Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Jackie Pike, Rose Landry, Svetlana Vetrova, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pining, Forced Outing, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Social Media, Post Tuna Melt, everyone starts communicating just a little bit earlier and that changes a lot, but shane's team still sucks, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content

Language:

English

Series:

Part 1 of Shane Hollander is Bad at Sex

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-06 Completed: 2026-10-23 Words: 103,058 Chapters: 15/15

#ShaneHollanderIsBadAtSex

Summary

I dated @ShaneHollander24 back in high school. See this photo of us as proof. This is how I know that #ShaneHollanderIsBadAtSex and that is why @RoseLandryOfficial probably dumped him. I should have done the same, but he dumped me after ignoring me for a week when he got drafted with some lame excuse about focusing on his future. Wish he had focused on female anatomy when we had class together but what can you do?

---

When Shane and Rose's breakup hits the internet, the response is less than supportive and the hashtag #ShaneHollanderIsBadAtSex goes viral. Within hours, multiple of Shane's past hookups have joined the trend and shared their opinions on Shane in bed...Including a hookup from a man in LA. He's now faced with scrutiny from his team, support from his family, and the continued silence of his phone from 'Lily'.

Notes

iOS Workskin Used
Twitter Workskin Used along side this Twitter Post Generator.

If any profile photos break or the code is giving you issues, please let me know in the comments!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

This fic is written with the blend of book and show canon that exists in my brain. I hope you find them as well blended as I intended.

“Capitaine!” JJ shouts across the locker room the moment Shane crosses the threshold. It’s not uncommon for JJ to be shouting. The man is a conversational force of nature, frequently crossing the locker room to slap teammates on shoulders, offer unsolicited support that vaguely disguises a chirp, or to very publicly chirp someone instead.  

Today, JJ is leaning over Miitka’s shoulder as they and several other guys look at something on Miitka’s phone.  

“What’s up, guys?” Shane asks and sets his bag down on the bench in front of his locker.  

“Bro!” one of the third liners scoff. He seems to be laughing, but Shane has the feeling the topic won’t be funny.  

JJ smacks the shoulder of the third liner and pushes forward. “You are trending on Twitter, my guy!” 

Shane schools his face as neutral and casual as he could possibly make it. A quick look towards the side of the bench shows Hayden hasn’t arrived yet, which doesn’t bode well for Shane. Hayden frequently steps up as a buffer between Shane and the rest of the team, smoothly inserting himself to protect Shane but also without undermining Shane’s position as captain.  

Trending on Twitter does not mean the cold dread that slips down Shane’s spine is correct. It could mean a poorly photographed moment of Shane has become a meme. It could mean that someone else said something out of turn. It could mean that everyone knows Shane is gay. Shane barely knows that Shane is gay. Rose knew before he did and now everyone in this locker room might also know.  

He lets out what he hopes is his normal, awkward laugh. “Uh, about what?” 

“Read it to him, JJ,” Miitka snorts and tilts his phone so it could be seen better.  

JJ’s grin becomes gleeful as he begins reading, “’I dated @ShaneHollander24 back in high school. See this photo of us as proof--’ Amazing haircut, Capitaine, really, was your mom still cutting your hair?” 

“Fuck off,” Shane gripes and steps forward to see the phone. He does his best to tilt it out of Miitka’s hand but JJ takes over and barrels on.  

“’This is how I know that #ShaneHollanderIsBadAtSex and that is why @RoseLandryOfficial probably dumped him. I should have done the same, but he dumped me after ignoring me for a week when he got drafted with some lame excuse about focusing on his future. Wish he had focused on female anatomy when we had class together but what can you do?’” 

The entire locker room roars in laughter and Shane feels frozen in his spot. He knows immediately who wrote that tweet. 

He also knows the reason he broke up with her after the draft. 

“Damn, Hollzy,” Drapeau laughed from the back of the locker room. “You gonna put out an official statement about where to find the clit or what, man?” 

JJ crossed over to Shane and laid one of his trademark shoulder claps on Shane. “Don’t worry, Capitaine, none of us were good at sex at 18.  Maybe you can have Rose Landry put out a statement that you just talked about Hockey too much, or something.” 

Shane forced out a laugh. “Hah, maybe, maybe.” 

He turned back into his locker and pulls out his phone, immediately navigating to Twitter and seeing the sheer number of mentions in his alerts on the app. He always has too many. He’s a public figure. But the little bell icon has a 10k+ symbol next to it and Shane has never seen that many notifications before. He nervously clicks the inbox and starts skimming the list. Post after post joking about his “breakup” with Rose. The hashtag has been trending and Shane doesn’t know for how long. Twitter is spiraling with memes and if it weren’t about Shane, maybe they would be funny.  

He turns his phone off and puts it face down in his locker. He can get ready for practice. He can go out onto the ice. He won’t let himself check his phone until later. He won’t see if anyone has texted him even though they haven’t texted him in over two months since a very specific incident.  

Shane leaves practice quickly the moment it’s done. He doesn’t linger on the ice, he doesn’t do his best to chat with the team, and he certainly doesn’t give Hayden an opening to try and talk to him. The chirps on ice were brutal. There was no way Hayden wasn’t caught up on the internet gossip by the time things were done. Frankly, Shane doesn’t have the patience for his friend and he certainly doesn’t want the sympathetic coddling that is sure to happen if he is coaxed over to Hayden’s place.  

He turns his phone back on the moment he gets back to his apartment. This is his space. It’s safe. It’s locked. The lights are dimmed, though the afternoon sun still comes in from his windows.  

His equipment bag gets left by the door, shoved up against the baseboard and sharing the walkway with his absently toed off shoes. Shane sits on the couch in a heap and tugs his hoodie tight around his face with the strings before letting his tongue grab one and start chewing on it.  

Twitter is still going crazy. The #Hollandryover tag is a sad mix of mourning and implications that he cheated on Rose or rudely broke her heart.  

#ShaneHollanderIsBadAtSex is more popular and the original tweet from Jessica has over 100k comments and even more likes. 

Shane locks his phone and slaps it face down on the couch. They tagged his mother. They tagged his mother on a tweet about him not being able to get anyone to come during sex. He doesn’t even really remember this girl but he knows roughly when she probably slept with him.  

Now there were two women. Two women who had decided to joke about him publicly and now he was trending in a way that made him want to crawl in a hole and die.  

Shane took a deep breath as his phone started buzzing before peaking at the screen. MOM stared back at him, no contact photo, and somehow it was more menacing to see her listed only by her name and not in conjunction with her smiling face.  

Maybe she didn’t know?  

She definitely knew. His mother lived on twitter mentions of him. She was his publicist and manager. He had a manger for his NHL contract, but all of his sponsorships had always gone through her and there was never any real reason to not worry about it. 

The phone went dark before immediately beginning to ring again. 

He could NOT talk to her right now. He let the call ring out just in case him declining it made her suspicious. It didn’t ring immediately a third time and Shane let out a sigh of relief.  

His phone reverted back to his lockscreen, a shot of the Bell Centre ice empty, and the clutter of hidden notifications sat waiting for him. 

The team group chat was going crazy. Shane opened it only long enough to spot “Oh shit there’s a third girl” before Shane got into the message settings and muted the conversation.  

23 messages left unread in the family group chat. He would circle back. 

Hayden and Jackie had each individually texted him multiple times but he also decided to come back to them.  

JJ texted just one message and the preview he could see was “Damn capitaine I’m sorry for sho...” 

Rose had messaged multiple times and that conversation Shane did click into.  

Shane closed out of his messages and went back to twitter. His mom hadn’t called him but he didn’t want to continue the conversation anyways.

He knows he should delete Twitter, but he also knows that he would immediately just redownload it a few hours later to go back to stalking. Outside of one tweet, that he could see, no one was getting too close to the real truth.  

Shane was mostly just embarrassed that all of his attempts to be normal failed so badly.  

“A problem is something you can solve,” Rose had told him. Rose would probably also tell him he just didn’t know that yet. Or maybe she would tell him that his trying to be “better” just wasn’t how things worked.  

He really thought he could just... sleep with women until he found one that worked. That didn’t make him feel wrong inside. One that made him feel less broken.  

Someone made him feel less broken.  

His phone buzzed with another message and Shane swiped open the app before he could stop himself. It was Hayden. Not Lily. Of course it wasn’t Lily.  

Hayden’s face shows up on his phone. A terrible photo of him that Jackie sent Shane after the twins dressed him up in every accessory they could find.  

“I told you not to call,” Shane answered. 

Hayden laughed. “Fuck you if you think I’m letting my best friend wallow. Besides, I wanted you to hear this from me but not over text. I’m here for you, Buddy.” 

“Thanks.” 

“I’m not done. I’m here for you, even if the LA guy is real.” 

Shane felt nauseous. “What? You think that guy is telling the truth?” 

Hayden was quiet for a moment. “I mean... No. I don’t. But the way you responded has me a little worried. Shit—not worried. Like... I don’t know man.  Jackie is better at this shit than me.” 

“No kidding.” 

“Fuck you,” Hayden laughed. “But it’s okay man! If, hypothetically, an LA guy maybe existed. And if, hypothetically, the sex with them was better than apparently your entire roster. Then, hypothetically, that would be okay. Me and Jacks would have your back.” 

Shane tips his head back and looks at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to cry. His eyes are watering, but he refuses to cry.  

“You there, Buddy?”  

Shane coughs. “Yeah. I’m here. It’s cool though. Uh. Thanks, man. But, uh, shit I gotta go. Um, my mom is calling me.” 

He hangs up before Hayden can say anything else. It’s probably the exact confirmation that his best friend was looking for. He doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this. Deal with his mom, and the internet, and Hayden telling him it was okay if he was into some LA guy. 

Shane toggles back to twitter and finds the gossip rag tweet with the thread of tweets. Only a moment of scrolling and there it is on an account with a non-descript profile photo. 

Shane barely made it to the bathroom before he was throwing up what little remained in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since... before practice? His head was swimming with everything going on to the point that the timeline of his entire day was starting to muddle.  

His mom had been tagged in tweets.  

There was a master thread of his previous hookups that kept growing. 

Hayden believed the tweet about the LA hookup enough to the point to call him and tell him it was okay if Shane was gay. 

Shane had done a poor job of even denying it. Because Shane was gay.  

He was gay and now the entire fucking world was going to know and the one person who was potentially even worth going through this for hadn’t texted him since October and probably wouldn’t even speak to him ever again.  

As he stepped back into the living room his phone was buzzing again on the couch where he’d abandoned it. Shane caught sight of ‘Mom’ on the screen and only sighed before answering. 

“Hi, Mom,” he said with a rough voice. He cleared his throat quickly and added “sorry, hey. What’s up?” 

“What’s up?” She parroted back. Yuna Hollander was a force of nature on a good day, and Shane wasn’t looking forward to what she would be like on what had singularly rounded out to be a very terrible one. “Honey, are you okay?” 

“Uh, sure,” he nodded to himself. “Uh, yeah. No. I’m good.” 

His mom was quiet for a long moment. “Shane, I’ve been on Twitter. It’s okay if you’re not okay.” 

His eyes welled up again with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He was not going to cry on the phone to his mother.  

“Sure, sure, I know that.” 

Yuna clicks her tongue a little, a sound she often did right before she was about to try and comfort him.  

“Mom, I’m fine,” he tries once more but even he could hear his voice starting to crack. 

“Shane, I love you. Your dad and I both do,” she tells him. “Nothing can change that. Nothing on the internet. Nothing anyone says. Nothing anyone implies.” 

“Mom...” 

“No, no,” she cuts him off. “I want you to hear it from me. I love you so much. And I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make it so you can’t talk to me about what you’re going through, or who you are, or who you like. I...” 

His mom trails off and he can hear it in her voice too, the way she’s choking up and holding back tears. She hates crying almost as much as he does. Growing up, he always watched her playfully shove his father when he tried to comfort her, only to see her snatch up his hand and hold it close anyways.  

“I’m sorry, Shane.” 

Shane presses his lips together and shakes his head. He just wants to swallow the lump in his throat and get that ache in his cheeks to go away. He shakes his head to try and clear it, set any of the building emotion in him free so he doesn’t have to deal with it. It doesn’t work. 

“Mom, I’m gay.” 

The words pull from his throat before he even realizes he’s said it. It’s like tearing a limb from his chest. A structural support that had grown out of hand but was now holding his entire diaphragm together. He hated telling her over the phone but he can’t imagine having to have this conversation where she could see him. Where maybe his dad could see him.  

“Oh, Baby,” Yuna says in a soothing voice. “I love you. I love you so, so much. It’s okay, Shane. It’s okay.” 

“No, Mom, it’s not,” Shane shakes his head. He wants to hang up the phone. He wants to be on the call forever. He wants his mom sitting next to him on the couch rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It’s not. I know it’s not, but I tried. Mom, I promise I tried so hard. I tried so... hard...” 

“No, Shane! No, no, Honey,” Yuna cuts in. The tears are falling down his face and just listening to his mom speak he’s sure she’s also crying. “Honey, there is nothing, nothing, wrong with you. You are exactly who you’re supposed to be. I love you. I love you so much and I’m so sorry I’ve made you feel like you’re not enough. I’m sorry, Shane. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” 

“Mom,” he sobs out and finally lets the tears take him. He listens as she just repeats that she loves him and that she’s sorry as the tremors work their way through him. This whole day of emotional exhaustion has just hit a peak and he feels like he can barely handle it. 

“I’m sorry, Shane,” she whispers again as his sobs start to calm down. 

“I forgive you, Mom,” he promises. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

He lets out a long heavy sigh, one matched by her. It’s their signal to move on. That they’re free and don’t have to keep circling a conversation. 

“Okay, okay. What’s the plan?” She asks. “What do you want to do? Your father and I can come down tomorrow morning. We can strategize. We can call Farah. I can confirm brand stability with your partnerships.” 

Shane nods to himself before agreeing. Optional skate tomorrow. For the first time in his career, he thinks he will miss it. “Yeah, that sounds good.” 

“Perfect,” she agrees. There’s a heavy pause, one of her quiet, calculating ones and Shane prepares himself for whatever tough question she plans to ask. “Do you want me to tell your father what you told me? Or do you want to tell him? It’s your choice. He is going to love you no matter what, Shane.” 

He doesn’t think he can have this conversation again tomorrow. “No, just... uh, you can tell him. I’m sure he knows already.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees. “Thanks, Mom.” 

“Of course, honey. I’ll text you when we leave the house.” 

“Come by as early as you want.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Love you.” 

“Love you.” 

His phone switches back to the lock screen as the call ends and he spots all the extra notifications that have come through.  

Not one of them from Lily. 

Chapter End Notes

Shoutout to LA Man. Not because he outed Shane, but because I named him after one of my very gay best friends who has a heart of gold and who I would root for to pull Shane Hollander... If only he hadn't locked down one of the sweetest guys ever years ago. Somewhere, LA Man is a hispanic man who watches drag race and would go to bat for anyone he loved.

When I first wrote this chapter in, like, May, I felt weird about having Shane come out to Yuna over the phone. Three paragraphs into that, I suddenly remember that when I got kicked out of Girl Scouts for being gay, I had to come out to my dad over the phone. It's just one of those things you can't explain one without the other. My dad took it super well and then gave me a 30 minute lecture on wlw safe sex since that that was now something on the table. Ya girl learned about dental dams that day. And not once did she ever use them.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

This chapter does include the f slur and other language that has been used in a derogatory manner towards members of the LGBT community, however it is entirely said by Shane in regards to himself.

His parents arrive just after 8AM. As soon as he opens the door, his mom immediately envelops him into a hug tight enough to finally start tuning out the noise in his head. He pulls away, stepping back enough to let her into his apartment and sees his dad standing behind her with a kind smile and arms full of several reusable totes.  

“Hey, Kiddo,” David Hollander greets and Shane gives a small smile. “I’d hug you too but your mom turned me into a pack mule.” 

“Oh, hush,” Yuna chides but steps in to alleviate some of the bags from her husband. “I wanted to make you some ramen and maybe those ginger green beans you like when you’re sick.” 

Shane nods numbly and shuts the door behind his parents before trailing behind them into his kitchen space.  

“And I don’t want to hear about your performance diet today,” Yuna barrels on. “It’s take care of Shane O’clock!” 

He huffs out a small laugh. David steps over and immediately pulls him into a hug almost as tight as his mom’s but one that’s accompanied by a good rub between his shoulders. He feels like a kid again. Not in an infantilized way but just one that reminds him he’s not alone. And he very much needs that right now.  

 Yuna is a machine when she has something to focus on. She quickly sorts through the bags in front of her, pulling out all the ingredients for every dish she plans to make today. A fresh bag of white miso. Seaweed squares and a bottle of furikake with its little cartoon cat on the label. What looks like far too many green beans for just the three of them, but maybe she worried that it would be the only thing Shane would eat. A half-finished bottle of lemon ponzu and a large head of ginger. Pork belly, green onions, garlic, all the various seasonings for the Ramen base, along with the woodear mushrooms Shane likes, and the bamboo shoots he was partial to adding. The list went on and on and then was carefully organized and packed into Shane’s refrigerator.  

He sat at the island and watched the whole procession. David took orders seamlessly, clearly used to Yuna after over 20 years of marriage.  

“Alright,” Yuna announces. David had pulled out the cutting board and was carefully trimming and cleaning green beans. “Let’s go over what we know.” 

Embarrassed was too tame of a word for what Shane felt as his mother ran through the timeline of social media posts.  

“Shane, I know this is awful, but do you know how many more potential partners might say something?” she asks him delicately. Shane refuses to meet her eyes and shrugs. “It’s okay, Honey. I know this is not something you want to talk about with your parents. I promise you your father and I are not judging you at all.” 

He picks at the string on his hoodie. The aglet is metal but the fabric right above it is slowly unweaving from every the times he’s chewed on the string.  

Yuna sighs and clicks her tongue in thought. “As of right now, the singular post from the LA partner is not getting taken very seriously. That could change if a second person steps forward. Shane,” she reaches out to grab his hand and pull his eyes back to hers. “Is there another man who might say something online? I’m asking so we can be prepared.” 

Shane swallows and looks away again. “Um, there’s someone in Mexico. I, uh, I don’t know if they’re on English speaking twitter.” 

“And he’s the only other male partner?” She presses. He looks over his mom’s shoulder at his dad who is just standing there with a sympathetic look on his face. 

“Um,” Shane swallows. He can feel his eyes getting wet again with tears. “Um, no. There’s one other... um, one other partner.” 

Yuna squeezes his hand. “And this man, is he likely to post? Even for just notoriety?” 

Shane immediately shakes his head. “No, no. I know he won’t. It, uh... he’s not... He’s not out. It would damage his career.” 

He looks back towards his mom and catches her slow nod.  

“So, he’s a public figure.” 

“Sure. Uh, sure.” 

His parents look at one another. A long, silent conversation and the type Shane has seen his whole life.  

It makes him miss Ilya.  

He hates that it does.  

“Shane,” Yuna looks back over at him. “You don’t have to say anything, but it is helpful if I know... what to anticipate. If something gets out.” 

“You want to know who he is.” 

“No,” Yuna holds her hands up in defense. “I don’t want you to out someone. That’s not what we’re doing here.” 

“Okay.” 

“But...” she mulls the word over and works through whatever she plans to say next. “Is this... partner... Is he, maybe, a player?” 

Shane looks out his window, over the Montreal skyline and thinks about how he liked how open this place was when he was shopping apartments. He liked that it felt like he was connected to the city while still being kept somewhere private. In a bubble that only he knew about. 

He feels stupid for never bringing Ilya here. He feels stupid for bringing Rose here, into this space, and never bringing Ilya. That stupid condo. All those hotel rooms in Boston. So much wasted time when he could have just had the one person he cared about see this apartment that he actually enjoyed and not kept everything separate. 

Maybe if he had it wouldn’t feel so big to merge his world here and now. Hockey had rules. There was clear guidance on what you could do and when and to whom. And the world had rules too. But those were harder to follow, and he felt like he was always a step behind and guessing wrong.  

Ilya knew the rules. He knew how to read Shane and say the right words and play in the dark between the lines but within the rules. And then Shane had fucked it up by being too scared. Too scared to bring Ilya to his real home. Too scared to stay with Ilya in Ilya’s home.  

“Shane?” 

He just nodded once and looked down. The tears he was holding back rolled down his face and onto his hoodie, creating dark splotches in the blue fabric.  

“Okay,” his mom said. “Okay. We can build a contingency plan, just in case, but it’s not likely they’ll say anything.” 

His mom rattles through plans, focusing on her laptop and typing away quickly. His father contributes thoughts occasionally and his mom replies.  

Shane sits at the island and tries not to think about anything at all. 

Sometime around noon, there’s another knock at his door. His parents look confused and Shane shakes his head to let them know he wasn’t expecting anyone.  

David steps down the hall to answer the door and comes back with Hayden in tow. 

“Hey, man,” Hayden greets with an awkward wave and Shane snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You weren’t at skate.” 

“It was optional,” Shane says and that pulls a grin from his friend. 

“I know, that’s why I was confused why I was there and you weren’t.” 

“Do you want something to eat or drink, Hayden?” David asks when the room is too quiet for too long.  

“Uh, yeah, that’d be great, Mr. Hollander.” 

Yuna snorts. “Hayden, you can call us by our real names. We’ve known you for seven years.” 

Hayden grins sheepishly but accepts the can of Coke David hands him before flopping into the island chair next to Shane. No one questions why there’s 12 cans of Coke in Shane’s fridge and Shane is grateful.  

The four of them linger in a quiet silence for a moment before David hums and turns back to the fridge to retrieve the green beans.  

“Made some comfort food for Shane,” David offers in explanation before plating a bowl for both Shane and Hayden. Yuna turns down the offer when presented. “They’re good. Got a kick to them with the Ginger but great for when you’re not feeling 100%.” 

“Sure,” Hayden nods. He accepts the fork offered and doesn’t comment on the chopsticks Shane gets. “Uh, what are they?” 

“Uh, they have Ponzu, lemon juice, and ginger. Then they just get to fridge temp. Mom made them whenever I was sick,” Shane explains with a shrug. 

Hayden nods. “Cool.” 

“Ponzu is kinda like soy sauce. It’s just different.” 

“Right.” 

“And the ginger is fresh. When you’re sick it’s good for your stomach.” 

Hayden elbows Shane with a grin. “Buddy, I love you, but I don’t care about the food as much as I care about you.” 

“Right,” Shane nods and immediately stuffs his mouth with too many green beans. He regrets it as soon as the ponzu drips down his chin.  

Yuna and David are looking between the two of them far too suspiciously for Shane’s taste. 

“So, how are you?” Hayden tries again.  

“Fine,” Shane shrugs. “Uh, I’m gay. You were right.” 

“Oh,” his friend nods. “Cool?” 

Shane snorts. “Cool?” 

Hayden throws his hands up in defense. “Bud, I don’t care! I mean, I care, because you’re my best friend. But you know me and Jacks will love you no matter what. And if you ever get married then my kids will just have another uncle.” 

“I’m not getting married.” 

“But you could.” 

“Hayden, I’m not even seeing anyone.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

Hayden makes it barely a minute before asking, “So, uh, Lily...” 

“Is a guy.” 

“Lily?” David asks. Shane visibly winces.  

“Sorry,” Hayden apologizes and Shane shakes him off. “Shane, uh, had this girl. Guy. Texted him all the time. But they broke up awhile back.” 

“We weren’t dating.” 

Yuna looks over at Shane and nods slowly. “So this was... The guy we spoke about earlier?” 

Hayden scoffs. “Aw, man! He told you about them! Bro, I’ve been trying to get this guy to talk about Lily for years. Fuck! Shit, sorry Mrs. Hollander.” 

“Swear jar,” Shane laughs.  

“Fuck off.” 

“I’m telling ,” He teases and Hayden gives him a rough shove.  

“So... Lily,” Yuna grins and looks at her son. 

“No, I’m not talking about him,” Shane says vehemently and tucks back into his green beans. “We weren’t dating. We aren’t dating. I haven’t even talked to them.” 

“They broke up before him and Rose dated,” Hayden whispers.  

Shane throws his friend a dirty look. 

“What! I don’t want your parents thinking you cheated on Rose Landry!” 

“I didn’t cheat on Rose!” 

“I know, bud, I’m trying to make sure they do too!” 

Shane pushes his plate back and sets his chopsticks down on it. “I hate this. Everyone fucking knows my business. I never wanted this.” 

Yuna comes over and pulls Shane into a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and smothering him into her shoulder. “I know, Honey. It’ll be okay, though. We’ll handle it. And right now, it’s just gossip.” 

“Yeah, man,” Hayden agrees. “No one is even taking LA dude seriously. It’s gonna blow over. You don’t have to even say anything to the press.” 

“Well,” Yuna hums and releases Shane from the hug. “We might have to say something. Right now, the biggest thing that set this off was the breakup with Rose.” 

“She knows I’m gay.” 

“Really?” Yuna is surprised, that much is clear. 

“Yeah. It was... She kinda came out for me? She was nice about it. I’m not even her first gay boyfriend.” 

David laughs from his spot across the kitchen and Shane just barely catches a conspiratorial grin between his father and best friend.  

“Well, that might make things easier,” Yuna considers. “A high-profile celebrity with a large fanbase could easily help us dispel rumors.” 

“She could say you were good in bed,” Hayden suggests. 

Shane lets his head drop down to the counter. He can’t do this. “Not helping, Hayd.” 

“It’s not like we can tell LA Guy to keep up the good word!” 

“Hayden.” 

“Sorry. I’m just saying.” 

“Say less. Especially in front of my parents.”  

“Okay,” Yuna says to bring the room back. “So we have a few options. We could not acknowledge any of the rumors. As of right now, the brands seem stable. No one has reached out. There’s no moral clause violation. We wait for something big to happen in Hockey and we move forward. Next option is we acknowledge the rumors. We enlist Rose with a statement. I don’t like this idea, and I don’t think it will quiet the rumor mill.” 

“Third option?” Shane asks. He barely looks up from his spot on the counter. Hiding behind his arms feels like its helping and he’s loathe to remove that comfort.  

“Third option... you come out.” 

“No.” 

“I agree. As your mother, you should come out when you’re ready. As your manager... Shane this won’t be easy. That rumor is out there and it’s not... new.” 

Shane sits up quickly. “What do you mean it’s not new?” 

Yuna looks over to David who gives a small shrug. 

“Kid,” his father says. “We know you pretty well. Your mother and I had...some suspicions that you might not be totally straight.” 

“But that’s you guys.” 

“You’re not the most...” David weighs his words. “Well, you just don’t look at women or talk about them like most hockey players.” 

“It’s private,” Shane argues. 

“You’re not obvious,” Hayden reassures. “I mean, I don’t think the team really believes that dude. Well... Most of them.” 

“What do you mean, Hayden?” Yuna asks. Shane is grateful she did, because he’s not sure he could with the panic that’s welling up inside him. He’s not far off from a panic attack and the fidgeting he’s been doing isn’t helping. He can only run his palms along his thighs to feel his pants fabric so many times before the sensation ceases to help.  

Hayden glances nervously at Shane before looking back at Yuna. “Some of the guys are running with the LA guy’s post. They’re using it to... make jokes at Shane’s expense. JJ and I are running interference, but I think they’re not sold on it being someone just chasing fame. I think they feel like it’s too easy of an explanation.” 

“Explanation for what?”  

“For Shane never picking up girls or saying no to going out.” 

“Fuck me,” Shane groans. “So I don’t like going to shitty bars and loud clubs and now that’s proof I’m gay. Fuck.” 

“They were a little surprised you pulled Rose Landry in the first place.” 

“And now we’re broken up not even four weeks later. Fuck me. I fucking hate this shit.” 

“Shane,” his mom tries and he cuts her off. 

“No, fuck this. So I’m a fucking fag. So fucking what. They’re right, ha ha. Shane fucking Hollander is a fucking queer and now the whole fucking world knows he likes men.” 

“Shane!” Yuna admonishes.  

“I’m sorry, Mom, but you know that’s how they’re talking. You know it. You know how Hockey is. None of us are out.” 

“Oh, yeah, there would be more than just you,” Hayden mumbles. It’s clear he’s never considered anyone in Hockey to be gay. 

Shane shoots him an unimpressed look.  

“Wait, do you know who else is?”  

“Hayden,” he sighs. “There’s not a secret club. Okay?” 

“But like... what about Gaydar?” 

“I’m pretty sure I don’t have that.” 

“Really?” Hayden’s eyebrows are up by his hairline. “I thought all gay dudes had that? Wait... is that homophobic to assume? Shit.” 

“Moving on,” Yuna says with an amused look at Shane’s best friend. “We should craft a statement. Something to put out just in case this breaks containment and we need to come out publicly. I can reach out to a few brands—discretely! — and feel them out. Take the temperature of the room for who would want to do any campaigns. Brands love an inclusivity take, as we know.” 

“Mom, I’m not trying to become the gay face of Hockey. I just want to play Hockey.” 

“I know, but--” 

“Seriously, Mom. I didn’t even want to come out until after I’d retired. Maybe! I didn’t even know for sure I was gay before I dated Rose.” 

“Okay, okay.”  

“Thank you.” 

“So... Rose was the final boss of heterosexuality?” Hayden asks.  

“Hayden,” Shane looks at his friend in confusion. “What the fuck?” 

“I know words! Jackie has a gay cousin. I’m an ally. Oh! Her cousin is actually single, right now, I think. Do you want me to get  to find out?” 

“Hayden, I’m not dating the one other gay person you know.” 

“But you’ll let me know?”  

“Hayden. No.” 

Eventually, late afternoon came around and Hayden announced he had to go home, but not without a strict reminder to call him the moment he was needed.  Jackie was still at home with the twins and Arthur, 6 months pregnant.  

“Well,” Yuna says to the room after hanging up her call. “Rolex is still in. Reebok is still in. Montbay is waiting to see which way the tides turn but legally your contract with them is still good for the remaining 3 months. Since this is mostly just bad press, I think we’re safe.” 

“Bad press until they find out I’m gay, you mean,” Shane mumbles from his spot on the couch.  

Yuna sighs.  

David is sitting in the chair in the corner working a Sudoku book but he tosses Shane an unimpressed look. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane grumbles. “I hate this.” 

“I know, honey,” Yuna says and squeezes Shane’s shoulder. “It’ll blow over. You’ve got All-Stars in two weeks to look forward to. A nice break from the routine!” 

She says that as if routine isn’t the one thing Shane enjoys the most. He likes to know what’s coming, what he’s going to eat for the day, the path his run will take, the way he has a practice scheduled for the day or a game to look forward to. He has routines for away games. Routines for home games. Routines for team events. Routines for nights he has Ilya over. 

Maybe it’s time to scrub that last routine from his brain since it’s not likely to be needed anymore. 

That thought makes his chest ache and his nose tingle in the way that tells him he might cry. It’s stupid to cry. There’s nothing to cry over anyways, so why would he even do that? 

“Sure,” he tells his mom instead. “A break might be nice.” 

Two days later, Shane has had enough pacing of his apartment nervously and calls Rose. He’s not anxious to talk to her. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever been anxious to talk to her outside of any conversation that involves the two of them discussing sex with one another. She has been the easiest thing to come out of both his running away in Boston and the entire Twitter fiasco.  

She’s also quick to answer when she’s not on set. 

“Shane!” Rose yells as she picks up. “I’m so glad you called. I wanted to check in but I didn’t want to crowd you.” 

“No, yeah, you’re good,” he promises. “I missed you. How are you?” 

“How am I?” she laughs. “Shane, my week has been tremendously easier. But sure, I’m good. We’re off set this week as we swap locations. My costar caught a cold so they rescheduled two days of work with him. And my water heater went out so I had the pleasure of dropping four grand on a new one!” 

“Oh, yikes,” he hums. “Is that labor too or just the unit? Please tell me you didn’t spend four grand on just the unit.” 

Rose snorts over the line. “No, Mr. Maintenance Man, I did not drop four grand on just the unit. I have no idea how much the unit was, maybe about half of that.” 

Mr. Real Estate 

Shane ignores the teasing memory as it comes to the forefront of his mind. 

“That’s good, I’m glad you didn’t get totally swindled.” 

“Yes, same, but enough about me,” she continues. “How are you?” 

“Fine,” he says and rolls his eyes when Rose immediately hums disapprovingly at the answer. “I’m okay, really. It sucks, but I’m staying offline. Hayden told me to lay low in the group chat. My mom says most of my sponsorships aren’t even concerned. I don’t think... all of the tweets made headlines loudly.” 

“Barely at all,” Rose promises. “No one in my world is even talking about it.” 

“Just the hockey world then.” 

“Maybe?” 

Shane sighs. The knowledge barely soothes him. “I guess I have one thing bugging me, though.” 

He hears her shuffling like she’s sitting up. “What?” 

He bites his lip and squeezes his eye shut like he’s gathering strength just to say what he wants to say. 

“Remember when you asked if I’d been with another guy,” he blurts out quickly. “When you were telling me I was gay?” 

Rose giggles quietly. “Yes, Shane, I definitely remember that.” 

“Right, duh,” he rolls his eyes. “Before we dated, I was sort of... seeing someone.” 

“Shane Hollander! Did you have a boyfriend?” 

“No! No, no, definitely not.” 

“Boo!” she teases. “So, what was it like, then?” 

Shane sighs and flops down on his couch, head tipping back to squish into the cushions. What was it like?  

Kissing Ilya in stairwells hidden from view and feeling like everything was going perfectly right. Having Ilya’s hands slide up his ribs and mold themselves against him like the two of they could be absorbed by one another. Feeling Ilya’s chest press against his back and know that whatever Ilya wanted to do, Shane would say yes and immediately feel safe with whatever followed. Knowing that no matter how lost he got in any room with Ilya, Ilya would catch him at the end and bring him back from the brink.  

“Shane?” 

Shane blinked back the memories, unsurprised to feel a dopey smile on his lips. “It was... casual, I guess.” 

“Your quiet doesn’t sound very casual.” 

“No, I guess not,” he whispered. “Um, it was complicated. Casual in that there were no expectations. We had a system. We knew we couldn’t expect more.” 

“Did you want more?” 

Shane sniffs. “I think so, yeah.” 

“What happened?” 

“I fucked up.” 

“Oh,” Rose said quietly. “Did you want to tell me?” 

Shane didn’t know that he wanted to tell anyone. He was ashamed, maybe. Ashamed to have been so scared on that couch and even more ashamed that he ran into the arms of Rose who is so radically not Ilya, yet their friendship reminds him so much of the ease of talking to him. He’s still a little ashamed to be gay but every day that passes its maybe a little easier. 

“I was stupid,” Shane admits. “He... He did a lot one time that I visited. Just treated me really nicely. And I got scared.” 

“Why were you scared?” 

Shane thinks and ends up laughing self-depreciatingly. “Rose, it’s so dumb, but I got scared because he said my name.” 

“Because he said your name?!” 

He laughs harder. “Yeah. We had never called one another by our first name. And then he said my name and I just... stopped holding myself so tightly and said his name back.” 

“Wait, like he just casually dropped it into a conversation?” Rose asks. She sounds confused. Shane was a little confused. 

Now he was just embarrassed. 

“Um, no, we were...” he fumbles for a phrase. “Uh, sitting on his couch. We weren’t having a conversation.” 

“Shane!” Rose cackles. “You said his name during sex and then panicked, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Aw,” she says sympathetically. “Shane.” 

“It’s so stupid,” he sighs and rubs at his eyes. “But, Rose, I’ve known him since, like, 2008. We always called each other by our last names. It was distance. And then he was nice and made me food and asked me to stay over. The routine we always had wasn’t there. And then he said my name and I got so scared because I knew we couldn’t go back to before, you know? And I was so scared that I didn’t want to.” 

“And then you dated me.” 

“Don’t say it like that,” Shane says. “I don’t want it to sound like I used you.” 

“No! I don’t think so,” she promises. “But maybe you ran so fast and ended up with me because the truth was easier to run from?” 

“Maybe,” he concedes.  

“Can I ask a hard question?” 

“Harder than asking if I was gay?” 

“That was easy, Shane Hollander. I already knew.” 

Shane snorts. 

“No, um,” Rose pauses to think and Shane waits patiently. “Is he... Is he a player?” 

“Oh.” 

“Is that maybe why it’s hard?” 

Shane tears up but nods even though Rose can’t see him. “He’s a player.” 

“Okay.” 

“You don’t want to know who?” 

“I would never ask that.” 

He sighs. “You’re a good person, Rose.” 

“You are too.” 

“Maybe.” 

“You are, even if you get scared and run away after sex.” 

Shane bursts into a wet sounding laugh. He swipes a palm under his right eye and comes away with a wet hand.  

“Did you call me to tell me about him?” 

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “I’ve never gotten to talk about him.” 

“Okay.” 

“He’s funny,” Shane begins. “So funny. English isn’t even his first language but he’s the funniest person on the ice. And he takes care of me, always checks in, asks if I’m alright. I can feel so safe in his arms. He can lift me up, too.” 

Rose lets out a low whistle. “Shane Hollander!” 

He laughs. “I know. It’s kinda hot. No, it’s really hot. I like that he can push me around. But I’m just as strong as him and sometimes it’s fun to try and test that. He feels equal.” 

“Is he as good as you at Hockey?” 

“He’s close,” Shane smiles. Ilya is magical on the ice. He’s so smooth and quick, his checks are precise and just enough to not do lasting damage but still strong enough to slow an opponent down. He has an incredible eye for the game. He can read plays as fast as Shane and understands the language of the puck as if he’s studied it side by side with his English. “I think he’s the only one I could maybe say he’s as good as me.” 

Rose hums thoughtfully. “And you guys met in 2009?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Before you were drafted.” 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“And you maybe were drafted together?” 

Fuck.  

“Rose--” 

“I won’t say anything!” 

“How did you guess that fast?” 

“I never said I guessed! You assumed I had!” 

“Oh, so you don’t know then!” 

“Well....” she hedges.  

“Fuck my life,” he groans. “What if my Mom guesses?” 

Rose laughs. “Unless you talk about him to her like you do me, I think you’re safe.” 

“Fuck.” 

“It’s okay, Shane,” she reassures. “He’s hot.” 

“So hot,” he agrees too quickly and it causes Rose to laugh again.  

“Remember that interview when he winks?” she asks. “One of my friends sends it literally every chance she gets. Oh! And Miles only knows who he is because of that video! My friend sent it in the group chat and Miles went on for like thirty minutes about his chest.” 

Shane frowns at that. “He was talking about me in that interview.” 

“Yes,” Rose says. “He was. And he was shirtless.” 

Shane huffs but doesn’t say anything more. 

“You know,” Rose continues. “Miles saw Rozanov at that club we went to.” 

“Oh?” Shane asks coolly. He was aiming for casual. It maybe is too stiff.  

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’. “Miles waved at him and everything. Said the only one hotter in the club than you was probably Rozanov.” 

“That’s nice.” 

“Mmhmm,” she continues. “Miles was talking about it for days after.” 

Shane swallowed heavily and picked at some lint on his pants.  

“What do you think about that?” 

“About Miles?” 

“Sure. Miles thinking Rozanov is hot.” 

“Miles can think whatever he wants.” 

“So you wouldn’t be mad if Miles was ogling him?” 

Shane bit the side of his cheek. “Miles can do whatever.” 

Rose starts laughing unprompted. 

“What’s funny?” 

“You!” she yells. “Shane, you’re so jealous.” 

He scrunches his face up in confusion. “What, no I’m not!” 

“You are!”  

“I’m not jealous.” 

“Babe, you’re definitely jealous. That’s good! Miles isn’t going to steal your man.” 

“He’s not my man,” Shane mumbles.  

“What’re we doing to fix this?” 

He sags back into the couch again, unaware of when he got so stiff. “That’s what I was calling about. He’s playing All-Stars.” 

Rose claps and squeals excitedly over the line.  

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“Apologize, I think?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“And you’ll need to look hot. You gotta remind him what he had.” 

“I don’t know what that even means,” Shane admits. 

“You’re hot already, but we just gotta perfect it,” Rose elaborates. “I’ll send you a contact for one of my stylists. She’s better than me.” 

“Can’t possibly be true,” Shane laughs.  

“Hey, I won’t always be there to facetime your closet.” 

“So I just wear something nice and then walk up to him?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“This isn’t nearly as helpful as I thought it would be.” 

“Suck his dick after you say hello.” 

“Rose!”  

She laughs unabashedly and it makes Shane smile. 

“Tell me that wouldn’t work if he did it,” she says.  

“Whatever.” 

“It would!” 

“I’m not talking to you ever again.” 

That only makes her laugh harder.  

“Look hot, say hello, tell him I’m sorry,” Shane lists off. He can remember this. 

“Suck his dick.” 

“Fuck off!” 

“Fine, fine, I’m done,” she swears. “But I think that’s good. Think about what you want to say and what he means to you and go from there!” 

“Do you think he’ll listen?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “But if he was trying to put that much effort into a single day with you, maybe he will? You probably really hurt him.” 

“I know I did.” 

“It’ll be okay.” 

“I hope so.” 

“You really care about him, right?” 

Shane sighs. “Yeah, I do. I think it’s been more than sex for me for a long time now. Maybe a few years. I just don’t think I let myself think about it.” 

“Maybe he wasn’t letting himself think about it either?” 

“Maybe.” 

“It’ll be okay, Shane.” 

“Thanks,” he says. “You’re a really good friend, Rose. I’m glad dating didn’t work out.” 

“Me too,” she replies. “I really love being your friend.” 

When Shane hangs up not too much later, his chest has a lingering warmth that feels a little like hope and a lot less like the aching loneliness he’s grown used to these last few weeks.  

Chapter End Notes

The green bean meal is delicious and a total nod to my Wife's Obaachan. Obaachan used to say shady stuff like "oh they're both such nice girls, why can't they find boyfriends?" when my wife and I first started dating, only to change her tune REAL QUICK when I took care of both her and my very flu ridden wife during the first Valentine's Day we shared together. Suddenly, Obaachan loved me. She also was obsessed with E! and the Kardashians in general. She was very messy for a woman with a limited grasp on English as a language.

I'd put the recipe here, except it's just one of those insanely eyeballed kinda deals. Green beans, garlic, lime ponzu (lemon works but lime is better), lemon juice, and grated ginger. Ponzu and lemons are probably a 1:1 ratio, but measure with your heart. Chill until they're cold and then eat with chopsticks.

Anyways, she would go insane if she knew I had thought of her while writing gay fanfic. RIP Obaachan. You're missed even if you were a lil homophobic.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Chapter Notes

Tampa is hot, humid, and everything Montreal in February is not. The sun feels brighter than anything Canada is capable of, though that might just be from how much light reflects back at Shane from the sand and concrete that seems everywhere here.  

People don’t seem to be talking about him, at least as far as he can tell. Two weeks since the Hashtag trended and since then Dallas Kent has been kicked out of two bars very publicly, a player on the LA Monarchs got arrested in Tijuana for possession, and another celebrity couple broke up.  

Shane Hollander being bad at sex is not only old news, but it’s almost forgotten in the zeitgeist. They had decided not to acknowledge the rumors or the hashtag whatsoever, and with the lack of Montreal games leading up to the All-Star break, neither had any press directly asked him about it. His mother had fielded the inbox of requests from gossip rags, but nothing legitimate had really discussed what was small, niche news. 

It hardly felt niche. But Shane was obviously too close to the situation. 

Now, he’s putting on his best outfit and preparing himself to go mingle among other players that he only sees a few times a year and knowing that he was about to see Ilya for the first time since that stupid club.  

His heart was pounding in his chest. He wasn’t even sure he knew what he wanted from the situation.  

That was a lie. He knew. He wanted Ilya. He wanted to feel the man’s arms around him again. He wanted to taste him, cigarette after-burn and all, on his lips. He wanted to feel the weight of him pressing him against any surface they could. 

He wanted to know the man. He wanted to know Ilya so thoroughly that no amount of time between games could matter because they were together. And they couldn’t be together, probably. He knew that. But maybe he would die if he didn’t ask Ilya if it wasn’t the same for him too.  

The elevator ride up to the hotel bar is solitary. It gives Shane a final few moments to orient his mind and get ready to be brave. Ilya would probably rebuke him. Shane had walked out on him only three months prior, after all.  

Maybe seeing Ilya was a bad idea.  

“The rumor isn’t new.” 

That’s what his mother had said to him two weeks ago. The rumor that he’s gay isn’t new and now there was a very public post in a highly mocked hashtag about him all but confirming that the rumor was real.  

Maybe anyone with eyes would immediately see him talking to Ilya and assume the truth; that Shane likes men and specifically one man. Maybe they’ll know the truth.  

The elevator doors slide open and Shane walks down the hall to the bar area. The whole hotel has a chic gold theme to it, and the bar is no different. Smooth tables with marble tops and clean dark woods are accented by gold shelving and gold tipped furniture feet. It’s clear that several players and their support systems have been frequenting this bar all day. He runs into multiple players on his way in and passes off hollow “hey, man! How’s it going?” greetings back and forth.  

Carter Vaughn of the Admirals passes him with a wide smile in the hall and grabs Shane’s arm in a gregarious hello. 

“Hollander!” he yells out. “How’s it going, Man? Rough couple of weeks, though. Tough break, Man!” 

“Yeah, sure, Vaughny,” Shane nods. Carter is most definitely drunk. The Modelo in his hand is half empty, but Shane would bet the next Cup chance that this is far from even Carter’s third or fourth drink today.  

Carter turns serious, glancing around them before pulling Shane closer to the wall of the hallway. “Hey, for real though, are you good?” 

Shane looks around them too, eager to break eye contact before forcing himself to look back at his friend. “Uh, sure, yeah, Man. Just some bad press, right?” 

“No,” Carter shook his head. “Um, I know that. But like, are you okay? I know it sucks man, especially because of some of the...rumors? I just want you to know I’m here for you, Man. No matter what. No matter... who? You, uh, hookup with?” 

Shane swallows heavily but nods. “Thanks, Vaughny. That, uh, that means a lot. But I’m good. Honest.” 

Carter gives him another assessing look. “We got your back in New York. Hunter isn’t here this weekend, but I know he’d have your back too. He doesn’t tolerate some of the crazy locker room talk that gets around.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Shane nods. And he does know. Shane has been a part of several All-Star games with Scott Hunter and knows the man is quick to shut down some of the tamer chirps that get thrown out. Plus, the three of them had talked about being out during the Olympics three years ago and while Carter had said a lot more than Scott did, he’d known that Scott was in full alignment on being tolerant to gay people. “You’re a good friend, Vaughny. I appreciate you.” 

“Sure thing,” Carter said and gave Shane’s bicep another squeeze. “You let me know if anyone says anything to you. I’ll run them into the boards the first chance I get.” 

Shane laughs and was grateful levity had returned to the conversation. “I doubt it’ll come to that.” 

Carter smacks his arm again and headed off down the hall, leaving Shane relatively alone and back with his thoughts.  

He didn’t think anyone would give him any issues this week. It was always a possibility, but All-Star Games are different. Less pressure. Fun competition. People usually don’t board one another hard enough to do damage.  

Shane steps back down the hall and continues his trek into the bar. He doesn’t have to look far for Ilya. The man is far from subtle in the ugliest Hawaiian shirt he thinks Ilya could find. It’s exactly the kind of dumb humor Ilya would find funny too: find something so terrible yet on theme that no one can say it’s intentional.  

Ilya spots him and immediately looks away, taking a long pull from his beer and looking far more casual than Shane feels. Shane is jealous of the way Ilya seems to always fit into any space he inhabits. Shane has always felt like a puzzle piece thrown into the wrong box but one that is being determined to fit into the new puzzle regardless.  

“Hey,” Shane greets as he takes the seat next to Ilya at the bar. 

“Hollander,” Ilya returns. 

“Can I offer you anything to drink?” the bartender asks from behind him.  

“I’ll, uh, have the same thing as my teammate,” he says over his shoulder, looking at Ilya out of the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction. Ilya merely spins his finger around to signal another round for himself.  

“All out of ginger-ale, Captain?” Ilya chirps the moment the bartender is off to fetch their drinks. It comes out flat and tired sounding like it’s taking everything in Ilya not to yell at Shane.  

“Feeling a bit wild, I guess,” Shane says.  

“Last few weeks weren’t wild enough for you?” Ilya asks. The bartender is back and setting their beers down between them.  

Shane laughs without humor and takes a pull from his drink. They sit in silence for a bit while the words marinate between them. Ilya is definitely putting on an air of indifference. It’s not the easiest to spot in him, the man is a gold medalist in his ability to hide behind a mask, but Shane has seen Ilya with his walls down enough to see through the act. Usually. 

It makes things harder. Does he talk to Ilya here? In the open where any number of the various stars from the Eastern and Western conferences can see the two of them chatting? If they do talk, will it become apparent that Shane-Probably-Gay-Hollander is secretly hooking up with Ilya? Would this compromise things for Ilya?  

Shane is still terrified and it’s taking every ounce of him to not run away again. 

“So,” Ilya breaks the silence and it’s a near thing for Shane to avoid jumping in surprise. “I hear you and Rose Landry are over. Or is this another Twitter rumor?” 

Shane watches as Ilya pulls another sip from his drink. It’s too casual. Ilya isn’t even looking him in the eye.  

“No, we, uh, weren’t compatible,” Shane says. This draws Ilya’s gaze in again. 

“Compatible.” 

“Compatible,” he repeats with a nod. Ilya isn’t lost with the word, that much Shane can tell.  

They lapse into silence again and Shane starts wishing Ilya would use his innate talent for filling a silence for good. The man can chirp in two languages and make friends with anyone who has a pulse, yet he is now choosing to let Shane marinate in his anxiety. 

Maybe it’s deserved.  

“I, uh,” Shane starts but fades off as he realizes he has no idea what he’d even say. I wish you’d texted me two weeks ago? I wish I had texted you? I wish I’d never walked away? 

He settles on nothing and downs the last of his beer, putting the empty glass on the bartender half of the counter-top and pushing his seat back.  

“Hollander,” Ilya says and when Shane meets his gaze he realizes Ilya is scared. It’s almost the same raw look from the couch.  

“Sorry,” Shane shakes his head. “I don’t know what I wanted to say. I, uh.” 

“Hollander,” Ilya presses again. 

“Can we talk?” Shane asks with pinched shut eyes. He doesn’t want to see Ilya reject him. “Not here? I don’t want to... I don’t want to cause you trouble.” 

“Okay,” Ilya replies. Shane meets the man’s gaze again. “Yes... I’ll text you?” 

“Okay,” Shane agrees and starts stepping back. “I, uh, would like that. I missed you.” 

Ilya’s eyes widen at the admission and Shane curses under his breath before turning and walking out of the bar. His gait is probably too fast. Not casual enough.  

The long hallway to the elevator seems longer than it was when he’d arrived at the bar. The crowd was thin, everyone seemingly enjoying the nice Tampa weather. There was a pool on the ground level, and it was already busy when he first arrived. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to assume that early to mid-afternoon would only improve the draw of the location.  

He smacks the down arrow on the wall and rocks on his heels to cool some of the nervous energy coursing through him. This was so stupid. He was so transparent.  

Shane’s reflection in the elevator stared at him with a pathetic expression. White linen blazer, black t-shirt, and nice matching slacks. That’s what his stylist had provided him for “excursions he’d like to impress at”. Actually, she’d offered a button down for this ensemble, but he couldn’t show up in a black button down and linen suit to a casual Floridian excursion.  

But he did want to impress. He wants to impress, probably.  

“I missed you.” 

Fucking pathetic. And incredibly honest.  

He shoves his thumbs in his pockets and notes that the light ring around the button for the elevator is still illuminated.  

A gaudy, red Hawaiian shirt wearing Russian slides in next to him in the reflection.  

Shane snaps his head to the side and meets Ilya’s gaze head on, nerves back at full throttle. 

“I paid your tab,” Ilya says with a sly grin. “A little reckless for Good-Boy Hollander to stiff a business like that.” 

“Fuck, I didn’t even--” 
 

“No matter,” Ilya shrugs. “It is taken care of.” 

The elevator doors opened in front of them and Shane steps on, smacking the button for his floor. Ilya stands next to him and makes no move towards the control panel. The doors slide shut and they begin their descent.  

“Pity,” Ilya murmurs and Shane looks over, then follows Ilya’s gaze towards the corner. “They have cameras in the elevator.” 

Shane ducks his head and swallows heavily. Ilya’s implication lingers in the foot of space between them.  

The elevator ride feels longer than it truly was. Logically, it couldn’t have been more than 30-40 seconds of descent, but the pulse thrumming in Shane’s ears made the experience feel like hours. The walk towards Shane’s room was no better. Ilya trails behind him, just enough back to ensure their space was their own, but not so far Shane can’t see him with a slight angle of his head.  

Ilya lets out a low whistle as they entered the hotel room. 

“It’s a normal room,” Shane grumbles.  

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “I am just impressed they also think you’re boring enough to not spring for any extra amenities.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Mmm, no.” 

Shane drops down at the foot of the bed, king sized mattress bouncing only slightly. The room was normal. Window opposite the door, cheap flat screen on the wall, small mini-fridge tucked next to an empty desk. Nothing to really differentiate it from every other hotel room they’d frequented across their careers.  

Ilya chooses to lean on the desk across from Shane.  

“So.” 

Shane felt miserable. Embarrassed, most definitely. So much had happened since November and he doesn’t even begin to know where to start. His plan, what you could call it, was to talk to Ilya. And for the first time in his life his obsessive conversational planning and pattern anticipation seem to leave him entirely dry. 

“So,” Shane echoes.  

More silence. Ilya rubs his nose and looks off to the side, the casual air from the bar returning.  

“I, um,” Shane starts again. “I’m sorry. For last time.” 

“Last time? When we fucked and you ran away?” 

“Fuck, yeah. Because last time I ran away.” 

“Was no big deal,” Ilya shrugs. “Don’t know why you are worried.” 

“Stop. Just stop,” Shane demands (begs?). He sighs and rubs his hands on his thighs to gather himself. “It’s not just me, right?” 

“What’s not just you?” 

He meets Ilya’s eyes. “You feel it too? Last time was different. It was good. I... I enjoyed spending time with you.” 

“It was nothing, just simple.” 

“Simple?” 

Ilya shrugs again, looking around the room like it’s more interesting than whatever boring conversation is in front of him. “Sure. Simple. We get together, we fuck. I made lunch this time but it’s simple.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Fuck you!” Shane yells. “It was different! You know it, too. Fuck... I just. I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“We’re not doing anything,” Ilya throws back at him, quietly but with a seriousness that he hasn’t offered thus far in the conversation. “We aren’t anything.” 

“Yeah? Well maybe I want something? Maybe I don’t want nothing.” 

“Hollander,” Ilya chastises.  

“No,” Shane shakes his head and cuts off whatever denial Ilya is about to offer. “No, don’t you ever want more?” 

“We can’t have more.” 

“Why not? Don’t you ever want more time?” 

Ilya crosses his arms.  

Shane pushes on. “Don’t you want something real?” 

“Like you and Rose Landry?” Ilya says to the floor. 

“Ilya, I’m gay.” 

Ilya snorts like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard of. 

“Fuck you.” 

Ilya lifts his gaze and grins wildly. “Oh yeah? What made you think that?” 

“You’re not gay!” 

“Not completely.” 

“Well, I think I am!” Shane yells, then grows quieter. “Completely.” 

“So,” Ilya begins and crosses the space to sit next to Shane. He props himself up with his hands behind him. “You were bad at sex with Rose Landry, too?” 

“Fuck off,” Shane groans. He drops his head in his hands and pushes his palms into his eyes.  

“Shane,” Ilya says more calmly and Shane feels a hand run along his spine and rub circles between his shoulders. “It’s okay.” 

“The whole world knows.” 

“Maybe,” Ilya says and Shane knows without looking Ilya is shrugging.  

“My mom read tweets about me being bad at sex.” 

“Ah, she did not read Mr. LA’s then?” 

“Fuck. Off,” Shane sits back up and throws Ilya a dirty look. “I’m serious.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nods sympathetically. He pulls Shane into his chest and wraps a protective arm around him. Shane hates that he melts in so quickly. It’s just like when they were sitting on the couch in Boston together. He loves it now just as much as he loved it then.  

He takes a few deep breaths under the guise of regulating his system, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Ilya knew Shane was just smelling him again for the first time in months and savoring the experience.  

“I came out to my parents. And Hayden,” Shane admits. “They don’t know about you. But Hayden blabbed about Lily and so my parents know Lily exists.” 

Ilya snorts at the pseudonym. “And they were... good? You are safe?” 

“Yeah, they were good.” 

“Okay,” Ilya nods and drops a kiss down onto the top of Shane’s head. “This is good. You need support.” 

Shane says nothing. Ilya is right, of course. But who supports Ilya? Does he even have anyone? The man is such a locked safe that Shane wonders if he’ll ever, ever get through.  

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispers into Shane’s hair. “It was not fair for you to have the hashtag.” 

Shane’s eyes well up but he won’t cry. He refuses to.  

He might anyways.  

“The first one was my ex-girlfriend from High School,” Shane says. “I broke up with her right after the draft. After you and I talked in the gym.” 

Ilya’s body tenses for a moment before relaxing. He pets Shane’s hair but says nothing. 

“I waited until I got home. I didn’t text her or anything. But I felt so guilty. Like something was wrong with me. Why would I have looked at you like that and felt those things if I had a girlfriend? I was so scared. And I realized I’d been hoping she would break up with me for so long anyways that there wasn’t even a point to trying to make it work.” 

Ilya said nothing. It was almost uncharacteristic of him to go so long without teasing Shane that Shane started to worry. 

“I also thought about you,” Ilya admits quietly. “No girlfriend to break up with, of course. But you did not leave my head quite so easily. Obviously.” 

Shane sits up and looks back at Ilya. “Is it obvious? Because I don’t know if I know how you feel at all.” 

Ilya swallows heavily and looks at his lap. “We cannot be anything, Hollander. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t matter, or it doesn’t matter how you feel?” 

“Same thing.” 

“No, it’s not,” Shane presses. 

Ilya sits up sharply and anger immediately comes back into his eyes, the soft expression he’d been wearing slipping off his face.  

“Yes it is! We cannot be together! I would never be able to go home again! Ever!” 

“Because of your family?” 

“Because Russia! I would not be able to go back to Russia!” 

Shane suddenly remembers sitting in an ice cream shop back in Sochi and hearing Carter Vaughn say, “Russia is not safe for people like that” and realizing for the first time what Ilya actually, truly, experiences each summer.  

“What...” Shane begins carefully, the question that has burned in his brain for three years finally slipping free. “What would happen to you?” 

Ilya looks away and after a long beat says in a choked-up voice, “I don’t want to find out.” 

Shane reaches out and grabs his hand, threading their fingers together and tugging slightly until Ilya looks back at him. 

He’s a little ashamed by the way his first thought is how beautiful Ilya looks when on the verge of tears. It’s a terrible thing, to see someone you care so fiercely about cry. But in this moment, it feels like a gift. A puzzle piece of Ilya that drops into the mental spreadsheet of Ilya that Shane keeps organized and annotated in his mind.  

“My father is sick,” Ilya whispers. “He is... not right in the head.” 

“Like crazy?” 

Ilya snorts. “That too, but no. Dementia. He does not remember me sometimes. Sometimes he does not know what is happening around him.” 

“Oh,” Shane nods. 

The silence they lapse into doesn’t hurt. It gives them space to breathe and Ilya ducks his head again away from Shane.  

“Hey,” Shane says and reaches a thumb out to capture the tear that escaped Ilya’s containment.  

“No,” Ilya groans and shakes his head.  

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Shane promises. He turns, throwing a leg over Ilya and straddling his lap to better pull the man into a hug. 

“No,” Ilya protests weakly but wraps his arms tightly around Shane’s middle underneath his jacket. Shane squeezes back and rocks them slightly, comforting Ilya as he shudders quiet sobs beneath Shane.  

Shane slides a hand into Ilya’s curls and rubs slightly. It must be the right move because Ilya burrows deeper into Shane’s chest. 

They sit like that for a while, neither moving too much. For the first time, there’s nowhere for either of them to be. No events today. Just an opportunity for socialization and bonding with other selected players across both conferences. The events don’t start until tomorrow. The game itself is late in the day.  

Right now, they have hours stretching in front of them in a way they never had before.  

“I’m sorry,” Ilya whispers and Shane shushes him, pulling back only enough to tip Ilya’s face up and kiss him deeply. There’s no hesitation from Ilya to kiss Shane back. Both of them are starved, it seems. Shane misses the softness of Ilya’s lips, the way they’re firm and give beneath him only in the best ways.  

Kissing Rose wasn’t like this. She was soft and beautiful and everything he should have wanted but was too foolish to realize he never would want.  

Kissing Ilya is like the first taste of oxygen he’s had in months.  

Ilya grips at his ribs, holding tight like he’s trying to stop Shane from running away again. And maybe he is. Maybe that’s true. Shane lets his imagination run a little and tries to picture how he would feel if Ilya had been the one to walk out on him that day in Boston.  

Shane grips Ilya a little tighter, running his hand up Ilya’s neck and into his curls to fist them tightly. Ilya’s answering groan is a reward and Shane capitalizes on Ilya’s open mouth to deepen the kiss, tasting Ilya for the first time in months. There is only the faintest trace of cigarette on Ilya’s tongue. It’s clear he hasn’t smoked in hours. Shane can barely taste the beer on Ilya’s tongue.  

All he can taste is Ilya and he wants more. 

Ilya stands suddenly and Shane grips him tightly with his knees, locking them together as Ilya spins them and lower’s Shane to the bed with a practiced ease.  

“Off,” Ilya commands and starts pushing at Shane’s jacket. Shane sits up, eyes not leaving Ilya’s and starts tugging. He folds the jacket and sets it to the side of the bed and is rewarded with Ilya’s giddy expression.  

“They are fools,” Ilya says and Shane doesn’t have a moment to ask who before he continues. “To not appreciate you. To not let you fold your clothes. So neat, so proper. Perfect Shane Hollander.” 

Shane frowns. “I’m not perfect.” 

Ilya pushes in and recaptures Shane’s mouth. “You are,” he whispers against Shane’s lips. “So fucking perfect.” 

“Fuck,” Shane hisses and tugs Ilya’s face in as close as he can by his curls. “Fuck, fuck, I missed this.” 

Ilya slides his hands along Shane’s abs, sliding the black undershirt up and exposing his chest. Ilya ducks down and mouths along his skin, laving attention on every ridge of muscle or stretch mark imperfection. Shane groans and wiggles as little as he needs to in order to get his shirt off. He throws it in the general direction of the floor. 

“Naughty,” Ilya teases and pulls off to stand. He carefully moves Shane’s folded jacket to the desk behind them but ignores the forgotten shirt.  

Shane sits up and starts working the top buttons of Ilya’s God-awful shirt until it’s loose enough for Ilya to tug it off over his head. Shane immediately ducks in and mouths at Ilya’s pec, tonguing his nipple and biting just enough to draw the deep groan out of the man that drives Shane crazy. 

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moans. 

“Ilya,” Shane breathes back and looks up into Ilya’s eyes. He looks like Shane stabbed him. Expression raw and destroyed. 

“Don’t,” Ilya pleads. 

“Ilya.” 

“Shane, stop.” 

“Ilya,” Shane lets his eyes shut and presses a long kiss to Ilya’s chest, then another, and another. “Ilya. Ilya, Ilya, Ilya.” 

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya breaks and crumples down over Shane, kissing him as deeply as he can. The tears are back and Shane isn’t sure he’s not crying as well. He reaches up and tugs Ilya’s head down to lay against his chest, letting both of their torsos fall back to the mattress.  

It can’t be terribly comfortable for Ilya. He’s still standing. But the man maneuvers with one leg hitched up over Shane’s hip and the other standing on the floor in support. Most of his weight falls onto Shane. 

“I’m sorry,” Shane apologizes again. “I’m so sorry. I’m a fool.” 

“Don’t run again,” Ilya whispers. It’s not a beg, but it’s not strong enough to be a demand either. 

“I won’t,” Shane promises. “Fuck, I won’t. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”  

Ilya sobs and clutches tightly at Shane’s upper ribs, fingers digging into his sides with steady pressure too light to bruise. Shane runs his hand up and down Ilya’s upper back, sliding up his neck and scratching into his curls.  

They’re so soft. No gel holding them down. Shane is privy to the softness of Ilya’s curls for the first time in months. Normally, he’s only treated to this post-hookup after Ilya has showered and his hair has begun drying. But Ilya always leaves before they’re done. 

Ilya presses soft kisses to Shane’s chest, his crying slowed and his focus on taking advantage of Shane’s body returning. A lick to Shane’s nipple and a playful bite to his collar bone has Shane groaning again, thrusting his hardening cock back up into Ilya’s hips in search of any relief it can find. Ilya grinds right back onto Shane’s hip. His own hardness is digging into the meat of Shane’s thigh.  

“Need you,” he whispers into Ilya’s ear and slides a hand under Ilya’s jaw to bring their mouths back together.  

Ilya breathes through the kiss, fast and losing himself to the pleasure. Shane loves this part when Ilya starts to lose control and falls into the moment. His own head will go fuzzy under Ilya’s attention to his body, but Ilya loves the lead up. He loves the tease and foreplay.  

Shane reaches down and pushes at Ilya’s pants, doing what he can to slide them off without undoing the buttons pinned between them. Ilya reaches down with one hand and lifts his hips only enough to slide a hand between them and flick the button and slide down the zipper. Shane immediately gets his pants and then boxer briefs down over Ilya’s ass, losing the reach somewhere as they hit Ilya’s mid-thigh.  

Ilya kisses down Shane’s chest and Shane takes the opportunity to slide further up into the bed. There’s no point in fucking in the bottom third of the mattress when they have an entire king-sized space to their disposal.  

Shane watches as Ilya kicks off the last of his pants. He pulls his own pants and underwear down, kicking at them until they’re past his socked feet. He half expects Ilya to toss them to the side with the shirt. It’s what Ilya has done any time they’re too busy for Shane to remove and fold his own clothes. 

This time, however, Ilya grabs the pants and straights them out, letting the seams line up and then adjusting them so they sit correctly and folding them into gentle thirds.  

Shane grins wildly. Ilya gives him a teasing smile as he carefully sets the pants next to the folded jacket.  

“Come here,” Shane requests and Ilya crawls up the bed, laying between Shane’s thighs and kissing him so hard Shane’s head spins. Their erections are pressed against each other, but neither of them take advantage of it. It feels so good to be laid out under Ilya’s weight again. The rightness of being back here, in bed with Ilya, is a heady enough sensation. 

“What do you want?” Ilya asks and starts kissing down Shane’s jaw and neck. 

“You.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

Shane tilts his head to chase Ilya’s mouth but the man tugs his head back. 

“I could just kiss you for hours,” Ilya offers and Shane groans but shakes his head. “No? Maybe I could suck your dick until you are begging and then stop before you come.” 

“Ilya.” 

“Yes, that is my name,” Ilya teases. Shane looks at him and doesn’t miss the way Ilya seems excited. “What do you want, Shane?” 

Shane bucks into Ilya at the use of his name and Ilya groans.  

“Feisty.” 

“I want you,” Shane says again. “I want you inside me.” 

“You want me to fuck you, Shane?” 

Shane tips his head back and tugs at Ilya, trying to line them up more.  

Ilya slides a hand down Shane’s ribs and over his hipbone, trailing his fingers into the inside of Shane’s thigh and teasing his balls.  

“Fuck,” Shane moans. “Yes, keep going.” 

“Has anyone else touched you like this?” Ilya asks quietly. He looks like he’s teasing, playful almost, but Shane sees the vulnerability Ilya hasn’t been able to stuff away completely from earlier marking his expression. Ilya is jealous, or hurt, maybe. 

“Not like this,” Shane says truthfully. 

“No other man has touched you here?” 

“One person,” he says and Ilya ducks his head to kiss at Shane’s neck lightly.  

“He wasn’t you,” Shane continues and it draws Ilya’s gaze back up. “It wasn’t good because it wasn’t you.” 

Ilya swallows heavily and nods. He leans up and kisses Shane with a needy, open mouthed kiss that has his tongue as far inside Shane as he can manage. It’s wet and sloppy and Shane moans at the sheer want and need between them. His hands grip at Ilya’s hips and he has to keep a conscious focus to not dig his fingernails in.  

Ilya slides a finger down and circles Shane’s rim. 

“Oh, fuck,” Shane gasps. “Fuck!” 

“You’re so needy,” Ilya teases. “My needy Shane.” 

“Yours,” he promises back. 

Ilya starts kissing down Shane’s chest, not stopping his attentions on Shane’s rim for a moment, and only pauses to meet Shane’s eye before swallowing Shane’s cock almost entirely in one go. 

“Fuck, Ilya, fuck,” Shane pants. It’s so good, and Ilya is using every trick on Shane that he knows works.  

Ilya’s curls bounce a little as he bobs up and down Shane’s length. Shane reaches out a hand without thought and weaves his fingers in, desperate for something to cling to. His other hand reaches up behind his head, fisting into the pillow to grip.  

“Fuck, Rozanov,” Shane begs and his hips chase Ilya’s mouth. Ilya slaps an arm across Shane’s abs and pushes down before reaching up further and fisting one of Shane’s pecs.  

Ilya pulls up with a wet gasp, eyes watery and mouth cock swollen and glistening with saliva. Shane pants heavier and precum spurts out at the sight.  

“Use my name,” Ilya demands. “Tell me how you want it, Shane.” 

“Fuck, I want you inside me, Ilya,” Shane begs. Ilya grins wolfishly. 

“Lube?” 

Shane nods and points a tired arm towards his bag sitting on the wooden luggage rack. Ilya slides off Shane with a grin and pads over, opening two zippers until he finds the TSA carryon approved bottle and the condoms also tucked in there.  

“You unpacked everything but the lube?” 

“Fuck off,” Shane mumbles. “I don’t like my clothes to wrinkle.” 

Ilya raises an eyebrow. “But you do like dry sex?” 

“I brought it, okay?” 

“Small favors,” Ilya snorts and squirts out a decent amount onto his hand, warming it up and then pressing it back to Shane’s hole. 

“Fuck,” Shane moans and tilts his hips up into Ilya’s hands. “Fuck, I missed this.” 

“Rose Landry did not play with your ass?” 

“Don’t talk about her,” Shane hisses. “She’s still my friend.” 

Ilya frowns but says nothing and presses a finger into him.  

“Feels so good,” Shane breathes out and reaches a hand out to Ilya. He’s met with Ilya reaching back, hands clasping and pushing down into the mattress so Ilya has leverage. Another finger joins the first and Shane works to not grind down on Ilya. 

“So tight,” Ilya remarks. “So perfect. My Shane.” 

Shane’s cock twitches against his stomach at the praise and Ilya grins proudly.  

“Fuck me,” Shane pants. 

“Soon,” Ilya agrees and adds another finger. He has been ignoring Shane’s prostate this entire time and only now crooks his fingers up in the right way to catch it.  

Shane lets out a long, mournful groan at the sensation. “Need you. I don’t want to come like this.” 

Ilya removes his fingers and wipes them absently on the bedsheets before grabbing a condom. He rips open the package and pumps his own cock a few times before rolling up the latex.  

“Still good?” Ilya checks in and Shane nods with a dopey smile. Ilya crawls up over Shane, leaning down for a long and relatively chaste kiss for all of their activities thus far before reaching a hand down to line himself up with Shane.  

Shane hitches his knees up higher onto Ilya, tugging a little to encourage the man to slide into him faster.  

“Patience,” Ilya teases but pushes in with a little more urgency. 

“I missed this,” Shane breathes out. “I missed this, I missed this, I missed you and your cock and your cock in me. Fuck, I need you.” 

Ilya drops the last of his length into Shane fast, hips coming together flush. He drops his head into the crook of Shane’s neck with a loud groan.  

“Fuck, Shane, don’t say that.” 

“’s true,” Shane promises. “I mean it.” 

“I’ll come too fast.” 

“Fuck me then, please.” 

And Ilya does.  

Shane reaches up and grabs the back of Ilya’s neck, tugging him as close as he can as he rides Ilya’s cock. It’s amazing. He’s so full again. Every moment between leaving that couch in Boston and getting into bed with Ilya here in Tampa was spent Shane missing this feeling of being full and needed like this.  

“You’re so tight,” Ilya pants. “You’re okay?” 

“Amazing,” Shane promises. There’s no pain, none that Shane doesn’t yearn for, at least. Ilya sits up more, dropping Shane’s grip on Ilya to his upper arms, and Ilya starts pumping into Shane faster.  

“Fuck, Shane,” he moans out and Shane watches with a dopey expression as Ilya pounds into him. Ilya’s necklace is slightly askew, folded up over his collar bone and cross crooked on his chest. Shane reaches up without thought and adjusts it so it lays loose between them and no longer suctioned to Ilya’s sweaty chest.  

Ilya looks down at him with a vulnerable expression Shane can’t place.  

He leans up on his elbows and meets Ilya half way, capturing Ilya’s mouth in a messy, panting kiss. There’s no finesse. Ilya is driving into him too hard and shaking both of their frames in the process, But the new angle has Ilya driving right into Shane’s prostate with every flex in and out and he cries out against Ilya’s lips at the sensation.  

“Da, fuck, Hollander,” Ilya moans. “Like that. Fuck, Shane, are you gonna come for me?” 

Shane drops back against the pillows and nods.  

Ilya reaches between them and starts stroking Shane in time with his thrusts. 

“Oh, fuck, Ilya,” Shane yells and his orgasm hits him like a brick wall, cum shooting out and over Ilya’s hand and Shane’s stomach.  

“Fuck,” Ilya curses and picks up speed. He drives into Shane only a few more times before his face contorts and Shane feels Ilya coming inside the condom in him.  

Ilya pumps them both through their orgasms before dropping down to his elbows, careful not to press their torsos together. Shane smiles at the thoughtful gesture. He hates the sticky feeling of cum gluing them together.  

He slides a hand up Ilya’s sweaty back and twists into his damp curls.  

“Good?” Ilya asks and Shane nods. Ilya’s cheek is pressed against his own and Shane savors the sound of Ilya panting into his ear.  

Ilya rolls over but keeps their sides as pressed together as possible. 

“I think you killed me,” he says and Shane snorts. He reaches a hand up and lightly smacks Ilya’s stomach twice consolingly. 

“I want to shower.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “I know.” 

Shane closes his eyes and doesn’t try to hide his smile. Ilya knows him. He gets him.  

“Okay,” Ilya announces after a moment. He sits up and tugs at Shane. “Shower time.” 

Shane follows his lead. 

In the shower, Shane doesn’t try to unglue himself from Ilya. He feels clingy. And needy still, despite the thorough dicking down he just received. Ilya washes Shane’s hair with their chests pressed together and Shane does the same, tugging at Ilya’s curls with care and a focus to make sure Ilya’s scalp is nice and clean.  

Ilya’s hum boarders that of a kitten’s purr, but Shane doesn’t tease.  

They clean one another and when they grow hard again, Shane drops to his knees and swallows Ilya down, bobbing his head and twisting his wrist until Ilya is groaning loudly and coming down Shane’s throat.  

Ilya immediately returns the favor.  

They don’t bother getting dressed. The moment their bodies are dry enough, they’re flopping back down into the messy sheets. Shane rolls into Ilya’s arms the moment they’re open to him. 

“I missed you,” Shane whispers again. “I’m really sorry.” 

“Is okay, Shane,” Ilya promises. “We are here, now.” 

Where is here? Shane wonders. They feel closer, especially after this entire afternoon, but there are still chasms of unspoken things between them. 

“Shh, you think too much,” Ilya whispers and brushes away the furrow that’s gathered in Shane’s brow. “It is okay.” 

Shane nods but he doesn’t believe it. 

They grow quiet, content to rest against one another in the silence of the hotel room. The sound of their breaths and the air conditioner unit under the window are the only sounds.  

“What has your family said?”  

Shane tilts his head up to meet Ilya’s gaze. “About what?” 

“All of this,” Ilya waves around them as if it clarifies the question. “Being gay. Being a player.” 

“Oh, um, they’re okay. Supportive. You know that. But my mom is looking at it like there’s a branding opportunity.” 

Ilya snorts. “Mr. Model.” 

“Shut up,” Shane laughs. “She wants me to be prepared. I might have to come out.” 

Ilya nods like he anticipated this. 

“And your team?” 

Shane frowns. “Not...great. Hayden is more involved in the group chat than me.” 

“They are not good,” Ilya says. It is not a question. 

“No. Hayden thinks they believe all of the tweets.” 

“Including LA.” 

Shane nods and says nothing. 

“And... there’s no other men who might tweet something?” 

Ilya says the words so carefully that Shane knows he’s afraid he’s already said too much. 

“No, just the one I told you about,” he admits. Shane feels Ilya swallow and work hard to keep himself from tensing.  

“Ah.” 

“It was on a trip to Mexico.” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ilya whispers. Shane nods and the silence falls around them again. Over a minute passes before Ilya asks, “He was good to you?” 

Shane shrugs. “It’s stupid.” 

“He was not good?”  

Shane presses a kiss to Ilya’s chest and lets his palm run soothingly up and down the ridges of Ilya’s stomach. When Shane looks back up at Ilya, his expression has darkened and it stills Shane for a moment before he realizes the anger is not directed at him. 

“He hurt you.” 

“No,” Shane is quick to object. “He was fine. It was just a stupid experience. I wanted to know and so I found him. It was dumb.” 

“Why?” 

Shane can feel a blush threatening to break free and he looks away. “I wanted to know if it was just you. Or if I could feel like this with someone else.” 

Ilya is quiet a long time but Shane doesn’t look back.  

“And... was it? Good?” 

“It wasn’t like this,” Shane shakes his head. It was the same thing he’d told Ilya earlier, but maybe Ilya needed the reminder that it wasn’t something Shane said in the heat of the moment.  

The rustling behind him is the only warning he gets before Ilya is sitting up and tilting Shane's face back to him before capturing Shane’s mouth in a desperate, heated kiss. 

Shane twists and pulls at Ilya’s shoulders to draw him as close as possible. He’s struck again by the urge to merge them into one being and mourns the knowledge that it isn’t possible.  

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya cries against his lips. “Fuck you.” 

He thinks he understands. There’s too much between them. Not just the history, or being in the top of their fields, or the weight of their teams, or the stupid fucking rivalry. It’s everything. Their chemistry, their compatibility, the way they fit together, the way neither of them have to justify the things they do to one another in bed. 

“Does it kill you?” Shane mumbles against Ilya’s lips. At Ilya’s questioning hum, he continues, “wanting each other so much?” 

Ilya presses their foreheads together. “All the time.” 

Shane nods and just lets himself rest against Ilya’s head, panting.  

“We are very stupid,” Ilya murmurs. 

Shane agrees. He’s felt very stupid about Ilya for almost ten years now. “I don’t think I want to be smart.” 

Ilya captures him again for another kiss.  

They’ll have to order food eventually. Shane doesn’t think he wants to leave this hotel room. He wants to ask Ilya to stay the night, but fear of rejection still has him holding his tongue. They’ve laid in bed, teasing one another. Playing with each other’s bodies in the casual way only two people with a shared sexual intimacy can manage. They don’t chase another orgasm with each other, but Shane is certain that if one of them wanted to, they could. 

He lets himself enjoy the shared peace. 

“My mom asked me the same question you did,” Shane says quietly. Ilya is resting on Shane’s chest now, head tucked against his shoulder and lips pressing soft kisses to his pec every so often. “If there were other men to tweet about me.” 

“What did you tell her?” 

“The truth,” Shane says. “There was a guy in Mexico I wasn’t sure was even on this side of twitter and someone else who I knew wouldn’t tweet.” 

“Never,” Ilya agrees, tracing a finger along Shane’s collarbone. “Although, I would happily add to how good you are in bed.” 

“You’re such an asshole,” Shane says but betrays how he really feels by squeezing Ilya tighter against him. He’s quiet a moment before getting back on track. “She guessed it was a player.” 

“Ah,” Ilya hums and Shane is left with the impression he’d already come to this conclusion. “Your Mama is a smart woman. Is how you get so many Rolex ads.” 

“Yes, she is,” Shane agrees. “I didn’t tell her your name.” 

“But Pike told her Lily’s.” 

Shane laughs and the vibration actually has Ilya propping himself up to look at Shane more properly. “I think my parents thought the player was Hayden.” 

Ilya gives him the most disgusted face. “Pike? Hollander, you can do so much better.” 

Shane snorts and pulls Ilya down for a kiss. “I have, remember?”  

Ilya’s responding smile is brighter than the sun.  

“Hayden offered to set me up with Jackie’s cousin.” 

“Jackie Pike?”  

Shane hummed in affirmation. 

“Ah, no,” Ilya shakes his head. “She must be lovely woman to put up with Montreal’s 15th best player, but we cannot have this.” 

Shane can’t resist. “I hear he’s single and attractive.” 

“No,” Ilya clambers up Shane and straddles his stomach to loom over him better. “This will not do.” 

Shane grins. “Any suggestions?” 

“Only best Hockey Player in the league will suffice for Shane Hollander. His expectations are very high.” 

“Well, I’m not available to be cloned.” 

“Is not you, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. “Your backhand is far too weak.” 

“It is not a weak backhand!” Shane objects laughing. 

“And you are very slow.” 

“I’m not slow!” Shane yells. “Okay, you and me, next All-Stars, we are signing up for speed competition!” 

“Do not get your feelings hurt, I will just beat you.” 

“Fuck you! I’m faster!” 

“At coming, maybe,” Ilya smirks.  

“Fuck off!” 

“No, fuck you,” Ilya dips down and captures Shane’s mouth in another bruising kiss. When they pull back, the moment is softer, and Shane is sure his grin matches the one Ilya is giving him.  

“Stay,” Shane whispers. “We’ll set an alarm for early so you can sneak back to your room.” 

Ilya smiles down at him and slowly nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Shane smiles back. 

The game itself the following night is electric. The buzz around the two of them playing one another is all any commentator can speak of. Multiple players chirp at them about not killing one another, much to the private humor of Shane and Ilya.  

No one really mentions the tweets about Shane, but he can tell that some of the players are keeping distance. Carter has made a very public show of throwing an arm around Shane and looping him into jokes, but he is the only player to really do that.  

Ilya holds his distance when they’re in public which Shane is thankful for. The locker room is already set up for them to change on opposite sides, but Ilya moves through the room like a flowing stream and chirps teasingly as everyone gets ready. It’s clear he is comfortable in a setting like this. His charisma naturally drawing everyone in and he rolls with the more good-natured verbal punches thrown back at him. 

They hit the ice just before 7pm to warm up. The stadium is almost full with fans and family alike. Florida may be a sunny state, but it definitely is ramping up to be a Hockey one as well. A good number of the crowd is wearing Rozanov Boston jerseys and Ilya waggles his eyebrows when Shane catches his eye.  

Florida does indeed love Ilya. 

And then the puck drops. 

Flying across the ice with Ilya on his wing is incredible. They’ve played the same line all game. Shane cannot be happier with the outcome. One of them playing second line would definitely increase the overall strength, especially to bring them out for Power Plays, but there is something special about them sharing ice time in this manner.  

He can snatch the puck and run it out of the neutral zone and into the offensive, knowing without looking that he can snap it over to Ilya and have Ilya actually be there to receive it. It’s absolutely lethal. The western team’s goalie can hardly keep up when they’re on the line and West’s line are no more than pesky flies to dodge around.  

Shane shoots the last goal of the night with 30 seconds on the clock, his third goal and official Hat Trick point to the roaring sound of the crowd. Ilya is the first to slam into him, grabbing at him and pulling him in for a sloppy cheek kiss.  

There’s a moment, a split second of a fantasy where Shane has this every game. With Ilya on the ice with him and celebrating each goal as one team, not as opponents. The grin Ilya flashes him as he pulls back makes Shane’s heartbeat faster. He wants this, in every way.  

Instead, he says, “Great pass,” in what he hopes is a normal, not utterly infatuated voice. Ilya pushes back just enough to let their other team members on the ice hit him with body checks and high fives in celebration.  

The announcer says his name and declares the goal a good goal.  

“Found you,” Ilya teases from behind Shane and flops down onto the sand. The sunset Shane had come out to see on the beach has thrown the sky in a stunning array of warm color. The day is still warm, but the air coming off the surf has a small bite to it. Nothing like the Pacific or Northern Atlantic. The Gulf is warm and humid and sticky.  

“Found me,” Shane agrees. He glances over his shoulder slyly and sees that while there are others on the beach, there really is no one even near them. Or paying attention. He slides his hand out into the space between them slightly and smiles when Ilya meets him halfway, tangling their thumbs against one another in the sand.  

“So,” Ilya begins. “I googled that word. Compatible.” 

Shane snorts. 

“I thought I knew what it meant but I wanted to be sure.” 

“And what did you think?” 

Ilya rolls his head along his shoulder and looks at Shane with a warm smile. “I think maybe you are compatible with someone else, maybe?” 

Shane bites back a smile as best he can, but he knows he hasn’t done a very good job. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe,” Ilya agrees.  

“When do you fly out?” Shane asks. 

“Early.” 

“Same. Columbus.” 

“Toronto,” Ilya hums. It would be weeks before they saw one another again. They would be back in Boston.  

Shane runs his thumb along Ilya’s almost on autopilot. It feels good to touch him, even quietly, out in public. The anxiety of being seen and spotted is a roar in his ears far quieter than the surf on the sand.  

“Stay in my room?” he asks and Ilya smiles. It’s almost blinding, the way Ilya’s real smile lights up his face. Like a preview of something that could be. 

“Okay,” Ilya whispers. It sounds like a raw admission even to Shane’s ears and Shane slides his hand more over Ilya’s for a moment. He squeezes just slightly before letting it rest there over Ilya’s hand.  

The sun set slow, giving them a few more minutes together out in the daylight. 

Chapter End Notes

They talked? And sex during daylight hours?? And they spent the night (mostly) with one another????

They definitely have soooo much to still get through, but this is definitely one of my favorite chapters in this story. My favorite is yet to come, and is longer than this one is (which clocked in at 8.5k). I really like a vulnerable Ilya, even if he's still struggling to really open up. To me, Shane having already learned how the people closest to him will react to the parts of him he's so internalized fear of really breaks down some walls in other places in his life. He's most certainly still not okay with how people perceive him, but knowing he has his parents' love I think positively grows him in his journey of acceptance.

In TLG, he still struggles so much, but I feel like the rumor of him being gay isn't out there yet. It doesn't allow him to be open in the way Ilya needs from him. It's something I really want to explore later in this fic for these two. For now, I'm just gonna be giggly over here while they start to make things work.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Returning home to Montreal was riddled with mixed emotions at best for Shane. The warmth of Tampa had both literally and figuratively settled into his bones. Leaving the airport in Montreal had been a frigid slap in his face and a sharp reminder as to what lay ahead of him with his team. 

The team group chat had been quiet over break, punctuated only with a handful of topical memes. Shane hadn’t let himself scroll back through the initial impressions of the hashtag. He almost wished he had, now, as he pulled into the parking lot of the training facility in Broussard.  

But the locker room was... normal. Shane approached his stall, got slapped on the back by Hayden like normal, and listened to whatever shitty music Drapeu had playing from a speaker in his locker cubby. It was normal. Quiet. But... normal. 

“Happy fucking New Years, Assholes,” Comeau shouts and Shane looks over his shoulder to see his teammate entering the locker room. He’s got sunglasses pushed up over his head keeping his shaggier hair pushed out of his face and his duffle bag is slung over his shoulder. 

He looks like he walked off a plane in a movie where he’s the main character.  

Shane grimaces at the ego but says nothing. Macho displays are not new by any standard of measurement for a locker room. He tugs off his hoodie and is down to his compression shirt. 

“Hey, Holly,” Comeau says and slaps a hand over Shane’s shoulder. He squeezes a little too roughly at the flesh and Shane winces. “Heard you had an eventful All-Stars.” 

“We won,” Shane says casually.  

“Fuckin’ Rozanov too,” Comeau continues and finally releases his grip. He pushes off Shane and sends Shane wobbling towards his cubby. “Thought you would’ve killed each other.” 

“He’s not that bad,” Shane says with a glance over his shoulder. It’s the wrong thing to say. Comeau has a slowly growing grin on his face that reminds Shane too much of the sharks he and Hayden saw the last time they took all of Hayden’s kids to the aquarium.  

“I bet you don’t find him that bad,” Comeau says. “Heard a lot about your opinions lately.” 

“Knock it off and go get ready for practice,” Hayden says with an eye roll.  

“Oh, I’m just catching up with Holly,” Comeau throws two hands up in the air in a declaration of innocence. Shane grimaces at the second use of the nickname. It’s always Hollander or Hollzy on the ice. Holly is starting to feel like a very pointed shortening of his name. “Get in touch with any exes on break? Heard they’re a little chatty lately.” 

“Fuck off, Comeau,” JJ says and throws a towel at Comeau’s face. Shane turns towards his locker and starts grabbing padding to put on. 

“What, I didn’t say anything!” Comeau laughs and turns towards Drapeau and Lemieux, their third line enforcer. “Did I say anything?” 

“Nope,” Lemieux snorts.  

“See,” Comeau gestures back towards JJ to prove his point. “All I wanna know is if maybe after All-Stars Holly took a little detour. Maybe a layover in LA or something.” 

Shane manages to grab Hayden’s arm before Hayden finishes moving towards Comeau. 

“Enough!” he shouts and Hayden stills, fist clenched to his side like he’s ready to move at the moment Shane says go. “We’re a fucking team. Get ready for practice or we all can start with bag skates. Alright?” 

Comeau throws Shane a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Captain.” 

Shane only releases his grip on Hayden’s arm once Comeau has crossed the locker room towards his spot between Drapeau and Lemieux.  

“I fucking can’t stand that guy,” Hayden mumbles and turns back into his own locker, angrily throwing on padding. “Who the fuck does he think he is to talk to you like that?” 

“Leave it,” Shane sighs. “It’ll blow over.” 

“Will it?” Hayden raises his eyebrows at Shane. 

Shane doesn’t like that the answer ‘of course’ isn’t the first thought that comes to his mind.  

The team on the ice is hardly better. They’re running passing drills under Theirault’s observation and more than once Comeau or Lemieux accidentally run into him. Twice, a stray puck catches him on the leg, once on his shin and the second on his other leg’s thigh.  

JJ doesn’t stop muttering in disgusted French the whole practice.  

Shane doesn’t bother showering after practice and sheds his practice gear as quickly as possible into the laundry before making his way sweaty out into the parking lot.  

It’s a sickening thought that passes through his head as he pulls out of the lot that he almost wishes they had just called him a slur to his face and been done with it. 

At least then he’d know for sure. 

Hayden’s house when they’re not expecting anyone but family or Shane over is typically a nest of controlled chaos. Children’s toys spill over bins and baskets, blankets lay haphazard across furniture and the floor, and general clutter like mail and shopping bags fills the counters and surfaces.

Shane doesn’t mind it. It’s nice to see the home so lived in, and he can’t imagine it’s easy to keep up with three children and a hockey career that takes you out of the home with minimal pattern. It almost reminds him of his parent’s home. Hayden and Jackie don’t employ a cleaner at all. Shane only has one come once a month for a general deep clean, but he enjoys the process of day to day cleaning.

He’s also just one person and not three children under 4.

“He lives!” Jackie yells as Shane rounds the corner into the kitchen. Hayden trails behind him, grabbing random children’s belongings and trying to pitch them into their designated bin like a basketball to a hoop.

Hayden most definitely needs to stick to Hockey. He lands nothing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shane gripes. “I’m sorry, Jackie.”

“You better,” she agrees and pulls him in for as tight a hug as her 6 month pregnant stomach will allow. “I made that tofu dish you liked last time again.”

Shane’s grin is unstoppable. “Really?”

“Yup,” she says and pops the ‘p’.

Shane is caught up by Jade and Ruby on the various important things in their lives as they eat. It’s a steady chatter that fills the dinner. Not much Shane can overly relate to, but he does appreciate the way it delays whatever interrogation he knows Jackie is planning. There’s no way she’s satisfied with whatever Hayden has relayed to her.

He cleans as Hayden and Jackie run bedtime routine for the three kids. He can hear them upstairs and the sound of someone’s child sized feet running around in what is most definitely an attempt to delay bed.

Dishes are washed, toys and clutter organized, and all blankets folded over the back of the couch with the exception of the one that was suspiciously crunchy. That one made it into the washer along with a few other towels and baby rags that had littered the kitchen.

“I didn’t demand you visit me so you’d clean my house,” Jackie teases as she walks into the kitchen to see Shane disinfecting the counter. “But never stop on my account, please.”

Shane laughs. “I don’t mind, honestly. It’s soothing.”

Jackie throws a kiss onto Shane’s cheek and grabs a broom from the laundry room to sweep up the random crumbs that have tucked themselves under seemingly every counter.

“So,” she begins, and Shane pre-emptively sighs as he recognizes the start of the interrogation. “Hush. You know I wanna know everything.”

“Everything about what?”

“Shane,” she chastises. “I have spent years trying to crack your love life and now I know I’ve been looking in the wrong spot! You gotta give me something!”

“I don’t want to be set up,” he grumbles and levels a firm look at Jackie.

“Are you single?”

“Jackie.”

“What! Let me live vicariously! Everyone I know is WAG or ex-WAG! Or they’re my OBGYN.”

Shane sets the disinfecting spray to the side and turns to lean back on the counter with crossed arms.

“I know, I’m sorry. It can’t be easy.”

Jackie sets her broom to the side and crosses the kitchen to sit side by side with Shane. “I’m not trying to guilt you. I just wanna know about my second favorite guy.”

He tips his head to the side and looks at her with a sad smile. She really is an incredible friend. Even without the added layer of being married to Hayden. She’s always been there for Shane no matter what, always taken care of him like a brother and always the first to speak up and support him unless Hayden beats her to it. Which, truthfully, Hayden rarely does and that is less a negative to Hayden and more just commentary on how much quicker Jackie is at processing whatever is in front of her.

“What do you want to know?”

Jackie squeals a little and hops to the fridge, grabbing two ginger ales and passing one to Shane. She grabs at him and drags him over to the couch.

“Thank god we always have these on hand because they’ve been a lifesaver this pregnancy.”

“They’re really great for the stomach,” Shane agrees.

“The best!” she declares and cracks the tab before taking a sip. “Okay, let’s start at the top. What’s your type?”

Shane is stumped. What is his type?

He knows his type, but how do you describe specifically that your type is Ilya Rozanov without disclosing the fact that your type is Ilya Rozanov?

“Athletic, twinky, older...?” Jackie offers and Shane is grateful for the bone being thrown.

“Definitely Athletic,” Shane nods. “Not that there’s a problem with non-athletic I just...”

“Don’t get your rocks off to it?”

“Jesus, Jackie,” he grimaces.

She does not look at all chastised. “Hey, no complaints from me! I married a hockey player for a reason!”

“I guess,” he concedes. “Fuck, yeah, honestly I like guys that can bench me.”

Jackie’s face has a feral grin. “Now we’re talking. I fucking love when Hayden uses his strength on me.”

“Ew,” Shane shakes his head.

“Don’t slut-shame me, Hollander!”

“No, fuck, not like that,” he tries to save. “I just mean that Hayden is like my brother. And you’re like my sister.”

Jackie laughs and kicks his thigh. “C’mon tell me more. Who’s the last guy you hooked up with?”

Shane blushes and looks down at his drink. “Uh, it was someone I’ve seen before.”

He looks up at her and she gestures with her hand to continue. It emboldens him a little. He’s never had this, really. He probably could have a conversation like this with Rose, now that he thinks about it. She and Jackie would actually get along pretty well.

“Okay, um, he’s fucking hot,” Shane says and tips his head back to look at the ceiling. “And amazing in bed.”

“Oooh, okay, Hollander,” Jackie sing-songs. “What’re we talking? Like, takes control, let’s you take control?”

He shrugs. “Like... always matches me where I’m at? He can like, look at me and just know what I want from him. But he always checks in and makes sure I’m good?”

“Is that a question?”

“No, fuck, it’s just hot,” Shane says. “I like that I can trust him. I trust him a lot.”

“That’s good!”

“And he can definitely bench me. He brags about his PR stats but he also can lift me up and throw me around. I can do that to him too but it’s just hotter when he does it to me. I like that at any point I can fight back, take him in a fight if I wanted to, but I'm able to just let him win. And it's like both of us know the game. He knows that I could take control of the situation at any point but in the moment I'm letting him.”

“Are you guys serious?”

Shane realizes he’s had a dopey grin on his face when he feels it slide off. “Uh, no. I don’t think we can be.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Shane nods down to his drink.

“What do you want?”

“From him?” he asks and looks at Jackie who nods sympathetically. “Too much. Probably.”

“You don’t think he’s worth it?”

“I think he’s worth everything. But he’s not out and can’t be.”

“And he knows about... everything that’s happened, lately?”

“Definitely. He was good about it.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Shane just nods again sadly and then takes a sip of his drink for something to do.

They sit in subdued silence for a moment longer before Hayden’s loud footsteps bound down the stairs.

“Thank fucking Christ he finally fell asleep,” Hayden gripes. “Arthur would not be satisfied until he and Chompy got THREE stories. Three, Jacks!”

“Oh no,” Jack says in a sarcastic and teasing voice. “Sucks how you had to do what I do all the time while you’re on the road for the son you love.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Hayden fake pushes her face into the couch cushions and she lets out a cackling laugh. “You get worse when Shane comes over, I swear.”

“Lies.”

Hayden flops down next to Jackie, throwing an arm around her and pulling her into his chest. She falls willingly, snuggling in but angling her body to look at Shane. They really do make a very picture-perfect couple. He’s never been jealous of them, per se, but he envies the way they orbit around one another. Their life is very different from any life he’s envisioned for himself. He finds himself with an aching longing for something on the level they have.

“Okay, I gotta know,” Hayden interrupts Shane’s thoughts. “Lily.”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Hayden whines. “You gotta give me something, buddy! I’ve been dying with curiosity for years!”

“Actually, yes,” Jackie agrees. “We’ve gossiped about this for so long, Shane.”

“That does not make me feel better,” Shane grumbles. His thumb flicks the tab on the top of his ginger ale and letting it ping back against the can. “Plus, Hayden name dropped him in front of my parents so now my mom knows I have a long-term hookup.”

“Have not has?” Jackie grins wolfishly.

Hayden gasps and snaps his fingers repeatedly and points between his wife and Shane. “She’s right! You said have! You and Lily are back on?”

Shane groans. “No, I’m not talking.”

“You fucking got back together!”

“We aren’t dating.”

Hayden grins. “But you aren’t broken up anymore!”

Shane levels his best friend with an annoyed look. “We were never together.”

“Sure, just every single Boston game we had you’d disappear and every other game you’d be grinning into your phone at Lily’s conversation.”

“Not every game, that would be ridiculous.”

“But you’re back together?” Jackie asks and glances between her husband and Shane. “Boston Lily is back on the table?”

“What table?” Shane grumbles.

“Wait, hold on we haven’t been to Boston since you were with Rose!” Hayden grins with excitement. “You’ve been texting again, haven’t you! Oh my god, Shane! Did you text them? Or did they text you?”

“We’re not texting,” Shane lies pathetically. He and Ilya had most definitely been texting and not just sexting either. Actually texting about random things in their day. Two days ago, Ilya sent him a photo of a dog he saw on a run. The day before that, he complained to Shane for 5 minutes about St Simon’s new obsession with a terrible band.

“Buddy, you suck at lying.”

“I do not,” he objects. “Hayden, I lied about being gay for years. I’m not bad at lying.”

Jackie hums. “Babes, you’re pretty awkward when we talk about women. Seeing how comfortable you are talking about hooking up with that guy makes it clear you’re not good at lying. We just didn’t know what we were seeing.”

“Aw, what? You guys gossiped without me?”

“Hayden,” Shane groans and rubs his eyes. He most certainly did not like the direction this conversation was going. Maybe he wasn’t meant for gossiping about relationships. Jackie and Hayden married so fast that there never really was a time for gossip.

“Babe, you took four million years to put down a 1yr old. Of course we gossiped.”

“Not cool,” Hayden grumbles. “Wait, did you talk about Lily without me?”

Shane glances too quickly at Jackie and clocks the exact moment she realizes that she and Shane were talking about Lily.

“Shut the fuck up, Hollander.”

“Jackie.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Hayden looks between them and a confused look crosses his face.

“Jackie,” Shane warns.

“Shut up,” she says and sits up to lean into the space between them. “You’ve hooked up with Lily since you and Rose broke up, haven’t you?”

Shane looks over her shoulder to Hayden quickly and then back. “Um. No.”

“Girl.”

“Jackie.”

Hayden looks like he’s finally caught up. "Wait...”

“No,” Shane shakes his head. “Stop. Don’t finish that thought.”

“Bro,” Hayden grins. It’s eerie the way he and Jackie share the same grin when they think they know something they shouldn’t. “You totally hooked up with Lily since everything went down on Twitter.”

Shane can feel the embarrassed flush creeping onto his cheeks.

“Lily came to Montreal?” Jackie asks with a glee. Shane looks away towards a corner of toys. He’s nervous. They’re skirting the edge of a truth he’s swallowed and buried down so deep for years.

“You went to Boston?” Hayden asked. Shane could hear the growing confusion in his voice. He shakes his head anyways. His leg bounces ever so slightly. He could stand up and leave. Right now. They won’t know. Rose knows, but she doesn’t care about him dating a player.

“Oh,” Jackie whispers quietly. Her mouth has parted in surprise and she’s staring at him with wide, sympathetic eyes.

“What?” Hayden asks.

“No, Babe,” she hushes and Shane watches her put her hand on Hayden’s leg.

“What?”

“No,” she says again.

“What, but Shane hasn’t been anywhere except All-Stars and—”

Shane swallows heavily as his friend trails off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jackie whispers and pats Hayden’s leg.

“Lily is...”

Shane’s body is tense, but he nods disjointedly.

“That’s why he’s not out,” Hayden says. It’s not a question, but Shane nods anyways. He swipes at his eyes even though he hasn’t cried. His eyes are wet, but he hasn’t cried. “And that’s why he’s in Boston.”

Shane snaps his head and levels a hard look at his friend. “Hayden, no.”

Hayden to his credit nods and looks at least a little chastised. He’s known his best friend, and Jackie, long enough to know that neither of them are fully satisfied. This won’t be something that they truly let go of before enough happens that they finally find an answer.

But they probably won’t keep pressing the bruise.

“Does anyone know?” Jackie asks after a long bout of silence.

Shane takes a sharp inhale to reset himself. “Um, my mom guessed it was a player. Rose too. But... no. I don’t think so.”

He feels slightly guilty lying about Rose not knowing who that player is. It would only invite them to press harder for information, and Shane is not ready for that conversation at all.

“Good,” she hums and something must have moved across his face because she was quick to add, “for your privacy, not because it’s bad. None of this is bad, Shane.”

“Yeah, Buddy,” Hayden agrees. “We love you. No matter what.”

“Exactly.”

And Hayden clearly couldn’t resist because he adds, “Even if your taste in dudes is a Boston Player.”

“Hayden, shut the fuck up,” Jackie says with a smack to her husband’s thigh that couldn’t have been strong enough to even leave a mark.

“I’m just saying! And swear jar!”

“No, you swear jar! The kids aren’t even awake!”

“Jackie!”

“Hayden!”

Shane snorts and draws both of their focus back to him. “I love you guys.”

Jackie tilts her head and smiles. “We love you too, Shane.”

Shane drains the last of his ginger ale and sets the can down on a coaster.

“But don’t think for a moment you and I aren’t going to talk boys together,” she continues. “You’re not getting out of this so easily!”

Shane’s phone buzzes and the photo of Rose making a dramatic kissy face fills up the screen. He rolls his eyes and slides to accept the call. 

“Ma’am,” he laughs. 

“Don’t you ma’am me, Hollander,” Rose chastises. “I am trapped here in this trailer, whole body painted blue, and you have not once spared me to catch me up on things.” 

“I’ve been working!” 

“Me too,” she sniffs. “And every day I think of you and go, ‘that Shane Hollander, I sure hope he’s happy, well taken care of, and finding ways to kiss his man’.” 

“Alright,” Shane scoffs. “You are not thinking that last part.” 

“I am!” 

“Sure.” 

“Seriously, though,” she sobers. “How is my favorite gay ex-boyfriend.” 

“I made favorite?” 

“Of course, you’re the richest. I have standards.” 

Shane laughs. “I’m okay. It’s been...different.” 

“At work?” 

“Yeah. The guys have been weird. A few worse than others.” 

“You’re safe?” she asks and Shane can hear the worry in her tone. He hates that he just generates worry in the lives of everyone around him these days. It’s so constant. Ilya asks if he’s safe. His mom asks if he’s safe. The only reason Jackie hasn’t is likely because she’s getting updates from Hayden. 

“Sure,” he nods to himself, even though she can’t see it.  

“Shane.” 

He sighs and looks up at the ceiling of his apartment. “I... found something. In my locker.” 

“Something like...?” 

Shane closes his eyes. “Someone put a pride flag in my locker as a joke.” 

“Was the joke funny?” 

“No.” 

“Shane, that’s called harassment,” Rose says quietly. “Do you know who it was?” 

“I think I know, but there’s no way of knowing,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to make it a thing. It’ll blow over. Just like with Twitter.” 

“Right,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like an agreement to him. “I don’t want to freak you out, but have you been on Twitter?” 

“I’ve been avoiding it, honestly.” 

She hums. “I get that. It hasn’t been bad. But there’s a few people still in the hashtag speculating.” 

“I know.” 

“Really?” 

“My mom has been monitoring it,” he admits. “We’ve decided to not put out a statement so more attention isn’t drawn to it.” 

“Are you going to take things to management?” 

“No, no,” he says quickly. Taking it to management is likely the dumbest way he can handle this situation. “It’s fine. Just locker room culture. It’ll pass.” 

“If it gets worse?” she asks quietly. 

“It’ll pass,” he repeats. “Tell me about the movie. Is the director still being weird?” 

“Oh my god, Shane, you have no idea,” she groans. “My costume gets smaller the longer this movie goes, I swear. You’ll never guess what he did the other day.” 

Shane settles into his couch with a smile, eager to hear his friend vent about anything other than hockey or the state of his love life.

They land at Logan airport with minimal fanfare or turbulence and are settled into their hotel entirely on schedule. Hayden and Shane are rooming together as normal, but this time when Shane starts to unzip his bag to hang his clothing, Hayden lets out a loud snort.  

“Bro.” 

“What?” Shane asks and looks back at Hayden. His friend has random piles of clothing flopped out on his bed and is tossing a bag of toiletries out carelessly.  

“This is Boston.” 

“I’m aware?” 

“Bro, go to Lily’s.” 

Shane darts his gaze away and pretends to look busy. “Uh, I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Shane, it’s Boston,” Hayden presses. “You’re telling me you don’t have plans?” 

Shane stacks and restacks his clothes as he works to come up with a casual, not desperate to get fucked reply. 

“I love you, man, but we don’t have a game until 7pm. Text your man and get the fuck out of here.” 

“Swear jar,” Shane says automatically, then shakes his head to clear it and adds, “and he’s not my man.” 

“Well, he for sure ain’t mine,” Hayden snorts.  

Shane would try harder to deny things but he did have his phone in hand.

“Shane?”  

He looks up to see Hayden standing with crossed arms and a smug look up on his face. 

“Fuck off,” Shane groans. 

“Bye,” Hayden says and gives a patronizing wave. “See you at the game.” 

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he denies. 

“Go get laid, loser,” Hayden laughs and goes back to his haphazard unpacking as Shane grabs his room key and ducks out.

It was the door code.  

Shane enters Ilya’s house with a roll of his eyes and toes off his shoes to the side of the door. He has no idea where Ilya stores his shoes, though Ilya seems to transverse the house with a set of house slides. He hopes they’re just house slides. Something gets twitchy in his head when he considers Ilya might wear them in and out of the house. 

“Finally,” Ilya groans. He’s shirtless again to answer the door and Shane takes the opportunity to ogle him a little. “You are so slow. Makes me more convinced you will be too easy to beat tonight.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs and lets Ilya crowd him against the wall. “I’m faster than you and you know it.” 

“Ah, we shall see,” Ilya teases. “So needy.” 

“On the ice.” 

“Yes, we should fuck on the ice. Would be very hot.” 

“Probably cold,” Shane smirks and enjoys the way Ilya laughs through kissing him.  

It feels good to have Ilya pressed against him again. They’re still standing in the hall but Ilya has started pressing in bit by bit until their chests are pressed flush together.  

“We only have a few hours,” Shane reminds him and Ilya throws his head back in dramatic exasperation. “You’re a baby.” 

Ilya snaps his head back up and pins Shane with an unamused look. “No, you are just boring.” 

Shane fights a smile, but seeing the way Ilya’s own expression is breaking into a grin, he doubts he’s successful in the slightest.  

“Come,” Ilya commands with a quick kiss and reaches down to grab Shane’s wrist and tug him along.  

They pass through the living room, Shane’s gaze snagging on the couch and then snapping back to the back of Ilya’s head to see if he was caught. Ilya doesn’t show any signs of seeing Shane’s attention linger.  

He feels a little sick with guilt again at the memory. He can see in his mind the way he pulled back off Ilya, tucking himself back into his pants, and awkwardly lying so obviously that there was no chance in hell Ilya ever believed him.  

Shane wonders if Ilya kept his clothing. If maybe somewhere in this house Shane’s shirt and jeans are tucked away out of sight the way Shane tucked Ilya’s shirt and joggers into a drawer in the bottom of his closet.  

Ilya gives Shane’s hand a squeeze and he thinks maybe his thoughts are obvious on his face. He smiles up at Ilya unforced and tells himself to focus on the moment.  

“You got a new lamp,” Shane remarks as they get into Ilya’s room. 

“I broke the old one.” 

“Oh,” he frowns and looks over to Ilya. “How?” 

Ilya scratches the back of his neck and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Threw something. It’s fine.” 

“You threw something at a lamp?” 

“Hollander, you are so boring,” Ilya groans coldly. “Are we here to fuck or not?” 

Shane takes a step back. “Why are you acting like this.” 

“Acting like nothing,” Ilya sniffs and looks away. Shane stares at him and tries to figure out what is happening in Ilya’s head. He’s not good at reading people. Everyone has rules for socializing and Shane never can figure them out fast enough to keep up. 

“Fine,” Shane gives up and turns around. He hasn’t even taken a step before Ilya snatches up his wrist again. 

“Shane, Shane,” Ilya says desperately and her turns back. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m being an asshole.” 

“I don’t understand why.” 

“Please don’t go. I will be good,” Ilya promises.  

Shane steps back into his space and reaches up to put both hands on Ilya’s shoulders, thumbs resting lightly at the sides of Ilya’s neck and rubbing up and down to try and soothe him.  

“Just be with me,” Shane pleads. “I don’t care about the little stuff. I just want you.” 

Ilya’s eyes track back and forth across Shane’s face. Shane watches the tiny twitches of Ilya’s pupils as they go back and forth nervously and for the first time he wonders if Ilya also struggles to read Shane back. 

For all of their years sleeping together, Shane never once sat and considered that Ilya was just as scared as Shane might be. He thinks maybe it’s obvious in hindsight after Tampa, but never once have they really had the chance to learn one another outside of sex. Their entire relationship thus far has really been them trying to outrun their feelings through mutually assured orgasms.  

“Okay,” Ilya finally whispers, his accent thick and twisting the ‘a’ into more of an ‘e’ sound. Shane smiles at the sound.  

He adores Ilya’s accent.  

“Okay,” Shane says back and then tugs at Ilya’s neck to bring him in for a kiss. He’s slow with it, focusing on letting Ilya feel the gentle way Shane can kiss him. Little tiny kisses to draw him in and make both of their heads go fuzzy.  

“Shane,” Ilya whispers quietly into the minimal space between them. 

“Ilya.” 

Ilya pushes in at the sound of his name, tugging at Shane’s waist to press their hips together. He can feel Ilya’s length pressed against him and he groans at the way Ilya bucks into him.  

Shane chases after that pleasure. He walks Ilya backwards to the bed, giving only a slight push to knock Ilya down before immediately chasing him. He straddles Ilya’s thighs and goes back in for another kiss, sliding his tongue against Ilya’s and tasting him like it’s a last meal. 

Ilya doesn’t taste like cigarettes. Not this time. It’s odd, because Ilya usually does when they meet up. Shane knows Ilya still smokes. None of Shane’s ribbing has convinced him otherwise, but normally Ilya takes the time to smoke ahead of their meetups so that Ilya doesn’t have to waste time to smoke while Shane is around.  

Ilya rolls them, pushing Shane further up the mattress the moment he gets leverage on his knee to do so. Shane gasps as Ilya’s mouth trails away from his lips and down his jaw, sucking lightly enough to leave no marks and hard enough to drive Shane absolutely feral.  

Ilya pulls back suddenly and looks down at Shane. “Was your shirt.” 

“What?” Shane asks and Ilya nods at the new lamp. 

“I threw your shirt. Found it in my laundry the next day, and I threw it at the lamp. Knocked it over.” 

“My t-shirt broke your lamp?” 

“I broke my lamp,” Ilya clarifies. “I threw your t-shirt, and the lamp fell, and it hit my dresser. Broken lamp.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes. Not my finest.” 

Shane doesn’t know what to say so he leans up and kisses Ilya again and focuses on trying to get Ilya’s sweats down low enough that he can palm Ilya’s cock.  

“Greedy,” Ilya teases. He slides both palms under Shane’s shirt and glides his hands up Shane’s torso, bunching the shirt there up along the way.  

Shane gets Ilya’s pants low enough to slide his hands down and grasp Ilya, stroking just enough to distract. Ilya drops his head down onto Shane’s collarbone and lets out a satisfied groan. His hips buck slightly into Shane’s hand once before Ilya regains his focus and pushes Shane’s hand out from between them.  

“Naked, now.” 

The command is one Shane is not slow to obey. He sits up and tugs his shirt up over his head and they both push pants down and off their legs. The moment Ilya is naked above him, Shane hooks a leg up and over Ilya’s hip and flips them so he’s once more straddling Ilya’s hips. Ilya flops back onto the bed with a happy grin.  

Shane kisses a trail down Ilya’s chest and moans loudly when Ilya tangles his fingers into Shane’s hair. He needs Ilya in his mouth now or he might die. He mouths at Ilya’s cock, kissing up the length and suckling at the head lightly, languishing in the content noises coming from further up the bed.  

He lets himself drool over the head, coating the length, and glances up to meet Ilya’s eyes as he opens his mouth and swallows Ilya down. He relaxes his throat, years of practice at taking Ilya’s cock letting muscle memory take over.  

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya moans and grips harder at the back of Shane’s head. Shane reaches up and pushes at the back of Ilya’s hand, a subtle signal for Ilya to take control. 

And take control he does.  

Shane’s eyes roll back in his head as Ilya guides Shane’s head up and down his length. Shane gags once but Ilya only pauses for a moment at the top long enough for Shane to reset before guiding him down again.  

“So fucking good, Shane,” Ilya praises. “Fuck, Hollander, so fucking good. Gonna make me cum like this? Fucking take me so well.” 

Shane can hear Ilya babbling. The white noise between his ears is settling in and Shane humps once at the mattress for friction on his own cock. He’s so fucking hard. It feels like months since he’s last had Ilya on his tongue when really it’s only been weeks. 

“Fuck, Shane, fuck,” Ilya moans and Shane runs his hands up and down Ilya’s thighs. They’re tense and Shane knows Ilya is close. He makes eye contact with Ilya, doing his best to nod before being guided back down again. He leans into it, letting himself take Ilya deeper than Ilya is guiding him. He hollows his cheeks coming up and Ilya pushes him down again with a cry before coming down Shane’s throat.  

Shane lets himself be worked through the orgasm and then pulls off with a pop. He rests his head to the side on Ilya’s thigh as he catches his breath.  

“Fuck,” Ilya pants. He’s mindlessly petting Shane’s head and Shane closes his eyes at the sensation. “Fucking killed me, Hollander. Fucking killed me.” 

Shane nods mindlessly. He grinds against the mattress as subtly as he can manage, but it’s apparently obvious enough for Ilya to catch because the next thing he knows is Ilya is tugging him up to better align their bodies. He gives Shane a filthy kiss, tongue licking in to the backs of Shane’s molars like he’s trying to taste himself on Shane’s tonsils. 

Shane digs his fingers into Ilya’s hips. His nails are probably leaving crescent marks there but neither of them seem to care. He’s flipped onto his back and Ilya starts pressing kisses down along his body. 

Ilya ignores Shane’s erection, leaves it heavy and leaking against Shane’s stomach, and pushes Shane’s legs up instead for better access to his ass. The first lap of tongue on Shane’s ass has him crying out and arching off the mattress.  

“Fuck,” he cries out and looks down to catch Ilya’s mischievous stare. Ilya is relentless. He licks and sucks, driving Shane wild with every motion of his tongue before moving up to suck on Shane’s balls and run a finger along Shane’s rim instead. He’s looser and accepts Ilya’s spit wet finger easily.  

Ilya doesn’t go deeply, just enough to drive Shane a little wild.  

“Lube,” Ilya commands and Shane looks to his side at the nightstand. He reaches up and slides the drawer open, fishing his hand around blindly at an awkward angle before he catches the bottle and tosses it down to Ilya. Ilya is uncapping it and spreading the fluid on his fingers while Shane roots around for one of the foil packets that aren’t likely to be far from them.  

He slaps a condom on the bed the same moment Ilya reaches his hole again and slides a finger up to the knuckle.  

“Ilya,” Shane cries out with an arch. 

“Like that?” Ilya asks with a tease as if there’s any time that answer has ever been no. “So wet for me.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane is just alert enough to throw back. It’s not untrue, there’s a tacky drying mess of precum leaking out of him and onto his stomach. Every time he shifts, his dick is sliding it around further.  

Ilya adds another finger, stretching him perfectly. He brushes at Shane’s prostate and grins every time it produces a moan out of him. Ilya is half hard again in the time it’s taken to ready Shane and his mouth waters at the sight. 

“In me,” Shane begs. “Need you.” 

Ilya nods reaches a hand down to work himself up to fully hard before grabbing at the foil. His fingers slide lube over the packet enough that he grunts in frustration and throws it onto Shane’s chest.  

Shane wipes the foil on the sheet next to him. He rips the packet open and pulls the condom out. Ilya wastes no time accepting it back and rolling it onto his length. He lines himself up and slowly pushes in, breaching Shane to the sound of their mutual groans of pleasure.  

“Fuck, Shane,” Ilya pants. He braces himself over Shane on one elbow while the other reaches up to grab at Shane’s hand. He interlaces their fingers and Shane squeezes tight to ground himself.  

“Ilya,” Shane catches Ilya’s eyes and nods. He wants it. He needs to feel him. Needs to erase the last time he was in this house and left Ilya cold and rejected on the couch.  

Ilya drops his head to Shane’s sternum and pumps in, bottoming out and pulling back carefully before repeating the motion until he’s satisfied that Shane is worked open enough to be taken more roughly.  

Shane reaches up to grab the hair at the back of Ilya’s neck with his free hand. Ilya looks up with a wrecked expression and nods. He picks up speed with Shane matching the rhythm as best he can. Shane is so full, so perfect.  

“Shane,” Ilya pants. “Want you from behind.” 

Shane nods and lets Ilya slip out of him. The lube makes an unsexy squelching noise they both ignore. He turns over onto his knees and tilts his ass up back to Ilya who wastes no time in sliding back in.  

He’s deeper at this angle and Shane moans into the pillow below him. He’s probably drooling all over it but when he’s being taken care of by Ilya like this, all of the loud thoughts about cleanliness and what’s proper all disappear from his mind entirely.  

Ilya is tugging Shane’s hips into him with every thrust and Shane loves the way the movement shakes his whole body. He relaxes and let’s Ilya just take over control entirely, lets himself just be used. Ilya shifts his angle just right and now the head of his cock is brushing against Shane’s prostate. 

“Oh fuck!” Shane cries out. “Right there, fuck, don’t stop.” 

“Can’t make me,” Ilya promises and picks up speed. “Gonna come for me?” 

“Gonna come,” Shane nods and he definitely is. He’s right on the edge. “So close.” 

“Touch yourself.” 

Shane heads the command, sliding his hand under him and stroking his cock, twice, three times before shooting a load right onto the sheets below him. They should think about putting a towel down, maybe, but even to Shane’s fucked out brain he knows that is probably too unsexy for them.  

Ilya lets out a loud groan and snaps his hips into Shane faster before coming. Shane grins as he feels Ilya’s strokes grow uneven as he works himself through another orgasm.  

Ilya pulls out and tugs Shane with him to the side, keeping Shane out of the wet spot in the sheets.  

Shane turns so he can rest in Ilya’s arms better. They’re both coated in sweat and Shane can feel the slippery lube coating the insides of his thighs unpleasantly. Ilya disposes of the condom, hopefully making it into whatever wastebasket is out of sight by the bed.  

Shane huffs out a tiny laugh and squeezes Ilya around the ribs a little tighter. Ilya’s arm around him does the same. Before Tampa, they would both start a mental countdown right about now. Or maybe only Shane did and Ilya just knew when was too long to stay. 

Now, though, they’ve spent the night together almost the whole way through twice.  

It’s different, now, and Shane knows he likes it. He hopes that Ilya does too but he’s too afraid to ask.  

“What’re you thinking about?” Ilya asks quietly and threads his fingers up into Shane’s hair to scratch at his scalp. Shane hums in content at the sensation. 

“Nothing.” 

“Mmm, a first,” Ilya teases. Shane drags a finger up and down Ilya’s breastbone, just featherlight enough to not tickle. He likes the way Ilya’s chest is dotted with moles. It’s like a connect the dot pattern of abstraction. “You are okay?” 

Shane nods. “Yeah. I’m good. Really good.” 

Ilya hums in agreement and gives a presses Shane’s head into his chest quickly like a hug. 

“And your family? They are still good to you?” 

Shane smiles. “Yeah.” 

“This is good,” Ilya declares and drops his arm around Shane’s ribs to pull him back in tighter.  

They are interrupted by Ilya’s phone ringing.  

“Blyat,” Ilya curses. He shifts slightly out from under Shane to snag his phone and silence the call. He pulls Shane back into position on him. 

“Is that your family?” 

“Yes.” 

Shane nods, mostly to himself, and asks, “How’s your dad?” 

He feels Ilya’s sigh, not a long inhale but a sharp, short exhale, from where he’s laid on Ilya’s chest.  

“No,” Ilya says. "Enough.” 

“Enough what?” 

“Questions. You have too many of them.” 

Shane frowns but says nothing. 

The silence lingers, and he assumes it must get to Ilya first for once because he continues anyways. “He is bad. I... do not know what to do.” 

“Your brother?” 

“Useless,” Ilya shrugs. Shane tips his head up to look at Ilya as he speaks. “I send money. He spends it, maybe on our father, maybe on drugs. He calls. I answer. I send more money for Papa. It maybe goes to drugs. I don’t know.” 

“That’s awful.” 

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “But I am here. He is there. Papa does not know that I am in America so he calls me confused asking for my mother.” 

“Is she with him too?” 

Ilya shakes his head. “She is dead.” 

“Oh,” Shane says. He feels dumb. He didn’t even know Ilya’s mother had died.  

“Was long time ago,” Ilya whispers and pets at Shane’s head again. “Is okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shane tells him. He leans his body up, cupping a hand around Ilya’s cheek, and presses a lingering kiss to him. “That must be awful.” 

Ilya tips his face away, just like he had in the hotel room, but this time Shane tips him back and kisses him again. He knows Ilya is crying. He can feel the tears on Ilya’s cheeks and brushes them away with his thumb, but he says nothing about them.  

The phone rings again and this time Shane reaches over and silences it.  

“Thank you,” Ilya whispers. He turns them, tucking his face into Shane’s neck, and Shane holds him tightly.  

“Of course.” 

They lay like that for a while. Shane must doze at some point because he wakes up to Ilya freeing himself from Shane’s arms.  

“If I feed you, will you run away?” Ilya smirks at him and Shane rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Is a serious question!” he feigns innocence. Shane just grins up at him and follows Ilya out of bed.  

“I promise not to run away again,” Shane says. Ilya is already heading out of the bedroom, but Shane snags his arm to stop him before wrapping an arm around his middle, tugging him back into Shane’s orbit and letting Shane place a kiss on his shoulder. “You’ll have to get more creative to scare me off from here out.” 

Ilya turns around in Shane’s arms and smiles down at him. “Is that so?” 

It’s said as a joke, but Shane can see the vulnerability in Ilya’s gaze. He knows he hurt Ilya running away. As scared as Shane was then, he’s created probably a longer lasting fear in Ilya that he’ll now have to work to undo. 

“It is,” Shane whispers and runs his hand across Ilya’s brow and down the side of his face. God, this man was beautiful.  

Ilya just looks between Shane’s eyes for a long moment before whispering a quiet, “okay.” 

Shane returns to the hotel well fed and thoroughly fucked a few hours before they bus over to TD Garden ahead of the game. Hayden raises a single eyebrow at Shane when he enters their hotel room but doesn’t press further after Shane’s single, “fuck off”.  

Chapter End Notes

When I was writing the first draft of this chapter, the PWHL Walter Cup semi-finals were running. Literally every time I wrote this while watching the games, either Boston or Montreal lost. I got so paranoid that I was invoking Hockey Superstition Gods and jinxing them that I forced myself to lock in. Was too late for the fleet (RIP Frankel scoring on herself, that was brutal to watch) but you're all welcome for the Minnesota Frost getting kicked out of playoffs 🏳️‍⚧️. Stupidly, I assumed I was safe and kept writing only for Ottawa to win a match in the Finals. I only wrote on non-hockey nights after that because I was so sure I was bad luck.

Anyways, the moral of this story is that if I don't write, crazy stuff like Abby Rocque scoring because a puck bounces off her face happens.

I miss hockey. I never liked sports before this show and now I just want to watch hot women shoot pucks. Allez Victoire!

Chapter 5

Chapter Notes

I fell behind doing my final pass over this chapter so naturally this had its final read thru while I was two Tito’s and pineapple drinks in at the local lesbian bar and wouldn’t ya know it? I had a BUNCH of tense errors. This is my blanket permission to please let me know in the comments if you catch any past tense language instead of the present tense this entire story has been (hopefully) in so far. I’d love to fix any errors I’ve missed. It’s especially embarrassing bc I think I’ve read through this part of my work over 5 times since it was first written months ago. That’s life though.

“Did you all hear about Rozanov?” JJ’s voice calls out across the locker room the next day. Practice had gone relatively normal, though Comeau and a few of the other “old guard” had taken to checking Shane on the scrimmage harder than necessary. He would have to soak in some Epsom salt later tonight to try and curb some of the ache that was settling into his bones.  

“What about Rozanov?” Shane asked. JJ was already in sweats but still shirtless, unabashedly walking around the locker room with his phone in hand. Shane, by contrast, was just now stepping out of the showers.  

He had taken to showering staggard from the rest of the team. No one had said anything, per se. But a few of the guys had taken to leaving the showers if Shane walked in. It was just easier to spend longer on the ice cleaning up pucks and equipment to help maintain morale.  

“Says he did not get on the plane to Nashville,” JJ continues.  

“He flew separately?” 

“He did not go to Nashville at all.” 

“He didn’t get hurt last night, did he?” Hayden asks. 

“No, he didn’t,” Shane said automatically. 

“Maybe he’s sick?” Hayden shrugs. He was still getting dressed at his own stall.  

“He’s not,” Shane said, then quickly adds, “I mean, he didn’t seem sick.” 

“Who gives a fuck,” JJ says in French. Shane glances over to see JJ tossing an oversized hoodie over his head before flopping down on the bench. “ESPN is saying he did not go to Nashville.” 

“Maybe he’ll be out long enough to miss our next Boston game,” Hayden grins. “Easy win for us.” 

Shane ignores the comment and grabs his phone. 

No immediate response, but that’s not abnormal.  

“Seems like you guys care a bit too much for Rozanov,” Comeau snorts and lumbers a little too much into their space. Shane puts his phone back into his cubby and tugs his briefs on quickly. “You have a crush?” 

“Fuck off,” JJ hisses. “Is just chatter. Go breathe someone else’s air, oui?” 

“Just seems like it’s something we gotta look out for more, these days,” Comeau feigns innocence. “I’d just like to know if I should be worried.” 

“No one is looking at your pencil dick,” Hayden snaps.  

“Not what I heard,” Comeau says. The tone is too predatory for Shane’s liking, but he says nothing and just tugs his undershirt on over his head. Eventually, Comeau returns back to his side of the room, and Shane takes that as the chance he was missing to get out of the locker room and the practice facility as a whole.  

It’s still cold out, even as they approach early spring on the calendar. Gray icy snow is still piled up around the edges of the parking lot waiting for a day that hits hotter than 5 degrees Celsius. He watches his step around a patch of tire slush ice and hears the door to the practice facility shut behind him. 

“Mon Capitaine!” JJ yells out behind him and Shane pauses to turn for his friend. JJ is jogging out in an unzipped parka, dressed in speed rather than detail it seems. He jogs up to Shane and claps a hand on his upper back. “You good, Cap?” 

“Sure,” Shane shrugs. “What’s not to be good about?” 

“Comeau is an asshole,” JJ says directly. “You do not deserve this, mon ami.” 

“It’s good, JJ,” Shane lies. JJ doesn’t seem to buy it, but he continues to follow Shane out through the lot.  

“Hollander, Shane,” JJ begins and Shane looks sideways at his friend. It’s true he and JJ are not close the way he and Hayden are. JJ seems to be friends with the world and has never demanded much more than a few nights out a year. Coincidentally, that is how Shane ended up dating Rose, but that’s neither here nor there.  

Whatever JJ is trying to say sounds serious, and Shane pauses, glancing quickly back at the facility to confirm they’re still alone out in the lot.  

“We have not talked seriously since that day, have we?” JJ asks finally and Shane doesn’t need a clarification as to what JJ is referencing. It was JJ who brought up Twitter first in the locker room after all. But even if he hadn’t, it’s not like the team wouldn’t have made fun of him eventually. That’s what you did to your team. It brought everyone together.  

“It’s cool,” Shane placates. “I’m not mad at you.” 

“C’est super, but that is not what I am saying. I am here for you, no matter what, Capitaine.” 

“Sure, man.” 

“Shane,” JJ says and ducks his head to look more directly in Shane’s eyes. “I am saying it is okay with me if what they say about you online is true.” 

Shane swallows heavily and ducks his eyes away from JJ, unable to continue the eye contact. He catches his gaze on a barren tree across the lot, a car that has been parked with a flat tire for two weeks now, and a bumper half covered in snowplowed snow.  

“Um,” Shane starts to say. He should joke. That works for everyone. He could joke right now. That’s the script. “Yeah, I’m maybe not the best. With women.” 

“But maybe with others, non?” 

Shane glances quickly at JJ and then away, but it was long enough to see a kind and gentle expression. After a long moment of silence, he finally nodded. 

“C’est bon, mon ami,” JJ says and tugs Shane into a brief, but bone crushing hug. “Je taime, mec.” 

“Thanks,” Shane whispers. His vision was blurry, but he didn’t cry. A small mercy in these temperatures.  

“So,” JJ grins wide and claps his hands together. “We find you a date, oui?” 

Dread rolls right back into his stomach. “Uh, no. JJ, I’m good.” 

“You’re single, non?” 

Shane winces. “I don’t know what I am. But, uh, I’m not really looking for anyone new.” 

JJ lets out a low whistle. “Oui, okay! Est-ce Lily?” 

Shane grins before he could stop himself and JJ only claps him on the back approvingly.   

“Hollander! My man, you have been holding out. Lily c’est un mec, non? Est-il sexy?” JJ waggles his eyebrows and Shane can’t help but laugh. 

“The hottest,” he agrees. “I appreciate you, though, JJ. You’re a good friend.” 

“The fucking best,” JJ crows. “I want to meet him!” 

“Right,” Shane says with a tight smile. He can’t imagine JJ or Hayden approving of his choice of men. He can’t even picture Ilya really wanting to meet them back officially. If there was anything official about them. “Things are complicated, right now. For him and for me.” 

“Say no more, mon ami,” JJ promises. “I have your back.” 

“Thanks. I’m gonna head home. I’m tired.” 

“Later, Capitaine!” 

“Later,” Shane waves as JJ jogs off towards his car. JJ only slides a little when he catches a patch of ice but his cackle across the lot is loud even to Shane.  

His car isn’t alone in the section he parked in so Shane doesn’t notice anything off about it until he’s reaching to open the door. Right above the handle is a magnet, no larger than a business card, of a pride flag with the word “FAG” written in a wide tipped permanent marker. He rips it off quickly, looking around and finding himself still alone, and shoves the magnet into his pocket. If he can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. 

The interior of his car is quiet. Thoughts of the magnet slide to the back of his mind and instead he starts thinking about Ilya not getting on that plane to Nashville again. 

The spiral of where Ilya was or what had happened follows Shane home. Any attempt to call Ilya goes to voicemail. 

“This is Ilya. I will not listen to your message.” 

Shane doesn’t bother leaving one. 

He tries two more times that night. Spaced apart so he doesn’t crowd, but he can’t help trying anyways.  

Silence. 

It was nearly 10pm when Shane’s phone finally rang. His whole body was tense despite purposefully lying in bed with a quiet book to relax and he sprang to action as soon as the sound of the vibration started.  

He barely saw the name Lily on the screen before he tosses his book almost too carelessly to the side to answer the video call. 

“Hey!” Shane hopes it doesn't sound as desperate as he thought it did. Ilya looks alright, he was smiling slightly at least. “Are you okay?”  

“You wear glasses?” Ilya grins and Shane snatches glasses his off quickly and sets them on the book. 

“Just for reading. Where are you?” 

“Home,” Ilya says. “Put them back on, please.” 

“Boston?” Shane asks, but he’s almost sure that will not be the answer.  

“Moscow,” Ilya corrects. He’s walking around a room slowly, but the picture quality is fragmented and doesn’t yield much detail to his surroundings.  

“Are you okay?” 

“I will be better when I see you in your glasses again,” Ilya teases. Shane scoffs but puts his glasses on anyways. At least Ilya’s image is a little sharper, though not enough to make up for the connection deficit.  

“Happy?” 

“Happier,” Ilya smiles. It was worth it. 

They look at one another for a long, quiet moment. He’s savoring seeing Ilya. They don’t video chat. He doesn’t know why, but it’s not something they’ve done before. This moment feels stolen and snatched.  

And on the cusp of something that is probably awful. 

“Is your father...” Shane hedges.  

“Dead. Yes.” 

“Ilya,” he sighs. “I’m so sorry.” 

Ilya gives a small shoulder shrug, a blink and you miss it movement. It’s the only tell that he is upset at all about the situation. “What are people saying about me?” 

“Nothing, the media is being super secretive and the Raiders haven’t--” 

“Good,” Ilya interrupts. “I will be back by the end of the week.” 

Shane does his best to look disapproving. “You should take more time than that.” 

“Why, so you can catch up to me in the scoring race?” 

“I’m being serious,” Shane says. “You know, you can talk to me. About whatever. I want to help. If I can.” 

Ilya says nothing, but he does smile slightly. A real smile. Quiet, and just barely there on his face. It’s real and honest and the kind of smile Shane loves to see look back at him.  

The silence must exist between them for long enough that it becomes too real because Ilya finally smirks slightly and says, “Take off your clothes.” 

Shane scoffs. Is he serious? “What?” 

Ilya shifts, bending down and setting the phone up against something on a table. There’s a couch behind Ilya, but he sits down on the floor instead.  

“I am also being serious,” Ilya shrugs. “If you want to help me, take your clothes off.” 

Shane hesitates only a moment before setting the phone down. He removes his glasses and pulls off his t-shirt before grabbing the phone again. Ilya is already shirtless and Shane isn’t ashamed to say he’s immediately looking at Ilya’s chest.  

“Glasses back on,” Ilya says seriously and taps his cheekbone carefully.  

“They’re really just for reading,” Shane argues.  

“Ah, no,” Ilya corrects. “They are also there to highlight freckles. Very beautiful.” 

Shane grins. “You can’t even see my freckles.” 

“But I know they are there, so,” Ilya grins. “They are dear to me.” 

You’re dear to me, Shane immediately thinks. He settles into his pillows a little deeper.  

“They also make you look smart,” Ilya continues. “Which is good. Trick people after you retire for your weak backhand so you can still be employed.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs and Ilya joins him immediately. 

“What, is true,” Ilya defends still laughing. He has a hand thrown up in innocence. “They say this all the time. Shane Hollander, weak backhand, must retire.” 

“Who says that?” 

“Me,” Ilya shrugs again but this one is far more open and teasing. They smile at one another over video for a long moment. “Now, you must help me. Show me more of you.” 

“The romance.” 

“Yes, Russians are very romantic, this is known.” 

“Is it?” Shane laughs. 

“Yes, this is why you need glasses. You do not know things but then people see you in glasses and they think, ‘ah, Hollander, he must be smart even though his eyes need help with reading’.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Yes,” Ilya smirks. “He is also very bad at phone sex. Has not once shown me his dick.” 

“You haven’t either, asshole!” 

“Ah, yes, show me that too.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs but he’s already tugging his pants down out of sight of the phone camera. He never could say no to Ilya. 

They stay on the phone even as they wash themselves up after. Shane hopes Ilya is on wifi, or at least has roaming data. He can’t imagine the bill for video calling out of country like this for so long.  

“What time is it there?” Shane asks as they’re each settling into their beds.  

“Early,” Ilya hums. “Almost 7am. I cannot sleep.” 

“Jet lag?” 

“Hm, maybe. I do not like it here.” 

“Are you staying with your family?” Shane asks. He can’t imagine trying to live in his parent’s home in prep for their funeral.  

“No, I have apartment. It suits my needs. Not too fancy. I only live here in the summer.” 

“Right.” 

They lapse into a quiet silence again. Shane doesn’t know what to say.  

“My father’s funeral is tomorrow. I... do not know if I will sleep until tonight. There is much planning.” 

“Will your brother help you?” 

“Maybe,” Ilya says. He’s not looking at the screen as he talks, just barely holding his phone up enough to keep him in frame. “He has not had many words for me since I landed. Not kind ones, at least.” 

“What does he say?” 

Ilya looks back at the phone. “I do not wish to repeat them. Much too mean for nice Canadian ears.” 

Shane doesn’t bother to argue that he’s heard terrible things just within their job.  

“You should nap,” he says instead.  

“I do not want to hang up,” Ilya whispers quietly.  

“We can stay on the phone. I also have to sleep.” 

Ilya stares at him for a long moment before quietly whispering, “okay.” 

They adjust their phones to rest on their respective nightstands. Ilya curses when Shane reminds him to set an alarm and plug his phone into a charger, making Ilya have to find a whole new position for his phone to accommodate the cord.  

Eventually, they both settle down on their sides looking at each other on screen. 

“Goodnight, Ilya.” 

“Goodnight, Shane.” 

He doesn’t expect a response, but Shane texts out the message anyways. Russia is seven hours ahead, but that doesn’t help when Shane isn’t very acquainted with Russian funeral practices.  

“You texting Lily?” Hayden asks.  

Shane looks over from where he’s flopped on his hotel bed, chewing a hoodie string. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” 

“Cool,” Hayden nods. “You look serious.” 

“He’s going through something right now.” 

“Oh, bummer,” Hayden winces. “Family?” 

“I guess.” 

Hayden quirks an eyebrow. “You don’t know?” 

Shane rolls his eyes. “No, yeah, it’s family stuff. His family sucks.” 

“Are they cool with you guys?” 

“They don’t know. It’s not really safe for him to come out.” 

“Right.” 

Shane looks back over at Hayden who seems lost in thought. 

“You good, man?” 

His friend snaps his attention back to the present.  

“I guess I never really thought much about what it would be like to not be able to tell my Mom I loved Jackie, you know?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Shane nods sadly. Hayden looks at him sympathetically. “I don’t know if I ever planned to tell my mom.” 

“Ever?” 

Shane shrugs. “I guess I thought it didn’t matter. I had hockey, and it’s not like I could come out before I retired.” 

“Shane,” Hayden said. He was staring at Shane with a disbelieving expression. “We’re not retiring for like another decade.” 

“Or more,” Shane says offended. “I could easily go another 15 years with no injury.” 

“Shane, buddy, you were just going to stay closeted for 15 more years?” 

Shane looks back at his phone and pretends to be scrolling. “I guess.” 

The silence lingers between them.  

“Would you ever have told me?” Hayden asks quietly after a while. Shane looks back at him and something on his face must have belayed the truth. “Shit. You wouldn’t. Would you?” 

“It’s not personal, Hayd,” Shane promises. 

“Was I... Did I make you feel unsafe?” 

Shane presses his lips together and shrugs again, non-committal.  

“Oh,” Hayden whispers.  

“It’s not like I thought you were homophobic, or whatever,” Shane says again. He sits up to look more directly at Hayden. “But I could never be sure. I wasn’t even going to tell my parents. My mom only found out because of Twitter.” 

“But I’ve said stupid shit,” Hayden pieces together. “Locker room talk. Except it wasn’t fun for you, too.” 

“Hayden, it’s fine,” Shane sighs. “I know how it is, okay?” 

“But it’s not okay, Shane,” Hayden pushes. “I see how what Comeau says under his breath bothers you. And that game in Jersey last week that d-man said something to you and you looked like he’d hit you upside the head.” 

Shane winces. He didn’t think Hayden had seen that. Jersey’s defenseman was from Texas originally and very loose with his slurs. This was not new to Shane, especially lately, but the thought that now he knew what Shane was made the words hit too hard.  

“See?” Hayden continues. “I know I’ve hurt you, too. How many times have we called people a cocksucker in the locker room. And you just stood there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh with us. I’m sorry, Shane. I’m really sorry I hurt you.” 

Shane blinked back the moisture in his eyes and looked away from Hayden towards the floor.  

“And now I have to look my kids in the eye and know deep down I’m a part of the problem. And it’s not about me. But I want more for them. I don’t want Arthur to get teased for playing dolls with his sisters.” 

Shane snorts at the image but smiles up at his friend sadly. Hayden is trying. He knows.  

“You’re a good dad.” 

“But am I good friend?” 

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “You are, I promise. You’re the first person to tell me it was okay, you know?” 

“Yeah?” Hayden looks hopeful. Grateful for the bone.  

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “I wasn’t ready to hear it, but you were the first to be there for me.” 

“Only because I called you after you told me not to.” 

Shane laughs and it does sound a little watery to his ears. But he’s not crying. “Yeah, yeah, you were right.” 

“I love you, Buddy.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Shane’s phone buzzes with a text and he snatches it up quickly. 

“Lily?” 

“Yeah, it’s him. I’m just gonna,” Shane awkwardly gestures over his shoulder towards the hall, bouncing quickly as he toes on his shoes without undoing the laces.  

“Yeah, yeah, go talk to your man,” Hayden waves him off.  

His phone immediately starts buzzing with an incoming call and Shane half jogs down the hall to the stairwell. The door echoes behind him and Shane only gets a half flight of stairs down before landing himself on the step and against the railing. 

“How are you?” he asks in lieu of a greeting. 

“Okay,” Ilya says, voice rough and husky. “Not good. Probably bad.” 

 “How’s your, uh, family?”  

“At their worst,” he says. “My brother is, uh... I don’t know. Scared. Makes him terrible.” 

Shane closes his eyes and listens, tries desperately to picture Ilya in this moment. He’s outside, Shane can hear the road noise faintly, and the wind too. But is he in a coat? Is he by trees? Is he warm? 

“And it makes me terrible back,” Ilya admits.  

“Is it very upsetting?” Shane asks. He wants to know everything, but they’ve never done this before. They’re so new to having heavy conversations. Tampa feels so long ago but it was so recent in their history. 

“Yes... but...” Ilya sighs. “Maybe I’m upset about the wrong thing.” 

“You mean not your father?” 

“Maybe I...” Ilya grasps for words, frustration evident in the lack of emotion verbalized. “I wish it could be different. I wish he could know me, or...” Ilya inhales sharply. “I don’t know. I don’t know... English is too hard right now.” 

“I wish I spoke Russian,” Shane admits.  

“Hm, yeah, you could probably learn it in a week. No accent. Perfect. Bonjour.” 

Shane smiles. “That’s French, Ilya.” 

“Yeah, I know, Shane.” 

“Where are you?” he asks. 

“I’m just walking,” Ilya says. “I needed to get out.” 

“Hey, I have an idea,” Shane tries. “How about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but in Russian? I won’t understand but maybe it’ll help?” 

He shrugs even though Ilya can’t see him. The line is quiet a moment as Ilya weighs the suggestion.  

“Okay,” Ilya finally says. Shane can hear his deep inhale, preparing for whatever he’s about to say, whatever weight that conversation will hold. And then he begins.  

Shane’s eyes close as he listens to the words flow over him. Ilya’s native language is mocked for sounding harsh, but to hear the words come from Ilya’s tongue feels a bit like magic to Shane. Even if those words are tinged in grief, and anger, and loss, and frustration. It’s a part of the locked safe that makes up Ilya and Shane is so desperate to know more. 

Ilya goes on. And on. Repeating words in frustration of whatever he is saying. It’s beautiful. 

He pauses for a long moment, and Shane can hear the way tears are clogging his throat. It reminds him of holding Ilya in Tampa while he cried over the impending loss of his father. Now his father is dead.  

Ilya speaks again, sounding almost resigned. Whatever he’s saying lodges itself deep in Shane’s chest, pinning him to the stairs that he’s taken quiet refuge on.  

“Okay,” Ilya finally says. “I am done.” 

“Do you feel better?” Shane hopes. 

Ilya sighs. “Yes. Thank you.”  

“Maybe you could teach me Russian some day?” Shane suggests. It’s meant to alleviate the tension, but he is desperate to hear Ilya speak to him in his native tongue and for Shane to truly understand it.  

“Mmm, yeah, okay,” Ilya says and Shane can hear the way Ilya is slowly coming back to himself. “Only useful phrases.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know, like harder, please, yes sir...” 

It startles a laugh out of Shane.  

“Fuck you,” he teases. 

“No, more like ‘fuck me please’.” 

Shane snorts. He flounders a moment with what he wants to say next. “How about, ‘I wish you were here right now?’” 

Ilya is quiet and when he does respond back, in Russian, the words are honest and heavy.  

They sit in silence for a little longer. Shane listens to Ilya breathe and hopes that it’s not creepy. He wants to crawl inside Ilya. Maybe he wants Ilya to hide inside his chest, where Shane could protect him from everything awful in Russia. From family or worse.  

“You have game?” Ilya breaks the silence. “You should be preparing.” 

“Maybe,” Shane admits but he knows Ilya is right. He’s been on the phone for almost forty minutes.  Their bus to the arena is due to take them in maybe an hour and a half. For once he’s not thinking about it. 

“Go,” Ilya commands. “I’m okay. I promise. Me and Sveta have a few things to handle here.” 

Shane nods to himself even though Ilya can’t see it. He knew Svetlana had joined him. He tries not to let the envy creep into his chest, not when she clearly is there to support Ilya.  

She wasn’t who he called, a tiny voice in his head reminds him.  

Of course, why would he call her when they’re in the same city. Shane chooses to disregard that thought train.  

“You must take advantage of my absence for the scoring race, yes?”  

“I don’t care,” Shane admits. “We can pick it back up when you’re home.” 

“Yes,” Ilya agrees. “When I’m home.”

Chapter End Notes

I was writing the phone call scene and kept toggling between my 100% legally downloaded copy of Episode 5 and my word doc to get it pretty accurate. That's how I discovered that the Russian to English subs are NOT hardcoded into the show. Got to listen to that phone call through the ears of Shane which admittedly was kind of a cool experience from a Reheat perspective.

It does mean that the thing about Rachel's writing that bother's me the most became something I repeated. I love that the show gives way more insight as to what Ilya goes through. So much of the book is, "and then Ilya spoke Russian". It's why I really get the vibe that HR is Shane's book whereas TLG is Ilya's book, despite both being theirs.

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

Coach Theriault is a gruff man. He has a no-nonsense demand of his team that regularly involves pushing them all into extended workouts when things do not go according to plan. He originally began his coaching career at the collegiate level before working into the AHL and eventually NHL. He is a man who expects excellence and that attitude is the exact reason he was tapped to rebuild the Montreal Metros three years before Shane was drafted.  

His office is clinical with shelving that displays plaques and no other personal effects. He has a calendar maintained by facility staff of the team’s play schedule and a whiteboard with various notes written in dry erase hung on the wall. The entire room is painted in the dark blue shade of the Metros with a single white accent and red line running through the length of the cinder-block cage.  

Shane hates it in there.  

Maybe it would be better if he was ever brought in for anything other than disciplinary measures, but that’s all Theriault seems to use the office for when it involves players. He prefers to meet with Shane and his A’s down on the ice with one of the play whiteboards shaped like the rink.  

“Hollander,” Theriault wastes no time on pleasantries. He gestures to the stiff leather seats that sit in front of his desk. Shane complies and waits quietly for his coach to begin. “I’m hearing things. I don’t like it. What’s happening in that locker room?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean, Sir,” Shane says. It’s true, he isn’t sure if Theriault means what Shane thinks, but if Shane has learned anything from being Yuna Hollander’s son, then it’s not to show your hand too early.  

“Twitter,” Theriault says. “I don’t give a fuck about it but there’s rumors and the rumors are loud. And that noise is in the room and I don’t want your personal life clogging things up.” 

“Sir?” 

“Hollander,” Theriault leans forward and clasps his hands on the desk that separates him from Shane. He wears a Breitling watch, Shane registers in the back of his mind. “I have guys complaining about shit I frankly don’t care about. Tweets from random people you’ve supposedly spent time with. But the locker room is making it a problem, so now it’s my problem, which means I need you to fix your problem. I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want the guys to think about it. But if I hear about you... engaging in anything you shouldn’t with the team then this conversation will be different.” 

Shane swallows but tries not to fidget further. “Engaging in things I shouldn’t?” 

Theriault glances at his monitor. “Inappropriate behaviors for a workplace environment that could make coworkers feel uncomfortable.” 

He turns back Shane and raises an eyebrow. “Clear things up?” 

“Sir,” Shane starts to say but Theriault cuts him off.

“Fix the locker room. Set the tone. Win the Cup. Understood?” 

Shane swallows back the anger that threatens to choke him or worse, bubble out and have him say something that would put him on waivers. His coach is staring at him without blinking and the tension in the room is settling down Shane's spine in a way that makes him anxious.

“Understood.” 

“Now get the fuck out.” 

Shane moves as fast as he can without telegraphing his nerves too much. 

He throws up in the janitor closet mop sink and diligently washes it all down with the sink hose.  

It could work, Shane thinks as he looks around his apartment, if he invites Ilya here. He could have Ilya over, show him around his actual apartment, invite Ilya into his real bed.  

It could be something real. 

His anxiety nearly talks him out of it. 

Things have been different with Ilya in a very good, very big feeling way. They text more, joke more, open up to one another more... Shane loves it. He wants more. Not knowing if Ilya really wants more stops him dead in his tracks each time.  

“Fuck it,” Shane mumbles to himself and unlocks his phone. He’s navigated to Rose’s contact before he can talk himself out of yet another thing and listens to the ringing. 

“Shane!” she greets him cheerfully. “You caught me at the perfect time. We’re getting rained out and they do NOT want me looking like a drowned blue smurf.” 

“Sounds fun,” he laughs. “I’m glad I caught you, then.” 

“Agreed,” she says. “What’s up?” 

“I just can’t call my ex-girlfriend randomly mid-day?” 

“Definitely not when you phrase it that way, Mister.” 

Shane fake scoffs but immediately relents. Rose is far too easy to talk to. In another, heterosexual, life maybe they would have been perfect for one another. 

“I want your opinion,” he says. “I want to invite Ilya over.” 

“Uh, obviously yes.” 

“No, he’s never been to my apartment.” 

Rose pauses. “Haven’t you both been fucking for like... years?” 

“Don’t say it like that,” Shane grumbles.  

“Am I wrong?” 

“No, but that’s not the point,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s just embarrassing. I don’t know. But yes, he’s just never been over. It feels big.” 

“What do you guys normally do then?” she asks. “Just meet up in his hotel?” 

“No, I have a property we normally go to, I guess,” he explains. “It’s on the other side of town by the river. I bought it a few years ago.” 

“You bought a building.” 

“It’s not weird. Real estate is a fantastic way to diversify your portfolio. It has a business on the first floor and everything.” 

“Did you maybe buy this place so you could fuck your rival without people seeing?” 

“No.” 

Rose waits him out. The both sit in silence on the line until Shane finally huffs out in annoyance. 

“Fine, yes. But it felt serious to bring him to my place!” 

She cackles. Without a shred of mercy, too.  

“Rose!” 

“Shane!” she mimics. “You really bought a sex condo.” 

“Fuck, don’t call it that!” Shane rubs at his face in embarrassment. It’s hot to the touch and he knows he must be blushing. “That’s what Ilya calls it, too.” 

“That’s hilarious.” 

“Shut up,” he whines. “You two are never meeting.” 

“I’ll be at your wedding.” 

“We’re not getting married.” 

“Sure.” 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles. “What do I do?” 

“Invite him over, obviously,” she says. He can hear her taking a sip of some drink, the ice rattling in whatever shitty plastic cup it’s in. “Say ‘Ilya, love of my life and hotness of my body--” 

“I’m not saying that.” 

“Please come over to my not sex condo and fuck me into the mattress.” 

“I might say that.” 

She laughs again and he’s helpless to join. “See? It’ll work.” 

“Whatever. You make it sound easy.” 

“Because it is easy,” she promises. “He’ll want to come over, I promise. You have a nice bed too! And your shower. He should know the amenities dating Shane Hollander provides.” 

“We’re not going to date,” Shane rolls his eyes.  

“Um, Shane, you’re so totally trying to date him right now.” 

Shane tugs at his hoodie string and pulls at the fray over the aglet. “We can’t. It’s too dangerous for him.” 

“Oh,” she says. Her voice has gone from giggly to sober too fast. “Is it because of him being Russian?” 

“Yeah,” Shane nods. “The law is vague, from what I can tell. No promoting non-traditional family values.” 

“What would happen to him?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think he knows. But he’s more scared than he’s letting on, I think.” 

“That’s awful.” 

“He has family there. I can’t take that from him.” 

“You could offer him a choice,” she says. “Let him choose you.” 

“He might resent me.” 

“He might not.” 

Shane sighs. His social battery is already depleted. Faster than he expected too. Normally, talking with Rose is like talking with Ilya, at least in the sense that he can do so for hours. The conversation has grown tough and he’s once again reminded of how much he and Ilya will have to fight for to become... anything.  

“Invite him over,” she says firmly. “Offer him that future through actions. He won’t be able to resist you. I couldn’t!” 

“You broke up with me for being gay.” 

“I broke up with you so that you could be happy and fulfilled with a partner you were attracted to!” 

“Kinda homophobic,” Shane teases and her responding gasp of outrage is well worth the chirp.  

“Shane Hollander! You did not call me, biggest ally to gay boyfriends everywhere, homophobic.” 

“I don’t know,” he sings. 

“Shut up, don’t you have a man to invite to your non-sex condo.” 

“Ugh! Don’t call it that,” Shane groans.  

“I can’t wait to meet him.” 

That was definitely not a good idea. 

“No way.” 

“We could terrorize you together!” 

“No. Way.” 

“Boo! Go call your man!” 

“He’s not my man.” 

“Wait, wait, Shane!” 

“What?”  

“I meant to ask you something,” she says seriously. “I need to know.” 

“What?” 

“I forgot the name of the river.” 

Shane scrunches his brow. “The St. Lawrence?” 

“No, not here,” she says. “The one in egypt.” 

“The Nile?” 

“You mean, DUH NILE?” 

“You’re not funny.” 

“I’m hilarious,” she tells him. 

Despite his protests, he’s smiling when the she hangs up on him and he’s left with the beeping noise of the call ending.  

The morning of the Metros’ home game against the Raiders is cold. The St. Lawrence River is still mostly frozen but has begun to thin and break up under the current and fluctuating temperatures they’ve had of late. It’ll likely be several more months before anyone in Montreal can comfortably set foot outside without a jacket, but at least they’ve had multiple days that hit well above freezing.  

The locker room ahead of the match is the same tenor it’s been since they resumed the season post All-Stars. Frankly, Shane is getting pretty tired of it.  

He finds the roll of Pride tape tucked inside his right glove this time which meant he almost didn’t even find it until he hit the ice itself.  

“Bro,” Hayden hisses when Shane tips the glove over into his hand and the flashy metallic stick tape rolls out into his palm. “What the fuck is that doing there?” 

Shane doesn’t meet Hayden’s eyes as he tosses the tape into his bag. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” 

“How the fuck did that get there?” Hayden looks around the locker room quickly before scanning Shane’s stall again. “Did someone leave that for you?” 

“It’s fine, Hayd,” Shane says. “Just leave it.” 

“What, no--” 

“Hayden,” he tries a bit firmer, this time looking up to his friend. Hayden looks upset, but likely not at Shane. “It’s a joke.” 

“Are you laughing?” Hayden raises his eyebrows and looks at Shane with a hard expression.  

“Was the joke funny?” Rose had asked him on the phone a month ago.  

“We have a game to play,” Shane says and stands. His eye catches the group across the locker room huddled together casually. Comeau, Drapeau, Gagnon, Heisen, and a few other of the veteran guys are wall sharing a small smirk and occasionally glancing towards him.  

He could’ve been the topic of conversation, or he could’ve been in their eyeline.  

Shane chooses not to think about it.  

It’s time to head out to the tunnel for warmups anyways.  

The fresh ice brings a clarity to Shane’s head every time. Something smooth under his skates that has only been marred by refs and other officials up to this point. Miitty immediately sets off for his crease, ready to break it in as their main goalie. Most of the guys do a few laps, Hayden, Shane, and JJ included before settling into their own stretch routine. Shane gets into his preferred butterfly stretches and looks across the ice to the away team.  

Ilya is laughing with Marlow and St Simon. He isn’t looking at Shane, but him being further across the ice means Shane can look at him and have it look like he’s probably just gazing into middle distance.  

Eventually, Ilya breaks off from his group to do a casual lap and settle near the red line into a lunge. The positioning looks nearly unintentional, but Shane smiles at their routine of stealing a few words with one another ahead of each game. He stands, skating over with his stick to stand on his own side of the line across from Ilya.  

“We still on for tonight?” he asks with a flat expression in case the cameras for pre-game coverage are on them. He knows the answer and Ilya looks up at him from his lunge. “1919. That’s the code. For the front door. I’ll text it to you.” 

“Front door?” Ilya raises his brow. “Brave.” 

“Fuck you,” Shane throws back.  

“Later,” Ilya says.  

Shane rolls his eyes and pushes off on his skates to join Hayden at the boards. His friend side eyes Ilya at the line and looks between both him and Shane.  

“What was that about?” Hayden asks with his normal air of suspicion around any Raider.  

Shane shrugs and snatches the water bottle resting on the bench wall up before squirting some into his mouth. “Just offering my condolences.” 

Hayden, to his credit, looks caught off guard and mildly chastised. “Fuck, maybe I should have done that.” 

Shane bites back a smile at the thought of how Ilya would’ve reacted to Hayden saying something sincere to him. 

“What’d he say?” 

“Told me to fuck off,” Shane lies.  

Hayden scoffs. “Jesus, what a dick.” 

Before Shane can stop himself, he says, “He’s not that bad. It’s mostly an act.” 

Hayden narrows his eyes at the comment. “Sure is a good one.” 

“Yeah,” Shane says casually. “Let’s make sure we win this one.” 

“We will,” Hayden nods.  

The opening puck drop is being set up at center ice now. Tonight features several WWII veterans dropping the puck for Shane and Ilya to pose with, quickly followed by the Canadian and American National Anthems respectively.  

And then it’s game on.  

Shane and Ilya get first face off and Shane can’t hold back the grin as Ilya squats down into his view. Their sticks tap against one another, each fighting a game with no score while they can before the Ref slides into position for drop.  

And then Shane is knocking it out to Hayden with a sharp back hand who immediately takes off towards the offensive zone. The Raiders are sharp today, not missing a beat with their Captain back, and are making a headache for the Metros on the ice.  

Shane gets control of the Puck again, sliding around the St. Simon before Ilya slides up on his blind spot and intercepts a pass back to Hayden.  

Back and forth, they fight for control with no shots on either goal the first 7 minutes of the game.  

Then, Shane gets passed the puck and has a clear run up the ice. The Raiders had clogged themselves up in the Metros’ defensive zone and now only the two Raider D-men sat in his path. He feels more than sees Ilya on his tail, but it still is electric and reminds him so much of the energy they had at All-Stars.  

He makes his mistake. Shane knows the ice in front of him is clear, so he looks over his left shoulder with a wicked grin to catch Ilya’s eyes and sees a matching expression staring back at him. They’re perfect. They’re so evenly matched and this game is so fun when he’s on the ice with Ilya in any 

Marlow hits him from his side. Shane never sees it coming, and his head bounces off the ice. He falls unconscious mid-slide.  

He’s being shifted, helmet slid off and a pen light shining in his eyes.  

“Is he okay?!” Ilya shouts from somewhere off to the side. “Fucking tell me!” 

“Go to your bench, Rozanov,” someone from Shane’s opposite side directs. He’s weightless. No, he’s being lifted, which means he’s on a board.  

His parents are watching this game. They’re gonna be so scared. 

He tries to open his eyes and find Ilya, but the arena is so bright. Everything hurts his eyes. His whole body feels on fire but he’s still cold.  

“I’m okay,” Shane tries to say. Maybe Ilya will hear him. Maybe his parents will hear him. No. They’re in Ottawa. That’s right. He tries again, “My parents?” 

“Your coach is calling them,” someone says from above his head.  

“Okay,” Shane mumbles. He’s so tired. At least his parents know he’s okay. Ilya doesn’t know, though. “Tell him I’m fine. I’m okay.” 

“Tell who?” 

“He’s gonna worry.” 

“Coach is calling your Dad,” the person says again, which is stupid because his mom is the first person they will call. And she’s always watching with his dad.  

“No, not him, Ilya” he says angrily. Why don’t they understand him?  

“Who?” the person repeats again. Like an owl.  

Shane is so tired. 

“Hey, Shane?” they’re talking again but Shane is so tired. “You really need to keep your eyes open, okay?” 

That sounds like a terrible idea. He can’t even open his eyes. 

Closed eyes are good for sleeping. He’s so tired.

Chapter End Notes

Next chapter is my favorite chapter AND it's the longest one (so far?). 😈😈😈😈😈

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Chapter Notes

Ilya thought he knew what fear felt like. He thought he knew the way fear could race a heart or freeze the blood in your veins. Scary movies, getting startled when you weren’t expecting it, the sound of a predator in the woods when you were all alone...

None of it came close to the sheer terror that Ilya feels when he sees Marly knock Shane onto the ice and not see Shane immediately get back up.

He doesn’t even know if Shane is still breathing.

And no one will tell him any fucking thing!

“Get your head in the game,” Coach LeClaire tells him the moment Ilya is hustled back onto the bench by a ref.

He must nod. He must do something.

Marly is bent over in half next to him with his head in his hands as they take Shane down the tunnel.

“Blyat,” Ilya hisses and looks up at the jumbotron. The fans are clapping for Shane as he’s wheeled briskly down the corridor and out of sight of cameras. He turns his gaze to the Metro bench and sees Pike arguing with several of the defensive line guys and it gets heated enough for Pike to shove one of them back a few inches. Boiziau, Shane’s other friend, pulls Pike back.

Ilya does not like the way the defensive line guys grin at Pike. He’s seen that look in his brother’s eyes when his brother thinks he knows something.

Pike shakes off Boiziau, speaks to the Metros coach, and then moves to head back down the tunnel. He turns just before he’s out of sight and catches Ilya watching but doesn’t slow his gait.

“Fuck, Roz,” Marly moans next to him, sitting up finally and tipping his head back at the rafters. “I didn’t mean to fucking hit him that hard.”

Ilya grinds his back molars. He doesn’t trust himself to not snap on his friend right now. It was a clean hit. Ilya knows this. But Marlow really just knocked the love of Ilya’s life out cold on the ice and made Ilya watch helplessly from the sidelines.

Fuck. What if Ilya never gets to tell Shane he loves him in a language Shane actually understands?

“Not like I love you,” Ilya had told him over the phone in a graffiti drawn tunnel in Moscow. He had said it in Russian, knowing as he said the words that he was a coward for not saying them in English.

Shane had just sat on the phone and let Ilya vent and bare his whole fucking heart out like the nice, boring, Canadian he was and then asked if Ilya felt better.

He did not feel fucking better now, that was for sure.

The ref that skated Ilya to the bench was now skating out to center ice and the crowd dulled to a hum.

“The play has been reviewed and determined to be a clean hit,” the Ref announced. “No penalty will be awarded.”

Every blue jersey in the crowd lit up with the loudest boos Ilya has heard in a long time. Raiders getting booed on Away ice is not unusual, but this was an extreme level of anger being spit at them.

Ilya pat Marlow’s back in comfort. The man looked green and the boos were making it worse.

“He’ll be okay,” Ilya promises. He’s not sure if he’s telling Marly or himself.

First intermission can’t come fast enough. The moment the period ends, Ilya is headed straight off the ice and out of view of cameras. Looks like the Metros got tapped for press this round, probably to give an update on Shane or say some words of support or whatever other bullshit management is pushing. He doesn’t give a fuck, that’s for sure. Likely means he or Marly is going to get tapped for the next intermission, but that’s a future Ilya problem.

Right now, he’s got a little over fifteen minutes to try and figure out where the fuck they took Shane. He doesn’t know a single thing about Montreal except too many people only speak French and the sex condo real estate business has ground.

Marlow grabs a bench and a Gatorade before settling himself into staring off at the corner. Ilya doesn’t have the brain capacity to bring his friend back, right now, and he knows he’ll have to do more for him post game.

He snatches his phone out of his cubby lightning fast, barely managing to prop his stick in a way that it won’t fall. He almost ignores the notification wall on the lockscreen except the word Montreal stands out from a text preview.

How the fuck did Hayden fucking Pike get his phone number? There's an English phrase about the mouths of horses that Shane tried to explain over text a few weeks ago. It was stupid and required a whole history lesson on horse sales and Ilya still doesn’t understand it. He thinks of it now though as he saves the contact and reopens the message conversation.

Management is giving a two minute warning to the team when Pike responds back.

Ilya snorts at the message tosses his phone back into the locker cubby. He’s pushing off on the ice as the lights come back up to full brightness when he realizes the message means Pike most definitely knows he was playing this game.

Second intermission has the Raiders winning 2-1. The Metros are hurting without their C and one of their AC’s, but they’re a talented team and able to hold their own under pressure.

Third period ends with no team scoring again, which means the Raider’s win in regulation and Ilya is finally off the ice almost two hours after Shane got injured. He has to shower, pack his bag, get back to the hotel, drop his stuff, and then make his way to the hospital.

Except, can he even go? Has it been publicized where Shane was taken? Is there press?

Ilya scans and scans but finds no official mention of Montreal General which means he might be able to beat out press... and then say what?  

He tips his head back on the bus seat on the way to the hotel and works through his options. Marly is sitting next to him. It’s what they always do. He almost misses the days when they roomed together for Away games, but he’s requested singles ever since he took Captaincy. The space was nice, but being able to sneak out to see Shane was nicer.  

“Do you think they’d let me see him in the hospital before we fly out tomorrow?” Marly asks. Ilya shrugs. “I feel fucking terrible.” 

“I know you do,” Ilya says and pats Marly on the knee. “Hollander will know it was an accident.” 

“Fuck, I hope so,” Marly says quickly. “He’s a good fucking dude, ya know? And all those rumors around him a few months ago already were fucked up. Shit. Twitter probably thinks I’m an asshole.” 

Ilya snorts. “All of Montreal thinks that anyways.” 

It draws a laugh out of Marlow. “I guess you’re right about that.” 

“Hollander will not think you are homophobic,” Ilya says quietly and Marly looks over at him. “He knows you are good dude.” 

Marlow swallows heavily and looks down at his hands. “I hope so. I don’t care about any of that shit, Roz. Whether the rumors are true or not.” 

“That is good to know,” Ilya hums and pats his friend on the shoulder again.  

“Good, good,” Marlow nods to himself. They’re quiet the rest of the ride to the hotel, nodding only once to one another as they split to go down different hallways to their respective rooms.  

Ilya spares only enough time to shower quickly, throw on the most casual and non-descript clothing he has (Addidas joggers and a navy hoodie that is definitely one of Shane’s), and tuck his curls up into a ball cap before he’s back in the lobby and out the front doors. He plays the ‘no English/French’ card in the rideshare and uses the time to keep scanning the internet for updates. 

Traffic is not in his favor, but he’s not slowed down too considerably, and Ilya makes it to the hospital 45 minutes ahead of visiting hours ending. 

Ilya closes out of the message app and ducks into the stairwell. He hopes jogging up the stairs will burn the restless energy, but all it does is make his skate exhausted thighs ache more. The hallway is dim, likely prep for shift turnover or however the fuck hospitals handle staffing. He turns the final corner to Shane’s room and sees Pike standing guard out front.  

The moment Pike spots Ilya, he tips his head back to the ceiling and curses.  

“Fuck, I was really hoping it wasn’t going to be you.” 

“Yes, yes, I am annoying fucking Russian and you are Metro 15th best player,” Ilya chirps. “Can we move the fuck on? I don’t want to get spotted out here in the hall.” 

“Yeah, nice fucking disguise,” Pike rolls his eyes but opens the door to Shane’s room and all but pushes Ilya inside. 

Shane is laid out unconscious in the bed in the center of the room. Whether he hasn’t woken up or is just sleeping, Ilya can’t begin to guess. He looks small, though, so unlike the strong man that Ilya knows and loves. Shane can throw him around and can best Ilya if they’re playing around wrestling, even if most of the time Shane lets himself lose to lean into the game further.  

The room is dark with the overhead lighting turned off. There is a wall light over the back of Shane’s bed to illuminate the various outlets and hookups that are available and it’s all you can use to see by in the room, now. Plenty to walk and see one another in, but still dark enough to sleep. 

“Oh,” a feminine voice says and it startles Ilya. He flinches and looks over to see both of Shane’s parents staring at him with surprised expressions. 

“Ah, yes,” Ilya says sheepishly. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Shane’s father says. David Hollander, Ilya knows. Shane’s parents are always at functions with him, though Ilya’s only really interacted with Yuna.  

Pike shoulder checks Ilya and flops down in one of the chairs next to Shane’s bed. The only other chair in the room is next to Shane’s parents and currently has a bag of what looks like Shane’s belongings and Yuna’s purse on it. A few takeout containers sit off to the side on Shane’s bedside table.  

“How is he?” Ilya asks the Hollanders. “Is he going to be okay?” 

Yuna blinks at him a few times before snapping her gaze over to Shane. “Um, yes. His X-Ray shows a broken collar bone. That’s what the sling is for. CAT Scan has no internal bleeding. They have him on something for the pain and something to help him sleep.” 

Ilya swallows heavily. He wants to cry. He does not want to cry in front of any of these people, especially when Shane isn’t even awake to help comfort him.  

He sniffs heavily and says, “Good... that is good.” 

“Yes,” Yuna agrees. Everyone sits in silence for a long minute before Yuna suddenly jumps and clears the seat next to her. “You must be tired from the game.” 

Ilya nods and takes the seat next to her. It’s awkward. He does not know what to say in either language. Maybe they do not know what to say either. He looks across Shane’s bed to see Pike texting someone and stoutly ignoring Ilya.  

“So, Rozanov,” David breaks the silence.  

“Ah, Ilya is fine.” 

“Ilya,” David corrects and Ilya smiles at the way David is careful with the pronunciation. “Congrats on your game.” 

Ilya furrows his brow and looks between Shane’s parents. Yuna definitely does not look to be sharing the sentiment of her husband.  

“Thank you,” Ilya says quietly, though it sounds like a question. “Is not the same without Shane on the ice. Too easy.” 

“I wasn’t there either,” Pike mumbles petulantly like a child. 

“I said what I said.” 

David chuckles and Ilya smiles just slightly. The man seems nice and it makes sense he raised someone like Shane.  

“I have to get back home,” Pike says apologetically. 

“Of course, honey,” Yuna says and stands to give Pike a hug. “Thank you for being here for him.” 

“Yeah, totally,” Pike says. It’s clear he and Yuna are on good terms even outside of a setting like this. Ilya pretends he isn’t jealous of that familiarity. 

David stands too and also hugs Pike, which surprises Ilya a bit. His own father would never hug anyone, ever, under any circumstances. And now his father is dead.  

Pike spares a look to Ilya. “We’ll talk?” 

“If we have to,” Ilya shrugs. Being an asshole to Pike comes easily and feels safe. “Thank you for texting.” 

“Yeah,” Pike shrugs back. “You owe me $100.” 

Ilya frowns. “We have not bet anything?” 

“Yeah, well me and Jackie, my wife, did, and she fucking won,” Pike says annoyed. “She figured out it was you. My money was on St Simon.” 

“Vic?” Ilya asks disgusted. “Please, Shane has standards.” 

“Barely,” Pike snorts and Ilya grins.  

“I venmo you?” 

“I’m Canadian.” 

“Ah, this is news to me.” 

“Fuck off,” Pike rolls his eyes. “We don’t have Venmo.” 

“That is bad,” Ilya nods solemnly. “It is only form of payment they give Russians on visas. You will stay broke.” 

Pike scoffs and turns to Shane’s parents. “Night, let me know if anything happens?” 

“Of course,” Yuna promises. Pike slips out without looking at Ilya again. 

David returns to his seat, but to Ilya’s surprise, Yuna takes Pike’s across the bed.  

The inquisition. Ilya is now on trial. 

The silence lingers amongst the three of them and Ilya looks at the heart monitor to the side of Shane’s bed. The quiet beep beep beep that shows everything good in Ilya’s life is still here.  

“Ilya,” Yuna says finally. She says his name with care too, like her husband. Ilya looks over at her and sees her resting her hand on Shane’s bed. She’s on Shane’s bad side, the side in the sling, so she has no hand to grab, but she rests herself near his thigh anyways.  

“Mrs. Hollander,” Ilya says carefully. “I am sorry we are meeting like this. It is not what Shane would want, I think.” 

“No,” Yuna concedes. “But I think he would not have wanted us to meet until he had planned out everything about the encounter first.” 

“We would not meet for many years, then,” Ilya smiles. “He thinks too much.” 

David chuckles and leans forward onto his knees to better see both Ilya and Yuna at the same time. “That he does. He always has.” 

Yuna reaches up and brushes a hair off Shane’ forehead. It immediately falls back.  

“When we found out Shane was seeing a player,” she says, “I’m not sure we ever could have guessed it was you. You guys hate each other.” 

Ilya winces. “That is press. Not us. We never hate. Well, he maybe hated me at draft.” 

“I think so too,” she agrees.  

“So,” David begins and Ilya turns to look at Shane’s father. “You two are dating?” 

Ilya shakes his head. “Too dangerous. I...my family, in Russia. I must go home.” 

“Yes, the laws there are not kind,” David nods.  

“No, they are not.” 

“You have to go back?” Yuna asks with a sympathetic expression. “You were just there.” 

“My niece is still there,” he explains. “I do not wish to speak with my brother, but there are things I must do for her. A trust. Transfer of property. That sort of thing.” 

“And you cannot be out and go home,” David finishes his thought. Ilya nods.  

“It would not be safe,” he continues. “And here? It is maybe safe, but Shane wishes to play for many years. We do not know that he can do that if he is out. Or we are out together.” 

Yuna presses her lips together in thought. Shane looks the same way when he is biting back words. Ilya has learned to wait Shane out and his mama is the same way. 

“Has he talked to you at all about his team?” she asks, finally. “Said anything?” 

Ilya is confused. “What do you mean, like insider information? Shane would never do that.” 

“No, no,” she corrects. “How they are treating him?” 

“They are bad,” he surmises and Yuna shrugs. 

“He won’t tell us. But Hayden hinted at something he saw. I don’t think he knows either.” 

Ilya’s jaw flexes in anger and he works to relax it. Shane would give everyone half-truths.  

“All he says is, ‘I have it handled’,” Ilya tells them. “I do not push. He gets upset. Closes off. I cannot get past the wall he puts up. I let it go. I maybe should push harder.” 

He’s startled by David reaching over and patting his knee, just like Ilya had done to Marly on the bus.  

“It’s okay, we aren’t blaming you,” Shane’s father promises.  

It’s a weird thing to hear from a father. Ilya nods dumbly.  

“Maybe he told Rose,” Yuna says thoughtfully. Ilya grimaces at the name but doesn’t dispute it. He knows Shane and her are friends.  

He crosses his arms and slouches in his chair a little to hide the way his hands clench. He accidentally meets David’s eyes and realizes his little bit of jealousy has not gone unnoticed and is actually a source of amusement.  

A nurse opens the door to the room and Ilya quickly ducks his head down so the brim of his hat covers his face.  

“Just wanted to let you know that Visiting hours close in ten minutes,” she says kindly. “Immediate family can stay, but no more than two.” 

“Thank you,” Yuna says warmly and the door shuts again. Ilya looks back up and rests his eyes on Shane in the bed.  

David stands and stretches with a groan. “Well, I’m gonna head back to the hotel.” 

“What,” Yuna asks with a confused look on her face. 

“They said only two,” David explains like it’s obvious. “Just tell them Ilya is our other son. No one is going to pull DNA.” 

“I can leave,” Ilya says even while every bone in his body screams at him to shut up. “You are his parents.” 

“No, no,” David says and rubs Ilya’s shoulder. “You both stay. I’m too old for these chairs anyways.” 

“David.” 

“It’s fine, honey,” he waves Yuna off. “I know you won’t sleep if you go home and Ilya here probably can’t stay past tomorrow, anyways. The doctor said Shane might get released tomorrow and then he’s back in Ottawa with us.” 

Ilya had known Shane would be out for the season, but hearing it said aloud makes him sad. Shane would not be getting a cup again this year, and the Metros are not strong enough without him on first line to see it through all of Playoffs. 

“You’re sure?” Yuna confirms one more time. She accepts David’s kiss when he leans down into her space.  

“Very,” David says. He turns back to Ilya. “Mind if I get your phone number, son? I got some great photos of Shane when he was in U9.” 

Ilya feels the grin on his face slowly stretch to its widest points. This is the best possible outcome of him meeting Shane’s parents.  

“Yes, please,” he says quickly before David can change his mind. He gives his number out and a moment later his phone chirps with a message from David. Ilya saves the number immediately.  

“Night, kiddo,” David says quietly to an unconscious Shane and presses a kiss to Shane’s temple. Shane is out so deeply he doesn’t react at all.  

It scares Ilya. Shane smiles in his sleep when he’s kissed on the temple. Ilya purposefully kissed him there all through All-Stars just to see that automatic smile.  

“Night, you two,” he says to Ilya and Yuna. “I’ll be by first thing in the morning with some breakfast for us all.” 

“Thanks, honey,” Yuna says and watches her husband leave. 

And then it was just the two of them and an unconscious Shane.  

Yuna says nothing and spends her time tapping away on her phone. Ilya swaps to David’s vacated chair to be closer to Shane’s bedside and reaches out to hold Shane’s hand. It’s risky. There’s a window on the door to Shane’s room. Shane’s mother is also right there watching him.  

But if Ilya doesn’t touch Shane in this moment, he feels like he might die.  

His thumb strokes carefully down the back of Shane’s hand. His fingers are cold, which given the hospital setting, Ilya isn’t overly surprised by. The light behind Shane’s bed isn’t very bright, just enough to keep things visible for the nursing staff.  

He can see the purplish bruising that is blooming under Shane’s beautiful freckles. It makes them standout just a bit more. He reaches with his other hand to thumb at Shane’s cheekbone. When he’s quiet and holding Shane after sex, sometimes Ilya imagines that Shane’s freckles are like braille and if Ilya learned to read them then he can know all the quiet thoughts that Shane won’t tell him out loud.  

He draws his hand back from Shane’s freckles and instead draws Shane’s hand up just high enough that he can easily lean down and press a kiss to it.  

Ilya looks up to see Yuna staring at him. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “You maybe do not want to see that.” 

Yuna blinks and then seems to snap herself back to the present. “No, no, I don’t mind. I’m just... surprised, I guess. You’re very tender with him.” 

“He is...” Ilya trails off and looks back at Shane’s face. How do you tell the mother of the love of your life just how deep your feelings lie without saying something you have not even expressed to him. “He is my everything.” 

“Oh,” she says quietly.  

“Yes,” Ilya nods.  

“How... How long?” 

Ilya looks up and meets her eyes. They’re Shane’s eyes, he sees. Not just the slant of the heritage she passed onto him, but the warm chocolate color that he has fallen for.  

If she were to cry, would they look like Shane’s eyes?  

Does she hate to cry too, the way Shane does? Denying that he is upset and not letting tears fall? 

“How long he is my everything? Or how long he and I have been seeing one another?” 

Yuna smiles softly. “Maybe just share what you’d like? I’d like to know.” 

Ilya hums thoughtfully. “He is so private. I do not know what he would consider too much. I see his freckles in a parking lot and wanted more. But it is many more years before I understand that feeling I felt then. I was not ready to be swept off my feet by stubborn Canadian boy.” 

“I imagine not,” Yuna says. She is grinning in the way that tells Ilya she is fighting a bigger smile. It is another feature of Shane’s he sees.  

“I was foolish teenager with much hurt chasing me from Russia,” Ilya admits. “We were like magnets, though, even when we tried to push each other away.” 

“Were you serious before he dated Rose?” 

Ilya doesn’t stop the annoyed expression that crosses his face when Rose comes up. “I was trying. Badly. I do not know that I knew exactly what I wanted. Just that fighting to keep Shane away was no longer an option. He got scared. And then dated Rose.” 

“Shane has never been great with his feelings,” Yuna sighs. “David and I worked so hard to help him through them. His teachers at school always told us during parent teacher conferences that he struggled to make friends. Sometimes he would just sit at recess with his hands over his ears ignoring everyone. He hates crowds. It’s a wonder he can play in such large arenas with how loud everything gets. You’d never expect him to get there if you had seen him at 7, or 10, or even 13.” 

“He does not like loud or bright things,” Ilya agrees. “He does not even listen to music on his own unless someone picks the playlist for him.” 

“Yes,” she says. “We were worried he’d never date. We kept asking him about girls during his teen years. And then he’d bring someone around for a few weeks, sit on the opposite side of the couch from them, and then break up and never cry.” 

Ilya snorts. “He was so awkward when we were young. So easy to tease.” 

Yuna smiles and reaches her hand up to brush Shane’s forehead again.  

“He talks so little to all of us,” she says sadly. “I could feel him pulling further and further away. We’d ask about a sponsorship and he’d answer, but then sometimes I’d say the wrong thing and he’d just leave the table.” 

“He likes to know how a conversation will go, I think,” Ilya says. “I think change scares him. If he doesn’t expect something to go a certain way, his panic starts. I have to be careful to not startle him like a baby deer.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” 

Ilya’s phone chimes and he looks down at it, seeing a message from David. He opens it up and is greeted by a picture of Shane with wet, spiky hair and a crazed expression with his tongue sticking out. He can’t be more than 7 or 8 in the photo. Ilya laughs in delight and shows his phone to Yuna who smiles proudly.  

“He is very cute kid,” Ilya declares.  

“He was,” she agrees. “He’s always been so funny. I love how quiet his humor is. Even as a kid he was so unintentionally witty.” 

“Yes, is my favorite thing,” he agrees. “He is so terrible at chirping and then he says the most devastating joke one on one.” 

“Exactly,” Yuna smiles. She stands and pockets her phone. “I’m going to see if I can’t find a vending machine. Would you like a soda or a snack? Both?” 

“Coke, please,” Ilya requests. “Maybe some chips or a protein bar. I did not eat after the game, so whatever you think is best.” 

She frowns. “You didn’t eat?” 

“Was in hurry to get here,” he explains.  

“Maybe the cafeteria is open,” she thinks aloud. “You’ll watch over him?” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Let me get your number,” she says and pulls her phone back out. “That way you can call me if something happens.” 

“Yes,” he agrees and rattles off his number again. This time, his phone immediately chirps with a message from Yuna to share her info with him. He adds it as she steps out the door.  

The room is so quiet with just him and Shane in it. The heart monitor is still steadily beeping next to him. He runs his hand up and down Shane’s forearm, just eager to touch him and feel him alive. 

The first shuddery sob comes on so fast Ilya is honestly shocked by its existence. The next and every subsequent one come just as rapidly though, and soon Ilya has his forehead resting on Shane’s hand and is crying into the rough hospital blankets.  

He’s not sure how long the sobs wrack through his body but he’s sore in a way that post hockey usually doesn’t leave him. His eyes are raw, his nose is rough from where he’s wiped it on Shane’s hoodie, and his ribs hurt like he’s run a mile while gasping for air. 

He doesn’t feel better at the end.  

The sound of the hospital room door opening, albeit quietly, startles Ilya up. Years of walking on tiptoes in his father’s home has never escaped him. He’s usually less jumpy, but it’s no wonder that age old defense mechanism has come roaring back in an unfamiliar environment like this.  

“Sorry,” a nurse says quietly. She glances over towards the wall and Ilya follows her gaze to see Yuna laid out on one of the hospital chairs. Apparently, the chair Ilya originally had claimed converted into a small bed. “I just need to check on our patient here.” 

Ilya nods and sits up, taking the moment to stretch. His whole back was a knot from sleeping bent over on Shane’s bed. Every year, the aches in his body lingered a little more with a little less leeway to bounce back from.  

“Your partner here is pretty lucky,” the nurse whispers quietly. Ilya looks at her badge: Natalie. “No brain bleeds, just a pretty gnarly concussion. When he goes home, you’ll have to keep an eye on him for the next two days given the kind of hit he took. I can make sure a doctor briefs you all before he goes home.” 

“Thank you,” Ilya says. He doesn’t correct her assumption that Shane would go home with him. It’s a nice fantasy, but only that. She checks Shane’s eyes with a small penlight and makes some notes on the computer in the corner for what Ilya assumes is Shane’s digital chart.  

“Did you have any questions for me before I head on to the next patient?” Natalie asks after she’s logged out of the computer. Ilya spots a tiny pride colored heart on her badge lanyard.  

He smiles up at her. “No, thank you. I appreciate you taking care of him.” 

“Of course,” she smiles back and slips out of the room.  

He glances over his shoulder and sees Yuna still completely passed out. Good. She has probably been a mess since the game. Shane’s bedside table catches his eye and he smiles at the absolute mound of junk food and two cans of Coke sitting out. The cokes both look like they’ve sweat until they hit room temperature. There’s a small puddle of water under each. He checks his phone and sees it’s almost 4AM. 

Ilya starts to scroll through other notifications on his screen. There are other messages from the team. Connors offered to go get dinner. St Simon wanted to hit a pub. LeClaire gave him the heads up the team was sending Shane flowers so he could respond to any press with the information. Svetlana sent a single “you okay?” but nothing else.  

He’d respond to her tomorrow, maybe. He would need to call her. After her little hint at his father’s funeral that she knew Jane was a code name, he had a feeling she’d be putting things together after today. She was scarily intuitive. Shane’s mother reminded him a bit of Sveta that way, too. 

A notification from Marly dropped down from the top of the screen. Ilya frowned. It was 4:37 in the morning. Either Marlow never slept or he is up far too early. 

Ilya locks his phone and pockets it with a long, slow exhale. He had a few conversations ahead of him it seemed. Good ones, maybe. He will see.

6 AM shift change rolls around and a new set of nurses comes by to check on Shane. They are less quiet, far too awake for the beginning of their shift, and they startle Yuna awake. She smiles sheepishly when Ilya catches her eye. 

“How’s our patient?” the new nurse smiles. Her voice isn’t too loud, but she’s definitely too chipper. “Not trying to kill him in his sleep, are you, Mr. Rozanov?” 

Ilya tenses but works to recover himself quickly. “Ah, no, much more fun to beat him on ice.” 

“That’s what we like to hear,” she hums and steps up to Shane’s bedside. She does the same routine as the prior nurse, flashing Shane’s eyes with a pen. This time, Shane makes a small, sleepy hum. “Mmm, sounds like that sedative is wearing off. That’s good.” 

“Yes?” Ilya asks a touch too eagerly. “Um, when might he wake up?” 

“Couple of hours, maybe? He’ll be pretty loopy still from the pain meds he’s on. That’ll be on drip for him until he’s discharged. But he should start to be alert soon. Don’t be scared if he wakes up over and over and doesn’t remember it. That’s pretty common.” 

“But he will remember?” 

“We’ll evaluate. But his diagnosis isn’t one we have concerns for memory loss beyond the traumatic incident. I can have the doctor talk to you about it more once they make their rounds.” 

“That would be lovely,” Yuna says from her spot on the chair.  

The nurse smiles. Ilya catches her badge: Barbara. Barbara who now knows Ilya Rozanov spent the night in Shane Hollander’s hospital room even though only family is allowed. 

Barbara who could go to TMZ Sports at any moment with an anonymous scoop.  

He barely notices her leave. He doesn’t even realize he’s breathing heavily until Yuna slides her hand over his shoulder and startles him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he quickly says. “I, um, I should not be here, I think. Too recognizable.” 

“Ilya...” 

“No, I’ve endangered Shane.” 

“Shh, no, Ilya,” Yuna says and comes around Ilya’s chair to crouch down so they’re closer in eye level. “It’s okay. She can’t say anything. There’re regulations. She can’t disclose information about her patients without losing her job. Her job is more important to her than a 5 minutes of fame scoop.” 

“We do not know this.” 

Yuna considers this. “Maybe. But I trust it.” 

She seems sure, and that settles Ilya’s nerves. He looks away, suddenly about to cry again. In front of Shane’s mother who he just met less than 16 hours ago. 

“Oh sweetie,” Yuna whispers and pulls Ilya into a hug. He tries to fight it, but she just rubs his back and holds his hair until he breaks, leaning into her hold and effectively sobbing as hard as he had when she’d left last night.  

Her hands slide up and down his back soothingly. No one has held him like this since Shane did in Tampa, and before that no one had held him like this since before his Mama died.  

“Shh, Ilyusha,” his mama had whispered to him. She used to hold him just as Yuna does now, pulling her into her neck and sliding her hands up and down his back or up into his curls.  

Yuna doesn’t grab his hair now, maybe it’s too familiar for someone she’s just met, but he cries into her neck while she rubs his back anyways.  

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers. His accent is so thick now, sounding like he’d just stepped off a plane in 2008. “I’m sorry.” 

“Shhh,” Yuna soothes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” 

“I don’t want to hurt him.” 

“You won’t,” she promises. It doesn’t seem like something she can promise, but Ilya chooses to believe her anyways. “You’re here, now. It’s okay. He’s okay.” 

He takes a shuddering breath and works to slow his ragged breathing. It takes a while, but Yuna holds tight until she feels him release her.  

“Okay?” She asks, leaning to look him in the eye. She reaches up with her thumbs and swipes his cheeks dry.  

He nods, not trusting his voice. 

“We’re a mess today, aren’t we?” she teasingly asks. He sees her now, hair a frizzy mess from sleeping in the chair, her linen clothing rumpled, and her own eyes red and watery looking like she’d cried with him too, maybe.  

“A pair,” Ilya agrees. 

“Go rinse your face,” she says and gestures towards the bathroom in the corner of the room. “You’ll feel better, I promise. I’ll clean up after you.” 

He agrees and stumbles over to the bathroom. His knees are tight from sitting in the chair all night. They barely hold him up for his first few steps.  

Ilya winces at his reflection. The whites of his eyes are bright red with the surrounding skin and his cheeks matching. It makes his blue eyes look almost scarily bright. Definitely not a sight he’d like Shane to wake up to. 

He rinses his face, then his neck. Runs his damp hands through his curls and then abandons whatever hope he thought he’d have with fixing them. They’re mushed and a mess from him showering but not caring for them and then spending the night with his face pressed into Shane’s hand.  

He steps back into the room and smiles at Yuna as she passes him to fix herself up.  

He drops back into his seat and brings Shane’s hand up to kiss again.  

“There’s no use arguing,” Yuna teases. She’s sat across from Ilya on the other side of Shane again with her phone open in her hand. “David loves to feed people.” 

“Is his... love language? Is that the right phrase?” 

“Yes,” she smiles.  

“Ah, lost on Shane, then,” Ilya jokes. “His boring diet.” 

“We can usually convince him to skip during off season.” 

Ilya grins with the new knowledge. “I have never seen him in off season.” 

Her smile drops a bit and Ilya instead is met with a sad smile. “You both haven’t had it easy, have you?” 

“Ah, no,” he looks down at his hands. “I do not think so.” 

“Maybe that can change?” 

Ilya shrugs helplessly. He doesn’t know how. He still lives in Boston. He still is a Russian Citizen. Even if they somehow manage to forget a path ahead that allows them to be something, it will still likely be until retirement before they see it.  

The thought saddens him, but he fixes his face to not let it show.  

A long, low groan draws both of their attention back to Shane. 

“Shane?” Yuna immediately steps in and starts running her hand over the top of Shane’s head. He’s groggy, barely coherent, and wincing at the low lighting of the room. 

He groans again and seems to resettle, falling back asleep. 

“Oh, Shane,” she whispers again. Ilya squeezes at Shane’s hand and sits back in his seat. Yuna sits in her own chair with a distinct lack of her normal grace. It would be funny if Ilya wasn’t waiting for Shane to wake back up from such a major injury.  

“He will wake,” Ilya says. Yuna meets his eyes and nods.  

David arrives at 8AM laden down with two over-sized paper bags of food. Ilya stands and helps take them off his hands and is thanked immediately. 

“How’s our man?” David asks the room. Ilya feels warm at the thought that he is included in the possession of Shane.  

“He’s tried waking up twice,” Yuna informs. “The nurse said he would be on and off. Likely won’t remember too much at first.” 

“He’ll get there,” David says and shares a smile with Ilya. The man claps his hands together before digging into the bags. “Now, we have some food to eat. Let’s dig in.” 

Ilya demolishes his waffle as quickly as he can while remaining polite. It’s not easy. He’s starving after a night of skipping food and then eating vending machine junk food in the early hours of the morning. Yuna and David seem to be far more patient, and Ilya works to match their speed.  

He’s eating the last of his bacon when Shane starts to stir again. They’ve kept the room as dark as they can while Shane works to wake up. The vertical blinds are flat to the window and the overhead light is still off. Still, Shane seems to wince every time his eyes open even a little bit.  

“Mom?” Shane groans. 

“I’m here, baby,” Yuna says and runs her hand through Shane’s hair. Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand and David has grabbed onto Shane’s shin and is giving it a loving squeeze.  

“What...?” 

“You got hit on the ice, honey,” she says before he struggles further with the question. 

“I’m okay,” Shane mumbles. Ilya snorts and squeezes Shane’s hand again.  

“You are,” David agrees. “You’re gonna be okay, Bud.” 

“Okay,” Shane tries to nod and then winces as he regrets the action. 

“Sleep,” Yuna says. “We’ll be here.” 

“Okay, love you,” Shane says and immediately drifts back off.  

Yuna, David, and Ilya all share a look. It’s positive, that’s for sure, that Shane is at least awake and talking.  

“Is good, yes?” Ilya says tentatively. 

“Definitely,” David nods. “He’s a fighter.” 

Ilya nods. It’s what he loves most about Shane. After his freckles, maybe. But definitely up very high on the list.  

David and Yuna settle into busy tasks amongst themselves. David seems to favor a book of Suduko puzzles and Yuna is deep in her phone, tapping away at the screen and answering emails. Ilya responds to a reminder from Marlow that their bus leaves for the airport at 5. That leaves Ilya with maybe four more hours at most at Shane’s bedside. Yuna gives him a sad look when he tells her.  

Shane wakes and falls asleep two more times, each becoming only slightly more alert. It’s clear each time that he’s still fighting the pain meds and the lingering sedative. Shane’s doctor finally visits and gives them a bit more insight on everything, but the words do not settle in Ilya’s brain and he’s lost amongst the foreign language and medical jargon. 

His Shane will be okay is the only summary he needs. Yuna seems to absorb everything discussed and actively takes notes on her phone. David just observes the entire interaction, and no one brings attention to the fact that Ilya is seated at Shane’s bedside holding his hand.  

If he pretends, he can imagine that this isn’t a weird scenario. He is just Shane’s partner and the man who gets to be there through Shane’s recovery process. Maybe they go back to their own home and are greeted by their dog, a cute breed who needed a home at the same time they needed a dog, and they get to be lazy together and do absolutely nothing.  

He should have called things off with Shane. Ilya knows this now. If he had been brave enough to end things after Tampa maybe he wouldn’t have ever told Shane that he loved him. He could have avoided the inevitable hurt when they step back into the world and become reminded that nothing for them is fair and they are not the lucky ones that get that happy ending.  

There will be no shared house with a dog.  

Yuna and David take a leave from Shane’s bedside in search for lunch. Ilya declines when they offer to bring him something back from the cafeteria. He has maybe two hours left at Shane’s bedside now and can just as easily get a sandwich at the airport.  

“Bright...” Shane mumbles again and Ilya squeezes his hand. The room is still fairly dark, though even with the vertical blinds flat to the window the afternoon sun is shining into the room.  

“Sorry,” Ilya murmurs and reaches a hand up to run through Shane’s hair. His love smiles and hums contentedly at the gesture. Shane rolls his head to the side and nuzzles slightly into Ilya’s palm before opening his eyes. 

“Ilyaaaaa,” Shane sings quietly with a sleep rough voice.  

“Shh,” Ilya hushes with a smile. It’s a treat to see Shane so loose and free.  

“You’re hereeeee.” 

“Yes,” Ilya nods. He keeps his fingers running through Shane’s hair, playing with the short locks and scratching lightly at his scalp. “Of course.” 

“Goooood,” Shane says and tries to nod before aborting the gesture with a wince. 

“Mm, no, relax,” Ilya instructs. “Is okay. Just concussion and broken collar bone.” 

“Aw, that sucks.” 

He laughs. “Yes, is not very good.” 

“No playoffs.” 

“No playoffs.” 

Shane looks so petulant and childlike at the idea. “Was looking forward to playing you.” 

“I know, moya lyubov,” Ilya reassures. “Is okay though. We will beat the Metros while you are gone and take home Stanley Cup.” 

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs. “I hate you.” 

“Mmm, no I do not think this is true.” 

“No,” Shane’s eyes are bright and glassy when he meets Ilya’s gaze. “I really don’t.” 

Ilya squeezes his hand. Shane doesn’t have to know it’s a secret I love you. 

“You were hit on the ice by Marlow,” Ilya says instead. “He feels really bad. Does not want you to think he did it on purpose.” 

“Everyone gets their bell rung eventually,” Shane says. “I’m mostly just mad at him for fucking up our night.” 

“Big plans?” Ilya teases.  

Shane grins wide and closes his eyes like he’s lost in a memory that never happened. “I was gonna ask you something.” 

“Shane...” Ilya tries to warn. Shane should not be making any big confessions or gestures while under the influence of whatever pain killers he’s on. As adorable as this Shane is, Ilya knows that whatever is said will only hurt a million times worse if Shane walks it back at the end of this.  

“I was gonna ask you,” Shane barrels forward, “will you come to my cottage this summer? Don’t go to Russia. Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun, it’s so private. No one will know. We could have a week or even two. We’d be completely alone, together.” 

Ilya inhales deeply and tries not to cry. It’s exactly what he wants with Shane. Just time. Time together. Time to be alone. Time to forget about the world. And here Shane is serving it up on a drug induced silver platter. A brutal force to make Ilya long for a world he’s not allowed to have. 

“Shane,” Ilya whispers again. “You know we can’t do that.” 

Shane pouts at him and squeezes their hands together. It’s the most forceful his grip has been since he’s started waking up this morning.  

“Yes we can,” Shane says. “Everyone knows I’m gay. I can have you. I want you.” 

“Shane,” Ilya croaks out. He’s ashamed to realize he’s crying now. Tears blurring his sight of Shane and immediately coating his cheeks. He turns away with a grimace and tries to hide the display of emotion, but Shane gives his hand a tug.  

“Hey,” Shane coaxes. “Heeeeyyyy, it’s okay. It’s okay I’ve got you. Look at me.” 

Ilya shakes his head but Shane keeps tugging at his hand and eventually he looks back at Shane watery eyed.  

“I want this,” Shane whispers again. “I want this.” 

Ilya breaks. “Fuck, Hollander,” he chokes out and immediately drops his head onto Shane’s hip and sobs. The sobs are worse than the ones he’d cried in this spot in the dead of night and worse than the ones he’d cried into Yuna’s arms this morning.  

Shane releases his hand to push into Ilya’s curls, tangling themselves up and tugging lightly as he rubs at Ilya’s scalp. It’s another devastating blow. Ilya immediately remembers his mother doing this for him when he came home with skinned knees from some boys pushing him into a pile of garbage on the sidewalk when he was 9. Now he’s in he’s 26 and crying into the lap of the boy he loves and it is the exact comfort he’s wanted since he lost his Mama.  

“It’s okay,” Shane soothes. “It’ll be okay, I promise. You’ll see.” 

Ilya isn’t sure how Shane can promise that, but he chooses to believe it for now. Reality can reapproach him when he’s laying alone in his bed in Boston booking flights back to Russia.  

“Is that my hoodie?” 

He startles at the question and looks up at Shane with wide, tear puffy eyes. It is Shane’s hoodie, but Ilya looks down at it again like he needs to confirm. 

“Uh...” 

“You asshole, I’ve been wondering where that went,” Shane huffs out a laugh. “When did you steal that?” 

Ilya looks sheepish. “Ah, maybe not an answer you’d like?” 

“It’s been like two years, hasn’t it?” 

Ilya waggles his hand in a more-or-less gesture that does nothing to convince Shane that the assumption is incorrect. “Is very comfy.” 

“Yeah you jerk, that’s why I miss it,” Shane snorts. “Fuck, I hate that you look so good in it.” 

Ilya grins and waggles his eyebrows. The effect is probably lost considering he’s been crying, but Shane smiles dopily up at him regardless.  

“Fuck off,” Shane laughs. “Kiss me?” 

Ilya could never deny Shane that. He leans in and kisses Shane with a gentle focus to not hurt him. Shane immediately uses his hand to reach up and pull Ilya in by the neck and changes the kiss to something more needy and demanding. 

Fuck, it’s everything he loves in kissing Shane. 

Shane is always so composed, so aware of his outward appearance and controls everything he can. But the moment Ilya manages to get into his space, Shane loses control. And Ilya fucking loves it. He could spend every moment of the rest of his life trying to generate a reaction out of Shane and it wouldn’t even be hard because Shane falls so easily into him every single time.  

Ilya deepens their kiss, giving into the loss of control and tasting into Shane’s mouth. They both have day old breath but neither of them seem to either notice or mind.  

And then the door opens behind them. Ilya immediately snaps up and takes a step back, doing whatever he can to make himself look normal and not the tear stricken boy that just got caught kissing his rival. 

Shane also appears caught off guard. He’s wiping his good hand down his face as if it could remove the evidence that the two of them had been kissing. Ilya catches the moment Shane realizes who has walked in because his eyes grow wide as saucers and panic begins to settle. 

“Oh, sorry,” Yuna says. Ilya looks back and sees her looking only slightly nervous at having walked in on them. Better her and David than the hospital staff, he thinks to himself. David shuts the door behind them as they approach Shane’s bedside again. 

Ilya steps back and lets them both step up into Shane’s direct space. 

“Uh, hey,” Shane says nervously. Ilya frowns slightly. “Um, Rozanov was just, uh...” 

Ilya catches Shane’s eye and raises his eyebrows in as close to a “what the fuck are you trying to say” message he can impart silently. Shane’s mouth snaps shut and looks his between both his parents. 

Yuna, to her credit, looks amused. “Shane, he’s been here all night.” 

“All night?” Shane asks in alarm and looks back at Ilya. “Your team--” 

“I have to leave for the airport soon,” Ilya informs him sadly. He catches the brief flicker of anguish on Shane’s face when he understands their time together is ending once more. “Marly has kept me updated.” 

Yuna brushes Shane’s hair back from his forehead, one more ignoring the way the hair stubbornly flops back. “We’ll keep Ilya up to date on your recovery until you are allowed screentime again.” 

“You don’t have his number,” Shane says dumbly. The poor man is gaping like a fish at this sudden turn of events. 

“Course we do,” David grins. “How else was I going to text him embarrassing photos of you.” 

“David,” Yuna chides but Ilya sees it’s a hollow reprimand coated in love. 

“No, Dad.” 

“You were very cute in U9. Would make it my new lock screen but,” Ilya shrugs with a what can you do gesture.  

Shane closes his eyes and leans all the way back into his pillows. It’s as close as Shane can get to staring at the ceiling with the elevation of the bed and certifiable mountain of pillow support behind him.  

“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” Yuna says and reaches across Shane’s chest to squeeze his good shoulder.  

“Your mom hasn’t even complained more than three times that he’s a Raider,” David says with good humor and a glance back at Ilya. Ilya grins down at his feet at being included in the joke. These are good people. Shane’s family is very nice. 

Ilya steps back into the washroom to rinse his face again. It’s just as bad as he expected but the embarrassment at having been caught post-tears by Shane’s family doesn’t show itself.  

He steps out to find both Yuna and David have taken their seats, though David pointedly has left the seat closest to Shane’s hand free, giving Ilya the space to be close to Shane in his last hour here. He takes it with a thankful smile to David and wastes no time recapturing Shane’s hand.  

Shane flinches slightly, then relaxes and immediately weaves their fingers together tightly. Ilya smiles up at him and gets a warm smile back. 

They talk about nothing at all in his last hour in the hospital. Nothing serious. Jokes only. Not even really about Shane’s recovery plan or the fact that he’s out for the season. 

It’s the best conversation Ilya’s ever had with a family.  

When his phone alarm goes off with a warning that he needs to go back to the hotel, David and Yuna both give him hugs. He meets Shane’s eyes over David’s shoulder and they both grin like kids at each other.  

“I will miss you,” he tells Shane and leans down to kiss him on the forehead. Shane tips his chin up and Ilya grants him a second kiss on the mouth without hesitation. It’s far more chaste than what Shane’s parents walked in on earlier, but just as special all the same. 

“Bye,” Shane whispers as they part, giving one last hand squeeze to Ilya.  

“You will keep me updated?” Ilya asks, looking between Yuna and David.  

“Promise,” David says and squeezes Ilya’s shoulder tightly. 

He nods at them, smiles once more down at Shane, and then ducks into the hospital hall for the first time in over 15 hours.  

Ilya pulls his hat low again over his eyes as he makes his way to the hospital exit. There are no press lingering about, but he still is not eager to catch anyone’s eyes as he waits for his ride share.  

Ilya snorts at the thought of Marly going to their event coordinator with the request. Jeanine was a fierce woman that could hold her own against the rowdiness of the Raiders any day and was unafraid to make their lives miserable with room assignments should one of them cross her. They all lived in mild fear of her while tip-toeing the line of treating her like a team member herself.  

He pockets his phone and gets into his rideshare, once again falling back into the ‘no english/french’ routine that got him to the hosptial.  

He’s fucking exhausted.

Chapter End Notes

Welcome Ilya's POV. So happy you're here!

This is my FAVORITE chapter that I've written so far. I think it was simultaneously the easiest and hardest chapter to write, but something about Ilya interacting with Yuna and David really warms my heart. I just love his canon relationship with both of them so much, especially his relationship with David. I think I just have a soft spot for David in general.

The nurse that walks in on them in Episode 5 annoys me so much that I named her after my wife’s annoying aunt. Shoutout to Barbara who is spoiled and mean to my MIL half the time just because she can. Sorry your husband is homophobic and a blue lives matter cop.

ALSO! AO3 keeps deleting the text message footers in my html code which removes the fake line to write a text. Which isn't the hardest thing to fix, but it drives me crazy to do so and I accidentally broke my code. And I don't think I did because one of the closing div tags had a random & in the middle which makes me think AO3 corrupted it. I'm mad. I did not learn to code my myspace page to look like Twilight to be fighting an archive 20yrs later.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Ilya is home doom scrolling Twitter when Sveta finally gives up on waiting for him to call her back and plain calls him first. He hasn’t necessarily avoided her, but he has made no efforts to bridge the communication. He knows she knows. Something about the sudden influx of people knowing about him in Shane has made him feel twitchy. Exposed.

“Finally,” She tells him in Russian as he accepts the call.

“I am busy,” he deflects. She scoffs. There’s really no point in trying to evade her. She will get her way no matter what. “Fine yes. Ask.”

“You are fucking Shane Hollander.”

“Not this moment, no,” Ilya sniffs.

“Ilyusha.”

“Sveta.”

She sighs. “He is Jane.”

“Yes.”

“You are in quite a spot,” Sveta sounds tired. He knows it’s his fault. They both know the danger he is in even risking this thing with Shane. “When do you finalize things back home.”

“It is not my home anymore,” Ilya shrugs despite her not being able to see the action. “I have trust paperwork to sign. Bank says I can do this remotely. Maybe I have a few things to pack up still but I think I will just give them to Alexei. I packed everything important to me before I left after Papa’s funeral.”

“You are not going back?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ilya sighs. “I need citizenship.”

She hums. He doesn’t have to specify which country. She knows there’s only two options.

“I do not think Jane will like it if I marry you,” Svetlana finally says. Her voice is flat but he smiles knowing she’s teasing. “Plus, you are much too messy. I could never handle the way you leave your shoes wherever.”

“Me?? You leave your hair products everywhere!”

“As if you are not just as bad! You are so vain, Ilyusha. Does Jane know this?”

Ilya lets out a grunt. No, Shane does not know this because he and Shane have never shared a space together the way he and Sveta have. But never once has sharing his space with Sveta felt like more than a sleep away camp for kids. Sure, they fuck and it’s nice, but in the morning, she collects her things and teases him as she leaves with no strings attached beyond those of long rooted friendship.

“I met his parents,” Ilya admits before he even realizes he’s saying it.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “They are good people. They love him. It is not like our fathers.”

“This is good,” she agrees. “You are a Hollander now?”

Ilya smiles to himself at the thought. “No, no. But I play silly American phone games with his father.”

“Ah, so you are going to marry this boy.”

He grows quiet. Yes, he thinks he would marry Shane. It is not possible though.

“I think I will steal his father, maybe.”

Sveta laughs. “You are going to steal his last name and become a Canadian with their terrible cheese and gravy snacks and mediocre Hockey teams.”

“Yes, perhaps I will get Canadian citizenship.”

“Much easier than American. The Americans do not like that their new president is friends with ours.”

“No, they don’t,” Ilya hums. Stupid administration. “But maybe Canadians will not want me there either, I do not know.”

“Marry a Canadian.”

“If only things could be so simple.”

Shane getting his ability to see screens back has been both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, he’s been able to text Ilya. Playoffs have been brutal to watch, though Boston’s Round 1 against the lower seeded Detroit was not especially hard for them to overcome in only 5 games. Detroit took out Montreal in the regular season thanks to Mitty’s wrist injury, but overall, their defense was weak, and they entered Playoffs with their second line center playing on a torn ACL.

Round 2 was not nearly so favorable to Boston. Game two saw Ilya getting slammed into the boards on Admiral ice badly enough that he admitted to Shane that night over text that his right side was nearly one entire bruise.

“He’s playing on bruised ribs,” Yuna hums as they watched Game three together at the family cabin.

“How do you know that?” Shane asks. “Did he tell you that?”

Yuna smirks and gestures to the tv with her wine glass. “He’s turning at the last second so he doesn’t take a hit to his side. Watch.”

He doesn’t need to watch. Shane has been wincing every time Ilya has gotten hit by a player or straight up boarded this entire match. But he turns his head and listens to the announcers talk about how locked in Scott Hunter has been this season and how he’s relentless on the ice. Scott is right on Ilya’s flank and with a quick shove into the boards, steals the puck and loops around the goal before he starts taking it back into the Raider’s defensive zone.

“I’m right,” Yuna says and flashes Shane a grin.

“He’s an idiot for still playing on them,” Shane mumbles. He opens his texts to Lily and scrolls up to a few nights ago, carefully angling his phone away from his mother as he scoots past the lewder texts they’d exchanged last night. He clicks the photo Ilya had sent of his ribs and shows his mom.

Yuna immediately winces. “Oh my god, Shane. What the fuck does Ilya think he’s doing playing with that.”

“This is from right after Game two,” Shane defends, though it’s a fairly weak response. Game two was only four days ago. He pulls his phone back into his lap and shoots Ilya another “ice those fucking ribs” text.

“It’s too bad,” his mom sighs and takes a sip. The third period is almost over and with a 5-3 score in the Admirals’ favor, it seems unlikely Boston will take this game. They’ll have to take it to at least Game Six if they want to make it to the next round. Shane can be the most supportive person he wants, but realistically (and statistically) Boston is not making it further this year.

“What’s too bad?”

“The Admirals are going to take this round,” Yuna says. Shane nods. He knows his mother went through the same thought process he did. “Good for Scott Hunter, though.”

“Why good for Scott Hunter?”

“It’s his year,” she smiles. “Come on, you know as well as I do how he’s been playing.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t be a bad sport,” she teases and gets up off the couch. Shane chooses to ignore the fact that his mother is the one who taught him that he could be a bad sport about things sometimes. She just didn’t teach him that behavior intentionally.

David pokes his head around the archway separating the living and dining rooms. “Your mother is a witch.”

Yuna swats at him but continues into the kitchen. “Hush, you.”

“It’s true,” David laughs. “Dinner in five, Son.”

“No more witch talk or I’ll put a spell on you,” Shane can hear his mother teasing from the kitchen. He smiles to himself and watches Ilya start his last shift of the game. Two minutes on the clock and an open Boston net.

It won’t change things.

“Fucking bullshit,” Ilya says over the phone later. “Stupid fucking St Simon has three broken toes. Our goalie has bruised ribs. I have bruised ribs. Lachman broke his pinky. And this fucking game Volkov pulled his groin muscle so bad he can’t even push to shit.”

“Gross,” Shane winces. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes! Now I hear about how Volkov needs to be eating so much fucking fiber that groin muscle pull does not affect his fucking bowels.”

“Captain’s privilege,” he laughs.

“Da, yes, glad this is so fucking funny to you, Hollander,” Ilya gripes. There’s no heat behind it, though, so Shane lets him keep venting. “And fucking LeClaire keeps going on about powering through and running the plays. But we are running the plays except in slow motion because every fucking one of us is down with at least one injury. Probably more. Pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” Shane says sincerely. It’s never fun to get into Playoffs just to get eliminated through injury. The year Ilya won the Cup, the entire Metros team all took at least one injury home with them in lieu of a win. Hayden’s face was a mottled, bruised mess for weeks following a high stick and right hook combo he took to the nose.

“No, is fine. I knew this was not our year.”

“Still sucks.”

“Still sucks,” Ilya huffed and blew a raspberry. “Tell me about you. Your head.”

“Only a small headache today. Watched your whole game with no problem. Shoulder hurts like a bitch when I sneeze.”

Ilya chuckled. “I imagine you flinching your whole body because you got dust up your nose.”

“Fuck you, I can handle dust.”

“Second best NHL player taken out by dust and broken collar bone.”

“I was taken out by Marlow, technically.”

“Ah, so you admit you are second best? Hollander, finally.”

“Shut up, you’re second best!” Shane laughed. “You know it too. Look at my stats.”

“You are so boring. No one cares about your stats.”

“Everyone fucking cares about my stats!”

Ilya hums theatrically. “Agree to disagree. Compromise. Is good?”

“Fuck no,” Shane says laughing. “Two more games?”

“Maybe three. I do not think we will make it to Game Six.”

They lapse into a peaceful quiet. Shane stares at the posters that are still hung up around his childhood room, freezing the space in time to when Shane was still a teenager who hadn’t met Ilya in a cold parking lot ahead of a game.

“Will you go back?” he finally breaks the silence to ask quietly.

“To Russia?” Ilya clarifies and Shane hums affirmatively. “Ah, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you know?”

“Is complicated,” Ilya says. Shane sits patiently. Sometimes, if he waits Ilya out, he’s gifted with another puzzle piece to the man. Something new to plug in and review every other piece of information he knows about Ilya under the lens of and investigate for new meaning. After thirty or so seconds, Shane is rewarded when Ilya caves and elaborates. “I miss my niece. But is unlikely I will even see her. My brother... My brother and I did not part on good terms. I think even if I had not said what I said to him, this would still be the case.”

“You still have to set up the trust, right?”

“No, Bank sent me info last week. It is all signed.”

“What else do you need to go back for?”

“You ask so many questions,” Ilya says tiredly.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, is okay. I am difficult, I think.”

Shane frowns. “I don’t think you’re difficult. You’re allowed privacy, Ilya.”

“No, I resist. Sveta says I am locked up like a safe. Only I know the code.”

Well, Shane can’t argue with that. He says nothing and lets Ilya work through his thoughts.

“I think I am scared,” Ilya finally continues. He’s quiet, almost a whisper, but mostly just speaking as if he’s trapped in thoughts. “I do not have much experience with being treated nicely for speaking my thoughts.”

“Like your chirping?”

Ilya laughs. “That too. No, I mean... You tell your mother you do not want to do fancy ad where you shine your watches or drink your juice. What does she say?”

“I don’t know,” Shane says honestly. “I guess I could say no. I never really do. I just kinda show up.”

“Maybe bad example, Mr. Perfect Canadian Boy,” Ilya teases. “When did you last say no to your mother?”

Shane thinks about it for a moment. “I guess she wanted me to go to this tennis thing. Wanted me to meet some Swedish princess or whatever so Rolex didn’t have an all-white box. It was dumb.”

“What did she say when you said no?”

“She asked if I liked my Rolex money and then brought up the princess.”

“Ah, terrible move,” Ilya hums. “She did not know you were super gay.”

“Fuck you, I’m normal gay!”

“What is saying about protesting too much?” Ilya starts to laugh at Shane’s denial.

“It’s Shakespeare. ‘Doth protest too much’,” he says, “which I don’t fucking do. You’re such an asshole.”

“Yes, yes,” Ilya dismisses. “But my point. You could tell her no, you were too gay for princesses and you hate tennis, and she still would sit by your bedside and take notes on your care plan and meet your terribly handsome rival for the first time and still love you.”

“Oh,” Shane whispers. “Yeah, she would. She did.”

“Yes,” Ilya says. “She is very good mother. If I told my father no, he would hit me.”

“Fuck, Ilya.”

“He is dead, Shane,” Ilya continues on. “But you see why maybe I am not used to this feeling of speaking my mind and not being in trouble for it?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods to himself. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I will try to be better,” Ilya tells him. “I want to tell you more. I am maybe scared.”

“I want to tell you more too,” Shane admits quietly. This conversation has become far more vulnerable than he expected when the name Lily lit up his phone with no contact image. “I’m scared.”

Ilya inhales deeply over the line and lets it out slowly. “What a pair, huh?”

“I kinda like us,” Shane smiles. He flicks his hoodie string up into his mouth and chews it happily. “We match.”

“Da, yes, very boring,” Ilya agrees. “Two men afraid of feelings. Alert press.”

“Shut up,” Shane laughs. “You’re such an asshole.”

“No, is good, please keep being honest about how you feel.”

Shane rolls his eyes but laughs anyways. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Did you think more about coming to my cottage?”

Ilya grows quiet and Shane tries not to let his anxiety get the better of him.

“I do not know,” Ilya finally says after a long pause. “I... am afraid it is not good idea.”

“Why would it not be a good idea?”

He doesn’t respond immediately and Shane sits quietly listening to Ilya’s breathing.

“I... nothing can change, Shane,” Ilya whispers. As much as the words send a gut punch through Shane’s stomach, he knows that they’re not said lightly. He can hear that it pains Ilya just as much to say them. “We cannot be more. We... I cannot go back to Russia if we are more. I do not know what they would do if they found out.”

“What if you stay here?”

“I would need citizenship.”

“Okay, so we do that.”

Ilya exhales sharply. “Is not that simple. I do not know that I want to be American.”

“Would you want to be Canadian?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. The boys in Canada are much cuter.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Shane teases back. He has a dopey smile on his face and he’s pretty sure he is blushing.

“Yes, boring too,” Ilya continues.

“So then you become Canadian.”

“Okay,” he says quietly as if he speaks too loudly the offer from Shane will be rescinded.

“Will you think some more about the cottage?” Shane asks again.

“Maybe,” is all Ilya responds.

“Talk tomorrow?” Shane asks and Ilya can hear that he’s fighting a yawn.

“Yes. Please. I will call?”

“Okay.”

Ilya hangs up the phone and lets it fall flat on his bare chest and thinks about the call. It’s silly, really, to be so scared about floating the idea that Ilya pursue Canadian citizenship. Shane isn’t the one who has final say on Ilya joining the Canadian population. But he can’t picture living in the same country as Shane without permission. If Shane were to pull back this future, Ilya would maybe move as far away as he could just to try and ease the hurt.

It is like that children’s book with the mouse and cookie. Ilya is the mouse and Shane is offering the cookie. Ilya will want milk and a home and a life forever and ever after that bite of cookie.

He thinks if goes to the cottage, he might never leave. A part of him will always sit out in one of those little chairs from Shane’s documentary, looking out at the lake and imagining a maybe future. Even worse, he might sit on that dock and propose to Shane with a million candles and try to claim this boy forever.

It would be easy to stay in Boston and miss him from afar. He’s done so for years.

He turns off his lights and tries to go to sleep without thinking of Shane. He succeeds in falling asleep, but nothing else.

“Do you think Ilya might want to come visit?” David asks over breakfast one morning. Shane nearly coughs on his eggs from being caught off guard.

“What, why?”

His father shrugs. “He’s out of Playoffs. Probably could use a hand while he rests those ribs.”

“Did Mom tell you about them?” Shane asks and his father smiles.

“She was complaining the whole night you told her and every night since that she’s seen him play,” David says. “I haven’t heard her so worked up since that one coach of yours didn’t want to play you because the other kids would ‘feel bad’.”

Shane snorts. “Yeah, I remember that.”

David watches Shane stab at his eggs and take a few more bites before he continues. “So? Will you invite him up?”

“I don’t think he would want to.”

“Why?”

Shane shrugs. Ilya has dodged him a few times regarding the Cottage visit. Always evasive with his answers like a trip into Canada might burn him. Shane thinks he gets it. The idea of Ilya visiting feels permanent, like a choice they can’t come back from. But he wants to choose that choice. He’s tired of chasing Ilya through a limbo.

David sighs. “Well, if you change your mind, your mom and I would love to have him stay up here with us. Or you two can go to your cottage, though your mom might have something to say about you leaving before you’re out of your sling.”

“I’m fine,” Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m a grown adult.”

“I know, Kiddo, with a boyfriend and everything.”

Shane feels himself grow still. Boyfriend. Ilya could be his boyfriend.

But he’s not. Because Ilya can’t be more. Won’t choose to be more. Russia won’t let them be more.

“He’s not...” Shane starts and David sits calmly while he works through the thought. It’s one thing he loves his dad for. His mother will barrel through a conversation with drill like precision while his father will sit and give space. It might be why his parents work so well together. Sometimes, Ilya reminds Shane of his father. As chaotic as Ilya can be, he’s quiet when Shane needs it, or will offer the puzzle piece that allows Shane to understand what’s happening in front of him.

Shane sighs and drops his fork. He doesn’t meet his father’s eyes. This conversation is too intense for him to force him to make eye contact. “I don’t think he wants that label. I... I know he’s scared. I’m scared. I don’t think I would have come out if it weren’t for the whole internet thing.” He waves his hand dismissively over his head and hopes his father understands without Shane needing to elaborate. “But I don’t know if that’s what he wants from me.”

“Have you asked?”

“Kinda,” Shane sighs. “I asked him if he wanted to be more. He said we can’t. And I know why. He still has his niece in Russia and he’ll never see her again if we chase a future together.”

“But you are together now?”

“I guess.”

David sighs and reaches across the table to grab Shane’s forearm and give it a squeeze. “Kiddo, I can’t speak for Ilya. I don’t want to speak for you. But I know I saw a scared, six foot tall Russian walk into your hospital room with a friend of yours who has complained about him for years and sit next to me and your mom in a chair just so he would have a chance to make sure you were still breathing.”

Shane stares at his father through a watery gaze. His cheeks hurt but he can’t bring himself to look away this time. What if he looks away and he misses something his father is trying to tell him?

“He sat there and he held your hand, and he listened to the nurses as they called him your partner,” David continues. “He smiled at the photos I sent him of you and complained about you with a level of affection I only reserve to complain about your mom with.”

David reaches out and wipes a fallen tear off Shane’s cheek.

“So maybe he’s not your boyfriend,” his father shrugs. “But I don’t think the lack of a title like that means he doesn’t care about you. I think he’s just scared to admit that he does care about you that way. And I think you should keep letting him in so he can keep caring for you.”

Shane swallows heavily and nods, finally dropping his gaze to his lap.

“Dad?” he asks after a long moment.

“Yeah, Son?”

Shane looks back up at his father, then the ceiling, then back down into his father’s eyes. “What if I tell him I love him and he doesn’t say it back?”

It’s David’s turn to have watery eyes. “Then you just keep loving him.”

His father stands and collects their plates to be washed in the kitchen. Shane ran his fingertip lightly over a divot in the table while listening to the sound of the sink and clinking of utensils. He was processing, but no real thoughts were filling his brain. Just a repeat of everything his father said. Everything he himself was feeling. Shane collected all of the pieces and tried to arrange them in his brain in a way that made sense with what he knew about... everything, really.

Eventually, David passed behind him on his way back through the house, leaving Shane alone with a single shoulder squeeze in farewell.

Chapter End Notes

I cried writing the scene between Shane and David which is healthy and nice and everything... except I wrote it at work just before I went to lunch so I had to pretend real quick I wasn't emotional over my own writing. Reading it back this week it got me teary again though.

Also RIP Volkov. No clue who you are but I thought of Shorsey while writing you and that's why you're injured that way.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Chapter Notes

Cliff Marlow’s house is smaller than Ilya’s and is veritably a bachelor pad. The wall decor is mainly movie posters with sporadic photos of team events including choices from their post-cup win. Every photo shows the team in various stages of drunkenness and it makes an odd collection to highlight. The couches are leather with cup holders and reclining seats, but each seat the leather has creased and worn from the way every hockey player to grace Cliff’s living room has flopped down on the couch.

There’s a gym down the hall, similar to most of the homes of Ilya’s team members, though Marly seems to have a 50lb weight always abandoned next to the couch leftover from whatever movie he watched while doing curls. Ilya knows from staying over post-party that Marly’s cleaning service also comes three times a week because he hates messes but refuses to deep clean... or do laundry or any semblance of yardwork.

The two of them are parked on the leather couch, each with a beer in their respective cup holders and an X-Box controller in hand playing Chel. They’ve been at it for over an hour now joking and laughing as much as either of them can really enjoy in their bruised state. Ilya’s entire side is a mottled mess of bruises he’s been trying to downplay to Shane for days now. Yuna too, for that matter, since Shane is a traitor who showed her how bruised he was.

“I’m never playing your fucking year of Chel with you ever again,” Marly moans and tosses his controller onto the coffee table. All of the hard furniture in the apartment is dark wood with an industrial, iron bar look. It’s not ugly, it’s just very... American. “You’re fucking insufferable man.”

“Mm, big word,” Ilya chirps and ducks just enough to avoid a punch on the arm from Marly. He immediately regrets the action and winces as his ribs pull.

“Fuck, let me get you more ice, dude,” Marly says and stands to go back to the kitchen.

“I’m fine!” Ilya grumbles but it’s no use. Marly is already limping his way across the open floor plan to get a bag of peas for Ilya to pin up between his ribs and the sofa.

“Here,” Marly tosses the bag and Ilya catches it deftly. The man is what Ilya imagines a brother should be like. Never one to take shit and always willing to deal it out, but caring and supportive. It weirds Ilya out.

He nods in thanks to Marly and winces again as the cold of the peas presses against him through his tank.

“So,” Marly flops down onto the couch and the cushions let out a puff of air as they deflate suddenly. Ilya can clearly picture the way Shane would purse his lips in disapproval at the misuse of the furniture. “We gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what,” Ilya sniffs and takes a pull from his beer. The lime in it drops back down towards the mouth of the bottle as he drinks the last of it.

Marly gives him a pointed look. “Bro, be real.”

Ilya shrugs.

“C’mon, how the fuck did you pull Hollander?”

Ilya raises his eyebrows and stares down his friend. “That’s what you want to fucking open with?”

“Yeah!” Marly throws his hands up. “So fucking what man! Hollander is notoriously, like, severe! And you’re...” he gestures vaguely up and down, “suave and shit.”

“What the fuck is suave? Is this because I am European? You are Xeno...”

“Xenophobic?”

“That makes more sense than the fucking aliens,” Ilya mumbles. Connors had made him watch the Alien movies before Playoffs because the man was ‘fucking tired’ of Ilya’s ‘shitty car movies’ and Xenomorph was the only word vaguely close that his brain was landing on.

“Whatever, man,” Marly pushes on. “I’m just saying I don’t give a fuck who you fuck I just wanna know how you pulled Hollander.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “I pulled him because I am best player in NHL and sexiest one too.”

“Hollander was voted sexiest.”

“Panel was blind.”

Marly snorts and grabs both of their empty bottles before standing and limping once again to the kitchen. Ilya feels bad. Marly’s hamstring was strained after their last playoff match and his left elbow isn’t doing much better, though that injury is far less noticeable.

Ilya listens to the sounds of Marly popping two bottle caps and opening the little container of limes he cut earlier. It was weird to say the least to have someone acknowledge this thing between him and Shane so openly. It was weird enough when Shane was in the hospital and Yuna and David started treating him like he supposed to be there instead of the interloper he was.

Marly rounds the couch and extends Ilya’s beer to him. He accepts it and takes a sip while Marly sits back down.

“Am I overstepping?” Marly asks seriously. Ilya tips his head back on the cushion and rolls his head to look at his friend. The man is just looking at Ilya with a soft expression, one he normally never sees from any of his teammates. From anyone except maybe Sveta or Shane.

“No,” Ilya sighs. “No, you’re not. Me and Hollander... I do not know what we are.”

“That’s rough,” Marly says. “How long?”

Ilya shrugs and picks at the label on his bottle. “Awhile. Years. Since before Rookie year.”

“Before?” Marly’s jaw drops and he leans in. “Bro.”

“Shut up,” Ilya reaches out and shoves Marly back into his designated space. Marly laughs and shakes his head before taking a pull from his drink.

“Gotta hand it to ya, Roz, you never do things half way.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” Ilya grumbles. He takes a deep breath and says, “I am bisexual.”

Marly smiles at him before reaching over and clapping him on the shoulder. “Kinda figured.”

“Ah, you are guru on gay?”

“Fuck you, man, I know things!” Marly yells in indignation. “But, I don’t know. Remember when we had that threesome after the cup?”

Ilya grins wolfishly. “Was nice.”

“Yeah,” Marly nods along with a fond smile. “You were pretty fucked up, though. Not too bad, I don’t think. But you offered to blow me.”

“Ah, sorry,” Ilya winces.

“Nah, but after it just got me thinking. Like, we’d all seen you pull chicks, but maybe sometimes you’d say a joke and then pretend you said it because English was your second language. Or maybe you’d stare too long at a guy across the room and then pretend you wanted whatever chick was closest.”

Ilya chews at his cheek and looks away.

“I’m not saying you’re obvious,” Marly reassures. “But I kinda had a feeling for a few years. Most of the guys just think Europeans are just different.”

“Stupid, we have Johannsson.”

“They’re not the brightest bunch,” Marly agrees. “But yeah, after you offered to blow me I kinda had a feeling. I didn’t think you remembered asking.”

“I do not,” Ilya shakes his head. He looks back over at his friend with a sad smile. “I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Nah, man,” Marly grins and waves him off. “Was kinda nice. Now that I know for sure I almost wish I had said yes. I hear guys give better head.”

“Is true,” Ilya nods. “And I am best.”

“Whatever,” Marly snorts. “So. Hollander?”

Ilya throws his head back on the couch and lets out a dramatic groan. “Marlow you are like 12 year old girl. Fine. Yes. Hollander. I will tell you but this stays between us.”

“Shit, I know it does. I’m not an asshole.”

“No, no, I know,” Ilya is quick to reassure. “But he is like skittish deer. I cannot have him run off to fucking Rose Landry or whoever again.”

“Is he like you?”

Ilya raised his eyebrow in question. “Handsome? Russian? No, he is Hollander. He is boring.”

“Bisexual, asshole.”

“Ah, no, he is gay,” Ilya says. “And very shy. Would not want me telling you all his secrets.”

“Shit, he probably doesn’t even want me to know,” Marly groans. “Don’t tell him. I don’t wanna fuck things up for you guys. Shit—Rose Landry though? What the fuck was that? You were a mess for months, man.”

Ilya is sure his face is not coming off as indifferent as he would like it to appear. “Is nothing. Shane had to make sure he is gay. He is.”

“You, like, love the dude, don’t you?”

“You are a gossip,” Ilya tells him flatly.

“That’s a yes.”

Ilya stands up and decides the peas that have been pressed to his side need to be returned to the freezer. Marly twists on the couch to keep Ilya in his sights while Ilya opens the freezer and tosses the vegetable back in on top of a bag of dinosaur shaped nuggets.

The door shuts and the quiet they’re left in seems to calm Ilya. Maybe it’s the distance from the couch and the fact that he’s standing in Marly’s ugly dark kitchen with brown speckled counter tops.

“Yes, I love him,” Ilya sighs. “Is complicated.”

“Why? Does he not love you back?”

“I do not know,” Ilya admits and the words feel like a punch right to his solar plexus. He rubs the space idly as if it will sooth the pain, but no relief comes. He chances a look at his friend who is still twisted on the couch. With Marly’s limp, maybe he’ll stay over there. “I... You know of Russia?”

“Yeah, Roz, I know of Russia.”

Ilya snorts. “No, of propaganda law. I cannot be who I am and go home. I... I could be arrested if someone found out.”

“What?” Marly asks and now he stands, much to Ilya’s dismay, and closes the distance between them. Ilya watches as his friend moves to the bar stools at the counter. “Are you serious? Ilya, you go home every summer.”

Ilya gestures with an open arm to his side. “Yes. Obviously. I cannot be out and go home.”

“But if they find out?”

“Propaganda law is vague. I am celebrity so maybe me existing is promotion. I do not know,” Ilya says. “I don’t want to know.”

Marly lets out a low whistle. “Well, if Hollander won’t marry you for citizenship, just let me know. I got you, brother.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “I am not marrying you for citizenship. I would marry Sveta.”

That gets a snort out of his friend. “Whatever, dude, I’m a catch. You wish you could have me.”

“Marly, I have smelled you after a game. I am surprised anyone wishes they could have you.”

Marly looks like he is going to retort but reconsiders. “Fair.”

Ilya rolls his eyes. “Can we stop gossiping about Hollander and play fucking Chel?”

Marly pushes back off his stool and limps back to the couch. Whatever man, I’m putting on Vaughn’s year.”

“Anything but fucking Kent,” Ilya agrees and follows his friend.

Shane is a planner. He takes after Yuna in this respect, but something about organization and neatness call to him at a fundamental level. He held off on Ilya’s pursuit of him early in their relationship out of fear and subsequently spent two years planning out how to safely hide a tryst with his rival. The document is still saved on his laptop containing his research into the Montreal real estate market, the permits needed for housing over a commercial space, the loan application process, the various banks he reached out to with their rates and terms, and everything that went into becoming a landlord who would need to potentially hire a point of contact to handle repairs and tenancy issues while he was on the road.

The file itself ended up being 3gbs in depth and had several spreadsheet tabs with photos, color coordination, and external links.

It was not the first spreadsheet he ever made, and it was most certainly not the last.

Finding himself tucked over his laptop while ESPN played highlights of the Admiral’s Conference Finals Run was the least unlikely scenario he expected himself to be in.

Canadian Immigration. Russian dual-citizenship laws. Russian LGBT laws and their nuanced, gray implications. Current NHL team caps. The public information on Ilya’s contract with the Raiders and how long he has before he enters free agency. Potential logistics for which team he would transfer to and what that would look like to continue being long distance. The housing market in Boston and what Zillow currently considers Ilya’s home worth versus what it was purchased for in 2012 (Ilya will make two million on it).

The file is not quite as large as the file Shane created for what eventually was dubbed his “sex condo” by Ilya, but it was quickly approaching it.

Best estimate was that Ilya might see Permanent Residency by 2020, maybe a bit faster if Shane were to marry Ilya, but not considerably.

Something twists in his stomach at the idea of marrying Ilya only for paperwork. He’s never thought of his wedding. Anytime weddings were brought up as a potential future for Shane, he felt sick imagining himself standing before his family in front of a bride. It felt...embarrassing, maybe. Like they would know something about the situation he did not.

Maybe in hindsight the image was always wrong because it should have been another groom standing across from him.

Shane chews on his hoodie string as he thinks about the last time he’d seen Ilya in a tux and how fun it had been to take said tux back off of him.

The most immediate hurdle is which team to transfer to. Ilya needs to get to Canada and that means joining a Canadian team when he hits free agency. Shane flags the cells with missing answers, like the contact information of Ilya’s agent and PR person.

Toronto, Winnipeg, Vancouver, Edmonton, Calgary, and Ottawa are all non-Montreal contenders. Toronto is an immediate no based on Dallas Kent and Troy Barrett’s reputation alone. Neither yield friendly chirps on ice and Shane has been called a fag by Kent more in the last four months than the entirety of his career. It’s clear he’s gone the same route of opinion Comeau has.

Unfortunately, that is the only team within the Eastern Conference besides Montreal and Ottawa. And Ottawa hasn’t even made it to Playoffs since Shane was 9.

Not exactly a stunning landing spot for the second player in the NHL and 2014 Stanley Cup Winner. But they do have plenty of cap space, so Shane leaves them as the team to direct potential focus on for Ilya.

Vancouver might have been a decent option were it not two hours behind them in time zone and would essentially guarantee that he and Ilya would see one another even less. Winnipeg isn’t that much better of a team than Ottawa but like Vancouver, Edmonton, and Calgary, it is also in the Western Conference.

So... Ottawa.

Shane sighs at the thought. It would essentially relegate Ilya to the bottom of the league. Hell, Shane only has Ottawa listed as one of his modified no-trade clause teams because he’s from there. Not because he ever thought he’d play there. He loves Montreal... mostly.

His relationship with the team has been rough, lately. The radio silence following his accident hasn’t helped him feel better about things, either. Shane has long suspected that the team has had a second group chat without him, but the fact that the one he was a part of has not been messaged in since two days prior to his hit from Marlow, that assumption is all but confirmed fact.

Shane supposes that Hayden or JJ would tell him if he asked, but he doesn’t really want the confirmation.

“Mmm, that’s a lot of thought for a concussion,” Yuna teases as she walks past Shane. He automatically flinches and moves to angle his screen down.

“Uh, hey,” he says nervously. Definitely not the unaffected and casual vibe he wants to project. “What’re you doing?”

Yuna pauses and looks down at Shane. “Well, I was getting water, but now I’m wondering why you’re so cagey. I know it’s a spreadsheet on that screen and not porn, but why are you hiding a spreadsheet like it’s porn?”

“Jesus, Mom,” he gripes. “Don’t say porn.”

“Shane, I’m in my 50’s.”

“You’re still my mom!”

“Shane,” she levels him with a dry look. “You honestly cannot pretend your father and I don’t have sex.”

“Oh, ew!”

“Especially when you’ve been seeing your man ‘not seriously’ since you were practically a Rookie.”

“Mom!” Shane protests and scrubs both his hands over his face. He can feel his entire face warm with embarrassment. “Please do not mention me and Ilya having sex.”

“It’s natural, honey,” Yuna teases. She comes around Shane’s back and squeezes both her hands on his shoulder before ducking in to quickly kiss his cheek. “All I’m saying is that whatever is on that spreadsheet can’t be worse.”

Shane pretends to pull away from her kiss but it’s all a show. Part of him really does love that his Mom still acts the same with him as she did when he was really little. Less so when she’s controlling, but her affection for him seemingly unchanged and long-lasting warms him from the inside.

“Fine,” he sighs and tips his screen up. “I’m researching immigration for Ilya.”

“He’s going to immigrate?” she asks in surprise. “To America?”

“No, here,” he continues. “He said he’s not sure he’d want American citizenship, especially with how that country is.”

“Canadian citizenship would be better for both of you long term,” Yuna muses. “This is a screen about team caps, though.”

“I know, I’m trying to figure out what are viable options.”

“Ottawa,” Yuna says without even digging in any further into his research. “He can’t go to Montreal.”

“Yeah, we don’t have the space.”