Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Scott Hunter (Game Changers), Hayden Pike, Other people probably, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Fluff and Angst, Hockey Coach Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Series:

Part 7 of "second chances" universe

Stats:

Published: 2026-05-19 Completed: 2026-07-06 Words: 30,335 Chapters: 10/10

at the head of the line

Summary

Three years after Shane Hollander joined Boston as an assistant coach, they won the cup. Shane’s ability to get his players (especially Ilya Rozanov) scoring consistently has helped to take Boston all the way.

Now, other NHL organizations have noticed Shane’s skill, putting another dream within Shane’s reach.
The only problem? The love of his life plays for Boston.

Notes

this will be a sequel to "second chances" and takes place after all of the little one shots in this series.

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

It was Shane’s first ever time on a duck boat, because Boston had just won the Stanley Cup. 

Call him superstitious, but he’d refused to get on one for a city tour, even when his parents had visited and were looking for something different to do. He’d wanted his first ever time to be during a parade, waving at the sea of black and gold in the streets. 

The coaching staff had their own boat, which admittedly garnered less excitement from the crowd as the ones with the players. But Shane still drew cheers when he waved from his spot in the back- he’d chosen to be nearly hanging off the end so he could wave to both sides- these people had all gotten up so early to be there to celebrate and he wanted to see them all. Shane even noticed a few Montreal jerseys, his heart lurching when he saw that they said number 24. 

He didn’t even think Montreal had those for sale anymore. 

It had been a tough road to the cup- they’d won a game seven overtime in the first round, and had some injured players as their run continued. But every player from the first liners to the rookies coming straight from their NCAA season had stepped up, with the training and support of the coaches dedicated to getting them to the finish line. 

Even though Shane still didn’t completely trust Coach Julien, he had learned to work well with him. Coach Julien, for his part, had clearly started taking Shane seriously after the first season, and had leaned on Shane harder than ever in this cup run. Shane had even stepped in as a temporary head coach for one game when Coach Julien got hit in the face with a stray puck. 

It must have been over ninety degrees, and the solid black t-shirt with the spoked B in the middle that Shane had stolen from a giveaway a year ago was collecting enough heat to power the damn duck boat itself. If Shane wasn’t committed to professionalism even in the midst of the celebrations, he might have considered just taking the shirt off. 

A roar went up from the crowd ahead of Shane’s boat. It seemed that Ilya, on his own duck boat with a few other forwards, had had the same thought and elected to rip his own shirt off and swing it over his head like a lasso. 

From the duck boat’s distance away, Shane watched the muscles of Ilya’s arms flex as he played to the crowd, the bruised ribs that had been bothering him for two rounds doing little to stop his energy. 

It had been Ilya’s first cup win too, and Shane had almost cried watching Ilya finally lift it over his head. They’d locked eyes after Ilya had handed the cup off to Marlow, everything they wanted to say in that moment apparent in their glance. 

They hadn’t gotten too many moments alone together since that final buzzer. It hadn’t stopped Ilya from lifting Shane up and spinning him around to the cheers of other teammates- these kinds of displays of affection were to be expected between anyone while celebrating a cup win, and Ilya was an affectionate celebrator. Only Marlow had given the two of them a pointed look when Ilya finally put Shane down. 

Luckily, now that the season was over and they’d won the cup, Shane would get Ilya to himself for weeks at a time. He loved his job, but the thought of simply relaxing with Ilya and enjoying the success of the victory they’d achieved together outdid any hockey game. Shane never would have thought he’d ever admit that to himself, but it was true. 

It made the offers he’d been getting all the more difficult to think about. 

Even before the playoffs started, Shane had been getting meeting requests from other NHL teams. Now that he’d proved that his first successful season wasn’t a fluke and that he really could deliver consistent quality coaching, teams across the league that had been struggling with scoring were eyeing him as a potential solution to their problems. 

Shane had staved off most of these requests by claiming he didn’t have the time to consider anything until after the playoffs were over, which meant that now, as his duck boat neared its final stretch of the parade, he would have to face them. 

On the bright side, he knew that he was quite possibly already the highest paid assistant coach in the league, thanks to the way Ilya had advocated for him after he’d tried to quit at the end of his first season. It would be entirely reasonable for him to turn down a less valuable offer, or ask Boston to match a better one. 

But, there wasn’t always an abundance of jobs in the NHL, and it was a bad idea to write any team off completely. It was good to make connections and look for ways to build a career, which Shane knew every coach who wasn’t in a secret relationship with their star player was already doing. 

He watched as Ilya staggered up the stage set up at the end of the parade, swaying in a way that suggested he really shouldn’t be trusted with a microphone. The crowd roared as he cupped a hand to his ears to get them to cheer louder before leading them in the chants he’d heard them doing throughout the playoff run. 

WE GOT THE CUP! 
WE GOT THE CUP! 

Ilya jumped up and down, getting the crowd to jump with him. The ground trembled as if they were all at a rock concert, and the other members of the coaching staff standing by Shane chuckled. 

Shane suddenly found himself fighting back tears once again as he remembered just how personally Ilya had taken every game, berating himself when he played poorly and setting the bar even higher when he did well. He’d held Ilya in the dark after their game seven overtime win in the first series, neither truly celebrating because they’d both set their standards higher than making it out of the first round.

They’d promised each other they would do whatever it took to bring the cup home. 

Shane turned away, hoping Ilya couldn’t properly see him in all the commotion. He was so incredibly happy for what Ilya had proved time and time again to both Boston and the NHL. He was proud to have climbed the mountain to the top at Ilya’s side, letting him reach a level of excellence neither had envisioned. And he was still so in love with Ilya that sometimes it physically hurt. 

Another thought wormed its way into his head, one that he’d been trying to ignore all season. But it only got louder with every game. Would I even be getting all these meetings if I wasn’t coaching Ilya? 

Sure, other Boston players had performed well under Shane’s guidance too. But it all started and ended with Ilya. Ilya was the one setting the bar and driving the biggest plays. He was any coach’s dream. 

The crowd let out another roar as Ilya jumped of the stage and high-fived as many people as he could reach. Shane tried to shake himself out of it. Only he would be able to find a negative side of Ilya’s immense skill. And today was a day to celebrate that skill. 

Ilya finally staggered back to where the rest of his team was as another player stepped up to thank the fans. Shane watched as he looked around for a stray water bottle before making his way over to a cooler near Shane. 

Even as drunk as he was, Ilya betrayed nothing as he looked at Shane- they’d both developed an excellent mask of neutrality over the course of their relationship. But Shane let himself drink in Ilya’s passive expression anyways, knowing that later he’d make Ilya’s face screw up in pleasure, in a way that no one got to see but him. 

I love you, he thought as hard as he could at Ilya, I love you so much. I can’t believe we got to win the cup together. 

Maybe Shane was imagining it, but Ilya seemed to nod at him as if he’d heard it. 

After the celebrations, it took Shane and Ilya several days before they were ready to be humans in the world again. At first they lazed around Ilya’s apartment nursing cups of coffee and swallowing Tylenol, although that was mostly Ilya. Shane savored the quiet, happy to have been a part of the wild few days following the cup win but even happier to get some time to recharge before anyone needed anything from him. 

When Shane woke up the next morning feeling a little more normal, he tried to let Ilya rest for a few more hours before he got impatient and kissed him awake, whispering, “Hey. We won a fucking cup together.” 

Ilya had woken right up. 

They didn’t leave the bed until Shane feared they’d both pass out from hunger, and even then they didn’t let go of each other, hard as it was to crack eggs and hold a spatula with Ilya attached to his back and mouthing at his neck. 

Shane imagined that this is what their honeymoon would be like, if they ever took that step. Just the two of them, somewhere quiet, enjoying what they’d been able to achieve together. It was something Shane dreamed about whenever he got overwhelmed with hiding their relationship. 

But Shane hadn’t been able to ignore his emails completely. A new one had come in, shortly after the parade. And this one was a much bigger deal than the meeting requests from teams looking to shake up their assistant coaching staff. 

Ilya kissed the underside of his jaw, making Shane tilt his head back onto the couch cushion where they’d migrated. “Something is wrong. We won the cup, but-” he straddled Shane and kissed the space between his eyebrows. “You are worried.” 

For a moment, Shane considered lying. Maybe he could put off the conversation, at least by a few days. What was the rush? Why couldn’t he focus on being with Ilya now? 

Then he remembered that lying to Ilya rarely worked, and on the few times it did he’d suspected that Ilya had in fact noticed, and had just decided not to push the issue. He certainly wasn’t going to get away with lying about this. 

“The expansion team.” He tried not to let his voice shake. “Have you been following it?” 

Ilya shrugged, looking unconcerned. “A little. Not really.” He leaned his forehead against Shane’s. “You know I will not be drafted. I am on the protection list.” 

It was true. If Boston could only protect a single player in the expansion draft, they’d choose to protect Ilya. 

Shane closed his eyes as he felt Ilya’s hand come up to stroke the side of his head. 

“You are still tense.” Ilya hummed to himself for a moment before straightening up a little. “Do they want to hire you?” He laughed and kissed Shane lightly on the lips, not seeming to register that Shane had tensed up even more. “I will ask the Bruins to give you more money and they will. They will not let you go to Utah. I will not let you go to Utah. I would miss you too much.” 

Ilya’s voice sounded far away, as if a wind current was already carrying him out of Shane’s reach. Shane only vaguely noticed the way Ilya suddenly froze in what could only be realization, sliding off his lap but not going far, letting his arm drape around Shane’s shoulders. 

“Hey, hey. Shane. Breathe. It’s okay.” 

Shane hadn’t noticed his breathing had picked up. Ilya sounded so reassuring, so grounding. So loving. He shook his head. “No,” he choked out, “it’s not.” 

“Shhhh.” Ilya kissed his cheek, below his ear. “We will figure it out.” He paused, rubbing Shane’s shoulder. “Does Utah want you to be their head coach?” His voice broke at the end, betraying that despite his assurances, he knew that this would change everything. 

Shane nodded, feeling the tears well up in his eyes. Next to him, Ilya was silent. 

Neither had to say it. It was the kind of opportunity Shane had dreamed of. It was what he worked towards as he analyzed every aspect of every game in order to provide the insight that would lead to the best chance for success. 

If Utah offered him the job he could never, ever say no. 

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

It was amazing how quickly one of the best weeks of Ilya’s life had taken a turn. Not entirely for the worse, but definitely a turn out of the celebratory haze he’d been letting himself float in. He’d achieved a lifelong dream, and he’d done it alongside the person he loved most in the world.  

In those final moments of the toughest games, he’d realized that in order to come out on top he needed to fight for more than just himself or his team- he needed to fight for Shane. Those overtime goals he’d scored while crashing the net despite running on fumes had been almost exclusively because he could hear Shane’s voice in his head, shouting that if he didn’t have the energy to crash the net he should get off the fucking ice. 

He remembered the way Shane’s face had changed the moment he realized they really could win the cup this year. That it wasn’t just a lofty goal like it was for most teams. It was in reach. And if everyone played to the best of their ability, the cup would be theirs. Shane’s face had sharpened in a level of determination Ilya had never seen before- and that was truly a feat. It was when Ilya knew he’d make sure to play the best hockey of his entire fucking life until that cup was in his hands. 

Ilya knew better than anyone just how talented Shane was. He saw it not only in how Shane ran offensive zone and power play drills, but in how he picked up on little details faster than any coach or player. He often knew when a player’s stick was going to break before they took a shot, or what line combinations would pull a player out of a point slump. 

To Ilya, Shane would be an easy pick for a head coach on any team. But he’d foolishly thought they’d have a few more years before they’d have to think about what it meant for the two of them. He should’ve known Shane would be ahead of schedule. 

He’d had the thought before, but he’d put it out of his mind. Who knew what the future held anyways? A meteor could hit Earth and kill all of humanity, for all Ilya knew. There had been no use worrying about it. Until, of course, he was hugging Shane on the couch while Shane struggled to even get the words out. 

Shane was one step closer to getting a job he’d dreamed about, yet he looked like he was about to have a panic attack trying to talk about it. 

It made guilt surge through Ilya. “Shane, sweetheart,” he said, once he knew he’d be able to speak with a steady voice, “this is a happy thing. You deserve this.” He cleared his throat as he took in the still-devastated look on Shane’s face. 

His mind raced as he tried to think of what another version of him would say, the Ilya Rozanov who really was just Shane’s best friend and star player. The version of him that didn’t want to cry despite being happy for Shane. “Maybe we order dinner? To celebrate?” The words sounded wrong as he said them out loud. 

But Shane was already shaking his head. “I don’t have the job yet.” His voice was shaky. “I still have to do an interview.” He patted at his pockets until he found his phone. “I should start prepping.” 

Ilya let his arm slide off Shane’s shoulder as Shane pushed himself off the couch. This was a familiar mode: when Shane got an idea about a player or strategy he always wanted to get right up and work on it, especially during the off season when he was spending more time away from hockey. 

Ilya had always laughed to himself when Shane did that, making sure he stayed quiet while Shane got his thoughts down on paper. 

Unless, of course, he decided to pull Shane out of his work with some of his favorite distractions, the kind that had Shane tossing his pencil aside so he could pin Ilya against the wall, both yelling at him for wanting attention at that moment and getting his pants down suspiciously fast for someone who was annoyed at being interrupted. 

This time, however, the air was intense as Shane disappeared into what was technically Ilya’s home office, though Ilya almost never thought to use it. Ilya stayed on the couch, wondering what he should do. Shane hadn’t gone back to his own apartment, which meant that he didn’t need to be completely alone right now. Ilya supposed that was a good sign.

Or maybe he was worried about stressing Ilya out by leaving immediately after sharing the news. 

Ilya raked a hand over his face, letting himself sit for a while longer. 

He wanted Shane to get the job more than anything, because Shane was brilliant and deserved it. He didn’t want Shane to get the job because it would take him away from Ilya. He wanted Shane to prove to everyone once and for all just how invaluable he was to the NHL by leading a brand new team to success. He wanted Shane to say no if he got an offer because he loved Ilya too much. He would never forgive himself if he let their relationship stop Shane from reaching his dreams. 

Where the fuck even was Utah? He searched it- two time zones away. Shane would be in the western conference. The Bruins would only play the new Utah team twice in the whole season. 

Ilya hadn’t been this nauseous since the time he’d seen a teammate dislocate his shoulder before popping it back in on the bench. 

He took some deep breaths, glancing at the hallway Shane had disappeared down. He was not going to let Shane see anything but positivity from him. This was the chance Shane had been working towards, and Ilya would be damned if he got in the way of it. As soon as Shane walked out of that office, Ilya would be nothing but supportive. 

There would be plenty of time to be sad on his own later. 

By the time Shane emerged from the office, Ilya had already ordered a pizza in fear of missing dinner entirely. It was celebratory enough, he figured. If Shane got the job for real he would do something much better. 

Shane looked… less distressed than he had earlier, but he wasn’t betraying much emotion. He sat at the table and gestured Ilya over to join him before hooking their ankles together. 

“I feel as ready as I can be right now, I guess.” 

As he had promised to himself earlier, Ilya pushed the pang in his chest away and rubbed at Shane’s leg with his free hand. “It is hard when you don’t know who will be on the team.” 

Shane might’ve frowned a little at Ilya’s casual response, but he might’ve also simply been appreciating how good the pizza was. “Yea, exactly.” 

“When will you go there to interview?” 

Shane looked down at his pizza. “Probably soon. I’ll have to keep prepping until then.” 

Ilya nodded, wondering whether he should offer to help. Or maybe he should offer to stay out of Shane’s way until the interview, although the thought threatened to crack the pleasant demeanor he was trying hard to keep up. 

“Do you-” Shane started, and then stopped. “Hey.” His eyes lingered on Ilya’s mouth, even as Ilya took a bite of pizza. “I almost forgot, we just won a cup.” 

Ilya made his eyes as wide as possible, throwing his hand up to his head in an exaggerated fashion. “You forgot already?” He shook his head, although he had kind of forgotten about their cup win himself. “You do not want your day with the cup? Maybe I will take two instead.” 

Shane swatted at his shoulder. “Fuck off. I just mean- it just keeps hitting me.” He put the half of a pizza he was holding down and swung a leg over Ilya, straddling him in the chair. 

Ilya put his own piece of pizza down in surprise. He was no stranger to Shane taking advantage of a free moment to get Ilya naked and pressed up against the nearest available surface, but it didn’t usually happen while they were eating dinner at the table (if they ate on the couch, on the other hand, it was almost expected). And it had been quite the emotionally charged day. 

But Ilya wasn’t about to do something insane like ask Shane to stop. Having Shane like this had suddenly become a finite concept, and he was going to appreciate every moment. He gripped Shane at the waist and pulled him in as close as he could, planting his own feet on the floor so they wouldn’t topple over. 

Shane didn’t hesitate for one moment as he caught Ilya’s mouth with his, deepening the kiss immediately as he threaded a hand through Ilya’s hair. He yanked his shirt off and draped it over the chair he’d been sitting in before turning back to Ilya, who kissed him back with an enthusiasm that built with every passing second. Ilya let his hands drift to Shane’s chest, missing his nipple on purpose as he let his nails scrape ever so slightly across the warm skin, where Shane’s heart was beating faster and faster. 

Shane gasped, arching into Ilya. Jesus. He was fucking keyed up already. How had Ilya missed it before? He gripped Shane even harder and summoned as much strength as he possibly could to stand up without stumbling. He needn’t have worried- Shane was clutching onto him as if he might disappear at any moment. 

“Bedroom- is too far,” Shane panted as he mouthed at Ilya’s cheek. “Couch. Or floor.” 

Ilya wanted to roll his eyes. As if he’d fuck Shane on the fucking floor. (Okay. Maybe it had happened once or twice. Whatever.) 

He lowered himself onto the couch, keeping Shane on top of him. Whatever was about to happen, he wanted Shane in charge. Shane just grinned at him as he ripped Ilya’s shirt off, clearly pleased with Ilya’s choice. He bit at the muscle on Ilya’s shoulder and worked his way down, pausing every so often to press up and kiss Ilya again. 

For once, Ilya was at a loss for words. He normally wasn’t too quiet during sex, voicing every thought that crossed his mind. Shane was always really into it, lighting up whenever Ilya let him into the fantasies he normally kept quiet. He always told Ilya he wanted to hear everything. 

This time, Ilya was afraid to let anything come out of his mouth. If he did, it would probably be something like gonna think about this when you’re gone, or please don’t fucking go. It was the last thing Shane needed to hear. 

But for all that Ilya didn’t say anything, Shane still somehow managed to hear it. With one hand down Ilya’s pants and another closing his fist around a handful of Ilya’s hair just hard enough to hurt, he kissed Ilya one more time and whispered in his ear, “Can we just- can we have this? Right now?” 

Ilya gripped the back of Shane’s neck, his hand slipping a little on the beads of sweat starting to form. “Yes. I’m sorry, I’ll-” 

“Don’t apologize.” Shane shifted in a way that made Ilya see stars for a second. “Just stop thinking. Let’s just be here. Tonight, it’s just us.” 

Don’t let him see you fucking cry. “Okay. Shane,” his words were barely audible anymore, morphing into a moan, “kiss me again.” 

Shane kissed him again, and again, and again. 

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Shane thought his interviews went fairly well. He’d prepared more for these rounds of interviews more than he had for any game, and certainly more than he had when he originally got his job with Boston. 

He’d dedicated an impressive amount of time, considering how long he spent almost every day holed up in an office in either his or Ilya’s apartment, staring blankly at a screen while trying not to cry or break down at the thought of leaving Ilya. He would start any interview prep with a reminder to himself that Ilya knew how badly he wanted this job, and was making sure Shane had the time and space he needed to be as ready as possible. 

In fact, Ilya was being incredibly supportive, even reminding Shane to look at some houses while he was out in Salt Lake City.

“You have to like the city,” Ilya had said, “or you will be sad. Rich, but sad.” He’d even suggested asking the new team’s managers to connect Shane with a realtor. 

Shane didn’t know how to tell Ilya that he would live in the most run down building in the city if it meant he could be a head coach. He doubted Ilya thought like that. He was, however, surprised at how almost cheerful Ilya seemed every time he brought anything to do with the job up. After what must have been that first shock at hearing the news, Ilya seemed genuinely excited that Shane was getting this opportunity. 

On one hand, Shane was grateful that Ilya wasn’t complicating the process- that Shane could go to every interview knowing he had his boyfriend’s full support. On the other hand, a small voice in the back of Shane’s head wondered why Ilya seemed so excited that Shane might end up out in Utah. Was he not worried that it might damage their relationship beyond repair? Had he thought about what being in a long distance relationship indefinitely might mean for them? 

It wasn’t like they had properly talked about it. Ilya hadn’t brought it up, and Shane was too nervous to broach the subject. Part of him was worried that despite the incredible few years they’d had together, Ilya wouldn’t want to stay in a relationship that had such a dramatic distance between them. The thought made his hands shake- even if he did get the job, he couldn’t imagine his life without Ilya. 

When Shane had arrived back in Boston after his first two interview rounds, Ilya was waiting in his apartment with fresh containers of takeout from one of the restaurants they’d been to together on one of their “friendship outings,” as fans liked to call it. He always ushered Shane directly into the shower first, to wash off the travel grime and to just get a chance to be close to one another again after the few days apart. 

For those moments of reunion, Shane forgot to be stressed about the future. The only thoughts in his mind were of Ilya’s mouth and the release of a tension he didn’t even realize was there. 

This was what occupied Shane’s mind as he waited for his checked baggage in Logan Airport after his third and final interview round. He’d tried to put what he’d said in the interview behind him, knowing that obsessing over it now wouldn’t change whether or not he got the job. 

“I don’t want to do anything too fancy with the systems in the team’s first season,” he’d emphasized to the management and hiring staff, “I want to simplify the game as the players get used to each other. I want to attack with all five skaters and take advantage of every power play. My goal is to build a team that can work as a unit first before we start taking more complex approaches.” 

He’d gone through what he thought were the strengths and weaknesses of every team, and pointed out the players he thought would be most likely available in the expansion draft that he would want to have on his ideal team. 

The only weird moment had been when one of the managers had asked him about his concussion, and whether he thought any residual symptoms might affect his ability to coach. Shane had admitted that he’d missed some games due to concussion symptoms before, but had trained the players well enough that they had functioned well in that time without him. He’d even pulled up some game film to illustrate his point. 

He couldn’t let himself worry over whether his concussion would ruin yet another thing for him. All he could do was hope, and think about what he planned to do with Ilya that night in the meantime. 

At least, that’s what he would have continued thinking about had his phone not rang as he picked up his bag. It was so soon after his interview that he didn’t even have the presence of mind to be nervous, even as he recognized the Utah area code. If anything, he wondered for a moment if he’d forgotten something when he’d left Salt Lake City. 

But that all changed when he answered the phone. 

How had it gotten so late? He’d sworn the plane had landed in the early evening. And Logan Airport was incredibly close to the North End. But it was suddenly the middle of the night. Maybe time had gotten away from him somewhere along the way. In the baggage claim, or out on the curb, or on the street outside his apartment where Ilya was waiting inside. 

Maybe he’d been stalling a little bit. 

What would be better? A call? A text? Telling Ilya in person? Did the way he said it even matter? 

Ultimately he’d stalled so much that he’d chickened out and hadn’t done anything. Maybe he’d just wait until tomorrow to tell Ilya. Maybe even the day after tomorrow. It wasn’t super urgent, was it? He was standing on the precipice of a momentous before and after in their relationship. Was it so horrible to want just a few more days in the before? 

He exhaled as he finally entered the building, trying to push his growing anxiety to the back of his mind. It could wait. 

At least, he thought it could. But when he opened the door of his apartment, his stomach dropped. 

Ilya had fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for him. He shifted at the noise from the door and blearily rubbed at his eyes, not fully awake just yet. Behind him was a bottle of sparkling cider, the kind he bought when he wanted to celebrate with Shane. He’d bought a bottle when Shane moved to the North End and every time they clinched the playoffs. 

Next to the bottle was a square piece of cake from Mike’s Pastry, aside a larger glass baking pan wrapped in tin foil. Shane lifted a corner of the foil before closing his eyes and turning away from where Ilya was waking up on the couch- Ilya had baked a cake of his own before evidently buying a backup in case Shane didn’t like it. 

It was amazing how Shane thought he couldn’t be fonder of Ilya back when they’d first gotten together, only to be proven wrong as Ilya outdid himself time and time again. 

But this time, the gesture was confusing. It was as if Ilya already-

“Shane?” Ilya was finally awake, rising from the couch to come over to where Shane was standing in the kitchen. 

But Shane couldn’t greet Ilya in the way he wanted. Not until- “did they announce it already?” 

Ilya cocked his head at a slight angle. “What?” 

“How did-” Shane held his hand out to the bottle and the wrapped cakes. “How did you already know?” 

Now, Ilya was frowning. “That you were done with your interviews? You said it was your last round. I wanted to celebrate that you’re finally do-” he broke off as his eyes widened in realization. “You got the job, didn’t you.” 

Shane nodded, feeling tears well up in his eyes. Some of them were happy tears- now that he was telling Ilya, it felt all the more real. But looking at Ilya now, other types of emotions were threatening to take over. 

Ilya looked at him in silence for a moment, his face frozen. Shane didn’t want to move, or breathe, or look away. 

Then, Ilya’s face broke into a smile. “Shane,” he breathed, stepping forward and pulling Shane into a long kiss, “I knew you would get it.” He broke the kiss but didn’t go far, squeezing Shane in a hug as Shane blinked back his tears. 

“Ilya, I-” Ilya hugged him tighter. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You should. You work so hard. Utah is the luckiest team in the league.” Ilya’s face was still set in a dazzling smile, and Shane tried to relax the muscles in his shoulders that had been tense since his flight to Boston. Ilya was happy for him. Isn’t this what he wanted? Hadn’t he been grateful that Ilya wasn’t trying to stop him from chasing his dream? 

Was Ilya willing to let Shane go so easily? 

Ilya started laughing, breaking Shane out of his mini spiral. “You thought this was to celebrate your new job?” 

Shane searched Ilya’s face, but Ilya just looked entertained. “Yes? It was really nice, I-” 

Ilya just laughed harder. “Shane. I will do something nicer for you.” He slid his fingers just beneath the waist line of Shane’s pants. “Much, much, nicer.” 

Shane felt his cheeks grow hot. “You really don’t have to-” 

“I want to.” The edge in Ilya’s voice was driving Shane’s turmoiled thoughts out of his head more and more each passing second. Ilya raised an eyebrow and tugged on the end of Shane’s shirt. “Shower?” 

Shane couldn’t hold himself back from stealing one more kiss from Ilya, even as he started to walk towards the bathroom. “Only if you come with me.” 

Ilya, of course, did. 

Ilya held his “day with the cup” at the damn Dunkin. He sent out an open invitation- any fan could show up. The Dunkin ended up blocking out part of the street as fans showed up in droves, all hoping to get a picture with Ilya and the Stanley Cup. Incredibly, almost every single one of them got what they came for, and maybe even left with some free merch. 

Ilya had loved the “Guns N’ Rozes” t-shirts some fans had been wearing to games so much that he had more made and handed them out to anyone who wanted one. Shane could only imagine how much of the TD Garden would be wearing that shirt on opening night in October. 

The Utah announcement hadn’t come out yet. For the moment, he was still welcome at Boston Bruins events, although he had quietly reached out to the rest of the coaching staff and management team so they wouldn’t find out from the press release. He suspected word was starting to spread anyhow- it was a small world. 

Not everyone was even at the party- most players and coaches were out of town for the summer. He did, however, notice Marlow giving him a weird look. Surely Ilya would have told his best friend on the team already, though he hadn’t said anything to Shane yet. 

But as Shane watched Ilya pose with fans and laugh with the handful of teammates that had shown up, he caught himself studying Ilya’s smile, watching to see whether Ilya was truly happy- and it seemed like he was. He only took a break from the festivities to run to the bathroom or get a drink of water, making the most of every moment. 

And every time he met Shane’s eyes he smiled even wider. 

Shane smiled back, even though something in his blood was simmering. 

It had been like this for a few weeks now. Ilya didn’t let a day go by without reiterating to Shane how proud and happy he was that Shane was finally going to coach his own team. He’d ask about the expansion draft every now and then, and had even suggested a few players he thought might benefit from a new coaching system.

 
Anyone would be lucky to have such a supportive boyfriend, but now it was only making Shane annoyed. Ilya often left Shane’s apartment carrying a small bag of clothes, not even bothering to mention that he was clearly starting the process of taking all his possessions out of Shane’s apartment so it wouldn’t be in the way when Shane finally moved. 

Meanwhile, Shane would pause whenever he saw another thing missing, like one of Ilya’s shirts in his drawer or a bottle of Ilya’s cologne next to the sink. Soon, there would be no trace of Ilya at all. 

It hadn’t stopped Ilya from being attentive- no matter what he did throughout the day he always made sure that Shane was getting fucked to within an inch of his life every single night. And sometimes in the morning too. Shane would say they were having the best sex of their relationship if he didn’t spend the following hours mired in anxiety, scrubbing his hands over his face while Ilya finished cleaning up in the bathroom. 

With every passing day he knew they were overdue for a serious talk, and yet he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when Ilya seemed so happy. Not when Shane was starting to hate himself for the resentment he was feeling at Ilya’s happiness.

The Dunkin’ day with the cup concluded with a group photo that Shane insisted on being in the very far end of. He figured someone could crop him out if they really wanted to later. But he did make sure that Marlow took a picture of him and Ilya- the two “best friends”- with the cup between them, trying not to laugh every time they made eye contact. It would be the first thing Shane framed and put on his wall in Utah.

As fans trickled out, some making plans to meet up in a bar nearby, Ilya caught Shane’s eye and winked, jerking his head towards the door. Marlow noticed and rolled his eyes dramatically before Ilya smacked him in the shoulder. 

Shane supposed Ilya didn’t really need to be that sad he was leaving. Ilya would still have his friends here in Boston. He’d have the city he knew and the fanbase that loved him. He’d have a talented hockey team, even without Shane’s coaching to guide them. 

But still, Shane thought, Ilya seemed awfully fucking casual about it. 

It was the air conditioner clicking off that got Shane’s attention first. He was still grasping at reality, letting the fuzzy edges of his vision fade away. It happened sometimes, after Ilya fucked him into the mattress so thoroughly he just about left his body. 

The low hum of the air conditioner had been so unobtrusive that Shane hadn’t even noticed until it went off, magnifying every little creak of the building or footstep out on the street. 

Or what sounded like a faint wheeze coming from the bathroom, where Ilya had retreated to after cleaning Shane off and kissing the center of his chest. It made Shane force the fogginess out of his head and pull himself into a sitting position before straining his ears and listening harder. 

There it was again. 

How long had Ilya been in the bathroom? Shane had lost all sense of time as soon as Ilya had started biting at his bottom lip and leading him to the bed. Was he hurt? Had Shane been too busy floating in his own pleasure to notice that Ilya might be in pain somehow?

 Shane pushed himself off the bed and approached the bathroom door. “Ilya?” His voice was soft, as if by approaching quietly he might be able to avert some kind of disaster. He heard the noise from behind the door again, this time a little fainter. 

The doorknob was locked, but gave in with just a little pressure. Shane had never noticed how bad the locks were before- why would he? They’d gone unchallenged in the entire time he’d lived in the North End. He pushed the door open slowly. 

Ilya was sitting on the floor with his knees tucked into his chest, furiously wiping at his face as he tried to stand up. Shane was next to him before he could make a single move, cradling his head as his eyes searched for any sign of pain or injury. 

“Jesus, Ilya, are you okay? I thought I heard-” he broke off as he started to take in what was really in front of him. Ilya wouldn’t meet his eyes, ducking his head down as if to hide the tear stained cheeks that Shane had already seen. He wasn’t contorted in some position as if he’d fallen- he was just sitting there, tucked away against the wall. 

Ilya had disappeared into the bathroom to cry. And from the guilty look on his face as he tried to avoid eye contact with Shane, it wasn’t the first time. Shane tried to think back to their other nights together, remembering when Ilya had rolled away from him and gotten out of bed. 

No, no, no. Had Ilya been doing this every single night since he got the job? 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Ilya’s voice broke. “I didn’t want you to see-” 

Shane was already shaking his head. “No. It’s okay. God, Ilya, I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” Had he really thought Ilya didn’t care that he was leaving? Had he really been so naive to doubt how much Ilya loved him for even a second? Fuck. 

Fresh tears trickled down Ilya’s cheeks as he looked up at Shane. “Please don’t think that I- I don’t want-” his chest heaved as he tried to get the words out. 

“Shhh.” Shane was leaning forward and pulling Ilya into a hug, ignoring how his knees and back complained as he manipulated his body in order to cradle Ilya’s head into his chest. “I don’t. I promise.” He wiped at his own eyes, and his fingers came away wet. “You can always cry, or be mad, or- whatever. In front of me.” He sniffed and squeezed his eyes shut. “You shouldn’t have to-” Now he was really crying. All he could do was hold Ilya tighter as Ilya held him back. 

They stayed on the floor of the bathroom until Shane’s knees protested one time too many. “Do you think we can go back to bed?” Ilya nodded against his chest. 

They broke apart to detangle their limbs and clamber to their feet, but Shane didn’t let Ilya stray too far. “None of that,” he murmured when Ilya tried to lie down with his back to Shane. “C’mere.” He pulled Ilya toward him until their arms were wrapped around each other again. 

“I didn’t want you to know I’m sad,” Ilya whispered, gently wiping away another tear at the corner of Shane’s eye, “I want you to be happy about your job. Not worrying about me.” 

“Hey.” Shane angled his face so that he was nearly speaking his words into Ilya’s lips. “I’m sad too.” Ilya’s brow creased in a faint line as Shane almost laughed in disbelief at his reaction. “How could I not be? The job is exciting, but to move so far away from you- I think you might be the love of my life, Ilya.” He’d never said that out loud before, but as soon as he did he knew it was the truth. 

Ilya blinked slowly. “I know you are mine.” 

What choice did Shane have but to give Ilya another deep kiss, wishing the moment would never end? 

He tasted salt as he pulled back- it could’ve been from either of them. “It’s unfair, isn’t it?” 

Ilya gave a minute shrug. “I think to be the best there are other things that maybe-” his eyes grew sadder, “you cannot have.” 

“But we have it now.” 

“It was never going to be like this forever.” 

Shane’s heart lurched at how sure Ilya looked. He gripped Ilya’s shoulder in an almost panicked hold. “I’m not going to stop loving you. I don’t care- I don’t give a fuck what happens. Please say you feel that way too, because-”

“Of course I do.” Ilya ran his hand up and down Shane’s side, taking deep and measured breaths for Shane to follow. “I could never stop loving you.” He paused to take another breath. “It is hard to imagine when we might be like this again, after you go.” This time, his breath caught. “But that, I know. I love you.” 

“Let’s make the most of the rest of the time we have here, then.” Shane’s initial panic was turning into full body sobs. 

“Yes.” Ilya was right there with him. 

“And we can be sad together in front of each other. Please don’t cry alone anymore.” 

“I won’t.” Tears were streaming down Ilya’s face again. 

They held each other in the dark, letting their tears mix as they pulled each other impossibly closer. 

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

I am pretending that it is a proper expansion draft and not the actual way the Utah hockey club came to be- if you haven’t suspended disbelief yet now is the time to start.

Before he knew it, Shane was gone. 

The announcement was made, the apartment was put up for sale, and the moving truck was pulling away. It had all happened both too fast, yet slowly enough to feel every agonizing second of time with Shane slipping out of his grasp.

Shane flew out of Boston a day after the moving truck left, staying one more night in Ilya’s apartment. This time, he had a suitcase by the bed full of his clothes and a kit of toiletries he placed by the sink in the spot he used to keep his toothbrush. 

He’d asked Ilya beforehand if their final night together could be normal, as if they’d be spending the next morning the way they always had when the season was coming up- rewatching game film and hitting the gym, before more than likely reconvening in the shower later or collapsing into each other on the couch. 

Ilya had promised everything would be as normal as possible, “But I will still cry,” he’d warned Shane, who had managed to laugh as his face fell. 

It had been easier after Shane caught him crying in the bathroom. Shane had confessed that he’d been a little on edge seeing how happy Ilya seemed in the face of all this change, all while Shane was having anxiety attacks over all the uncertainties their future now held. The admission had made Ilya laugh through his tears and kiss Shane again. 

Since then, Ilya just let himself cry in front of Shane. It rarely happened after sex anymore- now, they’d be playing a video game together or chopping vegetables in the kitchen, and Ilya would look over at Shane and feel a gut punch, like he’d seen Shane’s image flicker out without warning. 

He’d let the tears come, and sometimes he’d go over to Shane and kiss his neck, and sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes he’d keep doing whatever he was doing, knowing that he couldn’t let his life grind to a halt every time. 

The real farewell had happened a week before Shane left. They’d agreed to reserve an entire day to do something special- something much more substantial than the homemade cake Ilya had made after Shane’s final interview. 

Ilya had put a grand plan together. First, the Duck Tour of Boston that Shane had refused to go on before out of a superstition that doing so would jeopardize Boston’s chances of winning the cup. Then, dinner at a fancy seafood restaurant- the kind where you could look at the ocean while you were eating the fish. They’d end with a stroll by their favorite pastry shops in the North End before retreating to Ilya’s apartment. 

It would’ve been a beautiful farewell to the city of Boston, but Ilya started to see flaws in his plan just five minutes into their Duck Tour. The tour guide started pointing out city landmarks in an exaggerated Boston accent, and all Shane did was fix his eyes on Ilya with a despondent expression as he clasped his hands together, as if restraining them from wandering off and doing what they really wanted. 

Ilya quickly realized that spending much of the day out in public where they couldn’t so much as hold hands was not the answer. He promptly changed the dinner reservation to a takeout order. As soon as they were behind Ilya’s closed door, they were wrapped up in one another, where they stayed for the rest of the night. 

After all, it wasn’t Boston that Shane was most sad to be leaving. 

“Which Western Conference team would you play for? If you could?” 

They had been sprawled on the floor, where they’d spread a blanket and some pillows. It was almost like being in bed, without having to admit that the night was almost over. Ilya lifted his head from where it was resting on Shane’s chest. “Is this a riddle? Do you want me to say Utah?” 

“Other than Utah.” Shane stroked a hand through his hair and trailed a finger along Ilya’s cheek. 

“Maybe Colorado. I can go skiing on days off.” 

“You can ski?”

“No.” 

Shane’s laugh was muted as Ilya stole another kiss. He lingered for a moment before settling his head back down. 

“I don’t think I could actually be your head coach.” 

That made Ilya pick his head right back up. “Why not?” 

“The conflict of interest, I guess. I wouldn’t feel right about it.” Ilya supposed that made sense- Shane had been nervous about the potential coach and player power dynamics at the start of their relationship too.

Ilya quirked a corner of his mouth up. “No one would know.” 

“We would know.” 

“Yes.” Ilya leaned down for another kiss, this time letting his body drape over Shane’s. “We would win again.” 

‘Would it be so bad? If people knew about us?” Shane traced a finger along Ilya’s neck. 

They’d talked about this before. How Ilya wanted to pursue citizenship in the U.S. or Canada rather than going back to Russia. How they wanted to leave a legacy that focused on their achievements on the rink, rather than any distractions outside of it. Which people in their lives they wanted to tell about their relationship. 

“Maybe not so bad.” It was kind of a lie. It might be pretty bad if a lot of people knew. But from his vantage point in Shane’s arms it was hard to imagine anything being worse than Shane leaving.  Any other scenario seemed manageable. Ilya shifted again so Shane could run his hand down more of his shoulder. 

“I don’t even know who any of the coaches in this league are married to,” Shane grumbled. 

Ilya wanted to make fun of Shane’s frown like he always did, by kissing the bridge of his nose and making Shane chase his lips, but he was stuck on one of the words Shane had used. “Married?” 

Shane froze beneath him instantly. “No. I mean, come on.” 

Ilya kept staring at him. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Are you proposing?”

“Stop it.” 

It was an ongoing bit that Ilya got into every now and again. Shane would bring up some nebulous time in the future or compare them to a married couple, and Ilya would joke about them getting married, and then they would both laugh about it while not admitting to the other that they were both coincidentally really turned on. 

Ilya caught Shane’s lips in another kiss, this time only pulling back to bite gently under Shane’s jaw before Shane gripped his hair and steered him back up. 

“Ruin me. Please?” Shane’s eyes were dark. 

They both sat up a little, enough to toss aside most of their clothes. Ilya drew Shane up to him with another bruising kiss before straddling him completely and tracing his hands down his chest, mapping out every inch yet again. Shane responded by threading his arms around Ilya’s neck and arching his back so their bodies were pressed even closer. 

Ilya broke the kiss for a moment to shift their position slightly, but not before he caught a glimpse of the wetness in Shane’s eyes. He squeezed his own eyes shut to will any traitorous tears away- he didn’t need them interrupting when he was kind of busy right now, thank you. 

“Sweetheart-” he started to say before Shane cut him off with another kiss. 

“Please just keep going,” Shane panted out, blinking rapidly as Ilya brought a hand up to cradle his face and collect the single escaping tear. 

“Okay.” 

They’d ended up spending most of the night on the floor, only stumbling off to the real bed when the sounds of the city started getting louder outside as people began to rise with the sun. 

Even then, Ilya had fought to the last second to keep his eyes open, smiling sheepishly at Shane when he made eye contact with him and realized they were both doing the same thing. 

Shane had shuffled even closer to Ilya as he finally drifted off. “It was perfect,” he murmured.

Ilya had fallen asleep with that familiar bittersweet thorn in his chest that he was just about getting used to. 

The first week after Shane left was almost easier than Ilya expected. He’d been counting down to it since Shane got the job, dreading the moment it finally happened, and then it did. And the world kept turning, and Ilya still had a gym routine to stick to and a few hours of ice every day and a training camp to be ready for. 

And most people didn’t treat Ilya any differently, because they didn’t know. Only Marlow sidled up to him after a workout and suggested they go out for a beer together soon. The tone of his voice insinuated that hanging out was not optional, and Ilya would’ve made fun of him for his concern had he not been genuinely touched. 

Svetlana texted him too, with a similarly demanding insistence that they hang out. Her questions to him were careful, treading lightly over subjects related to Shane, while still probing to get a sense of Ilya’s mental state. 

It made Ilya grateful that he wasn’t completely alone when it came to talking about his relationship, although it also made him realize with a jolt that right now, Shane was. 

Shane and Ilya talked on the phone every day as they’d planned. The two hour time difference could get tricky at night, with Ilya nearly falling asleep while waiting for Shane to finish whatever he was working on. Sometimes it was easier to talk in the morning, so Shane woke up earlier. 

The Utah Hockey Club -they didn’t have a name yet- was coming together. The expansion draft had yielded some strong players, including goaltender Wyatt Hayes and winger Troy Barrett, both annoying to play against. Hayden Pike, a winger Shane had played with for his half season as a rookie, was there too. 

But the biggest shock of the expansion draft was New York Rangers star Scott Hunter. Ilya couldn’t fathom why the Rangers hadn’t protected him. Was it because he could be unpredictable? Or had he for some reason wanted to leave New York? Either way, he was in Utah now. 

“It still doesn’t feel real,” confessed Shane late one night to Ilya, “Half the guys on my team are older than me.” 

“Does not mean they won’t listen to you,” Ilya pointed out. Boston had proved that well enough. 

“Still. It’s weird.”

But from the way Shane talked about his team, he wasn’t letting any type of imposter syndrome get in his way. He was already thinking about line combinations for the preseason games, and the most likely candidates to call up from the AHL when needed. 

A few weeks in, Shane paused mid sentence in the middle of a small rant on the varying skillsets of his rookies. “Should I be saying this to you?” 

Ilya frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it’s insider information. You can use it to beat us.” 

Ilya hummed. He couldn’t tell over the phone whether Shane was serious or not. “Maybe I could use it. If I thought like you.” 

Shane laughed in response, but eased off on sharing specific details with Ilya after that. 

It quickly became clear that there would be no time to sneak in a visit for either of them. They hadn’t promised anything of the sort to each other, but Ilya had been holding out hope that there’d be a stretch of even twenty-four hours when they might be able to meet somewhere. 

But there was nothing. Their schedules were taking them in different directions pretty much all the time, and free time was becoming more and more of a commodity. 

Ilya remembered how difficult he and Shane had both found it to make it through those early road trips, back when they’d both decided they wouldn’t try to spend extra time together outside of team activities. He wanted to hit his past self in the face now, thinking about how agonizing he’d found it to be around Shane all the time but unable to do anything other than look at him from afar. 

He’d give anything to have that back now. 

Now, all he had was Shane’s voice on the phone, sounding more and more distracted with every conversation as he tried to protect his time with Ilya while balancing his ever-increasing responsibilities. 

He had reports on ESPN and NHL network analyzing Shane’s performance every game, paying him more attention than any other coach in the league due to his age and history with the NHL. He heard less and less about the challenges Shane was dealing with from Shane himself, either because Shane really was trying not give away privileged information, or because he just didn’t want to talk about it. He no longer got to see Shane’s eyes light up at a key piece of analysis, or watch Shane run off to an office to write something down before he forgot. 

And night after night, his bed felt emptier, no matter how many times he squeezed his eyes shut and conjured up the memories he’d saved for specifically this purpose. 

But he still had his job, his friends, and, despite the distance, he still did have Shane. And until the Bruins traveled to Utah for their game against each other, that would have to be enough. 

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Sticking with Ilya's POV for this one! We will hear from Shane in the next chapter :)

“Didn’t you work out before the game, dude?” Marlow was standing in front of Ilya, towel tied around his hips and hair still wet from the shower, looking incredulously at Ilya in his workout gear. 

Ilya shrugged. “A bunch of guys are there too. We are gym buddies.” 

“They all played like eight minutes total tonight.”

“I will stop if I get tired.” Ilya glared when Marlow still didn’t go back to his own stall. “What is your problem, Marlow?”

Marlow’s face suddenly looked suspiciously neutral. “I don’t have a problem.” 

North American hockey players could be such bad liars. “Just say it. So I can go work out without you running in later to tell me whatever it is you are thinking about.” 

Marlow just sighed as the concern he’d clearly been hiding flooded his face. “I’m just checking on you, okay?” He lowered his voice and glanced around- no one was in earshot. “I look at the schedule, you know. I know where we’re flying next. I just wanna make sure you’re, uh, good.”

Of course. Ilya had tried not to mope too much in front of Marlow as the season really got into full swing. Sometimes it was hard, though. When he scored a goal and he reflexively looked to where Shane used to stand on the bench. Or when he went out for a beer with other team members and realized he couldn’t pretend to complain about how tough of a coach Shane was, all the while thinking about what he planned to do with Shane when he got home later. 

Marlow had been extremely supportive through it all. He’d even tried to engineer an elaborate plot to get Ilya out to Utah and back within about twelve hours, offering the services of friends he knew who could drive Ilya anywhere, no questions asked. 

Ilya had refused that offer. “He’s too busy,” he’d explained to Marlow, shaking his head.

Marlow had only frowned. “Did you ask him?” 

Ilya just shrugged again. He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t, not after Marlow was going to all this trouble to help him. “He is coaching a brand new team,” he’d said as an explanation. 

He wasn’t lying about Shane being busy, though. It was getting harder and harder to find time to talk on the phone- they’d both missed days, either because the timing didn’t match up, or because they were just too tired. Ilya had fallen asleep multiple times before Shane had been able to call, and Shane had failed to wake up early enough to chat with Ilya after a late game. 

And it was getting even harder to get a read on Shane when they did talk. Utah was hovering just above a .500 record, which was pretty decent for a new team. However, Ilya knew that Shane wanted better than pretty decent. 

He knew that Shane was getting Utah to gel better and better with every game, but that some of the players, particularly Scott Hunter and Troy Barrett, were struggling to really hit their stride. But Shane refused to complain about any of that to Ilya. He maintained that all he could ask from them was that they gave their full effort in every game and practice, and that it was his job to help them get the end result they wanted from those efforts. 

It was a very PR-friendly answer, and it only put more pressure on Shane. Ilya knew that Shane would work as hard as he possibly could to get consistent performances out of every member of his team. It did make him worry a little too- would Shane realize that even as a head coach there would always be factors out of his control when it came to the performance of his players? 

But what confused Ilya in this moment was how concerned Marlow seemed for him. He’d been waiting for the trip out to Utah all season, and it was finally coming up. Soon, he’d be able to hold Shane close to him again and whisper directly in his ear without his phone in the way. He’d be able to actually see what Shane’s life was like there, rather than trying to put a mental picture together with increasingly difficult and vague puzzle pieces. 

He was so excited, and he’d said as much to Marlow. So why did Marlow still seem so worried? 

Maybe the look on his face told Marlow everything running through his mind, because Marlow just sighed. “Look,” he started, “I’m not an expert or anything. But just-” he adjusted his towel, clearly annoyed he hadn’t dried off completely before getting into this conversation “don’t put too much pressure on this.”

 Ilya squinted at Marlow. “What do you mean?” 

“There’s been a lot of uh, change. And it might not be the same as how it used to- fucking hell.” Marlow gave up, seeing Ilya’s stony expression. “I’m not saying it right.” 

“No, you are not.” 

“Remember my ex from Toronto last season?”

Ilya winced, remembering how badly that particular relationship of Marlow’s had ended. “Yes?” 

“I let my whole week, or my whole month hinge on the times I got to see her. And if it didn’t go well…” 

He didn’t have to say any more. Marlow had been uncharacteristically antisocial and had required a long drive with Ilya before he admitted he was having a hard time. Ilya’d had Shane to thank for the tip that going for a drive was the perfect activity for confessing something to a friend- no one had to make any eye contact the entire time, no matter what they said.

But that kind of crash and burn wouldn’t happen with Shane. Marlow hadn’t planned on marrying that Toronto girl one day, at least as far as Ilya knew. It was an entirely different situation.

“Put your clothes on, Marlow.” 

Marlow retreated to his stall, clearly happy to be done with the conversation. 

Ilya tried to get Marlow’s words out of his head as he made his way to the gym. Yea, he was really looking forward to seeing his boyfriend, who he hadn’t seen in nearly three months. Sue him. 

It was hard not to let his chest burst from pride when he skated out to the face-off dot in Utah and saw Shane standing there at the center of the home bench, tapping players on the head and telling them what was likely yet another key aspect they should focus on for the game. 

He belonged there. His other assistant coaches trusted him, and the players worked hard using his methods. He commanded the bench better than many of the more seasoned coaches in the league. Ilya fought down the urge to simply stop, and watch him in his element. 

It wouldn’t have been possible to meet before the game- they each had too much to do. But Shane had given Ilya his address and the code to his front door, so Ilya could meet Shane there after. Ilya tried not to think about how soon he’d be in Shane’s new house or he would never be able to focus on the game. 

And, as he realized about halfway through the first period, the game needed his entire focus and more. For as good as Shane had been at getting Ilya to score, he was evidently just as good if not better at making sure Ilya would have to fight his absolute hardest at even getting the opportunity to shoot. And if Ilya managed to get a shot off, someone would block it. 

Ilya had never experienced anything like it. All of Utah seemed to be reading his mind before he even knew he was having a thought. By the third period, he was taking deep, measured breaths, gripping his stick tightly even on the bench so he didn’t lose his cool and slam it into the boards. He couldn’t let Shane see how frustrated he was, even if Shane probably knew anyway. 

The Bruins managed to win in overtime, no thanks to Ilya. He’d very nearly lost them the game with a sloppy turnover in the neutral zone that led to a two-on-one in the opposite direction. He didn’t even look over at Shane as he left the ice, ignoring the energy and joy his teammates were exuding around him. They always loved an overtime win. 

He was still seething by the time he’d undressed and showered, and sat back down in his spot in the locker room to collect himself. Was he really letting himself get angry at Shane for what- doing his job? He’d always known Shane watched him more closely than other players. He’d reaped the benefits of that for three years. Now, he was seeing the other side of it. He should’ve known Shane would use every possible advantage he had to help his team. 

As he finally let the anger at Shane wash away, a new feeling took over. One that had been dormant for a while, and was now thrumming under his skin like an old friend. It was the feeling he’d had when he played against Shane in Juniors, that had only amplified in the NHL right up until the day Shane had taken that hit to the head. 

Huh. He grinned to himself. It was kind of exciting. 

He’d have a plan the next time he played against Utah. Shane wouldn’t even know what hit him. 

Reinvigorated, he made his way outside. It was time to see Shane again, and he couldn’t fucking wait. 

Shane’s house was still dark and quiet when Ilya arrived, and Ilya had expected as much. Like most coaches, Shane often stayed later than the players did on game nights, noting anything he wanted to touch on in practice later, or anything he needed to keep in mind for when they played that night’s team again. 

Shane had mentioned to Ilya that some coaches worked from game film now, but Shane preferred to do it the old-fashioned way- working off what he’d just seen, relying on his gut reaction just as much as his various statistics. He saved the game film to look at with fresh eyes during other sessions.

It meant that Ilya had some time to look around. 

He’d seen quite a bit of the house, first from the pictures Shane sent while he was looking at places during the trips he took out to interview for the job, and then again over FaceTime, when Shane gave him the unofficial virtual tour. But it was hard to get the full picture that way. 

The first thing he noticed was that the house looked unpacked and lived in. The furniture was where it was supposed to be, and Shane had clearly splurged on a fancy coffee maker and an air fryer to complete the kitchen. 

A few months after they got together officially, Shane had admitted to Ilya that he’d never let himself fully unpack in Boston during his first season out of a superstition that if he let himself get too comfortable, it would all come crashing down. And it very nearly had in Boston too, if Shane hadn’t realized how invaluable he was to the team and agreed to stay. 

But it looked like Shane had allowed himself to move past a state of limbo out in Utah and truly settle in. There were couches, wide cushioned chairs, and a TV room with a mini fridge. In an office space, there were shelves with mementos and awards from Shane’s days as a player, followed by honors he’d received as a coach. There was even a completely normal looking puck that Ilya made a mental note to ask Shane about later. 

Shane had hung up a few framed pictures too, some of which Ilya recognized from his Boston apartment. There were pictures of his family at various ages, and team pictures from over the years. But Ilya’s eye caught on the picture of him and Shane holding the Stanley Cup- the one Marlow had taken at the Dunkin. He hadn’t realized Shane had framed it- Shane hadn’t even framed the one of himself holding the cup on the night they’d won.

The picture from the Dunkin wouldn’t necessarily be getting them any modeling deals- they were both clearly on the verge of laughter, and Ilya might have even been moving too much to be one hundred percent in focus. But what struck Ilya about it was the adoring way they were looking at each other, even in a public setting. 

It made something fracture in Ilya’s chest as he thought of how few pictures like that they had. He wondered if Shane’s parents had taken any, or Svetlana. But even if they did, the picture of them with the cup- this thing they’d won together- would always be his favorite. 

He meandered through Shane’s house a little more, figuring Shane would properly show him everything later. After he’d finished showing Ilya the bedroom, of course. Eventually, he made his way back to the room with the TV and waited there, realizing that he had to log into their shared streaming accounts himself if he wanted to watch anything other than ESPN or NHL Network- Shane hadn’t set up anything other than hockey-related television. 

He’d have to remind Shane that it was okay to watch something else every now and again. 

Glancing at the clock, he guessed Shane was likely either on his way or about to be, so he threw on an episode of Letterkenny he’d already seen and sprawled out on the couch as he waited for Shane to arrive. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

He blinked the sleep away from his eyes as he heard the front door shut. The TV screen was dark, having turned off automatically after Ilya hadn’t touched the remote for a while. 

He didn’t even want to look at the clock. 

But before he could, Shane was peppering him with kisses and practically climbing on top of him. “Ilya, I’m so sorry. I was working and then I suddenly looked up and realized-” 

There was more than just a twinge of annoyance in the back of Ilya’s head, but he shoved it away in favor of appreciating that though it was late, Shane was actually here. He looked even better in Ilya’s arms than he did in the head coach spot on the bench. And he was already starting to melt into Ilya, giving him deeper and deeper kisses as his hands slid across every inch of skin he could reach. 

All Ilya could get out when they broke apart for air was, “I missed you so much.” He tucked Shane’s head into the crook of his neck for a moment, feeling the way the muscles in Shane’s back released when he dug his fingers into a knot just below Shane’s shoulder. 

They breathed as one for a few seconds before Shane surged back up to Ilya’s mouth. “I’m going to make it up to you. All this time you waited.” He brushed a stray hair off Ilya’s forehead. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

Ilya closed his eyes and let the feeling of Shane on top of him replace all the memories he’d been working off over the last few months. As much as he’d tried to make sure he never forgot what it was like to have Shane’s lips on his, it was so, so much better in the flesh. 

“Wanna see my bedroom?”

Ilya whined as Shane slid off him, pushing himself almost entirely off the couch. “I already saw it.” 

Shane hesitated, though he didn’t take his hand away from Ilya’s cheek. “Wait, you already…?” 

Ilya snorted, realizing what Shane was asking. “It would have served you right.” 

At least Shane looked appropriately guilty. He pulled Ilya up off the couch and gave him another kiss. “It might be worth visiting the bedroom again, then.” 

They made their way to the bedroom slowly, fingers threaded together, stopping to kiss again about every three steps. Now that they were standing in the same place again it was like neither could bear to let the other go for any amount of time. Ilya would’ve been self conscious about how desperate he suddenly felt if Shane hadn’t been pinning him to the wall and stealing another kiss as if he couldn’t quite convince himself Ilya was really there either. 

Shane all but threw Ilya back onto the bed the moment they got there, pulling off Ilya’s pants with practiced efficiency and tossing them somewhere behind him. “Been thinking about this,” he muttered, before leaning down and doing something with his tongue that Ilya swore felt even better now than it had the last time. And it definitely felt better than anything they’d managed to do over the phone. 

Ilya was about ready to let it all hit him like a tidal wave- the thrill of being back with Shane, the new challenge he’d have to rise to meet the next time they played each other, how he was so fucking tired but didn’t plan on sleeping at all tonight- but Shane pulled off him just as he was about to fully let go. 

“Wanna fuck me?” 

That got Ilya to snap back to attention real quick. 

He gave Shane a flat stare, though the smile playing on the corners of his lips likely ruined the effect. “No, Hollander, I don’t want to fuck you.” 

Shane grinned back at him as they met in a kiss again. “I love you, Ilya.” His tone was playful, but there was a slight edge to his voice that Ilya couldn’t help but notice. 

He raked his nails gently over the back of Shane’s neck, making Shane’s eyes darken just a little bit more. “Clothes off now.” 

And with an astonishing amount of speed, Shane’s clothes were off. 

Ilya was floating in the aftermath of a dream he couldn’t quite remember. All he knew was that he was warm, he was relaxed, and he was happier than he’d been in months because- his eyes snapped open. 

Fuck. He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep. He could sleep on the plane. He could sleep any time he wasn’t with Shane. He’d have plenty of time for that. 

He stretched a bit, feeling the dampness of sweat on his body that hadn’t even cooled yet- he couldn’t have fallen asleep for that long. 

But he was alone in the bed. Where the hell was Shane? 

Maybe he was in the bathroom. Or had gone to get some water. Or… 

Another thought occurred to Ilya as he remembered how sometimes in Boston Shane would scamper off to his office to write down something before he forgot, before sliding back into the bed and asking if Ilya wanted to go another round. 

But he was working so late tonight. Surely he thought of everything then… but Ilya knew that wasn’t necessarily true. He heaved himself out of the bed and crept down the hall, following the single sliver of light in the dark house. 

Sure enough, Shane was in his office, madly scribbling on a notepad. His hair was sticking up at odd angles from where Ilya had gripped him hard at one point, and then pressed him into the mattress at another. He’d put on sweatpants, but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. 

The whisper of annoyance that Ilya had been ignoring all night was getting louder, and he desperately tried to shove it away. “Come back to bed?” 

Shane didn’t even look up. “Yea, one sec. I just need to-” 

“Shane.” He hadn’t meant to make his tone sound so serious… or maybe he had. 

Shane did look up at Ilya then, and sighed. “Okay, yea.” He put his pencil down. “Sorry.” He stood up and turned to face Ilya, letting his hands slide across Ilya’s waist. “Did you see the picture of us with the cup?” 

Ilya nodded as he let himself feel the thrill of Shane’s hands on him again. He reminded himself that he really didn’t want to start an argument- he’d known that some things would be different now, including the amount of time Shane was spending in his new role. He just needed to savor the time he did have. 

His eyes fell on that regular puck again, and Shane followed his gaze. “Oh.” A faint blush spread across Shane’s cheeks. “I never told you I had that.” 

Ilya raised a brow.

“It’s the puck from the first goal you scored with me as your coach.” 

Now Ilya just gaped at Shane. They hadn’t been together then. They hadn’t even been hooking up. They hadn’t been anything. 

“But-”

“I know.” 

Fuck. I love him so fucking much. Ilya crashed Shane’s lips to his, trying to put into the kiss the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. I think this arrangement really sucks. Please tell me you’ll never stop fighting for what we have. That we can figure out a way to get more time. That if you really had to choose, you’d choose me. 

They barely even let their mouths disconnect as they stumbled back to the bedroom. As soon as Shane was on the bed Ilya was kissing across his chest and down his stomach, wondering if he really had kissed every square inch of Shane’s body by now. He probably had, many times over. But every time was still just as good as the first, if not better. 

And this round was maybe even better than the one earlier, too, although it was hard to tell. 

It was only after, when Shane immediately rolled out of the bed and started walking towards the door that Ilya could no longer bite his tongue. 

“Shane, please. You didn’t write it all down before?” 

Shane did look a little guilty, but he frowned at Ilya. “It’s one thing. I forgot that I didn’t-”

“You will remember later.” Ilya didn’t even try to keep the coldness out of his voice. 

Shane’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I thought you understood when I had to do this.” His voice sounded small. “I thought you liked it.” 

And Ilya had. He’d liked it a lot back in Boston, when he knew they’d have as many nights as they wanted together. When he didn’t have to get on a plane in the morning and leave Shane behind. He’d loved how dedicated Shane was. 

He was trying to figure out how to put all that into words, when Shane spoke again. 

“Is this because of the game?” 

Ilya had wondered if Shane was going to bring it up. He would’ve happily avoided the subject for now, despite his resolution to rise to the challenge of playing against a coach that knew every last one of his weaknesses. 

“No. It’s because we get one fucking night together and you want to spend half of it working extra.” He tried to keep his voice level, realizing as he said it out loud that seeing Shane pull away from him to work some more did actually really, really hurt. 

Shane scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, okay? I-” His shoulders dropped. “This was shitty timing. There’s just- there’s a lot going on, and I haven’t been able to tell you about all of it, and-”

“Why not?” Ilya sat up a little in the bed, pulling the sheets around his waist. For some reason it felt weird to be fully exposed while arguing like this. “Why can’t you tell me?” 

“Because it’s about the players that you are getting paid to try and beat, and if you knew-” 

“So I can’t know anything about your team because I might try to use it to beat you, but you can use everything you know about me to make sure I don’t get a shot off? And don’t fucking lie and say you’d know it all only from being my coach.” 

Shane leveled Ilya with a flat stare. “I knew this was about the game.” 

“It’s not about the fucking game!” 

“Can’t you just be happy you won? And be grateful that you don’t have to sit around trying to figure out how to get your strongest players to deliver more consistently in close games?” 

Ilya’s face was surely red by now. “So if we had lost you would’ve come home sooner?” He shook his head and stared down at his lap. “I would’ve told Wheeler not to score,” he muttered. 

Silence. 

When Ilya looked back up at Shane, his eyes were wet. “Don’t you dare imply you would do anything other than try to win against me.” 

Fuck. Ilya looked back down. 

“I’m serious, Ilya.” 

He couldn’t stand seeing Shane this upset, and knowing he’d caused it. He should’ve just kept his fucking mouth shut when Shane got out of bed. 

He lay back down, pulling the covers over his shoulders. He just couldn’t do it anymore. Not right now. “Go write your notes.” 

No one moved in the room for a few moments, until Ilya shifted so his back was to Shane. Then, he heard the soft click of the door closing, and realized he was alone in the room again. 

His alarm went off obnoxiously early the next morning. He blinked, reveling in the fact that he got to wake up next to Shane at least once before he had to leave, watching his face scrunch as he tried to tune out the alarm. 

Then, the previous night came flooding back into his memory, and his stomach dropped. They’d fought, and now he had to leave.

Next to him, Shane was cursing too. “You have to go already?”

Ilya nodded, rummaging through his bag to find some clean clothes. 

Shane swore again. “I was gonna order you breakfast. Here.” 

Tears pulled at the corner of Ilya’s eyes as he leaned back over the bed to give Shane a kiss. “Next time.” Shane gave him a wobbly smile in return. They both knew that there might not be a next time for months. 

Ilya tried to turn back to his bag, but Shane’s fingers closed around the front of his shirt. He wiped away a tear as Shane kissed him again, softer this time. 

“I hate when we fight.” 

Ilya moved his head slightly so he could kiss Shane on the cheek. “Yea.” 

“Can we talk? Later?” The sincerity in Shane’s voice pierced through Ilya’s chest. 

His own voice broke. “Yes.” 

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Shane looked so fucking defeated. “I’m so sorry.” He ran the outside of his finger under Ilya’s eyes, the way he’d done all the time in the weeks before he left Boston. 

Ilya sniffed. “Me too.” 

But Shane was already shaking his head. “No. Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have-” he trailed off, glancing at the clock on his nightstand. “We can do this later. I just-”

Ilya pulled him into a hug then, clutching at his back and kissing the side of his ear. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Shane’s voice was muffled against Ilya’s shoulder. 

Ilya was certain his eyes were still red by the time he met back up with his team. No one questioned him- he’d never been more grateful that this team all had a good sense of boundaries with one another. The only one who approached him was Marlow, who he failed to avoid. He tried to give Marlow his best murderous stare to scare him off, but Marlow only rubbed the back of his shoulder before walking away. 

For some reason, seeing the knowing look on Marlow’s face was what made Ilya finally break inside completely. 

Chapter End Notes

given how much time we're spending being angsty I just want to reaffirm that I do have this entire story planned out and there will in fact be a happy ending, I promise!

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

“Hey, Coach? Got a minute?” Scott Hunter was standing at the doorway of Shane’s office, looking just as insecure and lost as he had since the beginning of the season. To his credit, however, Scott had respected Shane’s position as his coach from day one, despite the fact that Shane was younger than him. 

Shane looked up from some of the power play footage he’d been reviewing on his iPad. “Sure, Hunter. Come on in.” 

Scott shut the door behind him and took a seat across from Shane’s desk. Shane had seen players in all kinds of stressful states- he’d been a part of several playoff runs, after all- but Scott was so hunched and pale that he seemed to be the first in a while that seemed in legitimate danger of throwing up all over the desk. He held back on prompting any kind of conversation, opting instead to let Scott take a few deep breaths and say whatever it was that he clearly needed to tell Shane. 

“I know we’ve talked before about my, uh, performance. I’m still working on a few things that might help. But, uh, I feel like I owe you an explanation.” 

Shane frowned as Scott took another deep breath. They’d gone over all kinds of positioning adjustments and line changes that could help Scott get out of the rut he was currently in. Scott had even mentioned that he was reworking his training and diet plans off the ice. But those things could take time to show real benefits, and Shane was fully aware that not every player took well to sudden trades or expansion drafts. 

Scott continued. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping with this. But you should know. I’m gay.” 

Luckily, Shane had the presence of mind to clench his jaw so it wouldn’t fall open. Despite his own relationship with Ilya, he hadn’t really considered that other people in the NHL might also not be straight. Had he actually assumed he and Ilya were the only ones? He wondered whether Ilya had thought about it too. 

Scott seemed to be looking at Shane expectantly, and Shane realized he hadn’t said anything. 

He tried to think of a believable response that any other coach might come up with. “Hunter, that doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that you work hard for this team, and I know you do. I promise, I’m going to keep working with you to-”

“But that’s the problem.” Scott looked marginally less stressed, though his face still wore a look of concern. “It’s affecting how I’m playing, and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Uh-oh. If Scott was one of those people that was both gay and homophobic at the same time, that thought being gay somehow made a person worse at hockey or any other sport, Shane was going to have to shut their talk down. He was not prepared for that kind of conversation. Not without outing himself or Ilya by accident, or at the very least saying something extremely rude. 

He tilted his head slightly, keeping his eyes on Scott. “Fix it?” 

Scott scratched at the top of his hairline. “No, I mean, I know I can’t fix that. And I wouldn’t want to.” 

Well that was a fucking relief.

“I just have a mental block, I guess.” 

“About being gay?” 

Scott gave Shane a curious look. “You’re being really cool about this.” 

Shane shrugged, extremely proud of the nonchalant performance he was giving. “I told you, I don’t care-” 

“I know, but wow. You weren’t kidding.” Scott leaned back in his chair. “It’s just so different from what my, uh, old coach said.” 

A pit was starting to form in Shane’s stomach. “What did he say?” At the look on Scott’s face, he amended, “You don’t have to tell me.” 

Scott grimaced. “No. Here’s the thing. I tried to tell him the same thing I-” he sighed, and cursed under his breath. “I was going through a breakup, in New York. I was in love, but the relationship was pretty new, and he wanted me to come out publicly, and I-” he looked down at his lap, “I just wasn’t ready.” 

There was a bitter taste of familiarity in Shane’s mouth. He was extremely lucky that he and Ilya were pretty much on the same page about coming out- mainly, that neither planned to do it, at least right now. He knew it couldn’t be like that for every couple, especially if the stakes were much, much higher for one of them. 

He made a sympathetic noise as Scott kept going. “I finally broke and told my coach, because I was tired of hearing all the bullshit about how I wasn’t trying, and I just- someone had to know. It ended up being him.” Scott took another breath. “And then the expansion draft protection list came out, and I wasn’t on it. And I asked Coach about it, and he said maybe distance would make the breakup easier.” 

Shane’s face was set in a deep frown now. That was why the Rangers hadn’t protected Hunter? He’d been shocked to see Scott available- even now, when he wasn’t playing his best, Shane couldn’t imagine leaving a player like that unprotected in a draft. 

But Scott wasn’t done. “Part of me agreed with him. I thought this team might be a new start. Away from it all. I could forget, um, dating, for a while. Just focus on hockey.” He was searching for something in Shane’s face. “Please don’t take any of this personally. It has nothing to do with the team. But I think I took New York City for granted. There were certain things that I just- even if I wasn’t-” 

Shane wanted to kick himself. Again, he hadn’t even thought about the fact that they were in Utah now. He hadn’t ever even been to a gay bar or anything like it in his time in Boston, let alone here in Salt Lake City. Hell, he sometimes even forgot that those rainbow flags or pride events he’d seen on the street were for him, too. But that didn’t mean someone like Scott wouldn’t feel the psychological impact of playing for years in a place where he could go out and feel a little less alone, closet or no closet, only to get ripped away to a place that, well, wasn’t quite on the level of New York City. 

Scott cleared his throat before crossing his arms. “So that’s what’s going on. I feel out of place here. I guess I still have a broken heart. I clearly can’t get past it, and it’s making me worse on the ice.” He looked down again. “If you want to explore a, um, trade or something, I would-”

“Hunter,” Shane interrupted, shaking his head. “Stop.” 

Scott looked at Shane with wide eyes. 

“I don’t know if we could get you back to New York. It might be complicated.” He tried to run through the roster of Rangers players quickly in his head, before realizing that most of the complications would likely arise dealing with a coach that was probably more bigoted than Scott was letting on. “Maybe we could get you close.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “But that would involve more people than just me.” 

Scott’s mouth twisted, and Shane guessed that he was likely calculating how many people he’d have to come out to. It was either that, or make up a bullshit excuse to warrant wanting a trade, which might be an even worse conversation with agents or Utah’s management team. 

“So for now,” Shane continued, “let’s focus on the hockey part. Thank you for telling me what you’re going through. I know you think it doesn’t make a difference, but-” he paused, thinking of all the new babies, dead relatives, or unexpected illnesses that had severely impacted lots of players in Boston, for better or worse, “Just talking about it might help.” 

Scott looked thoughtful. “It might.” He pushed back from the desk. “Seriously. Thank you for being so, uh, understanding.” 

Shane gestured to the iPad in front of him. “It’s my job.” Then, realizing that might have sounded wrong, he hurried to correct, “Not that, I, um, wouldn’t be understanding outside of-” 

Scott’s laugh cut him off. “Well, you’re better at your job than some other people, I’ll just say that.” He opened the door and turned back around. “Thanks, Coach.” Then, he was gone. 

Shane exhaled, trying to release the tension that had been building in his chest and shoulders over the past few minutes. He’d made it through without outing himself, at least. And hopefully he said at least some of the right things to Scott. 

This was exactly the kind of thing he wished he could tell Ilya. This, and a million other things involving the players on his team. Rookies that stayed up too late playing video games. Hayden Pike running out of practice because his wife went into labor. Troy Barrett showing up to every practice looking even more fatigued than he did the day before. 

Maybe it would’ve been different if Ilya didn’t play in the NHL. But a part of Shane worried about betraying the trust of his team. If any of them ever found out about him and Ilya later, would they worry that Shane had never truly been loyal to the team he coached? Would he be accused of being unsportsmanlike? 

At the very least, he could make sure that he did everything in his power to make sure Ilya wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing against Utah. That might settle his paranoia a little.

There was one other thing turning in his mind. If Scott Hunter clearly wasn’t happy in Utah and would say yes to a trade deal…

Could they trade Scott Hunter for Ilya?

It wouldn’t be a one to one trade. Ilya was far and away the best player in the league at the moment. Utah would have to give up several players, and maybe even a few draft picks. And Shane knew better than anyone how hard Boston would fight to keep Ilya. 

But it might be possible. 

Before he’d left, he’d reasoned with himself that he could never be Ilya’s head coach. That the risk of getting caught and blowing up both their careers by way of what was quite possibly a league violation would be too high, not to mention the risk of treating Ilya differently than other players and becoming a worse coach as a result. It wouldn’t be the same situation as his previous specialized role as an assistant coach. 

His thoughts of all the potential ways this could never work didn’t do anything to slow his pulse as he thought of even the slim possibility that Ilya could be back on his team again. After the pain of the past few months, of wishing he could look out on the ice before a practice and see Ilya taking a round of slap shots, or thinking about when they might have their next date night before remembering they couldn’t do that anymore, the thought was absolutely tantalizing, ethics be damned. 

For now, he would focus on getting Scott Hunter back to his highest level. 

A week later, the Boston Bruins arrived in Utah for their game. 

He’d lain in bed for nearly an hour after Ilya had left, wondering how on earth he’d let any amount of work get in the way of the small amount of time they had together. It felt all the worse now that he felt that emptiness again, when he’d had the chance to stay next to Ilya for longer, and he’d given it up. 

He’d gotten too in his head. He always stayed late after games- what if someone noticed that he changed his behavior when they played Boston? He would’ve had to stay even if he’d had no work to do. And then he’d just gotten carried away, convinced that he was this close to cracking the code and turning Utah into a dominant team. He hadn’t been able to leave his work at the rink- as soon as Ilya had seemed like he was drifting off to sleep, everything had come charging back into his brain. He used to get up and work in Boston sometimes too, but he knew this was different. He’d hit a new level of intensity in his time in Utah, and he hadn’t been able to turn it off for even one night with Ilya.

He was feeling the pressure immensely. He knew this team had the same potential that he’d seen in Boston, and that it was up to him to make it work. And if he didn’t, it would be his own fault. He couldn’t afford to leave any idea unexplored or any player’s strength overlooked. 

Luckily, Scott Hunter was already playing better. Shane had been right- even just being able to talk about everything helped him to shake off some of that mental block and start creating dangerous opportunities again. His play was the kind of shift that could turn the tide for the entire team, and Shane needed to keep building on that. 

He’d decided not to say anything to Ilya about his talk with Scott or his thoughts of a trade. It was too far-fetched right now anyway. He couldn’t bear to create any kind of false hope, for him or Ilya. Plus, Ilya might not even want to leave Boston. He was a franchise player there. He knew people in the city and stopped to chat with fans in the street. If he played in Boston his whole career, his jersey number would hang in the rafters of the TD Garden one day. 

It wasn’t unreasonable to think that Ilya would prioritize his career. Shane certainly had. 

And maybe it was a moot point anyway. Maybe Ilya didn’t want a boyfriend that couldn’t get his mind to stop racing about how to make his team better. He definitely wouldn’t move teams for someone who had left him in bed alone on their one night together. 

But Shane hadn’t known what to do when Ilya had rolled over to face away from him, other than leave. His head had been spinning with stress at that point- between trying to parse through what he felt he could and couldn’t tell Ilya, to believing for even a moment that Ilya might do anything other than try his hardest against Shane, he had to leave before he accidentally said something terrible. 

It was only the next morning, when Ilya was leaving even earlier than he’d thought, that he’d realized that losing a game didn’t feel nearly as bad as watching Ilya walk out the door for the last time in what would be months.

There was not much he could do to fix that ruined night, other than apologize again. 

“I’m sorry too.” Ilya’s voice on the phone sounded farther away than usual. “I did not- I was not clear, with you.” 

Shane sank into a chair at his counter, deciding to make his coffee after he was done talking to Ilya. “What? You were very-”

“About what I thought we were doing that night. I did not tell you. I did not ask you, before, if you could leave your extra work after the game.” 

Shane rubbed at the skin above his eyebrow. “I should’ve figured that out for myself. You shouldn’t have had to ask.” 

“No.” Ilya’s voice sharpened. “I am not a uh,” he muttered something to himself that Shane couldn’t hear, “riddle. For you. It is not a mystery, what I want. Next time, I will tell you.” 

“Okay.” Shane sighed. “I’ll, uh, make sure I don’t think about work for the night, next time.” 

“You do not have to pretend to forget about it.” Ilya knew him too damn well. 

“Then I’ll make sure at least when I walk in the door to see you-” and hopefully early enough that Ilya wasn’t asleep on the couch again, “I’m yours.” 

“You are always mine.” Shane could hear the smile in Ilya’s voice. 

If Shane had been standing in the same room as Ilya he would’ve reeled him in for a crushing kiss before he could finish the sentence. But since he wasn’t, he swallowed around the slight lump in his throat. “I love you.”

“Hey, Shane?” 

“What?” Shane rolled his shoulders to get the morning stiffness out. 

“I know you cannot tell me everything.” 

Shane winced. “I just… shouldn’t.” 

“Because I will play against you?” 

“Yea, kinda.” He scratched at the back of his hand. “It just feels wrong, I guess.” He thought about the breakout strategies he’d been working on last night- maybe he could be more open with Ilya about the more general stuff. “I can probably be better about that though. Maybe I can tell you a little more than I have been.” 

He could hear Ilya shifting on the couch as he spoke. “Yes. I will not use it to beat you.”

“Okay, I-”

“Maybe you can talk to someone else too? Someone outside of hockey.” 

Shane could only snort at that. “You know I don’t know anyone outside of hockey.” 

“You are in Utah. Many people do not care about hockey there.”

“Thanks for that.” 

“I mean it. It might be good. Just to talk. You are working so hard, and you are so… stressed.” 

Well that was the understatement of the year. But maybe Ilya had a point. If Scott Hunter had proven anything, it was that simply getting something off your chest could make life seem just a little bit easier. But it’s not like Shane had the time to go out and make a bunch of friends in Salt Lake City. 

“Oh, and Shane?” 

“Yes?” 

“I would never let you beat me on purpose.” 

Guilt flooded through Shane as he remembered the way he’d snapped at Ilya. “I know. I should’ve realized, I-”

“It’s okay. Rookie year was a long time ago. But maybe you can remember now.” 

How Ilya didn’t let up for a single face-off. How he’d relentlessly matched Shane stride for stride. Shane remembered. He remembered everything about that hellish year, including the parts before the hit that weren’t so bad. Maybe he’d had an inkling even then, just how important that unfairly attractive Russian problem would end up being to him. 

“I remember.” His voice was almost a whisper. 

“Good. And one more thing.” 

Shane could’ve sworn they’d talked about everything, but he tried to think about what he could’ve said-

“I love you too.” 

Oh. Right. 

“I miss you so much, Ilya.” 

“I miss you too. We will talk again soon?” 

“Of course.” 

Shane hung up and clunked his head on the counter. They were okay. Ilya didn’t hate him. Everything was good again. 

Everything was good, as long as Shane pretended he hadn’t heard the melancholy that kept creeping into Ilya’s voice. 

There was a strange energy in the air when Shane arrived at the rink. He could normally recognize every face he saw on a practice day, whether he ran into rink staff or Utah Hockey Club employees. Sometimes a player’s wife would stop by to drop something off they’d forgotten- he’d noticed that Hayden Pike’s wife was around a lot, now that she and the kids had made the move out to Utah as well. 

But this time, there were all kinds of other people there. Several women wearing dark coats and talking rapidly on the phone directed two photographers, who were snapping shots of the trees surrounding the rink’s entrance. Two younger looking people, one of whom had brightly dyed purple hair, were scribbling in a notepad. 

No one interrupted Shane as he walked in, aside from a few brief glances his way. 

Shane would’ve wondered what was going on if Mark Overstone, a member of the general management team, hadn’t been standing at the entrance when he walked in. 

“Hollander!” He waved Shane over as he gestured to the door. “I forgot to fill you in. There’s a movie filming here for the next few weeks- they promised not to get in your way.” 

“A movie?” Didn’t most American movies normally film in LA? Shane wasn’t actually sure about that, but he did wonder why on earth anyone wanted to film in the rink of the Utah Hockey Club. 

Luckily, Mark anticipated his question. “It’s some kind of hockey movie. The director really wanted to film it in an NHL rink, apparently. We were the closest one to LA that would allow a film crew in. It’s good publicity, right?” 

If Shane had never heard the word “publicity” ever again after his first year in Boston, he would’ve been happy. But he supposed it wasn’t bad for a new team to bring in more fans. 

He let his mind focus back on the upcoming practice. He’d make sure not to get in the way of the film crew if they stayed out of the way of his team. “Yea, I guess.” 

Mark looked around as another group of stressed looking people holding clipboards scurried by. “The director’s around here somewhere. She wanted to meet you.” 

Shane didn’t get the chance to ask any follow up questions before an extremely familiar looking woman with a blinding smile appeared next to them, having evidently been peeking in at the rink. 

“Shane Hollander?” She stuck out her hand. “Congratulations on your career so far. I’m a fan.” 

That was unexpected. She must’ve been watching a lot of hockey to get ready for this movie. 

“I’m Rose Landry. I’m the director of The Outside Edge. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

sticking with Shane's POV again!

Rose Landry’s directorial full-length film debut was about a figure skater who becomes a hockey player in order to keep her college scholarship. The movie was meant to get the film industry to see Rose as more than an action film star, and the script had stood out to her due to her hockey knowledge- she’d played pond hockey every winter growing up in Michigan, and her brothers had all played in college or beyond. 

“I knew I’d have to meet you as soon as I found out we’d be able to film here,” she said to Shane, “I think we have a lot in common.” 

She laughed when she saw the confused look on Shane’s face. “Just that, you know,” she waved to what must have been an intern running past, “We’re both a little younger than average to be doing what we’re doing.” 

“I guess that’s true.” Shane glanced around to look for Mark, but he’d disappeared. “Are you in charge of a bunch of people older than you too?” 

“That’s more of a thing in movies,” Rose laughed, “But yes.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe we can get some of your guys to teach my actors how to skate.” 

Shane coughed out a laugh. “You hired actors who couldn’t skate for a movie about hockey?” 

“We have stunt doubles,” Rose gave a nonchalant wave, “It’ll be fine.” 

“If you say so.” 

“Hey.” Rose’s eyes narrowed. “I do say so.” 

She was incredibly easy to talk to. It was surprising, given how famous she was as an actress, that she seemed to view Shane as something of an equal. 
He remembered what Ilya had said. Maybe you could talk to someone else, too. Someone outside of hockey. 

Maybe Rose Landry was that someone. 

“I was thinking,” Rose had pulled her phone out and was flipping through her calendar. “I really do want this to be beneficial for both of us. My movie and your team. Would you want to film something together? We could do some kind of Actors on Actors thing, if you want.” 

Shane considered trying to fake his way through knowing what she was talking about before admitting, “I’m not sure I know what that is.” 

To his surprise, Rose’s face brightened. “Ugh. I knew I needed you in my life. It’s just a thing where people sit at a table and talk about their work.” 

He didn’t see why not, if they could fit it into both their schedules. “Uh, sure.” 

Rose’s smile was dazzling- she was clearly a movie star for a reason. “Awesome.” She handed her cell phone over to Shane. “Put your number in, and we’ll schedule something.” 

As Shane typed and deleted his number, struggling to adjust his fingers to Rose’s slightly differently sized phone keyboard, Rose added, “It was so nice to meet you, Shane. I think this’ll be really fun.” 

Shane smiled back. “Likewise.” 

Shane and Rose hit it off immediately. Rose was at the rink almost every day, and Shane saw her whenever Utah wasn’t traveling. Due to Shane’s tendency to stay and work before and after practice, it was easy to run into Rose at weird hours. If he worked for too long, she would drag him outside every now and again. 

Even better, Rose didn’t mind when Shane talked about his team. In fact, she seemed to like it. She even asked follow up questions about specific plays or systems he brought up as he detailed his work in practices to implement a power play that matched an ever-improving Scott Hunter’s skill set. 

In return, Shane listened to Rose talk about her movie. Despite all her fame, Rose confessed that she was constantly doubting her own skill and talent. If something wasn’t going exactly to plan, she’d obsess over it, worrying that even the smallest mistake would destroy her entire reputation. 

Shane had laughed in relief at that. It was so nice to know he wasn’t the only one dealing with this kind of thing. 

Meanwhile, Shane and Ilya had decided that talking only once or twice a week for more substantial amounts of time was ultimately better than trying to fit in an early in the morning or late at night phone call every single day. It eliminated the guilt both felt when either missed a call, and gave them more to talk about when they could properly dedicate time to one another. 

But despite this fix, Ilya still just sounded… off. He’d talk about a recent game, or how he’d had dinner at Marlow’s house, or that he’d toured a rookie around the North End, and his voice would falter, like he’d been reading off a script that abruptly ended. 

What was even more concerning was his failure to rib Shane about the little things he’d normally never let slide. Like how Shane accidentally broke his coffee maker from cleaning it too often. Or how he’d called up a defenseman instead of a goalie from the AHL because they had the exact same name before realizing his mistake at the last minute. Ilya had laughed lightly upon hearing about both of those incidents before moving on and asking Shane about another part of his day. 

It was so unusual for Ilya, it was downright alarming. 

But Shane didn’t want to push Ilya on anything. He didn’t want to force Ilya to talk about something that Shane could do nothing to help fix. Besides, everyone in the NHL knew all too well that Boston had been hit with a slew of injuries. They were still a strong team, but they were often missing key pieces of their lineup every game. And Ilya likely knew more about what the specific injuries were- sometimes “lower body” meant a pulled muscle, and sometimes it meant a broken bone, and teams didn’t always specify. 

However, Ilya had sounded thrilled to hear that Shane had made friends with Rose, at least until he’d jokingly asked Shane to get him an autograph. 

“Haha, yeah,” Shane had responded weakly, “I’ll have to get her to mail you one.” 

Ilya had paused, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its former animation. “Maybe I can meet her one day.” 

“Definitely.” But Shane could tell that Ilya already knew- Shane hadn’t even told Rose he was gay yet, let alone anything about Ilya. 

He really wanted to, but he just… hadn’t. And he had no real excuse of why not, except that he’d grown so used to hiding it, even from people who clearly would not have a problem knowing. 

When Ilya had told Shane that Marlow had figured out they were together, Shane had panicked in response until Ilya explained that not only would Marlow keep the secret- he actually supported them. He was happy for them. It wasn’t a bad thing to have some trusted friends know. 

And Rose, in a short amount of time, had become the kind of friend that Shane knew he could trust. She was the kind of person that Ilya would never stop Shane from telling despite having not met her yet. So it was weird for Ilya to not push. To not question Shane as to why he was excitedly telling Ilya about his new friend while avoiding having to talk about Ilya to her at all. 

Instead, Ilya dropped the subject. 

Shane still hadn’t told Rose about Ilya by the time Utah had string of away games- Vancouver, to Edmonton, to Calgary. Ilya had away games at the same time, traveling down the East Coast. Their next planned call would be two days after they returned, giving them each time to collect themselves and do whatever their teams needed from them before catching up and rehashing their trips with one another. 

The arrangement made sense but… Shane really fucking missed Ilya anyways. Sometimes if a game went poorly and he was filled with irrational hatred for the city he had no choice but to stay overnight in, nothing was better than hearing Ilya’s voice. 

They still texted during gaps like these, but their exchanges grew sparser every week. Shane assumed they both saved things they wanted to talk about when they could properly speak on the phone. Some days, Shane didn’t hear from Ilya at all. 

Back in Utah, Rose was clearly texting Shane whenever she was on break. She griped to him about messed up schedules or ice-related mishaps, sending videos of people falling on skates before emphasizing that no one was hurt. Luckily, Rose didn’t seem to care whether or not Shane was able to answer her texts- she just sent whatever she wanted and told him he didn’t have to worry about feeling pressured to respond. 

But as Shane was leaving Calgary, Rose sent him a text that caught his attention.

From: Rose Landry 
Hey, Shane. You’re back in town tomorrow, right? Can we get a coffee before you have to be at practice? 

That was weird. They didn’t usually schedule things like coffee runs. But Shane readily agreed. He needed the distraction- Ilya hadn’t texted him in two days. Shane had thought about asking if everything was okay, until he was struck with the fear that maybe everything was fine, and Ilya simply hadn’t felt the need to talk to him. Just thinking about it gave Shane a stomachache. 

He shut himself in his office as soon as he returned, pleased with having won two of the past three games, and hoping to keep winning more. 

Rose had already ordered Shane’s coffee by the time he walked into the otherwise empty shop- and he’d been early. She gestured for him to sit and he did, concern only growing as he took in the serious look on her face. In the weeks Shane had known her, he’d become accustomed to Rose relaxing around him, letting the commanding presence she’d had to tap into around her colleagues fade. But right now, Rose looked anything but relaxed. 

“Shane,” Rose was fiddling with the rings on her fingers, “I think there’s something we really need to talk about.” 

Shane’s mind was absolutely racing, running through every worst case scenario he could think of. Had one of his players done something to bother the film crew? Did they have to stop production on the movie? Had Rose somehow found out about Ilya? 

But what confused him was how certain Rose’s expression was, as if she thought Shane already knew what she was about to say. 

He tried not to look completely lost. “We do? What? What happened?” 

Rose squinted a little at Shane. “Nothing… happened. Okay, maybe something. But-” She took a breath. “You’re a really great guy, Shane. You are so good at your job, and it’s been so fun to watch you in your element. But-” She blinked slowly. “I just don’t think that we would work together. And I just want to make sure you’re on the same page.” 

What? 

Shane was doing little to hide what was likely an extremely crestfallen expression. He thought Rose had liked being friends. And he thought they’d really helped each other. “Oh, um. Did I- did I do something?” 

Rose shook her head immediately. “No! No. You’re awesome.”

“Then why? I don’t understand.” 

Rose sighed. “Okay, just, don’t be mad.” She scratched the side of her arm. “I have feelings for someone else.” 

Shane’s eyes widened. “Wait.” Oh, no. Ohhhhh no. He’d missed something here. “Was this… were we going on dates?” 

Rose looked at him in disbelief. “I thought- because we’re both so busy right now- oh my god.” She covered her face with her hands. “Did you not think those were dates?” 

“No!” 

“Holy shit.” She slid down in her seat. “I’m such an idiot.” Then, she lowered her hands a little to look at Shane. “So what did you think was happening?” 

“That you wanted to work together? That you wanted to be friends?” It had seemed like a fair assumption. It wasn’t like they’d been walking around holding hands. 

“Well, I do want that. But normally-” Rose paused, regarding Shane with a new look in her eye. “Do you have a g-” she cleared her throat, “are you with anyone?” 

Shane nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on Rose’s face. “I was going to tell you. I trust you. I just- I don’t tell a lot of people.” 

Understanding dawned on Rose’s face. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. You don’t have to tell me. But you can, if you want.” 

“It’s- it could affect my job if the wrong people found out.” 

Rose leaned forward in her seat and lowered her voice. “Is it Scott Hunter?” 

Shane just gaped at her. For someone who had mistakenly believed she was dating Shane all of twenty minutes ago, that was a reasonable guess. 

She gasped. “Am I right?” 

“No!” Shane was shaking his head frantically before Rose even finished her question. He couldn’t even imagine what Ilya might say when he heard about this. “No.” He sighed. “It’s Ilya Rozanov.” 

“Oh.” How did Rose manage to look unsurprised, all of a sudden? “That actually makes more sense- hey, are you okay?” 

Shane blinked rapidly, hoping to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill. Rose didn’t seem to see him any differently knowing he was dating a man. Knowing that man was Ilya. Why the fuck hadn’t he just told her earlier? He wouldn’t have had to hear that knowing disappointment in Ilya’s voice. And Rose wouldn’t have thought she was dating him, for fuck’s sake. 

“Yea.” He felt, rather than saw, Rose take his hand in hers. “It’s just been hard, I guess. The long distance thing.” 

“I can’t imagine.” Rose’s mouth twisted in sympathy. “Long distance sucks even when you’re not, you know, in the NHL.” 

“It’s not fun.” Shane was sure Rose had encountered her fair share of challenging relationships too, given how much she traveled for her own job. Which reminded him. “Hang on.” 

Rose let his hand go. “What?” 

“You said you have feelings for someone.” 

She cringed. “I guess I did say that.” 

Shane let about two seconds go by before asking, “Are you gonna make me guess who it is?” 

“No, I’ll-”

“Is it Scott Hunter?” 

Rose rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.” She looked down for a moment. “I guess I’m not nervous to tell you anymore. For… obvious reasons.” 

Shane waited. 

“Victoria.” 

Shane’s poker face was much worse than Rose’s, because he was not a famous actor. “The stunt double?” 

Rose had explained much earlier how lucky she’d been to get such good stunt doubles, seeing as her lead actors could barely stand up on skates. Victoria played for a professional women’s team, but Rose had convinced her to be in the movie- she was a dead ringer for one of the leads. 

“She’s so fucking good, Shane,” Rose groaned, rubbing her palms into her forehead, “I made her stickhandle in more scenes because her hands are just ridiculous, and whenever she wears a tank top you can see that her arms are just-” 

“Wow.” Rose, normally cool and composed, was a total mess. Shane was thoroughly enjoying it. Also, they clearly had a few things in common when it came to taste.

“Does she know how you feel?” 

“Of course not.” Rose shook her head sadly. “I’m her director.” 

“Only for this movie, though.”

“I know.” Rose gave a tiny shrug. “I just don’t want her to feel, like, pressured.” 

“I don’t think you’d make her feel pressured. But you might regret it, if you don’t tell her.” 

Rose surveyed Shane. “Did you think about that with Ilya? As his coach?” 

“God, yes. I tried to just, ignore it, at first.”

“He seems like he’s pretty hard to ignore.” 

Shane laughed to himself. “He is.” His chest warmed, though tears threatened to spring back up in his eyes again. 

Rose's brow crinkled. “How is he feeling, by the way?” 

Shane’s coffee paused halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?” 

“After last night? I had the Boston game on when I was getting some work done. That was a pretty nasty hit.” 

Shane set his coffee back on the table too hard, sloshing some over his hand. “What?” 

Rose was already pulling out her phone with a worried look in her eyes. “You didn’t see? Have you talked to him?” 

Shane pulled out his phone too, scrolling to his messages from Ilya. Nothing. Nothing for the past three days. He could feel his breathing start to pick up. Keep it together. 

“He skated off the ice himself,” Rose hurried to say. “I probably wouldn’t have even noticed if the announcer hadn’t pointed it out. Here.” She turned her phone to Shane, the clip already pulled up. 

There was Ilya, carrying the puck up the side of the neutral zone. But he normally cuts to the middle, Shane thought, he’s much faster when he can fire off a pass to either side. But Ilya didn’t cut to the middle this time,  looking instead to get the puck past the red line so he could dump it in. Just as he pulled the puck back, someone crashed into him from the side, crunching him into the boards right in front of his own bench. 

Shane winced as he watched. Ilya faltered as he clutched at his side, evidently having hit the edge of the boards at just the wrong angle. He managed to dump the puck in, before turning and getting off the ice, disappearing immediately down the tunnel with his face screwed up in pain and his shoulders hunched. 

It did look like it really hurt, and that was enough to send Shane into a panic. He never handled it well when Ilya got hurt on the ice. But that wasn’t what had Shane really worried.

He’d been watching Ilya play for years, scrutinizing him closer than any other player. He knew how big Ilya’s strides were, which moves Ilya preferred, which areas of the ice he was most dangerous from. And even before the hit, Ilya hadn’t looked like himself. He was a step slower, leaving himself vulnerable to a hit that he should’ve been able to dodge in his sleep. He’d barely even looked up. 

Something was wrong. And it had been wrong before the hit. 

And Ilya hadn’t called, or messaged, or anything. 

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” His voice was broken as he looked helplessly at Rose. 

“Shane, no, you’re not-” 

“I didn’t even know, I didn’t even check on him,” Shane moaned, replaying the hit over and over in his mind, dialing in on every single move Ilya didn’t make, that he usually always did. 

“You couldn’t have known. But he has lots of doctors, and trainers, and-” 

“He should have me. He shouldn’t have to-”

“Shane, stop.” Rose moved the coffees out of the way so she could reach both her hands across the table. “Listen to me.” 

Shane tried to look away, and Rose snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

“At worst it’s a broken rib. You know Boston has people who can deal with that. He is taken care of, I promise.” 

“But you don’t understand.” Shane’s voice was still shaking. “That shouldn’t have even happened. It never happens. I think he-” 

“He could’ve just been having an off night.” 

Shane glared at her. “Ilya Rozanov never has an off night.”

Rose sighed. “I’m not going to make fun of you because you’re clearly distressed right now.” She gripped his hand tighter. “Can you just- call him?” 

Oh, right. Shane scrambled to push the “call” button on Ilya’s contact. No answer. 

This was hell. All that talking they’d (eventually) done, all the planning for when they would touch base on the phone, or making sure Shane’s last few weeks in Boston were good ones, and not once had they thought to make a plan for what they would do if Ilya got hurt. 

Maybe because there was nothing to be done, aside from wait. 

No. Shane gritted his teeth, remembering Ilya’s face as he’d turned away from Shane in the bed. 

Whatever was the matter, he couldn’t let Ilya deal with it alone. Not this time. 

He looked back up at Rose, who was still holding onto his hand as if she was afraid he was about to run away. “I might need a huge favor.” 

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Everything hurt. Ilya had fashioned a kind of nest out of all the pillows he could find in his apartment to try and pad his ribs at every angle, but none of that mattered as soon as he started coughing. And it mattered even less when he surged forward to puke into the emergency bucket he’d placed next to his bed, accurate in his assumption that he wouldn’t be able to make it to the bathroom in time. 

Of course he felt sorry for himself. But a lot of this pain had come from his own negligence. Most of this could’ve been avoided. 

Well, maybe he would’ve gotten sick either way. Sometimes viruses took people down regardless of how well rested they were or weren’t. But Ilya had all but opened the door with the terrible sleep habits he’d been practicing lately. 

There was the stress of having to carry the team through the latest onslaught of injuries. It meant that instead of looking to the top three lines to score goals, most of the pressure was on Ilya’s line to produce multiple times every single game. 

And then there was Shane. 

They’d talked after their fight. Ilya had heard the remorse in Shane’s voice immediately, and he’d wondered again why he hadn’t just let it go that night. Why he couldn’t have waited to talk to Shane about it until after, when they were both back in their home cities and hundreds of miles apart. Why he couldn’t have avoided a fight.

But he hadn’t, and they’d had to resolve things over the phone. Which sucked. 

If Ilya could be sure of anything, it was that Shane would be taking every opportunity to work on making his team better whether Ilya was near him all the time or not. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t think it was still too much. And if Shane kept up this pace as he continued his career… unlike players, coaches weren’t limited by their age. Shane could do this for fifty more years if he wanted to.

He worried that Shane was going to work himself into the ground, and slip away from Ilya in the process. As it was, they could hardly even work out how to make enough consistent time to talk on the phone every week, even after they’d given up on talking every single day. 

When they did talk, there was a new question in Ilya’s mind, one that had never occurred to him throughout his relationship with Shane until recently. It was: Why would he even care about that? He’d never had doubts like that before. But now, he couldn’t let the thought go. 

Rationally, he knew Shane loved him. But he was starting to see that he’d valued their physical closeness, his ability to read Shane’s body language, their companionable silence whenever they were doing their own thing, more than he realized. 

He’d known things would be different. But he was having trouble reconfiguring the picture of their relationship now. And with no set end in sight to their long distance plan, it was weighing on him heavier and heavier every day. Were phone conversations for weeks or months at a time during most of the year really going to be all they had for the rest of Ilya’s career as a player?

Was Ilya an awful boyfriend for realizing he was going to need more than that?

Shane was it for him, and that was not a question. But he couldn’t help but wonder whether either of them would be truly happy with each other in the years to come, or if, as Marlow had cautioned, they’d let the health of their relationship depend on sporadic meetings aside from a few stolen weeks in the summer, and spend the rest of the time wishing they were closer. 

Amidst this inner turmoil, Rose Landry had shown up. 

At first, it had been fun to hear Shane talk about her. They’d watched some of Rose’s movies together back in Boston, and it was interesting to hear that shift in Shane’s voice as he grew to see her as a peer and a friend. Plus, Rose was fully capable of getting Shane to take breaks and get out of his work, a stark contrast to the Utah Hockey Club members who couldn’t give a shit about whether it was a good idea for Shane to spend every waking moment working on the team. Not if they won, which they were doing more and more. 

Then, something had shifted. Maybe it was the pictures of Rose and Shane laughing together that kept landing on social media and even the the NHL website, or the way Ilya’s teammates who’d worked closely with Shane couldn’t stop saying things like “I can’t believe he bagged her,” or “Glad he finally found someone.” 

Maybe it was the way that despite their friendship, Shane hadn’t said anything to Rose about Ilya. 

And, as much as Ilya tried not to admit it to himself, maybe it was also good, old-fashioned jealousy. That Rose got to spend all this time with Shane. That Rose got to see him drop his defenses and joke around, while all Ilya got to do was cross off another day on the calendar.

Seeing how incomplete he’d felt after their earlier fight, Ilya really didn’t want to stir up something that would be difficult to work through. Plus, he didn’t want to word things incorrectly and make Shane think he had any kind of problem with Shane’s friendships. So, he opted to not say anything about it.

Suffice to say, Ilya had not been sleeping well. His harshest, most nonsensical thoughts grew louder the later it got at night. When he did finally fall asleep, he woke up in the morning feeling unsettled and unrested. 

Svetlana would’ve told him to get some sleeping pills. But he’d been too ashamed to admit what he’d been thinking about to her, knowing she would very likely smack him in the back of the head and tell him to pull it together. 

There might have also been another part of him that believed he didn’t deserve to be well rested. Not when he couldn’t get himself to adjust to this long distance relationship- this thing that lots people around the world did, without being jealous of the people his boyfriend got to see every day. Without letting himself wonder whether Shane actually cared about what he had to say. 

Who the hell deserved to sleep when they kept internally slandering the person they loved most in the world? 

So when another flu started going around, it took Ilya right down. Between the limited sleep and the intensity of his practices and games, his body’s typically very functional immune system was at its limit. 

He’d felt like shit, but he knew it would get worse in the next few days. He needed to power through his game- they were missing too many players already. But his reaction time was slower, his strides more abbreviated, his shifts shorter. He wasn’t playing close to his best. He’d kept going, until he got caught against the boards, unable to dodge a hard hit. Pain shot through his side immediately, and he cursed himself as the trainer helped him remove his gear to look at his ribs. 

Now he was another one of the injuries Boston had to deal with this season. And all the flu symptoms that were hitting him like a truck were only making his ribs feel worse. 

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Shane about it. It wasn’t like Shane could do anything from Utah. And Ilya feared that if he started to explain any one part of what happened that Shane would see through the rest of it. That Shane would realize Ilya just couldn’t handle the type of relationship they needed to have in order to achieve the successes they’d both dreamed about. 

Even just thinking about that increased his nausea in a way that had nothing to do with being sick.  

He was supposed to talk to Shane in a day. Maybe he’d ask Shane if they could reschedule. At least for now. 

He next round of coughs triggered the worst stabs of pain he’d felt yet, the kind no painkiller could hope to overcome. He was probably sweating through all these pillows. He was probably going to puke on one of these pillows, eventually. 

He tried to sleep. Like everything else, he just had to get through it. 

Next thing he knew, someone was wiping at his face with a wet cloth. 

“Jesus, Ilya, you’re burning up. Fuck.” 

His vision blurred as he tried to wake up enough to focus on what was in front of him. “Shane?” Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he didn’t get to have nice fantasy dreams about Shane anymore- it was all rooted in the pain of reality now. 

A hand combed through the grease and sweat that had no doubt built up in his hair. “Can you hear me? Ilya?” 

Ilya tried to shift his torso a little and- nope, no way he’d able to sleep through pain like that. He was awake. Which meant that- “you are really here?” 

“Yea. I’m here. I should’ve been-” Shane’s voice was halting, like he was trying not to cry. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” 

What the hell was Shane talking about? Ilya tried to figure it out before he realized something with a jolt. “I puked on a pillow.” He had. He’d woken up hours ago in time to heave up the small amount of liquid that had been in his stomach onto the first thing he saw in front of him. He’d flung off somewhere next to the bed. 

“I cleaned it up. It’s fine.” 

“I think it smells bad.” Not that Ilya could tell himself. 

“It could be worse.” 

He closed his eyes again. “You should not be here.” 

“Yes, I should.” 

“How did you-”

“Said I had a family emergency. Chartered a flight. Told my parents to lie if anyone asks them about it.” 

It was hard to concentrate on what Shane was saying when he was also pressing something mercifully cool into Ilya’s neck. 

“Is it going to hurt too much to change your shirt?” 

Ilya gritted his teeth. “Probably.” 

“Then we won’t worry about it right now.” 

“Okay.” 

Ilya really wanted to sleep again. But like in Utah, he tried to fight it. He wanted to be conscious when Shane was with him, dammit. The illness and injury could wait. 

Shane noticed. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” The bed shifted as Shane pressed a soft kiss on Ilya’s forehead. “I promise.” 

When Ilya woke up some time later, Shane’s voice was drifting into the room, too soft for Ilya to properly hear it. It sounded like he was on the phone. Ilya coughed, wincing in pain as he clutched a pillow to his side to try and cushion the pain. 

Shane was next to him in seconds. “Is it broken?” 

Ilya nodded. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

Ilya said nothing as Shane dabbed a cloth along his forehead and the side of his face again. 

“Svetlana dropped off some pajama shirts with snaps in the front. So if we can get you in the shower, it’ll be easier to get those on and off after.” 

Ilya should’ve known Shane would call Svetlana. “Is she mad at me?” 

“A little bit.” Shane was probably underselling that one. Svetlana was going to skewer Ilya for not asking for her help right after his injury. 

Which reminded him. “Shane,” he started, tracing his finger’s along Shane’s wrist, “I’m sorry. I did not tell you.” He threaded his fingers through Shane’s and squeezed, wishing they could be holding each other in this sweaty and disgusting bed. 

Shane’s brow creased. “Why didn’t you?” 

Ilya tried to take a deep breath and immediately remembered that it really fucking hurt to do that. “You could not do anything. And it has been,” he coughed again, “it has been hard.” He exhaled through his teeth. “I miss you too much, I think.” 

The admission hung in the air for a moment. 

Shane shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

“It is.” Ilya was so, so tired. He wished Shane would leave right now, before he had to hear anything Ilya had to say. He hoped that the Utah management team would call Shane and make him rush out to attend to his players. He was feeling too vulnerable, too transparent. “I miss you in my bed. In my kitchen making smoothies. Talking.” It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat. “Even talking is not the same, Shane, even though-” 

Even though it’s all we have. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

“I miss you too much, too.” Shane’s eyes were wet as he held Ilya’s hand tighter. 

But Ilya knew it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. Shane was preoccupied with a new and more demanding job. Ilya was doing the same job he’d always had, with Shane subtracted from his daily life. “But I am not… used to it. Yet.” 

Shane kissed the back of Ilya’s hand, ignoring the clamminess he could probably taste on his own lips now. “You don’t have to be.” 

Ilya swallowed. “Maybe I will never be used to it.” 

“Me neither.” Shane was looking right into Ilya’s eyes. “I’m serious. Ilya, I-” He sucked in a breath. “There’s something I have to tell you. It’s an idea, right now. Just a thought.” 

Why did Shane look so nervous? “What is it?” 

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.” 

Ilya gave Shane a flat look that he completely deserved, before coughing again and breaking the effect. 

But Shane got the message. “I know, sorry. I just- it feels like I shouldn’t say anything yet. Nothing has really been decided-” 

“Hollander, if you don’t fucking tell me-” 

“Okay. Okay.” Shane looked down at where their hands were connected. “Scott Hunter is unhappy in Utah. It’s nothing I can do anything about. But he’s trying to get back to New York City. Or,” his pointed stare sent the message before he could say it, “he’s trying to get close.” 

Ilya tried and failed to sit up straighter. “You would trade away Scott Hunter?” 

“For the right player.” Shane’s eyes were heavy as he looked at Ilya.

“You would-” Ilya hadn’t forgotten their conversation over the summer. “You would coach me?” 

“Yes.” 

It was the certainty in Shane’s voice that took Ilya aback the most. Shane had been set in his ethical outlooks at the beginning of the season. He’d been (potentially reasonably) concerned about how bad it would look if they ever got caught. Or even if their “friendship” led people to believe Shane was doing things for Ilya that he wasn’t doing for other players.

(Which, he would be. But not in the way the critics would think.) 

If Shane had been willing to go back on the principles he’d previously set and put his reputation and career at greater risk to consider this trade… maybe Shane really did miss Ilya just as much.

The thought didn’t warm Ilya’s chest so much as it made him feel less isolated. He would never wish the level of misery he’d been going through on Shane. 

All he could think to say was, “Holy shit.” 

“You would think about it?” He hated how uncertain Shane sounded. 

“Shane.” This was the person he wanted to spend however long he had on this earth with. He deserved Ilya’s honesty. Even if it was hard. Especially if it was hard. They’d be lucky if this was the biggest challenge they would ever encounter. And just thinking about the challenges they might face years down the line made Ilya just a little bit braver. He would fight for them, always. 

“I love playing for Boston,” he started, and he saw Shane deflate a little. “I like living here.” He tugged at Shane’s hand to pull him closer. “But if something does not change I think I will lose you.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “And I will not let that happen.” 

Shane leaned in even closer. “You could never lose me.” 

Ilya let a sad smile take over his face. “I already lost you to Utah.” 

Suddenly, Shane was gripping either side of Ilya’s face. “Not for real. Never for real.” His mouth was set in a line as he brought his face close to Ilya’s. 

“You are going to get sick.” 

Shane kissed him in response. And moving a little to kiss him back hurt Ilya’s ribs, but it was worth it. 

Shane pulled back a little from Ilya’s mouth, just enough to speak. “I’ll fix this, Ilya. There has to be a better way. Whether it’s a trade with Hunter or-” he shook his head a little. “When Rose told me what happened, I-”

Ilya’s hand immediately went to Shane’s shoulder and pushed him back. Maybe a little harder than he meant to. “Rose told you? Does she-”

“She knows now.” Shane sat back on his spot next to the bed, and Ilya immediately missed him. No matter that he’d pushed Shane away in the first place. “There was a little bit of a, um, misunderstanding.” 

Based on the pictures Ilya had seen, he had a feeling the only person misunderstanding anything was Shane. “Were you dating a movie star, Hollander?” 

“Oh my god.” Shane buried his forehead into the comforter. “I didn’t realize. I really just thought she wanted to be friends. I’m so, so, sorry-” 

It was difficult, because laughing at all would hurt like a motherfucker, but Ilya could barely control himself. Of course Rose would’ve thought they were going on dates. Shane was an attractive high-achiever just like she was, and, as far as she had known, was single. Yet Shane looked so devastated, like he had truly missed what Ilya and many others had seen from miles away. 

He tried to stay composed. “You told her?” 

Shane lifted his head from the bed and nodded. “Yea. She’s the one who helped me get a flight here.” 

Huh. Ilya would probably still be jealous over how much time Rose got to spend with Shane. But maybe he’d be kinder about it, in his mind. He grinned. “Nice to have movie star money.” 

“Says the millionaire.” 

“Next time I will buy you a plane to visit me.” 

Shane’s face fell at that. “It shouldn’t have come to this. I should’ve… I don’t know.” 

But they both knew, they were back at the same problems they’d had before. Conflicting schedules. The distance. The time difference. 

“How long until you have to go?” 

Shane was cradling Ilya’s hand in his again, almost studying it rather than looking at Ilya. “I have a game in New York City tomorrow. I’ll meet back up with them there.” He rubbed at Ilya’s arm as if that would cure him faster. “Svetlana is coming over when I leave. At least until you’re not sick anymore.” 

So they had one more day. Ilya felt too shitty in too many different ways to really take full advantage of it, but at least Shane was here. He was here, in Ilya’s apartment, because he’d lied to his whole team and probably the entire league, and got his parents to lie too. 

With a sweep of his arms he knocked about half the pillows off his bed and swung his legs to the side with a pained grunt. “Shower?” 

When Shane approached to help him up Ilya reeled him in between his legs instead, letting his face press against Shane’s stomach as he just appreciated the feeling of Shane’s body in his arms. Shane gently scratched his scalp in response, and despite the terrible state of Ilya’s health he wished he could stop time right there. 

Eventually, and with the power of teamwork, they were able to get Ilya into the shower with a minimal amount of pain. Shane had tossed his own clothes into a pile and joined Ilya in the shower too, saying, “So you don’t fall,” before kissing along Ilya’s collar bone. Between the warm water washing off the grime of the fever and Shane’s mouth on his skin, the feeling was almost better than sex. Almost. 

Over the following day, Shane essentially decontaminated Ilya’s entire apartment, keeping up a system of ice and cooling packs on Ilya’s ribs in the meantime. Every so often he appeared in front of Ilya with thinly disguised tears in his eyes, and Ilya knew he’d found another piece of incriminating evidence that Ilya hadn’t been taking great care of himself in the past month or so. He kept floating between Ilya’s room and the rest of the apartment, unable to stay away from Ilya for too long while still trying to make sure there was enough food and ice packs to get Ilya and Svetlana through after he left. 

This time, Shane’s leaving didn’t feel so painful. Maybe because it felt more temporary now.   Utah would be in town in a few weeks to play Boston, and the possibility of a new plan made the arrangement feel less infinite than it had before. There wasn’t a helpless sense of loss as Shane kissed Ilya on the cheek and said, “Text me tonight. We can call, if you’re up for it. Just tell me how you’re doing.” 

Now, the renewed hope that flared between them was palpable. 

Ilya sent Shane a selfie just before Utah’s game against the Rangers started, knowing Shane probably couldn’t check his phone at this point but might enjoy it later. To his surprise, Shane sent back a heart immediately. 

It was amazing how something as insignificant as that could make Ilya feel so warm from the inside out. 

Utah beat the Rangers, and Shane called an hour later. 

“How’re you feeling? Do you need anything? Is Svetlana there?”

The concern in Shane’s voice made Ilya tear up again. “She is here. I’m okay. I think the fever is gone.” He adjusted a pillow. “She appreciated that you set up the guest room for her.” 

“It was the least I could do.” Something in Shane’s voice sounded weird again. It was the same tone he’d had while crouching over Ilya, wracked with guilt. 

“Stop. It’s okay, Shane.” 

“No, I can’t-” 

“I am not doing this again so soon.” They’d talked about the struggles they were having with the long distance relationship so much already. They would talk about it again later, too. There was not much more to cover anymore, aside from resurrecting guilt they’d already discussed. 

Shane sighed. “Okay. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Go party in New York City.” 

Shane snorted with laughter before hanging up. 

Svetlana shook him awake hours later. 

“What? Ow- what the fuck?” He blinked at the light of Svetlana’s phone before she turned on the light in the room.

“Look.” 

“This better be-” his heart stopped. “Is it Shane? Tell me-”

“No.” But there was still an urgent look on her face. “Just look.” 

Finally, Ilya turned to the phone in Svetlana’s hand and took in what was on it. 

It was a post from Scott Hunter. In it he was embracing another man with brown hair, his hand cupped lovingly on the back of the man’s neck. If that wasn’t clear enough, the look on his face was… Ilya recognized that look. He’d probably had it on his own face just the day before. 

Scott Hunter wasn’t happy in Utah, Shane had said. He hadn’t said why. 

There was a caption with the picture as well. 

Some things are worth it. I love you, Kip. 

Ilya tore his eyes from the phone and back up to Svetlana. They let their mutual shock swirl around the room. 

Finally, Ilya spoke. “Well, fuck.” 

Chapter End Notes

I realize that this is the second time in this series that Ilya has gotten sick, but consider that in this universe that was years ago, so just work with me here.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

“Thanks for meeting with us first thing, Hollander.” 

Shane was sitting at a board room table, among the Utah Hockey Club owners and management team members he’d interviewed with over the summer and had gotten to know as the season progressed. 

“No problem,” he lied. 

He hadn’t seen the post until he’d woken up for the flight back to Utah and seen texts from Ilya, Svetlana, Rose, and even his parents. He’d checked his email to see a notification that Scott Hunter wouldn’t be on the plane, but would be there for the next practice. 

No one had spoken as they boarded the plane. Some of the players had looked around nervously as the silence continued. Troy Barrett had looked downright distressed. Eventually, Wyatt, their goalie, started talking to the people around him about the movies he planned to watch, breaking the tension and giving everyone some kind of implicit permission to relax. 

Shane wished he could’ve said something to the team. But the emails burning holes through his inbox seemed to suggest that they didn’t want anyone talking about it yet. Besides, Shane didn’t know what he would even say. He had a feeling that his go to response of who cares, the one he’d essentially given to Scott himself, wasn’t going to fly with everyone. 

So he just stared straight ahead in his seat, pretending to watch whatever he had downloaded.

He’d gone directly to the meeting from the flight. At least he’d brought extra business casual clothing when he’d dashed home from his coffee with Rose and packed his bags before heading to Boston. 

“Hollander,” said Mark Overstone, looking at the men on either side of him, “When you interviewed for this job, you emphasized how much you wanted to utilize simplicity in this first season. Bring the game back to the basics, get our feet under us.”

Shane nodded. 

“We should apologize,” Mark continued, “This season has been anything but simple. We really appreciate what you’ve been able to do with this team. You’ve been a strong asset for us. But-” here he adjusted his collar, “we unfortunately need to ask even more of you, given recent events.” 

“We, as people, don’t necessarily have a problem with Scott Hunter’s newfound, ah, lifestyle,” cut in Duncan Goodlie, another member of the management team sitting next to Mark, “But we have some concerns over our position as a brand new team in the league.” He cleared his throat. “We don’t want our fans to think we have a certain, um, reputation.” 

If Shane hadn’t still been reeling from the past twenty-four hours he would’ve burst out in hysterical laughter. If only they knew. 

“So what needs to happen now,” Mark took over, “is that we need to make it clear we respect Hunter, we appreciate his work as a player… but we need to trade him.” 

“Quickly,” Duncan piped in. 

“We have some thoughts on what might be a good next move and who might be a good fit,” Mark continued, “but we want to hear your ideas, Hollander. You’ve coached against every team at this point. Who’s on your wishlist?” 

There was a faint rushing in Shane’s ears as he stared at all the men before him, some of whom were even taking notes. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. 

“If you can bring us a top ten,” added Duncan, “keeping in mind that we might have to settle for someone worse than Hunter given the, uh, circumstances. We can start making some calls.” 

Shane clasped his hands together so no one would see them shaking. This was his chance. It was the moment he’d been waiting for, on a silver platter. The moment to say, I actually think Ilya Rozanov might be interested in a trade. I worked with him in Boston and I think he could be extremely successful for this team. It would get Scott Hunter to the East Coast. It would save his relationship with Ilya. It was everything he wanted. 

But it was wrong. 

It was so fucking wrong. 

He took a steadying breath. “Can I have some time to think about it?” 

There was a chorus of yes’s around the table. They probably thought he was going to run out and start building a list. They probably thought he had too many options in mind already. They probably thought that Shane was going to let the NHL bat Scott Hunter around like a problem child despite his excellent skill on the ice and unparalleled courage off of it. 

Courage that Shane in no way had. 

But he did have a fucking conscience. 

He did not go to his office to start building a list of trade options. 

He went to his car and called Ilya. 

“Pull over the fucking car, Shane.” Ilya’s voice was loud, nearly crackling through the sound system. “Now.” 

Shane tried to do what he asked. Everything was suddenly blurry in front of him. His hands were gripping the steering wheel less as a way to steer the car and more as a way to hold onto something, anything. 

It meant that he was being extremely unsafe. He tried to let his inner autopilot take over, forcing the part of him that was completely breaking down to the back of his mind. Thankfully, there was a safe place to pull off just ahead. 

“Call Rose and tell her to come get you.” Ilya’s voice was still there as the car stopped. “You cannot be alone, sweetheart-” his voice broke, “please.” 

“No. No, Ilya. I’m not hanging up on you.” Shane could hear how laced with terror his own voice sounded. He couldn’t hang up now.  

“Text her, then.” Ilya didn’t fight him on it. 

“I’m okay, I promise.” 

“You sound very bad.” 

But wouldn’t anyone? Shane had started to tell Ilya the news, that he couldn’t go through with the trade, that he’d been asked to get rid of Scott Hunter, but that he couldn’t support the attitude that had been veiled with placating language and a business-like tone. And as he’d gotten the words out, he couldn’t help but remember how hopeful Ilya had seemed, that maybe something really could work out. There’d been a sense that this hellish long distance nightmare was almost over. 

Now, it seemed utterly unattainable. Scott Hunter was one of very few plausible options in the league that could be used to get Ilya. In addition, Shane didn’t think he could even let Ilya come here anymore- not after everything he’d just heard in that meeting. There had to be organizations that wouldn’t treat their players like this- he couldn’t stomach the idea that Ilya might one day be the subject of that kind of conversation. 

He’d figure something else out for Scott. It wasn’t like Scott even wanted to stay in Utah… but he didn’t deserve to get tossed aside. Not for this. 

Shane had been trying to choke the words out when Ilya told him to pull over. 

Now, in the stationary car, he took deep, heaving breaths. “I’m sorry. God, Ilya, I’m-”

“You’re doing the right thing, Shane.” 

It was hard to laugh in this state, but Shane tried. “Doesn’t feel like it.” 

“But you are.” There was rustling through the phone. “And Shane?” 

He kept breathing. “Yea?” 

“I’m sorry. You had to sit through that meeting- it’s not fair. You should not have had to do that.” There was a tint of anger in Ilya’s voice. “That must have been… hard. For you.” 

He wanted to kiss Ilya so badly. “I’m more worried about Scott. And you. And-” 

“Let me worry about you, then.” 

Shane flexed his fingers and rubbed where they were sore from locking around the steering wheel. “I guess part of me wishes I could tell them. And just say ‘fuck it,’ and let them know who they really hired.” His voice was still shaking.

“Do you want that?” 

Shane shook his head even though Ilya couldn’t see him. “No. Not really. I’m not ready for something like that.” He sighed. “Even if I was, it wouldn’t help. Hunter is one of the best players in the league and he’s… even that doesn’t matter to them. I wish I was undeniably good. Then I might have a leg to stand on, and actually do something-” he was starting to lose it again. 

A car passed by as Ilya was quiet for a beat, save for a faint rustling as he likely moved the phone to his other hand. “Shane. You are-”

“Don’t say you think I’m good. I know you do. And you have to say that, you’re my boyfriend.” 

“We both know I would not lie and say you were good if I did not think so.” To Ilya’s credit, that was definitely true.

“I just- I guess I don’t have that many years to fall back on.” 

“Mmm. That is true. So are you going to tell them you want to keep Hunter?”

Shane grimaced. “Yea. I’m gonna do what you did- rely on the stats. He has them.” He thought back to his own conversation with Scott. “I can prove that he’s performed better when he knew I wouldn’t judge him. That he’ll score even more goals now that he’s happier in his personal life, and that’s all we should care about. That we should, I don’t know. Support him, I guess.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Shane.” Ilya sounded a little choked up, which did nothing to stop the tears that were collecting in Shane’s own eyes again. 

“What are we gonna do? This was our chance and- I’m so sorry, baby.” The pet name slipped out in a way it almost never did- but it was all Shane had right now, when he couldn’t wind his arms around Ilya’s waist again and beg him for forgiveness, that he fucked up their plan before it could even really start. 

“We didn’t know if it would work,” Ilya’s voice was just a little louder. “Maybe they would have said no.” He gave a small cough, and the reminder made Shane feel even more guilty, that he had failed Ilya again, “And Shane?”

He paused, and Shane realized Ilya was waiting for him to respond. “Yea?” 

“Let me be here for you now. We can worry about everything else later. Okay?"

It was hard not to think about how upset Ilya had sounded before, how he’d admitted that he’d be willing to leave a team he liked if it meant saving what they had. But he was laser focused on the new Hunter situation. All Shane could do was have faith that they’d figure something else out.“Okay.” 

The next day, there was a new text from Ilya. 

From: Ilya Rozanov
You forgot about one thing, my love. 
*I* am undeniably good. 

Press Release from the Boston Bruins

A Statement from Ilya Rozanov, #81: 

Over the past few days, I have heard people say a lot about Scott Hunter. Some people don’t think he should play in the NHL anymore. Some people would not like if he played for their team. Scott Hunter may not be as good as me, but he is a very good player. He is annoying to play against. It does not matter who he is dating. If you have a problem with Hunter, I have a problem with you. 

That is not all. Scott Hunter is not the only one. Since I was young, I have always been attracted to both men and women. I was forced to hide this while growing up in Russia, and then playing in the NHL. For a long time, I thought I would never tell this to anyone. But I think it is not so bad if people know. Now, everyone knows that LGBT people make the best hockey players. 

Boston, I am making a bet that you will not have a problem. Did you know I kissed a man before our cup win? I think it helped me play well. 

Thank you for your support. 

Soon after, Troy Barrett, one of Shane’s forwards for Utah, came out with a picture of himself holding a rainbow flag and a caption that said it’s about time.

Even Rose added to the extravaganza with a picture of her and Victoria kissing. 

By that point, emails were flooding Shane’s inbox. He ignored all of them, except for the first sports journalist he saw. 

He cold called her on the spot. 

“I support the players who decided to share a little more about themselves with their fans, teams, and communities these past few days. Having worked personally with each of them, I know that this could not have been easy. The NHL needs to take steps to support these players and any others out there, by putting protections in place to make sure they’re not discriminated against, and are able to get help if they are. And I hope every team takes a good look at themselves and and asks whether they have been part of the reason these players have not been able to come out earlier.” 

He was sweating with exhilaration by the time he hung up, but he’d never felt so certain before in his life. 

Now, all that was left to do was wait. 

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

From there, it all happened in the blink of an eye. 

The Utah Hockey Club fired Shane, citing a variety of flimsy excuses. Within the same day, possibly even within the same hour, Shane was hired as the head coach for the New York Rangers, who had been looking to get rid of their current coach ever since he’d advocated for letting Scott Hunter go in the expansion draft and had been unable to successfully fill the void. 

The Rangers set up a rental in New York City for Shane so he’d be able to make the move and start as soon as possible, while being able to take his time looking for a more permanent place to live. 

“I should definitely live near Central Park,” Shane mused on the phone, “but which side?” 

Ilya had laughed in response. “Does it matter? You will be in your office all day.”

“Fuck off.”

They were back to talking on the phone every day. It had been easier while Ilya’s broken rib healed, but they’d kept it up as Ilya got back to playing. It wasn’t so dire now- neither felt as if any single conversation needed to carry the weight of the relationship. In fact, sometimes their entire time on the phone revolved around something inconsequential, like a dishwasher that kept breaking, or the struggle to remember the names of players’ kids that Shane or Ilya had met multiple times. 

Now that they were only four hours apart, certain things were more possible. 

As soon as Shane had moved into his New York City rental, Ilya had driven straight there after practice and all but tackled Shane onto the nearest available surface, scraping his teeth over the most sensitive part of Shane’s neck before either of them even said “hello.” 

He’d been more restrained after that, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it- he’d already be in the car on his way, and Shane would answer the phone with a knowing, happy sigh and tell Ilya he’d make sure he had some quality takeout options ready in the fridge. 

Shane hadn’t been able to get away for long enough to make the drive to Boston himself yet, but he’d promised Ilya he had a plan in mind, and Ilya trusted him.

Ilya had gotten a tidal wave of support after coming out. The Bruins had already supported his initial statement, and they continued to support him after it. If any player had a problem, they didn’t say it to him. He’d even spotted some multi-colored flags at some home games that had #81 written on them, only truly appreciating the gesture when Svetlana explained later that those had been bisexual pride flags. And as always, the Guns N’ Rozes shirts were plentiful.

Scott Hunter and Troy Barrett had both decided not to leave Utah just yet, opting instead to finish out the season while refusing trade after trade. They were both on terrific scoring streaks, practically daring anyone foolish enough to badmouth them to just try it. Scott flew Kip out to visit whenever possible, though for some reason Kip wasn’t shown on the fan cams nearly as much as some of the wives and girlfriends that attended games. 

Meanwhile, Rose’s fans were highly anticipating the release of her movie, The Outside Edge. She’d caught the attention of the world of hockey fans too. Victoria already had her own fan following at all of her PWHL games, including Rose, who showed up wearing Victoria’s jersey in the stands whenever she could. 

Ilya slept soundly every night.

From: Shane Hollander
I think we both have morning practice and then nothing else tomorrow? Right?

To: Shane Hollander
Yes… want a visit? 

From: Shane Hollander 
We should meet at a midpoint. I found a good place, I’ll send you the address. 

To: Shane Hollander
I can’t wait. See you soon. 

Ilya didn’t quite know what to expect when he showed up to a larger-than-average house in a town a bit past Hartford, but he figured Shane had just picked the most convenient Airbnb with little regard for the amount of rooms they would actually manage to enter within the span of a single night. 

The house’s design was partially based in stone while other sections were mainly stucco, with arched doors and a pointed roof that made it look almost like a castle, though a large window in the front and a side entrance that led to a visible mudroom gave it a warmth that struck Ilya instantly. A curved driveway left ample space for cars, and Ilya could see that Shane was already parked. 

Maybe he wants to have the loudest sex of his life, in this big house. Ilya smiled to himself. It would be a tough record to beat, but he was always up for a challenge. 

The door was unlocked, and he entered the expansive front hall, toeing off his shoes in case the owners had some kind of rule about it. 

“Shane?” The first thing he noticed was that there wasn’t much furniture or wall decoration. Maybe this house mainly got rented out for giant parties or weddings. But when he turned a corner and came upon one of what must have been several living rooms, he froze. 

He’d seen that couch before. He’d been on that couch before. That couch had moved from Boston to Utah, driven across the country in a U-Haul truck while Shane spent one more night in Ilya’s bed. The moving process to New York was a little more segmented, since the apartment the Rangers had gotten for Shane had been furnished. Shane had mentioned getting a storage unit so he could bring the rest of his stuff back to the East Coast, but he hadn’t mentioned how much had actually made it there. 

And none of that explained why his couch was in this room. Now that Ilya was looking around the rest of the room, there was a side table that looked familiar too. But the chair next to it didn’t. Maybe it was all a-

“What do you think?” 

Ilya turned sharply to see Shane leaning against the wall. He’d forgotten he’d even called for Shane when he walked in. Shane was dressed down in joggers and a plain black shirt, with a wide grin across his face. And he was so relaxed, his face bright and his shoulders loose, his arms crossed casually in front of him. It was possible that Shane had never looked as beautiful as he did right now. 

“This is… wow, Shane.” Ilya went to plop his bag on the couch so he could greet Shane properly, but he turned back slowly. “Is this- is this your furniture?” 

Shane nodded, eyes gleaming. 

Ilya took a step closer. “Are you renting here? So far out of the city?” 

Very deliberately, Shane shook his head. 

And it all clicked. “Holy shit. You bought it?” His voice came out in a whisper. 

Shane’s smile grew wider, cut off only by Ilya’s mouth on his as he crossed the room in two strides and drew Shane in for a long kiss. 

Shane was the first to pull away, ignoring Ilya’s whine. “I wanted to surprise you. I wrote down some of what you said when I was looking at houses in Utah. You really liked the stone ones, so. And you’ll love the kitchen, I think.” 

“I already do.” Ilya reeled Shane in for another kiss, and Shane indulged him amidst his amused laughter. 

“Don’t you wanna see the rest of it?” 

“Mmm, yes.” Ilya kissed Shane even deeper, letting the tips of his fingers brush over the skin at Shane’s waist. 

Again, Shane let him. For several minutes, at least. Then, he rubbed at Ilya’s chest and gently pushed him back, holding onto his hand so he wouldn’t go too far. “Come on.” 

Shane led Ilya through the rest of the house. A lot of Shane’s stuff was already unpacked- the coffee maker was stationed in the kitchen, the closet was brimming with Shane’s clothes, with a separate rack for game day suits- but there were a lot of empty spaces. An empty closet, a space for a bedside table, rooms that needed tables and chairs. The warmth that had sprouted in Ilya’s chest the moment he’d seen Shane only grew by the minute. Those spaces were meant for his things. 

“We should still keep city apartments, obviously,” Shane said as he ushered Ilya down a short flight of stairs to a room that was set up as more of a den. “But I was thinking… maybe this could be home.” 

It was much too early in the day for Ilya to cry. He hadn’t even been in the house for a full night yet and it already was home. He could only hug Shane tightly at that, squeezing his eyes shut as he let those past feelings of uncertainty, those pessimistic doubts that had haunted him throughout the season, dissipate before him.

Shane rubbed Ilya’s back, letting his nails scrape gently when Ilya clutched him tighter. “Look.” He nudged Ilya and guided him to the opposite wall, where the picture of the two of them with the cup was framed in the center. “It was too hidden away in my office, I think.” 

Ilya squinted at it in a mock evaluation. “It looks very lonely. Maybe we need more pictures of us.” 

Shane stroked along Ilya’s hand. “Maybe we do.” 

It was at this moment that Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. He steered Shane to an empty spot on the wall. “But the space is not bad, for this.” He hooked Shane’s legs around his waist as he pressed forward, pinning Shane between his body and the wall before pulling off Shane’s shirt in a single motion. Shane complied easily, threading his arms around Ilya’s neck and letting Ilya mouth along the underside of his jaw before nudging Ilya’s face up with his nose until their lips were pressed together.  

“I pictured this,” Shane breathed, “when I toured.” He panted into Ilya’s mouth. “I could see us, here. I knew I had to buy it.” 

“Yea?” Ilya tugged his own shirt off. “What else did you picture?” 

Shane held onto him tighter, managing to grind down on Ilya from his position against the wall. “Might- take-” he licked along Ilya’s bottom lip, “too long- to tell you.” 

“Hmm.” Their next kiss was wetter, the way both liked it just before they fully lost themselves in one another. “I think we have time.” He hadn’t said that sentence to Shane in a while. 

Shane freed an arm to brush the outside of his finger under Ilya’s eye, but there were no tears of that kind tonight. “It might take forever.” 

“I think we have that too, if you want.” Ilya wondered if he was being too honest with that one. 

But Shane kissed him fiercely in response. “I want.”  

They couldn’t spend all day in the den- there were other rooms. And Shane had actually made food, some type of lasagna bursting with just about every vegetable Ilya could think to name. Ilya threw his clothes back on, holding back a laugh as Shane scowled at the new wrinkle in his shirt after Ilya had thrown it in a heap on the floor. 

“We don’t have to wear anything,” Ilya suggested, “you own this house.” 

Shane froze for a moment before recovering. “It just seems like the right thing to do.” 

Ilya just laughed quietly as he realized that though it was very obviously implied, Shane hadn’t actually officially asked Ilya to move in with him yet. 

And now seemed as good a time as ever. 

“So,” he brushed their noses together before kissing Shane lightly on the lips and stepping back again. “Do you have something to ask me?” 

To his surprise, Shane went completely still. His eyes widened in panic as Ilya studied him, confused. Had he done something wrong? He thought it was obvious that Shane wanted him to move in, given that he’d bought a house at the midpoint of New York City and Boston. 

But Shane looked suddenly kind of scared. “Oh, um, I-” he cleared his throat as Ilya’s confusion grew, “that wasn’t my plan tonight, not that I didn’t think about it, but, um, I haven’t had the time to buy a ring or anything, and I wanted to do it right, and…”

He trailed off, probably noticing Ilya’s jaw on the floor. 

Shane had misinterpreted Ilya’s question, thinking Ilya was asking for a marriage proposal. 

“Shane,” he said, holding onto Shane’s hand, noticing it was sweatier than it had been just minutes ago. “I meant if you were going to ask me to move in with you.” 

Now it was Shane’s turn to look confused, and then flushed, and then even redder as he realized his mistake. “Oh god,” he whispered, wrenching his hand free from Ilya’s grip so he could cover his face. “Oh my god.” He ran his hands through his hair as looked at Ilya, mortified. “Can we, maybe, forget this conversation?” 

Something was buzzing under Ilya’s skin. It was a feeling of right, and home, and forever. He took a steadying breath as he took in the state of the stunningly perfect man in front of him. The one who was made even more perfect by the things he thought were flaws. “Um, no.” 

“Ilya, come on, you know that I-” he cut off as Ilya held his gaze. 

The buzzing seemed to get louder, and Ilya felt his cheeks grow warm. But he didn’t look away. Shane was waiting for him to break, to laugh, to kiss his cheek and tell him they could both pretend to forget what Shane just said. But Ilya wouldn’t be doing that. 

Shane exhaled slowly. “Would you, uh,” his voice was wobbly, “would you say yes? If I asked?” 

What a stupid question. 

“No,” Ilya said, sinking to one knee and digging the ring he’d bought weeks ago out of his pocket, “Because I would ask you first.” 

——————————————

Ilya had been waiting for this moment. Not because he hadn’t seen Shane in a while- he’d seen Shane just a few days ago. Not even because he could see the lights in the arena reflecting off the ring on Shane’s finger when he gestured toward the ice, explaining something to one of his players. 

No. Ilya skated out to the face-off circle, giving his signature smirk to the Rangers bench while Shane pretended to ignore him. He sized up the opposing starting center, studying the way he angled his stick for the face-off… 

And then he lined up on the wing. 

He so badly wished he could see Shane’s face right now. All those carefully planned matchups, the perfect positioning to block Ilya’s shots, all revolved around neutralizing Ilya’s role as a center. 

The puck dropped. The Bruins dumped the puck in. The Rangers’ defenseman saw Ilya coming on the forecheck and tried to pass the puck up to his wing, but Ilya was one step ahead. He blocked the pass, kicked the puck out of his skates, and blasted a shot over the goalie’s blocker. 

As he skated to his bench to celebrate the goal, he couldn’t help but wink at Shane. 

Game on, babe. 

Chapter End Notes

Good thing they put their clothes back on!

People who commented, you are the very sweetest.
I loved seeing all the different reactions as these two navigated this tricky period of their relationship- sometimes there’s really no 100% correct way to go about it. But what is love all about, if not knowing the road will be difficult, yet choosing to take it anyway?