Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Cliff Marlow

Additional Tags:

Injury, Angst, PTSD, Self-Esteem Issues, Shane’s injury in episode 5, Non specific allusions to past parental suicide, Episode: s01e05 I'll Believe in Anything (Heated Rivalry)

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2025-12-21 Words: 1,026 Chapters: 1/1

thirteen hours and thirty minutes

Summary

Ilya is sitting on the bench now, sweat dripping down his face, body cold, watching his team vie for the puck in front of him. The image of Shane’s inert body refuses to leave his mind. Even when he closes his eyes, it’s there. Nothing is working. He hasn’t scored. Because he can’t. Because all he can see is Shane. Curled up. Eyes closed. Looking small and vulnerable and—

Notes

For people who haven’t read the book: the fic is not explicit, but it does allude to Ilya’s past trauma concerning the death of his mother.

———

One hour

Ilya is sitting on the bench now, sweat dripping down his face, body cold, watching his team vie for the puck in front of him. The image of Shane’s inert body refuses to leave his mind. Even when he closes his eyes, it’s there. Nothing is working. He hasn’t scored. Because he can’t. Because all he can see is Shane. Curled up. Eyes closed. Looking small and vulnerable and—

He doesn’t think about that. He refuses to think about that. But the image of a stiff, motionless body on the floor is familiar. A horrible, familiar picture in his mind that he ruthlessly stabs out of his brain with sex and vodka and cigarettes and whatever else he can get his hands on whenever it appears. He’s so so good at not thinking about any of that anymore. 

But Shane is gone. Carried off the ice and rushed to the hospital. And no one told him anything. Just like then. No one told him anything then too. His mind is empty of information. Full of sickening images. Body numb and eyes dry. 

He forces himself to take a breath. 

Shane will be okay.

Shane will be okay.

He says it over and over. 

The rink is blurry, the sounds slightly muted. He blinks a few times mechanically, straightening up in his seat. He’s about to be put back into the game. 

———

Three hours and twenty seven minutes 

Marleau is talking to him, his hair looks flat and sweaty and stupid because neither of them have showered yet. The locker room is uncharacteristically somber and quiet. Even though they managed to scrape a win. 1-0. Ilya nods to show he’s listening. Shane will be okay. He doesn’t punch Marleau like Pike did. Because he can’t. He’s not allowed. Not allowed anything. He hopes the mask is in place. 

“Jesus, I wasn’t trying to hurt the guy,” Marleau says. “I feel like shit, man. Fuck, any news on if he’s going to be okay?”

Ilya shakes his head, opening his mouth, hoping his words come out in English. Hoping his voice doesn’t sound choked as he speaks around the lump in his throat. 

“Was not your fault. I am sure Hollander will be okay.” 

Shane will be okay.

———

Seven hours and five minutes. 

Ilya reloads the page. No news. He puts his phone down on the nightstand and closes his eyes. The image is back like a fucking ghost. Shane will be okay. The only sound in the lonely hotel room is his breathing and a few lonely cars still on the road outside the window. His eyes are dazzled by the screen when he opens his phone again, checking a different news site. 

———

Thirteen hours and twenty minutes 

He forgoes the cigarette he really wants for breakfast in favor of shitty Canadian coffee in the hospital cafeteria. Visiting hours are in ten minutes. Shane will be okay. 

———

Thirteen hours and thirty minutes 

Shane is okay. Banged up and high as a fucking kite, but he’s okay. Ilya is used to being scared. He’s not used to saying it out loud, holding the hand of someone he loves so desperately he feels a little sick with it. Shane is smiling at him, asking him to come stay with him. To live in a little perfect fantasy where they can be together. Actually together. Like lovers. And Ilya wants to. Wants to so bad. 

He tells him maybe. Even though he wants to say yes. But not everything is so simple. They certainly aren’t. Can never be. 

The nurse comes in and Ilya drops his hand, stepping away. He lets himself live in the fantasy for a moment. Thinking about how he could pick Shane up and take him home. Tuck him into his bed and feed him and care for him until he’s healed. And they wouldn’t think about hockey or their separate lives and responsibilities. Or anything. Nothing would exist outside of the walls of the house. Just them. And Shane would be smiling and happy. 

Ilya leaves the room and walks towards the elevators. There’s a ding as one of them opens before he has a chance to press the button, revealing— 

Fuck. 

“Oh,” Yuna Hollander says. Her hair is tied back and messy. David Hollander’s eyes are rimmed with red and a little wet. Ilya knows those eyes. 

They stand on the linoleum hospital floor, under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights that he knows Shane hates. They are staring at him and Ilya is just staring back, being fucking useless and silent. Ilya clenches his jaw, almost positive the mask is there. 

“I— I come to see if Hollander is okay,” he says, cursing his anxious English even as it falls from his mouth. “My team. Marleau is feels very bad.” 

Shane’s mother’s expression softens and the hint of a smile comes onto her face. His father steps forward with an outstretched awkward hand, and Ilya flashes back to seventeen, the smell of cigarettes and damp asphalt, Shane’s stupid little hat and sweatsuit that his mother probably bought for him. He can see them — both of them — in Shane. Ilya takes David Hollander’s hand and gives it a firm shake. 

“That’s very decent of you,” David says, like Ilya is some little wholesome, nice Canadian boy and not who he is. 

He thinks he knows this word. Decent. I’m not decent. I never have been. You don’t see me clearly. 

“I am very sorry.” For everything. 

He nods his head sharply, dropping the other man’s hand and moving past them into the elevator. They both smile at him as the doors close and he does his best to return the expression. The elevator starts its descent. On the floor above, Shane’s beautiful parents are making their way to his hospital room to hug and touch and shower him with love and affection. Because they can. Because they are allowed to. 

Ilya exits the hospital, pulling his jacket tight and shoving his hand into his jeans pocket. He takes out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. 

He goes to the smoking area. 

Alone. 

———