to him at the kitchen island, helping himself to some coffee.

"It was too fun getting the gang back together last night," JJ sighed. "Even Rozanov."

Shane nodded weakly. Rose knew, Hayden kind of knew. Rose knew all the gory details, had held him when he'd cried about it. Hayden just knew Ilya had been Boston Lily, Shane told him a few years ago when he first came out to Hayden. Hayden didn't know what had happened, how it ended. What had been said and done in the years between. Shane could trust those two friends to keep the secret to themselves. He hadn't heard anything about Ilya coming out, and he wasn't about to risk it. JJ was a great friend, but he was terrible at secrets.

So Shane suffered in silence through coffee with one of his best friends, and he wondered how he could see Ilya again.

***

Jane: hey, I'm going to be in New York in two weeks. I'd like to see you, if you're up for it.

Ilya stared at his phone. Next to him, a girl was snoring. He had gotten Shane's text around 10pm and in a panic he had practically sprinted to the nearest club to find someone to fuck. The distraction didn't last long enough, and now he was stuck, awake, staring at Shane's text.

Was he reading into the text too much? The last few words felt familiar. A competitive jab, almost like one that Shane would have used back when things were good between them, and they enjoyed competing with each other.

"If you're up for it," glowed back at him the darkness, taunting him. Ilya had been the one who'd caved quickly and kissed Shane, and proven that his conviction and promises all those years ago meant nothing.

The nagging need to prove Shane wrong coursed through him.

Lily: sure, I'm free Thursday

Ilya placed his phone facedown on the bedside table. He would see Hollander and prove that he wasn't weak. Not anymore.

***

Shane looked infuriatingly pretty. It was the first thought that Ilya registered when he walked into the restaurant. Ilya had suggested lunch, because he decided it was the least sexy meal, and he'd picked a place with plenty of food that fit Hollander's weird diet. He wondered to himself if Hollander planned to stick to that in retirement.

Shane saw him and waved, smiling brightly. As if Ilya could miss him. He looked like he had gotten a haircut since Ilya saw him last, and he had a faint tan peeking out underneath his blue linen shirt. Ilya wanted to brush the hair back from his forehead, unbutton his shirt to see if there were new freckles on his chest or his shoulders. Instead, he slid into the seat across from Shane and tried to ignore that the last time they'd seen each other, they'd been grinding against one another like horny teenagers on a couch.

"What's good here?" Shane asked.

Ilya shrugged. "Don't know. Just know Scott Hunter likes it."

Shane's eyes flicked up from his menu. "You talk to Scott Hunter?"

Ilya nodded. "Yes. We both live in New York. We are both retired queer hockey players. All you need in common with someone."

Shane was quiet, and Ilya was pretty sure he could guess what he was thinking. Scott Hunter had been leaps and bounds ahead of them. Brave enough to come out for the man he loved. Brave enough to put up with everything the league and the fans hurled his way. Ilya had never told Scott that he had been used as a painful jab once in an argument between him and Shane.

"Does he know about us?" Shane asked.

Ilya wanted to lie, but the truth might be good. It could drive a wedge between him and Shane.

"Yes. I am sorry," Ilya was honest about that. "He would not out you. And I needed a friend."

The admission was not as decisive as Ilya wanted. Worse, it exposed a period of vulnerability. Nights that Ilya had been miserable, unmistakably heartbroken. Confessing to Scott and Kip one night at the Kingfisher in a drunken blur had been helpful. It still hurt, but at least they knew.

"It’s ok," Shane waved the offense away. Ilya thought grimly about how different Shane's response would have been ten years ago.

It looked like Shane wanted to say something else, his brown eyes were flicking over Ilya's face. But the server arrived to take their order and the moment ended.

"So. Why are you in New York?" Ilya asked, fidgeting with his napkin.

Shane cleared his throat. "Rose is in a play."

Ilya nodded. Of course, wherever Rose went, Shane followed. He had spent some stupid months stewing over Rose and Shane, before finding out they broke up. He still resented Rose for those months, wearing Shane's jersey. Blowing him kisses from the stands.

"Would you come with me?" Shane asked. Ilya felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he had walked into a trap.

"Theater isn't really my thing, Hollander," Ilya groaned. It was a weak excuse.

"You think it's mine?" Shane laughed, pointing at himself. Ilya had to grin, he couldn't imagine Shane enjoying a play.

"When are you going?" Fuck. This was going so badly.

"Tonight. Maybe we could hang out until the show? I haven't really spent time in New York, aside from playing here." Shane looked so eager. It almost worked.

"Hollander..." Ilya winced at the urgency to say this. "The other night, after your party. It was mistake. Drunk, old memories, old retired players. It will not happen again."

Shane's smile faltered, but he wasn't deterred. "Ok. I mean, I want to spend some time with you, I'm not asking you to kiss me on top of the Empire State Building."

He didn't seem to realize how much those words twisted like a knife. He was quick to brush their moment off, to agree with Ilya's minimization. All the better, Ilya sulked. They were on the same page.

***

"Hollander, it is 32 degrees, I am boiling. Why do you not want to do something inside?" Ilya whined when Shane suggested walking through Central Park.

"I suggested the Met!" Shane protested, grinning.

Ilya rolled his eyes. "I have been too many times with Kip. It is boring."

Shane doubted Ilya found it truly boring. There had to be something in that enormous museum that moved him. The two of them were miles apart from people who loved art like Kip and Rose, but Shane had found himself paying attention to song lyrics more these days, crying at movies. Maybe he was getting softer now that he didn't need to steel himself for hockey. Maybe that softness was why he couldn't seem to leave Ilya alone.

He looked over at Ilya, who did indeed have a thin line of sweat on him brow. The humid heat only seemed to curl his hair tighter, and Shane wished he could reach out and run his hand through it. Shane had only been momentarily despairing and mortified when Ilya had told him the other night was a mistake. It was bizarre of Shane to show up, pestering him and acting like they could pick up where they left off before. Shane could be patient and try to do this correctly, the way they had never been able to before.

"You are staring," Ilya said, looking straight ahead.

"I like the silver in your hair," Shane said quickly. It was true. There was something so endearing about seeing that reminder. Thin strands that signaled the passage of time, the years they had orbited each other.

"Oh fuck off. We can't all have fifteen step skincare and ageless genes." Ilya groaned, grinning.

Shane shook his head, "I'm not ageless! Look."

He stopped walking, Ilya turning in bemusement. Shane furrowed his brow, feeling the crease form across his forehead. It was slow to soften these days, he had noticed it while doing his skincare routine.

For a moment, something tender danced across Ilya's face, but then he rolled his eyes. "Somehow I think you will live, with one wrinkle."

They meandered through the park. Shane asked lots of questions about Ilya's life in New York. He avoided the biggest ones. Had Ilya been seeing anyone? Had Ilya ever gotten serious with someone? Did Ilya ever think about Shane?

As dusk rolled around, Ilya began to look cagey.

"I need to change." He said, gesturing to his t-shirt with spots of sweat. Shane nodded, regretting that he'd have to part ways with him until the play.

"My place is near. If you want to wait while I get ready." Ilya was looking at Shane carefully.

Shane tried to not let the excitement flood his face.

***

Ilya wasn't sure why he wanted to play with fire. He had proven to himself all afternoon that he could do this. Maybe a competitive edge had prompted him to up the ante.

He watched Hollander wander his apartment, completely comfortable opening doors and poking his head into cabinets as if he lived there. It would be irritating if Ilya didn't find it so bittersweet and charming.

Ilya loved his place. It had character. High ceilings, crown moulding. Hardwood floors that creaked in the right corners and windows that looked onto Central Park.

Shane's home in Montreal had felt a little lifeless. Like he still used the same interior decorator who had designed his first condo all those years ago.

Ilya brushed past Shane to his bedroom and busied himself in the bathroom, warming up the shower. The moment he took his clothes off, he felt the stupidity of this game he was playing. Shane was just a door away, and Ilya was naked. Ilya was pretty sure if he pushed the door open, Shane would have leapt into his naked arms.

Instead, Ilya stepped under the water in the shower and busied himself wiping away his sweat. His body betrayed him. Memories of a shower with Shane all those years ago, bravado masking an urgent desire. Before he knew it, Ilya was grasping his hard cock, muffling his gasps with his other hand.

Shane, standing in the shower after their commercial with hooded eyes, staring at Ilya as he had stroked himself. Shane, eagerly shooting to his knees that same night so he could give Ilya a sloppy, enthusiastic blowjob. Shane, coming in about two seconds when Ilya had gone down on him.

More memories flipped through Ilya's mind as his hand spend up, stroking his length.

Shane, riding him in Ilya's home in Boston. Shane, bent over his couch in Montreal. Shane, presenting himself as a prize in Vegas. Shane, screaming at him over the phone.

Ilya's hand stilled. He willed himself to remember more. Shane, shaking his head and leaving the hotel room wordlessly. Shane, avoiding Ilya's gaze on the ice. Shane, lying in a hospital bed, looking broken and so far away.

Ilya had gone soft. His eyes blinked away moisture and he told himself it was just the water from the showerhead.

***

Shane felt like he was losing his mind. Ilya Rozanov was naked, in the same apartment as him. It felt like a sick joke. An uncomfortable thought formed in Shane's mind that this might be intended as a joke. That Ilya thought Shane's clumsy overtures were funny, and he was torturing him on purpose. Shane felt like he deserved that treatment, a bit.

To distract himself, he looked at Ilya's fridge. Lots of neat meal prep containers. For all his teasing about high performance diet, it seemed that Ilya made most of his dinners and ate healthy.

Shane took a bottle of vodka out and poured some for himself and some for Ilya. He knew what he did next would piss Ilya off, but maybe it could be gentle payback for Ilya torturing him from the shower.

Ilya emerged eventually, smelling like eucalyptus and wearing a fresh shirt and pants. The green of his shirt brought out his hazel eyes and popped against his tan. His eyes fell on the glasses and Shane, and he immediately started shaking his head.

"Please tell me you did not do what I think you did." Ilya growled.

"I don't like vodka straight up! It's fucking gross," Shane laughed as he said it. It was a relief, for years he had just accepted vodka if Ilya handed it to him. Ilya had switched to giving Shane ginger ale eventually, but he didn't stock any in his New York home.

"This is disservice to Coke and to vodka," Ilya jabbed his finger towards Shane's glass. Shane shrugged, smiling at him as he sipped. Ilya's eyes were dancing with an impish joy for a moment, before he snapped back to business.

"Tell me about Rose." Ilya settled in the far seat on the kitchen island.

Shane was a little surprised. "What do you want to know?"

Ilya looked out the window as if he was casting for answers.

"She is important to you," Ilya stated flatly. "Why? What do you like about her as friend?"

Shane leaned back in his seat, trying to think about how to phrase it. He took a gulp of his drink, because it involved topics that he and Ilya had steered away from.

"She helped me realize I was gay," Ilya's eyes flashed, something angry behind them. Shane charged ahead.

"She was so kind and patient when I came out to her. I was just so scared back then. You know. I was in denial even with myself for a long time." Acknowledging it stung, but it had to happen. Ilya was nodding along as if it didn't bother him.

"And she was really there for me. I had a lot of bad days. Bad weeks. Bad months, if I'm being honest. In the past ten years. And she was always there to listen."

This part finally drew emotion from Ilya. His mouth screwed up as if he wanted to say something. Shane paused for a moment to give him a chance, but he just looked back out the window again.

"One thing I love about her is that she likes plans as much as I do. Everything with her career, her success, it's all her. She has ten and twenty year plans."

Fuck, this whole conversation was a minefield of topics that Shane would have otherwise avoided tonight. If Ilya registered any trigger words, he didn't acknowledge it.

Shane decided to attempt bravery in that moment.

"She helped. Obviously, with the plan to get you to my last game."

Ilya tore his eyes away from the window and turned them on Shane.

They looked at each other silently. Before, when they were something, silence was just a precursor or a follow up to hooking up. When they were nothing, or worse than nothing, silence was a weapon. A blunt instrument used to push each other away. This silence felt heavy, as if Shane and Ilya each had too many words to say, so they hung in the air, crowding the room as they sat unspoken.

Ilya finally broke the spell by glancing at his watch.

"It is time to go, wouldn't want to miss Rose's play."

***

Chapter End Notes

Short chapter, but it felt like a good point to end it on.

These terrible communicators are going to spend a while dancing around what they did to each other and how they really feel!

And I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone for leaving comments! I love hearing what you all think of the story so far.

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Content warning for this chapter: there is brief conversation about an abortion.

Rose's play was much funnier than Ilya had expected, and it was only one act. She was undeniably magnetic onstage, and Ilya felt a quiet appreciation that Shane had asked him to come. As soon as the house lights came up, Shane turned to him.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm co-opting all your time, but do you want to get a drink? Rose wanted to meet up, if you were free."

Ilya felt more sturdy after his failed attempt to jerk off in the shower. He knew he wasn't going to embarrass himself and kiss Hollander again. He had fun, at certain points today. And this could be goodbye. A somewhat awkward coda to their whole clunky story.

"Sure. If I can pick the bar."

***

Ilya hadn't really considered what he'd do if Scott and Kip were there, and his shoulder slumped in relief when they entered the Kingfisher and neither of them were to be found. It had felt like comfortable home turf when Ilya suggested it, but in retrospect he didn't want the risk of Scott Hunter crashing his final conversation with Shane. Especially when he knew Scott had a terrible poker face and the social grace of an elephant. It was for the best that he never saw Ilya and Shane in the same room again.

They got drinks and sat to wait for Rose. Shane was fidgeting in the booth, glancing everywhere. A wild realization hit Ilya.

"Is this your first time in a gay bar?"

Shane flushed, an adorable peach that Ilya used to dream about.

"No, but it's the first one I've been to since I came out."

Ilya nodded, sipping his beer. He tried to picture Shane going out to bars before. How he would have handled guys hitting on him, whether he would clutch a ginger ale and stand awkwardly on the dance floor.

"If it helps, nobody here will recognize you," Ilya grinned. "You are a washed up, retired hockey player."

Shane pretended to look offended, but he laughed.

Ilya shifted in his seat. "How is it? Since you came out?" He hadn't been able to look at Shane's social media. Scott had said the reaction was mixed.

Shane bit his lip. "It’s ok. I think there are people saying shitty things, but I'm trying to not pay attention."

He looked at Ilya with those deep brown doe eyes. "I'm more relieved than anything else. It’s nice, coming somewhere like this and not being afraid."

Ilya held his gaze longer than he meant to. He shook it off and smirked.

"How is retirement?"

Shane leaned his chin in his hand. "I'm already getting bored," he confessed.

Ilya nodded, laughing. This had been an incredibly predictable outcome. Only a few weeks in, and Shane Hollander was probably crawling out of his skin.

"Retirement is hard, probably. When all you cared about was hockey." Ilya hadn't intended the words to come out harshly, but Shane flinched a little. An accidental swerve to a topic that they had silently committed to avoiding.

As if she was summoned to save them, Rose burst through the door. The patrons at the Kingfisher might not recognize or care about Ilya and Shane, but she was immediately swarmed by fans wanting to take selfies. It was a while before she could work her way to the bar, and then squeeze into the booth next to Shane.

"I liked your play," Ilya said earnestly. Rose beamed.

"Isn't it fun? I'm just doing a two week stint, but they've had such a great run of actors and actresses in that role. I was so excited when they asked me."

Rose asked them about their day, asked Ilya about his life in New York. She shared gossip with Shane about mutual friends. She buffeted conversation through the tension stretched between Ilya and Shane. As she recounted her first dress rehearsal for the show, Ilya watched Shane.

He looked so relaxed. He had always been tense, buzzing at a frequency that Ilya struggled to track. Ilya wondered if retirement and coming out had settled something within him.

As the years had passed between them, Ilya had convinced himself that he didn't know Shane anymore. That they spent so much time apart, he wouldn't really recognize the man Shane had grown into. There were flashes of that today. Shane was a little more confident, a little more self-aware. But tragically, time and distance had not done enough to erase the feelings Ilya had buried. So Ilya watched Shane and Rose laugh about some bad movie she had been in, and he played some of the worst moments of the past ten years on a loop in his head.

***

2016

Ilya paced back and forth in his living room. He'd already had two cigarettes, he'd downed a shot of vodka. He couldn't put this off any further. He pulled up the contact and hit the call button.

"Is something wrong?" Shane answered immediately and his voice sounded worried. It made sense. They never called each other, just flirted or scheduled hookups over text.

"Yes. No. It will be ok." Ilya was twisting a handful of his hair already. There wasn't a soft way to deliver this news.

"Svetlana is getting an abortion tomorrow," Ilya winced.

Shane was silent for a beat, and when he spoke, his tone was icy. "Why are you telling me?"

"I don't know. I...you should know. I do not want to hide it from you."

Shane sounded pissed. "Why should I know? Are you telling everybody you're sleeping with that you almost became a dad?"

Ilya had expected anger, but the words still sliced him. Shane had to know by this point that he wasn't just someone Ilya was sleeping with.

"I am only telling you," Ilya pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, searching for the right words. "You are the only person who I worry about."

He knew that didn't come out right.

"Ilya," Ilya jumped at Shane's use of his first name. "I don't know what you want from me."

Shane was whispering now, anger disappating into something far worse, a hollow-sounding hurt.

"I want..." Ilya couldn't articulate it. He had spent the past few days terrified. Svetlana had told him she was getting an abortion in the same breath that she had told him she was pregnant. He still felt the sick twist of emotions, the fear of becoming a parent unexpectedly, anxiety for his best friend, anger at himself. A selfish, awful sensation of relief. That he was nowhere near ready to be a parent, that Svetlana had known for years that she never wanted to be a mother.

When the procedure was scheduled and Svetlana had assured him repeatedly that she was really, truly fine, Ilya's nerves had turned to Shane.

"I don't want anything to change, with us," Ilya finally said.

Shane let out a sharp exhale. "I don't see how that's possible."

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. "What do you mean? It is all the same, Hollander."

Shane's tone raised, as if Ilya had said the exact wrong thing.

"No, Ilya. It's really not. Tell me you understand that, please."

Ilya was silent. Maybe Shane would talk himself out, but for now he sounded too frantic to get a word in.

"I mean, come on. I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner. And how would that not change anything? You would want me to be a side piece while you raise a baby?"

Ilya frowned, but he didn't have a rebuttal.

"I can't do this. I knew it, I knew it so long ago." Shane was spinning out now, and Ilya wished he could grab him and hold him in place. "I mean, fuck. It was always going to end like this, eventually. Go ahead, marry Svetlana, if you want."

"That's not fair," Ilya spat out.

"Not fair?" Shane was livid. "You don't owe me anything, fine. But fuck, Ilya. You only ever text me about sex, and you call me for the first time ever, and it's to tell me you got someone pregnant?"

He continued, and Ilya felt the shame driving into him. "I never know what you want from me. So why the fuck are you acting like I should care?"

Ilya let his silence speak for him. Shane clearly cared, he wouldn't be on the line, yelling at Ilya if he didn't care. The evidence didn't comfort Ilya.

"It will not happen again," Ilya pleaded. He always used protection, this had just been a freak accident. But he knew the statement was inadequate and pathetic.

"You can't promise that," Shane snapped angrily. "It could happen with some random woman you don't know, or it could happen with Svetlana again."

"She is getting IUD, will not happen again." As soon as the words slipped out, Ilya regretted them.

"What the fuck!" Shane was shouting now. "Oh, great. The girl who's perfect for you is getting an IUD so you don't have to worry about getting her pregnant again. So you can fuck me next month with a clear conscience, right?"

Ilya knew this was going to be bad when he called, but he couldn't beleive how much worse he had made it, with every single sentence.

"Hollander, I...I am fucking this all up. Please, can I just see you when you come to Boston?"

Shane's tone changed. It was challenging, biting. "For what? What do you think you can say that will change this?"

Ilya tried to cast around for an answer. What promises could he even make to Shane? There had been no actual confession of feelings, no acknowledgement that either of them wanted more. It wouldn't have mattered, they couldn't be together. Ilya felt the walls closing in. Their arrangement, however happy it had made them, was never sustainable.

"I don't know, Hollander." Ilya sighed. He sat there, listening to the silence on the other end of the line. To his horror, he heard a soft sniffle. As his brain caught up to the realization that Shane was crying, Shane spoke.

"Ok. Goodbye, Rozanov."

***

Present Day

Ilya should have left ages ago. But Shane had gotten a little drunk and his cheeks had gotten very pink, and Ilya felt like he needed to commit this all to memory.

Ten more minutes, he promised himself. He could last ten more minutes, and then he'd find a reason to leave, and he wouldn't see Shane again.

Shane was standing at the bar, Rose had asked him to bring a drink back for her. Some man had corralled Shane and was flirting heavily, and Ilya tried in vain to rip eyes away.

"I'm glad you spent the day with him. He was so nervous." Rose said softly. Those words finally made Ilya's eyes snap to hers.

Ilya struggled to think of a reply.

"He's really sorry, you know." Rose said, and Ilya squinted at her. How much had Shane shared with her?

She seemed to realize she had said too much. "Forget I said anything. I'm sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. I just...I always felt bad for both of you. When Shane would talk to me."

Ilya bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't sure what to feel. Two months ago he was able to see things in black and white. He had fucked up ten years ago. Things between them had been broken, like a fragile piece of pottery. Then, years later, Shane had reversed a dump truck over those shards and there was no chance of recovery.

Ilya blinked at the melodramatic metaphor he was conjuring. He glanced back towards Shane, who was trying to listen to the man who had cornered him at the bar. He was furrowing his forehead into that single thin wrinkle. It was simpler when Ilya had convinced himself that he hated Shane.

"I should go. Tell him I'm sorry. That I had to leave." Ilya said abruptly. He expected Rose to fight him, but she just watched him with a sad expression as he beelined for the exit before Shane could notice.

***

"So, are we going to talk about Rozanov coming to your retirement party?" It was the first time Shane had seen Hayden since that night.

Shane squinted at the ice, pretending to focus on identifying Ruby and Jade, twin terrors on skates.

"There's not a lot to talk about." It was a lie and the truth. Shane had been hurt, but unsurprised when Ilya had left the Kingfisher without saying goodbye. It was the same way he had left the party at Shane's house. Shane had been too excited to see Ilya, too happy to exist in their tentative truce that he had allowed himself to think they could ignore their history.

"Did you guys talk at all? I mean, you haven't really seen him in years, right?" Hayden seemed determined to dig deeper.

"Yeah, we talked a little. Not enough," Shane gritted his teeth. "I saw him in New York last week."

Hayden whipped his head towards Shane.

"You were in New York for like, twenty-four hours."

Shane smiled weakly. "Yeah, and I was hanging out with him for about thirteen of those."

Hayden groaned. "Does this mean I have to like him? He's going to be around more?"

Shane shook his head. "No, it's not like that. I texted him after I left, but he never responded. I don't think he really wants to see me again."

Hayden looked furious. "What's his problem?"

Shane cut him off with a look. "I don't blame him. I get it."

There had been a moment that night, when Shane had gotten a glimpse of Ilya's face from across the bar. The expression had been hauntingly familiar, it had been etched in Shane's memory for years.

Hayden opened his mouth to say something, but Jade scored a goal. They hauled themselves to their feet to cheer, and Shane was grateful for the distraction.

***

"You thought you could bring Shane Hollander into the bar and we wouldn't hear about it?"

Scott looked at Ilya accusingly, Kip was smirking a little while he chopped garlic.

"No," Ilya pouted. "I knew one of your terrible employees would betray me."

"Is this the first time you've seen him since you retired?" Kip asked.

Ilya nodded, but Scott's sharp gaze corrected him.

"I saw him last month. At his retirement. Last week was the second time I have seen him since retirement."

"Oh!" Kip exchanged a look with Scott.

"What?" Ilya appreciated the two of them. He antagonized Scott when he still could, but they had been good friends to him. What he didn't like was the way they could team up. Form a wall when Ilya felt like running for the exit.

"Nothing," Kip sounded overly casual. "Just...twice in two months after years of no contact. That's a lot."

Ilya had started yanking at his curls, irritation rising.

"Did you two talk about any of it?" Scott asked. His expression told Ilya that he knew the answer already.

"No," Ilya winced as Kip slapped his knife on the cutting board.

"You're unbelievable," Kip shook his head. "I mean, not just you," he was waving the knife around now in a way that was a little unsettling. Even more unsettling was how much affection Scott wore on his face as he watched his husband tell Ilya off with a knife pointed towards him.

"Shane too. How do you see someone who you have all that history with and not... at least talk about it?" Kip looked like his brain was going to snap in half.

Scott smiled sympathetically at Ilya. "Communication was never really their speciality."

In a way, that was true. They had met so young. They had been magnetically attracted to each other, and terrified about what that might mean. Talking about their feelings had felt impossible.

But there had been moments where it felt like they could communicate without words. When they played on the same All-Star team, it felt like they could read each other's minds. Last week, in Ilya's apartment, they had sat there and languished in a silence that felt so loud. As if Ilya could see every thought Shane had laid out in front of him.

"Is he coming to New York more often, now that he's retired?" Scott asked, trying to steer the conversation in a more neutral direction, while still blatantly fishing for details.

Ilya shrugged. He had no idea what Shane planned to do, and he didn't want to know. Shane had texted him, the morning after Ilya had walked out of the Kingfisher. Ilya had read it a hundred times and decided to ignore it.

***

Jane: Thanks for spending the day with me. I've really missed you. Would you want to meet up if I came to New York again?

***
2015

Shane checked the time. Rozanov was late, and the Raiders had an early flight out of Montreal. Rozanov had never been known for his punctuality, but tonight it was especially irritating because it was eating into their last night together before the season ended. It would be months until they'd see each other again. Shane would never admit it to him, but he was going to miss Rozanov.

Finally, forty minutes late, a knock came at Shane's door. He threw it open, and Rozanov stood there, looking sheepish.

"You're late," Shane hissed. He was trying to appear pissed, but all he really felt was elation.

In an instant, Ilya had his mouth on him. Trailing warm kisses down Shane's neck, palming his ass as he walked Shane backwards. He knew the apartment well enough to lead them down the hall without looking, fervently kissing each other, never coming up for air. When they reached the door to Shane's bedroom, Ilya hitched him in his arms and carried Shane to the bed. Shane moaned, an embarrassingly loud, excited moan.

Ilya started stripping off his clothes. His expression looked different. Like he was trying to memorize the sight of Shane.

He pushed Shane up the bed and lowered, lapping at Shane's hole. The sensation of hot breath and Ilya's warm tongue began to coax Shane open.

"Fuck, Rozanov. Oh my god, that feels so good," Shane reached to grab Ilya's curls, and Ilya growled against him, the rumbling sensation building the heat in Shane's core.

"I need you," Shane gasped, and those words summoned Ilya. He sat up, staring at Shane hungrily. He began tracing Shane's hole with his index finger, smirking as Shane quivered beneath him.

"You are always so desperate, Hollander. Do you not get laid enough?"

Shane could feel the blush creep across his cheeks. He had tried to sleep with a girl a few months ago. It hadn't worked. He wasn't sure what game Ilya was playing, but he shook his head.

Ilya reached up to the bedside table and pulled out the strip of condoms Shane saved there. Ilya took longer than necessary handling them, running them through his fingers with concentration almost as if he needed to pick the best one. When he got to the end of the strip he had a satisfied smile, and he ripped it off.

As Ilya readied himself, Shane realized he was staring. Not in the hazy, lustful way that Ilya usually looked at him. There was something gentle in his expression. Then he placed himself at Shane's entrance and all other observation left Shane's consciousness.

Ilya thrust into him, eyes flicking back and forth between Shane's face and the spot where Ilya's body joined with Shane's. He pushed into Shane, deeply, and a ragged gasp escaped his lips.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good. Always so perfect for me," he sighed, before moving faster, rocking into Shane so hard that Shane could feel his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Shane arched his back to meet him, reveling in this feeling. He loved the way Ilya fucked him like it was a problem. Cursing how good Shane felt, looking at him like he was in agony.

But tonight, Ilya kept having flashes of that other expression. Something soft crossed his face for a moment when he lifted his hand to brush it across Shane's cheeks.

Shane twisted to take Ilya's thumb into his mouth, which drew a deep groan from Ilya. Swirling his tongue around Ilya's thumb, Shane sucked as if his life depended on it.

"You like that?" Ilya laughed, panting now. Shane moaned in obvious pleasure.

Ilya couldn't stop talking as he began pounding Shane into the bed. "You're so hot Hollander, you have no idea. I want to ruin you, don't want anyone else to be good enough."

The words were crashing over Shane as he started stroking himself. They built his pleasure as Ilya's voice sounded more and more hoarse.

"You're so perfect, so fucking good for me. Just for me, nobody else, right?" Ilya's hazel eyes were pinning Shane in place, his head had started to swim, he couldn't think clearly.

One thought surfaced. Ilya was right. Nobody else made him feel as good. Sometimes, for long periods, Shane didn't even try to see if he could find anybody. It was only Ilya.

At that thought, Shane's orgasm ripped through him. He cried out, clenching around Ilya as the thought kept echoing in his head.

Only Ilya. It had only ever been Ilya. He was so fucked.

Ilya burrowed his face into Shane's neck as he came, his cries and gasps curling around Shane's ears.

They laid there for a moment. Shane could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and Ilya's was beating against his chest. There was a moment where Shane wanted to drift to sleep like that, curled together.

Shane stared at the ceiling. He was hit with the realization that he was going to get hurt. Somehow or other, Ilya Rozanov was probably going to break his heart.

Chapter End Notes

We got the first flashback of where they went wrong. More to come!

I'm not a huge fan of pregnancy as a plot device, but Ilya sleeps with sooo many women, he had to have at least one pregnancy scare. It made sense to me that it would send Shane into a tailspin, since he's insecure about Ilya ending up with a woman.

And in case it wasn't clear, Ilya is down bad in 2015 and counting condoms because he likes being the only person Shane is sleeping with. He is young and messy at this point!

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

"I talked to Hollander the other day," Scott said casually.

Ilya glared at him, panting. They had just finished a run, which meant Scott had been hanging onto this information for over an hour. Maybe he thought Ilya would sprint away if he said it earlier. Maybe Scott had been waiting until Ilya was tired and out of breath.

"Why did you talk to him?" Ilya demanded, wiping sweat from his brow.

He could tell Scott was trying to be serious, but a grin kept dancing around his mouth.

"He called me. Wanted some advice on a charity he's thinking of starting."

Ilya recalled their conversation after everyone had left Shane's retirement party. The way his stomach had clenched when Shane had mentioned he wanted to start a charity in retirement, but that he worried he wouldn't be able to now that he was out.

"I told him he should talk to you," Scott took a swig of water and then recognized the murderous glint in Ilya's eyes.

"I said he should talk to you about the charity! We only talked about the charity, I promise. I just think it's up your alley, that's all," Scott raised his hands in surrender.

Ilya huffed, looking at the ground. It had been a few months since he'd last seen Shane. Shane hadn't tried to reach out again since Ilya ignored his text. The message had been clear, Ilya didn't want to see Shane if he came to New York again. It was pointless to pick at old wounds.

But curiosity had always been Ilya's Achilles heel. Curiosity had driven him to Shane in the first place, twenty-one years ago.

"Tell me about this charity."

***
2016

Ilya had been staring at the paparazzi photos on Cliff Marleau's phone for far too long. He finally thrust it back into his hands and mumbled a lame excuse to leave. The second he left the gym he slumped against the wall in the hallway.

Shane Hollander had gone out and gotten a girlfriend. The most famous, beautiful, talented girlfriend he could find. Because he was such an overachiever, and he wasn't content to just ignore Ilya's texts and chirps since Ilya had ruined everything. He had to go and get his first public girlfriend.

Over the next few weeks Ilya scrolled through photo after photo of Shane and Rose. It was presumptuous to think it had anything to do with him, but he felt like Shane had bought a billboard with a neon sign spelling out "I'm so over you, you've lost me forever."

The next time the Raiders played the Metros, Ilya didn't make eye contact with Shane once. He felt Shane staring at him when they were both on the bench. They two of them played terribly, and when Ilya went to sleep that night he had fitful dreams. Dreams where he showed up on Shane's doorstep to apologize, and Shane dragged him into his apartment to forgive him.

The next morning in the airport, Ilya scrolled new photos. Shane and Rose, dancing at a club. Rose looked luminous. Shane, Ilya observed with a stabbing, ugly streak of triumph, looked completely lost.

***
Present Day

Yuna was typing furiously, transcribing notes from the whiteboard she and Shane had been working on in his dining room.

"So we've got former players from Montreal, Ottawa, New York, and Los Angeles," she rattled off.

Shane nodded. He had only just started to put out feelers, but the response had been positive.

Yuna looked at him over her reading glasses. "I can talk to my PWHL connections, I used to rep some players on the Minnesota and Boston teams."

Shane fidgeted with the dry erase marker at the mention of Boston. This was headed in a direction he wasn't ready for.

"You know I would be the last person to say this, but...have you considered getting Rozanov on board? He came to your last game, and it got a good amount of press. Two former rivals teaming up for this could drown out some of the homophobia."

Shane had tried his best to turn a blind eye to any bad reactions in the media since he had come out. Yuna and David were the kind of parents who had thrown themselves into enthusiastic allyship when Shane came out to them. David had immediately purchased a rainbow flag that he lovingly ironed every June, so he could hang it outside their home. Yuna wanted to personally hunt down every person who had left nasty comments on Shane's social media since he had retired.

Shane shook his head. "I think Ilya showing up for the game was a one-time thing. Neither of us really want to revisit the rivalry, you know?"

It was true. Shane had loved their competition at one point. But it had soured, turned bitter between the two of them. And they had been inextricably linked to each other for years. Shoved together for promo and interviews when they couldn't even make eye contact with each other.

Scott Hunter had also suggested Shane talk to Ilya.

"He'd be perfect for this," Scott had told him.

Shane had wanted to ask Scott about Ilya, see how much he had shared with Scott about their messy history. Hear if Ilya had enjoyed their day in New York together as much as Shane had.

But if Ilya was ignoring his text, Shane didn't feel like he should push. He had already been pushy, getting Ilya to come to his retirement. Maybe he had used up his opportunities and all he'd have was their one day in New York and a brief kiss on his couch the night he retired.

***
2016

"I think...maybe I'm not doing it for you?" Rose asked.

Shane froze. He and Rose had been having a lot of fun. The sex was almost non-existent, but he loved spending time with her. He thought maybe if they kept trying, he could figure it out. Now she sat across from him at dinner, casually suggesting the fact he had been trying his best to avoid.

"No, I really like you," he tried to protest.

Rose grabbed his hand. "I know you like me. But are you attracted to me?"

Shane's hesitation said it all. She squeezed his hand.

"It’s ok, really," and over the course of the next two hours, she proved that to be true. She made Shane laugh as she recounted her previous relationships with gay men. She sighed sympathetically when Shane told her about the casual homophobia that was rampant in the league.

Finally, she circled the topic that Shane had been dreading.

"So have you ever been with a guy?" She asked.

Shane nodded. "Just one."

"What was he like?" Rose took a sip of her drink, her tone cautious, she could tell Shane was tensing up.

"Um. He's also closeted. And I liked him a lot. Too much," Shane's throat was getting tight as he thought about the last time he'd seen Ilya. Ilya hadn't looked at him, even when they were inches away from each other for a face-off.

"We had a fight, I haven't talked to him in months. And I really miss him, but I can't...it's not going to work out."

Rose frowned. "Why not?"

Shane wasn't really sure how to explain this to a straight person. He was gay. He'd never have the option of settling down with a wife like the league expected him to. All of his teammates were married with kids, or serially dating women, trying to find the right one.

Ilya was bi, he did have the opportunity to fall in love with a woman. Marry her, and raise adorable babies together. It had almost become his reality with Svetlana. Shane was overwhelmingly, spitefully jealous of that, and simultaneously insecure. He wouldn't blame Ilya for taking the easier option.

He settled for a more neutral version of the events.

"He did something that really upset me. He didn't mean to, but it hurt. And I yelled at him. And I don't think...I don't see how we can fix any of it."

Rose looked despondent. "It seems like you still really care about him."

Shane nodded, and a tear streaked out of the corner of his eye.

***
Present Day

Shane was napping when his phone rang, jolting him awake. He blinked at the caller ID and then bolted upright.

"Hello?" He asked. Maybe it was a pocket dial.

"When are you going to ask me to do your charity?" Ilya asked, his tone clipped.

Shane rubbed sleep out of his eye. "Uh...did Scott tell you about the charity?"

Ilya sighed dramatically. "Yes, Hunter mentioned it a few weeks ago. But Cliff just asked me if I am part of it. I think maybe you do not want former Raiders on this charity, and then I find out you ask Cliff?"

Shane groaned. "Wait, I didn't even talk to Marleau," he tried to think. "Maybe my mom did? We've been working on it together."

Shane yawned, an ill-timed sound that got a laugh from Ilya.

"You are sleeping?"

Shane squinted at the time, it was 2pm.

"Yeah. It's hard to shake the pregame nap routine."

He could hear Ilya chuckling. "This is why you want to start a charity, so you can do more than nap all day."

"Hey! That's..." Shane bit his lip. It was pretty true. He was very bored. He was irritated by how hard Ilya was laughing now on the other end of the phone, proven right.

"So, tell me why you do not want me to do your charity," Ilya said with a defiant, challenging tone.

Shane swallowed hard. "I mean, I do. My mom really wants you to, also. I just didn't think you wanted to."

Ilya hummed. Shane could hear him move, and then settle. Shane closed his eyes and pictured Ilya's living room. He had only spent an hour in Ilya's apartment, but it had left an impression. Ilya was probably sitting on his couch, looking out the enormous windows at the city.

"I'm assuming Scott and Marleau told you about it?" Shane asked. He bit back another yawn and settled back in his bed.

"Yes, but I want to hear you tell me. And then I will decide if I want to do it." Ilya's tone was teasing.

Shane didn't bother to remind Ilya that he hadn't been asked. They both knew Shane would be thrilled to have him.

"Well, the primary part will be hockey camps for kids. The goal is to be inclusive, prove that the sport is for everybody. So we'll be able to fund the kids who couldn't afford to play otherwise. We'll have diverse coaches, so the kids see that anybody can succeed." Shane was rattling it off the way he had to everybody. "And we'll host a tournament once a year. I want the proceeds from that to go to causes that are important to the coaches. That's where you would come in. You'd be a great coach for the kids."

"This is true," Ilya said. "I am great with kids."

"I remember," Shane couldn't seem to help himself. There was a silence as he and Ilya thought about that All-Stars weekend. Ilya, cheerfully and tirelessly entertaining all the player's kids in the hotel pool.

Shane cleared his throat. The longer they reflected on that weekend, the higher the chance was that Ilya would exit this phone call as abruptly as he had left Shane the past two times he'd seen him.

"So. Think about what organizations you'd like to donate the tourney money to."

Ilya was silent, and Shane checked his phone to make sure he was still on the call.

"There are some good charities for mental health. I can give you a list of the ones I donate to," Ilya said softly.

Shane stilled. A conversation they had many years ago floated into memory. Ilya had only had spoken about his mother once. Shane had thought about it often, in the years since. When he'd see Ilya on the ice with dark circles under his eyes, or when Shane would watch his post-game interviews and occasionally Ilya looked limp, unable to muster braggadocious answers for the reporters.

"That's a great idea," Shane whispered. His heart was aching now. He'd spent years worrying about Ilya from afar. Accepting that he had no right to.

In that moment, Shane would have done anything to draw Ilya in, to close the gulf that had stretched between them for years.

"So you'll do it?" Shane asked

***

Svetlana delivered Ilya a sharp look that could cut glass. He pretended to be busy wiping dirt off his hands, and he heard her sigh and resume her work.

When she visited they often made trips out to the garage in Jersey where Ilya was working on his vintage cars. Svetlana knew more than him, and would inevitably grab the tools from him so the work went faster.

Today they were changing a stubborn set of shocks on a vintage Porsche he had gotten last month.

"I thought you were never going to see him again," Svetlana said airily. Her tone was light because she knew she needed to coax information out of him.

Ilya had off-handedly mentioned that Shane had been out to New York a few months ago. He winced as he considered how to deliver the rest of his news.

"Nothing happened, we walked around and went to a bar with Rose Landry," Ilya said.

Svetlana rolled her eyes. She knew he was full of shit, even if he didn't share any details with her.

He and Shane didn't hook up, but Ilya had tried to jerk off in his shower when Shane was poking around his kitchen. And Ilya had run out of The Kingfisher because he was too afraid of the feelings bubbling to the surface that night.

"And then he asked me to be part of his charity that he is starting," Ilya said quickly. It was sort of the truth. He had invited himself, but only because Shane had been too afraid to.

"Ilya...you called me in a panic a few months ago because you spent a couple hours with him at his retirement party. Now you want to work with him?" Svetlana was exasperated, and Ilya completely understood her.

Maybe he had spent too much time with Scott and Kip. They had both drilled him on being avoidant, espoused the virtues of closure. Facing his feelings, getting closure, and being able to coexist with Shane Hollander all sounded so tempting. And there was a stubborn, vindictive streak in Ilya. Shane had a hold on him for years. It had to end eventually.

"I can handle it," Ilya reached for a wrench and avoided her gaze.

***

The months dragged for Shane. They would hold the first camps in the summer, when school was out and any active players could participate. Luca Haas had been eagerly texting Shane about his ideas for the first week of camp.

They would be announcing the charity soon. The star power of the players assembled would likely drown out any of the negative response, but Yuna didn't want to take any risks.

"Anybody who can make it out to Montreal for the press conference, amazing. But I think we should really have a few other key faces with you for questions afterwards," Yuna looked up at Shane over her laptop. He grimaced. It was clear where she was going with this.

"Who do you have in mind?" Shane asked.

"I think Hayden could be a good choice. His kids will be part of the camps. Marie is such a legend, and she'll speak to the PWHL involvement. Scott Hunter has an established profile as a player who's pushed for inclusion," Yuna rattled it all off quickly. She was going to try to slide the last name in, as if Shane wouldn't catch it.

"And I think we need to try to get Rozanov out here. He's good star power, it speaks well for the charity that he's teaming up with you on this."

Shane had been back and forth on this for ages. He was eager to see Ilya when camps started, but he worried that he would be asking too much to have Ilya come out a few months early, trotted out to discuss their rivalry. Shane was pretty sure Ilya wanted to avoid talking about that period of time as much as he did.

Shane and Ilya had texted here and there over the past few months. Always about the charity, although sometimes Shane was stretching the credulity of his reasons to text. A photo of a chaotic whiteboard and post-its after a brainstorm with his mom, accompanied by the text "Sure you still want to do this?" A message from Ilya that said "Scott's hip just made a creaking sound. I think we need to put him on an ice walker for the camps."

It was small and simple, and it was more than Shane could have dreamed of a year ago.

***
2017

"You're sure you want me to come to the game?" Ethan asked for the millionth time.

Shane hesitated. They had only been seeing each other for a month, a little while after Rose's team had put out a statement that Shane and Rose were not dating. Ethan had slipped Shane his number when Rose had dragged him to a cast party at a bar in St Laurent. He was a bartender with dark hair and dimples, and he had teased Shane about trying to order ginger ale.

Shane was still waiting for a real spark. Ethan was nice, he was understanding about Shane being closeted, and the sex was...fine. Better than it had ever been with a woman, but it wasn't all-consuming in the way it had been with Ilya.

Shane had been desperately trying to chase Ilya out of his thoughts, and he was uncomfortably aware that he had invited Ethan tonight because they were playing the Raiders. Knowing he was in the stands might help Shane ignore Ilya's piercing hazel eyes.

It wasn't kind. If this continued, if Shane's thoughts kept drifting to Ilya while he was with Ethan, he'd have to end it. Shane wondered miserably if he'd ever be able to stop thinking about Ilya.

"Yes, I want you there," Shane nodded decisively.

***

Ilya skated out to center ice, stomach churning. One day this would stop feeling like an ordeal. One day, he'd be able to stand inches from Hollander and it wouldn't be so painful. But right now, all Ilya could do was lift his eyes and stare at Shane's freckles, faded from the winter.

He steeled himself as Shane glanced up. Shane bit his lip, an expression of worry and anxiety that Ilya wished he could soothe.

Shane won the face-off and tore down the ice. Ilya wasn't far behind, but then there was a blur of motion ahead of him. Marleau had checked Shane, it must have just been a freak angle that hit him in the exact right spot. Shane crumpled on the ice. Ilya's blood ran cold as the crowd collectively gasped.

Pike came zooming over to start punching Marleau, and Ilya wove around them to crouch by Shane. He could hear the panic in his voice.

"Shane, can you talk to me? Are you ok?" Ilya wanted to grab him, but he was terrified of hurting him further. Shane's eyelashes fluttered at the sound of Ilya's voice.

"Ilya," Shane mumbled. At any other point, Ilya would have savored hearing Shane say his first name, but right now he was too wracked with fear.

"Don't move," Ilya hissed as he saw Shane's hand twitching, as if he planned to reach out and grasp Ilya.

"Please don't hurt yourself. Please," the plea was cut off by the medics arriving. They shoved Ilya out of the way, but he hovered, watching them move Shane to the spinal board.

"Rozanov, go back to the bench," a medic barked.

"Just...fucking tell me, is he going to be ok?" Ilya could hear how desperate his voice was.

"I'm not going to tell you again, get back," the medics began to move Shane off the ice, and Ilya watched hopelessly as Shane disappeared from sight.

Ilya wasn't sure how he functioned through the rest of the game. He went back to his hotel and stayed up for hours, refreshing sports outlets for any details, any updates on Shane's condition.

Ilya finally got an update early the next morning from an old teammate who was on Montreal's second line.

It wasn't unheard of for the captain of an opposing team to visit an injured player in the hospital. There were a few hours until the Raiders left town. Ilya glanced in the mirror before he left his hotel and almost reconsidered. He looked like shit, his hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes. Shane probably didn't even want to see him. But he couldn't shake the mental image of Shane collapsed on the ice, and the need to replace that memory with a new one, one where Shane was alright.

Ilya slipped into Shane's hospital room, knowing he probably only had a few minutes before a nurse came by.

Shane looked so fragile. He was asleep, hooked up to monitors and with his arm in a sling. Ilya had learned he had a concussion and a broken collarbone. Two black eyes were blooming across Shane's face.

Ilya pulled up a chair and sat, looking at Shane. If he had hoped to banish the image of Shane on the ice, this wasn't really a better replacement.

Ilya hesitated. He and Shane hadn't really spoken in months. All signs pointed to Shane still being livid, utterly done with Ilya. But the memory of Shane saying his name pushed Ilya to grab his hand. For all of their history, for as intimately as Ilya knew Shane's body, he had never held his hand.

Ilya traced a finger along the calluses on Shane's palms, stoked the soft skin on the top of Shane's hand. Shane stirred for a moment, and Ilya's hand stilled, but Shane seemed to be deeply asleep.

Ilya cleared his throat quietly and started to speak.

"I am so sorry you got hurt," it was cowardly to say this while Shane wasn't awake to hear it.

"I don't ever want to see you hurt," Ilya squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for the hit or for their fight months earlier.

There was a soft sigh from Shane, as if his unconscious self forgave Ilya. It was a stupid, hopeful wish on Ilya's part. He raised his hand to gently brush a finger over Shane's freckles. He couldn't help himself. Those beautiful, aggravatingly adorable freckles had been the first thing that Ilya had noticed about Shane. Maybe they were to blame for all of this.

Shane's eyes fluttered open, and Ilya froze. For a brief moment their gaze locked on each other. Shane's lips parted and a slight flush rose in his cheeks. Ilya was struck with a wild urge to be reckless, to kiss Shane's peach colored cheekbones. Then Ilya heard footsteps nearing the door and he dropped his hands, moving to stand.

A man entered with flowers, someone Ilya didn't recognize at all. He barely glanced at Ilya, his face was awash with concern as he crossed the room to stand by Shane.

"Hey, I came as soon as visiting hours started. Rose said your parents will be here in an hour, so I wanted to come see you before." The man was busying himself, setting the flowers next to Shane. Ilya's eyes darted between him and Shane with a growing dread in his stomach.

Shane was still staring at Ilya, and Ilya wondered how bad his concussion was. He looked so confused. Ilya had a sad, hopeful thought that maybe Shane wouldn't remember any of this.

The man at the other side of Shane's bed finally looked up at Ilya, slight impatience on his face.

"Sorry," Ilya cleared his throat. "Just...wanted to see Hollander is alright. Marleau is very sorry. I will tell the Raiders you will be ok."

Shane gave a bleary half-nod. The man next to him fidgeted. Ilya was dismissed.

He gave Shane one last look. He couldn't believe he had held his hand moments ago. It felt like there was a chasm between them now.

Ilya excused himself. As the door clicked behind him, he couldn't resist looking over his shoulder. The stranger was gently brushing Shane's hair off his forehead, his concerned expression confirming Ilya's worst fear. Shane had a boyfriend. He didn't need Ilya.

Chapter End Notes

In this version, Shane's injury takes place a little before the All-Star Game, so they don't have that canon reconciliation moment.

The All-Star Game that Shane mentions on their phone call is going to come later, and that might be a full-flashback chapter.

Also, I hated not writing the club scene, but I don't think it would have offered a lot of new ground for the two of them. They're both miserable and hung up on each other in the 2016-17 timeline, so a scene of them having a terrible time at the club felt repetitive for the format here. So I had to settle for Ilya seeing some blurry club photos.

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

I am bad at math, and I think I got the years for this timeline a little wonky. Once the whole thing is posted, I'll go back and edit the years so it actually makes sense.

"You're nervous," Scott observed warily, watching Ilya as he fidgeted in his seat on the plane. They were half an hour from landing in Montreal, and the nerves had mounted.

"Yes. I hate talking to press, did not miss it in retirement," Ilya lied. He knew it wasn't fooling Scott, who theatrically rolled his eyes.

"I know I promised I'd only ask you this once a day: are you going to be alright?"

Ilya's mouth screwed into a frown. Shane had invited him to the press conference announcing the charity. Ilya, Scott, and several other players would be on hand for a media session afterwards, and then everyone would have dinner. At Hollander's house.

Ilya had almost hung up immediately when Shane laid out the itinerary, but instead he found himself saying yes.

Scott and Kip had been embarrassingly thrilled. Kip had been very unsubtle the last time Ilya had dinner with them. He had monologued for five minutes straight about how much he appreciated Scott's communication skills. How their relationship succeeded because of their ability to talk through anything, to express their love for each other. If he wasn't one of Ilya's best friends, Ilya would have thrown a fork at his head.

"I am fine. I will be fine," Ilya muttered. Scott didn't look satisfied, but he backed off.

They landed and checked into the hotel with enough time to change. It felt surreal to be attending another press conference with Hollander. The last time they'd been crammed at a table together had been Ilya's final All-Star Game. Neither of them had made eye contact, and Shane had offered hollow, boring soundbites about how he would miss competing against Ilya.

Scott was beginning to look genuinely concerned as they got in a car and headed to the Metros practice facility. Ilya could feel his discomfort radiating off of him in waves now. Part of it was anticipation. It had been months since he'd seen Hollander. He'd found stupid excuses to text him in the time between, but he knew the second he saw Shane's face, his resolve to be level-headed would start to crumble.

"Oh good, Hayes is here," Scott said cheerfully as they pulled up. Ilya dragged himself out of the car to greet the retired goalie. The motley crew of former players began to coalesce in the parking lot, and Yuna appeared, ushering everyone inside before the press got there.

As soon as they stepped into the building, Ilya locked eyes with Shane. He had been waiting by the door to greet everyone and he gave Ilya an eager smile as his cheeks turned pink. Ilya could only nod at him, and he shuffled past to talk to Marleau.

Cliff had married into a hockey family. His wife's sister was a retired PWHL star, and would also be coaching for the camps. The three of them fell into easy conversation, while she ribbed them each about their lack of Olympic medals.

It made Ilya reflect on his failures at the Sochi Olympics. All these years later, the sting of Russia's poor performance was nothing more than a dull ache. The worse memory was of Hollander seeking him out, sweetly trying to comfort him, and being cruelly pushed away.

Not for the first time, Ilya found himself wishing they had met later. Things might have turned out differently between them if they were a little older.

Ilya shook himself out of that thought. He was nearing 40. He still couldn't seem to muster the courage to tell Shane how he felt, and his first instinct when he was in the same room with Shane hadn't changed since Sochi. An urge to run away.

***

Shane, Hayden, Marie, Scott, and Ilya all filed into the makeshift press room. The larger group had just finished posing for photos on the ice, and the mood was festive.

It was probably more fanfare than necessary for a charity announcement, but in some ways it felt like a big reunion. Shane wasn't the only one glad to see old teammates and rivals, the crowd assembled had been busy excitedly slapping backs and sharing stories.

Shane had spent a moment on the ice happily taking it all in. The collective talent and decades of experience assembled was impressive, and his heart felt full. He had spent two decades playing with or against guys who threw around slurs like it was nothing. Hockey had given Shane so much, but by the end, it felt like it took more than it bestowed. It made Shane feel hopeful, seeing a roster of former players that could set a positive example for the next generation.

As Shane sat at the press conference table, Yuna ran up to guide Ilya, who had been moving to sit at the end. She firmly positioned him next to Shane.

Shane shot Ilya an apologetic look, but Ilya smiled. This was familiar territory for the two of them.

Sure enough, only three questions in, a reporter asked jokingly about Shane and Ilya's ability to work together.

Shane could answer this question in his sleep. Lines about mutual respect, appreciation of the game, all the same neutral, impersonal statements he had said for years. What fell out of his mouth surprised him.

"We haven't had enough chances to work together over the years, which is a pretty big regret of mine," Shane could feel Ilya stiffen next to him. "He's always been incredible with kids, and I know he'll be a great coach for the next generation. It's no secret that we competed hard against each other for years. But he always pushed me to be the best, I can't really picture my career without thinking of him."

Ilya cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was a little hoarse. "What he said," Ilya sat back in his seat as the press laughed.

With a jolt, Shane felt Ilya tap his foot against Shane's, a tiny gesture that he had done in their first ever press conference. It almost winded Shane, and he had to fight to focus his attention on a question Scott was getting about whether the league had improved on inclusion since he first came out.

The press conference plodded on and finally wrapped up. Shane knew the other players were already converging at his house, and his mind was ten steps ahead, trying to identify an opportunity tonight where he could talk to Ilya.

As if reading his mind, Scott tapped his shoulder.

"Hey, do you mind giving Rozanov a ride to your place? I want to stop back at the hotel to freshen up."

Ilya squinted at Scott. Shane expected Ilya to argue that he'd just go with Scott, but he was silent.

"Of course! Come on, you'll hate my car," Shane said happily.

Ilya trailed after him, immediately tugging off the tie he had worn for the press conference. Shane tried to not stare too hard at Ilya's exposed chest as he undid a few buttons. The crucifix he always wore glinted in the sun.

"If you want, you can wear something of mine when we get to my place," Shane said. Ilya's eyebrows shot up.

"Something more comfortable! Since you're not stopping at the hotel," Shane hurried to elaborate.

"Ah. I will be fine," Ilya nodded. "Do you still have a stylist?"

The tone was teasing, but Shane flinched. It reminded him too much of a weekend they were both trying to ignore. He clicked his car keys and was grateful that Ilya's attention redirected.

"No," Ilya stood still. "I think I will walk. Will be better than riding in a Jeep."

"I told you, I knew you'd hate it. Whatever, we can't all be restoring impractical cars," Shane laughed.

Ilya groaned dramatically and took out his sunglasses. "I do not want anyone to recognize me," he said, shoving them on as he took his seat.

Shane started the engine with a huge grin on his face.

The first few minutes of the drive were silent, and Shane was trying to think of how to bridge the quiet. Part of him worried that if he tried to talk to Ilya for real, apologize for everything while driving him to his home, that Ilya would throw open the passenger door and do a barrel roll out.

As Shane pictured that scenario, Ilya spoke.

"Why do you stay in Montreal?"

Shane blinked. "Uh. I don't know. I guess I got used to it here. And I split my time, honestly. In the summer I live at a cottage that's a few hours away."

"I know," Ilya said. Shane's forehead wrinkled with confusion.

"I saw ESPN documentary about it," Ilya explained.

"Wow. I haven't thought about that in years," Shane remembered how awkward he had felt, inviting cameras into his home. "Maybe sometime we can go there. The coaches, I mean."

It wasn't what he meant. He was being cowardly. He was pretty sure Ilya wouldn't accept a solo invitation to his cottage. Getting him to come to the retirement game, help with the charity-they were reasonable pretenses to spend time together. Ilya could stay within the boundaries he'd set years ago, and Shane could avoid heartbreak because he wouldn't ask Ilya for more.

The reality of the situation hit Shane like a ton of bricks. That he had Ilya, feet from him, but he risked losing this tenuous proximity if he ever mustered the ability to address the gulf between them.

Shane gripped the steering wheel. He suddenly felt light-headed, and his breath was growing ragged.

"Hollander," Ilya's voice sounded concerned. "Hollander, pull over."

Shane obeyed automatically, swerving into a parking lot and coming to a stop. He put his forehead on the steering wheel, panting. Shane stilled when Ilya's hand reached out to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You are having panic attack," Ilya said softly. He ran his thumb along Shane's shoulder in a firm, grounding movement.

"I'll be ok. I just need a minute." Shane groaned. He could taste bile in his throat, his stomach was churning.

Ilya rolled down the window a crack, letting cool air wash over Shane's face. Shane wasn't sure how long they sat like that. Eventually he realized Ilya had been murmuring things to him. Some of it was Russian, but some of it was English. Just short phrases like "You are safe, you are good here."

Eventually Shane raised his head. Ilya's hand stopped moving, and then he gently withdrew it. At some point he had removed his sunglasses, and his hazel eyes were tracing Shane's face with worry. Shane wiped his hands over his face, exhausted.

"Sorry. It's been a while since I had one of those."

"Do you get them often?" Ilya asked. He looked like he was assessing Shane, caution and concern coloring his features.

"I used to get them a lot. Retirement's helped."

Ilya nodded. He opened his mouth and closed it, and then got a determined look on his face.

"Retirement helped my depression."

Shane couldn't keep his face neutral, he was stunned that Ilya was openly talking about it. His expression must have been comical, because Ilya grinned a little.

"I was too afraid to take medicine when I played. Worried it would affect my game. Now I take it, I have regular schedule so I can see therapist once a week. It is better, being retired."

Shane studied his face.

"Do you ever regret playing?" He whispered. Ilya looked taken aback.

"No," Ilya shook his head firmly. "Do you?"

Shane could feel tears in the corners of his eyes, and he blinked hard.

"No. But I wish...I wish I could have played how I wanted. I wish the league didn't take so much from me. It made me really happy today, seeing everyone together. And I just felt like... I'm too late. For me, at least. But maybe we can help younger players."

The corners of Ilya's mouth turned down sharply, and he was still for a moment. He looked out the windshield at the parking lot. For a second, Shane thought he saw a glint of wetness in his eyes, but when Ilya turned back it was gone.

"Yes, it is a good group of players. Don't know why you had to spoil it by inviting Pike."

Shane grinned at the familiar jab.

"Come, everyone is waiting. You should not drive." Ilya got out of the car and crossed to the driver's side. Shane switched with him, settling in his seat. He felt like he had run a marathon, and Ilya gave him one last look for assurance.

"Thank you," Shane whispered. Ilya nodded. He hesitated, then reached out to ran his palm up the back of Shane's neck for a moment. Shane almost gasped at the touch. Then, just as quickly, Ilya pulled his hand away to start the car.

***

Despite his earlier reservations, Ilya had started looking forward to the dinner, a chance to catch up with everybody. Now, as he pulled up to Shane's house, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He wished he could take Shane to his room, draw the curtains, and curl up in bed together. He had felt helpless, watching Shane spin out. Ilya had seen two of Shane's anxiety attacks in the years they had known each other, and with a twinge of shame, Ilya recalled how poorly he had handled them. Ilya watched Shane unbuckle his seatbelt, looking tired and wan.

"Do you need a minute?" He asked.

Shane shook his head.

Shane was immediately proven wrong when they entered. It was a wall of noise, former players yelling and laughing over each other. Ilya watched Shane cringe from overstimulation.

"I can tell them you are not feeling well," Ilya murmured. Shane considered for a moment, but he waved him off.

"I'll be right back. Just going to splash some cold water on my face."

As Ilya watched him walk off, he wondered how many times Shane had done this. Ilya dragged his eyes away from Shane's back, receding down the hallway, and his gaze connected with Scott.

Scott raised his eyebrows, a nonverbal inquiry of the check-in he had promised to only do once a day. Ilya frowned, considered, and then raised his hand to make a "so-so" motion. It must have seemed like a cry for help, because Scott crossed the room immediately.

"I'm sorry, I just thought you guys might want some time alone," Scott apologized in a hushed tone.

Ilya shook his head. "It’s not that. He...I worry about him. He is putting a lot of pressure on himself."

Shane had always done that. In some ways, that drive had been a quality that attracted Ilya, all those years ago. But he understood what Shane meant when he had said that he lost too much to hockey. It was a conversation that Ilya still didn't feel ready for, but he was beginning to see the shape of Shane's post-retirement plan.

As his stomach started working itself into knots, Shane appeared. It was time for everyone to sit down to dinner.

***

"Rozanov, I'm basically the reason Shane thought of this charity!" Hayden protested.

"Don't really believe that," Ilya rolled his eyes. He caught Shane's gaze and Shane grinned.

"My daughters have been playing for ages, Shane said he wanted them to have good mentors."

"This is why Shane gets players like me, Clare," Ilya gestured to Cliff's sister-in-law. "Even old relic, Hunter."

Scott sighed, smiling as he sipped his drink.

The players had broken off into clusters after dinner, and Ilya found that wherever he moved, Shane seemed to eventually follow.

Hayden didn't look as irritated as Ilya expected, his eyes flicked around the circle of players he was sitting with.

"I am glad you guys are involved," he pointed at Shane, Clare, and Scott. "Jade came out last year, and the kids at school haven't been the best about it. I know there are a lot of queer role models in the PWHL, but her current team is pretty straight. She feels like the odd one out."

Perhaps for the first time, Ilya felt a small amount of affection for Hayden.

"I think we can all relate to that feeling," Scott nodded.

Ilya stared at the floor. He'd never felt insecurity over being bisexual. But he had immediately known it made him different, and it meant that as long as he was in Russia, he was unsafe. He was reminded of his frantic speed to secure US citizenship after his father died. To seal shut any chance of going back. The decision had been tinged with excitement and hope that he hated to dwell on.

"I can't imagine what you've experienced, " Clare said, shaking her head sadly. "Things were never perfect, but I was always supported by my team. I played with two married women for years," she laughed. "I even played with two exes. You can't begin to guess how awkward that was in the first few months after their breakup."

Ilya's stomach lurched and his eyes latched to Shane's. Shane looked like he was going to be sick. To Ilya's horror, he felt Scott's eyes on them. His sense of dread worsened when he flicked his gaze to see Hayden glaring at him too. He had suspected for a while that Shane had filled Hayden in, and the daggers Hayden was throwing his way proved the theory right.

"I need a smoke, " Ilya stood, abruptly excusing himself.

***

2021

Ilya was staring out the window of his Moscow apartment when his phone rang. He glanced at it, expecting a call from his brother, or maybe his father's widow, harassing him with more demands for the funeral tomorrow.

His vision blurred for a moment when he saw the caller ID. In that instant, he only felt anger and irritation, misplaced longing that he had funneled into something ugly.

"What?" He snapped, answering.

"Are you...how are you doing?" Hollander's tone was gentle, as if he hadn't heard any of the animosity in Ilya's voice. With a curdle of guilt, Ilya was reminded of this same dynamic in Sochi. Except Sochi resulted in six months of not speaking. He and Hollander were going on nearly six years by this point.

"What do you know?" Ilya stood up to pace. He hadn't followed what the team was saying about his absence, he had needed to leave so quickly when he got the call about his father.

"Nothing really, the league just said you're dealing with a family matter."

Ilya walked to his window and pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"My father died. Two days ago," Ilya realized he was speaking to one of the only people in North America who had met his father, however briefly. Grigori had shaken Shane's hand at the draft and muttered something to Ilya about Shane being a soft Canadian, and Ilya had felt overwhelmingly defensive for this boring hockey player with distracting freckles.

"Ilya, I'm so sorry," Shane breathed. For a moment, Ilya sat there, his name hanging in the air like a gift from Shane.

"Thank you," Ilya stared out the window, doing calculations in his head that used to be familiar, from the summers when he would stare at his phone waiting for Shane to text back. "It is early where you are."

"I had a hard time sleeping," Shane said, and Ilya could hear him rustling, probably still in bed.

Ilya wondered, not for the first time, if Shane still had the same apartment. If his bed still had too many throw pillows. If Shane ever thought of him as he drifted to sleep.

"I did not like my father," Ilya wasn't sure what possessed him to tell Shane that. "He was...not kind. But I should not think that, because now he is dead."

He was sure Shane couldn't understand. That man loved his parents, had grown up adored and doted on. But Shane only hummed sympathetically, no sound of judgement coming from him.

"I'm sorry. Do you...want to talk about it?" Shane asked as if he already knew the answer.

"No," Ilya said firmly. "Not now," as if he and Shane were going to speak again. They hadn't spoken off the ice in years, and the absence felt too pronounced right now.

"When are you coming back?" Shane asked.

Ilya rubbed his forehead. "Two days. Funeral tomorrow."

"Is there anything I can do?" Shane asked quietly.

Ilya felt sick, talking to Hollander like everything was polite and normal. His thin patience snapped.

"Yes, hang up and talk to your boyfriend instead. You do not need to be nice to me, Hollander," Ilya snapped. It was Sochi all over again, stupid, selfish self-preservation in its cruelest form.

"Ilya," Shane didn't sound mad, just confused. "I'm not just... I'm worried about you. I care."

Ilya felt immediately embarrassed, and the sensation worsened as Shane continued.

"Also, what the fuck? I don't have a boyfriend," Shane sounded bewildered.

The mental image of a man bringing Shane flowers and brushing his hair off his forehead had been burned into Ilya's mind for years.

"You broke up with the nice man from the hospital?" Ilya was grateful that Shane couldn't see his face right now. His reflection was staring back at him from the window, twisted into something hopeful.

"Ethan?" Shane's voice squeaked, and Ilya mentally filed the name so he could try to find him on social media later. "We dated for like...three months, and that was four years ago."

Ilya frowned. "Too bad. What happened?"

Shane sighed, and Ilya could hear him shifting in bed again. "Um. He got tired of dating someone who was in the closet."

Ilya nodded to himself. If he was in Ethan's position, he'd never be able to shut up about the fact that he was dating Shane Hollander. It was part of why he was so consumed with jealousy when Shane and Rose were linked. He and Shane had never done anything approximating a date, and Rose got to take him to dinner and clubs and adore him openly.

Shane cleared his throat, snapping Ilya out of his self-pity. "I also didn't really like him."

Ilya started laughing, aware that he was far too happy about this news.

"Great. I'm glad my disastrous dating life can cheer you up," Shane groused, but Ilya could hear in his voice that was smiling.

Ilya's phone beeped with an incoming call. His brother, right on schedule.

"I need to go. But thank you. This did help," Ilya was honest. He felt lighter than he had in days. He chewed his lip nervously.

"Can I call you again? Maybe tomorrow?" Knowing he could talk to Shane might make the funeral easier to bear.

"Of course. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Ilya."

When Ilya switched over to talk to his brother, Ilya's thoughts were a million miles away. Shane didn't have a boyfriend. Shane didn't love another man. Ilya had virtually nothing keeping him tied to Russia anymore.

His mind raced through possibilities. He could work with the Raiders to secure citizenship, they had helped several teammates do so. He could remove the fear of being deported if the team decided to drop him for being bi. Maybe he could finally summon the courage that had evaded him for years. Ilya's stomach twisted with anxiety and excitement when he realized that the next time he and Shane crossed paths, they would be playing on the same All-Star team.

Chapter End Notes

Beep beep! Dump truck event will likely be in the next chapter.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Shane stepped out into his yard holding a sweatshirt. Ilya was alone, twilight almost obscuring him as he paced the far end of the garden, away from the house.

"Hey, I thought you might be cold," Shane held his hoodie out. Spring in Montreal swerved between deceptively warm and bitingly chilly.

Ilya shook his head, gesturing with his cigarette. "You do not want smoke on it."

Shane thrust the hoodie towards him. "You can keep it, I don't care."

Ilya looked conflicted for another moment and finally extended his hand, prompting Shane to hold his cigarette while Ilya shrugged the sweatshirt on. He took his cigarette back and inhaled a long drag.

"Look. I...this is probably terrible timing, but what Clare said in there...what I said in the press conference..." Shane was chewing his bottom lip, frustration overwhelming his sense of fear.

He squared his shoulders. "Will you stay here? Tonight. I really want to talk."

Ilya let out a ragged sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. "What if I'm not ready?" He asked quietly.

Shane didn't feel any more prepared. They had avoided each other for years. Shane had avoided this specific conversation for nearly a year now, ever since Ilya had allowed himself to be dragged back into Shane's life. There was every chance Ilya had the same fear he did. That this conversation would go so badly that it would firmly, finally close the book on the two of them. But the weight of ignoring it had gotten too loud. It was drowning out any pleasure that Shane felt, seeing Ilya in his sweatshirt, with faint creases at the corners of his eyes and streaks of silver in his curls, standing in Shane's yard like he belonged there.

"Please," Shane pleaded. Ilya blinked slowly, and nodded.

***
2021

Shane leapt up when he saw the text come in.

Lily: are you free to talk?

Shane called him immediately.

"Hey," he knew he sounded breathless. It felt surreal, talking to Ilya again.

"Hi," Ilya sounded tired.

"How are you?" Shane wanted to take it back. What a useless thing to ask someone whose parent had passed away.

"Mm. Not good. Probably bad."

Shane nodded. Right, exactly. Great job, Shane.

"I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?" Yesterday Ilya had said he didn't want to talk "now," and it had planted a seed of hope for Shane, hope that maybe they could keep talking and thaw the icy distance between them.

"Ok," Ilya said, sighing.

He began describing his family, how they were harassing him at every turn for money, criticizing choices he had made for the funeral. He described Svetlana running interference for him, and Shane found he didn't feel any jealousy, just gratitude that Ilya had a friend there.

Shane asked something before he even realized what a minefield it was. "Is you mother...you don't talk about her..."

"She died. When I was twelve," Ilya said softly.

Shane rested his forehead on the counter of his kitchen island. He was patently terrible at comforting Ilya.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"Is ok. I never told," Ilya murmured.

Shane stood there for a moment, forehead pressed to countertop.

"Could you tell me about her?"

"Of course," Ilya hummed, searching for the words. "She was very beautiful. So funny. She was very sad."

Ilya described her adoringly. Sometimes he slipped into Russian without realizing it, but Shane never bothered to ask him to repeat himself. As Ilya spoke, Shane's heart ached. He felt for the little boy who had lost his mother so tragically, who had been left with a father who seemed cruel, a brother who saw Ilya as a bank account.

They talked and talked. Shane realized it was probably the longest they had ever spoken to each other. Ilya would ask him non-sequiters when he needed an emotional break, and Shane would volley back questions about Moscow or hockey that he thought were innocuous, but usually led to some horrific childhood story that had Shane holding his breath.

The longer they spoke, the more Shane was overwhelmed with an urge to hold Ilya. He was mentally counting down the days, it would only be two weeks until they met at the All-Star Game.

"I wish I was with you right now," Shane blurted out. Ilya was quiet for a moment, and Shane wondered if he had totally misread things.

"I wish I was with you," Ilya agreed quietly. "I will see you in fourteen days, yes?"

Shane didn't know it was possible to smile so hard.

***
Present Day

Ilya had decided to plant himself in the living room as the goodbyes started. If they were going to be brave and finally talk about their feelings, he shouldn't hide in the yard like a phantom, waiting for everyone to leave. He had already told Scott he wasn't going back to the hotel, and Scott had tried valiantly to act nonchalant about it. Ilya had seen him whip out his phone as he walked away, no doubt texting Kip.

The final stragglers left, nobody giving a second glance to Ilya Rozanov lingering in Shane Hollander's home. It was a surreal treat how irrelevant retirement had made them.

"Can I get you anything?" Shane asked, fidgeting. Ilya could see the tension in his shoulders from across the room.

"What does your kitchen look like?" Ilya asked. Shane had the dinner catered, because of course he did, but Ilya suspected a sliver of Shane's nerves were because his houseguests had left glasses and beer bottles in the kitchen after the staff left.

Shane's shoulders lowered a little in relief as Ilya stood and walked with him.

"You don't have to," Shane said as Ilya opened his dishwasher.

Ilya shrugged. "I want to."

It was true. There was some stupid, confused part of him that still desperately wanted these boring domestic moments with Shane. He had dreamed about it for years, mostly when he wanted to torture himself for being impulsive, petty, and stubborn.

They worked silently, Shane rinsing and handing Ilya glasses to stow in the dishwasher. When the kitchen was tidied and there was no pretense left, Shane stood there, examining his pruned fingertips.

Ilya motioned for Shane to follow him, and he went back to the living room, dimming the lighting and pulling a throw blanket over himself. He wanted to swaddle himself, retreat into a cocoon. Shane moved to sit on the other couch and Ilya shook his head, patting the spot next to him. Shane settled next to him, and Ilya tucked him under the blanket. They sat for a moment, dread and anticipation spinning in Ilya's stomach.

"I should start with 'I'm sorry," Shane said.

"Me too," Ilya nodded. Shane looked stunned.

"You first," Ilya jabbed his chin at Shane.

***

2021

Ilya had been counting the days, and then the hours until he'd see Shane. They'd texted steadily in the weeks leading up to the All-Star Game. Mostly teasing, talking smack. Ilya had typed and erased many messages that his younger self would have sent without hesitation.

"Should I bring a muzzle so your screams don't wake the whole hotel?"

"Do you want to break my ankle so we can skip the game and fuck all night?

"I can't believe I'm going to feel you come on my cock tomorrow."

Nothing had been said that made Ilya feel quite bold enough to send those thoughts, but the possibility was consuming his every waking moment.

So Ilya found himself waiting at the hotel bar, buzzing with anticipation. He had three nights. Three nights with Shane, to seduce him again. To figure out how to finally tell him how he felt. To see if they could be something.

Ilya couldn't keep a stupid smile off of his face when Shane entered, and Shane mirrored it when he scanned the room and saw Ilya. He moved a little too quickly across the room, eagerly arriving at the bar.

"Hey," Shane sounded breathless.

"Hello, Captain," Ilya nodded, smirking. Shane motioned to the bartender that he'd have a beer, and the two sat there, beaming at each other.

Ilya collected his thoughts. "You look very nice," it was true, Shane was wearing a blue linen shirt that looked beautiful on him.

"Thanks." Shane looked over his shoulder like he was about to make an embarrassing admission. "I...I hired a stylist."

Ilya's mouth dropped open. "No. When?"

Shane shifted around in his seat. "Like a week ago. It's new. Oh my god, it is not that funny!"

Ilya couldn't stop laughing. It was a little funny and very endearing.

"Did you have someone to impress?" Ilya nudged Shane, watching him flush a delicious shade of peach.

"No!" Shane's protests only confirmed Ilya's teasing.

Shane Hollander had hired a fucking stylist because he wanted to show up in a simple linen shirt that tested Ilya's willpower. This might be one of the best days of Ilya's life.

"You look good," Shane seemed determined to torture Ilya. Ilya wanted to drag him up to his hotel room now.

"Thank you. No stylist would pick this out," Ilya said happily, tugging at the tropical print shirt. He had thought it would be funny, and he felt momentarily stupid when Shane had shown up looking so handsome. But the way Shane looked at him...it felt like Ilya was the only person in the room. It was intoxicating. How had they lasted five years pretending they didn't want each other, that they didn't mean something to each other?

"Um. So I should circulate. Say hi to everybody," Shane straightened up. "Which room are you in?" He whispered.

Ilya grinned. "I'll text you. Think you can finish greeting everybody in thirty minutes?"

It only took Shane twenty. He knocked lightly on the door, and Ilya threw it open, yanking him inside. In an instant, Ilya was grasping his face, kissing him with an urgency that almost felt embarrassing. Except he was tired of being embarrassed and guarded. He was head over heels for Shane Hollander, and he didn't feel the need to deny it anymore.

Shane's gasps as he kissed his way down Ilya's neck sounded just as needy.

"I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so much," Shane said. Ilya's chest constricted. A moment of sadness for time wasted.

"I am so fucking happy right now," Ilya smiled as he kissed Shane's cheekbones, planting soft pecks on his freckles. He turned, pushing Shane towards the bed, ready to strip him, before he paused.

"I want you to take your clothes off," Ilya ordered. Shane leapt up, and Ilya had to bite on his lip to keep from smiling. Shane was always so obedient.

His curiosity was proven right, deliciously so, when Shane began folding his clothes and placing them on top of Ilya's hotel dresser. Ilya didn't say anything, he didn't want Shane to get self conscious and stop doing it. Ever.

Ilya yanked Shane back onto the bed and began kissing him everywhere. The soft skin just behind his ear. A kiss on his ribcage, his inner thigh, right above his belly button. He wanted to press apologies into every surface of Shane's body, to make up for lost time and to promise that this was it, this time.

Shane was already so hard, and Ilya grasped him, reveling in the groan that escaped Shane's lips. When he took Shane into his mouth, Ilya shuddered. He'd missed this so much. Shane was already wet, Ilya licked the beads of precum, savoring the taste. He dragged his tongue on the underside of Shane's cock, cupping his balls. Shane was sighing and twisting, and so impatient.

"Shane, I have waited so long for this. I don't want you to come so soon," Ilya laughed. Shane's eyes shot open, and Ilya realized he wasn't used to hearing him say his first name. Ilya wanted to whisper it into his ear over and over while he felt Shane tremble in his arms, but Shane's cock was in his hand, and Ilya could barely think of anything else.

He lowered again, faster this time. He swallowed Shane down to the hilt and dragged off of him with hollowed out cheeks. The filthy moans coming from Shane were enough to shatter Ilya's resolve. He bobbed his head faster, grasping his hand up to Shane's chest, clutching him as Shane's breath grew shallow. Shane began gasping.

"Ilya," it sent shock waves through Ilya. "Ilya, fuck. I'm going to come, please, fuck. Please don't stop."

Ilya didn't think anything in the world could make him stop, he swirled his tongue around the head of Shane's cock, and in an instant Shane was spilling into him, clutching his hair. Ilya swallowed him down, smiled at the whine Shane made when Ilya took his mouth off of him, and slid up to kiss him.

"Fuck. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this," Shane admitted. Ilya grasped his chin to tilt him into a kiss, slipping his tongue past Shane's parted lips. It had been years, years that Ilya couldn't get Shane out of his head. And fuck, every nerve on his body felt like it was on fire when Shane moved to take him into his mouth.

***

After Ilya had made Shane come twice, and Shane had brought Ilya to climax with gasping, hoarse yells, they lay in Ilya's bed, tangled sweaty limbs.

"I missed you," Shane whispered into the hollow of Ilya's throat. Ilya sighed, tugging him closer.

"I missed you so much. Shane, I am so sorry. I ruined years for us."

Shane pulled away, shaking his head. "No, that's not all you. I...yeah, I was mad. It was stupid, and you told me in such a stupid way."

Ilya was frowning, clearly Shane was not clearing anything up.

"But I should have talked to you. I was jealous. I don't know if I was jealous of Svetlana or jealous of you."

Ilya looked completely lost now. "You want to be pregnant? Or have pregnant friend?"

Shane shook his head. "When I was with Rose," Ilya's grip tightened. "I realized... I'm gay."

Ilya started laughing, to Shane's horror. Shane slapped his chest.

"Oh yeah. Hm, what makes you think that?"

"Fuck you, you're not gay!" Shane yelped.

"Ok, ok, yes. Not completely. You have heard of bisexual, yes?"

Shane rolled his eyes. "Well anyway. You can fall for a girl and have a wife and babies and be what everyone expects. And no, I didn't want to be pregnant. I just...the whole thing made me realize that's never going to be me and you."

Ilya's face looked stricken, and for a moment Shane worried that he'd shared too much. That he had misread everything, and that Ilya had just wanted to hop back into their casual hookups. But Ilya grabbed him, pulling him close for a messy, warm kiss. He was whispering in Russian, trailing sentences that made no sense to Shane, but they sounded reverent.

"Shane," Ilya pulled away from him. "You are only person I want that with. Whole time, the only one."

Shane started blinking away tears, and Ilya ran his knuckles over Shane's cheekbones to catch them.

"You are so beautiful, please do not cry." Ilya shushed him sweetly. He rubbed circles on Shane's back as Shane leaned down to kiss his chest.

There was a feeling of wholeness and promise rising in Shane that felt totally foreign.

Ilya pressed his lips to Shane's hair. "Stay,"

"What?"

"Here, tonight. Stay."

Shane raised his head, locking eyes with Ilya. His gaze was soft, adoring. Shane felt awful when he shook his head.

"Too many players on this floor, we can't risk it."

For a fleeting moment, Ilya looked devastated, and Shane wanted to find a way to fix it, but then Ilya composed himself and nodded.

"Ok. Come, let me shower with you before you leave."

***

The next morning, Shane sat by the pool with Luca Haas, an eager center from Ottawa who had alternated between clinging to Shane or Ilya at every All-Star weekend the past few years, and who seemed thrilled that his two idols were finally getting along.

Shane was trying to pay attention to Luca, but Ilya was distractingly gorgeous in his swim trunks, water clinging to his curls. He kept flashing excited smiles over at Shane as he played with the player's kids in the hotel pool. It was a routine Shane had come to expect each All-Star weekend. Kids were drawn to Ilya, and he would act like a giant child. Goofing off, throwing them in the pool, accusing them of cheating at whatever nonsense game he made up. Shane hadn't been able to enjoy it in recent years, because it had only served to remind him of how much he missed Ilya.

Eventually Ilya called for Haas to tap in, and Luca begrudgingly got up. Ilya came over and shook his damp hair at Shane like a wet dog before settling in next to him.

"You're so good with kids," Shane observed, watching Luca struggle to capture the attention of the rowdy children.

"You like that, hm?" Ilya teased.

Shane decided to be blunt. "I do. It's very attractive, " Ilya's eyes flashed with desire.

"Do you ever think about having any?"

Ilya answered immediately. "Yes. I am scared...that I will be like my papa. Or my mama. But I want to be a parent. I think it is better, if you have the right partner."

He gave Shane a calculating look and then delivered a closing line that knocked the air out of him. "Like you. You will be a good dad."

Shane could feel himself blush. "I'm ok with little ones, the age Hayden's kids are. Teenagers scare me."

Ilya laughed. "I think they are supposed to scare you. But you are Shane Hollander, you will figure it out."

They gazed at each other for a moment, and Shane felt like he could see the tentative possibilities suspended between them. Maybe one day, when they retired and could be more private, they could have kids. He tried his best to ignore the logic that was working to crowd out his fantasy.

***

Shane was overly competitive, as usual, about the skills competitions. Nobody else took them as seriously, except Ilya. Ilya gladly took any opportunity over the years to get under Shane's skin, even when they hadn't been speaking.

Ilya sat next to Shane, watching Luca Haas fail to best Shane's shot accuracy record.

"Is weird, right? Seeing young players get all the attention?" Ilya nudged Shane.

Shane looked offended. "We're not old!"

"True, but we are closer to retirement than we are to being rookies," Ilya shrugged.

Shane looked like he wanted to argue the point, and Ilya was sure that if Shane put his mind to it, he could prove him wrong. Keep playing until he was old and gray.

"What do you want to do when you retire?" Shane asked.

Ilya rolled the question around in his head. He wasn't much of a planner.

"Maybe travel. I always spent off-season in Russia. And I will have US passport soon, easier to travel with a US passport."

Shane's lips parted with surprise. "You're becoming a US citizen?"

Ilya nodded. It made him happy, he felt relieved that he wouldn't have to risk getting sent back to Russia. But it was also bittersweet. He was saying goodbye to the last place he had seen his mother.

Shane's expression looked like he was reading every one of those thoughts as they raced through Ilya's mind.

***

The second that Shane slipped into Ilya's room, Ilya was all over him. He grabbed Shane, lifting him into the air and pinning him against the wall. Shane let out an embarrassingly breathy sigh, rolling his hips into Ilya as he wrapped his legs around him.

"So fucking tired of waiting all day to touch you," Ilya growled. It had been torture, a million moments where Shane had wanted to reach out and grab Ilya's hand or kiss him on the cheek. He envied the other players, whose wives or girlfriends could sit in their laps by the pool.

Shane tugged at the collar of Ilya's shirt, needy and impatient. Ilya hitched him in his arms and carried him towards the bed before stripping off his clothes. Shane wiggled out of his, tucking them on the chair near Ilya's bed. He turned to Ilya and saw a sappy, fond expression on his face before a devilish smirk overtook it.

"I was too impatient last night," Ilya said, leaning over Shane. "Needed to hear you come, so badly. But I think you still like to be teased, yes?"

Shane swallowed. With Ilya, yes. He loved being good for Ilya, existing in the space of delicious torture where Ilya teased and denied him. With anybody else, Shane had felt impatient and transactional.

"Yes, for you, yes." Was all he could gasp, and Ilya's eyes flashed. He began kissing his way down Shane's body, grasping his cock and dragging his tongue along Shane's length. Shane's hips were bucking, already quivering. Ilya laughed.

"Always so desperate. I missed how good you are for me," Ilya traced his finger along Shane's hole as he took Shane deeper in his mouth, warm and wet. Shane lost himself in the sensation of Ilya worshipping him, crooking his fingers into Shane in the spot that made him cry out. Shane found himself wondering over and over how they had been able to deny this for so long. He felt a sense of completeness when he was with Ilya, like two magnets that had been forced apart, finally allowed to pin together again.

Ilya came up for air, his voice ragged. "Shane, I want to fuck you."

All Shane could do was nod, words were escaping him. Ilya got up to retrieve lube and condoms, and Shane rolled over to get on all fours. Ilya returned, smacking his ass before he leaned down to growl into his ear.

"If you really want, I can fuck you like this. But I have been dreaming about seeing your face when you come on my cock."

Shane shivered, so hard that Ilya let out a delighted laugh, and he turned, settling on his back while Ilya remained suspended above him. Ilya's eyes traced over Shane, and he raised a hand to run his thumb over Shane's lips. On instinct, Shane parted his lips and sucked on Ilya's thumb, coaxing a gasp from Ilya.

"Look at you, so beautiful," Ilya looked tortured as Shane swirled his tongue along Ilya's thumb. Ilya smirked, removing his hand and using his slicked thumb to press against Shane's entrance, laughing as Shane's back arched off the bed.

Ilya positioned himself, lowered to kiss Shane's neck, and then rocked into him. The sensation almost immediately undid Shane. Ilya was gasping, gently pushing into Shane. Shane frantically pushed his hips up, chasing the feeling of fullness, of Ilya buried inside of him.

"Fuck, Shane. Slow down," Ilya growled. Shane stilled immediately and Ilya hummed in approval. "Have been waiting years for this," he began to thrust, driving a groan out of Shane. "Do not make me come yet," he leaned down to suck on Shane's lower lip, and Shane let himself go completely.

Ilya fucked Shane reverently, tenderly at first, whispering things to him in Russian that sounded sugary sweet. Finally Shane couldn't take it anymore and he leaned up to bite Ilya's shoulder, eliciting a surprised yelp and a thrilled smile from Ilya. He grabbed Shane's chin with one hand, covering his mouth with a kiss for a moment, before fucking him hard.

"This is what you want, you little brat?"

Shane's eyes were rolling into the back of his head, the sound of Ilya's skin slapping against his echoed in his ears, and he couldn't say anything except Ilya's name. Each time he said it, Ilya thrust into him, gasping.

"Ilya, please. Fuck, I'm so close." For all of Ilya's bravado about torturing Shane, he seemed completely lost in the moment, and Shane was teetering on the edge.

"Come for me, please. I want to feel you, sweetheart," Ilya pulled away, burying himself in Shane as he watched his face. He grasped Shane's cock and within two strokes, Shane's orgasm was ripping through him. He could feel tears forming, streaking his cheeks as he clenched around Ilya, crying out.

"Fuck, Shane, oh fuck." Ilya gasped, speeding up until he stilled, crying out. Shane twisted his hands in Ilya's hair, wanting to draw him as close as possible.

As they laid there, gasping together, their conversation from the night before lingered in Shane's mind. All he wanted was this, with Ilya, for the rest of his life.

***

Ilya watched Shane as he toweled off, and couldn't resist asking something that he knew the answer to.

"You should stay," he smiled.

Shane bit his lip. "I really can't. Haas and Scott Hunter are like, right down the hall."

Ilya rolled his eyes and pushed back into the pillows. "Boring," he was confident he could convince Shane tomorrow night. They wouldn't see each other for weeks after that. The thought stung. He was already tired of it. He and Shane had been talking about a future, however hypothetical, and he was feeling impatient.

Seeing Shane for one night, a few times a season, was not nearly enough. They'd have to change things. But tonight he could wrap himself in the immediacy of having Shane again. He held his arms out, and Shane slid in, tucking his head on his chest.

"I am so happy right now, Shane," he pressed his lips to the crown of Shane's head. Shane sighed and snuggled him closer.

***

The All-Star Game was better than Ilya could have imagined. He and Shane had always played well, even when they weren't speaking. They didn't need to even look at each other, there was an inherent trust and assurance that allowed them to tear across the ice on instinct alone.

In the second period they sat on the bench, watching rookies get time in the game. Scott Hunter sat down next to them.

He nodded at Ilya from the other side of Shane, and Ilya resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. He didn't want anyone encroaching on the precious time he was getting with Shane.

"How's your last All-Star weekend going?" Shane asked. Scott had announced his retirement at the beginning of the season.

Hunter shrugged. "It’s bittersweet. It's nice to have Kip here, but you know...a lot of the WAGs aren't exactly welcoming him with open arms."

Ilya felt Shane freeze up next to him.

"How...has it been really hard? Since you came out?" Shane asked, his voice cracking.

Ilya had wanted to call Shane the second he saw Scott Hunter kissing a man on the ice. But it had happened when they weren't speaking, so he just stared at the television and wondered if things could have been different for him and Shane, if it had happened sooner. Ilya had been too hopeful. In the years since, he'd heard enough about how the league treated Hunter. Change was slow at best.

Ilya was suddenly struck with the sensation that he was tied to railroad tracks. The train was hurtling towards him, and there was nothing he could do. He tried to glare daggers at Scott Hunter, as if he could read Ilya's mind and go easy on Shane, not scare him away.

It was futile. "Yeah, it's been really fucking hard. My team is good, but other teams try to use it against me, yell slurs, you know. I lost sponsorships. I have to limit comments on social media. I won't miss any of it when I retire."

It was like Shane slumped lower and lower in his seat with every word from Scott.

"But you have great fiancé, yes?" Ilya asked, pleading.

"Yes, Kip makes it all worth it. I'd make the same choice a million times over," Scott said, smiling fondly.

Ilya wanted to nudge Shane, who looked overwhelmed. Ilya had so much he wanted to say. It will be worth it, I promise. And besides, you are Shane Hollander. You can do anything.

Ilya repeated these points to himself like a mantra as he waited in his hotel room for Shane. They both had early flights out the next day. Ilya didn't mind staying up all night if that's what it took to have this conversation.

***

Shane squared his shoulders. He was going to be brave and agree to sleep in Ilya's room, if Ilya would offer. He could sneak out at five in the morning and nobody would see him. It would be fine.

Ilya opened the door, beaming, and Shane's concerns evaporated. He kissed Ilya, backing him up to the bed before Ilya spun them around and pushed Shane, crawling on top of him. Ilya caught Shane's earlobe with his teeth, coaxing a surprised moan from his lips.

"When can I have you all to myself?" Ilya groaned.

"Here, now," Shane laughed. Ilya moved back, looking in Shane's eyes. He shook his head.

"No, I mean for good," Ilya said. This looked serious. Shane shifted, and Ilya released him so they could both sit up, facing each other.

"Of course...I've been thinking. We could spend some time together this off-season," Shane had dreamed about bringing Ilya to his cottage, being secluded and not worrying about interruptions or responsibilities.

"Yes, Shane," Ilya rolled his eyes. "I will spend every second of off-season with you. But what next? We need to be together."

The words sent a thrill up Shane's spine and he nodded happily.

"Yes, definitely. I want that. I want to be with you. We can FaceTime, and we can spend breaks together, and-"

Ilya shook his head. "No, I mean...together, in same place. I do not want to spend half the year missing you."

Oh. Oh. Shane had never considered it, because it was impossible.

"I mean, Montreal can't afford both of us," Shane frowned.

Ilya started tugging at his curls. "No, and neither can Boston." Shane didn't bother protesting an already eliminated hypothetical. He would rather die than become a Raider. His mom might actually murder him.

"But team with more salary room, we can both sign. We are free agents next year."

"But we play the same position," Shane wanted this fantasy, he really did, but logic kept piercing into his consciousness.

Ilya rolled his eyes. "So I play wing. Or second line, or something. Any team would have us, if they can."

Shane didn't deserve Ilya. Giving up starting center for Shane was too much of a sacrifice. Shane chewed his lip. There had to be another answer. Going to another team felt unthinkable. He was building a dynasty with the Metros.

He started running through rosters in his mind, crunching numbers and evaluating options.

"Shane," Ilya interrupted, grabbing his hand. "We do not need to decide team now. I am sure you need spreadsheet, list, I just need to hear you feel same way."

Shane let out a heavy exhale. "Maybe?"

Ilya clenched his jaw. That answer clearly wasn't good enough.

"We could always find a team that's close to Montreal for you. Maybe you could go to Ottawa? They're only two hours away, we could see each other on off-days."

Ilya took his hand off of Shane's, raking it through his hair again. "Maybe."

They stared at each other. Shane was fucking this up. He was fucking it all up. He just needed time to think. He wanted to do it, do anything to be with Ilya, but he had spent so many years thinking it wasn't a possibility. His brain was working so hard to catch up, he felt like steam was coming out of his ears.

"How do you want to tell people?" Ilya asked.

Shane froze. "Tell people?"

Ilya scrunched his nose in confusion. "Yes. Shane, we are not having secret hookup, being stupid kids. This is real."

It was real. Ilya was right. Shane heaved a breath. He was starting to feel light-headed. Part of him had wondered if maybe he would stay closeted his whole life. When it had seemed impossible that he could be with Ilya, it was hard to imagine a motivation for telling his friends and family.

"Right. OK. I can tell my parents, I'm sure they want to meet you. And maybe...maybe we can let Hayden know? In a little while? I think he would be ok."

Ilya looked even more perplexed, his forehead furrowed in confusion.

"Shane. I mean..." He gestured around him. "Tell everybody. Not three people."

Shane's body betrayed him. He shook his head automatically, and his vision began blurring at the edges.

"No?" Ilya sounded incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up. "You think we can keep this a secret...what, forever?"

"Maybe not forever," Shane gasped. All of the signs of a panic attack were hitting him, his chest felt tight. "Maybe...after we retire?"

Fuck, that still meant he and Ilya would have footnotes on their careers. Maybe they wouldn't ever get elected to the Hall of Fame. It would always affect how people saw the two of them. Shane could picture the uproar, people analyzing every face-off, speculating if it ever affected their game. Shane's work, all his hard work to be the model hockey player, the perfect inspiration, representation, it would all go out the window.

"Retire?" Ilya's voice rose, and Shane squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to tell Ilya to keep it down so people didn't overhear, but he was beginning to feel paralyzed.

"Fuck. I don't know. I don't know, ok? I mean...I can make a plan."

"Ok," Ilya took a shaky breath. "Plan. We can pick a team, or I go to Ottawa, whatever. We tell people next year when we sign with team? I can do that. Shane, I cannot do one of your ten-year plans."

Shane's stomach was churning. He needed Ilya to slow down. Ilya was saying possibilities he'd never even dreamed of, and it felt like the walls were closing in.

"I just...fuck, I'm sorry I'm not Scott Hunter, ok? I don't think I can play the rest of my career with people saying shit about me, losing the opportunities I worked so hard for," Shane's tone was sharp, he was yelling now, trying to get Ilya to understand him. Shane could see anger flashing in Ilya's eyes.

"Yes, it will be hard, but goddammit, Shane!" Ilya was gesturing wildly now. "I cannot finally have you, and love you, and keep it a secret anymore!"

Shane felt like he'd just been hit with a wrecking ball. He'd never allowed himself to fantasize that he'd hear those words from Ilya. He'd admitted it to himself, late at night, when he couldn't sleep. He loved Ilya, in an aching, all-consuming way. Nothing Ilya had done in years indicated that he felt the same for Shane.

The silence was ugly. Shane couldn't speak, he could hear how ragged his breath was. Ilya was staring at him, a broken expression on his face as he waited for Shane to say something, anything. Shane wanted to plead with Ilya. To ask him to wait more, to listen to Shane explain why they couldn't come out. But Shane couldn't get any words out, and Ilya's eyes began flattening out. Like a wall was going up between them.

"Hollander," Fuck. Shane, not Hollander, please. "I...I have told you what I want. I want...I will do many things to be with you, I have wanted this for so long. But I cannot waste more years, I cannot keep hiding this. If you do not want the same thing..." Ilya paused like he wanted Shane to protest, but Shane couldn't argue.

He wasn't sure. He worried that he couldn't throw it all away, change everything for Ilya, as much as he wanted to. What if something happened, something awful between them, the way it had before, and he had blown up everything for heartbreak?

Ilya ran his gaze across Shane's face, and Shane offered no reassurance.

Ilya's eyes were steely now. "If you do not want same thing, I will not bother you anymore. I...we will be nothing. I will not speak to you, you will not speak to me. You do not have to worry."

The room was tilting. Nothing was on center.

"If that's what you want," Shane croaked.

Ilya's mouth was twisting into a hurt scowl. "No, is not what I want. I told you what I want."

Shane shook his head. He felt sick. "I can't."

Part of him wanted to promise he could do it. Figure out how to change everything and do the impossible so he could be with Ilya. Because fuck, this was everything he had dreamed about for most of his adult life, but he felt limp and terrified and unable to meet Ilya's confidence.

For a moment, a heartbreaking, broken expression flickered across Ilya's face. As if he had held out hope that Shane would come around. Then his features settled into something stern.

"I think you should leave," he moved a few inches from Shane, and the distance felt immediate and icy.

"Ilya, I..." Shane couldn't summon any promises or words that would fix this. He felt defeated. He'd ruined it before they could start. He stood, Ilya's eyes were fixed on the floor. Shane crossed to the door and realized this would be the last time he'd exist in a space like this with Ilya. With an acknowledgement that they meant something to each other, without other eyes on them. He turned around, as painful as it was he needed to see Ilya in this final moment.

It was an enormous mistake. Ilya's expression was going to haunt him forever. Disappointment, hurt, disbelief. Shane opened his mouth, but he knew he didn't have anything to say to make it better. He opened the door and slipped out. Shane wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to breathe normally again.

Chapter End Notes

This whole fic started with the concept of this fight/dump truck event. I really felt for both Shane and Ilya when they navigated this conflict in The Long Game, and I wanted to explore how they would have handled it if they realized from the start that a secret relationship would be unbearable.

They're both messing this up! This is not a team Ilya vs team Shane scenario. Ilya is desperate to get Shane on the same page as him, and Shane has valid reasons to be scared/unable to catch up.

Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Present Day

"I'm so sorry," Shane started, running his palms over his knees to steady himself. He had pictured this moment for years.

"I was scared. I was so fucking afraid. It's not an excuse, I hurt you. And I ruined something that made me so happy." Shane couldn't look at Ilya, he was staring at the floor.

"You...at the time it felt like you were asking too much, but I get it now. We wasted so many fucking years," Shane felt sick when he thought about how much time he had wasted since then, wanting Ilya and feeling paralyzed. "You were right. It wasn't fair to ask you to keep things a secret, it wasn't realistic."

He finally looked at Ilya, who was watching him carefully.

Shane took a deep breath. "I loved you so much, and I hurt you. I mean, I still love you. I tried and tried and I never stopped. And it's...I needed you to hear that. Once, at least."

Ilya jerked his face away for a moment, facing the window. Shane watched his shoulders rise and fall rapidly, and when he turned back to Shane there were tears drying on his cheeks. Shane wanted to reach out, rub them away. But he didn't feel like he had any right to.

Ilya cleared his throat. "Thank you."

They sat in silence and Shane wondered if that was it. Maybe Ilya just needed to hear that from him, and Ilya could move on.

"I am still mad at you," Ilya admitted. Shane winced, but he had been expecting it.

Ilya continued. "I was mad at myself. For a long time. I pushed you. But Shane, I was so ready for our life together to finally start."

Shane nodded, tears welling. They could have, they could have built a life together.

Ilya twisted a handful of curls as he searched for the words. "I...it is so hard being around you. I want you. But it feels like..." He gestured to Shane's home, to Shane. "You got what you wanted. No mess, no hard parts, and what? You get me when we are retired, like you asked?"

Shane could feel himself shrinking. He had these same concerns, he knew it wasn't fair. He had played the rest of his career convinced that Ilya hated him. Hockey had felt hollow and empty once Ilya retired. Ilya was right, Shane hadn't come out while playing. But he was wrong when he said "no hard parts." When Ilya retired, nearly every day was hard. The finality and absence hit him so hard. Shane had panic attacks, his chest constricted when he faced Boston and Ilya wasn't there, pointedly ignoring him.

When Shane started planning retirement, the only thing he wanted to do with his time was spend it with Ilya, and it had felt like a complete impossibility. But Ilya was right. It was unfair to hope for, and it was messy, and too little, too late. They were always late.

They sat, staring at each other. Shane kept flickering back and forth between pain and peace. At least he had finally told Ilya he loved him. Something inside him felt settled, with that weight unburdened.

"I am sorry. I was stubborn and I could have..." Ilya searched for the words. "I was not patient. When you told me you were too scared. And you panicked, and I did not help. So I am sorry for that."

Shane had never expected Ilya to apologize for anything from that night. In retrospect, they were two frantic, overwhelmed men who hadn't learned how to talk about their feelings. That conversation at All-Stars was doomed from the beginning. This version of Ilya, the one who soothed Shane through a panic attack, and this version of Shane, the one who tried so hard to express to Ilya what he wanted...these versions were maybe equipped for this conversation.

"Is there anything I can do? I miss you so much...I really want to try. If you think you can."

Shane knew that they hadn't resolved anything. They'd just apologized and expressed how fucked up they both felt, and now they had complicated feelings and old wounds to sit with.

Ilya sighed and kneaded his forehead. "I do not know. I will not lie, I want to. But I do not trust you yet."

His honesty should have hurt, but something about Ilya's bluntness felt reassuring. He might not trust Shane, but he wasn't afraid of chasing Shane away.

"Ok," Shane nodded, his mind racing.

Ilya propped his elbow on the couch and looked at Shane. He smiled, but he looked exhausted. "Maybe we see how camp goes. Spend more than one day together before we try to be something."

Shane tried to control his grin, but Ilya's broadened as Shane's did.

"I do not think we should have sex, while we...learn what we are," Ilya said, and it looked like it truly pained him. "That part was never hard for us, and..." Ilya gestured at the space between him and Shane "we have difficult things to work on."

"Ok. I can do that," Shane nodded enthusiastically. Then he squinted at Ilya. "Do you think you can?"

Ilya scoffed. "Please. You are the one who is always so desperate, begging for it."

"You don't know that. Things could have changed." Shane lied. As he said it, he realized there was a bittersweet truth. Things could have changed. They let so much time pass.

Ilya shook his head firmly, still grinning. "I think I know, after all these years."

"Ok, it's late. Let me show your room," Shane got up. His limbs felt lighter. Most of the tension in his body had dissolved.

"My room?"

"Yeah, I mean. I asked you to stay here. But I can't share a bed with you, I'm too desperate for that." Shane laughed.

Ilya smirked and allowed Shane to show him to his guest room. Shane was grateful that it was on the opposite end of the house, because having Ilya Rozanov in his home was going to take a colossal amount of willpower.

Shane went to his room to grab pajamas for Ilya and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like he'd been awake for 24 hours. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bleary. But he was happy. They had a lot to figure out, but Ilya had stayed. He was willing to try.

"Ilya, here, I..." Shane had come back to the room to drop off pajamas, but Ilya was stripped to his underwear already. From the smirk on his face, Shane was sure the timing was intentional. Shane stared. Ilya's body looked incredible. Not the same bulk as before, Ilya was a little leaner now. His skin was still a golden tan, and Shane's eyes began tracing down the trail of hair on Ilya's stomach.

"Are those for me?" Ilya asked. His smile was diabolical.

"Yeah, catch!" Shane tossed them at Ilya, too afraid to step any closer, and practically sprinted out of the room. He could hear Ilya laughing all the way down the hall.

***

Ilya woke to sunlight streaming through the window. He rubbed his eyes and eased back into the pillows for a moment before he froze. He was in Shane Hollander's home.

He stared at the ceiling. Last night had been hard. He never wanted to revisit that rejection, the panic he had felt all those years ago when he realized he and Shane were not on the same page.

That night, the pit in his stomach, the sight of Shane leaving...that night sprung into his mind whenever he was at his lowest. He had told Shane he loved him, and Shane had left.

In the past year, as Ilya had slowly, cautiously allowed Shane back in, he had tried to reconcile that painful memory with this present-day Shane. The Shane he knew now still wasn't an impressive communicator, but it was not for lack of effort.

Shane had sat next to Ilya last night, bravely and tenderly pushing past fear to tell Ilya he loved him. Ilya dragged his hands down his face. Shane loved him. Years ago, that would have been enough. But one frantic kiss and one day in New York was not enough of a foundation for Ilya to dive in headfirst.

Ilya hauled himself out of bed. He usually slept naked, but he hadn't been able to resist putting on the clothes that Shane threw at him last night. They were soft, and they smelled clean and sweet, like Shane. Ilya paused for a moment when he got to the door. He had forced a ground rule last night, a choice made out of self preservation. He knew if he fucked Shane, he'd probably ignore the very real confusion and hurt he still felt. So he'd be good, and he wouldn't throw Shane over his shoulder and lock the doors and fuck him for the next 24 hours. But Ilya had enjoyed it too much last night, seeing Shane look at him with pure desire in his eyes.

Ilya took the shirt off before he could think about it too hard, and thew it on the bed before padding down the hallway to the kitchen. His impulsive decision was rewarded immediately, Shane looked up at him and his lips parted, a hungry expression overtaking his features. Ilya's heart squeezed at the sight of Shane in glasses.

"You wear glasses?" Ilya tried to hide his excitement.

Shane started to take them off, but Ilya caught his hand to stop him. 

"Yeah, just for reading. I play word puzzles with my dad every morning," Shane waved his phone, a crossword on his screen.

Ilya had forgotten how much he'd adored Shane's life. Word puzzles with David Hollander. Sensible, adorable glasses. Disgusting ingredients for a smoothie set next to a blender.

"Is this for me?" Ilya wrinkled his nose, looking at the vegetables and powder.

"No, I have normal food," Shane laughed. "I just usually have this for breakfast, it's easier. I was waiting, I didn't want to wake you with the blender."

Another simple, stupid, small statement that felt like heat in Ilya's core.

"You could have come to wake me if I was delaying your breakfast slop," Ilya raised his eyebrow.

Shane turned a delightful shade of pink.

"I...I didn't know if you were sleeping in the pajamas. I wanted to give you privacy."

Ilya could feel the grin spreading across his face. "Yes, usually I sleep naked. This was a safe decision for you."

Shane shot him a look, his eyes flicking up and down in accusation.

"I was decent. If you had woken me this morning. You went to the trouble of shoving pajamas in my face, I will wear your pajamas," Ilya was having too much fun teasing Shane. Sex was off the table, uncomfortable conversations and grown-up things like personal growth stretched ahead of them, but Ilya knew he couldn't resist getting Shane to blush.

"You can keep them. If you want," Shane said in an overly casual tone.

Ilya wanted to say no. Or maybe to tell Shane to keep them in the guest room, waiting for him if they decided they could do this another time. But the thought of bringing them home and having them as a reminder of Shane was too powerful.

***

Shane drove Ilya back to his hotel with a mix of excitement and sadness battling inside of him. Ilya would be back in a month and a half to coach the camp, and Shane was already trying to figure out opportunities for them to talk. Really talk, not fraught apologies and acknowledgements that they both felt something still, after all these years.

"I wondered if you did not listen to music," Ilya observed. Shane was playing one of his mother's favorite albums, the volume was dialed so low that it was hardly audible.

"I didn't really, for a long time. I listened to audio books when I worked out, usually."

Ilya started triumphantly laughing, a self-satisfied sound of being right.

"So what changed? Why music? Are you sentimental old man in retirement?" Ilya's teasing had noticeably ramped up in the past 24 hours.

"I think you're kind of right," Shane said. "I was thinking so much about what retirement looked like. And I was feeling really sad. Thinking about you, mainly."

Ilya's head jerked towards Shane, evidently surprised that his question had led to this.

"My mom always plays music when my dad cooks. So I started listening to those albums, things that were familiar. And sometimes it made me feel better, hearing sad songs."

Ilya was frowning, staring out the dashboard. He glanced at the panel, taking in the song title.

"I think these lyrics fit more how I felt when you dated Rose."

Shane almost jumped out of his seat. It was true, this song was about accepting a relationship was over, but many of the lyrics were about the love interest moving on with another woman.

Ilya had been honest for three fleeting days, on that awful and momentarily glorious All-Star weekend. But it still felt foreign hearing him acknowledge hurt, jealousy.

"I didn't know that upset you so much. I'm sorry," Shane whispered.

Ilya shrugged. "It was a long time ago. But yes. She got to wear your jersey to games, and I thought you were going to marry her."

Shane knew it was the wrong response when Ilya was being vulnerable, but he couldn't help laughing.

"Ilya, we only dated for like, a couple months. You thought I would marry someone that fast?"

Ilya shook his head at Shane. "Marleau married his wife after six months, hockey players move fast!"

Shane reflected on it. It was true, as he got deeper into his career he felt more and more self conscious. All of his teammates were married or had girlfriends, and he didn't have Ilya's reputation as a womanizer to protect him.

Shane pulled up to the hotel with his chest aching. Saying goodbye to Ilya felt impossibly hard right now, when they were examining their past.

Ilya turned to Shane. "So. I will see you soon."

Shane nodded, then hesitated. "Can we still talk? Before then? Like text or phone call?"

Ilya smiled, a crooked half smile. "Sure."

He reached his hand out to cup Shane's neck, the same gesture he had done yesterday when Shane was doubled over with panic. For a wild moment, Shane thought Ilya was about to kiss him, but then Ilya withdrew his hand and cursed under his breath. He nodded at the windshield, and Shane saw Scott Hunter approaching the hotel, clearly returning from a run.

"Goodbye, Shane," Ilya gave him one last smile as he got out of the car.

Shane drove home with the volume cranked up, trying to drown out his thoughts.

***

Ilya stayed true to his word. He and Shane kept in touch when he returned to New York. Sometimes it was simple. A selfie of him and Svetlana with engine grease on their faces. A photo of a puzzle that Shane had helped David put together over the course of a week. Other times they would call each other to talk about their days. More often than not, the conversation would turn to this mangled thing between them.

"Did you ever date anyone...seriously?" Shane asked one night. Ilya was cradling the phone to his ear as he laid in bed. He was wearing Shane's pajama shirt, rubbing the hem between his thumb and index finger.

He cringed at his answer. "No. Never found anyone I felt serious about."

It was not for lack of effort. Scott, Kip, and Svetlana had all encouraged him to seek out a meaningful relationship. Unfortunately, he knew what it felt like when he was infatuated, falling in love. And he never felt that with any of the perfectly nice men or women he saw.

"How about you? Any nice Montreal boys?" Ilya twisted his hand in his hair. Often when Ilya saw Shane on the ice, he couldn't help himself from wondering about what Shane's private, closely guarded life looked like. He wasn't allowed in for years, and over those years Shane might have fallen in and out of love many times.

"Not really. I tried."

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut at the thought of Shane trying to seriously date someone.

"You didn't try hard enough?" Ilya asked. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he needed Shane to say it.

"That wasn't the problem. The problem was that they weren't you."

Shane had such a blunt, uncomplicated way of expressing himself. Sometimes Ilya had to poke or prompt to get him to begin talking, but whenever Ilya asked a direct question about the two of them, Shane always seemed to deliver an answer that knocked the breath out of Ilya.

***

"I thought you'd be happy about this!" Kip exclaimed, staring at Svetlana. Ilya had invited Scott and Kip over for dinner to celebrate Svetlana's last night. She was flying back to Moscow in the morning.

"I am happy that Ilya is...happier," she admitted. "But he has been obsessed with this boy for twenty years, and he has had his heart broken for half of that time."

"Twenty one," Ilya offered, because he knew it would irritate her to be corrected.

Scott raised an eyebrow, he knew when Ilya and Shane had entered the league. Ilya had not shared this specific detail of his and Shane's story.

"We met at junior world championship before we are rookies. He had cute freckles." Ilya shrugged.

Svetlana rolled her eyes, smiling. "See, you prove my point!"

It was true. Ilya had been stupidly, hopelessly smitten over Shane before he was even fully aware of it. And he had been heartbroken over Shane for nearly half of the time they knew each other. It shouldn't have been consolation, but through his phone calls with Shane, he had gotten a better picture of how much it had messed Shane up as well. Shane had spent long periods struggling to sleep, pushing himself too hard, isolating from his friends and family at times.

"I can’t believe you two kept that a secret for so long," Scott shook his head. Ilya glared.

"We cannot all kiss the love of our life on TV," he gestured towards Kip, who looked at Scott adoringly.

"I know," Scott looked sadder and more serious than Ilya wanted. This was supposed to be a lighthearted conversation.

"You two always had this machine behind you, the league wanted the rivalry. I remember when you guys were rookies, that was the whole narrative of that All-Star game."

Because Ilya was a brat, and because he enjoyed irritating his friends, he interjected. "Yes, I got Shane's number that weekend. He was afraid the great Scott Hunter would see him sneaking into my hotel room."

Scott thought for a moment and looked like he was going to be sick. "When you and I had rooms next to each other? Gross, I don't want to hear any more."

If it wasn't Shane, the details would have been on the tip of Ilya's tongue. Bragging about the way Shane shot to his knees for him, how he'd gasped when Ilya picked him up for the first time. But it was Shane. And Ilya always cradled those memories closely, just for himself.

"Anyway. I'm trying to say that I get where Shane was coming from, back then."

Svetlana raised an eyebrow, she looked dangerous. Ilya had never heard this from Scott. The rare occasions that he had talked about Shane, Scott and Kip had been vehemently understanding and team Ilya. Ilya had needed commitment and he had needed to love Shane openly. Scott had never tried to make a point for Shane's side. It wouldn't have helped, Ilya realized. He wasn't ready to hear it back then.

"I was able to be brave for Kip," Scott said. "But my career wasn't tied to this league defining rivalry. I got so many stupid questions from the press and homophobic chirps on the ice, but it would have been all-consuming if I was with another player."

Ilya chewed the inside of his cheek. He knew all of this. But he had felt brave enough to withstand it, back then. "I was ready. Shane wasn't. And then he felt ready when it was easy."

It wasn't entirely fair. He knew it was more complicated than that. If he had waited, Shane might have been ready sooner. But Ilya hadn't felt equipped to love Shane in secret for an undetermined amount of time, following a detailed plan that Shane set.

Svetlana covered Ilya's hand with hers, briefly squeezing it. "All we want is for you to be happy," she shot a teasing look at Scott and Kip. "Right, Shane Hollander fan club?"

Scott and Kip erupted into protest over the characterization, pointing out that they had been on Ilya's side for years. Ilya watched his friends argue over who loved him more, and tried to settle his nerves. He was going to see Shane again in a week

Chapter End Notes

Short chapter! But I couldn't leave things on such a brutal note from the last one. I wanted to explore this idea of Ilya being mad at Shane over something that they can't change (Shane never went back to him while they were playing).

Shane spent a lot of time in his head, and he's only just now surfacing and fixing things in his life because he isn't playing hockey anymore.

Sometimes in a relationship you are hurt/upset and the circumstances can't be fixed! They just have to finally be adults and figure out if they can work through it.

In my mind the song that they're listening to is "I'd Rather Go Blind," by Etta James, because I listened to that song 10,000 times when I went through a bad breakup. But I kept it vague so you can insert what works for you.

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Content warning: brief mention of anxiety impacting appetite

Shane pushed his dinner around his plate. He knew it was not going unnoticed, he saw his mother and father exchanging glances.

Anxiety hampering his appetite was a problem that had surfaced, in a violent and ugly way five years ago. He hadn't figured out yet how to tell Ilya about it without sounding like he was assigning blame, or feeling sorry for himself. Shane knew it was ironic to have anxiety about sharing his anxiety symptoms. Maybe Ilya would also recognize the humor in it when Shane inevitably told him.

"Hey bud, camp tomorrow should be fun, right?" David tried to give his most encouraging smile.

Camp tomorrow. Which meant Ilya was in Montreal tonight, getting settled in a short term rental with Scott. Camps would run for six weeks, with alternating players coming in to coach, and the whole gang assembling for the tournament. It was too much to ask everybody to uproot and come to Montreal for six weeks. Except Ilya had nonchalantly told Shane he could stay the whole six weeks. Scott went back home in two weeks, but Ilya had said he wanted to stay with "his kids," the whole time.

Shane tried to not read anything else into that.

"Yeah, I'm nervous. Just first day jitters, I think." Shane confessed. It was partly true. He wanted this to go well, it meant a lot to him.

Yuna nodded, she had worked tirelessly to help Shane develop it. "You'll feel better when you're on the ice."

For so long, that had been true. Everything made more sense on the ice. But in recent years, Shane resented it. Some days it had felt like it made sense anymore, and he'd skate out for face-offs, score goals, and think "What's the point. What am I even doing this for?"

Shane was struck with a wild idea. He almost never did anything impulsively, and there were a million reasons screaming at him to stop, but he found himself taking a deep breath.

"I'm nervous because Ilya will be there and I'm in love with him," Shane expected to feel panic, but instead he felt a surge of pride. This was not how he planned to tell his parents about Ilya, but now the bandaid was ripped off.

Yuna looked stunned, but David was nodding thoughtfully.

"He seemed pretty...emotional at your retirement. I kind of wondered."

Yuna smacked David's arm. "And you didn't tell me?" She turned to Shane. "How long?"

Shane wasn't ready for that part. A timeline would mean explaining fuck ups and absence and a messiness that his parents didn't really need to know about.

"A long time. We were ...a thing, for a while. But not for years now."

Yuna looked concerned. "Shane, I'm so sorry. I pushed you to invite him to the camp, and I-"

Shane shook his head. "Ilya invited himself to do it, I didn't ask him."

Yuna and David shot each other a look, an expression that Shane had seen on Rose's face before. Doing the math and coming to a conclusion about Ilya's behavior that Shane felt lacked proper data.

Ilya had agreed to come to the retirement game. He had invited himself to be a coach at the camp. He had told Shane he wanted him, and kept in touch when Shane had asked. But part of Shane worried that for all their shared intent, they wouldn't be able to figure it out. The last time they had spent more than a day together, everything had imploded between them. The last time Shane had really let himself hope for a life together it had ended in a heartbreak that he was still scraping himself up off the floor from.

Shane tried to go to bed early, but as he was washing his face, a text from Ilya came in. It was innocuous, a photo of a blender and protein powder that Scott had brought with him. What Ilya wrote was so simple, but it made Shane's stomach clench.

Ilya: Scott will wake me too early making a loud smoothie. He is not as thoughtful as you.

***

Ilya hadn't gotten much sleep. He was nervous to see Shane and excited to start working with the kids. Scott had woken him at an ungodly hour making a disgusting smoothie just like he had predicted. For a brief moment, Ilya laid in bed and thought "This wouldn't happen if you were at Shane's."

But Ilya and Shane were trying to be responsible and trying to figure out this thing between them that refused to go away. Neither had said it, but Ilya was sure that Shane also knew they didn't stand a chance of sticking to the no-sex rule if Ilya had stayed in Shane's guest room. So Ilya hadn't asked, and Shane hadn't offered, and Scott and his noisy blender were Ilya's roommates for two weeks.

They pulled up to the rink and Ilya was unsurprised to see Yuna standing in the parking lot with a clipboard, directing the coaches. She gave Ilya a disorienting stare when she greeted him and Scott. When they walked inside, Ilya's heart sped up to an embarrassing pace. Shane was already on the ice, laughing with Hayden and two twin girls that must have been Ruby and Jade. His smile was so open and unguarded, and it was infectious.

"You good?" Scott smirked, and Ilya realized he had an enormous grin on his face. He rearranged his features and cleared his throat.

"Yes. Happy to meet the kids."

Scott rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, but he left it alone.

The coaches assembled, Shane and Yuna going through rosters and responsibilities. There were two age groups (U14 and U12) and two rinks, and Ilya was unsurprised that he was assigned to the younger group. JJ, Wyatt, Clare, and Hayden were paired up with him. Ilya could tell that Hayden was irritated that he'd be working with Ilya, but he suspected Shane wanted to ensure the twins in U14 weren't coached by their dad.

The kids and parents came flooding in. Yuna began handing out gear that the charity had purchased, and eager parents crowded the coaches. Ilya had expected to be persona non grata as a former Boston player in Montreal, but two moms practically shoulder checked each other trying to get his attention.

As Ilya tried to diplomatically turn their personal questions towards the kids and training, he spotted Shane. Shane was going to float between the two age groups, and he had drifted over from the other rink. He was watching Ilya with his lips pressed in a firm line, and for a moment Ilya worried. But he locked eyes with Shane for a fraction of a second and Shane's expression cracked. Shane had been trying to stop himself from laughing, and he had to duck away so he wouldn't be seen cracking up over Ilya trying to deflect some heavy flirting. Ilya had to abruptly make an excuse and skate off to hide his own stupid grin.

***

"If anyone can get a goal past Hazy, I will buy you all of the candy bars in the vending machine," Ilya yelled.

"Ilya!" Shane looked scandalized, and it only made Ilya grin harder. Most of the morning had progressed like that. Shane guiding with cautious, thoughtful drills and warm ups, and Ilya doing what he did best. Make the kids laugh and have fun. They made a good team.

Ilya, Clare, and JJ lined the kids up for the first round of attempts, and the kids were all failing miserably. Shane and Hayden were watching in amusement, and after they finished the first try, Ilya waved Shane over.

"Ok, you all know who Shane Hollander is, right?" Ilya asked. The kids were all Montreal fans, of course they cheered.

"And what is Hollander known for?" Ilya asked. He regretted the question immediately.

"He's so fast!"

"His backhand is amazing."

"He beat YOU in the goal scoring race every year."

Ilya pretended to pout while the other coaches laughed, but he felt a surge of pride. Ilya knew part of why he had fallen for Shane was because Shane was the best. He was mesmerizing on the ice, and that had caught Ilya's attention before he'd ever even met him. He'd watched crappy, pixelated game tape with his coach in Russia and dreamed about taking Shane down at Junior Worlds. By the time they met and he saw Shane's freckles, Ilya was a lost cause.

"You are all wrong. Hollander is known for accuracy. He can put the puck exactly where he wants it. This will help you defeat big scary goalie," Ilya winked at Wyatt, who had been an incredible goalie, but was one of the sweetest players he had ever encountered.

Shane rolled his eyes, blushing at the praise, but he circled to share some tips, and each kid took a few chances while Shane adjusted their form, pointed out good spots to aim for.

The coaches had all agreed to not go unreasonably easy on the kids. Gain their trust that the adults weren't just letting them win in sprints, or defensive drills. But Wyatt decided to let a couple very good attempts slip through, and the cheers were completely worth it.

The look on Shane's face as the kids scarfed down candy bars was worth it and then some.

***

The first day completely exhausted Shane. He was thrilled with how well it had gone. The kids were happy and the coaches had the time of their lives. But Shane could feel himself crashing from the stress he had carried, wanting to make sure everything went perfectly.

After the coaches had a quick huddle to compare notes and prep the next day, Hayden and JJ spearheaded a plan to go out for drinks.

The second the idea was proposed, Shane had a sinking sensation in his stomach. He wanted to go, he wanted to spend time with his friends, he didn't want to miss out on time with Ilya when they only had six weeks. But he was burnt out, and he knew he needed to recharge before tomorrow. He was chewing his lip and mentally calculating his bandwidth when Ilya appeared at his shoulder.

"Can I come to yours for a few hours?" He asked.

Shane blinked. "After the bar?"

Ilya shook his head. "I think you want to skip the bar, yes? I can make us dinner, I go home early so you can sleep."

It might have been the most romantic thing Ilya had ever said to Shane.

"Yes, please," Shane's relief made Ilya smile, and he rubbed Shane's shoulder for a moment before walking over to Scott to tell him to go on without him. Shane watched a sweet, goofy grin cross Scott's face.

Shane quickly filled in Hayden, whose eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and then he and Ilya left for his car.

"What are you thinking?" Ilya asked when they left the parking lot. Shane realized he had been very quiet.

"It’s nice not getting a lot of attention anymore," Shane said, and Ilya nodded. "I mean, Scott and Hayden know. But nobody else there does, and they didn't really care that we were leaving together. I can't imagine that reaction when we were still playing."

Ilya hummed in agreement and they settled into easy silence for a beat.

"I forget, sometimes," Ilya said. "I forget how..." Ilya waved his hand like he was searching for the word. "Loud everything was around us."

Shane nodded vigorously. "It was hard. But also kind of fun, when we started. I liked that it was me and you."

Being inextricably linked to Ilya had given him cover. He didn't have to analyze why he thought about Ilya constantly, because the attention around him and Ilya was all-consuming.

Ilya smiled softly, and turned to look out the window. "Yes. Always me and you."

***

Shane looked adorably wrecked. Part of Ilya wanted to tuck him into bed and leave him alone, but Shane's face had lit up when Ilya suggested coming over, so he forced himself to accept that Shane wanted him there.

It was confusing uncharted territory between them. Ilya had pursued Shane when they were teenagers. Shane had tried to offer emotional intimacy when they were in Sochi. They had both talked about hopes and dreams for a future that cursed All-Star weekend.

They had never really had opportunities for domesticity. Ilya told himself that their boundaries and intent to work on trust were protecting him, but as he watched Shane start to move about his kitchen, Ilya knew his heart was already firmly on the line.

"What are you doing?" Ilya asked as Shane started pulling out pans and knives.

"Is it too early for dinner?" Shane asked.

Ilya shook his head. "No, sit."

Shane gave him a conflicted look for a moment, then obeyed, taking a seat at the kitchen island.

Ilya started pulling salmon and vegetables out of the fridge and shot Shane a look.

"You should lie down, I can wake you when food is ready."

Shane shook his head. "I want to spend the time with you."

Not for the first time, Ilya realized how different that honesty felt. When they were young they were almost allergic to acknowledging their feelings. Ilya had let it slip, sometimes, in Russian or in possessive dirty talk when Shane was too far gone to read into Ilya rambling about how Shane was all his. And Shane had demonstrated his emotion and desire in his own way. Blushes that betrayed him, questions about Ilya's family that had felt like gunshots at the time, but that Ilya realized now were attempts at connection and closeness.

"How early did Scott wake you up?" Shane asked, with a teasing smile.

Ilya grimaced. "Too early. I knew it was coming."

Shane nodded, and for a moment he opened his mouth. Ilya could see it on his face. He was about to offer for Ilya to spend the night, and Ilya didn't know in that moment how he would respond. But Shane closed his mouth, and followed the rules he and Ilya had set. With a pang, Ilya thought about their final argument. He had told Shane they would leave each other alone and not speak to one another. Shane followed those rules.

"Why did you invite me to your retirement game?" Ilya asked. Shane looked startled by the transition.

"I can't really think about my career without thinking about you," Shane started. Ilya nodded, he felt the same way. "Even if you came and left before I could talk to you, it would have felt…right, having you there.”

Ilya's heart ached. It did feel right. It had felt painful and nostalgic, but seeing Shane close the chapter on professional hockey felt like a finality for both of them.

“And...this part is hard to explain." Shane wrinkled his nose in concentration and Ilya watched his freckles scrunch.

"I wanted to be brave enough to come out. For years."

Ilya stared at him, hypothetical scenarios forming in his mind that did them no good.

"It’s embarrassing. I wanted to be brave enough on my own. But..I had panic attacks anytime I thought about getting up there by myself and announcing it. Anyway, you're not wrong. It was easier to do it when I retired. But it was also easier to do it after I saw you at the game."

Ilya's stomach was churning. He had spent years dwelling on how things would be different, better, if Shane had said yes to Ilya's fervent plans. For the past year, he had new, nagging thoughts. Ilya couldn't have stomached a ten-year plan and waiting till retirement to tell the world that he was in love with Shane. But maybe if he hadn't pushed Shane so hard in that moment, they could have worked something out. It was impossible to know, and it was too easy to torture himself with hypotheticals.

Here, standing in Shane's kitchen, Ilya lost himself for a moment wondering how the two of them would have fared if they had faced the past ten years together. Ilya might not have been as sad. Or maybe he wouldn't have gotten help for his mental health, because he would think being with Shane should fix everything. Shane might have felt brave enough to come out, with Ilya at his side. Or maybe he wouldn't, and it would have driven an irreparable wedge between them.

Ilya cleared his throat as he began chopping broccoli. "I'm happy for you. And proud of you. Are you glad you did it?"

Shane nodded emphatically. They moved to easier topics, laughing about the kids, swapping stories about the coaches. One of Hayden's twins had cussed like a sailor when she missed a goal, and Shane lost his breath between laughs, trying to describe Scott and Cliff's scandalized expressions.

Ilya served up dinner, and they ate at the counter instead of moving to Shane's nice dining room because Shane looked so tired and comfortable, and again, Ilya was struck with a feeling of fullness. Taking care of Shane when he was so obviously running on empty felt right.

When they finished eating, Shane tilted his body into Ilya's on instinct, leaning his head on his shoulder. Then, as if he had only just realized what he had unconsciously done, he froze and tried to sit back up. Ilya looped an arm around his waist and tugged him back in. Shane settled for a moment, but all too soon, broke away to clean up. Ilya protested and tried to clean up himself, but Shane waved him off.

Ilya watched him. "Do you think you will get more rest tonight?"

Shane hesitated and nodded, but he looked uncertain. Ilya raised an eyebrow.

"I'll be ok. I was just nervous, I wanted the day to go well. And I was excited to see you."

In that moment, it took everything in Ilya's willpower to not haul Shane to his bedroom.

***

The house felt emptier without Ilya. Shane tried to ignore that sensation as he got ready for bed. The simplicity of the evening—dinner at the counter and Ilya leaving by 9pm—belied the joy it had brought Shane.

His limbs still buzzed when he was near Ilya. Ilya's smile still struck a spark in Shane's chest. But something about Ilya quietly taking care of Shane made Shane feel completely undone.

Shane turned the light off and tried to go to sleep, but he tossed and turned. Finally he sat up and grabbed his phone.

Shane: are you awake?

Almost immediately, Ilya was calling him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ilya asked.

"No. I think I'm just wound up." Shane sighed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you call me so late."

He could hear Ilya laughing. "Shane, I know we say a lot of 'I'm sorry' right now, but I think you are saying it too much."

Shane could feel his shoulders relax as Ilya said it.

"Besides, is not late. I am staying with an old man and he is still awake, in basement watching baseball." The disdain for Scott's geriatric behavior dripped from Ilya's voice.

"He's not that much older than us, really," Shane smiled, knowing it would piss Ilya off.

"You take that back. Is a lie."

"I remember he seemed so old and wise when I met him that first All-Star weekend. And now we're older than he was back then," Shane had been so afraid that Scott would overhear them when he went to Ilya's room that weekend.

Ilya let out a low hum, and the tone made the hair stand up on the back of Shane's neck, because he knew they were thinking about the same thing.

"I told him we hooked up in room next to his that weekend." Ilya laughed.

Shane's cheeks were burning. "You did not."

"I did not say anything else about what we did, but yes."

Shane groaned.

"I think about that night a lot," Ilya admitted, his voice quiet.

For a second, Shane thought Ilya was trying to find a loophole for their no-sex rule, but his tone of voice didn't sound like he was trying to initiate phone sex.

"What do you think about?" Shane asked, mind racing.

"The obvious things," Ilya laughed. "But I think a lot about how excited I was to get your number, Jane."

There was something so endearing and heartbreaking about that. Shane felt his eyes water a little when he thought about how young and scared they both were. At the time, Ilya had seemed fearless to Shane, but he was really just better at hiding it.

Shane must have been quiet a little too long, because Ilya's next words were very quiet.

"Shane, are you sleeping?"

"No, sorr-" Shane stopped himself, remembering Ilya's chiding earlier. "No, I'm not sleeping."

"Do you want me to tell you Russian bedtime story?" Ilya asked.

Shane's ears perked up. "Yeah, please."

Ilya laughed. "Do not get so excited. I tell it to you in Russian. You will get bored and fall asleep."

Shane grumbled. "Can you at least tell me what it's about?"

"Witch who lives in the woods. Her house is on chicken feet."

Shane frowned. "This is a bedtime story?"

"No, maybe not bedtime. But it is story I remember, so shut up. I will tell you about Baba Yaga and you will sleep."

Shane laid back in the bed and Ilya began speaking in Russian. His cadence was always so fast when he slipped into his first language, and the patter wrapped around Shane's ears. Before he knew it, he was drifting to sleep.

***

Ilya woke in the middle of the night with the phone on his pillow. He had told Shane what he remembered from fairy tales his mother had recounted to him. His brother used to scare Ilya by claiming Baba Yaga was headed to their home in her flying mortar and pestle to eat him up. But his mother would scoop Ilya up when he cried and she told him many stories where Baba Yaga didn't eat people, where she would make the hero do three impossible tasks, and then bestow a gift, letting them continue on their journey. And the scary thing would feel safe.

Somewhere along the way of telling Shane the scraps of stories he remembered, Ilya also told him about those memories of his mother. About how his mother used to be able to quiet out the noise when fear became too loud. After she passed, Ilya thought he could block out his fear with hockey and sex and partying. But then he met Shane and he realized the difference between muffling the noise and completely silencing it.

Shane brought a new fear, a fear that he needed Shane too badly. And the knowledge that he couldn't have him made that silence of safety feel like agony sometimes. But when Ilya allowed himself to exist and be present—a too-long glance at Shane during a face-off, a kiss on his freckles during sex that he could reasonably pass off as a miss of his mouth—in those moments, Shane silenced the worst parts of Ilya's life.

Ilya told Shane this. He whispered it and cloaked it in Russian, and when he didn't have words anymore, he laid there and listened to Shane's steady breath, and then he fell asleep. When Ilya woke at 3:30 to his phone on his pillow and soft snores on Shane's end of the line, he was struck with the painful realization that this was the closest he had ever come to sleeping with Shane.

Chapter End Notes

OK, strong chance this is going to be pushed to 10 chapters, but I am keeping it at 9 for now while I finish editing.

Full disclosure, I cut a whole phone sex scene because it was important to me that they get more quality time being honest, kinda sad adults with each other, especially so their dynamic evens out a little bit.

They both feel bad and have some clarity about how they hurt each other, and Ilya did need to tell Shane to cool it on apologizing every two seconds, because at a certain point that's not an equal foundation to build from.

Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

As camp progressed, Shane and Ilya fell into a natural, easy rhythm. Dinner at Shane's nearly every night, prepared by whoever had more energy that day. Shane grabbing Ilya's bag after practice because he noticed Ilya's shoulder was bothering them. Fetching each other drinks without having to ask when the coaches went out to a bar after camp. Talking on the phone at night when they couldn't sleep. It was an instinctive anticipation of each other and it felt like a weight had been lifted off of Ilya, one he had been carrying for decades.

To know Shane and not take care of him in a dozen small ways felt unthinkable now. Ilya could tell it also meant everything to Shane to finally demonstrate his care. A sheepish smile when he brought Ilya coffee and an unnecessary, whispered apology for falling asleep on the phone again. Stocking ice packs at the rink so Ilya could put one on his stiff shoulder as soon as camp ended. A wordless, extra helping of soba noodles when Shane saw Ilya's delighted face after he tried his first bite.

There were times where Ilya cursed his idea to hold off on sex. But they found physical intimacy in small, private moments. When Shane would absently tuck Ilya's curls behind his ear, or Ilya ran his thumb over Shane's freckles...it was a tenderness and vulnerability that they had never allowed themselves before.

The thing that made Ilya happiest was how little Shane seemed to care about keeping them a secret. The first time they had left the rink together, Ilya had worried that Shane might spin out about it. Not that they would get a negative response from this specific group of players. It had been a beautifully, blissfully liberating experience to coach and swap stories with other queer players.

So Shane and Ilya left every practice or coach gathering together, and the only reaction they got was an occasional approving eyebrow from Scott or eye-roll from Hayden.

***

Or so Ilya thought. It was the night before the first wave of coaches flew home, the reinforcements for weeks three and four had converged in Montreal, and there was no getting out of a mandatory group outing to the bar.

Ilya watched from a booth as Shane laughed at something the new coaches Leah and Max said, and he could feel the sappy smile on his face. The camp had been going well, and Shane was thrilled that his vision and planning were paying off. Ilya felt so proud of him.

The bubbling, warm emotions soured for a moment when Luca Haas sat in the empty seat next to Shane. Luca had always been a very sweet, if slightly over eager fan of Shane and Ilya's. Ilya had always been happy to answer his questions, to indulge Luca's obvious dream of befriending his hockey idols. Ilya had also found it impossible to ignore the way that Luca looked at both him and Shane. Shy glances and ill-timed blushes that Ilya could find harmless and endearing when they were directed at him, but that lost their charm when he spotted them directed at Shane.

And tonight Luca was chatting Shane's ear off, stars in his eyes. Ilya was considering getting up, switching tables so he could interrupt Luca's fantasy on full display, when he was interrupted.

"Roz, you gotta chill. Hollander isn't going anywhere," Cliff muttered.

Ilya's head whipped around, glaring at the man he shared a booth with. Marleau was watching him with a mix of fondness and concern.

"What do you mean?" Ilya asked.

Cliff nodded towards Shane. Luca was showing him something off his phone, and Shane was nodding in a way that Ilya recognized. Shane had no idea what Luca was talking to him about. A tiny smile started to form on Ilya's lips.

"I mean that Hollander is completely whipped. As bad as you are, and he's not going to leave you for some child."

Ilya nodded. "I know. Still don't like it," he eyed Cliff. How easily had Cliff put the pieces together? It was as if Cliff could read his mind.

"Dude, I thought...I mean years ago, I wondered. You had this mystery girl in Montreal who made you blush-" Ilya opened his mouth to protest, but Cliff barreled on. "You blushed, Roz. But then you also would go AWOL when Montreal would play in Boston. And I used to think 'damn, he's seeing a Metros fan who travels to their games,' but then I saw the way you reacted when Hollander got hit."

Ilya winced. It was one of his worst memories. If he had to pick a top five, and the image of Shane motionless on the ice was firmly on that list.

"I've never seen you like that," Cliff was shaking his head. "Anyway. I wanted to ask, but...you got different after that."

Ilya tensed his jaw. He wasn't proud of how he'd handled the period of time when he thought Hollander had a sweet boyfriend he was madly in love with.

"Whatever happened, I'm glad you guys seem good now," Cliff took a sip of his beer. "You're good, right?"

Ilya glanced at Shane, who happened to look up at exactly the right moment. He beamed at Ilya, and Ilya was flooded with warmth.

"Yes. We are good."

***

"I cannot believe I am going to miss you," Ilya smirked, watching Scott pack.

"You're not, and we both know it," Scott laughed.

Ilya shook his head. "I was talking to my alarm clock."

Scott was spooling the cord of the blender as he prepared to pack it away.

"So," Scott looked serious. "It seems like things are going well."

Ilya had been waiting for this. Besides some eye rolls and teasing comments under his breath, Scott had pointedly avoided bringing Shane up. Ilya knew it was a strategic move, crafted by a caring friend who didn't want Ilya to spook like a gazelle.

"Yes," Ilya said simply, and he paused to watch the irritation grow on Scott's face as he refused to elaborate. "Do you want details?"

Scott groaned. "Don't make this harder, please. Do you know how many times Kip has asked for an update, and I've told him I'm trying to give you guys space? He's ready to get on a plane and shake the information out of you himself."

Ilya smiled at the thought and then propped an elbow on the counter as he considered what to share.

"It is very nice. We are...learning how to be together."

Scott looked a little grossed out, and Ilya laughed. "Not like that. We are not having sex."

That made Scott's eyes bug out of his head. "You? You're doing that for Shane?"

"Was my idea," Ilya sniffed, pretending to be offended. Scott looked truly disbelieving now.

"We used to fuck and never talk about our feelings. Now all we can do is talk about feelings."

Scott was shaking his head. "Whatever it takes, I guess. I'm happy you're finally talking. When I tell Kip that's all the news I have, he's going to call you with a million more questions."

***

"I was thinking...maybe we could have dinner with my parents soon?" Shane had spent all evening working up the nerve to ask this.

To Ilya's credit, he didn't look shocked. Shane had been watching him wash the dishes, and he didn't pause for a second.

"Ok," he nodded.

Shane's heart skipped. "Yeah?"

Ilya smiled softly. "Yes. What do they know? About us."

Shane chewed his lip, considering his words, before he decided to be blunt. Ilya seemed to prefer it when Shane just plainly said what he felt.

"They know I love you," it was only the second time he had told Ilya, and that admission made Ilya pause with his dishes for a moment. He looked up sharply, but the smile on his lips was encouraging. "And they know we used to be a...thing. But that we hadn't, for a long time."

Ilya nodded thoughtfully. "But they know we are..." He waved a soapy hand between them, trying to find the word for what they were now. Not boyfriends yet, but not friends either.

"Seeing each other?" Shane offered, and Ilya nodded, his smile broadening.

"I did wonder," Ilya mused "If Yuna knew. She gives me scary stare, sometimes."

Shane groaned. "Yeah, that sounds like her. She feels really bad, she thinks she forced me to work with my ex."

Ilya pursed his lips. "She knows I asked to be part of the camp, right?"

Shane nodded. "I'm still surprised you did."

"I..." Ilya took a breath, one that Shane had come to realize came before Ilya said something difficult. "I was still mad at you, then. But I wanted to spend time with you. And I could not believe you would ask Marly and not me."

Shane smiled at the joke, but he had to ask. They had peppered each other with questions for weeks, but there was one he had been afraid to ask. "Are you mad at me, still?"

Ilya shook his head, and Shane was stunned. "No. I am sad. For both of us, what happened between us. It is..." Ilya stared at the ceiling, searching for the words. "Yes. You hurt me, but I think I should have been more patient. Maybe things would have been different. Us, timing... It has never been good."

Shane wasn't sure what to think. "Do you ever wonder who we might be, now? If I had been ready, when you asked?"

Shane could feel tears forming in his eyes. It had haunted him for years, wondering what things would have been like if he was braver. If Ilya hadn't set a boundary when Shane was too scared to take the leap that Ilya deserved.

"Yes, I thought about that many times," Ilya said quietly. "And sometimes, now. I wonder. But I like who I am now. And I like who you are."

They stood for a moment, shyly smiling at each other, while Shane tried to let go of the torturous hypotheticals. They couldn't change the past, but Shane could accept what Ilya said. On a good day, Shane liked who he had grown into. It has been hard work, and it had felt lonely and scary. But he had finally gotten there. And he loved this version of Ilya, just as he had loved every iteration of him.

***

Ilya had tried all week to be calm. He had one emergency session with his therapist and three frantic phone calls with Svetlana in the days leading up to dinner.

Yuna and David were the most important people in Shane's life. Ilya wasn't sure how he could stomach it if their dinner went poorly. By contrast, Shane only seemed eager and elated to have three of his favorite people under one roof.

"I saw my dad reading a book about old cars," Shane babbled as he drove Ilya to his parents. Ilya's heart squeezed at that statement, even as he laughed.

"I do not need him to talk about cars with me. I think it is not his thing."

Shane shook his head, grinning. "Yeah, it really isn't. But I kind of want to see him try."

Ilya had extremely limited experience with positive father figures. His own father had been ill-equipped to parent. Svetlana's dad was terrifying and overbearing. Scott's parents had passed away when he was young. Kip was the only person besides Shane in Ilya's life who had a father who adored him unconditionally. When Ilya was young, circling Shane in youth competitions and the draft, he had only felt irritation and an unnamed jealousy. Perfect Shane Hollander had the perfect parents who loved him.

As they pulled up to the Hollander's home, Ilya finally placed a name to the fear forming in his core. He had too much hope, too much desire. Dreams surfacing that he thought extinguished years ago. A dream that Shane's perfect family could one day be his as well.

***

"So, Ilya. Tell me more about the car you're working on right now."

Ilya shot Shane a mirthful look, and Shane had to hide his smile by taking an enormous bite of pasta.

"It is not very interesting to talk about," Ilya shrugged. "Just something I like to do so I can turn my brain off. Needed that when I stopped playing hockey."

Yuna shot Shane an annoyingly knowing look. Shane had also used hockey to try to turn his brain off for years.

"How is it, being around hockey again?" Yuna asked.

Ilya smiled. "So good."

Shane felt pride bubbling inside him.

"It is not a secret that hockey culture is..." Ilya was searching for the words.

"Toxic?" Shane offered. Ilya nodded appreciatively.

"So it makes me happy. I wish I had these coaches, when I was young." Ilya rubbed Shane's shoulder briefly, a quick gesture of thanks. Yuna and David's eyes caught the movement, and Yuna gave Shane a tiny smile.

"Are any of the kids giving you trouble?" David pointed to Shane and Ilya. Ilya shook his head proudly.

"My kids are perfect. Shane has his hands full."

Shane groaned. He wasn't wrong. Ilya's kids worshipped him. They were always giggling and following direction, and Ilya knew exactly what to say to get them fired up and turned into little hellions when the moment called for it.

"Hayden's twins are a lot to handle," Shane winced. "They're really, really good. And they're pretty ruthless on the ice."

In many ways, their style of play reminded Shane of Ilya. Forceful, fearless, and downright irritating. Luca Haas looked like he was going to burst into tears the first time Ruby chirped him in a face-off exercise. Shane had been wondering for a while if Ilya should be the U14 coach next summer specifically so he could mentor them. Hayden would probably rip his head off for suggesting it.

"Shane is good with them," Ilya shook his head. "The kids love that they are learning from a Metros legend."

Shane was hit with a memory of that All-Star weekend, when he confessed that he wanted to have kids but was afraid of teenagers. Ilya had waved that concern away so confidently.

His faith hadn't been misplaced, Shane loved working with the kids. Shane had been working so hard to stop dwelling on the hypotheticals, when he brought them up, Ilya was firm that what mattered was where they were now. But it was hard for Shane to not wonder what would have happened. Ilya believed in Shane, thought Shane could conquer anything. Maybe with Ilya at his side, he could have.

As Shane stalled out on that idea, Ilya sensed the tension forming and squeezed Shane's hand. Shane looked into Ilya's encouraging hazel eyes and felt a wave of calm wash over him. They were here now, figuring it out together.

***

After dinner, Shane and Yuna huddled over paperwork for the upcoming tournament, and David served Ilya a bowl of ice cream.

"Do you want to come check out my latest puzzle?" David jerked his head to the den.

Ilya's mouth fell open when he saw the box and pieces scattered out.

"No. Who had this made this for you?"

It was Shane on the ice, grinning happily at the camera. Ilya could place it immediately, it was his jersey from the tournament where Ilya and Shane had first met.

"Yuna did, for my birthday a few months ago."

Ilya's hand shot out, finding a puzzle piece with an unmistakable freckle on it. He fit it into place before thinking, and then froze.

"Sorry, I did not mean to-"

David chuckled. "No, go ahead. I always wanted to work on one of these with someone, but Yuna has a hard time focusing on these, and Shane...Shane isn't able to set it down and walk away. Sometimes you need to just take a break for the night and come back with a clear head, you know?"

Ilya felt his lips twisting in a smile. Yes, these days he really did understand the benefits of a break and a clear head. He sat, and for the next half hour he and David flew through the remainder of the puzzle, placing pieces.

"This is when we met," Ilya nodded at the puzzle as he tried to fit another white piece into the mass of ice that took up a third of the puzzle.

"I know. He was different, that week," Ilya's eyes shot to David, who was calmly sorting out black shapes, pieces of Shane's hair. "We just thought he was exited about the competition. And I'm sure he was. But he was so keyed up, like he'd shoot into the air if you looked at him sideways."

Ilya laughed a little. He knew exactly what David was describing. That excitement and tightly coiled anticipation had drawn Ilya to Shane.

"I felt same way. I sat in on his practice, before we met. Coach thought I was very dedicated." Ilya smirked.

David laughed. "I seem to remember Shane telling Yuna they should watch the Russian team practice."

Ilya had been so distracted by Shane in the stands, his coach had yelled at him. Ilya had stared at Shane wondering if he was as good as everyone said. Trying to guess how Ilya could take him down. Surprised that Shane was so pretty. In retrospect, they had been circling each other ever since they were in proximity. Their fates immediately and ineveitably intertwined.

Ilya fit the last piece of the puzzle into place as Shane rounded the corner. Shane's eyes were bright as he looked from David, to the puzzle, and then to Ilya. In a wordless moment, Ilya saw the same fond memories play out on Shane's face.

***

Shane was beaming as they left his parent's house. Ilya's smile was stretched to match his. David had asked him to come over next week to work on another puzzle. At one point when they were saying their goodbyes, Ilya had said something that made Shane tip his head back in laughter, and Ilya had caught Yuna smiling at the two of them with so much fondness, it felt like he couldn't breathe for a moment.

They pulled up to Ilya's rental. He looked out the window for a moment, anticipation and adrenaline coursing through him.

"Shane," Ilya's heart was pounding in his throat. He'd only said this once before, and it hadn't gone well. Memories of the heat of an argument, an ultimatum, and rejection swam in his head. But Shane's patient brown eyes that were fixed to his face centered him.

"I love you," Ilya watched Shane's lips part. "I am sorry I have not said it until now. I have loved you this whole time. I have been scared."

Shane hooked his fingers through Ilya's hair. "I know. I love you too." He let the words hang there a moment, the two of them savoring the first time they were both ready to say it to each other.

The Shane grinned. "I thought we were trying to say 'I'm sorry' a little less."

Ilya's eyes widened, thrilled that Shane was teasing him, and before his brain could catch up he was crashing his mouth into Shane's. It was frantic and clumsy, their teeth bumped against each other and Shane's laughter made Ilya grin to the point where he couldn't shape his lips into a kiss. Ilya pulled away to look at Shane. The corners of his eyes were crinkled in a smile, his cheeks were turning peachy.

"I love you," Ilya placed a kiss on one cheek like a promise. "I want to fuck you, please," he placed a kiss on the other cheek as a question and drew back to look at Shane. They were far from finished processing their feelings, but they had almost unconsciously built trust through weeks of caring for each other. It felt like the hardest hurdle had been cleared. They loved each other. They could admit messy and terrifying feelings without worrying that the other one would panic and run away.

"Oh my god, I thought you'd never ask." Shane groaned, drawing Ilya in for another kiss. Ilya cupped his jaw, lips brushing softly against Shane's.

"You could have asked," Ilya teased him, turning to trail kisses down Shane's neck.

"Wanted you to," Shane gasped as Ilya nipped the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

"Are you going to come inside?" Ilya asked. Shane was out of the car before he finished the sentence.

***

Shane had expected to frantically sprint to Ilya's bedroom, but as soon as they were inside, Ilya pulled him in for a slow kiss. It stalled out all thought in his head, and Shane stood there, swaying as Ilya pulled him closer.

When Ilya slipped his tongue between Shane's lips, his brain fired back to life and Shane twisted his hands in Ilya's curls, nudging a groan from his lips.

"Please," Shane panted. Ilya pulled away, smirking.

"Please what?"

"Please take me to your bedroom," Shane sighed, planting a kiss on Ilya's collarbone.

There was a moment where Ilya's hands reached down as if he was about to pick Shane up, but Shane swatted him away.

"No," Ilya looked at Shane, confused. "Your shoulder! Ilya, you could barely move it yesterday."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Fine, I will not this time. Will you let me pick you up if I do physical therapy?"

Shane had been nagging him about seeing a physical therapist for weeks. For a moment they stood there grinning at each other, before Ilya grabbed his hand and led him to a sparsely furnished bedroom.

Ilya moved to take his shirt off, but Shane shook his head. He reached up and started slowly unbuttoning, running his hands down Ilya's chest as he exposed more skin. When Shane's thumb grazed Ilya's nipple, Shane felt him shiver. Shane continued, pulling Ilya's pants off as his hands skimmed the length of Ilya's legs, mapping the shape of him. He mouthed Ilya's cock through the fabric of his briefs, glancing up to see Ilya gazing at him with an awestruck expression.

Shane stood, backing Ilya onto to the bed before he stripped his own clothes off. Shane crawled up to straddle Ilya and paused for a moment, both of them smiling and out of breath.

"So pretty," Ilya sighed, dragging Shane's face down to his for a kiss.

Shane began kissing his way across Ilya's body. Firm walls of muscle had given way to a leaner form in the years since Ilya had retired. It looked good on him, unfairly so. As Shane brushed his lips against Ilya's ribcage, he felt a small sense of wonder. Ilya's body had always been tooled for hockey. It wore the consequences now—a stiff shoulder, scars—but there was something beautiful about kissing every inch of Ilya's body, knowing that it was no longer built in service of a sport that had stolen so much from them.

Shane kissed Ilya's inner thigh as he pulled his briefs off. They had always been so frantic with each other. Making up for months apart, trying to wring the most out of a few stolen hours together. The eagerness and adrenaline would always end in a faint crushing sensation for Shane. One of them would inevitably go back to their hotel and get on a flight, and Shane would stare at his calendar and try to not count the days until he saw Ilya again. This time was different. For the first time, Shane wasn't in a rush.

Shane lazily licked a stripe up the length of Ilya's cock, and Ilya groaned. Wrapping his lips around Ilya, he kept teasing. Swirling his tongue slowly, dragging it along the underside of Ilya's length, taking him inch by inch. Ilya's hands began twisting in Shane's hair as he gasped. Shane pulled off of him with a faint wet popping sound.

"Can I eat you out?" Shane gasped. For some reason it had never been part of their vocabulary together when they were young. Shane had felt too shy to offer or maybe Ilya had been too uncertain to ask.

"Yes, please," Ilya laughed, his voice ragged. Shane tapped for him to turn over, and then took a moment running his hands up Ilya's thighs, grabbing greedy handfuls of his ass. Shane lowered his mouth and ran his tongue along Ilya's rim. Ilya shuddered, and Shane began lapping, pressing closer as his mouth watered at the moans he was coaxing out of Ilya. He saw Ilya grab a fistful of the blanket on the bed, and groaned as he worked his tongue into Ilya's entrance, warm and tight.

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya's voice was hoarse. "I need to fuck you."

Shane pulled away, pressing kisses along Ilya's back before Ilya flipped him over, panting. Ilya's eyes traveled over Shane's face for a moment, raw amazement on them, and then he moved to grab lube and condoms from the bedside table.

Shane bit his lip, eyeing the condom. "I don't...I haven't been with anyone in a long time," Ilya didn't need to know it had been over a year. He'd been too stressed with the lead up to retirement, and then Ilya was back in his life and he hadn't managed any interest in casual sex. It was entirely possible the same wasn't true for Ilya, who might have been as insatiable as ever. But maybe soon, they could forgo protection.

Ilya raised his eyebrows at him. "Me too, but..you are sure?"

Shane could feel a smile spreading across his face. "You too? How long?"

Ilya frowned. "Since I asked you to make me part of the camp."

Shane could feel his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That had been months and months ago, back before they'd had any serious reconciliation.

"Really?" Shane's voice was too excited, Ilya was glaring at him now, clearly impatient to get back to it.

"Yes, really. Now can I please fuck you?"

Shane grabbed the back of his neck and tilted Ilya down for a kiss, before Ilya began kissing his way down Shane's torso. He took Shane into his mouth, and for a second Shane's vision blurred at the edges. Ilya's mouth somehow felt better than he remembered. Attentive, warm, lavishing adoration on Shane's cock. The sound of Ilya taking Shane all the way to the back of his throat made Shane cry out, and Ilya began working his fingers, slick with lube, along Shane's entrance.

Ilya dragged his mouth off of Shane as he slipped another finger in. "Missed how loud you are," he gasped. Shane hadn't even realized he was practically yelling. Ilya circled his fingers around the spot inside Shane that made his back arch off the bed, and then he surfaced, kissing Shane as he positioned himself.

"Ok?" Ilya looked as tentative as he had the first time they'd done this, as if Shane might change his mind. As if there was anything in Shane's head other than an overwhelming need for Ilya.

"Yes, please," Shane grabbed Ilya to kiss him, and then gasped when he felt Ilya begin to rock into him, an immediate sense of stretch and fullness.

"Fuck, Shane," Ilya buried his face in the crook of Shane's neck. "You feel so good, you've always been so perfect for me."

Shane didn't have any words other than Ilya's name, and he cried it out in tiny gasps as Ilya began rolling his hips harder, pushing till he was buried in Shane completely.

"Missed you. Missed you so much," Shane whispered, and Ilya bit the juncture of Shane's neck before he pulled back and began fucking him. Shane could tell Ilya was wrestling with control, trying to fuck Shane deeply and slowly, and it was torturous. "Please," Shane dug his nails into Ilya's arms, and the sensation made something snap behind Ilya's eyes.

He began thrusting harder, Shane arching up to meet him as their cries began intermingling with the sound of body meeting body, skin on skin. Shane felt wetness on cheeks, was all too aware that he was crying from the sensation of Ilya finally inside of him again. He felt a drop on his forehead and looked up. Ilya's eyes were swimming with tears, and Shane awkwardly reached up for a clumsy, off balance kiss, before Ilya dragged his cock along Shane's prostate and he was teetering on the edge.

"Fuck, Ilya, I'm going to-"

"Yes, Shane, please. Fuck, I need to see-"

They both spoke over each other, pleading, before Shane came, completely untouched, his release endless. Ilya cried his name out, a final deep thrust into him, before he collapsed on top of Shane.

They laid like that for a while, both panting. Shane wiped his tears on Ilya's shoulder, whispering "I love you, Ilya."

Ilya planted one lazy kiss on Shane's neck, twisting against him in a way that smeared his tears on Shane. "I love you, Shane."

***

After they cleaned themselves off, Ilya laid there, playing with Shane's hair as he stared at the ceiling. They had been right to wait. Now that they had finally fucked, it was all Ilya wanted to do for the next two weeks. He had practically no room in his head for anything but the sound of Shane as he went down on him, for the way he tasted, for the way he felt when he was coming on Ilya's cock.

His heart stung when he realized their time together was almost up, two weeks wasn't enough. He pushed the possibilities and solutions off for a conversation in the morning, and pressed a kiss to Shane's head.

"You will sleep here?" Ilya wasn't sure he could hide the excitement in his voice. Shane nodded, too spent for words.

"Come, let's get ready," as they stood, Ilya regretted the decision to stay at his place. He knew Shane had skincare, a toothbrush, pajamas at his home.

"Use my toothbrush," Ilya said, and Shane shot him a dirty look, as if Ilya had told him to lick the bottom of a garbage can.

"What? You have had your tongue inside me, you cannot share toothbrush?"

Shane scowled and retreated to the bathroom. Ilya could see him primly putting toothpaste on his finger instead. Ilya busied himself changing the sheets, and by the time Shane had finished an improvised bedtime routine, he exited the bathroom to a made bed and pajamas.

"You brought these?" Shane smiled, recognizing them.

Ilya shrugged. "I wear them. Most nights."

Shane hiked the shirt over his head. "I'll give them back, after tonight."

Ilya smiled. "I will not need them, if I am sleeping with you." It sounded more suggestive than he intended. He meant that wearing Shane's pajamas, falling asleep on the phone together, they were all approximations of sleeping with Shane, the thing that he had craved for years and years.

Shane slipped into bed, and Ilya slid after him. Shane turned, draping himself over Ilya.

"Do you snore?" Shane asked. It was cute, and sweet, and it broke Ilya's heart. When he looked at Shane he saw the sadness mirrored in his eyes. Twenty one years, and Shane didn't know if the man he loved snored in his sleep.

"Sometimes. Not as much as you," Ilya ran a thumb along Shane's cheekbone. The lone wrinkle emerged as Shane's forehead furrowed. "You always fall asleep first. When we talk on the phone."

Shane burrowed his face into Ilya's chest, and Ilya laid back on his pillow. Within seconds, he was asleep.

***

Chapter End Notes

Sorry! I thought this would be nine chapters, but I figured I'd rather split it than upload a chapter with 10k words.

If you've read my previous fics, you know that I love writing jealous Ilya, so I had to include a tiny moment of him knowing he was being stupid for feeling jealous.

Final chapter coming later this week! It's taken me a while to wrap this up. At the end of the day, these two have been down bad from the second they met, but they've also missed so many normal relationship experiences with each other. So I wanted to give a lot of space in this chapter to the basic care/love they allow themselves to demonstrate when they have a month together.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

Shane couldn't help staring. Ilya looked beautiful like this. Sun streamed in, creating a halo around his curls. His jaw, which was so often taut, was slack as he gently snored. For the first time since their late night phone calls started, Ilya had fallen asleep before Shane. Shane had laid on his chest, feeling Ilya's deep breaths lulling him to sleep. It was intoxicating, and Shane wanted to fall asleep like that every night. He wanted to wake up to this sight every morning.

Ilya's eyes blinked open. As he registered everything, he wrapped an arm around Shane.

"Good morning, I love you."

"Good morning. Ya tebya lyublyu," Shane answered. Ilya's eyes widened, jolted awake now.

"Ah, you speak Russian now?" Ilya yanked Shane so he was lying on top of him, and Ilya beamed up at him.

"Not yet! I just Googled how to say the most important sentence!" Shane laughed.

Ilya bit his shoulder, growling. "Yes, is most important. But we have other words you need to learn. Like 'harder, please."

"Ok, so teach me," Shane challenged, nipping his earlobe.

Ilya flipped him over and began whispering Russian with no translation. The only thing Shane could make out as Ilya kissed his way down his torso was "Ya tebya lyublyu," repeated softly between kisses.

***

Ilya placed a plate of eggs in front of Shane.

"Shane, your wrinkle is here," he placed his thumb along the crease in Shane's forehead. "What are you thinking?"

Shane had spent the past five minutes thinking about how he wanted to keep this moment light and enjoy it, but he was desperate to start planning.

"What are we going to do in two weeks?" Shane blurted out. Ilya's eyes softened.

"We can do anything. You can come back to New York with me, I can stay here longer. We can go on vacation. Shane, we are retired, and I have no schedule."

Shane chewed his lip, staring at the table. Ilya ducked his head down to check his expression.

"Do you mean after that?" Ilya asked. Shane nodded.

"I think that is longer conversation. You probably want spreadsheet and lists before we decide where we live, yes? But we figure it out. We will be in the same place," Ilya promised.

Shane could feel the tension in his shoulders dissipate. He wasn't sure why he had been afraid Ilya would say anything else. As if he read his mind, Ilya laughed.

"You think I am letting you get away again?" Ilya teased.

"That's not how I remember it," Shane said, more seriously than he intended. Ilya smiled at him, warmth papering over the regret that Shane was still trying to move forward from.

"What about telling people?" Shane asked.

Ilya looked thoughtful. "Do you mean...everybody? Whole world? Because our friends, your family. I think they know."

Shane nodded. Rose had been waiting for a relationship status. She would be thrilled and say "I told you so," Hayden would probably say something similar. "I want to make it public, I just don't know what the right way to do that is."

"Not before camp ends this month, right? I think we want attention on kids, charity. Not us," Ilya was so in sync with his thoughts. Shane smiled at him.

"Yeah, I think that's right. We could talk to my mom about the best way to make an announcement, she's good at that stuff."

Ilya grinned as he bit into a piece of toast. "Does this mean more whiteboard planning?"

***

It did mean more whiteboard planning. Ilya had attended the first session with Shane and Yuna, but it quickly became clear that he'd rather peel off to puzzle with David.

Shane and Yuna reviewed celebrity couple announcements, got on the speakerphone with Rose to get her opinion, and narrowed down the strategy to a few options. Shane had expected Ilya to pick the most simple option, joint Instagram posts. Instead, Ilya reviewed the list that Shane and Yuna had toiled over, and tapped a different choice.

"I like this," Ilya smiled.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Will be nice, sharing our story."

***

Ilya was worried about Troy Barrett. It was the final week of camps. Troy had been an attentive and thoughtful coach so far. Today he was all over the place. Not responding when Ilya called his name, forgetting what drill they had planned for the kids. Ilya was considering sending him home sick when they broke for lunch, when it suddenly all clicked into place.

Shane and Ilya had decided to do an interview with a queer magazine about their relationship. The story would come out after the camp ended, but the reporter and photographer were here today. They had been following Shane for the first half, after lunch they would follow Ilya, and then they would get a joint interview and photos after camp concluded that day. As the kids tore into their lunches, Theresa and Harris entered, trailing after Shane. Ilya had been sitting next to Troy and he saw Troy sit up sharply, his eyes following Harris, who had his camera trained on Shane.

Ilya considered saying nothing, but he was riding the high of finally being in a relationship with the man he loved.

"You should ask for his number," Ilya muttered to Troy. Troy looked like a deer in the headlights.

"I don't... I'm not..."

Ilya raised an eyebrow. "You do not want his number?"

Troy blushed, but he was unable to deny it.

"Maybe I ask. Say I have a shy friend who is into blond bears," Ilya nodded over to Harris, who was laughing with Hayden and Shane.

Troy's face was getting redder by the moment. As fun as it was to tease him, Ilya had to calm him down.

"I will not embarrass you. Just want you to be brave. Shane and I lost lots of time being scared."

Troy looked startled by the admission. Shane and Ilya had only told the coaches that they were close to so far, but they were inseparable at the camps and they were physically affectionate in small ways. Somehow Troy must have been oblivious to it.

"How much time?"

Ilya grimaced. He wasn't proud of it, but he and Shane had talked through the regrets and were trying to come to terms with it. "I have loved him for twenty-one years. He has been my boyfriend for nine days."

Troy looked aghast, so Ilya waved him off.

"We had good years, and bad years, not all twenty-one were sad. And now I will be with him for the rest of our life. That is all I need."

It was true. Ilya had never spent much time planning for the future, but the past week it had consumed him. Lost time with Shane stung, but the pain eased when he thought of the years stretched ahead of them, each new experience and milestone they would have together. He kept threatening Shane with a public proposal, knowing it was his worst nightmare.

"Shane, why not? Kiss cam at Raiders game would be very romantic," Ilya had teased last night. Shane had smacked him with a pillow and threatened to sleep on the couch.

Later, when they were snuggling, Shane brought it up again. "What would you want? For real?"

Ilya hadn't given it much thought. He had only ever pictured Shane, no other element of a proposal seemed important. "Hm. Maybe candles. Lots and lots of romantic candles," he laughed, rubbing Shane's arm.

Troy sighed, snapping Ilya out of his daydream. "Fine, I'll ask Harris for his number, if it means you won't embarrass me."

Ilya grinned. He should have been giving dating advice to queer hockey players much sooner.

***

"Shit, they're here," Shane reached up to pat Ilya's hair back into place. Ilya had pushed Shane up against the wall of his bedroom after they had showered and changed post-camp. The doorbell had come at a very annoying and inconvenient time.

"Hm. You go ahead of me," Ilya said, glancing down at himself.

Shane wanted to tease him for getting hard over a two minute makeout session, but Shane had wrapped a leg around Ilya and grabbed handfuls of his hair, and now Shane was too out of breath to make fun of him.

He planted one quick kiss on Ilya and scurried out of the room, hustling to the door.

"Hi! Come in, Ilya will be with us in a moment."

Shane was glad that Ilya had chosen the magazine article. Theresa and Harris had been very enthusiastic when Yuna approached them with the idea. He showed them to the living room, grabbing water along the way.

Ilya sauntered out to the living room, having composed himself, and he sat next to Shane, slinging an arm around him.

"So," Theresa took her recorder out. "We got good background from each of you, general timeline and details. I think what our readers would love to hear is what drew you to each other in the first place."

Shane didn't hesitate. "He was the best player I'd ever seen. I knew even before we met that he was going to be a pain in my ass," Ilya laughed at that. "When we met in person, I think I was really attracted to his confidence."

Ilya shifted a bit to watch Shane's face. He realized he'd never told Ilya this, in so many words. "He knew he was great, he never pretended to be anything else. And I think meeting someone who really knew themselves, who was so self-assured at seventeen...it was intoxicating."

He had expected Ilya to make a joke, but Ilya was just softly smiling at him. They sat for a beat, lovesick expressions on their faces before Theresa cleared her throat and Ilya snapped to attention.

"I thought I knew myself at seventeen. But I was lying to myself. I fell in love with polite Canadian man, and I spent years denying it." Ilya cleared his throat, clearly trying to keep things lighter. "I was first drawn to..." his eyes danced over Shane's face, and Shane knew he wanted to say his freckles. Ilya had told him a dozen times over that his freckles had sealed their fate. "I was drawn to how earnest he was. He also does not pretend to be anything else. He is thoughtful and kind, and he was a murderous god on the ice."

Everyone laughed at that description, and they fell into less formal conversation as Theresa mapped out more of the article.

Afterwards, Harris trotted them around the house and the garden, taking photos. As Theresa and Harris packed up, Ilya asked something that confused Shane.

"Harris, did you have a chance to speak to any other coaches today?"

Harris turned bright red. "Oh, you know. Some of them said hi."

Ilya looked him over carefully, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Good. I am glad to hear they were not scared to say hi."

***

The tournament arrived. Ilya wasn't sure who was more excited, Shane or the kids. Shane had talked about it in his sleep all week. The first time he had heard it, when Shane was lying on his chest mumbling, Ilya felt like his smile was going to split his face in half.

Each of the coaches had donated raffle items or agreed to signing items after the games. Tickets for the tournament had sold out. Ilya and Cliff got expected, good nurtured boos from the Montreal residents when they were announced in the coaching lineup.

Over the last two weeks, they had split the kids into teams. Ilya was confident that his team could beat Hayden's, but they got off to a poor start in the first period when Hayden's team scored early.

"Hazy, she needs you," Ilya nudged Wyatt, who had been intently watching their goalie. She had been a great student for all six weeks, but the excitement of the moment had gotten to her and she looked more frantic than usual. At the end of the first period, Wyatt rushed up to soothe her nerves and speak goalie in a way that only he could. Ilya skated over to fist bump his other players.

"You are all doing great," he meant it. He was so proud of them. "Henry, you are evil out there. Keep it up. Maria, you will haunt Hayden's nightmares like a ghost." Each kid laughed as he described them in ruthless terms, and by the time they skated out for the second period they were lighter and loose. They were instantly better, more focused and every bit as fearsome as Ilya had told them.

Ilya's team won, and because they were playing against their friends they had trained with for six weeks, the ice became a mangled kind of group hug when the third period ended. Ilya saw their goalie hanging off of Wyatt, and several kids slammed into Ilya for a hug.

When it was time for Shane and Scott's teams to face off, Ilya and Cliff sat with Kip, Hayden, and Jackie. As Ilya watched Ruby and Jade unleash on poor Scott's team, Jackie leaned over.

"You know, Shane said they kind of remind him of you."

Ilya laughed. "I can see why. They are very good."

The twins had a tenacity and fearlessness on the ice that Ilya could relate to. He fully expected them to be scouted in a few years.

Hayden looked both irritated and proud. "Shane said they'd benefit from your coaching next summer, if you're up for switching to the U14s."

Ilya was startled. "Pike, does this mean we are friends?"

Hayden scoffed, but Jackie shot Ilya an encouraging smile.

Shane's team won, and Ilya was so happy that he briefly considered getting on one knee in that moment. Shane looked so thrilled, flushed and excited for his team, who were hugging and shaking hands with Scott's team.

But Shane didn't want a public proposal, and he'd never hear the end of it from their friends if he proposed at a kid's hockey tournament, so Ilya shelved that thought for later.

***

They had one final gathering at Shane's house, the whole coaching staff and families. The heat of summer had led Zane Boodram to commandeer the grill in Shane's yard, and Cliff and Luca were at his elbow, offering their unwanted opinions.

Rose had flown in, eager for an opportunity to meet Ilya "as the official boyfriend."

"I knew you two would figure it out," she said smugly, watching Shane hand elote to Ilya, fresh off the grill and faintly smelling of charcoal.

"No, you didn't," Shane laughed. "When Ilya ran out of the Kingfisher you told me maybe I needed to consider a backup plan."

Ilya made a scandalized noise, but he was smiling, and the seasoning was already on his face as he devoured the corn. Shane really wanted to lick it off of his plush lips.

Rose rolled her eyes. "I said you should think about putting an air tag on him, because it was the second time he ran away from you. But I saw the way he looked at you in the bar. It was obvious he was still in love."

"She is right. I wanted to throw a drink on this random man who was talking to you," Ilya said happily, wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers. He sucked the seasoning off of them and Shane's brain completely short circuited. Ilya looked at him and winked.

"What's next?" Rose asked.

Ilya smiled. "Shane was right, you love to plan. We will go to Shane's cottage for a few weeks. Maybe get a dog soon," he looked at Shane eagerly, and Shane's heart almost melted. Ilya had told him the other week that he had idly thought about getting a dog for years, and Shane had pulled up local shelters. Ilya had been so giddy that Shane had almost driven to get a dog on the spot.

"Then spend rest of summer in New York. You should come visit, you will love my friend Svetlana."

A little over a year ago, Shane had been so conflicted about retirement. Ready to be done playing, but worried about the days stretching ahead of him in an empty and meaningless way. Now he couldn't believe how grateful he was, to have the gift of endless time with Ilya.

***

One Year Later

"Remind me when everyone is coming?" Ilya asked. He was practically bouncing in his seat. Shane had invited the coaching staff to their cottage a week before camps began for the summer. It would be Anya's first time at the cottage, and Ilya was excited to have her run around the property and play fetch.

"They should be here in two days. I...uh...I know my parents just stopped by to make sure everything was ready at the house. So we might see them before everyone."

Ilya nodded. He was excited to see David and Yuna, they had visited Shane and Ilya in New York a few weeks ago. David had given his bravest attempt yet to help Ilya and Svetlana tinker on Ilya's newest car. It would be nice to get back to their familiar routines of puzzles and cooking together.

They pulled up the gravel driveway. Ilya hopped out to let Anya out of the crate, and she eagerly nosed her way to the front door. Ilya moved to get their luggage out, but Shane grabbed his hand.

"Let's go inside first," Shane looked determined, so Ilya followed. Dusk was settling around the cottage, and Ilya decided once they were done fucking—because that was surely Shane's mission right now—Ilya would get a fire going in the fire pit.

Shane let them into the house, Anya happily hopping up on the couch to stretch.

Ilya began kissing Shane's neck from behind, grabbing him around his waist to pull him closer.

"Ilya..."

"What?" Ilya tugged at Shane's earlobe with his teeth before kissing his way down Shane's throat. A soft groan escaped Shane's lips.

"Don't distract me. Come outside."

Ilya didn't understand what this could be distracting Shane from, until they stepped outside. The dock at the cottage was covered in candles. Ilya was speechless for a moment, while Shane determinedly marched him down the hill. He found his voice as they reached the dock.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Shane? He would never leave candles unattended."

"Shut up, my parents left like two minutes before we got here. And besides, it's right on the water, what's the worst that could happen?"

Ilya wanted to spend a moment on the tender ache in his heart, picturing David and Yuna setting the scene and speeding off so they wouldn't spoil the surprise. But Ilya was genuinely concerned that Shane had suffered a brain injury, or been replaced with an alien. Abandoning caution was so unlike him. Shane could see the confusion on his face.

"You said you wanted candles," Shane said simply, and got one knee.

***

Rivalry to Romance-Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov Share Their Story

Article by Theresa Lee, photos by Harris Drover

For their entire careers, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov were pitted against each other. A rivalry that seemed good-natured or bitter, depending on the year. Fans love to argue over the merits and accolades of their respective careers. If you ask Hollander and Rozanov, they fall into comfortable, well-worn bickering.

Their favorite arguments, however, are not about who has more Stanley Cups (Hollander) or Hart trophies (Rozanov). These days, they squabble about who snores more (Rozanov was adamant that it was Hollander), or who loads the dishwasher best (Hollander covered Rozanov's mouth when he tried to claim the honor).

After two decades, Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov are ready to share with the world that they are more than just rivals: they are a couple. The kind of boyfriends who finish each other's sentences, who tease each other about who fell in love first, and who are planning to adopt a dog in a few weeks.

These domestic scenes would be a shock to almost anybody who watched these two face off at the start of their careers.

"I hated playing against Ilya for my entire career," former Montreal Metro Hayden Pike confessed. "I always assumed Shane felt the same way."

Cliff Marleau, who played alongside Rozanov for years, told a different story. "Roz reacted pretty strongly when Holly took a bad hit on the ice one season. That expression on his face...it looked like a man getting his heart ripped out."

"I can't pretend I noticed anything when I played against them," our former cover star Scott Hunter admitted. "But when Ilya told me it made a lot of sense. The few times they played together on an All-Star team, it was like they could read each other's minds."

When asked about their rivalry, Hollander conceded that elements were real. "He was the best player I ever faced. I loved the way he challenged me."

Rozanov admitted it was not always in good fun. It took them two decades to wade through a morass of obstacles—homophobia, the NHL, the perils of meeting the love of your life before your frontal lobe fully develops. "It was very hard, playing against him when we were not good. But now, we can enjoy the sport again together."

Hollander rekindled things with Rozanov when they began working on a charity venture, coaching hockey camps this summer. Their playing style translates to their coaching style. Hollander is methodical and detailed, Rozanov is passionate and fearless. To see them coach together is to understand their partnership off the ice.

When asked what was in store for them, Hollander eschewed his reputation as a planner.

"What's next? I think the rest of our lives together."

Rozanov's smile makes one wonder how they ever managed to hide their love for each other.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you liked this one! I had a lot of fun exploring older Hollanov and how they might have grown up if they weren't together during that time they matured.

Just wanted to say thank you for all of the comments! They really do keep me motivated, and I loved hearing how everyone reacted to the angsty moments. It was hard to not get in there and try to defend Shane with my life, but this fic was a good lesson for me. I can't control how people react to the story/choices the characters make. I hope I adequately conveyed the ways that they were both messy and imperfect in their conflict, and that steady love and partnership can heal old wounds.

I wrote one paragraph in this story about Ilya getting jealous, and it planted a seed for another fic. So if anybody wants to read about them getting drafted to the same team a couple years apart and Ilya taking it upon himself to be Shane's bisexual fairy godmother/wingman (and then immediately regretting it because he catches feelings)...stay tuned!