Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Zane Boodram, Wyatt Hayes, Luca Haas, Troy Barrett, Harris Drover

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, Airplane Crashes, Hurt Shane Hollander, Hurt Ilya Rozanov, Hospitals, Found Family, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury, Self-Doubt, Depression, References to Depression, Married Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Team as Family, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, NOT AI-Generated Text, I just like the em dash

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-23 Completed: 2026-04-28 Words: 25,785 Chapters: 5/5

Crash Landing

Summary

The Centaurs had already been through one plane emergency. What are the chances of them being in another?

Notes

Chapter 1

The first wave of turbulence hadn’t phased anyone.

Being a professional hockey player meant being an experienced flyer, and for the Ottawa Centaurs, they — more than most — understood the difference between regular turbulence and an actual emergency. And that’s all it was at first; just regular turbulence. The seatbelt sign was barely on for forty minutes, and no one even thought twice about it.

But when the second wave hit — twice as long and twice as violent — that raised some eyebrows. It was only meant to be a short flight, a four hour hop to play the Western conference, but the longer the light stayed on, the longer the journey felt. By the end of it, everyone on the flight was nervously watching the seatbelt sign, Ilya included.

Shane, sensing his distress from the next seat over, reached out and interlocked their fingers. Ilya glanced back at him gratefully, the memory they both were haunted by reflected in each other’s eyes. They still sighed with relief when the turbulence finally passed.

Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand reflexively before getting up, the shaking and the building tension in his body sending too many signals urging him to move. It was a small plane, and the only place to go to the bathroom at the back so begrudgingly, Ilya squeezed himself down the tight aisle.

As he went, he instinctively checked on all of the players spread out through the cabin as he went, doing a mental tally of the whole roster.

Wiebe and the assistant coach were in the same row as Ilya and Shane, sat at the very front, already discussing strategy for the upcoming game. They passed a tablet back and forth, quietly discussing plays. Shane, still in his seat on the other side of the aisle, resumed reading the hockey book about the 1987 NHL season he’d brought with him that Ilya had bought him last Christmas.

Troy and Harris sat just behind Wiebe, both of them engrossed in the same screen watching some kind of historical drama with a pair of headphones shared between the two of them. A couple rows behind Shane, sat Wyatt — occupied with a book — and Bood patiently watching a movie in the aisle another row back. Nick was asleep in a row all to himself, and Luca was engrossed in a handheld gaming system in the emergency exit row. The rookies were spaced out behind them on both sides of the aisle, with Holmberg matched up with Dale the equipment manager.

One by one, Ilya accounted for all 22 players and the five additional staff. Other passengers were sprinkled between everyone, but the team still made up a solid chunk of the manifest. Unfortunately, the exercise didn’t help the wave of anxiety brought on by the turbulence, and tapped his jeans’ pocket to make sure he had his phone in his pocket as he squeezed into the small cubical, only to groan in frustration as the seatbelt sign came back on before he had even unzipped his pants to relieve himself.

Ilya went about his business despite feeling the plane start to shake, stumbling to brace himself as a particularly violent wave knocked him off balance. He waited and hoped it would pass, but something in his gut roiled and Ilya couldn’t ignore it any longer. Busting out of the bathroom, Ilya immediately made eye contact with a flight attendant, who was frantically securing items in the galley. “Sir, please get back to your seat.” She instructed firmly, her face not giving anything away, but her rapid movements and urgent body language told him all he needed to know. Holding the headrest of every row just to stay upright, Ilya worked his way back to the front despite the violent shaking rocking the plane doing everything to waylay him.

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The plane jolted midair, and the gravity disappeared. Ilya’s back collided with the roof of the cabin, and pain flared down his spine causing him to cry out. But just as suddenly as the forces of nature disappeared, they reappeared and Ilya hit the ground of the aisle hard, his head colliding with something as all of the cabin lights switched off.

Worried shouts and cries arose from the passengers as the reality of the situation started to hit them. Dazed and desperate to return to his seat, Ilya dizzily forcing himself back to his feet, moving faster as the oxygen masks dropped.

Something warm slipped down the back of his neck.

“Sir!” The same flight attendant yelled. “Get in a seat, now!” Ilya looked back at her, realizing with a start that she too was now strapped down, secured at the back of the plane. He turned, straining to look over the seats in an attempt to locate Shane but he couldn’t see anything through the dark emergency lighting, so without a choice, Ilya hauled himself down into the closest empty seat and clicked the belt tight over his lap. He had only just slipped the mask over his face in time for the announcement that echoed through the cabin.

“This is a message for all passengers and flight crew. Secure the cabin, and brace for impact.”

The passengers barely had the chance to react to the haunting words coming from the pilot over the PA system, when all of the flight crew started yelling in unison.

“Brace, Brace, Brace. Heads down, stay down! Brace, Brace, Brace.”

Ilya gripped the armrests of his new seat, squeezing his eyes shut. The plane was now violently shaking, and people screamed as the pressure in the cabin changed rapidly, causing ears to pop.

The emergency lights flickered.

Ilya’s head ached, and he absent-mindedly remembered that he’d hit it. He’d have to remember to tell someone about that later. He thought about Shane, wanting nothing more than to get back to him and hold his hand once more. He hoped he’d still have the chance when this was all over. “I love you, my heart,” He whispered, hoping somehow that the message would reach Shane. “In this life and long after.”

And then came the impact.

A terrifying screech of metal roared through the cabin, accompanied by the sound of pure wreckage. Panels popped off the sides of the cabin, luggage containers buckling in half as the plane crunched. Glass shattered, and bags rained down from overhead, spilling into the aisle and rows. The top of the plane ripped off, like a lid coming off a tin of sardines, sending sparks and debris down onto the passengers, all the while smoke and dust filled the cabin.

The people who were still awake screamed. Some were knocked out by the impact, and other flopped lifelessly in their seats, going terrifyingly still.

At some point, the wreckage came to a stop.

Ilya didn’t remember passing out, but he came to nonetheless at the sensation of someone aggressively shaking him by the shoulder. Each movement hurt, sending flashes of pain up his spine into his head. Disgruntled, Ilya shook the hand off, mumbling into his mask as he blinked rapidly. The headache he’d had before had now manifested tenfold, and with a trembling start, Ilya realized dark, wet blood was coating the back of his head.

“Wha-happen’d?” He slurred, glancing up at Nick Chouinard, who was standing in the aisle over him.

“I think…” The defenseman glanced around, his eyes still wide with shock. “I think the plane crashed?”

Ilya tried to say something, but he lost the words as he looked around for himself and realized just how much damage had been done to the plane. The line between wreckage and luggage was totally blurred, with a mix of both strewn everywhere. The dim emergency lighting gave the cabin an eerie feeling as dust and smoke wafted around the air, permeated by the alarming smell of fuel. Above them, sheets of metal lay crumpled, warped and torn until it wasn’t even recognizably the roof anymore.

“What the fuck?” A new voice muttered, and Ilya twisted around to see Luca wandering around on unsteady feet. “What the fuck, what the fuck, whatthefuck…?”

“Haas, you okay?” Ilya slurred, ripping off his oxygen mask, finally getting the presence of mind to speak.

“The plane crashed.” Luca swallowed, looking very young in Ilya’s eyes all of a sudden, panic writ all over his face. “The plane crashed!”

“Yes,” Ilya tried his best to sound calm, but honestly, his internal monologue was not that different from Luca’s external monologue. The plane had hit some turbulence, the lights had gone off, he’d gotten thrown trying to get back to his seat and…

A new flash of nausea overwhelmed Ilya’s body. Shane. He twisted abruptly, looking towards the front of the plane, trying to figure out how to get there over all of the debris and damage. One of the overhead compartment containers had fallen slanted over the aisle, blocking him from seeing anything or anyone.

“Shane!” Ilya shouted, panic ripping through his voice. He got into the aisle, ignoring the way his body protested. People started stirring as he shouted again, but Ilya pressed on. Somewhere at the back, someone — a child, Ilya would realize later — started crying, and shouts started echoing through the wrecked cabin. The smell of fuel and burnt material still hung the air, but Ilya continued his passage forward, desperate to reach his husband.

But he only made it a couple rows forward before tripping again. “Fuck!” Ilya swore in Russian, glancing down to see what he’d tripped on, only to startle with alarm as he realized it was a body. A woman, draped between the aisle and the gap of the seats. Her eyes were open and empty, her skull distorted with a large indent that had blood marring her entire face. She must’ve died on impact, Ilya realized passively, noticing that her seatbelt had been ripped clean off the seat, still wrapped partially around her waist. The sight of the corpse only made him panic more, especially as the other passengers noticed. He could recognize some of the shouts coming from his teammates, but the voice of the flight attendant trumped them all. “All passengers, if you can, please proceed to the nearest emergency exit and evacuate the plane. Those of you seated in the emergency rows, prepare to assist. If a passenger next to you is unable to evacuate, please leave them in their seats for the emergency responders.”

Ilya ignored her, determined to get back to the front of the plane, but before he could take another step, someone grabbed him by the arm. “Roz…!” Ilya flinched, turned around, struggling to recognize him under all of the dust and blood marring the man’s face. It took him way too long to realize it was Evan Dykstra. “Roz, c’mon. We have to go.”

“No, hav’to ge’ tuh Sh-shane.” Ilya protested, but Evan just shook his head and tightened his grip.

“No can do, Cap. Emergency responses have to get to the front, and you’d only be in the way. You’ll be waiting for him outside, yeah? You don’t wanna scare him with that goose egg.”

Ilya frowned trying to make sense of what Evan was even saying. Translating was hard enough sometimes when he hadn’t hit his head or been in a plane crash. “Buh…”

“Roz, c’mon. You need to get that looked at, you’re still bleeding pretty bad.” Evan wasn’t taking no for an answer, and started dragging Ilya backwards, back over the body and the luggage. Lights started flashing — red and blue ones from outside of the plane — indicating the presence of emergency services. Ilya started cooperating, hoping it wouldn’t be long before he was reunited with his husband, but as more hands started tugging on Ilya’s clothes, he fought, trying to get himself loose. He couldn’t understand what was happening. Voices overwhelmed his ears, speaking a language he was struggling more and more to comprehend until the only word he could recognize was his own name.

And then he was outside.

The sun was starting to set but there was a buzz of activity as EMTs, police, and firefighters scrambled around, setting up emergency supplies. More hands tugged on Ilya’s clothes pulling him further and further away from the plane, much to his distress. “Shane, you have to get to Shane!” He shouted, trying to point in the direction of his husband.

“Who’s Shane?” Someone who’s voice Ilya didn’t recognize asked, but they sounded far away in his ears and he didn’t have the energy left to explain. Hands continued to touch him, probing the back of his head and parts of his body. His vision was getting blurrier and darker with each passing moment, and he stopped being able to understand what they were saying, as it got blissfully quiet.

Ilya awoke with a start at the sensation of something being pressed against the back of his head, a roar ripping out of his throat at the sharp pain. “Okay, there you are, Mr. Rozanov! It’s okay, we’re just trying to get this compress on the back of your head.” A woman was speaking, but Ilya couldn’t see her. He twisted around, trying to find who it was, only to be stopped short by the restraints on his wrists and ankles.

“Wha— happn’d?” He tried to say, realizing he didn’t know where he was.

“You were in a plane crash. You’re still at the crash site, you just got pulled out of the wreckage a little while ago.” The woman said, and Ilya remembered. He remembered being in the bathroom, getting thrown in the aisle…

“SHANE!” He shouted, jerking against the restraints. “WHERE IS…”

“Is Shane one of your teammates?” The woman asked, still invisible to Ilya’s eyes.

“His husband. He was sat at the front of the plane.” Another voice cut through the air, and Ilya tried to identify who was speaking, until his eyes finally landed on Evan, who was looking a lot cleaner than the last time Ilya had seen him. A bandage was secured to his forehead, covering most of his hairline, but for the most part, he looked okay.

“Okay, so he’s probably still waiting on EMS to get him out.” The woman said calmly, but the expression on Dykstra’s face twitched, suggesting otherwise. There was something they weren’t telling him.

“Why am I…” Ilya pulled against the restraints.

“Because you got confused, Roz. Started yelling, slurring, and you got combative. Pushed over poor Haas, nearly knocked yourself out.” Evan explained. “You gonna do that again?”

“No.” Ilya frowned. “Is Haas okay?”

“He’s fine. A little shell-shocked but I think we all are. Can we…” He gestured to the restraints, and the paramedic treating Ilya finally came into view. She was tall, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her uniform creased, stained, and covered in dust. She deftly removed the restraints, and flashed a light in Ilya’s face. He flinched, letting out a mild string of expletives.

“What was that for?”

“I’m checking you for a concussion.”

“Safe to assume yes.” Ilya groused, dizzy from the abrupt source of light. “Feels like one.”

“Have you had a concussion before?”

“Plenty.” Ilya deadpanned. “Hockey player.”

“I think you’ll find half the plane has had at least one concussion before.” Evan remarked, and the EMT helped Ilya sit up properly.

“Okay. Mr. Rozanov, I’ve got a couple questions to ask you…”

“Ilya Grigoryvch Rozanov, am thirty-four years of age, is Tuesday unless past midnight, and I do not care who is Prime Minister.” Ilya rattled off, causing Evan to chuckle. The EMT smirked, rolling her eyes.

“You watch too many movies, Mr. Rozanov. Are you feeling pain anywhere besides your head?”

“Back, neck. Hit ceiling of plane spine-first.” Ilya answered honestly, and she nodded.

“I saw the bruising. Nothing seems to be broken though, based on the exam I gave you. I do recommend you see a doctor though, as soon as one becomes available. Make sure to stay in close contact with people so that we can monitor your condition. Anywhere else?”

Ilya tried to sense out his body, identifying any stray aches. “Ankle? I think I tripped over someone.”

The EMT nodded professionally, moving down to the end of the stretcher, working her hands around Ilya’s clothes to examine the leg Ilya was gesturing to. She was thorough, pressing against the skin, testing his mobility in the joint. “It doesn’t seem broken or strained. You probably just rolled it. I can wrap it, and give you some ice.”

“Thank you. When will I see Shane?”

“I don’t know.” She answered, and backed away from the stretcher, looking around for another patient. “If I see him, I’ll send him your way.”

“Thanks.” Evan called out to her, before turning back to Ilya. “How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy. Worried. Pissed. Don’t want to fly ever again.” Ilya rattled off, rubbing his face. “Who is off the plane?”

“Most of us. 22 so far, including the team staff. No major injuries, just a few bumps on the head, a couple cuts, some whiplash maybe? You’re the worst so far with a concussion, but uh…we’re still expecting the worst. They’ve already brought out a couple bodies, other passengers who died on impact, they think, and they’re still working on the last few front rows, so Troy, Harris, Wiebe, the AC, and Shane are all still unaccounted for.”

“What is taking so long?” The pit in Ilya’s stomach returned at the mention of bodies, the memory of the woman he’d tripped over flashing in his mind’s eye.

“People are trapped in their seats. When the plane hit the ground, it bent, and a lot of debris landed on the front few rows. Uh…they already know the pilots didn’t make it. One of the bodies pulled out already was a member of the flight crew.”

Ilya was quiet after that, worry mounting even more. He inched down to the bottom of the stretcher, only to gasp as the plane came into view, previously concealed behind a privacy screen. The main body of the plane was a mess, with massive scrapes and gouges ripped into it while smears of dirt and ash covered the rest of the damage from the tail to the front. The sleek straight lines of the vehicle had all been bent and the thick windows on either side had been smashed. The wings were both missing, along with the tail fin. And the front of the plane…

The front of the plane had been caved in.

Ilya’s hand snapped to his mouth, making an audible smack against the skin. It didn’t even look real. If he couldn’t feel the pain in his own body, he wouldn’t believe he’d walked out of the wreckage.

The wreckage that his husband was still in.

A loud sob erupted from Ilya’s throat, the pit in his stomach now cavernous. And the urge to vomit became all of a sudden too strong. He tipped off the stretcher, falling to his hands and knees as the contents of his stomach ejected itself.

“Fuck, ROZ!” Dykstra yelled, startled by the sudden bile projecting from Ilya’s throat. A series of footsteps echoed nearby, and a hand rubbed circles on Ilya’s back.

“Let it out, Cap. We got you.” Bood comforted, and Ilya looked up to see his entire team surrounding him.

“Shane, Shane is still…”

“We know. We’ve been looking out for him, they’ve got to be getting him out real soon.” Bood nodded, his eyebrows pinched together. “You need that medic back?”

“No.” Ilya shook his head, despite still feeling nauseous. “I need Shane to be okay! And Troy, and Harris, and the coaches.”

“We all do.” Bood assured him.

As if on cue, one of the backup centers pointed at the plane. “I see Troy!”

The team parted, everyone turning to look at the plane, where two medics were pushing a gurney out, Troy obviously on top. But the sight of him was not reassuring, because not only was he covered in blood…

He was screaming.

Ilya didn’t even hesitate. He was off his own gurney and racing over there, Bood and Wyatt not far behind. "TROY!” Ilya shouted, trying to get the other man’s attention.

“Sir, you need to stay back.”

“I need to support my teammate.” Ilya retorted, at least respectfully keeping his distance. “Troy, we’re here!”

“They can’t get him out!” Troy screamed, seemingly not even registering Ilya’s presence. “They can’t get him out, they can’t get him out!” The constant repetition and the strain in Troy’s voice did nothing to make anyone feel better.

“Who? Harris?” Ilya demanded

“The guy next to him.” One of the EMTs answered, having clearly recognized they weren’t getting rid of Ilya. “Might be this Harris?”

“They can’t get him OUT!” Troy continued to scream.

“Is he trapped?” Ilya asked.

“We couldn’t tell.” The EMT answered. “We practically had to pry the seats apart just to move him.” The EMT gestured to Troy. “I can’t tell you anything more.”

“No, answer me! What is wrong with Troy?” Ilya asked, realizing they were headed directly for an ambulance rather than the triage center where the rest of the team had been sent.

“Knee!” Troy spat out, suddenly looking more alert. “Knee’s broken, pretty sure. Ribs too. And my stomach really hurts.”

“We can’t tell you anything more.” The EMT snapped, climbing into the back of the ambulance.

“His emergency contact is still on plane.” Ilya yelled. “I am team captain, tell me!”

“Not how it works. Sorry. Up on three.” The EMT was unsympathetic, and the gurney jolted, causing Troy to groan. They loaded the gurney onto the ambulance, securing it in place, and slammed the doors, driving off at breakneck speed, leaving the rest of the team behind in the dust.

“A broken knee is bad.” Someone muttered.

“A broken knee is fatal for a hockey player.”

“Not always,” Ilya snapped. “And no one use the word fatal. People have died. Not the day for metaphor or euphemism or whatever this stupid language calls it.”

“Sorry.” “Sorry Cap.” “Sorry Roz.”

“Does anyone have contact with family yet?” Ilya asked, all of a sudden remembering his cell phone in his pocket.

“Yeah, we’ve been passing phones around, getting in contact with people. The WAG chat was mobilized.” Bood explained, which reassured Ilya slightly as he looked down to open the phone. The screen was cracked slightly, but the device still worked. Notifications were blowing up his screen, but before he could read any of them, the phone buzzed, bringing up a picture of Yuna.

“I need to take this,” His voice cracked and Bood patted him on the shoulder.

“We’ll keep an eye out for Shane. We’ll tell you straight away.”

“Tell me straight away for everyone.” Ilya emphasized, and the AC nodded, stepping back to give Ilya a bit of distance. Taking a deep breath, he answered the call.

“Yuna…?”

“Ilya, thank god! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you and Shane. The plane…”

“It crashed.” Ilya said, feeling hollow as he cut her off. “The plane crashed.”

“Are you alright? Are you both alright?”

“I have concussion. Shane is still on plane.”

“Oh good, a concussion is, well it’s not nothing but…wait, what do you mean Shane is still on the plane?” Her voice betrayed the abrupt rise in panic, which made Ilya’s heart race and his head throb.

“He…I…they pulled me out. But Shane is…he’s still on the plane. Yuna, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I left him! They made me leave him! He…Troy has a broken leg, Harris is trapped, and no one will tell me anything about Shane!” Ilya sobbed, feeling his panic overwhelm here. “They can’t tell me anything!”

“Ilya, baby, I need you to calm down.” Yuna said, her voice cracking. “David and I are trying to figure out how to get to you, but it might take us a little bit because they’re cancelling flights. Do you want to call us when you know more?”

“I will call.” Ilya resolved, tears filling his eyes, guilt flooding his system. He couldn’t even tell her if her son was dead. What USE was he as a husband, as a partner, as a son-in-law if he couldn’t even do that? He hadn’t even been there with Shane when they crashed!

“ROZ!” Bood’s voice reverberated, scaring Ilya.

“I must go.” Ilya said, immediately hanging up the phone, mentally apologizing to Yuna for the sudden severing of the connection and ran, immediately spotting the team assembled in a semi-circle. “Who is it?”

“They just sent in more gurneys. I think they’re bringing the rest of them out.” Bood explained. As if on cue, that’s when they emerged: A small unit of EMTs, pushing out four gurneys, all of them busy attending to the patients on the stretchers.

The first was easily recognizable.

“There’s Coach!” Ilya pointed, quashing the returning wave of nausea at the sight of a bone visible protruding from Wiebe’s arm and the massive bloodstain on his ruined clothes. Behind him, EMTs were performing chest compressions on the assistant coach, who’s face was covered with a mask and bandages.

Harris was mostly covered by a blanket, but it was hard to miss the significant amount of blood that had already seeped through the white fabric around his legs. But Ilya couldn’t focus on that as he was abruptly distracted by the sight of the last gurney.

“Shane, моя любовь...” Ilya cried.

“Sir, you need to step…”

“Is my husband! I am not going anywhere but to hospital with him.” Ilya’s tone left no room for argument, as he couldn’t lift his eyes from Shane’s body to glare.

Shane was a mess. The EMTs had already cut some of his clothes off, revealing a litany of injuries that numbered too many for Ilya to stand to count. Large cuts had been carved into Shane’s upper body and face, with more barely concealed behind the blood residue and the medical mask on his face. Shane’s nose had clearly been broken, and the side of his head was swollen.

Bandages had already been pressed over his neck and shoulders, held in place by a c-collar, but the damage beneath them was still obvious. One of Shane’s shoulders was at an unnatural angle, having been pushed out of the socket backwards with material wadded underneath Shane’s spine just to support it. Bruises littered what dirt and blood couldn’t, covering Shane’s ribs, but the skin protruded awkwardly in a way that Ilya just knew meant broken bones lay beneath.

And then of course, there was the red lesion covering Shane’s entire stomach. It was almost obvious that it had been caused by the seatbelt, but the rapid bruising being that extensive that quickly was horrifying. He stepped back just enough to let them load Shane into the ambulance, but refused to remain far from Shane’s side, climbing in last while the driver shut the doors behind him.

“Did he say anything?” Ilya asked, watching as the medic continued to stabilize Shane’s injuries. “When they pulled him out?”

“We couldn’t move him for a bit.” The medic admitted. “The dividing wall between the front galley and the cabin was forced backwards and jammed, pinning the entire front row in their seats. We tried to keep them talking, but the firefighters had to cut through it, and the vibration of the saws just got transferred directly into them. Honestly, we were worried everyone outside would hear them screaming.”

Ilya flinched, the ache in his head flaring up into something sharp and violent. He HATED the idea of Shane being in pain, being stuck — trapped and alone — when Ilya had been out, walking around and fine. Alone because Ilya had left him. Because Ilya had gotten nervous.

“Sorry,” the paramedic actually turned around, looking ashamed. “I…that was unprofessional. I just…this is one of the worst calls I’ve ever seen.”

“How long have you being doing this job?” Ilya asked, not even really caring about the answer, his eyes still locked on Shane’s broken form, strapped down on the gurney.

“11 years. How long have you two been married?”

“Nearly five years, in July.” Ilya glanced down at Shane’s hands, wincing at the sight of the bruised, purpling fingers, and the skin swelling around the digits. Shane’s wedding ring was still on his finger, scuffed and damaged like everything else, the black inlay jutting out from the metal casing. 

The paramedic driving the ambulance smacked the wall dividing the cab from the back of the truck, and the paramedic treating Shane grimaced. “Okay, a lot of things are about to happen very quickly and Shane here is about to get very popular. Do what the doctors tell you, stay out of the way, be patient and have faith okay?”

Ilya didn’t even have time to ask what that meant as the back doors of the ambulance were ripped open, a line of people waiting to receive the gurney there on the other side. The paramedic pushed the cot carrying Shane, the people wearing scrubs catching the other end, guiding it to the floor. Ilya leaped out behind it, never staying far behind. One of the doctors, while still walking, spread Shane’s eyelids open, flashing a light into them. “Okay, who do we have here?”

“Shane Hollander, age 34.” the EMT reported, snapping into action. “This is his husband, they were on the flight together.”

“Injuries?”

“Severe blunt force trauma to the chest, lower abdomen and legs, with minor trauma to everywhere else. Major lacerations to the upper body and his head, suspected internal bleeding. He’s already lost 2 units for sure, pulse is tachycardic, and he’s been unconscious for nearly 15 minutes.

“Sedated?”

“No, the extraction was painful. He passed out naturally while we were trying to stabilize. Still responding to pain stimulus though.”

Shane’s gurney was moved into a bay, and Ilya tried not to gag at the sight of a custodian by the entrance, mopping up blood from the linoleum floor. He looked around, stunned by the chaos around him. The emergency department was full, with gurneys lining the walls and stuffed in every inch of space. Noise overwhelmed the air, and people in scrubs buzzed around like wasps protecting a disturbed hive. The smell of blood and disinfectant flooded Ilya’s nose, and if there had been anything left in his stomach, he might’ve vomited again. The doctors made quick work of cutting off the rest of Shane’s clothes, passing the scraps off to a nurse to stuff into a bag.

Ilya watched with despair as the clippers cut through the precious metal of Shane’s wedding ring, which fell into pieces on an awaiting gloved hand, now damaged beyond repair. Ilya could only hope that the same couldn't be said for his husband, as terms that Ilya didn’t understand got thrown around between the doctors and nurses as they attached equipment to various parts of Shane’s body.

“Is he…going to make it?” Ilya asked, finally saying something for the first time since arriving.

“We’re going to do everything we can for him, Mr. Hollander.” The nearest doctor to Ilya said. Ilya didn’t bother to correct them on his last name, it didn't seem like the time. “In the meantime, we need you to start filling out some consent forms. Jane can you…”

Ilya’s eyes snapped to the passing nurse the doctor had flagged. Jane. The name only made Ilya feel even more distressed, but the nurse pulled Ilya aside gently, her sharp brown eyes immediately clocking the bandage on Ilya’s head.

“Okay, sir, do you also need to see a doctor? Get that head wound looked at?”

“No, I need to stay with my husband.” Ilya shook her off. “I need…forms?”

“Your husband is going to need surgery,” She explained. “As his husband, you're his medical proxy, we need you to give us permission to operate.”

Alarms blared, interrupting them, and Ilya whipped around to see the machines around Shane flashing. The doctors treating him were also moving much faster, shouting over each other to handle Shane’s rapidly declining condition. Someone stuck two colorful pads on Shane’s chest, one next to his sternum and one next to his ribs. “Okay, everybody, clear.”

Ilya couldn’t process what he was seeing. A loud whine filled the air and then electricity coursed through Shane’s body, and all Ilya could do was watch in raptured horror. Nurse Jane, stood next to Ilya, gripping his arm supportively as they watched them try to resuscitate Shane. It wasn’t lost on Ilya that she was also holding him back. “No change. Upping to 200.” Ilya’s knees went weak, and he collapsed against the nurse. She shouted something, but everything felt so far away as Ilya watched the doctors continue to try and save the love of his life.

Please Shane, Ilya begged silently. Please don’t leave, come back. He couldn’t hear them say anything else, but panicked all the same as they started moving the gurney.

“No, where are you going? What is happening?”

“Sir, they’re taking him to surgery.” The nurse, Jane, stepped between Ilya and the doctors, who were getting further away. “They got his pulse back, but they have to stabilize his wounds. Now, take this, and fill it out for me, okay.”

“He is…back? Heart is still beating?” Ilya clarified, trying to understand. She nodded, shoving a tablet into his hands, and pushed him into a chair. Ilya looked down at the screen, seeing a medical form already displayed on the glass.

“Yes. Can I take a look at your head wound while you fill it out? It looks like your bandage might need replacing.”

Ilya relented, focusing on the form in front of him. He couldn’t understand everything, but Jane was patient, explaining everything plainly and slowly. And then the forms were done, and the tablet was taken away. Jane pulled Ilya to the side, calling over a doctor to check the wound on the back of his head, but Ilya didn’t really respond of interact with either as a fresh new bandage was stuck on. And then they left him alone, sat in an empty medical bay staring at the floor.

A floor covered in his husband’s blood.

Chapter 2

“—z? …Roz? Roz!”

A hand waved in front of Ilya’s face. He blinked, blearily looking up to see Bood standing over him, looking concerned. How long had he been standing there, trying to get Ilya’s attention?  Bood was speaking, his mouth clearly forming words, but Ilya couldn’t hear a word of it. His brain was too tired, too overwhelmed, and too stressed to process sound at all, and everything around him just felt like slime. 

Bood knelt, ignoring the blood on the floor, intent on getting on Ilya’s eye level. He took the captain’s hands, squeezing them tight, and Ilya could feel the warmth from his Assistant Captain seep into his palms, but still couldn't summon the will to respond. He just stared at him blankly.

Unsatisfied with Ilya’s reactions, Bood pulled out his cell phone, typing something, and when he was done, he held the screen up for Ilya to read.

You okay?

Ilya stared at the screen, reading it over and over until the words finally sunk in. The expectation of a response was met with a dead expression, as Ilya looked up as if to say what do you think? B

ood grimaced, and turned the phone around, typing something else.

Where is Shane?

Ilya couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t even make his mouth move. A look of understanding dawned on the Assistant Captain’s face and Bood typed some more.

Surgery?

Ilya nodded, grateful that his friend seemed to know how to get an answer out of him when even Ilya didn’t. Bood seemed relieved that the answer wasn’t the untyped alternative, and pulled the phone back again. Ilya waited, glad to have something to do as the interaction pulled him out of the hollow headspace he’d found himself in.

Wiebe has a broken arm, broken collarbone, broken nose, concussion and some crushed toes. He has a surgery scheduled for later. He might lose the toes.

Troy’s knee is definitely broken, but the break is clean, and they’re optimistic about recovery. He’s also got some broken ribs, mild internal bruising, and there’s also an issue with his tongue? He’s gonna need about 1000 stitches, and will be black and blue for weeks.

Harris is in surgery too. Seats crushed both legs on impact. He has a chance of losing them both. He lost a lot of blood and coded in the ambulance, and there were complications with his heart valve. They got him back but they’re still worried about it. There’s also a chance of brain damage.

The AC didn’t make it. He was declared dead on arrival.

What’re Shane’s injuries?

Ilya wondered if he might throw up again after all, despite his empty stomach. The assistant coach, Barry, was a new acquire. He'd joined the team a couple years after Shane, but he'd managed to mesh well with the players and the staff quickly, and his wife seemed to get along well with the rest of the team’s partners in turn. They had no children, but there had been rumors they were trying for one. 

And Harris…

Over the years, Ilya liked to think he’d formed a relatively strong friendship with the man, but he couldn’t imagine the impact losing his legs would have on Harris, and that was if he made it out of the surgery at all. Complications with his heart sounded serious. Ilya couldn’t imagine the Centaurs without Harris, and losing Harris would…well, it would devastate Troy.

They’d already seen it for themselves after they pulled Troy out of the plane. It would destroy Troy entirely if they lost Harris.

The same way it would destroy Ilya if he lost Shane.

He wondered for a moment if this was what Shane had felt like, all those years ago when the plane had been forced to land because of the fire. He knew logistically that Shane had only found out after the plane was safe and Ilya was actually okay, which made this different, but his heart ached all the same because of the fear that had haunted them both. That fear had come back to haunt Ilya now in full force.

“Roz?” Bood said, interrupting the thought spiral. “Do you know what’s happening with Shane?”

Ilya shook his head. “They didn’t…I couldn’t understand…they shocked him? Twice. And then straight to surgery.”

Bood nodded, keeping his face neutral. “Okay. Why don’t you come with me? They’ve put the team in a private waiting room.”

“No, I must wait here. For when Shane gets back.” Ilya dug his heels in.

“Roz, Shane’s surgery is probably going to be hours. They’ll likely put another patient in here in the meantime. You can’t stay here. When there’s an update, they’ll find you.”

Ilya faltered. Bood’s reasoning made sense, and it was really very noisy in the emergency department now that he could hear again. The noise wouldn’t do at all when he needed to call Yuna back. Bood led him through the hospital, opening the door to where the rest of the Centaurs team were waiting in a closed off seating area surrounded by blinds. To anyone else it was an unassuming private area, which was probably the point. The entire team, barring the ones actively being treated were already there. Some of them were asleep, including Luca who was propped up on the floor, head listing to one side. Butterfly bandages covered his face and his hands were wrapped with white gauze. He looked so pale and still that Ilya couldn’t help but panic.

“Lukes…” Roz made to wake him up, but Bood intercepted.

“Kid’s coming off an adrenaline crash, but all things considered is fine. We’ve been checking on him, now let him sleep.”

“Hey, Roz…” Wyatt perked up, noticing their arrival. “You okay? How’s Shane?”

“Shane’s in surgery. We don’t know much more.” Bood answered for Ilya, not even bothering to wait for Ilya to answer himself. “Roz, there’s a bathroom in there,” Bood pointed to a door in the corner of the waiting room. “We’ve been using it for phone calls and panic attacks. My advice? Don’t lock it. We’ll be right here if you need us.”

Ilya nodded, and entered the bathroom, which like everything else in this hospital smelled aggressively of bleach. Planting his back against the door, he sank down until his legs gave out beneath him, sending Ilya sprawling clumsily to the floor. He pulled out his phone, ignoring the cracked screen and the relentless pouring in of notifications in favor of navigating to the phone app and calling Yuna.

“Hi, this is Yuna Hollander, please leave me a messa…”

Ilya hung up. He wasn’t going to leave a voicemail. He was trying to tell the woman her son’s medical status, she deserved more than a voice message. He owed her that much.

He then tried calling David. Again, he was diverted to voicemail.

Faint alarm bells rang in the back of Ilya’s mind, unable to help the sudden intrusive thoughts that sent him into a cold sweat. Did they get on a plane? Were they in a crash? He couldn’t have lost them too, could he? Would this day take the entirety of his remaining family from him?

Ilya was in the middle of trying the Hollander’s house phone, with plans on calling David’s work next, when David’s caller ID interrupted. He accepted the call immediately, practically slamming the phone to his ear. “David?”

“Ilya, thank god. Yuna told me you’d called her earlier, but for my sakes, I’m glad to hear from you too. Are you okay?”

“I think I am very far from okay.” Ilya mumbled.

“That’s to be expected. Yuna said you hit your head? Have you been checked out?”

“Yes, it has been looked at. David, we are at hospital.”

“I know. Cassie’s been keeping everyone updated, and Lisa has been translating medical jargon for people.” There was an awkward pause, and Ilya’s heart sank. He knew what was coming. “Ilya, is there an update on Shane? Is he…? How is he? How’s my boy?”

“Shane is in surgery. They had to shock him with the heart…tool?” Ilya cursed his tongue, which felt flat and heavy in his mouth. “He lost lot of blood.”

“Fuck,” David swore, and Ilya’s heart panged. David didn’t normally swear, had once claimed during an intense family game night that he was very bad at it. But when he did…god, he sounded so much like Shane. They put the same inflection on the digraph that ended the word. “Did they tell you what the surgery was for?”

Ilya shook his head, forgetting for a moment that David couldn’t see him. “No, I couldn’t…I didn’t understand.”

“That’s okay, son, it’s alright. Not sure I would’ve either in that moment. Yuna has always been the better one in a crisis.”

At the mention of his mother-in-law, Ilya’s tongue stalled again, and the guilt that Ilya was already feeling swelled. Here he was, trying to update Shane’s parents on their son’s condition, and they were comforting him. “Is she…with you?”

“She’s currently taking her feelings out on the manager behind the airport check-in desk. They grounded all of the flights in the area, until they have a basic idea of what caused the crash. Unfortunately, that means we might not make it to you anytime soon.”

“Good.” Ilya said far too quickly, the thought of two more people he cared about being on a plane too terrifying to process in that moment. Ilya’s lungs burned as he struggled to breathe. “Sorry, I don’t mean…I just…no more flying. For anyone. Not soon. I will call when doctor updates me on Shane so you can hear, yes?”

“Ilya, I—”

“Goodbye, David.” Ilya hung up the phone just in time for a big, ugly sob to rip out of him. The phone clattered to the floor, but he didn’t care. More tears followed, trailing down his face without abandon. His head ached, but Ilya couldn’t make himself stop crying, his chest and back hurting at the same time as he let out all of the pain that had been building up for the past few hours. Had it even been hours? Ilya wasn’t even sure what time it was, or when the plane had crashed? Where had they even crashed? Ilya had assumed somewhere in America, but America was a big place. How would they get back to Ottawa? His passport was presumably still in the wreckage. Would they find it, or would they issue him a new one? Would they HAVE to fly to get back home? Would Shane be well enough to fly with him, or would they have to travel separately? Would Wiebe? Would Troy?

Knock. Knock. Knock. “Roz, you okay in there?”

Ilya couldn’t answer, just letting out another choked sob. Something hard slammed into the door, knocking him over as the door was forced open. Bood and Wyatt were both standing there on the other side looking concerned. Ilya stared up at them, tears streaming down his face, and neither of them hesitated to join him on the floor to sweep him into a hug. Ilya didn’t couldn’t say anything, instead leaning into his teammates as he continued to cry, loudly and sharply until there were no tears left. His entire chest hurt, from the violent shaking of his lungs and diaphragm, but their arms maintained constant pressure on him, mindful of the bruises on his back until Ilya’s breathing finally evened out. He was close to exhaustion when the two finally pulled him up off the floor. “C’mon Roz. Let’s get you out of here. You can rest next to Haas. We’ll wake you if the doctors come looking.”

Ilya didn’t have the energy to protest. They guided him over to the ground, setting him down against the same wall as Luca, and Ilya settled back, unable to stay awake for any longer.

His last thought before falling asleep was a disjointed prayer, hoping that when he woke up, Shane would be okay.

When Ilya woke up again, he didn’t feel like he’d slept at all. His body protested with every miniscule movement, and it took him too long to remember where he was and what had happened. The lights had been dimmed in the waiting room, because most of the occupants had fallen asleep in their seats. Even Bood was slumped over, propped up only by one hand in the seat closest to the door.

But in the middle of them all was Wyatt, still awake and keeping vigil.

“Any news?” Ilya rasped, catching the goalie’s attention.

“Troy’s out of surgery. They moved him to the recovery ward. He’s been told about Harris. It wasn’t pretty.” Wyatt whispered.

“Harris?”

“Still in surgery. They also took Wiebe in and out. He lost all of the toes on his right foot. He’s not getting on the ice anytime soon. We think we can get him a badass-looking cane though, for when he recovers.”

“And…Shane?” Ilya’s voice wobbled as he said his husband’s name.

“Nothing yet.” Wyatt said placidly. “I uh…I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of calling Shane’s parents back from your phone. I got the sense they could do with a chat, and you weren’t in any state. And someone from the WAG chat is going to check in on them later. ”

That didn’t actually make Ilya feel any better, but he gave Wyatt a grateful look anyways. “Are they still trying to get here?”

“No. They mentioned something about how you talked them out of it?”

That made Ilya sigh with relief. “I do not want anyone on plane right now.”

Wyatt grimaced and nodded. “Can’t say I blame you. Two plane accidents in one lifetime is borderline enough for me. The whole point of flying commercial was that it was supposed to be safer. Think the team would spring for a bus to get us all back home?”

“If they don’t, I will.” Ilya said, making the goalie laugh quietly.

“Y’know, before this happened, my wife and I…we were talking about retirement.” Wyatt admitted, which surprised Ilya. He knew logistically that Wyatt was coming up to his 40^th birthday, and he would have to consider it at some point, but after three Cup wins, Ilya would’ve thought the goalie would’ve put it off for a little longer. “Don’t worry, I’m not doing it this side of 40,” Wyatt continued, as if he were reading Ilya’s mind. “But she mentioned how she would want to travel more together, see all these places she has on her list without being limited to the summer break. And I…it was the only thing I could think about as we were going down. And after the crash, I called her and apologized, because we didn’t get to do that before, y’know?”

Ilya nodded, understanding, but didn’t interrupt, getting the sense that if the goalie didn’t say this now, he might never. “I also apologized because she was probably never getting me on a flight again anytime soon. Guess what she said? Said she didn’t mind taking a boat, bus, or even walking, as long as we did it together. As if I couldn’t love her any more, right?”

Ilya smiled. “That’s nice.” He hesitated, letting the quiet of the room sink in. “After last time, I felt so guilty, for hiding so much of my life with Shane. He felt same way, because first thing he did when we saw each other again was propose. The engagement ring didn’t even fit, but it didn’t matter because it felt like we finally had this chance to make up for lost time. And this…this feels like revenge. Fate taking back what we were never meant to have. Destiny reminding me that every good thing can be taken.”

“Roz, no!” Wyatt looked stricken. “You can’t think…”

“He was alone.” Ilya said, cutting him off. “Wh-when we crashed. The medic said he was screaming as they tried to get him out. They cut—” A knot formed in Ilya’s throat, cutting him off as his voice cracked. “They cut his wedding ring off, Hazy! They took the only thing he had of me during that wreck and then his heart…his heart stopped! Like there was just enough time for me to watch him be taken from me, and I...I couldn’t touch him, I couldn’t help him. I could not even ask doctors what was wrong with him! It was my fault. I was completely useless.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it! Roz, you couldn’t have…”

“Don’t be talking about our captain that way.” Someone piped up, and with a start, Ilya realized that everyone in the room had woken up and was listening in. Even Luca, who was still sat on the floor next to Ilya, had tuned in. Some of them looked pale, perhaps from the graphic description of what Shane had been through, or maybe because the reality of their situation was settling in.

“Roz, you weren’t useless. We’d just been in a freaking plane crash, and you…you got thrown into the ceiling! I watched you fly, Roz! And you still got back up after, with this look on your face that you only get when thinking about Shane. You were going back to him as the plane was actively hurtling towards the ground. You were the first by his side the minute they pulled him out of that plane, you pushed your way into that ambulance. That wasn’t useless.”

“But I—”

“But nothin’! I get it, y’know? When my wife had our twins, there were complications.” Boyle sniffed. Ilya stayed quiet, unsure where Boyle was going with this. “She had this thing, preeclampsia, which is common with twin births. They made her come in early, on the day the twins were born, and for most of it, we were just waiting for things to get going because it was supposed to be manageable, treatable. Only when it did, she started bleeding badly. A placental abruption, followed by a uterine tear.”

Some of the guys who already had children let out hisses, wincing in sympathy with Boyle and his wife. “And I didn’t understand a lick of it. They left me standing there with two babies and whisked her off to surgery without a single word as to why. Trust me, I felt useless then, and I’m a native speaker of the language those doctors were using.”

Boyle swallowed, and someone clapped him on the shoulder supportively. “For ages, I wondered if there was something that I should’ve done differently to help her, if something I did caused the problems, whether it was my fault because of the pregnancy? I kept asking what I should be doing to fix it, but the hard truth was that there was nothing I could’ve done. Same thing applies here. It’s understandable for you to be feeling the way you have been, given what you saw Shane go through, but you did your job! You signed the form, called his parents. You’ve been in a freaking plane crash and you’re still here! All that’s left is to be there when he wakes up. And if I know Hollander half as well as you do, I know he WILL wake up.”

Ilya wilted, any argument or self-reproaching thought draining out of him, as Boyle’s speech sank in. He nodded at the 2^nd pairing defenseman, appreciating his words, but wasn’t able to muster the words to say anything back. The team sat in an awkward silence, waiting for someone to break it.

“Has there been any news about the crash?” Luca asked, delicately changing the subject.

“Last I saw, no.” Wyatt shook his head, but Young pulled out his phone, opening a news sight, flashing the screen to the surrounding team members.

“They recovered the black box,” He read aloud. “They’re still reviewing the crash, trying to figure out what happened. The plane hit a highway and a building on the way down. In total, six passengers are dead, and another 13 on the ground, including Barry.” The muscles in Young’s jaw worked, his eyes tearing up as he continued to read. “And an unreported amount of injuries. The press know we were on the plane, so naturally, we’re in every headline. The NHL issued a statement, all games are suspended for two days, and then will be holding a moment of silence for us at all upcoming games after that. There’s still speculation on whether we’re expected to continue the season. A memorial’s already gone up for the AC at our stadium, and the whole thing is trending online…”

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Bood grimaced. The last thing anyone needed to be thinking about at that moment was social media.

“Sorry to interrupt…” One of the nurses entered, and Ilya looked up at her to recognize Jane from earlier. “Mr. Barrett sent me down here to share some news about Mr. Drover. I’m pleased to report he’s made it through his surgery, and has been sent to the ICU.”

“His legs?” Ilya asked bluntly, before anyone could celebrate.

“We’re monitoring his condition, but it’s looking more salvageable than we’d initially expected. Providing there’s no infection, there’s a chance we might be able to save them.” She explained, which resulted in a round of cheers and sighs of relief. “I also have an update on Mr. Hollander, if you would like to follow me, Mr. Rozanov? Or I can share it here, if you would prefer?”

The room went quiet again, and Ilya’s heart pounded in his chest, but he gave his permission to shar it to the group, unsure he would be able to hear it without them. Luca reached over to squeeze Ilya’s leg in support.

“Mr. Hollander sustained significant trauma to multiple parts of his body, which has resulted in an extensive number of injuries; the most serious of which was internal damage to his spleen and liver. The spleen continued to hemorrhage despite intervention, so we had to make the unfortunate decision to remove it. We also had to remove a large part of the liver as well.” She took a deep breath, preparing to continue. Ilya agonized over the fact there was more.

“There was also damage to several bones. His ribs, clavicles, right shoulder blade, left forearm, and both femurs were all broken, some in more than one place. We had to insert pins to reconstruct some of bones, which he’ll eventually need surgery to remove. There has also been mild trauma to his hands, skull and the cervical vertebrae.”

“Wait, are you saying his spine was broken?” Someone asked. The blood drained out of Ilya’s face.

“No.” She covered quickly. “There were compression fractures in the bones of his neck, likely caused from whiplash in the crash. It’s caused some swelling in the region, but there hasn’t been any damage to his spinal cord from what we can tell.”

“And his head?” Ilya said quietly, but his words resounded through the room. “You said trauma to the skull. He has head injury?”

“Yes. There were some hairline fractures to his skull and jaw that have caused some swelling, but unfortunately we won’t know more about his brain until some test results come back.”

“So, just to make sure I’m understanding right,” Bood summarized, holding his phone out like he was dictating something. “Shane had severe internal bleeding, which has resulted in the loss of his spleen and part of his liver. There has also been significant damage to his skeletal system, resulting in either breaks or fractures in the upper legs, his ribs, his shoulder, his left arm, his hands, his neck, and his head. He also suffered some major blood loss, right?”

“Yes,” She nodded.

“At this point, are there any concerns?” Wyatt interrupted.

Her lips thinned into a straight line. “There are a few, but the doctors are working diligently and Shane is doing well.”

“What was the cause of his heart stopping, earlier?” Bood mentioned. Ilya felt like his own heart was about to stop.

“The blood loss caused Shane to experience what we call rapid hypervolemic shock, which then unfortunately caused a cardiac arrest. We shocked his heart to return it to a stable rhythm and then pushed several transfusions to help him recover.”

“Do you have concerns about his brain?”

“Yes. We would, regardless of the head trauma because of the blood loss, but like I said, we are waiting on lab results.

“Can I see him?” That wasn’t the question Ilya wanted to ask. He wanted to ask if Shane would be okay. He wanted to ask if his husband would play hockey again. He wanted to ask when Shane would wake up. When he would go home. When he would be fine, again. But he couldn’t. Because they didn’t know.

“Not at this time. His surgery is expected to go on for several more hours, and his recovery will be long.” She looked at him regretfully, and then checked her watch. “I will warn you, our visiting hours are nearly over. The investigators have arranged for you all to stay at a nearby hotel, and will be coming to collect you all shortly. We will be remaining in contact with Mr. Rozanov for updates on Mr. Hollander, and a car will be made available for you to return in the morning.”

“We’re not leaving.” Luca sounded outraged.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. The hotel will be able to offer you more comfort and privacy.” She was firm, stressing the word privacy in a way that made Ilya suspect that the press had been poking around the hospital and that was the real reason they were being kicked out. Nurse Jane left, closing the door behind her, leaving the room reeling at the bombshells she’d dropped on them.

“Roz,” Bood tapped his phone. “I wrote that all down for you to tell Shane’s parents about, when you talk to them next if you need it.”

“Thank you.” Ilya said quietly, realizing with a sinking feeling that he was going to have to call them again. Damn this crash, Ilya mused. He’d never resented talking to either Yuna or David before, and now he dreaded it almost more than anything. “Now, all of you, up. Gather yourselves.”

“They shouldn’t be making us leave.” Someone muttered.

“We can’t stay here.” Ilya said. “Da, some of you are still covered in blood and dust. We need showers, and proper beds. We must talk to family, and rest. And we will come back tomorrow.”

“I think you mean today,” Luca pointed out sullenly. “It’s past midnight. It’s match day.”

“Would anyone else give anything to rather be playing hockey right now.” Young asked, sounding so very young.

“Yes,” Ilya said, quieting them all down. “Because playing hockey would mean we did not get in plane crash. But that is not what happened. We must deal with what did.” Ilya lead the way out of the private waiting room, immediately spotting the investigators that the nurse had been talking about. They stood in the hallway, wearing black suits, talking amongst themselves until they spotted the team.

“You’re the Ottawa Centaurs, right?” One of them asked, casting a cursory glance over the entire team.

“Yes.” Ilya nodded. “We were told you can take us to hotel?”

“Right this way.”

“So, we’ve got most of you doubled up, since the hotel had a limited amount of single rooms, but you won’t be charged for pay-per-view, the minibars, or the room service. There will be a car, available to take a limited amount of you to the hospital if you need to go back, but we can arrange more if you won’t all fit. You’ll need to stay here for a couple of days, just while we get through our preliminary investigation, but then after that, your team has arranged for a bus to get you back to Canada.”

“What about our injured teammates?” Wyatt asked the investigator as they walked through the lobby of the hotel.

“They’ll be transferred, likely by a helicopter or med jet, I assume.” The agent looked less sure at that answer.

“They cannot be transferred by car?” Ilya worried. He had no plans on being on that bus, intending never to leave Shane’s side as soon as his husband was out of surgery, and he didn’t relish the idea of either of them flying anytime soon.

“I don’t think so. It’s a pretty long drive, and transferring hospitals can be stressful for people, so I’m told.” One of the hotel staff approached, passing out room keys, but no one peeled off in the direction of bed, still unconsciously sticking together.

“We will meet back here tomorrow night. Consider this curfew, just like when we are on road. Talk to your families, talk to each other, and to your teams and agents if you wish. No press, no interviews. I will be going back to hospital early, unless I get called sooner.” Ilya announced. “I will be back at hospital early. If you cannot reach me, talk to Bood or talk to Hazy. We will be home soon.”

“What about the rest of the season?” Nick wondered aloud.

“Do you really wanna play the rest of the season, after everything just happened?”

“It’s our job, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it will not be decided today. We need to get cleared by doctors, and we need to talk to team managers.” Ilya said resolutely. “Now, shower and bed.”

“Uh…” One of the rookies raised their hand. “What do we wear tomorrow?”

That gave Ilya pause. “Is good question. Is there anywhere we can get new clothes? And what about personal items from crash site?” He directed the question to the investigator who was still awkwardly standing there.

“Some members of the local community have started a drive to get you all basic necessities, which will be delivered to your rooms in the morning, and a car service will be available for you to get anything else you may need. As for your personal affects, we’ll be sorting through what is left and may need you to identify items before you go home.”

The answer was disappointing but expected. And slowly, the team peeled off, searching for their rooms. Ilya gripped the room key in his hand, feeling the thin plastic dig into the flesh. It was the only thing keeping him alert as he sluggishly made it to the room, where two beds lay innocuously waiting. Ilya waited to see if he would have a roommate, and then realized with a start that the investigators had probably gone off the team roster, and that the other bed was meant for Shane.

Ilya sat on the bed he planned to sleep in, staring at the empty one. He felt so hollow and so guilty, like pieces of him had been carved out — not dissimilar to what Shane had experienced, Ilya was sure. He pulled out the phone, seeing the list from Bood about Shane’s diagnosis, but he didn’t need it. He’d already committed the plethora of injuries to memory as the nurse had been it. Taking a deep breath, Ilya pressed the phone against his ear, calling David back.

“Ilya? What’s happening?”

“I have update.”

Chapter 3

Ilya slept in his clothes, not bothering to shower before he fell asleep.

The previous day’s events had been too exhausting for him to do much else, but that didn’t mean he got a restful night’s sleep either. He couldn’t escape it, his dreams haunting him with re-enactments of the crash on loop, taking on his Sisyphaen task of going up that plane aisle but never making it to the end. The plane would crash, and he would wake, only to fall back asleep to the back of the plane. In the end, he just stopped going to sleep, and stared up at the ceiling, forgoing any more rest.

The quiet of his hotel room was eventually interrupted by the sound of a polite, but persistent knock on the door. With a groan, Ilya got up off the bed, feeling his entire body seize up in protest, just another reminder of what they’d been through yesterday. He checked his phone, unsure whether to be disappointed or not to see no missed calls from the hospital. There were several unread text messages as well, but there were none he wanted to answer.

Opening the door revealed a nervous-looking hotel staffer holding a plastic bag. A housekeeping cart sat just behind him, loaded with similar-looking bags, and Ilya glanced down the hall to see various doors decorated with the bags on the handles.

The staffer gaped up at Ilya, passively recognizing him and fumbling what to say. “Uh…sorry to wake you, uh…these are for you. Fresh clothes, toiletries, and a phone charger. If you need anything else, please call the concierge desk.”

“Thank you,” Ilya groused, wincing at how rough his voice sounded. “Is there a car available to take me back to hospital?”

“Um, yes sir? A couple of the others have asked about that too. It’s going to be leaving in about 15 minutes.”

Ilya nodded, taking the bag, and closed the door, sighing heavily. He stripped off his old clothes, ignoring the large bloodstain on the back of his jacket and shirt, and pulled out the fresh clothes. It was just fresh underwear, socks, a couple clean t-shirts, a hoodie, and sweatpants — all cheap and smelling faintly of sawdust — but they were clean, which is more than he could say for his old clothes. He picked them up, recoiling at the smell, and picked up the hotel room’s phone. The woman on the other end answered immediately, readily able to assure Ilya that room service would launder his clothes for him while he was at the hospital.

His fingers wandered up to the back of his head, feeling the bandage still plastered to his hair. He worried about whether or not to shower, in case he got the wound wet, but ultimately decided to anyways, figuring that he could at least clean everywhere else. Shane would not appreciate him being messy. He made it quick, watching as the dirt and blood from the crash washed down the drain, careful to keep the open wound on his scalp dry. His hair still itched, aching for shampoo to rinse off the gunk, but Ilya stepped out of the shower without washing it, and dried off.

He dressed quickly, shoving the room key and phone charger in his pocket, figuring he could use a socket at the hospital if he needed to, and then left the room to head straight for the lobby.

The team doctor, Bood, Luca, and Wyatt were already waiting there, dressed in matching hoodies and sweatpants. Cleaned up, Ilya could now spot the evidence of the crash on them, but didn’t comment on it as he joined the group. “Hey, Roz. You’re looking better.” Luca greeted. Ilya grunted in response. “Did the hospital call?”

Ilya shook his head. “No. Do you think Shane is still in surgery?”

“It’s possible,” Bood said. “Or they might’ve moved him to the ICU and just planned to update you when you got there.”

“I wish they would have called.” Ilya admitted. “I want to update Yuna and David.” There had been one text from his in-laws, a message from Yuna asking him to pass on their thanks to Bood, after his wife dropped by to check on them. It had come through just before Ilya had gone to sleep. But they hadn’t messaged or called since.

“They figured out the cause of the crash.” Wyatt said. “According to the black box, the plane started experiencing circuit failure in the cockpit. There’s going to be a thorough investigation into all of the aircrafts of the same type, but commercial travel is back up and running.”

“That does not make me feel better.” Ilya muttered. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah. The car’s coming straight back here, so anyone else who shows up can come back later.” Bood nodded. “Fair warning, there are some photographers out there.”

Ilya nodded, and pulled up the hood on his sweater, mostly in an attempt to cover the bandage. He lead the way to the car, hearing the clicking of the cameras, as they all pulled themselves into their seats, each of the players making sure to keep their heads low and expressions neutral.

The driver got into the car, setting them off without a word, pulling past the paparazzi with trained efficiency, immediately heading in the direction of the hospital. The town they were in, which Ilya still didn’t know the name of, wasn’t particularly big, sprawling out into a vast urban landscape. Billboards and power lines decorated the sides of the road, with signs sat between marking the locations of restaurants and businesses, which felt surreally normal in the wake of the disaster.

And between it all was the plume of smoke coming from the end of a long trail of destruction. “Shit, is that from the crash?” Luca asked, cutting through the silence. Construction barricades blocked off most of it, but did little to conceal the wreckage. The pavement of the main road was cracked and scraped, with large fragments protruding up off of the main surface like icebergs in a frozen sea, while parts of what Ilya assumed to be the plane were strewn behind.

“Yeah.” The driver nodded. “They said that the pilots tried to land on the road and bring it to a safer landing, but lost control on the descent and went through a building. I saw the whole thing. Can’t imagine what it was like on board for you guys.”

“Terrifying.” “Scary.” “It sucked.”

Ilya said nothing, fiddling with his phone. He didn’t want to talk about what it had felt like being on that plane because if he started, he would start thinking about what Shane would have felt being on that plane.

Worried glances from his teammates bore into the back of his head with such intensity that Ilya could feel them, but still, he said nothing. They finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, where a lot of people were gathered outside the front entrance. “Great, more press.” Luca groaned.

Ilya gritted his teeth. These people were in his way. “Come.” He said, getting out of the car, practically marching towards the front door. They were noticed immediately and the cameras immediately turned in their direction as people mobbed them with questions. But no one could stop Ilya from getting inside, and he shouldered his way past until they got the hint and cleared out of the way, allowing him and his teammates to proceed inside, beelining straight for the administration desk.

“I am here for Shane Hollander.” The woman at the desk nodded, and waved over a doctor, gesturing for Ilya to talk to them. His feet felt heavy, unease coursing through his system as he met with the doctor, concerned that the doctor was here and not with Shane. “What is update on my husband?”

“His surgery went well. We just wrapped it up a few minutes ago, and he’s being transferred to the ICU right now. We were getting ready to call you when the hotel said you were on your way.”

“He’s okay?” Ilya couldn’t breathe, feeling the emotional whiplash that swung him from utter dread to miraculous relief. Behind them, he could hear similar expressions of relief from his teammates.

“We’ll need to keep him under observation, especially watching out for an infection. But we are cautiously optimistic.”

“Спасибо! Can I see him?”

“Yes. Follow me.”

Ilya found himself being escorted to the ICU, while his teammates peeled off to visit Troy, Harris, and their coach, having already agreed to give Ilya some space. He didn’t even notice, too focused on preparing himself for what he might see when he entered Shane’s room. But whatever preparation he did was not enough for the sight of his husband.

Ilya made fun of his husband a lot for his height, but made it no secret that he loved how much smaller Shane was than him. He loved the way Shane looked up at him whenever they were having a conversation. He loved the way he could rest his body on Shane’s and feel his husband’s unwavering support hold him up. He loved the way he could wrap his arms around Shane and feel like nothing would separate them.

Shane was a different kind of small in that hospital bed — in a way that Ilya hated. He was surrounded by starched white sheets and covered in bandages, cold and still and sterile. There was hardly anything of Shane to see, because what wasn’t wrapped in a bandage or covered by a blanket, was attached to a monitor. Ilya stopped short in the doorway, suddenly terrified to get any closer; a stark contrast from everything he’s been feeling for the past 12 hours. He’d imagined taking Shane’s hand, and running his fingers through his hair, peppering his face with gentle kisses and giving him the softest comfort until Shane awoke, but the reality destroyed that image. Shane’s hair was greasy, uneven, and unkempt, shaved in one area underneath a large patch of gauze. His arm was encased in a cast, solid and immovable, that would prevent any kind of touch. And his face, covered by a huge mask holding a tube in place that extended all the way down Shane’s throat.

Fresh tears came to Ilya’s eyes as his heart broke in two. He’d known from the start just how close he’d come to losing Shane yesterday, but the image before him drove home just how hard it must have been on Shane to stay. A chair was deliberately placed by Shane’s bedside, as if just waiting for Ilya to occupy it, and he had to force himself to cross the threshold and sit lest the guilt swallow him whole for letting Shane wait a moment longer. “Привет, мое солнышко.” He rasped. Hello, my sunshine.

Shane didn’t answer. Ilya didn’t expect him to. He called Yuna, operating only on muscle memory, unable to rip his eyes away from Shane’s body, terrified that if he looked away for even a second, another bandage would appear.

“Ilya, is there news?” Yuna asked, answering on the first ring.

“Yes. They have moved Shane to ICU. I am sat with him now.”

“Oh thank you!” She whispered. “Can I…is he awake?”

“I’m sorry, no.” Ilya whispered. “He is…how do you say….sedative?”

“Sedated. Of course. Does he…look okay?”

Ilya couldn’t even summon the courage to lie. “No. He…he—” A warbled noise came out of Ilya involuntarily. “Боже мой, Yuna, he looks like we nearly lost him.”

“Show me.”

“That is not a good idea…”

“Ilya. Show me.” There was something in her tone that suggested Ilya not argue with her, and so he switched the call to a Facetime, pointing the phone in Shane’s direction as he waited for the inevitable reaction.

Yuna’s face on the call hardened as she took in the sight of her son in the hospital bed. Ilya watched, noticing the way her lips thinned and her eyes crinkled — the same way Shane’s do when he was disappointed in himself during practice. He watched her with baited breath, waiting for her to explode, or yell, or react in some extreme way. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

But she didn’t do any of that. She just let out a long breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ilya was confused.

That last phone call had been harrowing for Ilya, as he’d explained the entirety of Shane’s injuries after getting to the hotel room. He’d gone through the comprehensive list, silently breaking down as he waited for the inevitable fallout. He’d expected them to ask questions; about why Shane had so many injuries compared to Ilya, about how Ilya got off the plane so quickly, about what had actually happened — but they’d said nothing. They’d listened, taken it all in, and then Yuna had said “You must be exhausted. We’ll talk more later.” And hung up.

Ilya had wondered if it was on purpose, that they were hiding their reactions from him because they blamed him in some way (and Ilya couldn’t blame them for that), but he’d hoped that with Shane now out of surgery, they would talk again. But Yuna’s reaction was not promising.

“Have you talked to the doctor?”

“A little. They told me to push button when I was ready to talk more.”

“Push it. I want to speak to them.”

Ilya didn’t argue. He pushed the call button and within moments, the doctor from earlier had returned. “Mr. Rozanov?”

Ilya flipped the phone screen, pointing the camera now at himself. “We are ready to talk. Please introduce yourself.”

The doctor glanced between Ilya and the phone. “I’m Doctor Collins.”

“Doctor Collins. I’m Yuna Hollander, my husband David is in the background. I’m Shane’s mother. I need you to walk me through Shane’s treatment plan and the logistics of his transfer back to Canada.”

It was then Ilya finally understood. He’d been noticing elements of his husband in his parents since the crash, his brain’s way of reaching out to find Shane in his absence, but he had somehow missed this. She was looking for a plan. She needed a plan. Just like Shane does.

Yuna was reacting in exactly the same way Shane would.

And Ilya could work with that.

The sense of relief that washed over him, knowing now that Yuna and David weren’t shutting him out, made talking to the doctor so much easier. They talked about how they wanted to observe Shane, and rule out any immediate post-surgical complications before even considering a transfer, which meant that Shane could be waiting a little while to fly. They would begin weaning him off of the sedative, so that they could run the necessary neurological checks, and then they would prepare him for transport. Periodically throughout the call, David and Ilya would both chime in, asking questions until finally Ilya asked the question that had been on his mind since yesterday.

“When he is ready for transport, can I go with him?”

“Yes,” The doctor answered immediately, causing Ilya to nearly drop his phone in relief. “We’ll be arranging for a plane that will be able to take you both. It will be better for Shane, because the transfer may cause him some discomfort, and you might be able to keep him calm.”

“A plane?” Ilya asked, the relief instantly shattered.

The doctor winced. “Ah, yes. I’m afraid it does have to be a plane. If you like, I can have someone from our patient-relations department, or perhaps someone from our Psychiatric department come speak with you, if you have some reservations, which would be completely understandable after what you’ve been through?”

“No,” Ilya refused immediately. “Thank you.” He tacked on, at the end, trying to avoid being rude. The doctor had been extremely patient, discussing things with Yuna. He deserved some grace, even if he was planning to put Shane back on a plane.

“If you need anything else, I’m on call until 6pm, and the nurses will be either roving around or at their station. I’m sure they’ll be able to answer any questions you may have.” The doctor nodded, stepping out of the room, leaving Ilya to his phone call with his in-laws.

“So,” David’s voice echoed out of the speakers. “That’s some good news isn’t it?”

Ilya nodded, letting out a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” David actually looked confused, and Ilya felt even worse.

“For not being with him, when we crashed. I was supposed to be there, and I…”

“Ilya, no. That is not something you ever have to apologize for.” David sounded firm, but Ilya couldn’t make himself look up to see his father-in-law’s expression. “You were in an accident.”

“I left him!” Ilya’s voice cracked, feeling like he was confessing the worst sin he’d ever committed. “I was nervous about the turbulence, so I went for a walk and I couldn’t get back to my seat. He was stuck there, alone and in pain, and I left him! That is why I am not as hurt.”

“And thank god for that!” David said. Ilya froze, dumbfounded. David continued. “Ilya, the only thing worse than nearly losing Shane would be losing you both. We are so grateful that you are able to be there for our son now, because that means there is someone there for him at all. We are so glad you are okay, not just for our sakes, but his. And there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Shane would be glad too that you were not there, if only because that would mean you weren’t hurt worse.”

More tears welled up in Ilya’s eyes, and he wiped them away harshly before they fell. He wasn’t sure he could take any more crying today. “I blame myself, though.”

“Ilya, the only person to blame for what happened, is the damn fool of an engineer who was supposed to make sure the plane didn’t suffer a technical malfunction.”

“How am I supposed to get back on a plane with him after this?” Ilya asked despairingly.

“Ilya, listen to me. The crash was NOT YOUR FAULT. No one blames you for being nervous, no one is holding your injuries against you, or comparing them to anyone else. And as for getting on that plane, it will only be a little different compared to how you do it any other time.”

Ilya sagged in his seat. “I don’t want to go on another plane again.”

“Is that why you didn’t want us coming either?”

“Yes.”

“Ilya, despite what you’ve been through, plane travel is still pretty safe. The chances of…”

“I saw a woman die on impact.” Ilya cut David off. “The front of the plane was crushed, killing both pilots. Our assistant coach is dead. Shane is like this,” Ilya gestured to his husband’s hospital bed. “And three other people I care about are injured, some of them permanently. This is second plane emergency I have been in. Do not tell me it is safe.”

“No, no, you’re right. I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words.” David apologized.

“It’s no worse than when you get in a car.” Yuna’s voice cut in, and suddenly his screen displayed her face instead. “Statistically speaking…”

“Statistics do not make me feel better.” Ilya interrupted.

“Then what would?”

“I don’t know. Shane waking up?”

“I think that would make us all feel better. Have you seen your teammates yet?”

“No,” Ilya admitted.

“Why don’t you go say hello? The doctor said Shane would be sedated for a while yet, and speaking with them might make you feel better.”

Ilya could tell Yuna was trying to redirect him, get him to pull himself out of his head, so he resigned himself to doing as she’d asked. He bid them both goodbye, hung up the phone, and then leaned over to press a gentle kiss on Shane’s brow before stepping out.

He spotted Bood some ways down the hallway, talking with Doctor Collins. Neither of them looked happy.

“Is there problem?” Ilya asked, interrupting the conversation, noticing just how upset Bood really was.

“Troy wants to see Harris.” Bood explained. “We’re trying to arrange for them to share a room.”

“But…”

“Mr. Drover and Mr. Barret are in very different stages of recovery and at this time it is better that Mr. Drover remain isolated.”

“Why?” Ilya asked.

“Mr. Drover is particularly susceptible to an infection. We’re keeping him isolated to mitigate that risk, and also keep him under constant supervision, supervision that Mr. Barret doesn’t need.” The doctor said. “After his recovery has progressed more, we might be able to get them in the same room before we transfer them, but at this time, I’m sorry, putting them together is not an option.”

“Could he at least see him?” Ilya pleaded.

The doctor sighed. “Unfortunately, no. Mr. Barret’s knee is still too fragile for us to consider transferring him out of the bed. When it is deemed safe for him to be in a wheelchair, we can reassess.”

“What if…” Ilya mused aloud. “One of us visited Harris, and one of us stayed with Troy and we Facetimed?”

Bood lit up at the suggestion, and both of them looked at the doctor with pleading expressions. “Fine.” The doctor relented. “But whoever visits Mr. Drover needs to wear protective gear. I suggest you decide quickly.”

“Roz, can you stay with Troy?” Bood asked. “I think he could benefit from seeing you.”

Ilya nodded and the doctor walked off with Bood. Ducking into Troy’s room, Ilya was surprised to see Troy awake. He looked a lot better than he had the last time Ilya saw him, all cleaned up and bandaged. But the haunted expression on his face was still there.

“Hey, Roz.” Troy said weakly, greeting him on sight.

“Hello, Troy. How are you?”

“Knee’s fucked and they won’t let me see my husband, so I’m just peachy.” Troy hissed, looking angry.

“We are trying to work around that.” Ilya said, holding up his phone. “Bood is getting suited up to go see Harris with Facetime.”

Troy perked up at that, wincing as the movement aggravated his injuries. “Seriously? Thanks!”

Ilya gave him a half smile as he got comfortable in the chair next to Troy’s bed. “Did Bood tell you about Barry?”

“Yeah,” Troy sighed. “That sucks. I liked him. I hope we get to commemorate him at the next game.”

“That would be nice idea. Maybe dedicate game to all victims?” Ilya suggested. “Put names up on jumbo screen.”

Troy nodded. “Yeah. I’d like to see that. Hopefully we don’t stay out of the season too long. Any idea when we might play again?”

“Still waiting to be cleared for me, so no.” Ilya shook his head, ignoring the dull ache forming between his eyes. “And even then, I am not going back on ice until Shane can be transferred back to Canada.”

Troy’s expression shattered. “Fuck, Roz, I didn’t even ask…? How is Shane?”

“He is not good. Sedated. He was bleeding inside, causing him to lose his spleen and bit of his liver. Lots of broken bones, dislocated shoulder, head trauma, and compression fractures in his neck. Lost a lot of blood, caused his heart to stop. All things considered, he is lucky probably.”

“Jesus Christ,” Troy swore, going pale. “That son of a b…” Troy stopped himself before he actually finished that sentence. “He…he made them get us first.”

That stopped Ilya short. “What?”

“They wanted to get the people in the front first, figuring they were more likely to be injured. But Shane insisted they get us out first, because Harris, Wiebe, and Barry were unconscious. So, they pulled me out instead. Roz, I am so sorry, I should’ve made him…”

“No.” Ilya was firm. “Do not blame yourself for this. If I am not allowed to, then you are not allowed to. Shane is here, and recovering. That is best we can do.”

There wasn’t time for Troy to formulate a response. His phone buzzed, indicating an impending call from Bood. Ilya answered and turned the phone around to Troy.

“Hey, can you see me?” Bood’s voice sounded tinny through the phone’s speakers, but Troy nodded all the same.

“Yeah, can you show me…” Something in Troy’s expression flipped, cutting him off, and Ilya could only guess that Bood had switched the camera to point it at Harris. Ilya didn’t dare peek; too afraid the view would be similar to what he’d already seen from Shane.

“I’m going to put the phone up against his ear. The nurse said he might be able to hear you if you talked, so…” Bood explained, and Ilya handed the phone over to Troy so he could talk.

“I’ll step outside?” Ilya asked, offering the other man some privacy, but Troy shook his head, giving Ilya a pleading look, clearly asking for the support.

“Baby, I don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can, I— I pray that you can, to whichever god out there might hear me. I love you. I will always love you, no matter what happens. I’ll do my best to be with you there in person soon, but until then, just do what you can to get better for me, okay? Because I need you, our fur babies need you, our family…” Troy’s voice cracked. “Our family needs you. So don’t go anywhere.”

Troy continued to ramble, talking about how they’d escape somewhere while they recovered, just their pets and them, which made Ilya think about what he’d do with Shane when they eventually left the hospital. Would Shane want to go to their cottage, or stay home in Ottawa? Ottawa would be easier, with Shane’s parents close by, and it would be harder to move around the cottage with all those casts. He wouldn’t be able to swim either. But the cottage would be private and comfortable for them to recover.

“Sorry, Bood, thanks for doing that, man. I gotta go, because Roz is getting another call.” Troy said, cutting through Ilya’s thought process. Troy hung up the Facetime and handed Ilya the phone, revealing Farah’s caller id.

Ilya answered it immediately.

“Farah?”

“Ilya, alhamdulillah, I’ve been trying to reach you. Are you alright?”

“Mostly. Bump on the head and bruises mostly. Shane is less alright.”

“Yuna filled me in. I’m so sorry. I hope he recovers quickly and as painlessly as possible.”

Ilya sighed. He did too. “Has there been update from League? Is that why you call?”

“I called to check on you two, but if you’re up for it, I can talk a bit about what the next steps are?”

“I am with Troy Barrett at moment, can I put you on speaker so he can hear?”

“Of course.” Ilya switched the call to speaker, and Troy wriggled on the bed to adjust himself and pay attention. “So, the League has obviously issued a statement, and offered sympathy to the team and the other victims of the crash. Gameplay for the entire League has been suspended for the next week, and a moment of silence is going to be held at each match when it resumes. As for the Centaurs, the organization has donated funds to support the community surrounding the crash, and offered to pay for the funerals. Given what has happened, team management has decided to switch you guys back to flying private, so the private jet is coming to pick up team members cleared to travel tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is fast?” Ilya frowned. Troy wrinkled his nose in agreement.

“Tomorrow is necessary, so that you guys can get back to practice in time for your next match.” Farah said, her tone giving away just what she thought about that. “According to private communications, the League has determined not enough of you are injured to reschedule the rest of your matches. They’re giving you guys the break, same as everyone else, but…”

“You’re kidding!” Troy gasped, sounding pissed. “We were just in a plane crash!”

“Most of team is still on concussion protocol. Only center player not injured is Holmberg.” Ilya pointed out. “He cannot play whole match!”

“There’s talk that they’ll bring some people up temporarily to cover.” Farah placated. “In the meantime, I wanted to check if you wanted to put out your own statement? There have been requests for an update on various players’ conditions.”

“No.” Ilya said it all too quickly. “Press has already been in hospital. They kicked us out yesterday because of it, and they are still outside. Do not want to encourage them.”

“Fair enough.” Farah conceded. “That being said, a request for privacy might be necessary all the same. I’ve already seen photos of you leaving the hotel this morning circulating online. Speculation about who is and who isn’t injured is running rampant. The Centaurs’ PR department is handling things the best they can, but without Harris…”

“They’ll be fine.’ Troy snapped, his voice taking on a harsh edge. “He trained them well.”

“He absolutely did. They’ve been doing a marvelous job all things considered, but people are angry, and the situation is, for lack of a better word, spiraling.”

Ilya frowned. “What do you mean?”

Farah sighed. “There have been a lot of questions regarding the pilots’ decision to land on the major road. Accusations about protocol not being followed because of who was on board at the time. To some extent, members of the community are blaming the Centaurs for the crash.”

“That’s bullshit. We didn’t ask the pilots for special treatment!” Troy said, looking outraged. A knock at the door revealed Bood, followed by Luca and Wyatt, all of them frowning as they overheard the conversation at hand. “Did they break protocol?”

“Technically, no. In case of an emergency, according to FAA guidelines, they are permitted to land on roadways, however a field or large clearing would have been supposedly safer.”

“But they recovered box, yes? They know it was emergency?” Ilya frowned, confused. “So, they do their job.”

“We won’t know for sure until a full inquiry has been conducted, and that could take some time.”

“Meanwhile we have to go back out there on the ice next week and pretend it’s all good.” Troy said bitterly. “Roz and I were talking about putting the names of all the victims up on the jumbotron at the match, and dedicating the game to them. We could also donate some money to the community as well, pay for the funerals, maybe pay for the medical bills of the people injured?”

Ilya nodded in agreement, murmuring his assent.

“That would be incredibly generous. I can communicate with the team and the families on your behalves if you would like, Ilya?”

“Yes, please. Also, maybe do something at rink for Barry as well. Permanent memorial?”

“The team has already mentioned plans for that. I do have to go now, as I have another meeting coming up, but please let me know how things are going, for both of you.”

“Will do this. Thank you, Farah.” Ilya hung up the phone just in time for Troy to let out a long string of expletives, that had all of his present teammates raising their eyebrows.

“Fuck this. They’re blaming us?”

“Not really.” Ilya shook his head, even though the words only seemed to reinforce the negative spiral he’d already vocalized to David and Yuna. “They’re blaming the main focus of the story, which is us. News is covering it with team at the center. Is not our fault.”

“Damn right it’s not.” Bood spat.

“Did she say when we’re getting out of here?” Wyatt asked.

“Team is sending private plane.” Ilya groused, not too happy with that. “Tomorrow. To head straight back to practice for match next week.”

“You’re kidding?” Luca asked, looking faintly ill. “What the hell is the lineup gonna be? And can we even play without a coach?”

“Yes,” Bood nodded. “Roz, lineup?”

“Holmberg on first and second shift. Boyle, LaPoint, you, Hazy, and Luca cover first and third?” The two present players mentioned nodded in assent. “Second, let’s play Young in the crease, switch in Dykstra and Chouinard to cover whoever gets brought up on center. Bring Dillon in for Luca. Not his normal spot, but I want Bood on team the whole game, if you are up for it.”

“I can push. You want a captain on the ice, the whole time, right?” Bood agreed, immediately understanding what Ilya wasn’t saying. Ilya nodded, grateful that his A had already picked up his strategy.

“Without Shane, Troy, and myself on ice, other team will try to take advantage.” Ilya explained. “They will not give us grace just because plane went down.”

“Who are we playing next?”

“Vegas.” Luca muttered. “We were supposed to play San Jose today, Vegas after that.”

“Great.” Wyatt rolled his eyes. “They’re gonna start some shit.”

“Feel free to start goalie fight.” Ilya teased. “Will show fans there is nothing to worry about.”

“Hell yeah, I love a good goalie fight.” Troy cheered.

“I maintain that goalie fights are staged and performative. Crossing the whole ice just to drop gloves seems like a waste of celly time.” Wyatt grinned, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes.

“You should have plenty of celly time. We could kick Vegas’s ass with one player on ice.” Ilya said, watching as his teammates started to cheer up and genuine smiles returned to their faces. Even Troy was smiling, despite everything. The teammates joked amongst themselves a bit more, until a nurse entered, interrupting the moment to check on Troy’s wounds. Dismissed on the grounds of giving his teammate some privacy, the hockey players broke apart, going in different directions to find food or drink, while Ilya returned to Shane’s room.

Compared to Troy’s space, Shane’s felt cold and empty, bringing about a return to the empty mental state Ilya had ben feeling before, erasing the work that his teammates had done into making themselves feel better. Still asleep, Shane didn’t react at all to Ilya’s presence, which only broke his heart a little more.

“The doctors tell Troy that Harris can hear him, maybe.” Ilya said with a long exhale, sitting gingerly back down in his chair. “I wonder if you too can hear me, моя любовь. I hope you can. I wish to tell you things. I wish to tell you about team, about new bullshit League is pulling, about the empty bed in my hotel room where you are supposed to be. I wish to tell you that we will be home soon, even if we must travel by plane. I wish to tell you I am sorry, for leaving before. You were alone when plane went down. Troy tells me you made them rescue you last because others were unconscious. That was so brave of you, моя любовь, and I wish to tell you that your bravery impresses me, every day. You care so much, about everyone, and it is only one of things I love most about you. It is one of the things I miss right now, even though you are here. I wish you would wake up, and look at me with your beautiful eyes, so I will know that you are well and then the world will be alright.”

Ilya would have said more, if not for the fact that in that very moment, one of the machines hooked up started blasting an alarm.

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Ilya panicked.

When the alarm sounded, he ripped himself out of the chair at Shane’s bedside and bolted into the hallway, screaming at the top of his lungs. He had no idea what he was shouting, or what language he was shouting in, but it got the urgency of the situation across.

It took less than two minutes for the first nurse to get there.

It took just under three for the first doctor to get there.

By the fifth minute, four people had filed into Shane’s room trying to make sense of the situation. None of them spoke to Ilya, all focused on Shane, reading his vitals and performing their examinations. Their hands and bodies obscured Ilya’s view of his husband, and for one terrible moment he was back in that emergency department watching his other half teeter the line between life and death.

“What is happening?” Ilya demanded.

More nurses and a second doctor entered the room.

“What is happening?” He repeated, louder and more aggressively, willing to do so until he either went hoarse or someone finally answered him.

“Shane appears to be fighting the ventilator we placed. His body isn’t getting enough oxygen, and it’s causing the muscles in his lungs and throat to seize. We’re going to attempt to turn it off, and see if his breathing will resume on its own.” One of the doctors said, gesturing for one of the nurses to stand between them and Ilya just in case.

“But isn’t machine helping him?” Ilya frowned.

“Not if he doesn’t want it to.” The nurse tasked with handling Ilya answered gently. Without further notice, the doctor disabled the machine making his husband breath with a single press of a button, and the milliseconds between Ilya’s own breaths stretched out into minutes.

He waited for them to speak, but none of them did. They all paused, all held their breath, watching the clock and the monitors, until…

 “His oxygen is going back up.” Someone reported.

All of a sudden, the tense atmosphere in the room broke. Someone patted Shane on the uninjured shoulder, and the nurse standing next to Ilya did the same to him. “He’s breathing on his own.” The nurse muttered in Ilya’s ear, low enough that it wasn’t intrusive, but loud enough to kickstart Ilya’s own breathing again.

“On three, we take the tube out.” Someone said, and they lowered the back of Shane’s bed, leveling him out to perform the procedure. It almost seemed too fast now for Ilya. He nearly asked them to stop and explain it to him slower and with more detail, but even he didn’t want to waylay them taking that mask off of Shane’s face. He watched as the clear tube was extracted from Shane’s throat, flinching at the wet suction noise made as it exited Shane’s trachea. He’d heard Shane gag plenty of times over the years, in ways that were sometimes welcome and in ways that definitely weren’t, but never like that. Ilya never wanted to hear that sound come from his husband ever again.

“Let’s irrigate, try and reduce some of that inflammation,” One of the doctors murmured, inspecting the inside of Shane’s mouth. “What are his sedation levels?”A nurse rattled off a series of words and numbers that Ilya definitely didn’t understand, but the doctor nodded like it made total sense. “Someone page neuro, let’s see if we can bring up his checks. This is a good sign.”

“How so?” Ilya asked, finally speaking again.

“Shane’s body is voluntarily rejecting the life support.” The doctor said patiently. “While that sure sounds scary, this is actually a really good sign in determining Shane’s neurological state, because that means his body is conscious enough to do what it needs to be doing on his own.”

“So…alarm was because he was trying to breathe against machine?” Ilya frowned, trying to make sense of that.

The doctor nodded. “We’re sending for a neurology specialist now to see if we can assess Shane’s brain more to try and understand any damage there, and wean him off of the sedation.”

That Ilya understood. “You mean, he will wake up sooner?”

“I don’t want to make any promises, Mr. Rozanov, considering the circumstances. We have to be prepared for lasting impacts from Mr. Hollander’s injuries, but I am choosing to be optimistic and so should you. Please don’t hesitate to call if anything changes.”

The doctor left Ilya be shortly after that.

Ilya tugged the chair that had been by Shane’s bedside closer to the edge of the mattress, after it had been pushed away to make room for the medical staff during the extubating procedure, and made himself comfortable once more, working through a breathing exercise to get his heartrate back under control as he dismissed the residual panic from the previous situation.

He fired off a quick text to Yuna and David updating them on the situation, having just clicked the send button when a phone call came through from Bood. He picked up immediately, expecting his alternative Captain to be on the other end. “Yes, Bood?”

“Roz? How are you doing?”

The voice on the other end was not Bood. Ilya straightened in his seat. “Fine, thank you. Sorry, Coach, was expecting Bood.”

“I figured. I’m using his phone, since mine went missing in the crash. How’s Shane doing?”

“Still sedated, but no longer on breathing machine.”

“Oh, that’s good. Bood gave me a rundown on his injuries, I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now. I’m planning to reach out to management in a bit, but from what I understand, the hospital’s already been in communication with the team doctor and gotten you both put on injury reserve. How are you doing, though?”

“Do not worry for me. Worry for you. I am sorry about your foot. And sorry for not visiting yet. It has been a stressful morning.”

“I appreciate that. Don’t even worry about visiting, you’ve got enough on your plate, I’m sure. As for my foot, I’m not too bothered by it at the moment, but m’wife tells me that’s because they’ve got me on the good stuff. But let me know if you need anything okay, for you or for Shane. The team’s behind you both.”

“Has Bood told you about next game?”

“He has. Rotten bastards, management is.” Ilya snorted at the unexpected vitriol in the Coach’s voice. “I have half a mind to forfeit, but that’s got to be a team decision. I’m trying to coordinate with Barry’s wif…his widow to arrange the funeral so that we can all make it between the game schedule.”

Ilya’s heart clenched at the thought of the funeral. He hadn’t even reached out to her yet, to offer his own condolences. But before he could say anything else, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

A flash of movement that made everything else go still. A wince, a flinch, a twitch of a muscle in Shane’s face that had Ilya dropping his phone in shock.

“Shane? моя любовь, can you hear me?”

“…z? Roz, you there?”

Ilya picked his phone back up. “Sorry, Coach, I must go.”

“No worries. We can talk more later.” Ilya ended the call, and shoved his phone into his pocket, tipping himself out of the chair until he was crouched at Shane’s bedside, clutching his husband’s fingers. “Shane, if you can hear me, please move something!”

Underneath Ilya’s hands, a muscle twitched.

Tears of relief slipped out of Ilya’s eyes. “О, спасибо! Моя любовь, спасибо!” He muttered, reaching up to caress Shane’s hair, ignoring the filthy, uneven texture. Oh, thank you! My love, thank you. Ilya kept repeating those words, pressing gentle touches over Shane’s body, his eyes laser focused on trying to find another sign of movement, but nothing came.

The hope dwindled as fast as it appeared, and Ilya was suddenly struck by the thought that he’d hallucinated the whole thing.

Knock knock.

Ilya turned to see a nurse at the door, looking down at him in pity while holding a fresh round of medication to insert into Shane’s IV. Ilya must make a sight to her, with tearful eyes, crouched at his husband’s bedside like something had gone wrong, and he shook his head despairingly. “I thought he was waking up. I was sure he moved and…and…”

She gave him a soft smile. “We’ve reduced the sedation, now that we’ve taken the breathing tube out, so he will occasionally show signs of waking. It’ll still take a while yet to work out of his system though. Movement is a positive sign, but he won’t be conscious and coherent for hours, if not days.”

Ilya faltered, trying not to be disappointed. He was relieved that it wasn’t his imagination, and Shane had probably moved, but he wanted, no, he needed Shane to wake up soon. “What am I…so what do I do? He wakes, then sleeps? Over and over until he is awake fully? When do I tell?”

“It’s hard to say, considering we don’t know what his mental state will be like. He’s still running the risk of brain damage. But in normal cases, he might come to slowly and start talking. He won’t really be able to hold a conversation, because he’ll have lapses in his memory and probably won’t remember previous periods of consciousness. Eventually, he’ll be able to stay awake for longer, start remembering things better, and be more sensical with his speech. You just have to be patient, and keep him calm.”

“Like taking care of Alzheimer’s patient.” Ilya said, thinking of his father for the first time in a long while. He never thought he’d see the day where he’d ever compare his husband to the man who’d raised him, and instantly regretted drawing the comparison. Shane was nothing like Grigory Rozanov, and didn’t even deserve to share a passing thought with him.

“It can be like that, sometimes.” She nodded, looking at him sympathetically, already putting together Ilya’s experience from that brief connection. “But it really won’t last long. Your husband has already made some remarkable progress.”

“I know,” Ilya admitted, easing himself back into the chair with an exhausted huff, and she stepped fully inside to make note of Shane’s vitals on the computer next to his monitors. “And this is not first time being at hospital bedside. Professional hazard. But still…”

“Having support helps. I noticed some of your team members still in the ward. I could send them in if you like?”

“No, I think I need to make some calls first. But thank you.” Ilya shook his head, pulling out his phone, and tapped on the screen, clearing notifications while she busied herself administering Shane’s medications.

When she finally left, and Ilya was sure to be alone once more, he opened the text app, navigating to a specific contact. She was right, support would help.

Ilya: Hello Galina. Can I schedule a remote session with you?

The response came immediately.

Galina: Ilya. I say this with the greatest respect; you can do whatever you like. I am available now if you would like to speak.

Ilya didn’t even hesitate, switching over to a phone call immediately. “I am glad you are available. I do not think I would have handled waiting long well.”

“I’m glad to hear from you. I saw the news and was very worried. How are you?”

“Minor bumps and bruises. Was checked for concussion, but otherwise uninjured.” Ilya reported, flawlessly switching back into his native Russian to answer. “Shane on other hand was hurt badly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that? Will he recover well?”

“The doctors hope so, but there is possibility of brain damage.”

“That’s very difficult. I’m so sorry, and I am hoping for the best for you both. How about the rest of your team? I saw the report about your assistant coach, I’m sorry for his loss.”

“Thank you. Most of the team was same as me, not badly hurt, except for my friends Troy and Harris. Harris has heart condition the doctors are worried about and Troy’s knee was broken. Also, our Coach had to have his foot operated on.”

“That sounds serious. Being in that crash must have been alarming, especially considering your past history.”

“Yes. I was experiencing anxiety before plane went down. And after…now I feel numb. Like I have shut down.”

“We’ve talked about this kind of experience before, and how it can be a natural reaction after trauma. A plane crash certainly qualifies, as does the stress surrounding the injuries of your teammates and your husband. Would you like to discuss what concerns you most about the numbness currently?”

“I worry…” Ilya paused, trying to organize his thoughts, mentally drawing them out on a list the way Shane would do. “That I am not present for the people who need me. I couldn’t talk to the doctors who were helping Shane. I thought I was shutting out David and Yuna. I cannot support my team and my husband at the same time, and I cannot get back on the ice and pretend everything is okay like League wants it to be.”

“That’s certainly a lot to be concerned about. I’m guessing that’s also not even all of it?”

“It isn’t,” Ilya admitted. “I am also disappointed and angry.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I am angry because of the crash. I have not read full details, but reports are saying it was an avoidable mistake. I am angry because a lot of people have been hurt. I am angry that people are blaming the team FOR the crash. I am angry at the League, for expecting us back on the ice as soon as next week. I am angry…at myself.”

“Why?”

“My anxiety got loud before the crash, and I got up from my seat. I went to the back of the plane, I left Shane alone, and now he is hurt.”

“Ilya, I’m sure I’m not the first to tell you that the crash is not your fault just because you got up from your seat. That Shane is hurt BECAUSE of the crash, not because of you.”

“You are not,” Ilya grumbled. “But being told that does not change anything. I still feel the way that I do.”

“That’s true. But feeling the way you do and actively blaming yourself can be different things. Punishing yourself for things out of your control is unfair and counterintuitive, especially when such a drastic incident has also taken what control you had from you. So now, it’s time to take that control back.”

Ilya could feel the knot in his chest start to loosen. “How?”

“Talking to your support network is a good place to start. You’re already doing that to some degree by talking to me, but it might be worth expanding that circle to your agent and the team managers. It could also be helpful for you to start arranging for your return home and putting together a care plan for Shane and yourself. Can you think of other things that might make things better?”

“I spoke to agent earlier, but the team managers might be helpful.” Ilya mused. “Letting people know about Shane might help too, at least for preparing the house for return. I have only talked to my team and Shane’s parents, none of our friends. And I should arrange for someone to care for Anya.”

“All great options. Has transport for you and your team been organized yet?”

“Yes, private jet will take most of team back to Ottawa tomorrow. Medical transport is being arranged for Shane later. I will be flying with him, and depending on things, Troy and Harris could be joining us.”

“Good. How about a statement online?”

“Already spoke to agent about that. She is putting out a request for privacy, and we are leaving the rest to team communications. Press has been present at the hospital and hotel. We did not wish to encourage them further.”

“Good. It sounds to me like you’re already taking active steps to regain control, which would counteract the belief that you’re letting people down. Would you also like me to write a prescription for an emergency refill of your medication?”

Ilya startled. He hadn’t even thought about that. The medication, along with the rest of his personal items, had been lost in the crash. He’d already missed one dose. No wonder he felt so terrible, besides the obvious. “Yes please.”

“I’ll call the hospital, see if their pharmacy has something they can give you.”

“Thank you,” Ilya said, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. “I mean, for everything; the support you’ve given me all of these years, the comfort, the help — it means the world. I am truly grateful.”

“You’re welcome, but your thanks really aren’t necessary. It isn’t just that this is my job. People care for you Ilya, and I’m proud to count myself amongst them. Whatever is within my power to do to support you is at your disposal.”

“And yet I am grateful all the same. I would probably like to have another session after we are back in Ottawa. Is there an opening for next week?”

“I’ll check my schedule and send you some options,” Galina responded professionally. “We’ll keep the appointment flexible, in case you need to move things around in all the adjustment.”

‘Of course. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss, Ilya, before we conclude this call?”

“I think I need to sleep on what we’ve already discussed first, and follow through on the plans. I don’t really have the capacity to think on much else in the meantime.”

“In that case, let’s leave things here, and we can pick it back up next week. Until then, Ilya.”

The call terminated, and Ilya let out a long sigh.

It wasn’t one of relief, or exhaustion, but it allowed the weight pressing in on Ilya’s chest to shift. He made a second call to Anya’s daycare, extended her overnight stay with them without issue, and was in the middle of drafting out another text to Yuna when a soft knock on the door had him looking uponce more.

Standing there in the doorway was Luca Haas.

“Merde…” Luca muttered, getting a good look at Shane in the bed. Luca was the only one of their teammates who had now seen Shane since that brief moment at the crash site, and Ilya could only imagine that Luca’s expression wasn’t all that dissimilar from Ilya’s when he’d first walked in this room. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Ilya scoffed. The sight of his teammate drained the productivity charged by his phone call with Galina, the weight of reality clawing back in. “They say he will wake up soon.”

“That’s good. The team have been asking if they can pay a visit before we leave tomorrow. Wiebe’s up for it, and so is Troy, but the doctors are saying hard no on Harris. Figured we should ask you before saying anything about Shane.”

“I am fine with it. He might be awake by then.” Ilya said absentmindedly. “Are you leaving?” He said, noticing how Luca hovered by the door, not quite committing to coming inside.

“Actually…” Luca winced. “I’m here to come and get you. The investigators have asked us to visit the crash site. They’re identifying personal effects.”

Ilya straightened up in his seat. “Already?”

“They know we’re flying back out soon. And I think the sooner we’re gone, the better it’ll be for everyone else. The press is causing some problems, according to Dykstra.”

Ilya sighed. That meant the press would be there at the crash site too, watching them pick over the wreckage. “Alright. I will be out in a moment.” Luca closed the door, and Ilya leaned back over Shane’s bedside, caressing his husband’s hair once more.

Part of him wanted to refuse, and say that he would visit the crash site when, or if he was ever ready. He wanted to be here, and spend every waking moment from now until Shane was declared fully recovered by his husband’s side. He did not want to walk through a wreckage trying to find stuff he cared about less than the person in that bed.

And yet…

The rest of the team would be there, putting aside their trauma and try to recover bits of their lives, in front of a grieving community and the press knowing tomorrow, they would have to face the reality of getting on another plane. As their captain, Ilya couldn’t face the thought of making them do that alone.

He pressed a kiss to the pads of his fingers and pressed them gently against Shane’s cheek, whispering “I will be back soon, моя дорогой. Sleep well.” And then he stood up, took one last look at Shane, and then left the hospital room, closing the door softly behind him.

Bood, Luca, and Hazy were already waiting outside. “You okay, Roz?”

“No,” Ilya replied, uncaring how short his tone was. “It has been…a lot. Today has been a lot.”

“We’re not quite done yet. Luca tell you where we’re going?” Hazy asked, looking sympathetic.

“Yes. I do not like it.”

“I don’t think any of us do. They better have barf bags for us because I will puke at the smell of jet fuel.” Hazy kept talking, causing both Bood and Luca to absentmindedly side-step away from the goalie out of instinct. Silently, Ilya hoped for the same thing.

There wasn’t much more conversation after that.

The car was waiting for them outside the hospital, the photographers and crowd from earlier now suspiciously absent. Ilya suspected they’d moved on to the crash site, where they would be waiting for the rest of the team once they arrived.

Nothing prepared them for what they would see once they got there. The damage from the road had looked serious enough, but up close, all of the details of the wreckage popped out in full force. Memories from the initial aftermath of the crash clung to the forefront of Ilya’s mind as he spotted the rest of the team waiting for them, the only difference being that they were all wearing the clothes that had been hung on their doors that morning.

The investigators did their best to guide the team away from the crash and the recovery crews, but it didn’t stop them from seeing the destroyed carcass of the plane that had dropped them in this mess.

Ilya had the strangest feeling that the mere sight of the ruined aircraft would haunt him for years to come as he looked back at it, in the way iconic photos would float around in association with any one particular event. In the back of his mind, he would never see an airplane in the same way again; the image of a jet on the tarmac now permanently replaced by the ravaged shell that nearly tore his life apart. He would recall the sight in his sleep on his worst nights, and decades from now — when his career had long since been over — they would bring up the plane crash in tandem with his and Shane’s name. He was staring his ghost in the face.

Inside the storage area set up nearby, items in varying degrees of intactness were laid out on sheets of plastic in the vague shape of the seating plan, arranged in the areas where they had been found. Each pile represented a person, sickeningly revealing the empty spaces where no one would be coming to claim those belongings.

Ilya was struck by how many shoes there were. Some neatly paired together, some sat alone, and some laid solely in pieces, barely even recognizable as a wearable item anymore. Suitcases in various conditions were arranged off to the side, most of them sporting visible signs of damage, next to tables with smaller items in piles next to name tags. Blankets, pillows, toys, electronics…all lay strewn about, organized to the best of their ability along the outline of the seat map, reminding Ilya that soon enough, the other survivors would be coming through here and doing the exact same thing.

The team broke up, moving between the piles of items individually, having been handed canvas bags to pick up their things. Ilya was given two, clearly labeled as one for himself and one for Shane, while Hazy had taken over picking up Troy’s and Harris’s things, carrying around three bags with the same kind of serious expression he wore during game warm up when he marked up the ice in front of the net. Bood beelined for Wiebe’s pile, and Luca stayed close behind, solemnly picking up the items marked for Barry.

Ilya kept to himself, moving over to the tables first, where he easily located his own pile, finding his carry-on bag and suitcase set right next to Shane’s. There was barely any damage on their main luggage; a result of being loaded last and the high-quality materials used for the expensive bags that made them so sturdy.

He nearly smiled at the sight, remembering when Shane had spent a whole week researching different luggage brands, just so they could have matching suitcases when they travelled. He’d taken it so seriously, going as far as to order a textiles book from multiple brands, just so he and Ilya could see and feel them together before ordering. There had been a spreadsheet weighing the different brands against each other, marked by different characteristics from handle height to wheel type. Ilya hadn’t cared about any of it in that moment, just happy letting Shane take the lead, although he had been very into it the first time their matching cases were laid out on their bed, preparing to be packed for the first time.

Now those cases were scuffed up and covered in dirt, wheels damaged and the main bodies dented in various places, but Ilya was willing to bet if he opened them up right now, the contents would be perfectly fine.

The same could not be said for their hand luggage.

Both of their bags had taken major injury, ripped and marred to the point of disrepair, the contents inside having suffered the same fate. Ilya’s over-the-head headphones were cracked and hanging on by a mere wire. Shane’s tablet, where he stored gameplay notes and tape, was shattered and bulging on one side where the battery had been impacted. Ilya’s favorite sweater, usually worn by Shane, was permanently ruined by a large rust-colored stain that Ilya didn’t want to know the origin of. And lastly, a book…

Ilya choked up at the sight of the book.

Set at the bottom of the pile, the book Shane had been holding when Ilya had last seen him on the plane lay innocuously on the table. The pages were wrinkled and bent, soaked through with blood that had long since dried, making the entire object swell up. The hard cover had been ripped into, and folded up in a corner, exposing the inner fibers of the board, which only emphasized the large gouges and scrapes that had ruined the exterior.

But none of that damage caught Ilya’s eye quite like one small detail that would’ve been easy to miss; two rows of small, crescent-shaped marks on the edges of the hardcover, carved into the paper.

Only one thing could have made those marks. Shane’s fingernails.

This book was what Shane had been holding onto when the plane went down. He must’ve been gripping it so tightly as he feared for his life, he may not have even noticed the damage. Shane, who took such good care of his things, who researched all of his possessions to make sure he got the best use out of them, who loved Ilya so deeply that he held onto this gift as though it was his only lifeline when he should have been holding Ilya’s hand.

Ilya could picture the entire scene in his mind’s eye, and it broke him.

Everything in his hands clattered to the floor with a loud noise, and Ilya crumbled to his knees, stomach lurching and chest heaving. Around him, his teammates watched as their captain fell apart, all of them immediately mobilizing to reach him.

“Hey.” The sudden presence of Dykstra clapping his hand on Ilya’s shoulder startled the team captain, pulling him out of the spiral with a choked sob. “It’s okay. Shane will be okay.”

“What if he isn’t?” Ilya gasped, feeling his panic return with full force.

“Then we’ll figure it out.” Someone else said resolutely, but Ilya couldn’t see who it was through the tears in his eyes.

“You’re our captain, he’s our teammate. We’ll be there to support you, no matter what you need.” That sounded like Wyatt.

“Yeah, no matter what happens.” Ilya couldn’t tell if that was Holmberg or Young, but it didn’t matter.

“It is not that simple.”

“It can be.” Dykstra shrugged, taking control again. “And right now, that’s enough. We’ve got time.”

“You fly home tomorrow.”

“Say the word, and none of us get on that plane.” Bood didn’t even hesitate to speak up, and the team made various noises of assent. “Roz, I’m so fucking serious, if you need us here, here we’ll stay.”

“I would not ask this of you.” Ilya sighed. “But I appreciate sentiment.”

Luca knelt down and picked up Shane’s book before settling back on his haunches in front of Ilya’s kneeling form. “The least we can do, is remind you that we survived this. And yeah, that seems terrifying now. It will feel terrifying tomorrow. But I hope you know one day we’ll look back on this moment with reverence, because it didn’t stop us. It didn’t break us. Because we’re the best fucking team with the best FUCKING captain, and we can do anything. We’d do anything for you, Roz.”

Ilya sobbed, letting out an unsteady laugh as he marveled at these people, letting them pull him in for a hug, and found himself to be grateful. Luca was right; this crash hadn’t broken them. They would make it through this. He would make it through this.

And between the quiet sobs and gasps of relief, Ilya finally managed to forgive himself.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter gave me the worst freaking writer's block I've had in a long while! I spent close to 17 HOURS staring at a flashing cursor trying to write for this, so you better like it!

In all seriousness, I hope you do like it. I apologize for the delay, and can only say that this fic won't go on much longer. I think I'm only planning on one more chapter after this, so keep a lookout. Thank you to everyone who has left a kudos and/or a caption, I really appreciate them! And to all you who bookmarked...happy new chapter day!

Also, just to address my fellow fandom authors. I know this past week has been rough. I feel incredibly lucky not to have faced some of the more severe harassment I've seen from this fandom over the past few days, but I'd like to offer my support to you because I do know what it's like to feel alienated over something you love so dearly. I hope you find the space to protect yourselves from the cruelty, and find support from those who are equally horrified by the extreme behavior. I hope you know we are grateful for the work you have put into this fandom, and that the response to it is unwarranted. And I hope you keep creating, in some measure, whether you make your work consumable or not. And if you wish to reach out and discuss, you can find me on Tumblr. I'm more than happy to lend an ear.

See you next time! (Whenever that is. I can make no promises.)

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

Shane didn’t wake up before the team flew back to Canada.

The sedatives took a very long time to work out of his system, which meant that while he would slip in and out of consciousness, he didn’t actually reach any sort of coherence until the day after.

The team paid their visit as promised, coming in three at a time. Each group hung around for a bit, but Ilya wouldn’t hear them out on staying, despite his feelings on the matter. The guilt of keeping them away any longer from their own families, who were still worrying for them from a distance, was too much to bear, especially since Ilya knew better than anyone what it was like to be a spouse on the other side of that fear these days.

They left without much fanfare, the media disappearing as well once it became obvious they couldn’t center the crash coverage around the team anymore. It took the town around them a bit longer to find some sense of normalcy, so when the visiting hours at the hospital were over, Ilya found himself getting involved, donating funds to the organizations that had moved in to support the local community and meeting with people who had been affected by the crash.

Troy was a frequent visitor at those meetings as well, after he was given permission to move around and leave the hospital for short breaks. He also stuck around to keep Ilya entertained and talking at Shane’s bedside, where the Russian had become a near-permanent fixture for the rest of the time.

Finally, two days after the crash, Shane’s eyes fluttered open. Ilya would tell people later that his reaction to seeing Shane conscious was perfectly rational, but the way Troy tells it, Ilya was so loud he could have roused the occupants from the hospital’s morgue. Shane didn’t stay that way for long, his body still phasing in and out of sleep frequently while he was recovering, but the doctors finally had the opportunity they’d been waiting for to run the cognitive tests they needed to confirm the best news of all; that Shane’s injuries had not caused any lasting neurological damage. Ilya had cried when the doctor told him, and once more when he reported back to Yuna and David.

The team had been equally relieved to hear the status update, sending messages of support to celebrate. Luca, who had taken over pet sitting had even sent him a video of Anya, running around his apartment complex’s garden jubilantly, as if she actually understood what had happened and was just as enthusiastic about the news as her papa.

Harris was moved out of intensive care three days after the team left with no further complications, much to everyone’s equal relief. Troy hadn’t been quite as loud as Ilya about it, but he didn’t have to be when Harris’s entire family descended on the hospital that day, having driven all the way from Ottawa just to visit.

Wiebe stuck around long enough just to see both Shane and Harris in recovery together, and then flew back to Ottawa on a private charter complete with a brand-new pair of crutches that the team had had overnight-shipped, painted with the team logo and colors just for him.

The medical transport was eventually scheduled a week after the crash.

Once the doctors had deemed everyone stable enough to move, there had been no point in delaying the transfer any further, which had given Ilya less time than he’d expected to prepare. Still not thrilled about the flight, he had had to pull every trick in the book to distract himself, spending hours talking things over with Galina and Yuna just to force himself onboard. And if he spent the entire flight fussing over Shane just to distract himself, well, that was Ilya’s business alone and no one else’s.  

Upon landing, the team met them on the airfield, complete with the WAGs and other family members as a surprise, holding up signs welcoming them back to Ottawa. Even J.J., Sveta, Rose, Hayden, Jackie and the Pike children made the trip just to wave at them from a distance. Ilya choked up a little just seeing their familiar faces, and generously yielded his ride to the hospital in the ambulance to Yuna, so he could give himself the privacy to cry in David’s car.

Barry’s funeral took place nine days after the crash.

It was a well-attended, but somber service, with the entire team barring Shane and Harris present, as well as arena staff, team management, NHL executives, on top of the friends and family all at the graveside. Ilya had ended up being one of the pallbearers, an honor he took very seriously despite not having known the man as well as he would have liked. But it became an experience he hoped never to repeat as he walked past Barry’s widow, watching her silently break down in Cassie Boodram’s arms.

Two weeks after the crash, the Centaurs played their last match of the season.

Hosted in Seattle, the entire stadium had applauded when the team entered the rink, giving them a standing ovation in honor their ordeal — a gesture that had nearly brought the entire team to tears. Despite losing that match, and being knocked out of the playoffs, it had still been a respectable game with score of 3-2. Ilya watched from Shane’s hospital room, replacing all of the commentary with his own, prompting Yuna and David to pipe up occasionally as they watched with him.

Sixteen days after the crash, Shane woke up for good.

It hadn’t been overly dramatic affair, but it had still a surprise when Ilya was woken from a light sleep to the soft calling of his name. He’d dozed off in the chair by Shane’s bedside, something he found himself doing more frequently since the crash, unable to sleep well at home alone. By now, he was used to waking up as random people came and went from his husband’s private room, so he was rather confused when he woke up dazed, hearing his name but seeing the doorway empty.

It took him far too long to turn around, but when he finally did, the first thing he saw was the soft brown eyes of his husband staring back.

“Il-ee-ah…” Shane slurred, bending his fingers to tug on Ilya’s grip.

“Shane!” Ilya cried a touch too loud, causing his husband to flinch. Lowering his voice, Ilya leaned in closer, heart pounding. “моя дорогой, what is it? Should I call doctor?”

“No, m’fine. Jus…missed you.” Shane slurred, blinking slowly as though he were still fighting for consciousness.

“I am right here with you.” Ilya vowed. “Are you sure I can get you nothing?”

“Can…can you…tell me wha-appen’d?” Shane frowned, trying to recall. “I don’…don’t rem-member.”

Ilya grimaced. The doctors had determined early on that Shane did not remember the plane crash, and might not ever do so, a common side effect of the trauma and his injuries. The medication on top of that made it hard for him to retain the information, so Ilya had already had to explain to his husband a few times what had happened in the days since their return to Ottawa. “The plane went down.”

“How?”

“They are still investigating, but officials say it was faulty electrical equipment in cockpit, that was not inspected properly. The turbulence was final straw. I got up to go to the bathroom, and…”

Shane’s brows furrowed, looking concerned. “You okay?”

Ilya’s tension softened, touched by his husband’s immediate concern. “I am well моя дорогой. I was barely hurt.”

“Barely?” Shane whispered, frowning slightly at having caught that Ilya hadn’t said he wasn’t hurt at all.  “Where?”

“I bumped my head, is all. Some small bruises. Nothing compared to you.”

“Not nothin’…” Shane’s fingers made an aborted movement to reach for Ilya, eyes focusing on his husband’s curls as if he itched to touch them. “But m’glad it wasn’ worse.”

“I wish I could say same.” Ilya cast a cursory glance at Shane’s body, which was still covered in casts and bandages. “моя дорогой I was so worried for you. And scared. I am sorry I was not with you.”

“M’sorry too…” Shane whined, looking distressed at the mere notion of having caused Ilya’s worry.

“No, shhh, no. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Ilya soothed his husband, gently petting Shane’s hand. “Was accident, yes?”

“Was…anyone else hurt?”

“Yes. Some people died. Including Barry, assistant coach.”

Shane’s eyes widened. “Oh no…that’sss terrible.” And then an even more horrifying thought seemed to occur to him. “…t-the team?”

“Most made it through safe, except for Troy, Harris, and Coach Wiebe. And you, of course.”

“Are…are they okay?”

“Yes, Shane, they will be well. As will you.”

“Will…I play again?” Shane asked, eyes widening as he looked down, clearly noticing the casts and bandages wrapped around his limbs.

Ilya hesitated. “Maybe. We will see.”

The unfortunate reality was, Ilya didn’t know and neither did the doctors.

Over the course of the sixteen days since the crash, Shane had undergone several operations to correct his various injuries — and while each one had gone well, recovery was and would be slow going. And that was if nothing went wrong.

Shane would be in physical therapy for months getting back his strength and mobility, but he was not healing to the ideal expectations. Many were avoiding saying it out loud, but not a single doctor was confident Shane would be in any state to play by the start of the next season. If at all.

The simple truth was that the trauma to Shane’s arm, shoulder, and legs would take a lot of time to come back from.

Potentially too much time for the Centaur’s salary cap.

Something in Ilya’s eyes must have given it the truth away, because Shane let out a long exhale filled with resignation and disappointment. “I’s tha bad?”

Ilya knew he would have to be straight with Shane now, just to manage his husband’s expectations, otherwise they would go in circles discussing recovery options. “You were badly injured, yes. Lost spleen and part of liver. No more liquor for you for long time.” Shane rolled his eyes at that, letting out a long raspberry-like noise with his mouth. Ilya gave him a smug look, but it quickly faded as he continued with the injury list. “You also broke your ribs, right clavicle, and bones in right shoulder, left arm, both legs, both hands, neck, and your head. During extraction from the wreck, you lost too much blood as well. Doctors were also worried about brain damage up until recently.”

Ilya had long-since memorized the full extent of Shane’s condition, but for Shane, this was relatively new information. He blinked with each item, looking more and more stunned by the length of the list until he was reeling and unable to process it all.

Finally a single word was uttered.

“Fuck.”

It was the most articulate word that had come out of his husband’s mouth in days. Ilya just couldn’t help himself. He laughed. That was the trigger for Shane to start giggling too, although Ilya wasn’t sure how much of it was due to the medication still in Shane’s system or the shock of the situation. Either way, it didn’t matter, because seeing his husband looking so alive after the hellish two weeks they’d just gone through healed something inside Ilya he had had to pretend wasn’t broken.

“Yes, was bad. Perhaps we avoid planes for a bit, yes?” Ilya teased, trying to control the wheezes coming from his lungs.

“Sounds good.” Shane replied in a monotonous voice, indicating just how upset he was by that concept.

But the good mood couldn’t last forever.

The smile slipped off of Shane’s face, turning into something sour in an instant. “Ilya…wha’ if I can’t…”

Ilya immediately knew what was coming. He knew Shane too well. If Shane lost hockey, it would devastate his husband, possibly beyond repair. “Shhh…We won’t talk about that now.”

“But…”

“Shane, I nearly lost you.” Ilya was firm. “If you think I give a fuck about hockey right now, you are wrong.”

“Iss…sstill your job too, tho’.” Shane pointed out, with an annoyingly-pragmatic look. “Righ?”

“Yes, Shane.” Ilya let out a heavy sigh and put on a fake smile, but that question touched too close to an idea that had been haunting him. Between now and the crash, Ilya had become a victim to his own thoughts, his mind leading him down some roads he’d never truly wanted to entertain before; including the idea of retiring.

Whenever he’d thought about it before, he’d thought of it as an inevitability, that there would come a time when he would simply be too old for it anymore, in his mid-to-late 40s. He’d pick up some hobbies and enjoy the sidelines while Shane would obviously keep playing for a couple years more, and then eventually Shane would become a scout or some other hockey-adjacent individual to keep himself entertained while the two of them lived out their married lives together in peace.

They’d talked about it, having conversations in bed while they planned their future, and thrown it around over the dinner table with David and Yuna. They’d looked over contracts with Farah, and made plans with team management. Neither of them had never, in all of their years, considered the idea that Shane would stop playing first. Neither of them had ever planned on retiring this early.

And if Shane could not come back, the simple truth was that Ilya wasn’t sure he would either.

But his husband knew him well too, seeing past the façade even in his inebriated state. “Baby, are you done?”

Ilya almost let out a glib, snarky comment to deflect, but something in Shane’s eyes stopped him. A  heavy weight seemingly dropped onto his shoulders. “I don’t know.” Ilya admitted. “I think, yes, if you are too. Is not fun without you. And flying…I am less okay with flying more.”

“Okay.” Shane said, as if it was all that simple, but Ilya knew that was not the end of the discussion.

“Have you tal’d t’Wiebe?” Shane cocked his head to the side expectantly.

“No.” Ilya shook his head adamantly. “You are first person I speak to about this. About retirement, I mean.”

“Galina?”

“No. I have talked to her, but not on this.”

“You should. An’ talk t’Sveta as well. And Farah. Also…”

“Shane, I will talk to necessary people when I am ready.”

“Mmm’kay. Lemme try firs’, yesss? T’come back?”

“Okay, зайчик,” Ilya sighed. “You can try. And if it doesn’t work, we will make plans.”

Shane grinned. “I look forwar' t'it.”

6 months later

Shane guided himself carefully into the allotted disabled space in the family and friends section, trying his best to keep a low profile as he watched the Centaurs warm up for their first morning skate of the season.

The first game would only be in a few hours, but Shane was eager to be here. It was his first time back in the stadium since the playoffs.

True to the doctor’s worst fears, recovery hadn’t been swift for Shane. The pins in his legs hadn’t done their job in properly realigning the bones, a complication that had only further delayed Shane’s medical clearance for the intensive physical therapy needed to help him properly walk again.

So for the meantime, he was confined to a wheelchair. The lack of access had made it difficult for him to leave the house much, so he hadn’t gone to the rink at all, much to his own dismay.

But today that changes, because today was too important. Today was the first match of the season.

Shane would’ve dragged himself here if it meant making appearance, wanting so badly to support his team and more importantly, his husband. He deserved that much.

Ilya had been Shane’s rock throughout his recovery, taking him to appointments, refilling his medications, and walking him through PT exercises at home, doing it all without complaint. That hadn’t meant things had been easy, or that there hadn’t been fights — mostly caused by Shane lashing out with his sudden lack of autonomy — so they’d also decided to try something new; joint counseling to work through the complicated feelings they both had about the crash. Sessions had focused mainly on Ilya’s guilt surrounding the events before and during, and Shane’s grief and frustration with the aftermath, but it was only because of all that work that Shane had managed to convince Ilya to go back and play.

Luckily Shane had not had to get here alone. During recovery, Shane and Harris had gotten the opportunity to spend a lot of time together, and the two of them had hatched a plan in secret, bringing Troy in as a conspirator to sneak Shane into the arena with as little fuss as possible as a surprise. Shane flipped on his breaks and Harris took a step back from where he’d been behind him pushing the chair, pulling out his phone to snap a couple photos of the action on the ice.  

Arena staff, team staff, and fans alike started milling around, so it wasn’t long before Shane was recognized, many of them wandering over to take pictures and have a bit of small talk, which finally lead to Wiebe catching sight of them first from his position by the home bench.

Losing his toes had been a difficult adjustment for the Coach. Up until before the crash, he’d been known to join the players on the ice, and get in on the action, but he hadn’t stepped foot beyond the boards since, having lost all confidence in maintaining his balance on skates. A lack of an assistant coach had also made things equally difficult, but Shane’s mother of all people had stepped into the role, whipping the team into shape as she skated circles around the players.

The league had tried to give them flack for hiring her, but Yuna hadn’t been one to back down from a challenge, demonstrating her clear viability for the role during pre-season practice. Several text messages had been fired Shane’s way, giving him endless amounts of amusement as he heard stories of Yuna terrorizing his teammates. Ilya in particular had found himself in the hot seat, unable to get away with his usual antics when faced with his mother-in-law, but her formidable grip on the team dynamics had worked miracles getting the team back in shape.

Now Wiebe and Yuna were as thick as thieves, guiding the team from both on the ice and the sidelines. Yuna was quickly tipped off about Shane’s presence by the coach, and she honed in on him with a concerned gaze. But there was no reason for her to be worried, so Shane simply brandished a thumbs up while sporting a reassuring expression whilst tugging on the jersey he wore. Her eyes squinted to identify it, and then softened, nodding with support.

The players shortly exited the ice following the morning skate, heading back to the locker room for game strategy. None of them had noticed Shane, which had been according to plan, because the longer the secret lasted, the more effective the surprise would be, and Shane grinned at Harris as he took a seat in preparation for whatever came next.

More people entered the arena, including the other players’ families, all of them congregating around Shane excitedly. Children ooh-ed over Shane’s wheelchair, many asking for rides while sly comments over Shane’s jersey choice were passed his way by the WAGs. Lisa thoroughly interrogated Shane about his recovery, unable to turn off her doctor-mode until she was satisfied, and Selina wouldn’t take no for an answer until she had roped Shane into agreeing to a team dinner sometime soon.

And then finally…it was time.

The arena doors fully opened and the stands filled up, the noise and energy rising, filling the building as the fans prepared for the game to start. Music boomed through the speakers as the mascots took to the stands, and the announcers started their pre-game amble.

At some point, the jumbotron transitioned from sponsor ads to camera shots of the crowd, right on cue, and Harris tapped out a message on his phone, tipping off the camera operators as the players filed onto the ice, causing the final piece of Shane’s plan to fall into place.

An announcer could be heard through the loudspeakers. “And there in the crowd is the 2^nd line center, Shane Hollander, currently out on Injury Reserve, making his first appearance in this stadium since last season.”

Shane’s face was suddenly visible on the massive screen, and the fans screamed, the resounding cheer echoed throughout the arena, near deafening as seemingly every fan saw fit to join in, regardless of which team they were there to support. Shane waved in the general direction of the camera pointed at him with his good arm, carefully minding his shoulder as he gave the stadium a large smile. But his eyes and his attention were quickly diverted elsewhere, directed towards the rink where, wandering around center ice, was Ilya.

Shane had just seen him this morning, but in this moment, seeing him now on the ice, Shane felt a special rush of pride. Surprised by the sudden commotion and the announcement, Ilya glanced up at the jumbotron, quickly adopting a wonderstruck expression as his eyes snapped towards the family and friends’ section, meeting Shane’s.

He raised his stick in acknowledgement, and Shane tugged on his jersey, making sure to bring special attention to the number 81 emblazoned on the sleeve, and then bent his fingers into a heart-shaped gesture. All caught on camera, the fans cheered again at the interaction, but the two of them only had eyes for each other. Ilya copied the gesture as best as he could with his gloves on, wedging the hockey stick under his arm to do it, and while distracted, the team rallied around him, copying the gesture with their own hands, all pointed at Shane with varying degrees of success.

Shane knew some of them were just teasing them, but it was all in good fun. They deserved this moment. They’d both come so close to losing this, and having this moment made everything they’d gone through worth it.

And there on the ice, Ilya thought the same thing.

Chapter End Notes

OMG this chapter literally gave me some of the worst writer's block I've ever had IN MY LIFE. Literally nothing I wrote felt good enough or in-line enough with my story. It might be the first time that I've hit the delete button more than all the other buttons on my keyboard combined when writing, so unfortunately this last chapter isn't anywhere near as long as I'd like it to be, but I think if I'd dallied anymore on posting it, y'all would've never seen it. So I can only hope that you like what is there at this point.

Thank you all so much for your patience as I published this, and thank you to everyone who left a kudos, bookmark, or comment. I have a couple more WIPS that I can maybe go back to now that this is done, because surprise surprise, these characters are still squatting in my head like they have rights. So, see y'all in the next fic. Bye bye!