Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Additional Tags:

Canon Divergence, 2014 MLH Awards in Las Vegas (Game Changers), Reunions, Hurt Shane Hollander, Single Parent Ilya Rozanov, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Meeting Again, Rekindled Romance, Anxious Shane Hollander, Depressed Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov is Good With Children, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Second Chances, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Developing Relationship, Body Worship, Emotional Sex, Hockey Coach Shane Hollander, falling back in love, Coming Out, Happily Ever After, Soft Dom Ilya Rozanov, submissive shane hollander, Light Dom/sub, Step Dad Shane Hollander

Language:

English

Series:

Part 6 of Heated Rivalry

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-11 Updated: 2026-10-18 Words: 557,653 Chapters: 28/?

Déjà vu

Summary

2014: Ilya Rozanov shocks the world and breaks Shane Hollander’s heart by disappearing without explanation, and without a goodbye kiss.

2024: A devastating injury forces Shane to retire early, so he moves to a small town to coach girls hockey and figure out what the hell to do with the rest of his life.

When recently divorced Ilya Rozanov walks into the rink with his twin girls, Shane has to decide if he’s brave enough to risk a second chance on a broken heart, and a rekindled romance with the first and only boy he ever loved.

***

“So.” Ilya cleared his throat. “Should we tell the girls their Daddy and their coach used to date?”

“We didn’t date. We hooked up a few times, then you disappeared.” Shane looked away to hide his heartbreak as he lied, “It doesn’t even matter. It’s not like I loved you or anything.”

“No, of course not.” Ilya tried to smile through a lie of his own, “I didn’t love you either.”

Notes

Content Warning: Shane is in a pretty icky place mentally right here at the beginning, and we are right there with him.

Content Warning: Good Dad-of-twin-girls Ilya gives me butterflies and heart palpitations, heads up in case you are also predisposed to butterflies and heart palpitations about Good Dad Characters.

• Translation into Русский available: Déjà vu [RUS] by angel1k_Dream, SilentConstellation

Chapter 1: Fine (fucked up, insecure, neurotic, emotional)

Chapter 2: Double Take (somebody that i used to know)

Chapter Summary

Sorry for the delay, I had this 75% done like four days ago but I had to do my taxes first (booooo).

I'd warn y'all about the word count (15k+) but you know me by now, the words are just wording, remember to hydrate and rest eyeballs or whatever.

Brief TW for mentions of Shane's eating disorder.

Thanks for Reading!

Mariya and Nadya jumped from the car and hurried towards the front doors of the Montbonne community ice rink before Ilya even had a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt.

The twins had been bouncing off the walls all morning excited to meet their new coach, chattering at Ilya at a speed half past super sonic about how ready they were to move up to the U9 division, clapping their hands and cheering as Ilya pulled into the parking lot, and the very second the car parked and the doors unlocked, they were off like a shot, tripping over one another to get out of the back seat and sprinting for the doors and a couple friends they could see walking in too. 

Ilya stayed behind to pinch the bridge of his nose and try to get ahead of a pending migraine once the twins's non stop chatter was being unleashed in the echoing ice rink instead of inside the 'not nearly large enough for that level of noise' car. Ilya stayed behind to steady himself once the only thing standing between him and a face to face reunion with Shane Hollander – formerly of the Montreal Metros and formerly the guy Ilya had been once been damn near willing to lose everything for– was a couple hundred yards of pitted, gravelly parking lot and a set of heavy, double doors. 

“Okay.” Ilya gripped the steering wheel tight for a moment, then let go, flexed his fingers and nodded, “Okay okay okay. Here we go.” 

Inside the rink, Shane was posted up by the bleachers closest to the team benches to welcome the girls in and hand the arriving parents a well organized, specifically sorted stack of paperwork to fill out. 

He’d reworked the medical forms to include extra spaces for anxiety inducing triggers or specific sensitivities. The updated contact form had spaces to quickly explain any iffy custody situations so he wouldn’t have to asterisk, draw arrows, or highlight in the margins for certain kids. Shane had created an entire new form for skate, pads and jersey sizes, and for whether the kids were right or left handed. The very last page was a questionnaire he’d written to get a better understanding of the expectations of the U9 division, the needs of the community and the more concentrated wants and needs of the team families. 

Shane had been up all night working on the packet, had been up all night not looking at his phone and not thinking about how fucking stressed he was to see Ilya for the first time in ten years, had been up all night working working working until his eyes went blurry and his leg started aching and he’d managed to collapse for a few hours of blessedly dreamless sleep between two a.m. and his alarm at six. 

Eight months ago, Shane would have scoffed at any of his teammates who weren't dedicated enough to ensure a solid night’s sleep before the first practice of a brand new season. He would have rolled his eyes and thought they deserved to be stumbling on the ice getting yelled at by the coach because why the hell would anyone not give 110% to the game, a 110% to everything about life all the goddamn time, wasn’t that the whole point? 

Eight months right the fuck then, Shane held onto his clipboard like it was the only thing keeping him upright, forced a smile and repeated his mostly memorized, mostly scripted greeting to all of the parents and kids as they wandered in, and pretended he wasn’t sick to his stomach because pretending was all he could do any more. 

And he did it just fine. Mostly fine. Shane was able to pretend just about mostly fine that he was perfectly comfortable fielding the inevitable questions about his retirement, the sympathetic sorry sorry sorry head tilts about his injury, and the over zealous excitement about him taking on the coach position– 

“Only temporarily.” he reminded the parents over and over. “Only temporarily until Coach Keeso comes back. I’m happy to help out temporarily. Yeah.” 

He was mostly fine, right up until the double doors opened to admit a set of twins tearing towards the bleachers at breakneck speed, then opened a second time to admit Ilya Rozanov. 

Jesus Christ. 

Distantly, hysterically, Shane wondered if Ilya had dressed up for practice. Wondered if Ilya had dressed up to catch his attention. The dark shirt stretched across Ilya’s shoulders and made his blue eyes glow, and his features were softer than Shane remembered, not as sharp and not as severe like life had been gentle to him for the last ten years. The effect was compounded by his curly hair, tousled and messy but maybe sort of purposefully so, fluffed out framing his face and hanging a smidge long so Shane’s eyes had to drop to his neck, which meant Shane had to re-admire his broad shoulders before dragging his eyes across Ilya’s chest to zero in on the gold glint of his necklace, then follow the length of the chain down to the dip of his waist and the comfortably worn jeans pulling at Ilya’s thighs—

Fuck. Shane blinked. Blinked. Ilya hadn’t dressed up any more than Shane had dressed up. Ilya was wearing normal fucking clothes and Shane needed to stop looking, stop gawking and get it together.

It was fine.

Shane smiled politely at the next parent to step up with a greeting and shoo their little one onto the ice, and didn’t think about how Ilya looked every bit as beautiful as the last time Shane had seen him in Vegas, the night of awards when they hadn’t even kissed and then Ilya had been gone, gone, never answering any text, gone. 

Nope. Not thinking about it.

“Girls, wait our turn.” Ilya caught up with Nadya and Mariya and set a hand on each of their shoulders. “Give your coach a minute to sign everyone in. Put on skates.” 

If it seemed like Shane’s face creased in relief when Ilya held the girls back, it must have been a trick of the light. Probably the same trick that made it seem like Shane had swallowed hard and stared when Ilya first walked in, the same trick that had stopped Ilya in his tracks for a stunned three four five seconds when he’d caught sight of Shane.

Distantly, hysterically, Ilya was glad he’d put a little thought into his appearance because Shane had clearly put a whole lotta thought into his. He was pointedly, purposefully striking in a fitted black tee and joggers hugging down his long legs, somber and serious and appropriately Coach-like with a whistle around his neck and a clipboard propped against his stomach as he took notes.

A small smile teased at the corner of his gorgeous mouth whenever a parent stopped to talk to him, and it made Ilya feel slightly insane because he knew, he remembered, what it felt like to have the full force of one of Shane’s sunshiney bright real smiles turned his way and he knew, he was certain, the aura of guarded mystery Shane was cultivating with his dark clothes and dark eyes and muted smiles had to be on purpose.

Because if it wasn’t on purpose, if Shane hadn’t specifically picked out his clothes and tailored his behavior to effortlessly capture Ilya’s attention right off the bat, then Ilya was going to have to sit and stress about how much Shane Hollander still affected him even after ten years and even while standing clear across the fucking room, and that was—

—he wasn’t ready to admit—

Shit.

“Daddy, help!” Mariya yanked at Ilya’s sleeve so he would stop standing and gawking and help her lace up her skates. “I want to skate!”

“Come here, then.” Ilya knelt down next to the bleacher seats and laced her up steady and sturdy, then moved to help Nadya with hers as well. “You remembered helmets?” 

“Da, ya vzyala svoy.” Nadya answered sweetly and Ilya ruffled her curls and plonked a kiss on her forehead, “Good girl. Masha, did you remember your helmet?” 

“Duh, Daddy.” came the snorted reply. “Can we go now?” 

“Helmets on and careful.” he made a mental note to text Svetana and ask how she’d managed to birth Sour Patch Kid twins, one who was endlessly sweet and the other who was only ever sour. “Say hi to Coach.” 

“Hi to Coach!” Mariya called as she clumped right past Shane’s attempt at saying hi to her and jumped onto the ice, shouting for her friends she hadn’t seen all summer, and skating haphazardly towards the group of girls. 

“Hi t-to C-Coach.” Nadya said softer, slower, and Ilya’s stomach swooped when Shane smiled wider down at Nadya and said quietly, “Hi to you too, kiddo.” then held out his hand to help her over the lip in the boards and onto the ice. “Be out there in a minute, okay?” 

The twins were the last girls registered to play for the team and Shane busied himself checking off their names, straightening the packet of paperwork, fussing with his clipboard so he wouldn’t have to look up and look right at Ilya as the big blond meandered his way closer. 

“Shane Hollander.” Ilya stopped moving once he was close enough to lower his voice quiet, but still far enough away to be safe. He propped his hip at the boards and held his hand out for the expected packet of paperwork all the other parents had received, “Of all the ice rinks in all the world, you are the new Coach in mine, hm?” 

“Ilya Rozanov.” Shane braced himself and handed over the paperwork, steeled himself and looked up to meet Ilya’s gaze. “What in the hell are you doing here?” 

It was 2024, but it could have been 2014 for how fast Shane’s mouth went dry, his throat closing up and chest aching like his heart was shattering when Ilya tilted his head and smiled small and a little bit crooked, blue eyes darting all over Shane’s face trying to read him the way Ilya had always been able to read him. 

“My girls.” Ilya didn’t look down at the paperwork or over at the rink, didn’t so much as blink away from Shane when he answered, “Nadya and Mariya. They are on your team.” 

It wasn’t the right answer to the question Shane hadn’t actually come right out and asked, but it was all Ilya could manage and Shane nodded jerkily like he got it, the hesitance and diversion, he got it. 

“Vetrova.” Shane said it like a statement. Really, it was a question, two questions, a dozen questions all wrapped up in a single word and a handful of syllables. “The girls don’t have your last name?” 

“Is Svetlana’s last name.” Ilya had spent years memorizing every single one of the tiny expressions, the hundreds of microscopic tells Shane had never been to fully hide. Everyone had always thought Shane Hollander, golden boy, super star, married to the game party pooper and all around wet blanket, was stand-offish and bland and cold, but Ilya had always known different. He’d always seen different. 

He said Svetlana and Shane blinked a split second too fast, his jaw tightened there and gone tense, Ilya saw Shane ask a silent question and figure out the answer, figure out the implications of the girls having Svetlana’s last name all in the span of a breath and it was bittersweet painful to realize Ilya could still see and know and read Shane, no matter how hard Shane tried to mask it all away covered. 

“Svetlana Vetrova.” Shane didn’t let his voice wobble. He didn’t let himself care about Svetlana Vetrova who had been Ilya’s best friend, the supermodel level beauty with big hair and big eyes and her hand in Ilya’s every summer when they’d spent the weeks clubbing and partying and pressed up against one another for the tabloid photos.

Made sense. Ilya had left, gotten married to his best friend, had two little girls and now for some reason was living in Montbonne. Yep. 

“Hollander.” Shane’s voice didn’t wobble, but he blinked a little too fast and the muscle in his cheek twitched when he grit his teeth, and the barely there reaction squeezed vice tight at Ilya’s chest. 

“Shane.” he wet his lips and leaned in, lowered his voice and inched closer. He didn’t know what the hell to say, but he definitely needed to say something. “After practice, maybe we should talk?” 

“Alright girls!” Shane didn’t let himself care about Svetlana, but he sure turned around quick when Ilya leaned in like he was going to whisper something soft and careful and important. He sure put the whistle to his lips and blew it loud while stepping onto the ice in his shoes and shuffling his way towards center ice, towards the waiting girls, away away, he needed to get the fuck away from Ilya Rozanov’s piercing eyes and disconcerting ability to analyze Shane and figure him out. 

Shane didn’t give a single flying fuck about how or why or whatever about anything involving Svetlana and Ilya, but oh he sure turned around, walked away, made some noise so he couldn’t hear Ilya saying his name like that, no thank you, he couldn't handle that.

Ilya didn’t linger watching Shane cross the ice, it would have been too noticeable in front of all the parents gathered in the bleachers dutifully filling out the packet of paperwork. He noticed Shane wasn’t wearing skates for the first practice, though. He noticed the limp at Shane’s left side, too. The accident and injury had been too long ago for Shane to still have a visible limp, he should have been healed and walking fine, andskating more or less comfortably after months in recovery. 

Ilya noticed and frowned about it, but he didn’t linger watching, only climbed a few rows into the bleachers and settled in to fill out his paperwork for the girls. 

“Oh Ilya! Welcome home!” Rebekah’s mom leaned over to smile and squeeze at his arm. “How was your summer? How was Russia?” 

“The girls have gotten so big!” Angela’s mom added in with a wide smile. “I can’t believe how tall they are, they might be the tallest on the team, even taller than the eight year olds!” 

“God, just look at Coach Hollander out there.” someone murmured from a couple seats below. “Too bad about his injury, but silver lining, now we get to watch him in those sweats, huh?” 

“You played against Hollander for a couple years, didn’t you?” Mr. Davis owned the grocery store and he reached around a pile of snacks and drinks for the team to shake Ilya’s hand. “Maybe during your rookie year?” 

“Mm.” Ilya nodded. They’d met the summer before rookie year technically. The last few days of the winter before the summer before rookie year if they were splitting hairs. Ilya had met and known and been head over heels for Shane by the time the first puck dropped on their first rookie game, but, “Yes.” he nodded. “Rookies.” 

“How exciting.” another mom decided, her slow smile inviting as she glanced up through her lashes at Ilya. “Two honest to god hockey legends in our little town? And both of you bachelors. Wow.” 

“I am not legend.” Ilya deflected the way he always deflected any reference to his too few years of playing for Boston. “Hollander is, though.” he looked up from the paperwork to find Shane on the ice, to watch how the limp seemed less noticeable once he was surrounded by the kids and talking with them, “Hollander is legend, yes.” 

Shane glanced towards the bleachers in time to see Ilya watching him, and he jerked his head back around, swallowed through it and shook his head through it, then forced another smile for the seven and eight year old girls all waiting for instruction. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” he tucked his clipboard under his arm and clapped his hands. “I don’t have my skates today, and you guys don’t have all your gear, which is fine!” he was quick to reassure one of the little girls who looked suddenly anxious at not being dressed. “Because I told your parents in the group text that we were just going to get to know each other and skate around for a while, since a lot of you are new to U9 and I’m super new to coaching.” 

“Let’s start with Bailey.” he decided, “Bailey, skate a circle around all of us here,” he motioned to the thin line painted around center ice. “Then you’re gonna stop right in front of me, tell me your full name, how old you are and one interesting thing, okay?” 

It was a simple exercise, one meant to give Shane a chance to quickly assess each players skating and stopping ability, as well as memorize their name by reading it, saying it, hearing it and theoretically learning more about his team by way of random bits of information. 

He had no idea what seven and eight year olds would consider interesting facts about themselves, but Shane clicked his pen on and got his clipboard ready to write it down anyway. 

“My little teef never fell out so the dentif pulled them.” was eight year old Bailey’s interesting fact, and she beamed up a gappy, rather toothless grin at Shane as she explained, “Big onef are coming but not yet. Daddy calls me a gap-toofed baby.” 

“Good job.” Shane made a note about how good her skating was, how hilariously terrible her stopping was, and to see if she needed a special mouth guard until her adult teeth started to come in. “Nychele?” 

Nychele wasn’t as strong a skater but managed a tentative, timid stop, and she stared down at the ice to mumble, “My name is Nychele Belanger and I'm eight. We moved here from Quebec. I don’t like it here.” 

“Quebec.” Shane crouched down so he could get to her eye level, then asked in French, “Why don't you like it here?" 

Nychele’s eyes brightened, and she switched to French to whisper back, “I don't have any friends yet.”

“No friends yet, huh?” Shane smiled at her encouragingly. “You know the best part about being on a team?” Nychele shook her head and Shane raised his voice so the rest of the girls could hear, “Being on a team means having built in friends. It will be so fun and we will all be friends very soon.” 

“If you say so.” she smiled for real that time. “Merci, Coach.”

“Merci, Nychele.” Shane winked, then stood back up. “Alright, who’s next?” 

On and on it went through the list of girls, wobbly circles skated around center ice, less than graceful stops, interesting snippets and odd facts that told Shane more about the girls personality than anything else.

It was fun. The girls laughed at one another and did little twirls on the ice, a few slipped and fell, Shane kept telling himself to smile, telling himself to smile, telling himself to smile... until all at once he realized he was smiling and laughing along with the girls without having to pretend about it and that-- that was sort of amazing.

The last two names on the list were Mariya and Nadya Vetrova. 

“I’m Mariya.” Mariya raced around center ice, by far the best skater on the team despite being one of the youngest, and she raced raced raced right up to Shane before skidding to a dramatic stop and spraying his shoes with snow. “Everyone calls me Mayday.” 

“Mayday.” Both of the twins very obviously took after Svetlana with their tightly curled hair, bright green eyes and olive toned skin, but when Mariya tilted her chin up and held her arms out in a flourish, all cocky posture and pint sized confidence, she was so clearly Ilya’s child, it almost took Shane’s breath away. 

“Mayday.” he repeated with a short swallow and small smile. “And why do they call you Mayday?” 

“Because I bring the dooooooom!” Mayday crowed with her skinny arms flexed, and the sound of a few different parents laughing carried over from the bleachers. “I play forward like my Daddy. I’m a center and I scored ten goals last season, which was the most outta everybody.” 

“Mayday… brings…the doom…” Shane made a show of carefully jotting the information down. “Alright, and Nadya?” 

“Hi C-Coach.” Nadya was every bit as good a skater as Mariya, though it showed in her technique and steadiness versus her speed and flash. Curly hair, big green eyes, and Nadya had a dimple on one side, just the one tucked into her cheek when she came to a neat stop a normal amount of distance from Shane and smiled up at him. “I’m Nadya. I am th-the goalie.” 

“Goalie. Got it. Nadya ‘not in my house’ Vetrova.” Shane wrote it down, but when Nadya’s little face wrinkled confused he explained, “Uh cos as goalie, the net and crease is your house? You own that space and you don’t let any pucks through, right? Not in your house.” 

“Nnnot in my house!” she agreed cheerfully and Mariya cheered, “Yeah, sis!” and Shane’s heart did something flip floppy about just how funny and beautiful Ilya’s kids were.

But he wasn't going to dwell on that, no thank you, so he moved right on.

“Okay, that’s everybody.” Shane gave a short whistle. “Let’s do some laps the way around the rink and then we can be done with practice and you can have free skate for a while, okay?” 

The girls took off to skate around the rink, hugging the boards and laughing, chattering as they went. Shane kept watching, kept taking notes on anything that stuck out to him and for the remainder of the short practice, decidedly didn’t look in the bleachers just in case Ilya was still looking at him. 

“Good job today. Good job today. Good job today.” Shane shuffled to the rink door and held up his hand for fist bumps at the end of the hour as the girls hopped off the ice and made their way clumsily to the stands and their parents to help with skates. “Good job, super proud of all of you. Good job.” 

“Coach Hollander, do you have a minute!” Mr. Davis handed off the responsibility of snack and drink distribution to one of the other dads, and hurried down the bleachers to clap a friendly hand at Shane’s shoulder. “I’ve got paperwork all filled out for Janey, but I had a couple questions…?” 

“Uh yeah.” Shane nodded jerkily. Didn’t look at Ilya when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, Ilya crouching down to help the twins with their skates, laughing under the sound of them rapid fire explaining everything that had happened on the ice.

They switched to Russian at some point, and Shane didn’t look didn’t look when Ilya switched too, his deep voice sounding even deeper, even smoother, echoing towards the high ceilings and blending with the girls as they somehow talked even faster, big hand gestures and wide smiles telling their Papa all about the practice. 

“Yep.” Shane didn’t look. “Yeah, come on into the office. I’ve got all this other paperwork to file, we can talk at the same time.” 

Several other parents took the initiative to crowd into the office and talk to Shane too, and he dropped into the seat behind the desk to try and keep some distance. He didn’t like sitting lower than a group of people chatting in his direction, but it was better than standing awkwardly. He could take notes, he could organize paperwork, anything so he wasn’t making too intense eye contact following every word out of their mouth, anything so he wasn’t unintentionally avoiding eye contact by looking everywhere except right at them. 

It was too much noise in a fairly small space and Shane had to inhale, exhale, breathe through it. It was too much clamor after months of self isolation and self enforced silence, but Shane had said yes to coaching, had mentally prepped himself for the onslaught of conversation and curiosity and commotion, so he sat behind his desk and smiled his way politely through it all for some interminable amount of time that really only ended up being seventeen minutes. 

Seventeen minutes. It felt like years. By the time Jessie’s parents left cheerfully waving and calling that they were looking forward to the next practice, Shane felt like he’d ran a whole goddamn marathon and it had only been seventeen minutes. 

Shit. Good thing the coach job was only temporary. 

Shane got his paperwork gathered and the office cleaned, got everything important put away so he could lock the place up and leave, but stopped when he heard high pitched voices and scattered giggles coming from the ice.

Nadya and Mariya were back in the rink, scotting back and forth in their shoes and racing one another around the face off circles. They were falling and sliding, laughing in delight even though their little hands were certainly freezing and their helmets were still on the bleachers so a bonked head would hurt. 

They were carefree and easy, thoroughly wholly lost in the simple joy of being on the ice, and Shane couldn’t help but wonder when he stopped enjoying being on the ice like that.

Was it after his injury? After his first Cup when the pressure seemed to triple overnight? When he’d been second draft pick,and suddenly the entire world was pitting him against Rozanov because there was only room for one at the top and the PR teams wouldn’t rest until they turned a pair of kids who just wanted to play hockey into some knock down, drag out, fiercely heated rivalry that meant every goal, every attempted shot, and every game was stacked up, stripped down, inspected inside and out for fodder and fuel for the media machine?  

Shane didn’t know when he’d stopped enjoying being on the ice, but he was willing to bet it coincided with, circled alongside, rose and fell in some terribly unavoidable way around the man who was leaning against the boards watching his girls play, but who was also very clearly waiting for Shane to come talk to him. 

Ilya Rozanov.

“Okay okay okay.” Shane zipped up his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Here we go.” 

Ilya heard the office door close, listened to the soft scuff of Shane’s shoes coming his way, coming up behind him, coming to a stop next to him, but he still jumped when Shane’s frame filled into his peripherals, dark hair and dark eyes and freckles and smelling like some expensive French cologne, standing not leaning, perfect posture and chin lifted, gaze set squarely on the ice. 

Shane was there because he had to be, not because he wanted to be. Because they needed to have at least the barest bones of a mandatory conversation, not because Shane actually wanted to have the conversation or actually wanted to talk to him or actually wanted to stand next to Ilya or anything. 

Ilya wished it didn’t matter so damn much that Shane very obviously didn’t want anything to do with him, but everything about Shane Hollander had always mattered so damn much, so it wasn't much of a surprise. 

“So.” Shane broke the silence first. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“Mm.” Ilya leaned further over the boards, resting his forearms on the top and clasping his hands together. “I could say same for you.” 

“I just mean.” Shane scratched his thumb at his brow awkwardly. “No one knew what happened to you after Vegas that year. Back then. You disappeared. Quit. No one heard anything.”

No one heard anything about where Rozanov had gone back in 2014, or at least no one who was willing to share the information had heard anything. Shane had been stressed right up to his eyeballs about Ilya's well being and whereabouts, but no one else had known he even cared, so no one had bothered to keep him informed. He couldn’t tell Ilya that though, so he shrugged and repeated, “No one knew what happened.” 

“I had to take care of family things.” Ilya explained shortly. “In Russia.” 

“Family things.” Shane echoed and Ilya exhaled through pursed lips, “My Papa got sick. Died.” 

“Oh shit.” Shane’s voice caught before he could help it, wobbled with a flare of very real emotion and very real worry before he managed to tamp it down into generic neutrality, “Sorry about that.” 

“Was a long time ago.” Ilya shrugged like it still didn’t hurt to say out loud. “Is okay now.” 

“Okay well.” Shane couldn’t ever imagine it being okay at any point if it had been his Dad who passed. “Uh. How long have you been back?” 

“Back?” Ilya glanced sideways at him, partly curious, partly cos he couldn’t help wanting to look. “What is back?” 

“I mean, you know.” Shane meant to ask how long Ilya had been back. On the continent and in the States or in Canada. Within a couple hour plane ride from Shane’s hometown. Within a couple hours drive from where Shane spent every single summer at his parent's lakehouse. In the same fucking time zone with the same fucking phone number. 

“I mean here.” he finished after a minute. “How long have you been here? Montbonne.” 

“Since pandemic.” Ilya felt Shane flinch at that, he felt Shane jerk and startle and maybe recoil a little to learn it had been years. “Papa died in early 2017 and we left Russia shortly after. We were looking for a cabin property, for relaxation and vavation, but when the world got sick,” he mimed a motion over his face like a mask, “and borders shut down we stayed full time."

"America is," He made another motion meant to encapsulate how uncertain and iffy and downright dangerous America had been for the few years pre pandemic, during the pandemic, and now again with the most recent election. “Canada is good. Easy citizenship. Close enough to Svetlana’s work. Works for us." 

“Four years.” Shane repeated, stunned. “You’ve been back,” he shook his head, “here in Montbonne, here in Ontario for four years.” 

“Mostly.” Nod. “Yes.”

“Holy shit.” Four years. Within driving distance. Shane had brought the cup home to Ottawa multiple times, and Ilya had been within driving distance. Same time zone, same phone number, fuck.  

Ilya turned his head to look at him. Shane turned his head away to hide. He’d never been as good at faking it with Ilya, and he didn’t need those blue eyes dissecting him. 

“So why here?” He asked after another minute. “Why Montbonne specifically?” 

“Like I said, it was supposed to be cabin first.” Ilya turned back to the ice and his girls. “But is a good place to raise girls, at least when they are small. Bigger city is only a few hours away, with an airport for flights to Boston for Sveta. Town is big enough to have things to do, school and activities and stores, but small enough to be safe, yes? Maybe later when girls are serious about hockey, we will move for better opportunities, but for now is good. Nice to be… invisible.” 

Shane's real estate agent had mentioned something much along the same lines when she sold him the cabin, talking about how Montbonne was big enough to be viable, but small enough and anonymous enough to disappear into, whether he was famous or not. 

At the time, Shane had only heard that he could disappear. Now, he wondered if she’d pitched it the same way to Ilya. 

“Sorry to hear about your knee.” Ilya changed the subject. “And leg. And ribs. And retirement."

“Yeah, well.” Shane wondered if Ilya had watched the game, if he’d seen the hit, the injury, the aftermath. The thought of Ilya being in the same time zone watching him fall and fail made him sick. “It happens.” 

“It happens.” Ilya rubbed a hand at his chin, scratched his fingernails up the line of his jaw, then rubbed habitually tugging nervous at his ear lobe for a few seconds before he asked, “We are not going to talk about it?” 

“About,” Breathe. “what?” 

“About how we used to fuck.” the words were shocking in their bluntness. “We should talk about it.” 

“I–” Shane’s face burned red and he swallowed hard, but didn’t let himself retreat. “No. Absolutely not here and no, probably not at all. We don’t need to talk about that.” 

“No?” Ilya didn’t look at him. Couldn’t look at him. “I think maybe the girls should know their Daddy and their Coach used to date.” 

“No cos we– we didn’t date. We were never dating. We hooked up a couple times for a few years, then you disappeared. That’s not anything close to a relationship.” Shane forced his shoulders down from around his ears, counted out a breath, then counted out another so he could keep his composure, hide his heartbreak, and lie right through his teeth, “It didn’t even matter. It’s not like I loved you or anything.” 

“No, of course not.” Ilya smiled tight and painful through a lie of his own, “I didn’t love you either. So.” 

“So. Right. You definitely didn't love me.” Shane nodded like he was trying to convince them both of the idea. “Everyone knows we played against each other a long time ago. Let’s leave it at that.” 

“Seems smart.” Ilya hated it. “Safe.” 

“Smart and safe. It's a good plan.” There, that hadn’t been so bad. A single question, a quick denial, boundaries laid down and agreed on, and so what if Shane was sick to his stomach when he got back to the cabin, it didn’t matter anymore than their handful of hookups ten years ago had mattered. 

They hadn't been dating. Ilya hadn't loved him and Shane hadn't-- fuck, he hadn't loved--

“I gotta lock up.” Shane changed the subject that time. No use lingering talking about things that didn’t matter with someone he used to know. "I only signed in for two hours of ice time today and I’m three minutes over.”

“Three minutes over. Wow.” Ilya huffed a quiet laugh. “Smart and safe conversation only. Rules and regulations for ice time. Ten years and you are still so boring, Hollander.” 

“Yeah, well.” Shane didn’t look at him, didn’t look at the girls, only looked at his feet so he wouldn’t stumble and fall and collapse cos his knee hurt and his leg hurt and everything fucking hurt as he turned and walked away to lock up his office. “Some things never change.” 

“No.” Ilya didn’t look either, only hung his head and closed his eyes and cursed cursed cursed himself for being such a coward. “Some things never do.” 

Then louder, “Girls!” he put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Masha! Nadyushka! Say bye to coach and thank you for ice time!” 

“Bye to Coach!” Mariya hollered and Nadya waved in Shane’s direction, “Thank y-you for ice time!” 

“Nice to meet you girls.” Shane waved at the twins. “Practice again on Monday, okay?” 

“Okay! Spasibo!”

“Spasib-bo!” 

Ilya herded the girls out the double doors, then sent a tiny, cautious smile his way, “Thanks, Coach. And. Is good to see you." 

Shane didn’t answer. Ilya hadn’t really expected him to. 

“Me and Nadya want lunch at the bakery!” Mariya announced as they clambered into the car. Ilya stashed their skate bag on the front seat and shot the oldest twin a knowing look, “Do you and Nadya want lunch at the bakery, or are you being bossy and talking over your sister again?"

“I’m not bossy.” Mariya scowled. “Mama says I am a leader.” 

“Nadya?” Ilya arched an eyebrow at her and Nadya nodded, “Bakery, D-Daddy.” 

“Alright then.” 

The bakery square in the middle of downtown Montbonne was a historically charming little place, built and owned for over forty years by a couple who’d lived in the tiny apartment on the second floor and worked together in the shop every single day until age related health issues and the pandemic lock down  proved too much to handle. 

Ilya had bought the property as an investment opportunity the same week he’d purchased the house in the East End neighborhood. A well established, highly sought after commercial location on Main Street with the bonus addition of a short term rental in the same building was the perfect chance for some passive income, as well as a chance to make a first impression of generosity in their new community--Ilya had paid the asking price, the closing costs, and gave the elderly couple six months and plenty of help to slowly but surely move out. 

He’d had no intention of ever working in the bakery, no intention at all. The manager Alicia had been there for over fifteen years, she knew the recipes inside and out, could clean the place top to bottom in a pinch, had plenty of connections with families whose teenagers could use a summer job, and Ilya had fully intended to give her a pay raise and leave the day to day running of the place to her. 

But. Alicia had insisted Ilya at least learn the basic recipes so he could jump in and help if needed, the way a good owner would. She smacked his hands when he kneaded the bread too much and laughed until she snorted when a first use on the mixer ended with flour in Ilya’s hair, in his clothes, all over his face and hands and all over the nearest wall. She had an entire internal list of which items could be made by taste and texture and vibes, and which ones required strict adherence to the recipe and maybe a prayer to the gods, and she'd scolded Ilya up one way and right down the other the first time he eyeballed the honey then just dumped it into the bowl. 

Alicia was strictly stern in a motherly sort of way, always with her apron tied around her waist and alternating between hollering at the kids and teenagers for disrupting the cookie display, then gossiping with the teachers who came in for a quick snack on their breaks. The first time Ilya brought the girls in for a sweet treat, Alicia had strapped aprons around their little waists and set them up on stools to very seriously take on the ultra important task of adding chocolate chips to the cookie dough, and Ilya had decided right then and there to figure the whole baking thing out. 

He had very few memories of his Mama that weren’t dampened gray by her struggles, her depression, or her eventual passing, but Ilya definitely remembered baking with Irina when he was small. He remembered her bright red notebook and handwritten recipes, how she danced across the kitchen humming and singing and offering him taste tests of the bowl whenever he asked. Ilya remembered wearing too big aprons and wobbling on too tall stools, he remembered sweet treats and sticky fingers and messy counters and his Mama smiling a lot. 

Watching Nadya and Mariya haphazardly chuck handfuls of chocolate chips into a bowl of cookie dough that easily outweighed them both made Ilya smile, made him think that his Mama had smiled the same way watching him, and yeah right then and there, Ilya decided the bakery would be less of an investment and more of a job. 

It had taken months of work to update and modernize the kitchen, months more to add on to the tiny customer area so there was room for a handful of cafe tables and a large display table, and additional months for Ilya to learn the recipes alongside Alicia and to start attempting some of his own, but now, almost four years into the whole endeavor, the bakery was thriving. 

They made cinnamon rolls and pastries and scones for breakfast, sandwiches with fresh baked breads and salads for lunch time. There were soups for the chillier months and sometimes baked casseroles to deliver to the school when the teachers had training days and were stuck working over the weekends. Ilya took catering orders and never seemed to charge enough, because the money didn't matter all that much so long as the employees were paid, and the bakery donated to each and every community event. There were always gorgeous cupcakes and beautiful cakes for special order birthdays, and for the holidays, they made medovik and pryaniki and vatrushka and Ilya told the girls stories about their Grandmama Irina while listening to Christmas music. 

Ilya did a bit of everything in the bakery. Sometimes he was on the sandwich bar filling lunch orders or catering trays for high school sporting events. Sometimes he was behind the counter taking money and packaging up the fresh breads. Other times Ilya was in the back handling the baking, whipping frostings and portioning cupcakes and even taking on the occasional wedding cake, studying YouTube videos and ordering supplies and cursing up a storm in Russian as he tried to figure out how the fuck to pipe a frosting flower or how to color fondant without inadvertently staining his hands with food dye. 

Wearing an apron and figuring out the perfect ratio of cake to frosting was a far cry from breaking scoring records and winning a Cup, but so was putting twin girls to bed every night and learning to French braid hair, so it was just fine. 

Better than fine, it was fucking perfect. Ilya enjoyed every day of his life in Montbonne, especially when he walked through the door with Nadya and Mariya at his side and every customer and employee in the place called out with a greeting and a smile. 

The whole place felt like family. Felt like home. Ilya belonged in Montbonne and at the bakery more than he’d ever belonged in Russia, more than he’d ever belonged in Boston. In fact, the only time he’d ever even felt like he’d sort of belonged in Boston was when Shane would show up on his doorstep smiling and eager for a couple hours together, and that had had been infrequent and too short lived and too long ago...

As Ilya herded the girls through the bakery doors, he let himself wonder for all of about point-three seconds if his being in Montbonne would make it easier for Shane to call the place home like Shane had made it easier for Ilya to call Boston home… or if the unexpected, unintended reunion would ensure once the temporary coaching job was done, Shane would be done too. 

“Ilya!” Alicia called out from the baker’s table when she caught sight of him, and hustled her ample frame right up to the front of the store, squeezing around the counter and holding out both arms for a hug. “Welcome home!” 

“Rad tebya videt’ Alicia.” Ilya wheezed theatrically when she strangled him down into a bear hug, but wrapped both arms around her and hugged her right back. “Is good to see you. And so good to be home.” 

“Girls!” Alicia had never had any issue telling Mariya and Nadya apart. The twins had spent ages trying to fool her by switching clothes or Mariya pretending to stutter or Nadya mimicking her older sister’s attitude, but Alicia always clocked them immediately, and she didn’t even hesitate to scoop Mariya in, “Hullo Mayday!” and then cuddle Nadya close, “Sweet girl, how are you!” 

“Hi Alicia!” the girls chorused and Ilya laughed when Alicia promptly took their hands and steered them back behind the counter to pick through the cupcake display for a sweet treat. 

“So you are fine, then?” he checked in, rolling his eyes in good-natured defeat when Alicia waved him off already wholly uninterested in him now that she had the girls to chat with, and rolling his eyes harder when both Nadya and Mariya flashed him red velvet and frosting smeared grins. “Yes, you are fine. Alicia. Some lunch first at least? They had practice this morning and need to eat real food.”

“Alright then my darlings,” Alicia clapped her hands together. “Let’s finish our cupcakes, then go find a sandwich so you can tell me all about your summer with your grandpa, then we’ll have a cookie for dessert. Ilya!” she waved at him, “I was just starting inventory, but you’ll take that over since I’m busy, right?” 

“Of course.” Of course Ilya would take over inventory while the girls were spoiled to the point of sugar comas under Alicia’s doting care. He needed to look through the records for their summer sales anyway, needed to put some work into a winter menu and catering options for all the upcoming school and community events, he needed to not sit and obsess for hours over every single detail of every single second spent with Shane and he needed to not worry about how the spark had been gone from Shane’s eyes, how the years and the injury and recovery had erased the light in his smile.  

From Ilya: Did you know about Hollander taking the coach position with the girls team? 

From Sveta: No. 

From Sveta: But. The vice principal at school reached out to me about helping with some fundraising promotions a few weeks ago. She mentioned a rumor about Shane Hollander moving to Montbonne and wanted to know if I’d heard anything since I actively work with Montreal and a few of the other teams through the advertising firm.

From Sveta: I didn’t want to say anything to you just in case.

From Ilya: Just in case what?

From Sveta: Just in case it wasn’t true, I didn’t want you to be stressed.

From Ilya: Why would I be stressed.

From Sveta: Because you’ve spent the last ten years lying to yourself about still being in love with him while saving screenshots of his text messages? 

From Sveta: If I were you, I would be VERY stressed about the possibility of seeing Shane Hollander again. 

From Sveta: How does he look? 

From Ilya: Same. 

From Sveta: Beautiful? 

From Ilya: … yes. 

Ilya put his phone down and ran his hands through his hair. “Shit.”  

“Swear jar, Mr. Rozanov.” one of the summer hires– Brylie?-- laughed at him, and Ilya forced a smile in her direction before pulling a bill from his pocket and stuffing it in the swear jar Alicia had installed at the end of the prep table. 

“Enough of that.” Ilya left his phone in the back office so he wouldn’t get distracted by Svetlana’s brutally, bruisingly candid observations, the temptation of looking through the locked screenshot album or worse, the growing itchy urge to text Shane and ask to meet up.

After a summer away there was a pile of paperwork to do, a huge inventory to take, the winter menu to plan and that was a lot of work even when Ilya was at a hundred percent. When he was still jet lagged from the plane ride and honestly emotionally shredded after seeing Shane again, the to-do list of tasks felt impossible. But if he wasn’t busy, he’d be tempted to be reckless and stupid and nostalgic, so Ilya set his jaw, turned his music up and locked the fuck in.

It was fine. 

*****

Shane’s afternoon and evening in the cabin by the lake was markedly different than the brightly cheerful, comfortingly noisy hours Ilya and the twins spent at the cafe. 

Shane’s leg hurt after shuffling and sliding his way around the ice, and he was more tired than he’d been in a long time, mentally drained after meeting all the parents and kids and dealing with stacks of paperwork, emotionally wasted but definitely not dwelling on it after seeing Ilya again. 

He needed to eat, but didn’t want to. Common sense and ingrained habit told him to eat after exercising, to eat to stave off a stressful migraine, to eat so he could take a couple pain pills so he wasn’t gritting his teeth wincing with every step cos a lot of his pain was psychosomatic these days, but he still had a rebuilt knee and a rod down his leg and screws in his ankle so a lot of his pain was still very fucking real. 

Shane needed to eat, but the common sense reasons were overruled by the little voice in his head whispering about not exercising enough, about not moving enough, about how an hour of ice time wasn’t enough to justify the potential weight gain, he didn’t need three full meals a day when he was limping around not doing much of anything, he’d already gotten soft around the middle while counting calories and managing portions, the last thing he needed to do was make it all worse by finding excuses to eat more. 

Playing for Montreal had disguised Shane’s obsessive need to control his food intake behind research about specific diets, about maximum benefits from minimal calories and the science behind certain meats and grains, reworked revamped food groups and real life examples from across any number of sports who swore up and down that xyz changes to their diet had made them a better athlete. 

Mandatory medical retirement had stripped the convenient disguise of 'athletic dieting' right off, and these days Shane was staring down the proverbial barrel of a hell of an issue with his food, one that only seemed to get worse the longer he was off the ice, by himself, wasting away alone.

Sometimes he did okay. Sometimes he could compromise by counting calories and denying a snack and didn’t feel gross about it. 

Other times Shane was too exhausted to pep talk himself into fighting that voice in his head, so he just shook his head and let it win. 

A protein shake from the gas station was better than nothing, right? 

Right. 

Shane spread all the filled in paperwork across the sofa table in the living room and booted up his computer, sipping at the gritty, chemical tasting protein shake as he entered all the information into his spreadsheets. 

It was a useless exercise. Busy work and organization for the sake of busy work and organization. Something to do to fill the long hours before bed.

Coach Keeso was expected back at the end of the following week, and most of the information Shane had painstakingly gathered and was rapidly inputting was pointless to a man who’d coached kids hockey in the same town for decades. Coach Keeso already knew the parents and custody issues, he knew which position most of the kids played, the information on skate sizes was important, but the fun facts and notes Shane had jotted down about the girls wasn’t. 

Shane typed it all in anyway, focusing on the numbers and neatly filled boxes and creating a masterlist of contact information because anything was better than sitting there wondering if his phone was going to–

*brrrring! brrrrring!*

Shane’s phone rang loud in the cabin and he jumped, knocking his drink right over and only barely managing to grab his computer out of the way before the shake spilled all over the keyboard and table.

“Shit.” Shane hated that he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved when the caller ID said ‘Dad’ instead of ‘Lily’. 

“Dad.” he put the phone on speaker and carried it with him to find paper towels for the protein shake spill. “Hey.” 

“Hey kiddo!” David Hollander answered jovially. “How are things!” 

“Uh. Things are fine.” Shane mopped up the mess one handed. “How are things for you guys?” 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” David asked, and Shane frowned, “No? Why?” 

“It sounds real echoey, I thought maybe you were out running errands or with friends?” 

“Oh. No.” Shane dropped back onto the couch and took the call off speaker, tucking the phone to his ear. “No. I’m not out anywhere. Or with friends. It’s just echoey in here.” 

The cabin echoed because it was practically empty. Because there were no rugs on the hardwood floors and very little furniture to muffle any noise. Because Shane kept the huge wall of windows uncovered, the thick curtains pushed to the side so he could always see the woods and the lake. Because it was an open concept, high ceilinged, hardly lived in mostly vacant space, and Shane hadn’t had the mental or physical energy to do anything other than the necessary repairs to make it functional. 

“Oh good, you’re home! Does that mean you have a minute to talk?” 

“I’m at the cabin, yeah.” The cabin wasn’t home. It was just… a cabin. 

“I can talk.” Shane wondered when it had gotten difficult to talk to his Dad, wondered when a quick chat felt like it took more out of him than an entire session of physical therapy. 

“What um–” he rubbed at his eyes. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing new, you know how it is around here.” David told him passively. “Your mom’s as busy as ever and I’m driving her nuts being home all the time. She says I’m in the way and I said, ‘Yuna my love, you told me to retire, so I retired’ and then she squawks at me to find a project and quit hovering over her shoulder.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like Mom.” Shane offered half heartedly, and David plunged right into the next subject, “Say, how’s the remodel going? Moving right along?” 

“It’s…” Shane looked around the mostly empty cabin, at the kitchen cabinets that were sturdy but needed a new coat of stain, the baseboard that needed replaced, the squeaky doors and bathroom that desperately needed updated. “...moving. Sure. I’ve got a few things checked off my list.” 

“It would go alot faster with a second pair of hands.” David offered. “Why don’t I drive on up there and help?” 

“Dad–” 

“Your mom’s gonna divorce me if I don’t get outta her hair and it would be nice to get out of the city for a while.” 

“Mom’s not gonna divorce you, you’ve been doing all the cooking for forty years.” Shane smiled a tiny bit. “She’d starve without you, she only knows like three recipes and none of them are very great."

“Kiddo, I thought so too, but then she downloaded something called DoorDash? And now my cooking skills have been outsourced.” he sounded downright flabbergasted by the whole thing, and Shane smiled another tiny bit. “Well other than remodeling, what else have you been up to?” 

“Not much.” Shane didn’t want to tell his Dad about coaching. He knew David would be thrilled about it, would want to talk about it, would probably have some crazy story from that one very short lived attempt at coaching Shane’s summer rec league, and all the good intentioned, well meaning, positive, supportive encouragement would be too much too much against the scraped raw emotion of the already hectic day. “Still doing my yoga. Reading alot. Working on the cabin. That’s about it.” 

“Your mom wanted me to mention,” David changed subjects again, maybe because he’d thought of something important, more than likely because he knew his son very well and could tell even over the phone when Shane was struggling, so he kept the conversation moving quick so Shane didn’t feel too on the spot for too long. “You remember the plot of land that went up for sale a few miles from our summer house? The one right there on the lake?” 

“I remember.”

“Turns out, those people who put in the higher offer and snagged it from you a all those years ago are having to sell it!” Papers rustled on the other end of the line as David searched for the listing. “Here it is. Yeah. Couple acres, lakefront property. They put in a well, a new septic system and installed one of those real nice docks, but never managed to put a house on there, so they’re selling it as an improved lot. Not too bad of a price either, all things considered. It might be worth a look.” 

“I just bought the cabin, Dad.” Shane pointed out, but David countered, “I know, but it didn’t set you back much and you could always call it an investment. Put the repair work in, then write it off as a rental property. You don’t have any country vacation rentals, you know. Just the handful of apartments in Montreal and that one condo in Boston, you could market the cabin as a summer retreat, then build that cottage you always wanted on the lake property.” 

David waited a beat, then added, “You had plans drawn up and everything for the cottage, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah.” Shane still had both the physical blueprints and the 3D rendered design the architect had given him for the summer home, dream home, million dollar cottage he’d wanted to build. But then someone else had bought the land he wanted. Then he'd gotten lost in his head and lost in his broken heart and lost in his career. Then the world had shut down for Covid. Then he’d gotten busy and busier and then he’d gotten hurt.

Then nothing much mattered anymore, so whatever. 

“I could send you the listing if you want.” David offered when Shane went quiet. “Couldn’t hurt to look at it, right?” 

“Right.” Nope. Wouldn’t hurt to be reminded yet again of what Shane had intended his life to be versus what it was. “That’s fine, yeah. Send it over. Couldn’t hurt.” 

“I’ll do that right away.” David hesitated. “You sure you don’t want me to drive on up and give you a hand with some of those repairs? I wouldn’t mind the work, and your mom would appreciate the break. I hear Montbonne is a real pretty little place–” 

“Dad.” Shane said very quietly, and David answered very quietly, “Okay. Alright, then.” and after another beat, “Love you, kiddo.” 

“Yeah.” Shane tilted his head back, trying to to breathe through the lump in his throat and weight of everything he was keeping locked inside his chest. “I love you too, Dad.” 

The cabin felt emptier once the phone call disconnected. Quieter. The place wasn’t very big, but Shane felt very small sitting alone on the couch with only the light from his computer warding off the creeping dark of late evening outside the big windows. 

“Fuck.” Shane rubbed his knees, up and down his leg, then picked his phone back up and opened a new text message. 

From Jane: ... ... ...

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Shane stared at the empty message box and the little blinking cursor for what felt like forever before giving up, putting his phone down, and going to see if a long shower would shake the chill settling into his bones. 

Shane didn’t realize he’d left the message chain open. 

He crawled into bed for a night of tossing and turning and never saw the three dots from Lily’s side of the screen blinking blinking blinking as way over on the East end of Montbonne, Ilya sat stress smoking one of his super secret cigarettes and waited waited waited for the three blinking dots from Jane to materialize into a real message. 

*****

Monday was another practice. The majority of parents dropped their kiddo off and went to run errands for the house now that they’d met the coach and knew the girls were comfortable. A few parents stayed, finding spots in the bleachers to sit and watch and catch up with one another. 

Ilya stayed. Shane managed a small wave and smile into the stands to acknowledge the parents, but couldn’t manage to look right at Ilya and hoped it wasn’t obvious to anyone who might be looking. 

“Kay team. Today we’re going to practice putting on our gear.” Shane had texted asking the parents to bring all the gear, but not get the girls dressed, and he directed the kids to spread out on the rubber matted floor between the ice and the locker rooms with their bags close by. 

“I know most of you know how to get dressed to play.” he assured them. “But some of you up from the U7 league are used to your parents helping with alot of it, and a couple of you have brand new gear this year so dealing with new fastens and stiff pads can be sorta tough. We’re going to take everything out of our bags and learn the right names for it, then I have a couple games to play, a few races to see who can get their pads on the fastest. If anyone needs any help, I'm right here to help, okay?” 

The girls were collectively less than thrilled about having to wait to get on the ice, but when Shane pulled out a bulk sized bag of candy as a reward for right answers, they were much more attentive to his explanations about each piece of gear and why it was necessary on the ice. 

“You don’t get dressed for practice.” one of the girls pointed out when Shane dug into his own bag and held up his pair of hockey pants, and he smiled thinly, “No, I don’t.” 

“So how do you know how to put this all on?” she wanted to know and Shane had a funny moment of remembering he was really just Shane Hollander in Montbonne and specifically just Coach to the girls, so of course they doubted whether or not he knew what he was talking about. 

“I have gotten fully dressed to practice and play a game about a billion times in my life.” he winked at her. “Promise.” 

“I dunno…” she twisted the end of her braid around her finger doubtfully. “A billion is a lot.” 

“I promise I’ve played a lot of hockey.” Shane held up a different piece. “Who can tell me what this is?” 

“Neckguard!” came a chorus of voices and he nodded, “And why do we wear a neck guard?” 

“So we don’t get sliced!” Mariya shouted and Nadya added, “Or h-hurt with sticks.” 

“Exactly that.” Shane tossed them both a piece of candy, then clapped his hands. “Okay. Is that everything? Everybody’s bags are empty? First race is laying out all our gear on the ground exactly the way you’d wear it. Skates, socks, hockey pants, everything. Ready? Go!” 

It had been a long time since Shane had been in the U9 division, but he did remember the first practice of most rec league seasons starting with a gear check. It was partly so the coach could make sure the kids could get dressed without any assistance, and partly to could see if any of the players needed anything replaced, and maybe direct their parents to a good quality second hand store or any of the scholarship funds that existed for the younger divisions. 

Shane followed the same line of thought for his practice, too. Most of the girls had decent quality gear, Mariya and Nadya’s looked brand new which wasn’t a surpris, and Nychele was missing a couple pieces from her bag. Everyone had skates, though Shane had already noted six who needed new sizes and the sticks were all more or less banged up and worn out. He only had to help a couple girls get into their pads, lacing up skates was tough even for bigger kids so he made quick work of helping everyone tie in, and he rapped his knuckles at each helmet, “Do you feel that? Does it hurt? Is this too loose?” and kept count of any answer that meant the helmet wasn’t doing it’s job. 

New jerseys hadn’t arrived for the team since the official start of the season was still a couple weeks off, but Shane motioned for the parents in the bleachers to applaud and cheer once all the girls were suited up, laced up, proudly sporting all their different jerseys from last year or older siblings or from their favorite professional team, then he told the girls, “Line up by the ice and lets get a first team picture okay?” 

It took a baffling amount of time for the girls to get bunched together, looking in the same direction and smiling at the same time so Shane could take some pictures with his phone, but for once, Shane didn’t mind the delay and the chaos and disorder. The girls were all laughing and lit up smiling, shoving at one another playfully and fussing about who got to stand where because of age or how tall they were. Bailey wanted to lounge dramatically in the front while Nadya and Mariya wanted to pose like super spies and secret agents and yes, it took a baffling amount of time to get everyone sorted, but the pictures turned out great and Shane grinned at his phone while scrolling through them. 

“Go on over there, Coach!” Maggie’s mom called down from the bleachers. “You should be in the picture too!” 

“Oh he should! Someone hop down there and take a picture with Coach Hollander in there too!” 

“Coach, get in the picture!” 

“I got it.” Ilya climbed down from the stands when he saw Shane hesitate, holding up his phone and waving Shane towards the team, “Go. I will take picture.” 

“Uh.” Shane couldn’t help but go tense when Ilya showed up close too close at his side. “I um–” 

“Come on, Coach.” Ilya was close enough to see the barest blush of pink fill in under Shane’s freckles at the emphasis and proximity. “Go stand with your team.” 

“Okay.” Shane shook off the split second freeze and hurried over to squeeze in behind the girls. “Okay. Everybody ready? Everybody smiling?” 

“Everyone say, ‘Coach is Doofus’.” Ilya instructed, and snapped the picture right as the girls cracked up laughing, half of them shouting, half of them twisting around to see Shane’s startled expression. He snapped another one, another one, a dozen more as Shane finally laughed at the girls, as he kept urging them to turn back to the camera for a real picture, as they all finally managed to be cheesing it up grinning while Shane stood behind them with a small, proud smile. 

It was a good picture. Maybe an amazing picture.

“Send it to us!” Nychele’s mom urged, and Ilya opened the team group chat to send a few of the best ones, then while the parents were exclaiming and laughing over the girls being so funny, Ilya opened a different text message and sent the one of the girls laughing while Shane looked so caught off guard directly to Jane. 

From Lily: Breaking News. U9 girls team declares Shane Hollander ‘Doofus’. Sources confirm: true. 

Ilya was watching close enough to clock the exact instant Shane realized one of the notifications on his phone was from Lily. He saw the stressed tick in Shane’s jaw and then the minute confusion at the picture message and then briefly, barely Ilya caught a glimpse of Shane’s smile lighting into his dark eyes for a very quick second. 

Shane didn’t text back. Ilya hadn’t really expected him to. Ilya also didn’t expect Nychele’s mom to come close enough to put her hand at Shane’s arm and smile up at him while practically purring something in French, and oh that very abruptly sucked. 

It sucked worse when Shane replied in French right back. Ilya thought he remembered just about everything about Shane, but he had apparently forgotten how well Shane spoke the language, smooth and melodic and with a little smile tilting the corner of his mouth cos he enjoyed it so much

Nychele came running up to chirp in her own opinions, and Ilya had no business feeling shut out locked out of a conversation that didn't involve him, but he did. Shane had been smiling down at Ilya's text message for an all too quick split second, but now Nychele and her admittedly beautiful mom were hanging onto Shane, chatting with him in a language Ilya didn’t understand and Shane was smiling at them.

Ilya felt stupid about it. Prickly and on edge and stupid for feeling so rebuffed by something that had nothing to do with him at all. 

“Where did you get that, Nadya?” 

Too busy trying and mostly failing to not be jealous, too busy trying and mostly failing to deny that he was jealous, Ilya missed Nychele and her mom leaving, and jolted back to the moment surprised when Shane switched back to English to ask Nadya, “Is that a unicorn cupcake with glitter frosting?”

“Mmhmm.” Nadya had glittery frosting all around her mouth and even on her nose from her attempt at eating all the blue and purple frosting in one bite, and she was entirely pleased with herself smiling up at Shane, “F-from Daddy’s sh-shop. He mmmade it.”

“Your Dad has a bakery?” Shane slanted Ilya a curious look, “You have a bakery?”

“Yes. I own bakery and cafe in town.” Ilya pulled a couple napkins from his coat pocket and shoved them at Nadya, “Fix your face Nadyushka.”

“The one downtown?” Shane couldn’t help a little chuckle when Nadya’s dutiful fixing of her face only smeared purple frosting further up her cheek. “By the park.”

“Yes.” Ilya sighed at the mess. “Nadya, finish fast then go clean up in bathroom. You are a disaster. I will have to put you in washing machine.” 

“I’m n-not as bad as sister.” She informed him pertly. “Hers g-got in h-her hair.”

“Oh bozhe moy.” Having to wash frosting from Mariya’s wild curls was the very last thing Ilya wanted to do for once they were home, but he nodded wearily, “Is my fault for leaving cupcakes unguarded on bleachers. Okay. Finish, then clean up. and we will go. Tell Masha no more in her hair or I will shave her bald.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Nadya whipped right around and bellowed towards her sister, “We’re gonna—gonna shave you b-bald!”

Ilya turned back to see if he could salvage what was left of the stilted conversation and stretch it into something a little more meaningful or at the very least mildly friendly, but paused when he found Shane staring at him, brows furrowed and lips parted like he was debating whether or not to ask a question. 

“What?” Ilya prompted when Shane didn’t say anything. “Tell me. What is it?” 

“I just um.” Shane looked away. Ilya missed the eye contact immediately. “You have kids, now.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you make pretty cupcakes at the cute little bakery and cafe you own.” 

“Yes.” Ilya waited, but Shane didn’t say anything else, only gathered up his clipboard and headed for his office. 

“Shane.” Ilya should have let it go. For the sake of his own sanity and pride, and for the sake of the distance and walls and boundaries Shane fully deserved to keep up, Ilya should have let it go. 

But, “Shane.” He followed after Shane for a few steps, jogging to catch up. “What? What is it?” 

“It’s nothing.” Shane glanced at the rink, at the open doors for the Zamboni, at his office, at his clipboard, at his feet, anywhere except at Ilya for a frustrating several seconds before he finally set his jaw and lifted his head. “I never would have thought this would be you. That’s all.” 

“Me?” Ilya knew exactly what Shane was trying to say, but he asked anyway, gave the conversation another opening to keep going for a few more sentences, “What does that mean?” 

“I mean.” Shane looked at the rink, the Zamboni, his feet. Drummed his fingers at his thigh. Chewed the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t as good at masking as he used to be, and he’d never been very good at masking around Ilya so the anxious fidgety twitch was painfully obvious. 

“When I used to think about us at this age.” He shook his head. “Not us. But you know, being at this point in life in general. You with kids and a bakery wasn’t uh–- wasn’t anywhere on the radar.”             

“Ah.” Ilya nodded. “Yes. I did not think so either."

“But me teaching U9 girls hockey instead of winning another Cup wasn’t anywhere on the radar either, so I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Shane headed for his office, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see the girls on Thursday.” 

“Okay.” Ilya blew out a loud breath and nodded. “See you Thursday.” 

****

From Hayden: Hey Shane-o, just checking in. Jackie wants you to come for dinner next time you’re out of the deep dark woods and back in civilization. The girls miss Weirdly Enthusiastic About Aquariums Uncle Shane. 

From Hayden: Been a few weeks since I heard from you, just want to make sure everything’s okay. I know everything’s not okay, but at least let me know you’re alive. 

From Hayden: Tried calling but it dropped to voicemail. If I was a girl I’d be heart broken thinking you were ghosting me but since you’re my best friend, I’m just worried. Let me hear from you. 

From Hayden: Love ya, bud.

“This is Shane Hollander.” Shane picked up his phone when it rang, mostly because it was a number he didn’t recognize. Hayden had called, his Mom had called, the assistant coach from the Metros had called and Shane ignored all of them. He didn’t want to talk to anyone who knew he was fucking drowning most days, but he picked up when a number and zip code he didn’t recognize flashed across his screen. 

“Shane! Hi! This is Magali Keeso, I’m Coach Keeso’s wife?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Shane put his book down and straightened up on his bed. “Hi. What can I do for you?” 

“Well, Rachel told me you were just about the sweetest thing, stepping in to coach in his absence and I wanted to ask if you don’t mind staying on another week or so? The Coach can’t wait to get home, but we want to do a few more appointments in the city with the doctor to make sure he’s going to get back to a hundred percent.” 

“Oh.” Shane had meant to say no the first time Rachel had asked him to help, but he’d said yes then and he said, “Yeah. Uh, of course.” on the phone with Mrs. Keeso. “Happy to stay on, yeah.” 

“You really are a sweetie, aren’t you? And how fun for the girls to get a real life hockey legend to coach them! I’m sure it’s a big change from winning the Cup to teaching seven year olds how do basic drills, but I’ve gotten calls from a few parents who say their girls are having the best time!” 

“You know, I’m having a pretty good time too.” Shane answered honestly. “The kids are great and it’s nice to–”

To exist. To smile. To remember what it felt like to enjoy hockey in it’s most simple elements. To not have nightmares about getting on the ice anymore. 

“Nice to slow down a little.” he finished after a beat. “After everything.” 

“Oh of course!” she agreed enthusiastically. “Of course! Lord knows I understand that sort of thing, half the reason we’re in and out of the doctors right now is cos Coach never bothered to slow down even once in his life!!” 

“It’s hard to stop, yeah.” Easier to stop, Shane supposed, when retirement came by way of age rather than by way of shattered bones and hospital bills. “Just um. Keep me posted? Or if you get ahold of Rachel, she can let me know a timeline?"

“Sure thing, Coach Hollander. Thank you again.” 

“Tell Coach Keeso to get well soon.” Shane had never even met the man, but standing in the Coach’s shoes, standing on his rink with his team and his clipboard, he felt like maybe he knew Coach Keeso at least a little bit.  “We’re all rooting for him.” 

“Will do, hon.” 

By practice the following week, word had spread that Shane was staying on for another handful of practices and most of the parents stopped in after dropping the girls off to shake Shane’s hand and thank him, to pat him on the back and encourage him, to press at his arm or his hand and invite him to dinner with the family now that he was sticking around. 

Matilde quietly offered to cook Shane dinner at her house while Nychele was at a birthday party sleepover for a friend from school. 

Shane returned handshakes and leaned into pats at his shoulder and politely suggested maybe to most of the dinner invites, then smiled but shook his head and murmured, “Merci, but that probably isn't a good idea.” to Matilde who pouted playfully at being turned down but winked, “Another time then, hm Coach?” and went to help Nychele lace up her skates. 

“She likes you.” Ilya told himself, told himself, fucking told himself to not join Shane against the boards, to not stand close enough for their shoulders to bump, to definitely not say anything that might come across snarky and jealous about Matilde, but he quite simply couldn’t help it. 

“Who’s that? Who likes me?” Shane didn’t care. Ilya stood close enough for Shane to notice his cologne, and all that ran through Shane’s mind for a fractured few seconds was how goddamn good he smelled. 

“Mrs. Belanger.” Ilya sounded positively petulant about it. “She likes you.” 

“Hm.” Shane didn’t react to the news with much more than a hum. “How’s it going for you and the girls? How was your weekend?”

“Uh.” Ilya paused. “Fine?” 

“What?” Shane asked a hint defensively. “I can’t how how you guys are doing?” 

“No, is just,” Ilya spread his hands vaguely. “I expected you to walk away. Usually I say a thing, you walk away.” 

“Usually?” Shane retorted skeptically and Ilya fired back, “Yes. Three weeks you do practice, three weeks when I talk to you, usually you walk away.” 

“So what, you’re saying I’ve been a dick to you for three weeks?” 

Ilya shrugged a little. Smiled a little. Finally getting a rise out of Shane after several practices passing in silence or very minimal conversation or yes, Shane literally sometimes just turning around and walking away felt like a victory.

...was counting tiny interactions with his once upon a time not really boyfriend but maybe his first real love any sort of victory?

“You are not as nice as you used to be.” he finally said and that time Shane shrugged a little, smiled a little, “Actually, I was never as nice as everyone thought, I was just quiet all the time and people assumed I was polite."

Ilya laughed out loud in surprise at the snark, and Shane had to clear his throat and look away so he didn’t visibly shiver from it. 

Fuck. 

“The bakery has Ilya Vetrov listed as the owner.” Shane changed the subject away from what had almost felt like a friendly hint of achingly familiar teasing. “You don’t go by Rozanov anymore?” 

“Svetlana and I hyphenated our last names.” Ilya took the subject change in stride. “Girls and Sveta are Vetrova-Rozanova, and I am Vetrov-Rozanov. The girls use Svetlana's last name and for a while when working on citizenship, I used hers too."

“Invisible, right?” Shane guessed, and Ilya nodded, “Yes. Is so private here. No one talks, no one cares, maybe they know who I am, maybe they don’t, but does not change how they treat me or the girls.” 

Then, “Same for you, right? Everywhere else you are Shane Hollander, record breaker and super star but here you are only Shane. Only… Coach.” 

“Coach. Yep.” the double doors opened one more time to admit the last girl and Shane straightened up from the boards to wave at her and her parents. “Nobody cares who I used to be. They’re just happy to have someone on the ice with a whistle.” 

“Bonus points, maybe.” Ilya took a chance and nudged him with his elbow. “If the person with the whistle is one of the best to ever play the game?” 

“I dunno about the best ever.” The compliment made Shane smile, then made him flinch. It had taken so long to become the best, but losing his place at the top had been so devastatingly fast it still made him nauseous. “I ate at the cafe a couple times when I first moved here. Before my kitchen was useable.” 

“Was it good?” Ilya let that subject change go by, too. “What did you have?” 

“I don’t remember.” Shane hadn’t eaten most of his food. The sandwich had been towering tall, stacked with veggies and made with some delicious spread, but he’d only managed a few bites before his stomach and mind and insecurities had twisted up clamoring loud. “It was good, I just don’t remember what it was.” 

“Hm.” Ilya caught a flicker of something in Shane’s expression, something maybe hesitation, maybe lying, maybe embarrassment. Huh. “You have not been back?” 

“My kitchen’s fixed.” was all the answer Shane gave. “I thought the older lady behind the counter owned the bakery, though.” 

“Alicia.” Ilya shifted to look at the ice if only so he wasn’t standing so close with his head turned staring at Shane. “She was there for old owners, too. Bakery is probably more hers than mine, but my name on the lease, so.” he sighed overly loud as if plagued by the responsibility, “I have to pay all bills even if she is the boss.” 

“Seems about right.” Shane high-fived Bailey as she scooted past. “You know, you talk a lot more now. More than you used to.” 

“Maybe.” Ilya darted a look his way, but Shane was focused on the girls circling center ice ready for practice to start. “Or maybe we just never had time to talk much before. Too busy with other things or maybe choosing not to talk?”  

“Yeah.” Shane stepped onto the ice, and closed the door firmly between them. “Maybe.” 

*****

“You don’t wear your skates.” Another practice, another moment when Ilya couldn’t help staying late to let the girls play around a little more so he could steal a moment or two with Shane. 

“No.” Shane tensed when Ilya climbed the bleachers to sit next to him, and he mentally scolded himself to cut it out. He needed to be a fucking adult about the whole stupid situation. Ilya wasn’t Ilya anymore, not the way he’d been way back when. He was a parent on Shane’s team, that was all and that was it, and Shane needed to stop being so goddamn weird about the situation. 

Ten years. Life had moved on. Ilya had very obviously moved on in every conceivable way. Everything was different, but Ilya was managing to be polite and friendly, so Shane could handle it too, it was fine. 

“No.” he tried again, hoping he didn’t sound so uptight bitchy about it that time. “I don’t.” 

“Why not?” Ilya lounged back against the bench behind them, elbows propped and legs spread comfortably. “Hard to coach if you are always in shoes.” 

“I think it’s working okay.” Shane deflected. “And it’s only temporary, so–” 

“Shane.” Ilya lolled his head sideways to fix him with a look. “Why don’t you wear skates?” 

“Okay, fine." He fixed Ilya with a look right back, meeting his gaze head on and stating bluntly, "Because I still wear a brace on my knee for stability and it restricts my movement pretty bad. Because having to get my ankle screwed back together changed the shape of my foot and my skates fit weird. Because  I have a rod in my leg holding my tibia together. Because if I fuck up and refracture anything or somehow make it all worse, I’ll probably never be able to skate or even walk right again.” 

“Ah.” the rapid fire explanation of everything hurt made Ilya’s heart squeeze in sympathy, but the Shane Hollander he’d known had never wanted an ounce of sympathy from anyone, so he only pursed his lips and clicked his tongue, goading, “I see. You are fraidy-cat. Scared to fall.” 

Shane’s mouth dropped open, a jolt of fury flashing in his eyes and Ilya immediately held up both hands with an apologetic grimace, “Sorry. Sorry. I did not mean to be– I did not–” he shook his head. “I do not know how to talk to you anymore. I thought–” 

“You can talk to me like a parent talking to their kids’ coach, because that’s how I’m trying to talk to you.” Shane bit out tersely. “You’re the parent. I’m the coach. That’s it. End of story.” 

Shane went back to writing on his clipboard, pressing the pen at the paper almost hard enough to tear as he fought for a measure of self control so he wouldn’t scream… or maybe sob. 

He’d been fed up with sympathy and pity and everyone being sorry sorry sorry for him, but Jesus Christ, being called out fraidy cat scared was humiliating and infuriating and– and—

–and right. 

Fuck. Ilya was right. 

“I’m sorry.” Ilya said again, soft and honest and nudging his foot over until he could very lightly tap at Shane’s shoe. “I was not trying to be mean. Or not very mean at least. You used to challenge it. Being called scared. I did not think you would want any pity from me, so I was trying to–” 

"It’s fine.” Shane kept writing, forcing himself through the notes even though his hands were shaking, vision blurring at the corners with the threat of angry, embarrassed tears. “Besides, you're right."

He moved his foot away from Ilya’s and stood up, didn’t look at Ilya as he climbed down the bleachers to get back to the floor. “I don't want pity and I am scared to fall. Really fucking terrified, actually. So thanks for pointing that out.” 

“Shane–” 

“The girls can hang out for another twenty minutes of ice time if they want, but I’m gonna go to the office and log practice records.” Shane kept walking. “I’ll see you next week.” 

“Sure.” Ilya ran a hand through his hair and down his face, breathing out a frustrated curse. “See you next wekk.” 

****

Sunday night, after he’d had spent all day learning how to redo the plumbing in the leaky bathroom sink, after he’d ignored calls from both his parents and another one from Hayden, after the water in the sink ran hot and cold like it was supposed to and didn’t get clogged up in the drain, after he’d choked down most of a lunch and a few bites of dinner because he had to eat before he passed out–

–-Sunday night, after a busy and mostly productive day of not thinking about anything personal or important or Ilya, Shane pulled his skate bag from the top of the closet for the first time in a very long time, and tossed it in the back seat of the car to head into town.

Sundays in Montbonne were church days or family days, and everything pretty much shut down right around sunset so retail workers and restaurant staff could have some downtime before the hustle and bustle of the week started up again, and there were no cars on the road, no one at the Montbonne community ice rink when Shane turned into the parking lot and pulled right up to the side entrance. 

He unlocked the door and slipped inside the empty building, but didn't turn on any of the overhead switches. The only light available was from the emergency lights high above the ice, and the entire place was quiet, Rachel’s office on the second floor locked up and dark, the blinds at Shane’s office drawn, the Zamboni put away and silent. 

It took a long time, too much time, for Shane to get his skates on. Just holding them again felt weird, had they always been so heavy? Fitting his shattered foot into the stiff boot felt wrong, had it always been so uncomfortable? His fingers trembled pulling the thick laces, the first attempt at standing made him wobble and he hated that, and for a very long time, too much time, Shane stood motionless in his skates simply staring at the glistening ice a few feet in front of him. 

Then the door in the boards opened with a cha-chunk that echoed through the eerily quiet building, and Shane took a breath, took a breath, took a breath and stepped out onto the ice. 

Slow, he moved slow. Pushing off his good leg and gliding holding his breath until he found his balance. He hesitated before putting weight on his knee, had to brace himself for the first slow turn, was mortified to reach out for the boards when he wobbled.

Slow and slow, Shane moved slow for an entire turn around the rink and then he thought, “Fuck this.” 

Shane stopped at the door and closed his eyes, whispering harsh, “Fuck this.” 

He pushed off the boards and headed for center ice and said out loud, “Fuck this!” and made himself skate. Made himself move. It was all muscle memory, it was all reflexes, Shane had been skating since he could walk, he wasn’t about to slow crawl his way around the rink, fuck it and fuck that, absolutely fucking not. 

“Come on, Hollander.” he chastised himself as he sped up. “Stop being such a fucking pussy.” 

“Come on, come on.” It felt so good to stretch, to sink into the beautifully familiar rhythm, to wake his muscles up and stop overthinking it all so his body could take over and move. “Push it, come on.” 

“Here we go.” Shane took the corner fast, took the next one faster, smiling first a little and then a lot when he heard the swush-swush of the blades on the ice, the slight scrape when he leaned into an edge. The lines on the ice flashed by beneath his feet, goal, blue line, center, blue line, goal and Shane counted them as he passed by. The face off circles made for perfect figure eights and Shane couldn’t help grinning when he bent into the curves enough to touch his fingers to the ice, then switched and went the other direction on the next circle, cautious on his knee but not willing to baby it, not willing to baby himself anymore. 

Oh, he’d missed skating, holy shit. He'd missed it, missed it, missed it. 

Ilya was heading home after a last minute grocery shop run with the girls when he saw Shane’s car at the rink, the side door propped open, and he turned into the parking lot before he’d even consciously decided to do so, just cranked the wheel left and made Mariya and Nadya squeal when they almost fell over in the backseat. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Ilya apologized as he whipped into the spot right next to Shane’s vehicle and threw the car in park. “Get your books and read for a few minutes. I will be right back, okay? Two minutes only. Lock the doors, listen to music, I will be right back.” 

He left the car running and the radio playing, and Mariya obediently locked the doors as soon as Ilya got out. He blew them both a quick kiss, then ducked through the side door and jogged down the short hall to get closer to the ice, stopping in the shadows of the bleachers to crane his head around and look. 

“Look at you go.” he whispered when he saw Shane skating. He hadn’t been sure why Shane was at the rink so late, hell Ilya hadn’t even been sure what he would say if he walked in and Shane was doing paperwork in the office. There was no reasonable explanation for why he was there being nosy at seven o clock at night, but the risk of being caught and faced with Shane’s annoyance was well worth the sight of Shane skating. Well worth the sight of Shane smiling. 

He was moving well on the ice, moving faster than Ilya would have expected after so long inactive, leaning into the corners with no hesitation and lengthening out his strides between the blue lines. He was grinning, whistling a little, visibly thrilled to be back on the ice and Shane looked amazing at it,  hair blowing back from his face and highlighting the flush in his cheeks, his shirt clinging to his chest and shoulders. loose sweats molding to his legs. Ilya had the oddest flash of recognition– he knew that body and that frame and those muscles– followed by a jolt of heat because Shane was bigger than he’d been back before, filled out and thick through his chest and arms, maybe the tiniest bit soft at his stomach, but still big and broad and looking strong and Ilya’s mouth went dry, his fingers flexing with the long buried urge to touch.

Fuck, Hollander… 

Then. 

“Shit!” Shane tried to turn around, tried to switch and skate backwards but his left leg lagged and his knee balked at the quick pivot. His skate caught on the ice and he fell hard, went down hard, slamming into the unforgiving ice and sliding a few feet before managing to stop. “Goddamnit! Damn it!” 

Ilya grabbed at one of the support struts showing under the bleacher and did not let himself move. His first instinct was to run out and check on Shane cos a fall without pads was bad enough, a fall with a fucked up leg could be a helluva lot worse, but he grabbed for the steel support strut and didn't let himself move, standing still and muttering under his breath into the dark rink, “Come on, Hollander. Come on. Get up. Get up.” 

“C-come on Hollander.” Shane’s whole body was on fire but he pushed up to his knees, got back to his feet and dragged in a choppy breath, “Come on. Get it together. You can do it. Come on.” 

“Come on.” Ilya whispered and Shane breathed out a shaky curse, set his jaw and ordered himself, “Come on, Hollander. Keep skating. Let’s go. Let’s go. Jesus Christ, come on.” 

Shane kept going. Kept skating. Didn’t let the fall scare him. He could do it, he was fine, he was gonna do it. 

“Good job, Shane.” Ilya whispered quiet quiet quiet, then smiled just once, tiny and proud and emotional before hurrying back out the side door to get to his car and the girls still waiting to get home and get some dinner. 

*****

That night after Ilya put the girls to bed and settled in to his favorite spot on the comfortable couch to catch up on his TV shows, there was a text from Jane on his phone, an almost two week late reply to the picture message about the team calling Shane a doofus. 

From Jane: Sources suspect local asshole of corrupting the team, ie: encouraging the ‘doofus’ name calling. Ilya Rozanov listed as top suspect. 

It was timestamped almost an hour previous, a couple hours after Ilya had snuck into the rink to watch Shane skate, and most likely after Shane had gotten home.

It was good. Funny. Encouraging like Shane wasn’t crippled with pain after falling on the ice or brokenhearted defeated because he couldn’t skate like he used to. 

Ilya checked the time, re read the message, and the little notification at the bottom about Shane having notifications silenced, then scratched his nose a few times and sent a reply anyway, typing quick before he lost his nerve.

From Lily: No, is lie. Liar told you that. 

In the morning, a text came back:

From Jane: Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the DNA results were conclusive. You’re the asshole.

“Daddy!” Mariya was FaceTiming with Svetlana when the notification chimed, and she yelled for her Dad, “You got a text from Jane!”

“Spasibo, Masha.” Ilya took the phone, warning an immediately overly interested Svetlana, “Do not say anything about anything.” as he minimized her window to check the text.

“Jane is texting you?” Her smile was curious. Hopeful. “And?”

“And is nothing. Just stupid joke.” Ilya tried to deny, but Svetlana shook her head, eyes wide, “Ilyushka?

“Maybe is something.” He finally admitted. “At least, it is nice to talk again.” 

“You never did much of that before, did you?”

“No.” 

“Just be careful with your heart, my love.” She cautioned and he tapped his lips twice in a kiss for her, “No worries.” then handed the phone back to Mariya so he could help Nadya with her hair. 

From Lily: I demand retest. This is slander. False accusation will ruin my angel reputation.

From Jane: *picture of pile of coins* Here’s a quarter. Call somebody who gives a fuck.

Ilya grinned when he saw the snarky, sassy, so familiar Shane reply. 

Maybe it sort of was… something. 

****

Chapter Notes:

I'm really obsessed with Hollanov's first impressions of each other in this chapter. They're both sure the other one dressed up to impress them when really its just Ilya being unbearably attractive living his best soft Dad life and Shane being unintentionally sexy all moody and dressed in black. It's so opposite of how they were in early canon-- Ilya in mostly black or showing alot of skin, Shane in layers bundled up all the time-- and I love the thing like, they are insanely attracted to each other at all stages of life?

Writing the coaching/practice scenes was so fun. I am obsessed with the twins obviously, but watching Shane smile more and sink so easily into the coaching thing, finding joy in the small parts of hockey again is so healing. Absolutely killing me how it's so hard for him to talk to his parents or Hayden or anyone who knows him, he just wants to disappear.

I have big feelings for Shane's issues with food. Alot of that moving forward in the fic will reflect my own eating disorder issues so I'll TW as needed.

Ilya as a baker. Please. I love him. Him cursing up a storm in Russian while working with fondant is so funny, but the memory of his Mama in the kitchen, so he makes sure to bake the traditional Russian desserts with his girls and talk about Irina? Ughhhh my heart.

"I didn't love you/I didn't love you either." LIES. "We're just parent/coach." LIES.

Shout out to Queen Sveta, may she live forever, for cutting right through the bullshit "you've been in love with him for ten years, is he still beautiful?"

Shane getting back on the ice. I grew up figure skating (brothers were all hockey players, shout out to the 907 for raising us on the ice) and there is something really close to fucking SPIRITUAL about late night, empty rink, emergency light only skating. Shane ordering himself to just skate, to get going, to get back up and refusing to stop, refusing to quit while Ilya is secretly so so proud of him?? Love it.

Cheers!

Chapter 3: Forward (every inch a mile)

September brought cooler weather, school starting, and still no definite word on when or if Coach Keeso would be back to take over coaching again.

From Coach Hollander:  Hi parents. I’ll be staying on as temporary coach for another couple weeks. Season officially starts at the beginning of October and we’ll have a first game right away, so I’ll send a PDF of the new practice and game schedule.

From Coach Hollander: New skates, jerseys and gear for the kids who needed it should be in at the end of the week. Let me know if you have any questions. 

From Mr. Davis: Glad to hear it, Coach!

From Matilde Belanger: So glad you’re staying on! 

From Bailey’s Mom: Excited for new skates, thanks! 

With his position as temporary coach extended for at least a little while longer, Shane finally had to concede that the dusty office and ancient computer, the rickety chair and perpetually stuck file cabinets simply weren’t going to work anymore. 

“Rachel.” he climbed the stairs to the second floor and rapped at her open door. “Hey, you got a second?” 

“Oh Shane! Hi!” Rachel looked up from her computer with a wide smile. “How are you!” 

“I’m fine.” As far as anyone knew, Shane was always always fine. “I was wondering if–” 

“I heard you were staying on for a while longer.” Rachel clapped her hands together. “We are all so excited about it. Of course we miss Coach Keeso, but you’ve been wonderful! I’ve only heard good things from the parents, and it's obvious the girls all love you.” 

“I’m having a lot of fun with them, yeah.” he smiled briefly. “Anyway, I wanted to ask–” 

“You know, I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that you would know Mr. Rozanov.” she continued blithely. “I came by the other night after practice and saw the two of you hanging out together.” 

“No, we weren’t um,” Shane shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and shook his head. “No, we weren’t like hanging out. The twins were still playing on the ice and I was just– he was only–” 

“Those twins sure are a handful, I’m not sure how he does it by himself.” Rachel clicked her tongue. “Too bad he and that beautiful wife of his couldn’t make it work. Have you met Svetlana yet? I heard she modeled in Europe before moving to the States, and I believe it. Those girls take right after her, too. Mr. Rozanov will have his hands full when they are teenagers, I guarantee it.” 

“Sure.” Shane cleared his throat. “But, about my question? I was thinking about the office downstairs, and I--” 

“Has Mr. Rozanov offered to be your assistant coach yet? I looked up a few Youtube videos of the two of you playing back in the day and my goodness, you both were amazing on the ice! The highschool team is always looking for extra help too and--" 

“Rachel.” Shane didn’t mean to be snippy or snarky or bitchy or whatever. But he didn’t want to listen to her wax poetic about Ilya and Ilya’s gorgeous ex wife, or Ilya’s adorable kids or how well he and Ilya used to play. He raised his voice a bit, “Rachel.” and forced a smile to take the bite from his tone, “I wanted to know if I could update the office since I’ll be staying on longer.” 

“It’s your office, Coach.” She chuckled at him, unbothered by the interruption or the strident note in his voice. “Do whatever you’d like to it! We have a big storage area past the maintenance room downstairs, you can search through there and see if there’s anything you want.”

“I’ll probably go ahead order some new stuff.” he mentioned, and she frowned, “Oh hon, I don’t know if there’s enough extra money in the budget to redo the office with new stuff.” 

“I have money, Rachel.” Shane reminded her. “I’ll pay for it.” 

“Well then by all means, who am I to stop you from using your own money?” Rachel winked at him, then turned back to her computer, her long nails click-clack flying over the keyboard. “Do whatever you’d like! We aren’t formal around here, Coach. No need to ask permission or even run most things by me so long as you aren't bringing the building down around my ears. I'm sure anything you do will be an improvement on this old place, so if you want to redecorate, go for it!” 

“Great.” Shane was super glad he’d wasted time climbing the stairs and sitting through an Ilya-themed info dump just to be told to do whatever he wanted. Whatever. Better to ask permission anyway, right? 

“Asking permission to use my own money to redecorate my own fucking office.” Shane muttered as he headed back downstairs. “I really am the most boring guy in the entire–” 

From Lily: Girls are very excited you are staying on as Coach.

Shane stopped grumbling and started smiling when he read the message. He didn’t love Rachel apparently noticing Ilya staying after practice, but he sure didn’t hate when his phone lit up with a text from Lily. 

From Lily: Nadya says you are nice. Masha says she could spill soup on you and you would say sorry to her. 

From Lily: I don’t know what that means. Maybe watch out for Masha carrying soup?

From Jane: The girls are so funny. 

From Lily: They are unleashed goblins. 

From Jane: They’re YOUR kids!

From Lily: I said what I said. 

Shane should have been working on the cabin. The to-do list out there was growing by the day, some things cosmetic related, other things necessary to ensure the cabin stayed buttoned up for the duration of the coming winter, a few very much important for structural and general live-ability reasons, but Shane couldn’t seem to find the energy for any it.

It had been almost three months, but he hadn’t managed to decide on a paint color for the bedroom because the options felt overwhelming. There were only two companies in Montbonne who could handle re-staining the cabin exterior and price wasn’t an issue, all Shane had to do was get the service scheduled, but he was somehow way too busy, way too often, to figure it out. The new blinds had been delivered last week, but he hadn’t opened the boxes, the replacement hardware for the wonky dresser drawers was open but uninstalled…

Shane was too busy, too tired, too unwilling to put the necessary work in to the cabin so he could call the place comfortable and safe and home, and he was too busy, too tired, too unwilling to figure out exactly why that was. 

But the office was doable. The office was manageable. Replacing the useless ancient computer with a brand new, fully up to date model and printer was a matter of functionality, not about committing to the coaching job or claiming the office as his own personal space. Wedging the old, warped file cabinets open to retrieve the paperwork, then chucking the ugly gray pieces in the dumpster was necessary both so Shane could sort through and discard anything redundant, and so he could hang a bulletin board with all the pertinent parent and team related information. 

Shane decided on a new color for the office walls by strolling through the hardware store paint aisle, he quickly and easily installed a new set of blinds over the freshly cleaned window, and after throwing out the old desk and chair, Shane managed to pick out a new set, get it ordered and shipped for two day delivery all while neatly filling in practice and games days on a jumbo sized wall calendar. 

Working on the cabin required the sort of mental and emotional energy Shane couldn’t seem to muster anymore. 

Working on the office was low pressure, low expectations, low commitment and yes there was something there about Shane avoiding anything concrete and real, something about how working on the cabin meant coming to terms with the permanence of his new life while working on the office could be disguised as a ‘hobby’ and passed off as ‘contributing to the community’, but those sort of hypotheticals were conversations to have with his therapist, if Shane ever got around to scheduling another appointment. 

From Lily: New office is boring.

From Jane: Well it’s an office. Not a dance club. It doesn't have to be fancy, it just has to be functional.

From Lily: You should get black lights.

From Jane: Black lights? Yeah okay, I’ll put those right up with my lava lamp and bright orange shag rug. 

From Lily: Negativity is toxic :(  I think would give hip cool Coach vibe.

From Jane: I don’t think we have the same definition of hip and cool. 

From Jane: The office doesn’t need to make a statement. It’s just normal.

From Lily: Normal = boring = booooo.

From Jane: Thanks for the opinion, I’ll put it right where it belongs.

From Jane: *picture of trash can*

By the time Shane was done with the office, it was perfectly, professionally, functionally normal. 

One day when all the other parents had left but Shane was still on the ice with Nadya and Mariya, Ilya brought a tiny disco ball and hung it above the desk. 

From Jane: Did you break into my office and install a disco ball above my desk? 

From Lily: That could have been anyone. It’s alright. It’s okay. You can look the other way.

From Jane: What the fuck are you saying right now?

From Lily: Just making sure you are staying alive. Staying alive. 

From Jane: Bee-Gee’s disco themed Dad jokes? Really? 

The disco ball was still there early the next morning when Ilya slipped through the side door at the ice rink after dropping the girls off at school. He smiled when he spotted it slowly rotating above the desk, glittery and reflective in the emergency lights, then smiled wider when he saw Shane had printed out the ‘Doofus’ team picture and pinned it front and center on the bulletin board. 

For half a second, Ilya debated grabbing the permanent marker off the desk and scrawling Doofus on the picture, but ultimately decided not to. Partly because it was very pulling-pigtails behavior of him, finding ways to aggravate Shane so he’d get a text from Jane and get to talk for a few minutes, but mostly because Ilya liked the picture, liked how hard the twins were laughing and how flabbergasted adorable Shane looked. 

Ilya didn’t deface the picture by way of ‘Doofus’ themed graffiti, but he did smile about the whole redesigned, disco ball glittery, team centric office before finding his usual spot in the shadows of the bleachers to watch Shane skate for a few minutes. 

He wasn’t trying to be creepy, though admittedly, sneaking through the side door of the community ice rink several hours before open ice time to hide in the shadows and watch his ex boyfriend– were they ex-boyfriends?-- stretch and skate was probably definitely creepy. 

But Ilya wasn’t trying to be creepy. He just wanted to be close. Just wanted to be there. After the first time when Shane had tried and fallen but got back up determined, Ilya had kept an eye out for Shane’s car every morning on his way through town. He'd been curious if the late Sunday night skate was only a one time occurrence, but no, Shane was there a few days later, then again a few days after that.

As September rolled on, Shane’s car was parked at the rink every single morning and sometimes, occasionally, more often than he wanted to admit, Ilya pulled around the side of the rink and crept in to watch. 

He stood in the shadows by the bleachers while Shane skated laps around the rink, first slow and steady, then eventually faster and a borderline reckless as his confidence grew. Shane ran through basic drills and easy workouts, switched back and forth forwards and backwards without hesitating, brought his stick and a puck some mornings to practice his handling and even take a few shots on goal. 

Ilya only ever stayed a few minutes, just long enough to see Shane’s smile grow towards a grin when it all came back easier and easier every single day, then Ilya made himself turn around and leave. 

Ten years had changed alot of things, but it hadn't changed how fucking easy it was for Ilya to forget all his goddamn common sense whenever Shane lit up smiling real at him, or in his general direction, or apparently just in the same room when Ilya was watching like a creep and Shane was grinning almost laughing in sheer joy at being on the ice again. 

It was addicting. Hypnotizing. Shane always smiled real big after a few laps around the ice, and once he started smiling, Ilya always made himself leave. 

From Lily: I knew you liked disco ball. 

From Lily: Only weirdos skate alone before sunrise.

From Lily: Can I skate with you tomorrow?

Ilya always wanted to text Shane after those early morning skates, but he never did. Sometimes he typed a message out, but never sent it. There wasn’t really a casual way to comment on someone’s private, personal, therapy themed skating habits when the person didn’t know they were being watched, and Ilya hadn't ever been casual about Shane, not way back when and sure as hell not now, so he never sent the texts. Never mentioned the early morning hours on the ice. 

Ilya didn’t mention anything else either. He probably definitely yes owed Shane a real explanation for disappearing all those years ago, and settling for sporadic small talk at practice and the occasional friendly text was painful when the proverbial elephant in the room of their past, their break up, their drama, was being willfully, wholly ignored by both of them. 

The issue of course, was that Ilya didn’t know if Shane wanted or even cared about the explanation. 

Maybe Shane didn’t care anymore, and over the years, Ilya had been thoroughly sidelined into being someone Shane just happened to know from his life before. Maybe Shane’s distance and stilted politeness was how he normally treated anyone who wasn’t part of his inside circle of trusted friends or family. Maybe Shane’s first day declaration that it didn’t matter had been his real feelings, not a knee jerk response out of anxious self preservation, not a deflection or lie like Ilya’s response had been. 

I didn’t love you either. 

Ilya had been telling himself that lie for so long, the words had started sounding funny and fake and hollow. 

From Jane: If you aren’t too busy sorting sprinkles at the bakery, you can drop the girls at the rink after school for some ice time. I’ll be here until five. 

From Lily: Sprinkles in my bakery are sorted by season, by color within season, by event and holiday within colors and then by size. Do not come for my sprinkle sorting skills ever again. 

From Jane: Bullshit. No way your sprinkle rack is that organized. 

The texts were a lifeline. Sporadic and random but important because Shane texted the way he always used to, snarky and snippy, deadpan and familiar. Interactions during practice in front of the other parents were polite and perfunctory, the conversations when Ilya lingered for a few minutes after practice were marginally better, but when it was Jane and Lily, it felt different. Felt real. Shane made jokes, teasing and talking with Ilya like they were regular people and real friends and damn it, each and every text got Ilya’s hopes up a little bit higher. 

From Ilya: Is not a rack, is a full cupboard with pull out drawers so I can read individual labels and see the entire rainbow at once.

From Jane: Are you serious, or are you making fun of how much I like organizing things? Cos you used to do that. 

From Ilya: *picture of sprinkle cupboard*

From Jane: Don’t laugh at me. But I really fucking like that. Holy shit. 

From Lily: Sprinkle whore. 

From Jane: Fuck off. 

When Shane texted like that, Ilya couldn’t help but maybe sort of kind of start to get his hopes up for… for what? He didn’t know. Was too uncertain to put a name on it, maybe. 

But he and Shane needed to have a real conversation soon because Ilya couldn’t let himself feel too hopeful when they still needed to unpack ten years of silence and one very specific night in Vegas. 

Fuck. 

“Ilya?” Brylie poked her head through the store room door at the back of the bakery. “Hey, sorry to interrupt inventory. But do you have your phone on you?” 

“No, is in office.” Ilya had sent the sprinkle cupboard picture, then sat re-reading text messages and grinning like some love sick idiot for almost twenty minutes before he'd finally pried himself away from the temptation to keep bugging Shane, and made an honest effort to get some work done. “Why?” 

“The school called.” Brylie informed him with a sympathetic click of her tongue. “I guess the girls got in trouble for fighting? You have to go pick them up right away.” 

“...what?!” 

*****

Montbonne Elementary School

The new jerseys for the U9 girls hockey team were delivered to the Montbonne Elementary School right along with the basketball jerseys for the sixth grade teams, newly ordered gym class supplies, science class materials for the older kids, and the pallet of copier paper and toner for the big printer in the front office. 

Montbonne was a large enough twon for the big trucks to make the drive up the rural highway for deliveries, but still small enough that any and all deliveries were generally condensed onto one big truck and sent into the hills no more than once a week. The Elementary School acted as a convenient community catch all for overly large packages, so when Shane got the delivery alert for the jerseys, he had to drive through town to the school, ask the secretary to let him into the storage room next to the principal’s office, and dig through the boxes until he found everything he’d ordered for the team. 

He had barely uncovered the box addressed to ‘Coach Shane Hollander’ when he heard a ruckus in the halls, what sounded like a very angry Mariya arguing with the principal and a very concerned Nadya stressed out enough to be stuttering and stammering every other word as she followed them into the office. 

It wasn’t Shane’s business, not in the slightest, but he scooted closer to the door to eavesdrop as Mariya mouthed off challenging the principal to 'go ahead and call her Daddy' while Nadya whispered for her sister to please be quiet, to please be good. 

Ilya arrived ten minutes later, striding through the doors of the elementary school with his jaw set and shoulders tense and Shane was entirely cowardly ducking out of sight and out of the way as Ilya passed. It wasn’t his business, wasn’t his kids, wasn’t anything he needed to concern himself with until if or when whatever happened affect the twins showing up for practice–

– “My girls?” Ilya suddenly said loud enough to carry through the walls, “Fighting?!”, and alright, not his business be damned, Shane dropped the box of jerseys to scoot closer and listen. 

“Masha. Nadyushka.” In the principal’s office, Ilya set his hands on his hips and turned ice blue eyes onto the twins. “Tell me what happened. Now.” 

“Chris made fun of Nayda’s stutter.” Mariya spoke for her sister, little arms crossed stubbornly across her chest, “Asked her how many syllables was sposed to be in ‘pajama’ cos she said ‘p’ like four times.”

Ilya waited, and Mariya lifted her chin, “So I asked him how many syllables was sposed to be in ‘butthole’ then counted for him!” 

“She punched him.” The principal informed Ilya wearily. “Twice. One for each syllable apparently.” 

“Ah.” Ilya had to cover his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh, clearing his throat so he still sounded stern, “And this boy Chris, did he learn how many syllables is in butthole?” 

“He’s not gonna forget.” Mariya promised with a vicious snort, and the principal held up a hand, promising, “Mr. Rozanov. Obviously we talked to the little boy about teasing Nadya for her stutter, but the point remains that Mariya can’t just punch people because they’re mean to her sister.” 

“That’s the whole point of a sister.” Mariya muttered crossly. “Tell him, Daddy. Tell him how I’m sposed to look out for Nadya.” 

“She isn’t in trouble for standing up for her sister.” came the quick reassurance. “She’s in trouble for intervening in a situation that didn’t involve her, and escalating a verbal disagreement to physical violence.” 

“Okay. So if Nadya had punched the boy?” Ilya prompted, and the principal sighed, “Then Nadya would be in trouble for escalating a verbal disagreement to physical violence. Fighting.” 

“He was harassing her, yes?” Ilya raised his eyebrows. “Making fun of her stutter. Was not first time?”

“Nope!” Mariya declared loudly and Nadya spoke up for the first time with a quick shake of her head, “No, D-Daddy.” 

“You told a teacher about other times?” he demanded, and Nadya nodded. “So if teacher did nothing, this boy kept harassing Nadya, Mariya stepped up to make sure he would stop. What is the problem?” 

“Mr. Rozanov.” Trying to convince any hockey parent that the tried and true on-ice method of dealing with jerks didn’t translate to school hours was an oft repeated and oft failed attempt on the principal’s part, and he sighed again when he recognized the current conversation as another failed attempt. “I can agree the teacher possibly didn’t take this issue as seriously as she could have, but school and district policy state the instigating student must be suspended for at least one day. Unfortunately, Mariya will need to go home for the rest of the day, and spend tomorrow at home as well.” 

“But there’s a field trip tomorrow!” Mariya whined. “I want to go on the field trip!” 

“Rules are rules, Mariya.” the principal stated, and Ilya rolled his eyes but nodded, “Rules, Masha. No field trip.” 

“But–!” 

“No ice time tonight either. We will go home and you will do chores like Cinderella as punishment.” 

“Daddy!” 

“Car.” he ordered firmly. “Now.” 

Shane was stuffing the big box of jerseys into the back of his car when Ilya and the twins came out of the school. He fully intended to get in his car and leave without drawing any attention to himself and his eavesdropping, but Nadya spotted him and waved at him excitedly called, “C-Coach! Hi t-to Coach!"

“Hey Nadya.” Shane had a quick smile for Nadya, another one for a rather grumpy looking Mariya, and a smaller, secretly uncertainly thrilled one for Ilya. “Where are you guys going in the middle of the day?” 

“What are you doing here?” Ilya ignored the question and pointed the girls towards his vehicle before sauntering closer to Shane and peering in the back seat. “Jerseys?” 

“Yeah, apparently everything comes into the hills on one truck? I guess they delivered the new jerseys right in with all the school stuff.” Shane swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry when Ilya exhaled noisily and turned to prop himself up against the car, standing close enough for their elbows to bump when he folded his thick arms across his chest.

“Is uh–” Shane glanced down at the almost non-distance between their elbows, but didn’t move away. “Is everything okay?” 

“How are you at dealing with wild animals?” Ilya asked evenly, and when Shane scrunched his nose confused, Ilya inclined his head towards the car. “Mariya is very angry. Like wolverine. Or badger.” 

“A badger.” Shane settled in against the car too, folding his arms and decidedly not looking when Ilya glanced down at the less than non distance between their elbows. “Cos of the fight?” 

“You heard.” Ilya stated, and Shane nodded, “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I was getting the jerseys from the storage room and heard you guys. It seems unfair? Mariya shouldn’t be punished for defending her sister.” 

“No.” Ilya agreed tersely. “But Mariya knows not to fight. I had to leave work, have to stay home with them because going to bakery is a treat, not a punishment. No ice time tonight, no field trip tomorrow. She knows not to fight. Especially over stupid boys using stupid words.” 

“I dunno.” Shane crossed one foot over the other, noticing but not commenting when Ilya mirrored the movement. “I feel like every fight I’ve ever been in was because of stupid boys using stupid words.” 

“Is different on the ice.” Ilya pointed out. “And you never fought. Not once.” 

“I threw a punch at Scott Hunter one time.” Shane argued back briefly and Ilya’s eyes went wide, “Shit, you did. That was good fight. Like porn to watch good boy golden boy Shane Hollander take on an old man.” 

“Stop. Don’t say porn when we’re in the parking lot of an elementary school.” Shane ducked his head, looking away to hide a smile. “I’m just saying, you should take the girls for ice cream or something. So Nadya feels better about being bullied and cos Mariya shouldn’t be punished for standing up for anyone who’s getting bullied, especially not her sister.”

“You think that would be good parenting.” Ilya couldn’t help leaning in, pressing in, budging in the tiniest bit closer when the conversation kept going and Shane kept smiling. He couldn’t help getting his hopes up by dragging the moment out and goading, “To reward violence with ice cream desserts?” 

“If that was my little girl, and she punched some asshole for bothering her sister?” Shane risked a glance sideways, blinking startled when he realized how close Ilya was, but not backing down, not backing up, not even breaking eye contact for a few seconds. “Yeah. I’d buy her ice cream.” 

“Hm.” Ilya studied Shane for a moment, his gaze roaming over Shane’s face from the tiny creases at the corner of his dark eyes to the scatter of freckles on his cheek, from the fringe of his hairline and the strands hanging a little shaggy over his ears, to lingering over the line of his jaw and the shape of his mouth. “I think is better to be a strict dad with boundaries and rules, than to be–” 

“Daddy!” Mariya rolled down the window and hollered at them, “Hurry up! The ice cream shop will be all out of double fudge!” 

“Damn it.” Ilya cursed when she inadvertently ruined the entire flow of the conversation by letting slip that he had in fact quietly promised them both ice cream on the way out of school because yes Nadya had been bullied and no Mariya wasn’t going to be in trouble for defending her sister ever. 

“Holy shit.” Shane laughed out loud, clapping his hands, tipping his head back and shouting with laughter at Ilya’s immediately grumpy expression. “So much for the strict dad with boundaries and rules, huh?” 

“Shut up.” Ilya huffed, and felt his face go red when Shane only laughed harder. “Hollander, is not that funny.” 

“Ilya Rozanov as a cupcake decorating girl dad letting those girls push him around all the time?” Shane thought maybe his smile was a little too soft, his eyes a little too warm when he looked Ilya over for longer than he intended to, stayed closer than he meant to for longer than necessary. “Never saw that coming.” 

“I run my house like well oiled machine.” Ilya insisted, and Shane wet his lips and bumped at Ilya’s shoulder, “Maybe like a candy machine cos those girls are spoiled rotten.” 

“Fuck you, Shane Hollander.” Ilya breathed through an ear splitting grin and Shane bumped him again, “Don’t cuss, we are in an elementary school parking lot!” 

“Do you want to–” Ilya took a breath and took a risk, ready to ask Shane if he wanted to come along for ice cream, but Nadya poked her head out the window right then and called, “Coach! You shhhhould come too! C-Come for ice cream!” 

“Coach?” Ilya took the opportunity and seized it, raising his eyebrows and angling a half inch closer to maintain the line of contact at their shoulders and down their arms, “You want to come?” 

“I–” Shane’s throat jerked through a rough swallow when he heard the question, when his mind flashed back unbidden and un-fucking-allowed to text message invitations for hook ups that used to start the exact same way. “I um–” 

“Coach!” Mariya bellowed. “The ice cream shop will close soon! Hurry! Get in with us!” 

“Come on.” Ilya narrowed his eyes curious when Shane blushed dark red, the color filling in behind his freckles. What the hell could Shane be thinking about that made him–

From Lily: Want to come while in Boston? 

From Jane: Did you use autocorrect on that? What you sent doesn’t make any sense? 

From Lily: Oh yes it does. 

Oh. Ilya remembered that joke, that long standing, text originated x-rated invitation joke that had marked so many of their early meet ups.

Was Shane thinking about it too…?

“No thanks, girls!” While Ilya was busy remembering and wondering if Shane was busy remembering, Shane waved at the girls and declined the invitation as nicely as he could, “I don’t really like ice cream. But you guys have a good time.” 

“You don’t like ice cream?” Mariya looked scandalized while Nadya only looked doubtful. “Why?!” 

“It hurts my teeth.” Shane made a show of tapping at his front teeth. “I’m a fraidy cat when it comes to brain freeze.” 

The silly answer was enough to dissuade the girls, but not enough to dissuade Ilya, who was loathe to give up the closeness, loathe to give up the conversation, loathe to give up obsessively studying just how pink the tip of Shane’s ears had turned when he’d blushed as the memories rushed up quick and vivid and immersive.

“You are still weird about food?” he checked in when he suddenly remembered something specific about how Shane had been back then, but nope that was the wrong thing to ask. Shane’s eyes went flinty, the muscle in his cheek jumping as he clenched his teeth and the easy flirty atmosphere between them evaporated. 

“What did you say?” 

“I am not being mean.” Ilya cautioned him with a quick glance towards the girls still leaning out the window. “But. Before Vegas. I remember your diet was –” 

“What do you know about my diet?” Shane backed up a step, another step. “You don’t know fuck all about my diet. That was ten years ago.” 

“Okay. Nevermind.” Ilya caught the same edge of embarrassment, of humiliation, in Shane’s voice that had been present talking about the food he’d tried from the cafe, and he thought oh, Ilya thought oh Shane was still weird about food. Maybe even worse about it than he used to be. 

Shit. 

“Come for ice cream with us anyway.” he said after a minute, and Shane huffed, “Seriously?” 

“Yes.” Ilya met his eyes steadily. “Seriously. Come with us. The girls like you and you and I can–” he made a small, vague motion between their bodies. “Is not so bad, talking like this? Come for ice cream. It will be fun.” 

And after a beat when Shane was still just looking at him, Ilya ventured, “Is a normal, polite thing to do when we see the Coach at school. Ask him for ice cream.” 

“Daddy! We’re going to miss it!!!” 

“Shane.” Ilya tapped his fingers at his thigh, then turned his hand over and curled his fingers motioning Shane closer. “Come on.” 

“Um.” Shane opened his mouth. Closed his mouth. Wimped right the hell out. “Tell the girls I’ll see them tomorrow at practice.” 

“...sure thing, Coach.” 

*****

Mariya was sulky the next day at practice. Sullen and silent and snippy with everyone except Nadya, and after fifteen minutes of watching her skate around the rink like she was on a warpath, Shane called for the girls to keep going, then skated over to the boards closest to the bleachers and motioned for Ilya to come down. 

“Hey.” Ilya hurried down to the boards, his heart pounding and palms a sweaty cos it was the first time outside the very first time a month ago that Shane had willingly approached him. Ilya always had to call for the Coach, always had to find a reason to hang out after practice and talk, almost always had to initiate text messages, but Shane skated to the boards and called him down in front of all the other parents, and Ilya damn near tripped right over his feet to get there. “What is it?” 

“Why’s Mariya so mad?” Shane was taller than Ilya in his skates. Even with the slight difference between the rink and the floor, he still had a few inches on Ilya’s six feet height and Ilya’s eyes went a little wide when he had to look up to hear the question, while Shane’s eyes went a little hot when he had to look down to hear the answer.

“Why um,” Shane had to clear his throat and look away, and Ilya did the same, following Shane’s line of sight to Mariya approaching the blue line at breakneck speed. “Why’s she so mean? I know she was suspended, but you got her ice cream right? She’s definitely Mayday today, what’s going on?” 

“Two scoops, yes. But she had to miss field trip to the river to see the salmon spawning. And.” Ilya held up his right hand, flexing his fingers. “Her hand hurts from punching. So insult to injury and that sort of thing.” 

“That’s too bad.” Shane frowned. “If she knew how to throw a proper punch, she wouldn’t have hurt her hand.” 

“Bozhe moy.” Ilya chuckled, and Shane glanced at him with a half curious smile, “What?” 

“When we called Sveta last night to check in, she told Masha to use icicle next time. Bigger hurt, the evidence melts.” Ilya shook his head. “You two are the same. Promoting violence in my girls.” 

“Okay well.” Shane sort of wanted to roll his eyes at the mention of Svetlana, sort of wanted to laugh out loud imagining the shock and resignation on Ilya’s face when the mother of his children suggested evidence-free murder. “Teaching her how to throw a punch is an important part of self defense. Murder by seasonal weaponry is… I dunno. The start of a CSI episode?” 

“Does not matter.” Ilya decided. “Mariya is seven years old. She does not need proper form for punch yet.” 

“She might be seven, but she’s still a hockey player.” Shane watched Mariya skate another pass between the blue lines, then made up his mind and decided, “I have an idea. Will you,” the question stuck in his throat and he had to force it out past a bolt of nervousness. “Will you come out on the ice with me?” 

“I don’t have my skates.” Ilya wasn’t saying no, he was not saying no, only pointing out, “And would take too long to get home and grab them.” 

“No, you don’t need your skates. Just um,” Shane reached over the boards and unhooked the door, swinging it open and skating back so Ilya had room to join him. “Come on and help me?” 

“Okay.” Ilya stepped carefully onto the ice and shuffled his way following Shane out to the center circle. On ice, the height difference was much more apparent and when Ilya shot Shane a quick look to check in, Shane was already looking at him, curious and maybe a bit amused by the whole thing.

“Is weird, right?” Ilya had to jog to keep up with Shane’s easy strides. It was on the very tip of his tongue to comment on how good Shane moved, how the early morning sessions were paying off, how comfortable Shane looked in his skates, but instead he asked, “Being on ice together again?” 

“I think you’re looking too far into it. I needed a parent volunteer, you happened to be available, we happened to play against each other a long time ago. It’s not a big deal.” Shane deflected, but after a beat he admitted under his breath and all in a rush, “But yeah, it’s fucking weird, okay?” 

“Scary.” Ilya offered tentatively, “Like memories.” 

“Yeah.” Shane agreed, then smacked the flat of his stick at Ilya’s calf and muttered, “And it’s freaking me the fuck out, so stop talking about it.” 

Ilya stopped talking about it, but he didn’t stop smiling about it, and when Shane glanced his way again, he was smiling too. 

“Alright girls, gather round here and let’s watch a quick video.” Shane blew the whistle twice to call the team to center ice and pulled his phone out. “This is historical stuff right here, okay? Real important stuff.” 

The girls all gathered around, all but Mariya who hung back stubbornly until Ilya clamped a hand on her shoulder and warned, “Masha, when your coach gives you direction, you listen, da?” 

“Da, ya znayu.” she grumbled, but skated forward and obediently pushed into the circle to peer at Coach Hollander’s phone. 

“Okay this is a very important documentary about how a team of misfits from Minnesota went all the way to LA and won against this big bad team from Iceland.” Shane informed them all very seriously, but when Ilya’s face creased in confusion, Shane chanced a wink at him and kept explaining, “In this scene, this guy right here? He’s a figure skater.” 

Bailey booed at the mention of figure skating, but Shane chided, “Hey, all ice sports are good sports, okay? We don’t boo anyone who can spin and jump like that, figure skaters are basically ballerinas with knives on their feet. Anyway, this guy is a figure skater turned hockey player and he’s scared about getting roughed up on the ice. But fighting is a part of hockey, right?” 

“Right!” the girls all chorused, and Nadya turned to smile encouragingly at her twin, giving her a thumbs up. 

“So here, he gets taught how to do a proper hockey fight so no one really gets hurt. See how first he drops his stick?” Shane held the phone up higher so all the girls could see. “Then his gloves. Then he grabs the other guys shirt and pulls it over his head. Stick. Gloves. Shirt.”

“Stick. Gloves. Shirt.” the girls all repeated solemnly, and Shane skated out of the circle to wave Ilya closer, instructing, “Now this isn’t a fair fight because I’m in skates and Mr. Rozanov isn’t, but he’s gonna show us how to do it anyway, okay?” 

“You will beat me up, Coach Hollander?” Ilya’s blue eyes lit with laughter and Shane poked his tongue at the side of his cheek, head tilted far over like he was seriously thinking about it, until much to the girls’s delight, he nodded emphatically. 

“Yeah, I think I will. Watch girls. First, I drop my stick.” the stick clattered onto the ice and Shane’s lips twitched trying not to grin when Ilya made his eyes extra wide and the girls kept giggling behind them.

“Then I drop my gloves.” Gloves down, and Shane’s heart started pounding a little more when he said, “And now the shirt. C’mere Mr. Rozanov.” 

Ilya came willingly, leaned into the yank at his shirt up over his shoulders and stayed there half bent over so Shane could tell the girls, “Now when you punch? We keep it fair. Not in the face, only on the pads. Hockey fights aren’t really about trying to hurt another player, but sometimes other players are being jerks and everyone is upset, so we gotta fight about it. One punch only, right into the pads. See how I’m holding my fist? Mayday?” 

He raised his voice and held his hand up higher. “We make fists like this so our hands and wrists don’t get hurt. One punch.” he mimed hitting Ilya in the stomach, then pushed off of Ilya’s shoulders to put some space between them. “Then we back off. That’s how we fight in hockey.” 

It wasn’t how they fought in hockey, by the time tempers got high enough to warrant a brawl, one punch in the pads wasn’t near enough to diffuse the situation, but the girls were seven and tiny and the moment was more about how to deal with big upset feelings without hurting anyone or themselves, than it was about anything real. 

“Do you need to watch the history movie again?” he held up his phone to the freeze frame Mighty Ducks 2 scene. “Or does everybody got it?” 

Everybody got it, so Shane told them, “Okay. Before we pair off and practice, what’s the number one rule for hockey fights?” 

The girls all waited expectantly, and Shane told them sternly, “It stays on the ice. We don’t fight off the ice. Not at home. Not at school. Not in the locker rooms. Not in the halls. Those are places for our words and for going to a teacher or parent or your Coach,” he pointed at himself, “for help. Hockey fights are the only time it’s okay to fight, and it stays on the ice. Yes?” 

“Yes, Coach!” 

“Okay then.” he clapped his hands. “Pair off and pick a partner. We’re gonna take turns. Stick. Gloves. Shirt. Stick. Gloves. Shirt. Everyone say thank you to Mr. Rozanov for offering to get beat up.” 

“Thank you Mr. Rozanov!” 

“Spasibo, Daddy!” 

“You’re welcome, team.” Ilya pulled his shirt back over his head and smoothed it down his stomach. Shane’s eyes cut to the bulk of Ilya’s bare shoulders, staring at the thin white tank top clinging to Ilya’s abdomen for the few seconds before everything was covered by the long sleeve, and Ilya dropped his voice to a whisper, “You want anything else, Coach?” 

“Nope.” Shane looked away, away, away. “No, that’s um– thanks for your help.” 

“Anytime.” Ilya shuffle slid his way back to the boards, to the door, and up to his regular place on the bleachers just in time to hear one of the Mom’s ask, “Uh, is Coach Hollander teaching our little girls to fight?” 

“Well yeah, but look.” Mr. Davis spoke up before Ilya could, pointing to the ice where the girls were giggling and falling all over themselves, chanting ‘Stick, Gloves, Shirt’ over and over as they took turns chucking their gloves and yanking at one another’s jerseys. “It’s like the Mighty Ducks movie, remember? When the little figure skater learns to fight and becomes one of the Bash Brothers?” 

“Oh, so it’s not fighting fighting.” one of the other moms decided in relief, and Ilya told her, “No, is not real fighting. Only fun. Coach Hollander called the movie historical documentary.” 

“That’s so funny, oh my gosh.” she laughed out loud, pointing to Bailey fist pumping enthusiastically after ‘winning’ her little tussle. “And you know, it’s too bad about Coach Keeso having to retire, but it’s so great Shane is staying on permanently. He’s a good coach, the girls love him and look at him laughing with them, I think he really loves the girls too.” 

“Hollander is staying?” Ilya repeated blankly, and Mr. David chimed in again, “Yeah, my wife was chatting with Magali yesterday and learned Coach Keeso is going to have to retire. He’s got too much going on health wise and even though the U9 division is low pressure and fairly easy, they don’t want to take the risk. Apparently Coach Hollander volunteered to stay on permanently.” 

“Huh.” Ilya watched Shane scoop Nychele up when she started to fall, resettling her on her skates and laughing down at her when Nychele babbled something up at him in French. “Do you know.” he hesitated. “Did he decide to stay before or after he found about Coach Keeso?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean.” Ilya didn’t really know what he meant, he only knew it suddenly mattered in a very important, very immediate way whether Shane had made the decision to stay before Coach Keeso had decided to retire, or after when the only option was to stay because the girls team would have to fold without someone leading. 

“Oh, I actually know that!” Matilde waved her hands excitedly and Ilya only barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hadn’t had any issue with her before, had even thought she was nice if a little bit flirty, and beautiful in a sharp sort of way, right up until she’d started being nicely beautifully flirtatious with Shane, and now even her voice got on his nerves. 

Jealousy was an unfortunately ugly color on Ilya and he damn well knew it, so he made an extra effort to smooth his features and smile at her because it wasn’t her fault she was understandably interested in the guy no one knew Ilya used to fuck ten years previous. 

“I heard from a friend,” Matilde lowered her voice conspiratorially, “that just last week, Coach Hollander went to Rachel and told her he’d like to stay on with the team. He said he’d be happy to step back and take the position of assistant coach once Coach Keeso came back, but either way he wanted to stay involved, he didn’t want to bail on the girls.” 

“I sure hoped he’d fall in love with Montbonne and stay.” Amanda’s mom sighed wistfully, her chin propped on her hands as she stared out at the ice and the Coach working so well with the kids. “Maybe now I’ll be brave enough to ask him on a date.” 

Matilde laughed at her, high pitched and a smidge strained at the implied suggestion of competition, while Mr. Davis and a few of the other happily married parents rolled their eyes in mutual exasperation towards the romantic inclinations of the single moms. 

Ilya stopped listening right after hearing that Shane had gone to Rachel to ask about staying on before he’d even known it was necessary. Shane had decided on his own to turn the temporary position into a real one. Shane had gone from watching practices in his shoes to laughing with the girls and skating with them for every single minute of ice time. He'd started texting Ilya to offer the twins more ice time, sometimes he texted Ilya just to be funny and more more more than all of that, Shane had decided to stay. 

Fuck. Ilya had to do something about that, about them, immediately. 

When practice ended with a whistle, Mariya skated right over to throw her arms around Shane’s midsection for a hug. Shane looked surprised but didn’t hesitate to hug her back and okay fuck, Ilya had to do something about that immediately, too. 

Practice ended and Ilya sat on the bleachers bouncing his knee, tapping his foot, and waiting impatient for the last of the parents to gather up their gremlins and get the hell out. Once it was only Mariya and Nadya playing with the anciently dusty pinball machine in the corner and Shane sitting on the players bench scribbling in his after practice notes, Ilya gathered his courage and went to sit next to Shane for a minute. 

“Hey.” Shane send Ilya a quick smile before going back to his notes, logging in ice time, which girls had shown the most improvement on basic drills, who was still struggling with common concepts. “How’s it going?” 

“Hi.” Ilya slid onto the bench nervously, hands gripping tight at the smooth worn boards. “Ah. You should let me buy you a ginger ale.” 

“A ginger ale.” Shane’s scribbling slowed. “Why?” 

“What?” Ilya tried to shrug, tried to sound casual. “You do not drink ginger ale anymore?” 

“Sometimes, I guess.” Shane hedged. “But I meant why as in, why do you want to buy me a drink?” 

“I hear you are staying on as head coach.” Ilya kept his eyes on the far side of the rink where the doors were opening to let the Zamboni out. “I think head coach deserves a drink, don’t you?” 

“Oh.” Shane nodded a couple times. “Right. I didn’t know people knew about that yet, I was going to wait and text the group chat once Coach Keeso announced first.” 

“So?” Ilya prodded when no other answer came along. “Ginger ale?” 

“I mean.” Shane sniffed. Rubbed his nose. Kept writing. “A beer’s fine.” 

“Alright then.” Ilya decided to treat that like a win, and scooted closer on the bench, sliding his hand over so he was almost almost touching Shane’s leg. “Let me buy you a beer.” 

“Tonight?” Shane hid his anxiety– tried to hide his anxiety– by pulling his phone out and checking the time. “Are the girls gonna come along? Do they want dinner?” 

“Not tonight, no.” Ilya kept watching the Zamboni, rubbing his thumb slowly, hopefully invitingly along the few inches of space between their bodies. “Tomorrow. There is no practice and is not a school night so I can drop the girls with friends for a sleepover. No curfew.” 

“I didn’t know a drink with a parent on my team required a curfew.” Shane ran out of things to write about for the practice and clipped the pen to the top of the clipboard, resting it on his lap and clasping his hands on top, staring out at the Zamboni slowly pulling onto the ice as if it were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

“No, a drink does not require a curfew.” Ilya allowed. “But dinner and drinks might.” 

“I thought it was only a beer.” Shane countered with a slight hitch to his breath, and Ilya scooched his hand over another tiny bit before deciding in a casually, coaxing sort of way, “Could be dinner and a couple beers.” 

“But then it sounds like,” Shane’s eyes darted sideways to Ilya’s hand on the bench, the unspoken invitation in the sweep of his thumb along the boards. “A date. Dinner and drinks.” 

“No, not a date.” Came the quick denial. “A date has four things that all start with D. Drinks,” he counted off on his fingers, “dinner, dessert, and…” 

The list trailed off to nothing. Ilya put his hand back down on the bench, even closer than before and Shane stared down at it, then up at Ilya’s profile for as long as he could take before putting his own hand on the bench too, running his fingertips along the grooves and divots in the painted wood. “What is the fourth thing?” 

“What fourth thing?” 

“The fourth D.” Shane pointed out. “You said dates have four things that start with D. Drinks, dinner, dessert. What’s the fourth D thing?”  

All at once Shane felt very stupid, and the feeling was compounded by the aggravating wink Ilya sent his way once it became obvious to Shane that he’d walked right into a trap. 

“Jesus Christ.” He rolled his eyes. Didn’t move his hand away. “The fourth thing is dick? You are a father, Ilya. Why are you making dick jokes?” 

“I was going to say discussion.” Ilya huffed as if offended by the assumption. “Drinks, dinner, dessert and discussion is what makes a good date.” 

“The hell you were going to say discussion.” Shane fired back, and Ilya’s smile widened, “So. You are okay with date, then?” 

“No.” Shane didn’t move his hand. Not closer, not further, staying still even though the two inches of space between their fingers was driving him nuts. “Not a date. That’s weird for us.” 

“Right. Yes.” Ilya pursed his lips and nodded. “Would be weird for two people who knew each other carnally–” 

“Nope, don’t use that word, that’s gross.” 

“-- to go on date.” he finished teasingly. “So. Only drinks, dinner and discussion. No dessert means is not a date.” 

“A drink.” Shane corrected and Ilya tsked at him, “Mmm, appetizer, burgers and three drinks. Appetizer does not start with D, does not count towards date.” 

“No appetizer, maybe a burger and one drink.” 

“Split order of fries as appetizer.” he replied easily. “Big messy burgers with lots of toppings. Beer with dinner and another beer to wash it down.” 

“Ilya.” Shane started and Ilya angled his head to meet his eyes, eyebrows raised, “Shane?” 

“Fuck.” Every single gut feeling, bone deep instinct, common sense detector in Shane’s body told him to say no. It was a bad idea. He wasn’t over Ilya, wasn't coping with Ilya, wasn't anything approaching normal about Ilya and a face to face, removed from the neutral safety of the ice rink, kid and other parent free meet up was exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. What he’d been trying to avoid.

Making it through practice with Ilya hanging out watching, then hanging out afterwards to talk was already taxing Shane’s composure and sanity, and their occasional sort of flirty texts made the whole thing both so much better and so much worse which was so fucking confusing and stressful and— and—

Fuck, everything in Shane told him to say no.

Everything except that whisper soft little voice buried somewhere close to his heart that told him to say yes, the same whisper soft little voice that had told him to blurt out his room number the first time Ilya Rozanov had asked for it way back in 2009 when they’d been kids, been rookies, and had no idea what the next few years would bring.

“Okay.” Shane wasn’t even sure he said it out loud, wasn’t sure if the whispery needy aching want shoved way down deep in his chest had actually made it up his throat and past his lips to be audible.

But.

“Okay?” Ilya checked in, already leaning closer and already smiling, his voice tinged with anticipation and a fair amount of disbelief. “You are saying yes?” 

“Yes.” Share couldn’t believe he’d said it either. “Dinner and a couple drinks. Tomorrow.”

“Okay. Okay. Good. Yes.” Ilya nodded a few times, smiling way more confident than he felt. “Is not a date though, so don’t get your hopes up.” 

“No. It’s…” Shane inched, scooted, scooched his hand sideways until the side of his thumb barely barely brushed at Ilya’s thumb. “Not a date.” 

“I will text you place and time for our not-date.” Ilya covered Shane’s hand with his own for a half second as he stood up and moved away, putting his fingers to his lips and whistling for the twins, then nudging at Shane’s foot lightly when he passed, “See you tomorrow.” 

“...see you tomorrow.” 

From Lily: Hi Jane, see you in 28 hours :) 

From Jane: Hi Lily. You’re stupid. Stop it.

From Jane: See you in 28 hours. 

****

Chapter Notes: 

Mayday punching the boy at school is one of the original scenes I planned for this fic. As soon as I knew Ilya was gonna be a girl dad, I knew there had to be a bullying scene. Not that we're condoning bullying but also, I supports girls rights to throw hands so...

Dad!Ilya is so so fun and Shane is so smitten with him. The whole vibe of Ilya scolding Shane about suggesting ice cream as a reward for fighting when in fact he didn't even make it out of the school before promising his girls a treat? Top Tier.

Mighty Ducks D2 shout out. Is it just me who was in love with the Icelandic team and their accents and is now realizing that might be why I love Ilya so much– big broody blonde hockey player with a thick accent? Boy howdy. 

Absolutely obsessed with how Shane tries to be distant in person but can’t help being closer over text. That disconnect with the fake names is just safe enough to let him be more honest not just with Ilya but also with HIMSELF, like he still knee jerk denies/pulls away from almost anything in person, but over text he's so much more open and this fic will parallel canon with their relationship taking steps forward via text before it starts reflecting in their IRL.

Bonus points for Ilya having the world's most aesthetically pleasing sprinkle cupboard and Shane full on like 'good golly' about it.

Also Ilya sneaking in to watch Shane skate?? Disco ball in the office to make Shane smile and Ilya thinking about defacing the picture but doesn’t because he loves how happy the girls and Shane are in it? We see you Softy McHeartEyes. 

Cut this chapter a little short so we can have all the date night goodness in Chapter 4, I’ve had their first Not-Date planned out for ages too. 

Thanks for reading! 

Chapter 4: Not a Date (be gentle, i'm terrified)

Chapter Summary

Word Count Warning: I'm not apologizing for this being long as fuck, just warning y'all to prep with a water bottle, eye drops, maybe a box of kleenex cos the angst at the end is angsting.

Content Warning: Very quick mention of the whole "driving the car into the lake" thing from Ch1

Content Warning: They do be (partly) nekkid (holla)

From Lily: Girls wanted to watch Mighty Ducks movies all day today.

From Lily: Now Mayday has been working on knuckle puck and Nadya is quacking for everything. 

From Lily: This chaos is your fault.

From Jane: Blaming the part time coach for your full time goblins sure is a choice.

From Lily: I’m gonna tell Mayday you called her a goblin so she’ll practice knuckle puck on your shins. 

From Jane: Rude.

From Jane: Are we still on for tonight?

Ilya thought maybe it wasn’t healthy for his heart to do whatever it did when Shane asked about the date— the not date— first. His heart did something twisty, his stomach swooped, and he knew he was smiling goofy down at his phone, he knew it. 

From Lily: Yes. 8. Jacob’s place.

From Jane: Okay.

Shane chewed at his thumbnail, his leg jumping anxiously as he thought about it, thought about it, thought about it, then rushed and sent a follow up text.

From Jane: Looking forward to it.

The reply from Ilya was quick.

From Lily: Me too. 

“Girls! You are slow like turtles and everyone knows I hate turtles!” He clapped his hands up the stairs in an effort to wrangle the twins into a speed faster than ‘slow as molasses’. “Come and let me check your bags. Come on.”

“You love turtles.” Mariya argued her way down the stairs, jumping the steps two at a time and landing with a thunk. “You mean we’re slow like a tortoise.”

“What is difference, Masha?” He held out his hand for her overnight bag and she gave it over with a sigh far too condescending for a seven year old and explained, “Turtles live in the ocean. Tortoise live in the desert. Turtles are fast. Tortoise is slow.”

“Which one is Nemo’s friend?” Ilya questioned and Mariya clicked her tongue at him, “Crash! Crash is Nemo’s friend! You talk like him all the time!”

“No, is not true, I do not talk like stoner turtle.” He denied, then cringed when Nadya made her way downstairs in time to overhear and ask innocently, “Wh-what is a stoner?”

“Ah. Is—“ He pursed his lips, knowing full well Sveta would cackle herself sick when she found out he’d gotten himself in a situation to explain potheads to the girls. 

“I used wrong word.” He finally decided, shrugging it off. “Meant surfer. I do not talk like surfer turtle.”

“I’m going t-to talk like a duck all day.” Unbothered by the slip up from her Papa, Nadya handed her sleepover bag to Ilya and chirped, “Quack quack qu-qu-quack! Quack at-tack!”

“Very glad those movies are your new favorite movies.” He briefly considered throwing a duck call at Shane for introducing those damn movies, fuck. “But okay. So long as it is ducks and not loons. Bags packed? Let’s see.”

The twins gathered round watching as Ilya ran through the checklist for necessary overnight supplies, clothes and toothbrushes and jammies, Boris the Tiger, Otto the Snake and of course—

“Here is emergency phone.” He put the phone in Mariya’s bag, and the watch linked to the same number around Nadya’s wrist. Nadya’s stammer got worse if she was nervous or upset, so it was easier to give Masha the responsibility of calls, while Nadya’s watch was capable of sending short texts and receiving longer messages from Ilya or Sveta. Both had location services turned on in case the girls were ever separated, both were preprogrammed with Ilya and Svetlana’s number, and both were mandatory accessories every time the girls were gone anywhere other than school.

“What is important numbers?” He asked, and both girls promptly recited his number, their Mama’s number, and their home address. 

“Okay.” He sent a test message to the phone and linked watch to make sure the ringer was up loud, then clapped his hands again. “Okay let’s go. I am very excited to get rid of you for the night. Out out out, go go go!”

Rebekah lived a few streets over in the same neighborhood, her dad drove big rigs and was gone more than he was home, and her mom worked at the school. She had been Mariya and Nadya’s first little friend in Montbonne, followed shortly by Angela who was always the fourth girl at the frequent sleepovers, and Ilya smiled when the twins burst into cheers in the backseat at seeing Angela’s car pulling into Rebekah’s driveway at the same time.

“Hi girls! Hi Ilya!” Angela’s mom smiled and waved as she pulled away and Ilya waved back, then whistled for the twins, “Mayday! Nadya! Reconsider life choices!” when the girls abandoned their bags in the driveway and sprinted for the low fence separating the front and back yard, poised like they were going to vault right over and chuck themselves onto the nearby trampoline. 

“Oh they’re fine.” Bekah’s mom came down the front steps and took the bags from Ilya with a pleasant laugh. “Bekah was so excited about a sleepover, she’s been half feral all day. Let them run, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

“Fair warning.” Ilya watched Mariya leap onto the trampoline and promptly start jumping as high as she could. “They watched Mighty Ducks all day so they are—“

A rousing, screeching, chorus of quack quack quack erupted from the backyard and he nodded, “Yes. They are like that. Sorry in advance.” 

“Nope. Totally fine, Bekah watched those movies this morning too, and wants to watch them again tonight.” Ilya didn’t understand she could smile so serenely while facing down a night full of wild seven year olds quacking at her. “Do you want me to bring the girls home in the morning? I’m already taking Angie home, I’m happy to drop Mariya and Nadya off, too.” 

“No, I will get them on the way to bakery around ten.” Ilya had no idea how his night with Shane was going to go, but whether the not-date ended at nine pm with a handshake, or for some insane reason, ended up lasting past midnight or maybe even until morning, he had kiddos to take care of and a bakery to run, so, “I will text when I’m on the way?” 

“Sounds good, hon.” She pressed at his arm lightly. “Say bye to those girls before they run into the house and disappear into the playroom.” 

“Masha. Nadyushka.” Ilya leaned over the fence and whistled for the twins. “I am leaving. Vyso v poryadke?” 

“We’re fine, Daddy.” Mariya tapped her lips twice blowing him a kiss, and Nadya did the same, “Ya tebya lyublyu!” 

“Ya vas lyublyu.” Ilya blew them a kiss back. “Call or text if you need anything." 

“Daddy, we’re fine! Go away!"

“They’re fine.” Bekah’s mom promised. “Have a good night, we’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Thank you.” Ilya waved at the twins again, but was thoroughly ignored in favor of all four girls running to get to the treehouse, so he got back in the car and headed the quick mile home to shower and change for his date. 

For his not date. 

For his chance to talk face to face, mostly private without kids and other parents in the way to overhear or interject, ten years overdue first date, not date, with Shane Hollander. 

Holy fuck. 

From Ilya: Just dropped girls off for sleepover. They have emergency phone.

From Sveta: I will text and check in. What are you doing without them? 

From Sveta: Big night of laundry and watching trash reality shows? 

From Ilya: Having dinner with Jane.

From Sveta: FaceTime right now. 

“Hi.” Ilya smiled when the video turned on. “How are--?" 

“Nope.” Svetlana sliced her hand through the air. “Nope. You are having dinner with Jane? Tonight?” 

“In a couple hours, yes.” Ilya propped the phone on the bathroom sink so he could rummage for a razor and shave his stubble. “What are you doing-–” 

“Stop.” Svetlana cut him off again. “Do not try to change the subject. You have a date. With Jane?” 

“No.” Ilya lathered up his chin, then smoothed the foamy cream along his jaw and onto his face. “Not a date.” 

“I don’t believe you.” she decided immediately. “Because you look terrified. Are you terrified?” 

The buzz of the electric razor filled the bathroom for a few minutes before Ilya finally said “Is easy to be with him, Sveta.” 

That wasn’t what she’d asked, but Svetlana stayed quiet and let Ilya find his words. 

“He’s fun.” the admission was accompanied by a reluctantly fond smile. “And sometimes it seems we can pick up again from 2014, but no.” he shook his head. “We have to talk. We have to or nothing will work.” 

“That will not be an easy talk.” she ventured and Ilya switched the razor to the other side of his face before agreeing, “Will not be easy talk. And I am not sure if he cares.” 

“Ilyushka.” The screen jostled as Svetlana moved from where ever she’d been in her apartment to her kitchen, glasses clinking as she poured herself some wine. “I am sure Jane still cares about you.” 

“No. I mean, I do not know if he cares to talk.” Ilya definitely wasn’t all the way sure Shane cared about him anymore beyond the looming weight of conversation, but he ignored that depressing thought to explain, “What happened. Where I went. He told me we didn't have to talk about it, so maybe he doesn't care anymore. But then sometimes, he says things or looks a certain way and I think he does care and does want to talk."

He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "I don't know."

Svetlana clicked her tongue sympathetically when she could hear the upset in his voice. "Do you think he wants to move on without talking about it? He has maybe forgiven you already, so he does not need to talk it out and bring up bad memories?"

“No. More like.” Ilya frowned, moving the razor over his chin. “He wants to forget it matters at all. Wants to erase it between us. He wants to only be parent and coach, but we are not– I do not want to only be–"

“You two are more complicated than that.” Svetlana switched to speaking Russian when Ilya’s expression creased in frustration. “Lily and Jane. Even if you are only friends after this, there is too many things, it's too complicated for you to be only coach and parent acquaintances, so you have to talk, but you don’t think Jane cares enough to have the conversation.” 

“Da. Spasibo.” Ilya’s shoulders dropped relieved when the words came easier in Russian. “But I care alot. Too much, maybe."

“Well." she pursed her full lips, thinking, "I think if he said yes to a date with you--"

“Not a date.” 

“Whatever you say, my love.” she comforted. “Still. He said yes. So yes, I think he still cares and will want to talk. Which is...terrifying for you?” 

“Yes.” Ilya reached for a soft rag to wipe the remaining foam off his face. “Terrifying. But it might be good.” 

“It might be.” Svetlana encouraged with a small smile. “What are you wearing tonight?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe you,” he hesitated. “Maybe you could suggest something? I want to look…” 

His voice trailed off embarrassed and she tsked at him, “Ilyushka, what is it? Tell me.” 

“I’ve never been on real first date.” he admitted after a beat. “Or first not date. You and I were friends who fucked and then were pregnant and married. Other dates with other girls were,” Ilya shrugged. “Didn’t count? Only hook ups, so they did not matter, what I wore did not matter. I do not know what to wear to something like this."

“Okay.” A lamp clicked on behind Svetlana as she settled onto the couch with her wine glass. “Do you still have your fuck boy club rat clothes?"

"No." he glared at her. "You 'accidentally' put them in donation box when we moved from Boston, remember?"

"Mm that's right. Sorry about that." She wasn't sorry in the slightest, her green eyes sparkling with laugher. "It's better anyway, you are too many years into being a Dad to have club wear and I do not think your very boring Jane would like that anyway."

"He is boring." The descriptor had never been an insult, not a single time Ilya had said it over so many, too many years. He said 'boring' and meant 'beautiful', and Svetlana's smile softened when she heard it.

"What about your charcoal sweater?" she suggested after a minute of thought. "The lighter one with the darker patches on your elbows. It is pretty with your eyes and comfortable. Dark jeans. Or slacks. Not too fancy, but fancy enough so Jane knows tonight matters. Because it does matter, yes? Alot for you.” 

“Alot. Yes. You know it does.” 

“Make sure he knows that, then.” Her smile dimmed a hint sad for him, for how difficult it had been for Ilya to let Shane go the first time, for how potentially difficult the night could be, “Even if he does not want to talk about the hard stuff. Remember, he does not know you are different and open and willing to talk now. Use your words."

“Okay. I will use my words.” Ilya pulled the Sveta-approved sweater from the closet and dug through his dresser for an appropriately dark pair of jeans. “What are you doing tonight?” 

“I will text the girls for a while, then I have to proofread a contract for a client before I get drunk on this expensive wine.” she lifted her glass towards the screen,. “So if you need me? I might be tipsy, but I will be here to listen, hm?” 

“Thank you.” Ilya tapped his lips twice. “I love you.” 

“Love you too.” she sent him a kiss back. “Good luck tonight.” 

“Bye.”

Before shutting the closet door, Ilya grabbed his skate bag down from the top shelf and tossed it on the bed next to his clothes. 

Because maybe.

Maybe.

*****

Shane hadn’t had a reason to wear anything other than sweats or pajamas for the better part of nine months, and when he opened his closet to figure out what the hell to wear to a not-date, the options were truly, unfortunately dismal.

“Okay well, I can’t wear a suit.” Shane frowned at the crisp black suit that had once been perfectly tailored to his body, but now probably hung a little loose in his arms and pulled a little too tight around his stomach. The immediately mortifying memory of how he’d gotten dressed in a full suit the night he and Ilya had first hooked up was more than enough motivation for him to resolutely, self consciously shove the suit aside to see the rest of his clothes, but the remaining options were just as bad.

Athletic company branded t-shirts. Athletic company branded long sleeves. Shane had a dozen hoodies hanging in the closet and more than a dozen pairs of joggers and sweats in the dresser, but somehow he only had two pair of jeans and one pair of slacks, and the jeans had holes in the knees and the slacks were specifically tailored slim in a way that would emphasize how he wasn't fit slim anymore in too obvious a way. Shane had a black button up and a white button up, but nothing really went together and none of the shades of black exactly matched and it sucked.

Shane had lived most of his life in hockey gear, workout clothes, or a suit to get him to and from  press events, and now at thirty three years old, he had nothing to wear for anything that wasn’t hockey, working out, or press events. 

Fuck. 

From Hayden: Hey bud, just checking in again.

From Hayden: I know you’re not doing good. 

From Hayden: Not tryna baby you or whatever. But I’m worried about you.

Shane didn’t let himself hope it was Ilya texting, and he didn’t let himself be disappointed that the messages were from Hayden, not Lily. 

From Hayden: Real fucking weird to be on the ice without you. The rookies are all assholes chirping about redefining the game with their scientifically proven maximum efficiency workouts and diets, but I refuse to listen to it until they get enough ice time to matter. 

Shane scoffed at Hayden’s predictably grumpy approach to anything other than simply playing the game, and for the first time in months— and maybe to distract himself from spiraling over a lack of clothing options— Shane texted back.

From Shane: Sucks they’re all assholes, but you know, there’s a lot of truth to the science backed diets.

From Hayden: Oh holy shit you texted back.

Shane’s phone started ringing immediately, and for the first time in months, he picked up.

“Hayden.”

“Ho-ho-holy shit!” Hayden shouted into the phone, and somewhere in the background, Jackie hollered, “Hayden! Language!”

“Shane picked up the phone!” He hollered back and Jackie promptly, “Oh my god! Tell him we all say hi!”

“Jackie and the girls all say hi.” Hayden said quickly. “Holy shit, bud. I can’t believe you actually picked up! How the hell are you!” 

“Hey.” Shane couldn’t help but smile hearing the over the top glee from his best friend. “I’m okay. How are things for you?” 

“No, don’t change the subject, what the hell.” The background noise muffled as Hayden ducked into a different room to get away from the chatter of four kids. “Don’t just say you’re okay and ask about my family when I know full well you aren’t okay cos you haven’t talked to me in months.” 

“It hasn’t been months.” Shane hedged, but Hayden retorted, “It’s been months, Shane. I was starting to think you drove up to the middle of nowhere just to put your damn car into a lake and call it all done.” 

Then, with a layer of hurt and worry and anger, “Is that what you’re doing, Shane? You hiding away in the woods trying to get up the courage to fucking kill yourself? Because if you think for one second I’m gonna sit here and let you–” 

“Hayden.” Shane closed his eyes tight. Held the phone to his ear tight. Tried really really hard to not let his voice wobble. “No. I’m not doing that. Not– not sitting here looking at the lake trying to get the courage to kill myself.” 

“Okay.” Hayden’s voice did wobble and Shane rubbed at his eyes, at his nose, at his mouth, bracing himself so he wouldn’t hang up and hide the way he did every time anyone got a little too close to the truth for comfort. 

“Okay cos I’m worried about you.” Hayden finally managed. “And I miss you. When you bought that place and dipped outta Montreal, I was really fucking scared that the next time I heard anything, it would be that you were–” 

“No.” He cut in when Hayden’s voice did the wobbly, vulnerable, breaking thing again. “No, Hayden. It’s not like that. It’s– I mean, it was pretty bad for a while–” 

“Jesus Christ, Shane!” 

“-- but it’s better now!” he finished louder. “I’m doing better now. Not all the way great, but better. I promise.” 

“Tell me about it, then.” Hayden demanded. “Right now. Tell me what you’re doing up there and if you’re staying active and all that. Talk to me.” 

“Okay.” Shane put the phone on speaker and pulled everything out of his closet, out of his dresser, out of the boxes of clothes he’d never unpacked because he still hadn’t committed to actually living at the cabin. “Okay, so I uh– I bought a cabin up here in Montbonne…” 

Shane filled Hayden in on everything while he systematically sorted through and discarded all the clothes that weren’t the right clothes for the upcoming not-date. 

Well, Shane filled Hayden in on almost everything while he searched for the right outfit to wear for a not-date with Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

He told Hayden about the cabin, but not that the place was still mostly un-renovated. Shane mentioned his daily yoga and stretching, but not that he’d cancelled all of his most recent mental health therapy appointments. He talked about how good the food at the bar was, but not that he was having a hard time eating.

Hayden whooped in excitement when Shane told him about coaching, but Shane didn’t say anything about the panic attack he’d had standing in a rink for the first time, didn’t say anything about spending the first several practices in his shoes cos he’d been scared to put on his skates, didn’t say anything about how coaching made him realize how long it had been since he’d actually enjoyed hockey, and how the girls helped him rediscover the fun it it all. 

Shane didn’t say anything about a pair of twins with wild hair and wide smiles, and their Dad who had stepped right from Shane’s best, most painful memories and back into his life.

Hayden had questions, encouragement, and support and Shane had to press at his chest, at his heart, when the reminder of just how empty his life was without their friendship and laughter and support hit him hard. 

“It sounds like you’re doing great!” Haydey said enthusiastically, and Shane shook the wrinkles from yet another black button up shirt and nodded, “Yeah, I am. I’m okay. Things are okay over here.” 

“So when’s the first game for your little team? What’s the team name? Do you guys do any away games, maybe me and the girls could come and see you play! You know the twins are going into sixth grade this year, so they’re trying out for the junior high team and they’d love if–” 

From Lily: See you soon. 

Hayden kept talking. Shane felt bad for not listening but the very second his phone lit up with a text from Lily, he tuned Hayden right out. It was already seven pm which meant he only had about forty minutes to figure out what the hell to wear, take a shower and get out the door so he’d make it to Jacob’s place on time, fuck. 

“Hayden?” Shane interrupted Hayden’s ramble about how stressed out Jackie was about having middle schoolers, and he felt bad for not listening, he did. But not knowing what to wear for the not date was starting to feel like a fucking emergency, so he interrupted, “Hayden. Could you uh– could you help me pick out some clothes for a thing tonight?” 

“A thing tonight?” Hayden’s voice pitched almost hilariously high in excitement. “Is it a date? Do you have a date?!” 

“No, it’s not a–” 

“Jackie!” He shouted for his wife. “Baby! Shane has a date tonight!” 

Jackie shouted something back that sounded like ‘good for him!’ and Hayden crowed, “Tell me all about her! Who’s the girl who finally swayed confirmed bachelor Shane Hollander into romance?” 

“It’s not a date date.” Shane tried to deflect, but Hayden insisted, “No, if you’re stressed about what to wear, it’s definitely a date.” 

“No, it’s just uh–” 

“What’s her name?” 

“Hayden, we’re only–” 

“Where did you even meet her? Don’t tell me you couldn’t find a single decent girl in Montreal for like ten years, but you move to the middle of the woods and find the woman of your dreams? That’s crazy, bud.” 

“It’s only dinner and drinks.” The room was starting to feel too warm, the air too stifling. Shane dropped onto the bed and tugged at the collar of his hoodie trying to cool down. “Not a date. We’re having dinner, hanging out, just uh--just catching up.” 

“Catching up!” Hayden latched onto that immediately. “So you know her from before? Reconnecting? Who is she?” 

She she she. Shane dragged his fingers up and down his thigh, up and down his thigh, up and down his thigh as the old familiar panic climbed the back of his throat and settled heavy into his head. “Hayden, um–” 

The reminder that he wasn’t only keeping small details from his best friend, but that he’d never been able to share the big detail, the big secret, the big thing about Ilya made the clammy, panicky, too warm, too stifling feeling worse. “Hayden–”

“Oh, Jackie says not to wear black.” Hayden informed him. “Something about how sexy and broody isn’t the right look for a first date, not when you’re basically a ball of sunshine.” 

“I dunno how much of a ball of sunshine I am these days.” the change of subject to clothes was a relief. “What um, what color does she say to wear?” 

“She says to wear green. But not– what was that, babe?” muffled on the other side while Jackie gave her opinion. “Not light green because it looks like puke. Do with that information what you will.” 

“Light green looks like puke. Got it.” Shane didn’t own a single piece of clothing that was anything resembling light green, but he nodded along anyway. “Okay. So, blue?” 

“Thumbs up to blue.” Hayden laughed. “You sound nervous! It’s gonna be fine. You’re Shane Hollander, she’s gonna love you. Just remember to smile, otherwise you look like you’re bored all the time.” 

“Smile so I don’t look bored. Got it.” Seven-fifteen. Shane had to go and he wasn’t anywhere closer to actually knowing what to wear. “I gotta go or I’m gonna be late.” 

“Sure sure, but hey, call me tomorrow?” Hayden’s voice lifted hopefully. “Or at least answer a goddamn text every once in a while? I miss you, bud. And we love you.” 

“Yeah. I miss you, too.” Shane missed him, and he hated that the surface level personal conversation with his best friend was still uncomfortably too personal enough to leave him anxious.

When the hell was that gonna get better? When was he gonna get better and stop having to brace himself just to talk with his family and friends?

“Love you. Give Jackie and the kids a hug for me.” 

“Will do!” 

From Jane: Running late. Sorry. Hayden called. 

From Lily: Hayden Pike? That guy sucks. 

From Jane: You haven’t played against him in over ten years. You can’t hold a pointless grudge for that long. 

From Lily: The hell I can’t. He is world class cock blocker. I hate him on principle.

From Jane: Whatever. See you soon. 

*****

Jacob’s Place

“Well hullo there, Coach.” Jacob made a show of adjusting his glasses and looking Shane over with a wide smile when Shane finally made it into the bar at ten past eight. “Don’t usually see you in town this late.” 

“Hey Jacob.” Shane glanced surreptitiously around the room, scanning the booths and tables for a glimpse of Ilya’s blond hair. “Yeah, usually I’m in bed with a book and cocoa by now, but I guess I’m feeling wild tonight.” 

“Book and cocoa, huh? And people say Shane Hollander isn’t funny.” Jacob pulled a bottle of Shane’s usual beer from the cooler and popped the lid off. “So can I assume this is why you never noticed me noticing you?”

“This? What do you mean–” Shane stopped when Jacob inclined his head slightly left to where the top of Ilya’s head was visible over the back of a booth tucked almost out of sight at the other end of the bar. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Jacob waggled his eyebrows. “Oh.” 

“No.” Shane shook his head in immediate, habitual, denial. “No, it’s not like– it’s not um– we aren’t–” 

“Hey hey.” Jacob rapped his knuckles at the bar top, then made a zipping motion over his mouth, “Don’t worry about it. If I saw Mr. Rozanov wander in all nervous and jittery like a kid waiting on his prom date, that’s nobody’s business, and neither is you blushing hard enough to make me concerned for your heart. Don’t worry about it, alright? Not in here and not with me, that's for damn sure."

“Uh. Okay.” Knowing Ilya was visibly nervous about their not-date made the ball of anxiety in Shane's chest ease a little bit. “Okay. I won’t worry about it. Thank you.” 

Then belatedly, “Wait, what did you say about noticing me? You uh, notice me? Like,” he hesitated. “Noticed me?” 

“Everyone notices you, Coach.” Jacob rolled his eyes as if he didn’t believe Shane didn’t know how many stares he garnered on a daily basis. “Everyone notices Ilya, too. Makes sense the two most noticed boys in this dreary little town only ever notice each other. Bad luck and bah humbug for hopeless romantics like me, I guess.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.” Shane mumbled embarrassed, so Jacob just slid his beer over and changed the subject, “I’ll bring some fries, but if you’re ready for a refill before that, just let me know.” 

“...Thanks.” 

The booth at the far end of the room was about as discreet as one could hope for a small bar in a small town. It had been built into an odd alcove on the wall so it was half hidden from view, the back of the bench seats high enough so no patrons at any other table had a clear view of who might be sitting there, and with its distance from the door, the typical noise was muffled enough to give the lone booth a sense of privacy. Shane hadn’t ever noticed it during his previous visits to the bar, and as he made his way over with beer in hand, he didn’t know if he was relieved Ilya had picked such a discreet spot, or if maybe he was a little bit sad that after all these years they were still hiding. 

“Hi.” Ilya didn’t know what to say when Shane slid into the seat across from him. He hadn’t seen Shane walk in and there hadn’t been a warning ‘I’m here’ text to give him a minute to brace himself, so Ilya blinked and said, “Hi.” when suddenly Shane was right there in the booth with him. 

“Hey.” Shane was overdressed. Damn it. He’d settled on a white dress shirt under a blue pullover and thought it looked nice, relatively put together and situationally appropriate with the stiff collar and buttoned cuffs showing at his neck and wrists, but Ilya was so effortlessly soft in a comfortable sweater, so easily good looking with his curls loose and his necklace gleaming gold at his throat that Shane promptly felt awkward and stiff and like he was very clearly trying too hard. 

“Sorry I’m late.” he offered, fidgeting with the buttons on his cuff. “I got caught up with Hayden. Haven’t talked to him in a while. So.” 

“Hm.” Ilya’s eyes darted from the blue shirt stretched at Shane’s shoulders to the bulk of his arms, up to the collar of his dress shirt and the open buttons at the vee of his neck. “You look nice. But. Fancy. I should have dressed up more?” 

“No. You look great.” Shane kept fussing with his shirt cuffs. With the stiff collar. With the buttons he’d spent a ridiculous amount of time debating whether or not to leave open. “It turns out the only clothes I own are either sweats or suits. I had to go digging in a box to find this outfit.” 

It was a stupid thing to say. A stupid thing to admit to. lya didn’t need to know he’d stressed about what the hell to wear for a perfectly normal not-date with the guy he used to love sleep with. 

“No, me too. I had nothing to wear.” Ilya waved off Shane’s embarrassment. “All my clothes are bakery safe or Dad clothes meant to run around with feral twins. Svetlana picked out my clothes tonight.” 

“Your ex wife picked out an outfit for you to wear for a not-date with someone you used to fuck?” Shane blurted and Ilya’s blue eyes sparked with laughter, “Was her fault I don't have anything decent to wear, she threw out all my slutty club rat clothes a few years ago. The least she could do is pick out replacement outfit, hm?"

“Oh my god.” Shane slumped into the booth, much more at ease with the whole thing once they’d managed to laugh together. “Well, she has good taste. You look great. Really,” he let his gaze linger at the width of Ilya’s chest, where the gray sweater narrowed into the vee of his waistline. “Really great. Yeah. I like this better than slutty club rat clothes, I think."

“You look great, too.” Ilya relaxed when Shane did, leaning against the tall seat back and sipping at his beer. “How is Hayden Pike these days?” 

“You don’t care about Hayden.” Shane accused good-naturedly, and no Ilya didn’t care about or remember much of the blandly inoffensive mediocre player who had been the reason behind several of Shane’s hook up cancellations back in the day, but he searched his memory to come up with at least a nugget of information to add to the conversation, “What, he has ten kids now? Maybe fourteen? He had so many before.” 

“Okay well he definitely doesn’t have ten kids, he and Jackie stopped at four.” Shane paused when Jacob came by with a big basket of fresh fries and two menus. “But he’s good, I guess."

“You guess? You don’t talk to him much any--" Ilya’s eyebrows shot up when Jacob winked at Shane and Shane flushed pink about it. “Whoa. What the fuck was that?” 

“What was what?” Shane picked up a menu, and Ilya leaned forward in his seat when the flush on Shane’s face got darker, “Jacob winked at you and you are shy about it. Why? What did he say to you when you came in?” 

“First of all, I’m not shy about anything right now.” Shane denied. “And Jacob didn’t really say anything. I got the feeling that maybe he's--"

“Heartbroken we are here together instead of inviting him along.” Ilya finished with a nod. “Yes. I got same feeling. But I am not shy about it. Why are you shy about it?”

“I’m not shy about it!” Shane kicked Ilya’s foot under the table. “It doesn’t even matter. But I had no idea he was uh…” 

It wasn’t fair how much Shane’s adorably scrunched up confused expression fucked with Ilya’s sanity. It also wasn’t fair how shyly stupidly thrilled it made Ilya when Shane never moved his foot after kicking him, and their shoes stayed touching under the table. 

“He said something about how I never noticed him noticing me.” Shane clarified sheepishly. “I feel dumb about it. And guilty for being stuck in my head so much lately? I guess I’m not paying attention to other people and that makes me feel like shit.” 

“Ah.” Shane not noticing when someone was interested in him didn’t surprise Ilya in the least, but he was surprised to hear Shane admit to being stuck in his head, so Ilya steered the conversation a little more down that particular avenue with a curious, “That is why you don’t talk to Hayden much anymore? Stuck in your head." 

“I don’t really talk to anyone anymore.” Shane didn’t want to get into all the reasons why he was reluctant to talk with his best friend or parents or therapist or doctors or anyone lately. “Where are the girls tonight?”

“Sleepover.” Ilya saw the avoidance for what it was, but let it go. “Bekah’s house. Apparently she is watching Mighty Ducks too, so they are quacking a lot.” He tapped the tip of his shoe against Shane’s. “Is your fault. Thank you for bringing that noise into my life.”

“I’m gonna get them duck calls for Christmas.” Shane didn’t move his foot away when he felt the there and gone tap. “You’re welcome in advance.”

“Don’t you dare.” Ilya waited until Shane crunched through a few fries before reaching for a handful for himself. “These are good, right? Some days I sneak here and eat a bunch while the girls are in school so I don’t have to share.” 

“Yeah, Mariya seems like she’d bite you if you tried to make her share a snack.” The fries were good, salty and crispy and golden enough to make Shane wonder when the last time he’d actually enjoyed his food was, and holy shit wasn’t that the most depressing thought ever? “I’m learning more and more why you call her Mayday.”

“No no, even with all her doom bringing, Mayday will share her food.” Ilya corrected around a big bite of their shared appetizer. “Is Nadya who will bite you for trying to steal from her plate. She is vicious.”

“Nadya.” Shane echoed skeptically, munching at a couple more fries and steadfastly ignoring both the noise in his head that told him to stop stop stop and the little voice deeper down that kept reminding him that getting emotional over enjoying food was the sort of thing he should talk to a therapist about. Fuck. “Sweet little Nadya who holds everyone’s hand when they leave the ice so they don’t stumble. Nadya would bite over sharing food?”

“Don’t let her fool you.” Ilya warned with a wag of his finger. “She will draw blood if you get between her and a good pasta. She is like her Mama that way.” 

“Her mama.” Shane nodded. Swallowed. Wiped his mouth then wiped his fingers on the napkin.

“Okay. I have to ask.” he had to ask, at some point before the night was over and before he made himself insane, Shane had to ask, “You and Svetlana.” 

“Yes.” Ilya didn't skip a beat. “What do you want to know?” 

“I know it’s not really my business.” he started, but Ilya dipped a fry and disagreed, “No, is your business more than anyone else’s. Ask.” 

“Just uh.” Shane hated that it bothered him, hated that he needed to know, “When did the two of you get together?” 

“Not before Vegas.” Ilya answered bluntly. Shane’s shoulders relaxed a notch and Ilya nodded, “Not before Sochi either. Not officially. Onlya sometimes if I was home for summer. Nothing serious.” 

“But when you moved back to Russia?” 

“It was difficult with my Papa. She was there for me.” There was no need for details, for an itemized timeline. Shane spent two practices a week with the outcome of the relationship with Svetlana, so Ilya stuck to the important information, “She was pregnant in 2016 and it was an accident, but we were best friends. Loved each each other. We didn’t terminate and got married to make it all legal.” 

Jacob came to take their order and bring fresh beers, and after he was gone, Ilya continued, “Was easier to deal with Papa’s medical, funeral, and estate things with Svetlana helping as my wife. Papa passed in 2017 right after the girls were born, and once they could travel, it was easy to move to the US with Svetlana’s citizenship, then up to Canada."

“Right.” Shane didn’t make a move to take one of the fresh beers. “So.” 

“So what?” Ilya pushed the full bottle towards Shane. “Drink. And ask.” 

“Um.” Ilya being so direct with him, taking charge of the conversation and even sort of taking charge of the food situation was comfortingly familiar enough to make Shane’s heart race, and he had to take a second to breathe. “Alright. When did you guys split up?” 

“Early last year.” Ilya didn’t pick up his own beer until after Shane had taken a drink and eaten some more fries. “We were separated for a while before, but is official from February ‘23. There are no ah,” he made a negative motion with his hand, “no hard feelings. We go to Russia every summer so the girls can see Svetlana’s Papa, their Dedushka, I take girls to the city to see Sveta all the time and she comes home here every chance she can in between work. It is good for us. We still love each other, but we are not–” 

“In love?” Shane hoped he didn’t sound as pathetically optimistic as he felt. “You guys aren’t in love.” 

“No. Not in love.” Ilya clocked it when Shane’s shoulders relaxed another little bit. Huh. “But still family.” 

“And the girls understand.” 

“They understand Mama and Papa are best friends and always there for them.” he agreed firmly. “Is the only thing that matters.” 

“Okay. So the bakery.” The burgers were huge. Shane’s eyes bugged out when Jacob sat two oversized, over tall, over loaded with toppings burgers on the table. “Uh, was that a before or after you guys split up thing?” 

“You mean, was it Sveta’s dream or mine.” Ilya grabbed for the serrated steak knife and sawed through his burger, then handed it to Shane so he could cut the hugely towering entree down to something less intimidating. “Did I want it, or am I stuck with it.” 

“That sounds rude.” Shane winced apologetically. “But yeah. That’s what I mean. It’s hard to imagine Ilya Rozanov in an apron making cupcakes.” 

“Mm yes, but you have not seen how I am adorable in apron.” Ilya picked up half of his burger and looked it over critically, pulling a piece of bacon away and crunching through it, frowning at the avocado slice and getting rid of the tomato entirely. He took the time to examine the food, giving Shane the chance and time to do the same without feeling stared at, and once Shane had ditched the bacon and lettuce but kept the avocado and tomato and took a whole bite, Ilya took a bite too. 

“Bakery was investment first.” he washed down the first big bite with a swallow of beer. “But Alicia bullied me into caring. Turns out I am good at baking. And my Mama.” he took another bite, chewed it slow until he was brave enough to admit, “She baked with me before she died. I share the recipes with the girls, and is like they know her a little bit, too.” 

“That’s really special.” Shane said quietly, and the corner of Ilya’s mouth tilted into a small smile, “I think so, yes. Is worth the time and effort.” 

“I don’t think I know anything about your Mom.” Shane took another small bite of the admittedly delicious burger, and wondered if Ilya would say something snarky if he pushed the bread away and only ate the patty and toppings so he could justify eating the whole thing instead of only half. 

“No.” Ilya definitely did notice when Shane peeled the homemade bun away and started cutting up the meat with a knife and fork. “I never told you anything about her.”

“We didn’t really talk much back then, did we?”

“No.” The statement wasn’t accusatory or unkind, just matter of fact. “We have maybe talked more right now than all other times.” 

“Yeah.” Shane cut into another bite of his bun-less burger. “Probably.” 

“What about you?” Ilya started in on his burger in earnest. “Did you ever get married?” 

“What?” Shane visibly startled, his silverware clinking at the plate when he jerked his head up in surprise. “God, no. Not married. I never had time to date when I was playing, and now I have a ton of time but it’s uh– well. You know.” 

Ilya took a drink, raising his eyebrows and prompting, “What?” when Shane quit talking. “What is now?” 

“Now, you know.” Shane took another couple bites before he answered. “I’m a washed up, injured former player teaching little kids how to play in a tiny town a couple hours North of nowhere? I’m not exactly,” his chuckle was painfully self deprecating. “Not exactly a catch these days.” 

“Not a catch.” Ilya repeated blankly. “You are kidding, right?” 

“No, I’m serious.” Shane pushed the food away and picked his beer up again. “Before all this, I was Shane Hollander, but now I’m just,”

He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want to talk about it. “Now I’m like, Shane Hollander’s shadow. Walmart brand Shane Hollander. Feels like anyone who would want me now must only be around for who I used to be."

Saying it out loud was mortifying. Shane hadn’t even admitted that to his therapist, hadn’t mentioned it to his parents when his Mom had pushed him to start dating for the first time in years. He hadn’t told anyone he didn’t want to date, because he knew right down deep in his shredded up soul that no one wanted to date this version of him.

“I feel like," slowly." Anyone who’s interested in me now would be there half outta curiosity and half outta pity. And I don’t want that. You get it, right?” 

“No, I don't get it. You say you are Walmart brand you and not a catch, and that is crazy to me.” Ilya wished he could have said all that in a serious enough tone for Shane to really actually believe him, but his phone chimed with an incoming text from the twins and he picked it up immediately, regretting the lost emphasis of the moment but unwilling– unable– to ignore the message from the kids even for the sake of watching Shane’s reaction to the compliment. “Shit. Hold on, I have to check this.” 

From Masha-Nadyushka: Ate dinner. Quack! Watching movies. Quack!

From Daddy: Be good ducklings. Text me before bed.

From Mama: Love you, angels. Quack Quack.

From Daddy: No Sveta, not you too. No quacks.

From Mama: Die mad about it.

From Masha-Nadyushka: Die mad about it Daddy! Quack quack!

“Is the girls.” He explained as he put his phone away. “Checking in after food and before movies.”

Shane was still reeling from Ilya’s bluntly delivered denial of him not being a catch to do anything other than shrug, “I uh– I didn’t ask. You can text whoever you want.” 

“Obviously yes, but would be rude to text someone else while on date.” Ilya didn’t give Shane a chance to point out that they had both very specifically agreed the night wasn’t a date. He looked over at their partially eaten food and half drank beers, then took the plunge and decided, “We should go skate.”  

“What?” Shane must have misheard him. “What did you say?” 

“We should go skate.” Ilya wadded his napkin on his plate and pushed it towards the edge of the table. “We could sit here not eating and trying to talk, but this is uncomfortable, yes? Not…”

He waved his hand vaguely. “Easy. I think it would be more fun and easy to skate a while. Easier to keep talking and I want,” emphasis, “to keep talking. Will you come skate with me?”

“The– the rink is closed.” Oh that was a dumb thing to say, a dumb thing to point out, Shane felt dumb about saying it, but Ilya only grinned, then raised his eyebrows very high and drawled sarcastically, “Hm, if only I knew someone with all the keys to the rink who could break the rules and let me in?"

It was a test. A challenge. Ilya was pushing him, and something about the invitation to skate together when Ilya was leaning forward grinning with his foot was wedged against Shane’s under the table was so staggeringly invitingly intimate that Shane almost faltered beneath a split second jolt of fear cos it seemed all at once too impossibly big.

Dinner and drinks was one thing.

Skating together, sharing the ice, being somewhere that mirrored the place it had all started for them ten years ago was something else.

But.  

“I could skate.” he nodded nodded nodded before the jolt of fear turned into backing down. “Yeah. Okay. My skates are already in the car.” 

“Mine too.” Ilya slid his hand across the table, closer closer closer. “I can drive us there.” 

“You have your skates already.” Shane stared at Ilya’s hand and wondered if Ilya had brought his skates along as a pre-planned way to stretch the night longer, or if it was a split second decision not only about spending more time together but about about wanting to spend better time together, cos yeah, skating sounded way more fun than sitting at a table trying to talk and not really eating. “Okay. But no, I’ll drive myself. The cabin is out past that end of town anyway, so it’s closer for me to leave after.” 

“The cabin.” Ilya pulled his wallet out to cover the bill. “You aren’t going home tonight? Out to cabin instead?” 

“What? No.” Shane frowned. “I live at the cabin.” 

“Ah. Well. You didn’t call it home.” Ilya pointed out. “Just cabin.” 

“Right.” The cabin wasn’t home. Shane hated that he’d slipped up and made the disconnect noticeable, cos now Ilya was watching him close, blue eyes trained on his face searching and fuck Shane hadn't ever really figured out how to hide from Ilya, not back then and apparently not yet.

"No, I--" he scratched at his eyelid. Scratched at his eyebrow. "I live at the cabin. Yeah."

“Okay.” Ilya let it go the same way he’d let half a dozen other things go over their stilted dinner. “We will meet at the rink?” 

He turned his hand over on the table, palm up and fingers curled coaxing, “Do not flake on me, hm? Tell me to meet, then abandon me with my romantic dreams. Would be too mean.” 

“Disappearing without a word is more your style, isn't it?” Shane put enough cash down on the table to cover his half of the meal, then hesitated, hesitated and brushed the tips of his fingers over Ilya’s palm before scooting out of the booth. “See you over there.” 

“See you over there.” The parting comment hadn’t sounded mean, but Shane’s dark eyes had flickered vulnerable and Ilya had felt it sharp right through his chest all the same, the sting and burn of it soothed only a bit by the fleeting touch at his hand. 

“We still need to talk about it.” Ilya muttered to himself, to the empty side of the booth. “Fuck.” 

He finished his beer and swept all the money from the table to take to the bar. “Here is for bill.” he set his money down to cover their food and drinks, then held up the crumpled wad of Shane’s cash and shoved it in the tip jar. “Is for you. Thank you.” 

“So jealous of the two of you spending the evening together, I could drive right off a cliff.” Jacob sighed like it pained it right down to his soul. “But good luck anyway.” 

He sent Ilya a double thumbs up and Ilya tried for a smile much more confident than he felt, “Spasibo, Jacob. Good night.” 

“Good night!” 

Shane’s car was the only one at the ice rink when Ilya pulled in and parked. The arcade and bowling alley in the adjacent lot closed at nine on the weekends during the school year, so even on a Friday night the parking lots were empty, the buildings locked up and shut down, far enough away from the highschool and neighborhoods to be serenely quiet. 

Inside the arena was more of the same, the cavernous space echoing and empty and cold, the offices and lockers rooms dark. Ilya ducked through the propped open side door and closed it behind him so no random passers-by might be tempted to sneak in and spy, then hurried down the long hallway and around the corner to find Shane already on the ice. 

The lights high above the rink cast pale circles on the ice, illuminating the center line and the face off circles while shrouding the boards and corners in shadow, and Shane flitted between the light and dark as he skated past in slow figure eights. He’d ditched the pullover but kept the dress shirt, the sleeves rolled and cuffed on his forearms, a few more buttons open at his neck and the shirt tails untucked from his fitted pants. The material clung to his body as he moved, and Ilya stood by the bleachers for a few moments to watch longingly the same way he’d watching longingly for a dozen different mornings, before finding a spot to sit and get his skates on. 

“Hey.” Shane came out of a shadowy turn into the light, and smiled when he saw Ilya waiting at the open door in the boards. “Grab those sticks and the puck when you get in here?” 

“Yep.” Ilya grabbed the two sticks and the puck stashed on the players bench and, “Here.” tossed one of the sticks at Shane, who caught it out of the air and got it down on the ice in time to catch the puck as Ilya fired it his way. 

And immediately it was easier. 

Being on the ice together was immediately, beautifully, achingly familiar in all the best ways, easier. 

“You wanna…?” Shane inclined his head towards the far end of the rink and Ilya nodded, pushed off the boards and went to find his position for the first sequence of a long learned warm up pattern without needing any more of an explanation. 

Cos yes. He did. Whatever Shane meant when he inclined his head smiling towards a stretch of ice they could share together, the answer was yes, Ilya did want it. 

And there was something to be said there, something to be noticed and appreciated about equality and balance being found in a rink, about time standing still and defensive layers being stripped away beneath the swush-swush of skates, about recognizing someone simply by the way they passed the puck or the movement of each stride or maybe about recognizing one’s self for the first time in a long time because the rink was home. The ice was comforting. It was more instinctive than breathing to slip into drill patterns and warm ups, and skating the lines felt like déjà vu, like roads re-traveled, like unearthing things no one realzed had been lost.

…or whatever. Taking an easy pass and moving without conscious thought or verbal agreement into practice patterns while watching Ilya’s blue eyes light up about it all sure was something and sure felt big, but right then in the low lit, echoing, empty rink, Shane relegated it all to a mentally shrugged ‘whatever’, and just let himself skate and pass the puck back and forth cos that was all he’d ever really wanted to do with his life anyway.

All Shane had ever really wanted to do with his life was skate around the rink with a stick in his hand and a puck, and hey if there was a hot as hell blond smiling his way and matching him stride for stride and circling close like he felt the same orbiting pull deep in his gut that Shane did?

Well then, whatever. It was something and sort of felt like everything and fuck it was fun, so it was fine.

Actually, really, honestly, fine.

“You are moving well on ice.” Ilya didn’t say anything for their first several laps around the rink, content to move through the drill patterns and watch the tension ease from Shane’s gorgeous features, the stress drop from his broad shoulders with every corner turned. He hadn’t done much more than skate with the girls for years now, but thousands of practices had ingrained the movements into his subconscious and it was fun to meet Shane midway and match each other through the steps, through the maneuvers, through the turns and passes around and around the rink. 

“Yeah.” Shane was moving well on the ice. His morning sessions were paying off, he felt confident and smooth and some days he felt even felt fast. An an hour skating in the morning had done more for his mental health and physical health than months of therapy ever had, but he’d never been much of a braggart so he shrugged, “I guess I’m getting there.”

“Shane Hollander 'getting there' is better than most people will ever be.” Ilya countered and Shane flushed red under the praise, but shrugged it off again, “Maybe.”

“I saw the game.” Ilya put a jolt of speed into the next pass, sending the puck winging towards Shane. “When you got hurt.”

“You watched it?” Crack. Shane’s stick smacked onto the ice to stop the puck, the noise loud and jarring, the jerky motion proof that Shane was still not coping very well with the aftermath of his injury. “That sucks. Out of all the games to see, that one sucks.” 

“Does it still hurt?” 

“Sometimes.” Shane had to stop and think back to the last time his knee and leg had registered as painful enough to even notice. “Mostly when I’m stressed out.”

“Is up here?” Ilya tapped his temple and it was the first time Shane felt seen and understood and not judged enough to admit, “Yeah. A lot of it’s in my head. I saw a specialist, had a top rated surgeon, took the first rounds of recovery really seriously so any damage left is pretty minimal. The whole goal was to get back on the ice as fast as possible and with as little pain as possible. But then…

But then. He didn’t have to elaborate. Clearly even with a specialist, top rated surgeon, and dedicated physical therapist, Shane’s plan to get back on the ice and keep playing hadn’t worked out.

“Does skating help it or bother it?” Ilya sent another fast pass. That time Shane accepted it smoothly and replied, “First few times I was pretty sore after skating, but it wasn’t bad. I got used to it. Yoga helps too.”

“Yoga.” Ilya circled round center ice, nodding approvingly when Shane followed him easily and fell back into position to keep passing the puck. “What color is your spandex jumpsuit and do you have matching leg warmers?”

“Fuck off.” Shane moved around Ilya and switched backwards, waiting for Ilya to adjust forward before saying, “Sorry about your Dad, by the way. I don’t think I said it earlier.”

“Is okay, it was a long time ago now." They picked up speed around a corner. “Dementia is shitty. Unfair to everyone. My Papa was an asshole my whole life, to me and Mama and Alexei. His words, his fists, he was angry all the time. But then dementia came and he was a whole new person. At the end, he even liked me. He didn't know me, but he liked me and he’d never liked me before.”

“Your dad didn’t like you?” Shane couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t his Dad’s favorite person and best buddy. “I’m… sorry. That's awful.” 

“Yes. And was hard to forgive him, when he did not even know me most days. But mostly it made me wonder.” Quieter, as they skated the blue lines. “What changed in him so much that he was one person before dementia, and someone else after. I do not want that for my girls. I do not want to change so much that when I am old, they do not know me anymore. 

“I didn't know any of that. About him being sick or– or how he was with you.” Shane hated that, fuck. “We really didn’t talk enough back then, did we?”

“No.” Ilya’s smile was small. Regretful. “We did not. But. Hindsight, yes?”

“Hindsight. Yeah.” Shane waited until they passed center ice before asking, “After your dad was gone. You didn't want to come back?” 

“No, I did.” Ilya made a motion around them, to the rink, the town, the fact that he was very clearly not still in Russia. “I did come back.”

“Right. But you didn’t want to come back to—“ Shane shut his mouth before he finished asking why Ilya hadn’t come back to hockey. Why Ilya hadn’t come back to him.

“Why didn’t you offer to coach the girls’s team?” He asked instead. "I know everyone here is pretty cool about respecting privacy, but I can't believe they wouldn't have asked you to help out when they know how good you were when you played for Boston." 

"The team had a Coach when we finished last season." Ilya wondered what Shane had been thinking a moment previous when his expression had dipped briefly sad. “We were in Russia when news came about Coach Keeso, but before I could offer?”

He pointed his stick at Shane, “You were here. Coach Hollander, swooping in to save the day with all his wins and records and fame, landing in our small town like superhero to keep the team together.”

“I dunno about saving the day, I think I was just the first person Rachel found to say yes.” Shane was glad every single day Rachel had found him and he’d accidentally on purpose said yes. “You pay for the kids' skates right? That’s you, who buys new skates for whatever team the girls are on every year?” 

“Oh no.” Ilya sighed loud and exaggeratedly mournful. “You know my secret?”

“Rachel was super unsubtle about it, yeah.” Shane chuckled at him. “Even though, once I figured out the Vetrova twins were also known as the Rozanova twins, it all made sense.” 

“Is funny how everyone knows, but everyone pretends not to.” Ilya moved so he could skate next to Shane. “Like they think they have a big secret and they think I have a big secret, but really everyone knows. Is a small town inside joke.” 

“Well, I'm sure they all appreciate it.” Shane had seen the invoice for the new skates, he knew exactly how much money Ilya had donated to cover the expense. “In a town like this, a gesture like that really makes a difference.” 

“Hockey is expensive. I have money. Why not help out?” He shrugged, then swerved in to bump playfully at Shane’s shoulder, “Besides, it's actually selfish for me. If parents can’t afford skates, no kids will sign up for the team and my girls can’t play. But if I buy the skates, problem is solved.” 

“That’s why you do it? For the super selfish reason of making sure your girls have plenty of kids to play hockey with?” Shane shot him a skeptical look and Ilya blinked back innocently, “Why else would I do it?”

“It’s been like ten years since you were known as Ilya Rozanov, certified asshole.” Shane knocked their sticks together. “Just admit you buy skates for the kids because you’re a sap and a softy.”

“I’d rather die.” He returned flatly and Shane laughed at him, then confessed, “I should do something like that with my money. I bought extra pads for a couple of the girls who needed it, but I’d like to do something that really makes a difference. Something useful.”

“Useful.” Ilya glanced at him curiously. “You feel useless?”

“Some days.” Then after a beat, “Most days, actually. Coaching helps though. Coaching helps a lot.” 

“Good thing you decided to stay and coach full time then.”

“Yeah.” Shane sent the puck towards the boards and slowed down to just skate, falling into step next to Ilya again as they rounded another corner. “Good thing.”

Silence. It felt good to be on the ice and moving. They fell into pace together without any particular effort and the tandem strides, the lines passing beneath their skates at a comfortable steady speed, sticks held loose and movements parallel, it was all easy. Breathing in that moment was easy.

Shane had missed the camaraderie of playing with someone even if only for easy drills and planned passes. It was nice, more comfortable than talking over burgers, more natural than talking at practice or via text and the laps stacked up, the corners came again and again, they were silent and skating and it so fucking easy to breathe, that Shane had to wonder how long he’d been struggling to inhale, how long he’d been fighting trying to exist in peace. 

“I miss this.” he broke the silence without meaning to. Said the quiet part out loud. Inside thoughts turned outside thoughts and Shane had to swallow past a lump of melancholy to admit, “I miss skating. Playing. Miss being out here on the ice. After I got hurt, it was like-- thinking about getting on the ice again was--" he swallowed again. "It was so bad. Had to retire for medical reasons and after that, every day was like-–” 

The injury hadn't broken him, but retiring had. The prognosis, diagnosis, reality of it had ripped Shane right down the middle. Had shredded him straight through the heart and straight through the center of who he’d always thought he’d be. 

“I know.” Ilya said simply. Quietly. It was understanding and sympathy and permission for Shane to let his voice crack grieving when he finally said it all out loud. “I watched the game. I saw you get hit. It was bad.” 

“It was really bad. I thought maybe I’d never skate again.” The day Shane had gone to get his skates custom fit to his newly fucked up foot and screwed together ankle, he’d been in so much pain he thought maybe he’d just never step on the ice again. Maybe he'd just be done. He'd thought being nothing and nobody might hurt less than the pain and futility of trying to be himself again. 

“But you still skate.” Ilya pointed out, not condescending or bossy, only noticing. Only encouraging in the bluntly matter of fact way he’d always been encouraging even back when most of their conversations revolved around when and where to get naked together. “So it is not so bad now?” 

“No.” It had been almost nine months. Almost nine months. It had been a handful of surgeries and months of physical therapy, not as many months of mental health therapy as he should have done, a move and a half liveable cabin and a volunteer career coaching little kids, and Shane smiled a very tiny bit because, “Uh no. It’s not so bad now. It’s actually pretty okay now. Most days."

Ilya swerved in to bump his shoulder again. That time, Shane bumped him back, then took a deep breath and gathered the rest of his rather tattered courage so he could ask, “Are you seeing anyone right now?” 

“Nope.” Ilya popped the ‘p’ of the word, shaking his head slowly. “You?” 

“No. No way.” He huffed a little. “Remember the whole washed up, Walmart brand thing?” 

“I remember thinking you were crazy to say that.” Ilya turned to look at him, studying Shane’s profile. “I know for certain every woman in this town would jump your bones to breaking if you gave them a chance.” 

“Maybe.” Shane might have been oblivious to people flirting with him, but even with his injury and lack of a career and has been status, he knew he was still objectively good looking– at least for a small town with very few eligible bachelors. “But I’m not uh-- not interested. Not right now.” 

He didn’t say he wasn’t interested in women. Certainly didn’t say he was definitely only interested in men. Shane didn’t say either of those things, but Ilya’s eyebrows rose like he heard it all anyway. 

“But you though.” Shane cleared his throat. “You aren't dating anyone? There aren't any moms at the bakery flirting with you to get free cake?” 

“Plenty of moms flirting with me. Sometimes Dads too.” They rounded a corner into shadows, and Ilya waited until they reached the light again to parrot Shane’s words back to him, “But I am not interested. Not right now and not in any of them.”  

Then, “If you came by the bakery and flirted with me?” Ilya switched backwards, still keeping pace side by side but facing Shane so he could catch all the micro-expressions Shane always tried to hide. “I would give you free cake all day.” 

“Right.” Shane rolled his eyes like his heart hadn't skipped a few hopeful beats, and tapped his stick against Ilya’s leg. “Sure.” 

“No, no , Shane, I am serious. Come by for cake some time.” Ilya kissed his fingertips and winked, “I will feed it to you with my fingers.” 

“It’s um.” Shane took a breath. Rubbed at his chin. “Weird that we call each other by first names now?” 

“Is it?” It was weird, and Ilya knew why it was weird, but like he did a lot with Shane, he asked the question anyway, “Why is it weird?”

“We never did that before.” Shane glanced over at the boards, at the bleachers, up at the lights before he managed to meet Ilya’s gaze again “I always called you Rozanov, you always called me–” 

“Hollander.” the word rolled thick off Ilya’s tongue, heavy in his accent. “Yes. Because we could fuck, but not use first names.” 

“Right. Yeah. But now it’s like.” Shane smiled hesitantly. “Normal.” 

“Because we are not just hockey players.” Ilya supplied. “No one here calls us Rozanov and Hollander, we have not been only those names in a long time. Well,” he rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “Not me for a long time. And for you, you are Coach here. Coach and Shane, not only Hollander.” 

“It makes sense.” Shane conceded. “But.” he sniffed. “You said the cake thing and called me Shane and I dunno. Right then it sorta sounded like you should have called me Hollander.” 

“You want me to call you Hollander when I am flirting with you.” Ilya was goading him, pushing him again, blue eyes sparking with amusement and Shane knew he blushed right through to his ears as he stammered back, “N-No. I didn’t say that. I meant– I mean, I’m not saying you were flirting with me.” 

“But clearly I was.” Ilya smirked, and Shane retorted flustered, “Clearly you weren’t if I couldn’t tell.” 

“Mmmm no.” Ilya saw Shane’s eyes go to the boards behind him, the upcoming corner and he adjusted to turn, still skating backwards and still with his eyes squarely on Shane’s face. “No. You are incapable of noticing when people flirt.” 

Shane started to protest, but Ilya jumped in to remind, “You didn’t know about Jacob.” 

“I definitely didn’t.” Shane’s mouth dipped into a self conscious frown. “But in my defense, why would I think the owner of a small town bar would be flirting with me?” 

“Okay. Okay.” Ilya pursed his lips, pretending to think it through. “What about me?” 

“What about you?” The zing of anticipation under his skin made the reply quick, made it a little bit snappy and Shane bit the inside of his cheek trying not to grin in response to the crackle of tension between them. 

“You remember CCM commercial.” Ilya knew full fucking well Shane remembered the CCM commercial. “I told you I asked for you to be in commercial, I set it up so we could see each other.” 

He paused for effect, thoroughly enjoying the twitch of Shane’s gorgeous mouth as he tried to hide a smile. “I still had to jerk off for you in shower before you thought maybe possibly I was flirting.” 

“Shit.” Shane laughed out loud, the sound echoing up towards the lights. “Shit. Okay. Maybe I’m historically bad at picking up flirting cues but these days, maybe you’re out of practice because you’ve been a boring dad for too long.” 

“Was that a good chirp for you?” Ilya wanted to know and Shane smacked their sticks together, still laughing, “It really was, so why don't you fuck right off?” 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Ilya slowed down without warning, switching his stick to one hand so he could catch Shane before they collided, spreading his hand warm and steadying at Shane’s side to slow him. 

“What are you doing?” Shane’s whole body jolted when Ilya’s palm landed at his waist, his next breath catching audibly loud and eyes going wide as he looked down at Ilya’s hand and then up to find Ilya suddenly way way closer than he’d expected to be. “Why’d you stop?” 

“Not stopping.” Ilya wasn’t stopping. He kept skating slowly backwards, his hand at Shane’s waist not pulling but guiding as Shane unconsciously, instinctively followed him forward at a matching speed.

Ilya wasn’t stopping, he tightened his grip at Shane’s waist a tiny bit, dug his fingers in to feel the flex and shift of the muscles in Shane’s back as they skated close and closer together, and lowered his voice to fill the very few inches of space between them, “But if I am out of practice flirting and you are so bad at noticing, maybe I should say it all plain?” 

“Plain.” Shane’s dark eyes dropped to Ilya’s mouth. Lingered. “Okay. Should I brace myself for this super obvious plain flirting, or…?” 

Shane was teasing, trying to tease, his mouth dry and heart pounding, pulse visibly hammering in his throat. Ilya smiled about it, but he wasn’t teasing in the slightest when he gripped Shane’s waist once, twice then murmured, “Tell me Hollander…Do you still like to be put on your knees?” 

“On my knees.” Shane’s mind slammed to a halt, all the noise and anxiety and nervousness rattling around his head all night, all day, thoroughly and suddenly silenced by the quietly firm question--

--then revving back up all at once scattered and a little bit frantic as he stuttered and stammered trying to figure what the hell to say when everything between them had so quickly shifted. “I– fuck. That– that was a really long time ago. And I– my leg is messed up so I don’t even know– I don’t even– Fuck. I haven’t done that in a really long time s-so–” 

“Is not what I asked.” Ilya didn’t stop, kept moving, kept skating backwards towards the boards with his hand at Shane’s side, not dragging only coaxing with barely any pressure and a knowing smile curving round his mouth as Shane kept coming forward following without any instruction at all. 

“I did not ask about your leg.” Ilya pivoted, skates scrrrch-ing on the ice as he turned them so Shane’s back was to the boards and Ilya was close, close, moving in close against him. “Or ask how long it has been.” 

Shane’s skates hit the yellow kickplate with a muted thump and he grabbed for the top edge of the boards for balance, dropping his stick and sucking in a sharp breath when Ilya adjusted in a split second, shifting his stick into the crook of his arm so he could grab Shane’s before it fell, and leaning them both against the boards. 

Ilya smiled a little bit, searching studying all over Shane’s face from the slight furrow in his brow to the unconscious part of his lips, the pink of his tongue at his teeth and the flush in his face. 

He’d missed this. Them. The sketchy, skittery, scattered few seconds before everything dialed into sharply focused, obsessive need. Ten years and Ilya hadn’t forgotten anything, and when he lifted his hand to bump his knuckles at Shane’s cheek and Shane started to turn towards it, into it, his mouth falling open a fraction of a millimeter more like he wanted–

–oh fuck, Ilya had to think wish hope Shane hadn’t forgotten any of it either. 

“I asked if you still liked it.” Ilya finally finished in a hoarse whisper, his head tilted and gaze zeroed in on Shane’s lips for a blistering few seconds before he looked up enough to find Shane’s eyes already gone hot and a little hazy around the edges, “To be on your knees.” 

“Fuck.” Shane blinked once, twice, heavy lidded and swaying into the barely there brush at his cheek. His fingers closed at Ilya’s sweater almost tugging, almost coaxing, almost almost pulling Ilya in faster and closer as he tilted his head like he was offering…

*brinnnnnnng!* *brinnnnnnng!*

“Motherfucker—!” Ilya yanked away when Shane’s phone started ringing screeching at them from Shane’s pocket and Shane scrambled to grab it, fumbling with sweaty fingers at the screen trying to mute the call. 

“Sorry.” he apologized frantically, awkwardly. “Sorry, it’s– fuck, it’s my property management company. They only ever call unless it’s an emergency. Sorry I gotta–” 

He flinched grimacing when another call came through immediately, just as loud, just as blaringly interrupting as the first. 

“Sorry.” He was sorry. “This is um– I’m sorry.” 

“Property management company.” Ilya held up both hands like it was fine, then propped his hands on his hips and blew out a breath cos it wasn’t really fine but he also wasn’t twenty years old and gonna act like an asshole about getting blue balled by a phone call either. “Okay Mr. Real Estate. Go take your call. Is fine.” 

It sure as hell didn’t feel fine, but Shane grit his teeth, stepped off the ice and answered the phone as politely as he could manage while he was still reeling dizzy, his legs shaky and his cock more than half hard in his slacks cos he’d almost been kissed. 

God, had he been self isolating, touch starved, fucking lonely for so long that he was getting hard over almost being kissed?  

“This is uh–” he cleared his throat. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Tried again. “This is Shane Hollander. Yeah. No it’s— it’s fine.” 

It sure as hell didn’t feel fine. Shane lumbered his way to the closest bench seat, holding the phone at his ear and yanking at the laces on his skate with the other hand, half listening and half cursing bad timing and shitty luck as the representative from the property management company rambled on about one of his rentals and minor flooding and how they wanted to get a couple bids from contractors first thing in the morning but couldn’t do that until he contacted the insurance company and signed off on any repair orders…

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll get ahold of the insurance company first thing in the morning.” Shane scooted down the bench and mouthed an apologetic ‘sorry’ when Ilya came to sit next to him and started taking off his skates too. He should have been listening to the phone call, but he couldn’t help watching Ilya’s strong fingers working at the laces, couldn’t help watching the flex of tendons in Ilya’s forearm once Ilya pushed his sweater up to his elbows or staring at the line of Ilya’s back when he bent far forward to grab his skate bag. 

Ilya looked up and Shane looked away, trying to tune back into the conversation so it wasn’t so obvious he’d been gawking. 

“No, that’s fine.” He was only half listening to the person on the other end of the line. “Yeah uh, you can go ahead and email me the pictures for evidence. I’ll send it all to insurance and hopefully they’ll approve a claim faster that way. Yeah. Okay.” He nodded a few times. “Yep. Thanks. Okay. Have a good rest of your night. Bye.” 

Shane put his phone down and blew out a noisy sigh. “Sorry about that.” 

“Everything is okay?” Ilya wiped down his skates and tucked them away into the bag. “You said emergency.” 

“Broken pipe at one of the Montreal condos. It’s not even that big of a deal, but they needed my permission as building owner to—“ Shane pushed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. But um. We should probably call it a night anyway, right?” 

He was a coward. The phone call had shattered the insulated hazy heat between them and now Shane was coldly re-aware of every single of the misgivings he’d had about the evening, all the anxiety about the not-date and worry about everything they still needed to talk about. It all crawled up the back of his throat and lodged behind his teeth, tasted like he was really fucking scared and wimping right the hell out.

 “We should probably call it a night.” Shane repeated lamely. “It’s like ten-thirty.”

“Yes, and ten-thirty is very late for grown men.” Ilya set his skate bag aside, but didn’t make any other effort to leave. “I had fun tonight.”

"Me too.” Shane ran his hands up and down his legs a few times, nervous and fidgety and trying to find the right words to end the night without inadvertently ruining the night. “And I guess if we’re going to have to see each other all the time, it’s good to get the awkward thing over with first. So this was good. Yeah.” 

“Awkward thing.” Ilya nodded a few times. “What is the awkward thing?”

“The awkward thing.” Shane repeated with a hint of exasperation. “I know I said we didn’t have to talk about what happened back then and why you left, but now that we did talk about it, we can move on and things won’t have to be weird anymore, right?”

Shane was deflecting. Downplaying. Distancing. They hadn’t really talked about what happened, not about the big important unspoken thing, not about Vegas, but that was okay. The night had been fine. Shane was willing to live with the answers he’d gotten.

They’d talked and laughed and managed to be mostly normal, and Shane thought yeah, he thought okay, he’d be able to get through practices and conversations without flinching every time he met Ilya’s eyes. It was doable. Manageable. Easier than pretending it was all was fine, and not near as scary as giving in to everything the almost kiss would bring up.

It was okay. 

But, “Maybe.” Ilya said non committedly, and Shane frowned, “Maybe? What do you mean maybe? You think it’s still going to be weird between us, even after we talked about it?”  

“I think we didn’t talk about everything important.” Ilya said slowly, pointedly, then turned towards Shane and hooked an arm at his waist, yanking him in right up against his body and only stopping once they were nose to nose and he could cup Shane’s chin in his calloused fingers. “We didn’t talk about this.”

“Fuck—!” Shane bit out, his hands flying up to brace at Ilya’s chest and keep him back a scant inch. “Wait. Wait.” 

“Okay. I am waiting.”  Ilya looked down at Shane’s hands at his chest and nodded. “Tell me no.”

“I—I—fuck.“

Ilya didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He didn’t touch Shane other than the hand at his chin, didn’t push closer despite Shane swaying towards him, didn’t look away from the flutter of Shane’s lashes against his cheek, the smatter of freckles dotted under his eyes, and didn’t ask again, didn’t push or prod or try anything coaxing.

After a tense moment, Shane’s eyes fell closed and his chin dropped to rest heavier in Ilya’s palm, not on purpose but because he remembered how it felt back when he could and did do exactly that every single time Ilya reached for him. His shoulders slumped and his mouth fell open beneath the slow sweep of Ilya’s thumb along his jaw as he leaned in the last inch between them, resting their foreheads together and exhaling shaking through a full body tremble.

“Okay.” Ilya thought maybe it was a no. Silence sure as hell wasn’t a yes, and ten years was a long time for someone’s non verbal agreement to still mean the same thing. Ten years ago Shane tucking into him with eyes closed and lips open was an invitation, but now Ilya didn’t know for sure. It didn't feel like an outright rejection, in fact the familiar lean in felt like trust from Shane, but Ilya didn't know for sure and he wasn’t willing to take a chance on guessing and ruin the night. 

“Okay.” Ilya swallowed back his disappointment and nodded again, easing away slowly so Shane could tell he was listening and waiting. “I had fun tonight. Maybe sometime soon we could try again and--"

“Yes.” 

“…what?”

“I said yes. C’mere.” Shane kissed Ilya first, went from bracing his hands at Ilya’s chest to digging into the thick sweater and using the leverage to yank Ilya into a messy, maybe slightly uncoordinated kiss. “Come here. Please?” 

“Shane.” 

Shane kissed Ilya first, but it only took a split second for Ilya to catch up and kiss him right back, only took a blink and a breath for Ilya to adjust his grip at Shane’s chin to direct the kiss towards something better, holding Shane’s face tight and crushing their mouths together.

Shane mumbled, “Fuck, oh fuck–!” into the push of Ilya’s tongue past his lips and Ilya groaned out loud when Shane went from grabbing at his sweater to grabbing at his ass, scooting and sliding on the bench trying to get closer, huffing frustrated when their positions side by side and cramped onto the bleachers didn’t allow for much for than a little groping, almost whining when the angle of the kiss was awkward cos neither one wanted to stop long enough to move and readjust and find some space. 

Eventually, “Here, come here.” Ilya pushed up from the bench clumsily, half bent at the waist with his hands on Shane’s face, in Shane’s hair, noses bumping and knees knocking as he tried to stand up without actually letting go, tried to get to his feet without breaking the kiss and tried to get Shane up with him all at the same time. 

“Got you.” he promised, grasping at Shane’s hands, his forearms, the bulk of his biceps and bodily hauling him up against him. Shane stumbled, his knee twinging and foot catching but Ilya grabbed him, “No no is okay, I got you.” and he meant it, wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist to keep him steady and wrapped his other hand around Shane’s throat to keep him right there moaning into a kiss and sucking at his tongue and oh it was so much better once they were standing. 

“We can’t do this here.” Shane craned his neck into a biting kiss at his ear, at the hinge of his jaw, shivering when Ilya’s mouth slid wet and hot down his throat. “Ilya, we– we can’t–” 

He shoved his hands under Ilya’s bulky sweater and cursed, “Holy shit, you feel good.” raking his nails over Ilya’s stomach, scratching through the trail of hair he could feel leading down to Ilya’s pants. “But we can’t do this out here in the open. We gotta–” his eyes rolled back when Ilya returned the motion, popping the top few buttons on his shirt and pushing it aside to grope at his chest and thumb over his nipples. “Oh my god.” 

“Fuck.” A yank at his belt had Ilya wrenching away from tasting the sweat at Shane’s collarbone and thrusting up into the weight of Shane’s hand over his zipper, at the fasten of his pants, under the waistband to cup him through his briefs. “Fuck, Shane–!” 

“Not here.” Shane kept repeating as he curled his fingers trying to stroke along the outline of Ilya’s cock, moaning something ravenous when the thick length kicked under his palm. “N-not here, we gotta find– my office is–” 

“Office. Okay.” Ilya couldn’t move with Shane’s hand still down the front of his pants and he laughed breathless and carried away half delirious when he tried to drag Shane’s hand out and got his bottom lip bit hard for the attempt. 

“Brat.” he caught him into another kiss, hands digging into Shane’s back, into his butt, dragging him forward so Shane could rub off on the width of Ilya’s thigh for a heady few pushes. “Cannot walk if you are holding my dick. We need privacy, yes?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we need privacy.” Shane tangled his free hand in Ilya’s hair and tugged at the curls, groaning as he rolled his hips shoving his cock into Ilya’s leg, the vee of his hips, up against his own hand still fumbling in Ilya's pants. “Yeah. Office. Okay.” 

They barely made it the couple dozen yards from the bleachers to the office door without stumbling and falling, hands roaming greedy grasping everywhere they could reach and steps tripping, knees and feet knocking cos Ilya didn’t want to stop kissing long enough to bother paying attention to the dimly lit floor, wjo;e Shane couldn’t feel anything past the heat and pressure of Ilya’s hands holding him steady and the low vibration of Ilya’s deep voice in his ear promising, “Got you, got you, come on.” 

They were only a few feet into the office when Shane started yanking at Ilya’s pants again, but Ilya, “I want to see you first.” pulled back to find the light switch. “Let me see you, has been so long.” 

“No, it's okay, leave the lights off.” Even so close to gone, even so far carried away in the moment and the kiss and the feel of Ilya rocking hard against him, Shane hesitated self conscious at the idea of being seen, "You’re right, it’s been a long time so stop making me wait, come on.” 

“No no, let me see you.” It was dark, so Ilya missed the wrinkle of uncertainty on Shane’s expression. He heard the wobble in Shane’s voice but thought it was the same as the wobble in his voice, the raspy strained need undercutting every breath and every syllable. He flipped the lights on and was too busy pushing Shane’s unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, too busy staring wide eyed and jaw dropped open appreciative at the view to notice Shane cringing about being so suddenly bare. 

And Shane hated it. For the brief few seconds when the lights switched on and Ilya was staring at him, all Shane could think about was how he'd been so much better looking the last time Ilya saw him naked ten years previous, he'd been so much better looking than he was right then after months of recovery, limited physical activity, not working out enough and not eating right and not— not—

Oh, Shane hated it so so much for those brief few seconds when their shadowed secret moment was illuminated and his shirt was open, body on display and Ilya was just staring at him. 

But. 

“Fuck, Shanychka…” Ilya trailed off into Russian, rough and awestruck as he spread his hands at Shane’s chest, shaking his head and murmuring, “Ya khochu tebya, ty ochen' krasivyy…” then bending in to seal his mouth at Shane’s nipple, sucking pulling at the sensitive bud until Shane arched up under him with a raggedly surprised curse and buried his hands in Ilya’s hair to hold him there. 

And. 

“Ilya,” Shane panted half wonderingly, half stunned at the reaction and the attention and the way Ilya kept mumbling in Russian sounding awestruck and adoring as he crowded in closer and kept kneading grasping groping all over him like he couldn’t get enough. 

Then. 

 “Ilya–!” Shane yelped in shock, clutching at Ilya’s shoulders for balance when he was grabbed by the back of his thighs and hefted right onto the desk like he didn’t weigh a damn thing. “Shit–!” 

“Okay?” Ilya stripped his own sweater off and tossed it away, wedged between Shane’s legs and snatched him into a kiss, “Still okay?” working his hands down the back of Shane’s pants to push the well tailored material off the curve of his ass and gripping tight almost bruising yanking Shane to the edge of the desk so they could grind together. “Still want?” 

“Yeah, I still want. I do.” Shane cared a whole lot less about his stomach creasing into rolls when he sat up when the upside of having the lights on was getting to see Ilya. He was still gorgeous, still flawless, the stretch of his shoulders almost intimidating and the pale skin littered with beauty marks and moles stunning and Ilya was still strong, still broad everywhere but then softer in places Shane hadn’t been expecting. 

He curved a little pliant at the dip of his waist and had more to hold at his back, Shane’s fingers sank in dimpling where a long time ago there had only been unforgiving muscle and bruising strength, there was a scar Shane didn’t remember slashed at Ilya’s ribs and he traced it first lightly with his fingers, then pushed Ilya back enough to bend in and get his lips and tongue on it, and Ilya breathed a curse, fingers tight in Shane’s hair for as long as he could stand before he dragged Shane up and took his mouth again. 

“Do you have anything?” Shane slid his hand into Ilya’s pants, and pushed his briefs down as he went, closing his fingers around Ilya’s cock and tightening his grip reflexily reacting the weight of it in his palm, “Fuck, you’re so hard, I forgot…” it cut off into a kiss, into a groan when a swipe of his thumb over the tip spilled precome over his fingers and Ilya shuddered moaning loud against his tongue in response. “Did you bring lube or anything?” 

“Yes, yes I brought it.” Ilya had a small bottle of lube in his pocket and Shane mouthed at his throat, nipping and biting then laving his tongue wet over the red marks as Ilya scrambled to rip the plastic off and pop the seal, “You planned for this?” 

“Not planned.” Too much lube, it was slippery and cold and Ilya blew on it, rubbing it between his hands to warm it before smearing it onto Shane’s palm, “Just hoped.” and lifting Shane’s cock out of his pants to slide lube slick fingers down to the thick base, pushing their foreheads together and sighing, “Dreamed…” when Shane thrust into his hand with a noise that was damn near a whimper.

“I missed you.” Ilya breathed the words nearly inaudible, honest and nervous and let them get lost behind another kiss, another push of tongue and another greedy purse of lips as they moved first a little awkward and then very quickly remembering how to touch, jerking each other off with fast strokes and noses squashed together sharing air through loud, panting kisses. Shane hooked his foot at Ilya’s calf to keep him close and Ilya braced a hand on the desk behind them so he could keep them steady, so Shane could wriggle and rub up against him as much as he wanted and not worry about tipping backwards or sliding off the front. 

Lube stained the open flaps of their pants and their hands bumped, knuckles catching and knocking as they stroked over each other, too far gone to bother finding a good rhythm, carried away too far to care about the mess. Shane dropped his head back biting his lip trying not to shout when Ilya twisted his wrist at the tip of his cock, and Ilya bit too hard, split Shane’s bottom lip when Shane’s fingers slid low tangling into the hair at his balls, and they were so keyed up, worked up, ready for one another that it was fast. It was all too hurried.

Every motion and kiss was graceless and chaotic and desperate right up until Ilya grabbed for Shane’s face with his clean hand, cupped his cheek and held his jaw, pressing his thumb to the corner of Shane’s mouth and tugging at his bottom lip.

Then it all slowed down crystallizing vivid for a few endless seconds, as Ilya sucked in a too loud, too harsh breath watching Shane open up obedient and willing and wanting beneath the push at his mouth, lips parting and tongue sweeping out wet...

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya rasped and Shane’s whole body wracked through an answering tremor, “Jesus Christ, Rozanov.” 

“Do you still need something in your mouth when you cum?” Ilya whispered it, rumbled it, growled it into Shane’s ear and Shane whimpered, “Oh fuck.” and turned to catch Ilya’s thumb between his teeth, drew it into his mouth sucking and pulling. Ilya groaned in needy disbelief as he bent to kiss Shane around it, fucking his tongue past the push of his thumb at Shane’s lips and urging, “Come on, come on, come on…”

“Oh fuck, Ilya—!” Shane cried out around Ilya’s thumb, dropping his head and curling forward into Ilya’s chest, letting go of Ilya’s cock so he could clutch for Ilya’s hips with both hands as he shook apart finishing. “Oh f-fuck, fuck–!” 

“Shane.” Ilya finished almost immediately after, wrapping his cum-soaked hand most of the way around himself and Shane’s cock together, jerking fast and hard until Shane was shaking over stimulated and Ilya was clenching his teeth groaning as he came too, eyes wide staring down at the sight of his cock throbbing, spilling over the tip of Shane’s cock and adding to the mess dripping off his fingers and puddling into the creases at Shane’s stomach. 

“Come here, right here.” Ilya kissed him right away, had to kiss him right away, eased his thumb from Shane’s lips and covered Shane’s mouth in a deeply adoring kiss, hand still moving at their laps as their cocks started to soften and Shane’s breathing started to slow, the tension bleeding from his frame bit by bit until he was slumped into Ilya. 

“I missed you.” Ilya laughed under his breath, not because it was funny but because it was incredible, because he felt buzzy and spacey but sated and heavy all at the same time and Shane was still holding him, still pressed close, still murmuring, “Ilya…” in a barely there whisper with every shaky breath. 

“I missed you.” he said it again, nudged Shane’s chin up and kissed him again. “Fuck, we did not forget how to do that, hm? Was so good.” 

“Il—Ilya…” Shane was swaying on the desk, heavy lidded and kiss bruised lips parted, and Ilya crooned wordlessly soft into his ear, settling his arm at Shane’s shoulders and nuzzling into his throat, mouthing kisses at his neck, at his cheek, promising, “Is okay, I got it. Got you. Missed you, tk krasivyy you are so pretty like this, beautiful when you go spacey. I almost forgot–” 

He huffed another little laugh, shook his head, “No, I did not forget. Not anything about you.” he rubbed firm circles down Shane’s back grounding him, kneaded his knuckles into Shane’s thigh and worked his way to Shane’s knee, rubbing lightly over the bulky scar he could feel under the trousers. “I think maybe I forgot how good it feels when you get all gone for me though.” 

He dotted a kiss at Shane’s brow, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, then hovered lingering, “I already can’t wait to see you again.” and nudged close enough to feel Shane’s lips against his own when he asked quiet and hopeful, “When can I have you again?” 

“Again?” Shane mumbled almost slurring and Ilya kissed him through it, smiled thrilled through it, “Da, Shanychka, again. When can I see you and kiss you and have this with you again?" 

“Again.” That time the word cut through the cloudy post orgasm daze, highlighting red and warning and registering wrong into Shane’s head.

No. 

Oh no no no fuck.

It took Ilya a minute to realize Shane going still against him wasn’t because Shane was resting, but because he was freezing up resisting.

He brushed a kiss to Shane’s forehead and prodded teasing, “You are thinking about game calendar, aren’t you? I will have to make appointment weeks in advance to catch Coach Hollander with free time?” because it took him a minute to realize Shane wasn’t holding him close anymore, that the tremble in Shane’s body wasn’t coming down post orgasm bliss, but the beginning of panicky goosebumps as his body shut down cold.  

“Shane?” By the time the foggy daze cleared from Ilya's head enough for him to realize something was wrong, Shane was already untangling from his arms and pushing away, pushing back.

“Hey, whoa.” Ilya tried to lean close and check in, “What happened?” 

“Nothing. It’s fine.” Lying, Shane was lying. He stumbled around his desk to put some space between them and grabbed a water bottle from the case by the bulletin board, opening it over the garbage can with a quick crack and pouring it over the mess on his hands before pulling his pants back up to his waist, buttoning and zipping and definitely not looking at Ilya.

“Shane?” Ilya plucked one of the water bottles from the case as well, movements cautious and eyes trained on Shane as he tried to clean himself up too, picking up his sweater and shrugging back into it while he waited for Shane to say something, to say anything, his stomach twisting uncomfortable the longer Shane stayed silent. “V chyom delo, something is… wrong?” 

“Uh no. Nope. Nothing’s wrong.” Lying, Shane was lying and he barely got the words out, choking on them as he tried to do the buttons up on his shirt, cursing when he realized Ilya had popped several buttons off and scattered them around the room in the rush to see him. “Um, it’s just um– I–” 

“Shane.” 

“No.”  The room was too small. The lights too bright. His chair was too far down and Shane thought he was falling falling falling when he tried to sit and it was lower than he thought, he panicked for the disorienting seconds before his butt met the cushion and he could grab at the desk with both hands so everything stopped tilting. “Um. No. Ilya. Not again.” 

“Not again.” Ilya poured a little water on the edge of the desk and discreetly wiped the smear of sweat and cum away with a couple tissues, tossing them towards the trash can before carefully, slowly, moving to sit in one of the folding chairs by the wall. “What does that mean, not again. What do you mean? You said you wanted–” 

“I know what I said.” Shane held onto the desk until his knuckles went white, staring at the striations in the wood surface until his vision went blurry. “And I meant it. I said yes and I meant it. Um. I meant it right then. Yeah." 

The vice grip at Ilya’s chest loosened a notch at the confirmation that he hadn’t misunderstood what Shane wanted and pushed, but then everything went tight and scary again when Shane kept staring at the desk, kept talking dull and miserable, “But now I’m saying no. We aren’t doing this again. I mean it.” 

If Shane hadn’t gone so quickly shut down cold, Ilya might have walked around the desk and challenged him. He might have held Shane’s chin and forced him to look him in the eye and repeat it because the words felt like a lie, the way Shane had fallen to pieces melting soft for him made the words echo like a lie, the way Shane had grabbed him in tight kissing him first and holding him close sure made it all sound like a lie. 

…if it was ten years previous and any night other than Vegas, Ilya would have teased and goaded and confronted Shane with all the evidence saying otherwise. He would have brushed off Shane’s denial cos so many times Shane had texted ‘fuck off’ about a hook up then showed up at Ilya’s door anyway, he would have laughed at Shane’s insistence on ‘not again’ cos they’d each said that a hundred different times and neither had meant it even once. 

But Ilya stayed sitting in the uncomfortable folding chair with plenty of distance between them and clasped his hands tight, set his jaw and tried to sound calm when he offered, “Shane. We are not kids anymore. We are not young and stupid and being dumb. There is nothing wrong with this, we are–” 

“I’m not doing this again.” Shane didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, he was dropping, spiraling, lost and drowning in the realization that he wasn’t okay with Ilya, wasn’t okay with pretending, wasn’t okay with any of it and he’d been too goddamn stupid to recognize it until right then when it was all too late. 

“I– I can’t do this again.” Shane finally looked up and Ilya flinched from the naked pain in his dark eyes, the misery writ into the downturn of his mouth. “I thought I was gonna be okay with being friends and– and maybe doing this. I thought we could pick everything up again and be just like we used to and ignore all the other stuff but I um– I can’t. You touched me and I collapsed. Went all spacey and dumb about it and that was embarrassing, it was humiliating, I shouldn’t have–” 

“No.” Ilya wasn’t about to listen to that, he wasn’t going to sit there and let Shane call going soft and shaky and quiet for him 'embarrassing' and 'humiliating' when Ilya was shaking over how good it had felt to be fallen into trusted the way Shane used to fall into him trusting. “No, Shane. Listen. Tonight was fun, yes? We had fun. Was a good date–” 

“This wasn’t a date.” 

“Okay, we are all done pretending that.” Ilya slashed his hand through the air, shaking his head. “Of course it was a date. This is a date. You are worried, I am too. I am worried too,” he emphasized, “because yes, I thought we could go back to normal like we used to but we can’t, we have to talk about things first. We should have talked first before doing," a gesture to the room, to the desk, "so okay.” 

He spread his hands out wide, palm up and fingers open. “Let's talk. We will figure it out and then I will kiss you goodnight and it will be okay."

“No. I can’t do this again.” Shane repeated in a hollow sounding whisper, and Ilya’s jaw clenched, his stomach dropping nauseous when Shane’s eyes went a little darker blank, “Ilya, last time we tried to do this sort of casual, no strings attached thing, it ended with you gone and me fucked up for– for like ever. So no. I’m not doing it again. I won’t.” 

“It was not casual with us back then. You know that. And I was not just gone.” Ilya denied. “Shane, I told you. My Papa–” 

“No, I know. You told me, I listened, I get it.” Shane got it, understood it, but he still shook his head, pointedly ignoring Ilya's insistence that they had never been casual, because he couldn't do that, he couldn't think about how many years he'd spent lying about that. “Super valid reason for you to leave. And it was the right choice. I get it. Except now I feel really fucking stupid because–” 

“Shane.” 

“--because you moved on and grew up,” he raised his voice loud. Scared. “But sometimes I look at you and it still feels like our first time at my condo when I was holding your jacket and stalling trying to figure out how to ask you to stay. You got married,” 

“Just listen.” Ilya pleaded, but Shane cut him off, “You got married and divorced and had a whole life but I’m still stuck in Vegas stressing out because you were so weird that night, we didn’t even kiss and I was panicking cos caring that we didn’t kiss meant I had to admit I was falling in-- I was starting to get feelings for you."

“Dorogoy, no.” Ilya rubbed his hand over his mouth, up the side of his face, pulled rubbing at his earlobe anxious cos he knew what was coming next. “Wait. Please.” 

“You have kids now.” the words were heartbroken, bittersweet and miserable because Shane adored Mariya and Nadya, he adored them, but they were irrefutable proof that Ilya had moved on in every possible way, “And some days I think i'm still stuck right there in Vegas wondering how you went from treating me so good for my first time, to acting like you didn’t want to touch me at all. Ilya, I had to beg you to touch me and– and trust me, I know it’s pathetic to still be stuck there, I know it is. But that’s why we can’t do this again.” 

“That’s why I can’t do this again.” Shane’s blank gaze landed back on Ilya, self loathing and resignation and exhaustion sagging into his features. “Cos it’s really fucking pathetic that you grew up and moved on and can handle hooking up for like-- like old time's sake or whatever, but I can’t even keep it together long enough to get through sex without freaking out and thinking about Vegas."

He motioned between them wearily, "That's not good for me. I can't do this. I can't be with you and then fucking spiral thinking about that night, and about how I didn’t know it was the last time I was ever gonna see you, and getting upset again cos you treated me like you were already done with me. Like you were already gone. Like you’d already made up your mind to–” 

Shane stopped, sudden recognition and realization dawning on his face, and Ilya muffled a curse into his palm.

“Shanychka, you need to listen to me right now.” he said very softly. “Before you say next thing, let me say–” 

“Were you already planning to go to Russia?” Shane couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. “You– you barely even looked at me in Vegas. Barely even touched me. I did everything you asked and you fucked me face down in the bed like–” 

Ilya closed his eyes. 

“--like you’d already decided to go back to Russia.” The beat of horrified silence in the room was deafening. “Holy shit. Ilya. You already knew you were leaving and not coming back. You knew in Vegas?!” 

“No.” Ilya forced his eyes back open. Shane deserved to be looked in the eye when he learned the truth. “I didn’t know in Vegas. I mean,” fuck. “Yes, I knew in Vegas. But I had planned,” breathe. “Since Sochi.” 

The quiet words hit Shane like a slap to the face. “Wh–what?” 

“Since Sochi.” It wasn’t any easier to say the second time around, but Ilya kept his eyes on Shane and forced the words out, “My Papa was already slipping at the games, Shane. He forgot about my Mama, about his new wife, he was forgetting himself. My brother is useless. Lazy. I had the money to take care of Papa and it was my responsibility so– so I came back to Boston to win the Cup and get the players bonus, then made the plan to leave. Yes.” 

Shane stared at him, and Ilya confessed haltingly, “I thought goodbye would be easier if you were mad with me.” 

“Easier for who?” Whispered, then louder, “And what goodbye?!” 

Shane came out of the cold shocked denial and slid right into white hot anger, “There was no goodbye, Ilya! You ghosted me for six months after Sochi then fucked me like we were strangers and you didn’t– you couldn’t even look at me when I left! We didn’t even–” 

Shane dragged his hands, his nails over his face. “Holy fuck. Ten goddamn years, Ilya. Ten years and I couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t let you go. I kept thinking I should have pushed it, should have stayed and talked longer with you cos if I would have known if was the very last time I'd ever see you, I would have done things different! But you planned it like that?” 

Louder again, echoing around the office and into the empty rink, “You planned it! Stayed away, treated me like shit, you wanted me pissed off and mad at you at the end, so when you left– oh motherfucker.” 

Shane was furious, and it twisted up suffocating and raw and worse in his chest when tears welled in his eyes as the final piece of it all clicked into place. 

“Four years.” he said flatly. Devastated. “Four years we spent together and it meant so little to you that you knew it was over, you knew it was the end and motherfucker, you couldn’t even kiss me goodbye?” 

“...Five years.” Ilya should have kept his mouth shut, but it was too late. The words were already out there, the truth and pain and ugly of it all was already out there, so he let his shoulders slump and head hang and said it again. “Us. Together. Summer before rookie season. We had five years.” 

“Five years.” Shane laughed. It was brittle and brutal and sharp. “Of course. Yeah. Okay. Five years meant nothing to you. Thanks for correcting me on that.”

“I’m not trying to be mean.” Ilya wasn’t trying to be mean, he was desperate and tired and soul sick, heart sick, and he wasn’t trying to be mean. “I was a stupid kid. I was scared and trying to figure it all out and I thought–”

“Get out.”

“No.” Ilya shook his head. Begged. “We should talk about it. We have to talk about it.” 

“Fuck you, we don’t have to talk about anything. I don’t want to talk about it. I want you to leave.” Shane hunched his shoulders, angled his body away and pointed to the door. “You need to leave. Get the fuck out of my office and get out of the rink. Just go. Leave." 

Ilya left, taking his skate bag and hurrying down the dim hallways, bursting through the side door and out into the parking lot so he could throw himself into the front seat of his car and find a cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands and pounding on the steering wheel cursing raging into the uncaring cold night. 

Shane turned the lights back off in his office and slumped into the chair, folding his arms and hiding his face on the desk, head down and eyes closed tight against the oppressive dark and heavy silence and the smell of Ilya, of sex, of them still lingering in the air. 

He never should have said yes to the stupid non-date. Never should have said yes to skating. Shane should have just stayed in his miserable little cabin and forced himself through a conversation with Hayden and never got his stupid fucking hopes up when it came to Rozanov, Shane knew better, he knew better, he was such a fucking idiot. 

“I’m such an idiot.” he hissed through clenched teeth, the words hoarse from a throat clogged with tears he refused to let fall. “Why do I still care so much, I’m such a fucking idiot…” 

****

At some point past 3 a.m., Shane jerked out of a miserable, uncomfortable sleep in his office chair and fumbled for his phone as it lit up chiming and ringing with text after text after text.  

They were all from Lily, and Shane’s broken heart stuttered in his chest when he saw all the pictures, dozens and dozens of screen shots of all the text messages he had sent Lily from 2014 clear through to the most recent Christmas.

“What the fuck?” he whispered as all the messages loaded, then his phone chimed two more times in quick successions

From Lily: Five years meant everything to me.

From Lily: I couldn’t ever let you go either.  

****

Chapter Notes:

Full Disclosure : You don’t have to read these notes. You will never miss anything important to the story by skipping my end of chapter rambles. 

Other than the “coming up!” at the bottom, these notes are just my thoughts about the chapter, a peak into my writing process, my Big Feelings about certain dynamics, easter eggs and/or cameo mentions…like a mental “debrief” before I start the next chapter. Sometimes it’s a few lines, other times I talk ALOT,  it’s not about upping my word count for a chapter (like, be so for real, my chapters are bananas long way before I add these notes) it’s literally just me wanting to talk about the chapter and posting here feels like I’m talking to friends about my favorite characters. 

So yeah. Not mandatory in the slightest, but if you DO want to read my rambles, buckle up cos I have ALOT of thoughts on this chapter: 

I love the getting ready parallels/contrast for Hollanov. Ilya with a full, noisy life and supportive bestie versus Shane alone and an awkward convo with a semi-estranged friend. Both stressing over clothes but Ilya is stressing because the Not Date is so important while Shane is stressing because his clothes are a direct reflection of his life ie: stuck between not being a hockey player but also not being anything else yet. Ilya is firmly settled in life so the Not Date is exciting but Shane isn’t settled at all so the Not Date triggers all his insecurity of who/what he isn’t anymore. 

Date Notes: Playing footsie under the table? Tone it down, boys. Shane calling himself Walmart Brand Shane Hollander cos he doesn't think he's still a catch and Ilya looking at him like he's insane. Shane wanting to ask about Svetlana and Ilya telling him "its more your business than anyone else's". Shane "I'm gonna need you to use my last name when you flirt with me, thanks" Hollander. 

My favorite part (besides the girls quacking, obvs) is when they get on the ice and it’s immediately better. They BELONG on the ice together. It’s easier to talk, to flirt, to laugh and just like in canon, that heat on the ice translates right into sexy stuff. Love the visual of them skating in and out of shadows/light and Ilya waiting until they are in the light to say important things.

ALSO “Still okay?” is quite possibly one of the hottest lines of dialogue ever uttered in a show ever and I will over use that in HR fics until I die. 

I could (and have, and will willingly do so again) talk for hours about how gorgeous and like... INGRAINED... a Dom/sub dynamic is their relationship and I love it in the date scene specifically.

Ilya handling the flow of conversation, having options for their date, letting Shane avoid certain topics but not letting him run from others, handling the food thing, Ilya is physically engaged at all times but gives Shane complete control, he LISTENS and being heard in every single way gives Shane the freedom to open up and be honest.

If y’all read “Bare” you KNOW I am all about that “Ilya makes it safe for Shane to just be Shane” and seeing that dynamics here is so fun. 

Also. Body insecurity vs body worship? Yes, it will show up again, yes it will be intensely romantic and stunningly intimate on both sides, and for those invested in the food-issue storyline, yes Ilya’s unconditional acceptance (horniness) will help with that too. 

That post-sex clarity/anger/heartbreak though. It’s like a light switched ON in the proverbial room of their drama. Ilya is excited for everything he sees moving forward while Shane only sees the mess of everything he never coped with.  

“Motherfucker, you didn’t even kiss me goodbye?” Was one of the OG dialogue/ideas for this fic. Shane is angry and betrayed and feels STUPID cos he spent years wondering what if/how/why and agonizing over those last minutes only to find out it wasn’t some series of unfortunate events, it was all on purpose.

Ilya planning to leave- Canon!Ilya grieves that he couldn’t be there for his Papa and I used that grief as the catalyst for like… he knew he had a responsibility, knew Alexei wouldn’t handle it, so he made the decision to give up everything to be there for his dad. He got his team to the cup, then cut ties in the US, had a whole plan to make sure Shane was angry/over him so the goodbye would be easier—  in his early 20s Ilya really thought he was handling it the best way possible for everyone except HIMSELF honestly.

“Five years” One of my favorite canon details is Ilya “summer before rookie season” because it’s so important to Ilya ‘certified fuck boy, full time lover boy’ Rozanov that everyone knows he’s been with Shane since the summer BEFORE rookie season. Turning it around here where he says it and Shane is devastated by it?? OW PAIN.

Ilya sending him ten years worth of screenshots??  OW PAIN!! 

Coming Up: Important conversations and understanding from both of them, a dance, (!) a smooch (!!) and a promise (!!!)

Chapter 5: Orbit (can't stay away)

For the very first time since Shane started coaching the Montbonne girls U9 team, Ilya and the twins were first and fastest out the door gone after Monday’s practice. 

Ilya had never once left the rink sooner than strictly necessary after a practice. He lingered every single time, waiting for Shane to come from the office and talk for a minute, hanging out on the bleachers while Shane finished his team progress notes, giving Nadya and Mariya way too much time on the pinball machine or letting them slide around the ice in their shoes just so he had a reason to stay and garner some attention from the Coach. 

But when Shane dismissed the girls from practice with high fives and gentle taps on their helmets, Ilya bundled the twins up and hustled them away well before most of the girls had even finished their snacks and while the parents were still standing around chatting. 

Shane sure as hell noticed the abrupt departure, but he didn’t look, didn’t comment, and pretended he was busy jotting down his usual after practice notes when Nychele whined, “Where are Mayday and Nadya going? I want to tell them about my birthday party!” 

Shane half expected Ilya to come back in after putting the girls in the car. He ducked into the office for a trash bag to collect snack wrappers and juice bottles, and sort of expected Ilya to be sitting on the bleachers waiting for him. Shane accepted a sparkly pink  birthday invitation from Nychele and winked good-naturedly at Matilde when she whispered, “Nychele insisted on inviting you!” and kind of expected the double doors to close behind them, then very quickly swing back open to let Ilya through. 

Shane wasn’t going to say it out loud, wasn’t going to admit it to himself in any way, shape, or form, but after a disastrous not-date, dozens of picture messages worth of unanswered text messages, then an entire weekend of silence, he really fully fucking expected Ilya come find him, pursue him, not let up until they managed to talk. 

Not that Shane wanted to talk. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to break Ilya’s nose. Thought maybe he’d knock Ilya’s teeth right out if the asshole showed up and tried to downplay it all with a cocky smile and smart ass comment like he expected things between them to be okay. 

They used to do that. Back then. Back before. Petty fights and dumb arguments inevitably turned into ignored texts and skipped hook ups until one of them offered a dumb joke or sent a stupid meme and they went right back to doing what they always did. 

They used to do that. But one of them getting pissy about losing a game and the other one going too far being purposefully aggravating was way different than Vegas and Ilya’s plan and Shane not having slept in three days because he hated himself for letting it hurt so bad. 

So no, Shane didn’t want to talk. But he still sort of, kind of halfway definitely really expected Ilya to seek him out and try to make it better, and it sure felt a certain kind of empty when he left the office, turned the lights off in the rink and Ilya wasn’t there. 

Whatever. 

“Shane.” 

“Fuck!” Shane didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be upset Ilya wasn’t waiting to talk to him, and didn’t know what to do when he locked the rink doors and found Ilya standing by his car. 

“Fuck.” Shane retreated a step before he stopped himself. Flinched before he caught himself. He blinked and schooled his features, set his jaw and straightened his shoulders, then took a breath and tried again, “I mean. What are you doing here?” 

“Practice was not the right place to talk.” Ilya zipped his leather jacket his neck and shoved his hands in his pockets, bracing against the whistle of late autumn wind around the corner of the rink, and against the stony irritation set deep into Shane’s eyes. “I came back.” 

“Right.” Shane didn’t move from standing by the side door. “Okay. Where are the girls?” 

“Bakery.” Ilya jerked his thumb in the general direction of downtown and Main Street. “Alicia is making cinnamon rolls. Nadya is learning to make frosting and Masha likes to spread the brown sugar so–” 

It didn’t matter. Ilya didn’t bother finishing the sentence. Shane didn’t need a full explanation and back story of where the girls were, the point was that Ilya had come back without the twins which meant they could talk without being overheard by nosy little know-it-alls in matching sweaters. 

“I am sorry.” Ilya backed up a few steps to lean against his car so Shane could move from the door without feeling crowded. He kept his hands in his pockets, the collar of his jacket turned up against the wind, and explained haltingly, “For Friday and the date. And for everything else too, yes. But first I am sorry for Friday. It was a fun night and I shouldn’t have–” 

“Don’t.” Shane tossed his skate bag in the back seat of the car and shut the door loud. “It’s fine. It’s okay.” 

“Okay?” No, that didn’t seem right. Ilya frowned, “What is okay? Because this,” he waved his hand between them, “is obviously not okay.” 

“No, it is. Cos you were right.” Shane didn’t want to talk, but three days of insomnia had also meant three days of dissecting every second of their not-date, of planning and scripting and trying to figure out what to say when they inevitably ended up in the same room again. 

The first several times Shane had tried to think through a follow-up conversation with Ilya, he’d been sick to his stomach, ten years worth of unresolved and unacknowledged grief making him physically nauseous. The next few times, he’d been so angry his jaw still hurt from grinding his teeth. But eventually, with exhaustion burning behind his eyes and resignation sitting heavy in his chest, Shane had sorted out his head enough to tell Ilya, 

“We were kids.” He kept his eyes on the scuffed toes of his sneakers, on the cracked asphalt and bits of gravel in the parking lot. “Your dad was sick. You were trying to figure out how to handle all of it from the other side of the world. I remember you told me one time that you always sent a bunch of money home, and I’m sure you had to send basically everything to cover your Dad’s doctor stuff. You said your brother was useless, right? You were the only one doing anything to handle the situation, and that's insane.”  

Shane nodded, convincing himself and convincing Ilya, “You had a whole bunch of stuff going on. Really hard stuff. I don’t know how the hell I would handle that sort of thing now, much less ten years ago when my mom was still scheduling my doctor’s appointments and my Dad practiced press conference answers with me so I didn’t freeze up in front of reporters.” 

He tried for a laugh. Ilya’s eyes flickered curiously uncertain about the rapid fire, succinctly understanding speech. 

“Besides.” Shane nodded again, convincing himself and convincing Ilya, “It wasn’t like I was a priority for you.” 

“Whoa. Hey.” Ilya didn’t like that, but when he opened his mouth to argue that particular point, Shane cut him off with a quick shake of his head, “I’m not being an asshole, Ilya. I’m serious. Whatever we were doing back then was already less important than games and practices and our regular off-ice lives. Yeah, we made time to see each other and for a while if you had extra time off or if I was in Boston for some reason, we’d make plans, but we both knew it wasn’t a priority. It was just nice when it worked out so we could see each other.” 

“Whatever we were doing back then?” Shane’s entire speech felt practiced, planned, and prepared, purposefully casual and pointedly nonchalant. It felt like a fucking lie, and Ilya’s jaw tightened in frustration. “When it worked out? Shane–” 

The speech was practiced, planned and prepared and Shane was deflecting, downplaying and distancing, but he meant it when he told Ilya, “It’s shitty to be mad at you for not thinking about me when your whole life was falling apart. So it’s okay.” 

“And.” Deflect. Downplay. Distance. “I’m sorry too.” 

“You are sorry.” Ilya fucking hated the rigid composure in Shane’s posture, the resolute calm in his dark eyes . He’d spent the weekend thinking about what to say to Shane, he’d put the girls to sleep each night and spent an exhausting number of hours trying to figure out how to approach and apologize, how to get through the conversation without it imploding the way Friday night had, but Shane acted like he was reading off a script and the cold distance of it made Ilya’s stomach churn. “Why are you sorry?” 

“For being such a dick about all of it.”

“Yes, but.” Ilya floundered, trying to find the right words to shake Shane out of the nearly robotic exchange. “You were upset. My fault. Vegas was--” 

“You were upset too.” It was harder to get through saying the right thing when Ilya wasn’t responding the way Shane thought he would. He was apologizing, being understanding, trying to be sympathetic and Ilya kept staring at him like it was all wrong. “Vegas was bad, yeah. But I was only upset cos the guy I was fucking didn’t kiss me goodbye.” 

Ilya did not like that. He did not like Shane acting like they’d been nothing when only a couple nights previous Shane had been cursing, almost crying, falling to pieces because once upon a time, they had been real and important and everything. 

Shane kept talking like they’d been nothing, but to Ilya they had been everything, and he didn’t like it. 

“You were upset about giving up your career, your new life and your team and you know, we didn’t talk much back then,” Shane was back to staring at his feet. At the parking lot. He couldn’t handle Ilya’s face doing that creased, complicated, hurt thing so he kept his head down. “I knew you only went to Russia for the summer because you had to. I knew you didn’t like going. I should have realized you only would've disappeared like that if you absolutely had to. So yeah.” 

Shane scratched his nose, his eyebrow. “I’m sorry for being mad about it. Sorry for hating you for ten years and ruining what was a really fun night. Friday was fun and I messed it up by freaking out. Sorry.” 

“So it’s okay then.” Ilya asked, but he know it wasn’t okay. Shane wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t talking to him like they were real people, wasn't acting like it was a real conversation, it wasn’t okay. 

“You are,” Ilya ducked his head, leaning forward trying to find Shane’s eyes. “You are okay?” 

“Yes.” Shane cleared his throat, bracing himself to get through the next part of his speech. “And I’m glad we talked about it, because now I have some closure. We can’t change what happened, but at least I know why it happened so it’s okay. Now we can move forward and be normal.” 

“Normal.” Ilya’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Normal? Shane, what the fuck is normal for us?” 

“I mean now we can be normal like a coach and parent.” Shane tried not to react to the bitter disbelief straining in Ilya’s words, tried not to choke on how bad the lie tasted when it stuck in his throat. “I kept pretending we could be casual acquaintances like me and the other parents, but obviously that wouldn’t work until we talked things out. We talked things out, now we can be–” 

“Casual acquaintances.” Ilya finished flatly. “This is what you want. Normal. To only be parent and coach, Mr. Rozanov and Coach Hollander.” 

“Yeah. For sure. And eventually,” Shane lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’d be nice to be friends. Actual friends. Despite all of this, you and I still have the most in common with each other out of everyone else in town, so you know. Friends would be nice.” 

“Huh.” Ilya folded his arms against his chest, pursing his lips. “So Friday when we skated together and I kissed you, and you whimpered right here,” he tapped at his mouth, “and asked me for more? What was that?” 

“Ilya.” Fuck. “That’s not–” 

“You say you want to be friends.” Ilya wanted to be pissed off about it. He’d spent the entire weekend working up the courage to seek Shane out so they could have a real conversation and he could apologize, but Shane hit him with a fully planned, callously false speech about not being angry and moving on as friends and Ilya wanted to be fucking furious about it, but instead he was just tired. Just a little bit rubbed raw and left hollow and exhausted by it. “Well, I say you are still a very bad liar, Shane Hollander.” 

“No, I–-” Shane didn’t feel good about lying to Ilya, he didn’t feel good about lying to himself but a carefully constructed narrative and set expectations would give him time to cope, and maybe eventually he would actually be okay with it all, and he could finally grow the hell up and move on. “It’s not that–” 

“You should have been mean.” Ilya interrupted, and Shane blinked at him, “What?” 

“You should have been mean.” he repeated. “To me. Right now. You should have yelled at me or punched me or something.” 

“Why would I–” 

“I came to apologize.” Ilya straightened up off the car, shaking his head. “I came to try and fix things for us. But you want to lie and say it is all okay? No, you should have been mean and punched me instead of giving me a lie. You are wasting my time. This is a waste of time." 

“Wasting your-- Oh fuck you!” Shane snapped and Ilya lifted his chin challenging, “What was that?” 

“Fuck. You.” Shane said it again. Spat it, really. “I spent all fucking weekend trying to understand your point of view and trying to get over ten years of bullshit. I apologized for freaking out and admitted I probably wouldn’t have handled it any better and you’re going to tell me I’m wasting your time?! I want us to find a way to be friends so I don’t feel like–” 

He was yelling now, his voice echoing across the empty parking lot. “punching your fucking face in every goddamn time I see you, and you say I'm wasting your time?!” 

“Yes!” Ilya threw his arms out wide. “You want to punch me? Punch me! Yell at me! Get fussy and huffy and bitchy about it like you used to when I pissed you off!” 

“Like I used to?” Shane shouted back. “Newsflash, asshole! That was ten years ago! Don’t use shit against me saying that’s how I used to do things, none of that matters anymore!” 

“Yes it does. Because if it didn’t matter, you would not have planned speech and wasted my time.” Ilya scoffed at him and Shane retorted, “So what, instead of talking this out like adults, you want me to beat you up in the parking lot?” 

“Better than lying to me, yes.” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov!” Shane ripped the car door open. “Fuck you. I’m trying to deal with– trying to handle– I’m trying not to lose my mind about you fucking planning what was probably the worst moment of my life right up until getting hurt last season, and you’re mad because I’m calm about it?!” 

“Yes! Because I am not calm about it.” Ilya jabbed a finger into his own chest. “I was mad and sad and missed you every day, and–!” 

“You got married and had kids, Ilya!” 

“That doesn’t mean I ever stopped lov–!” 

“Stop!” Shane dropped onto the driver’s seat and curled his fingers around the steering wheel, thudding his forehead onto it a few times. “Just stop. Listen.” 

“Only if you don’t lie to me.” Ilya warned and Shane closed his eyes tight, squeezed at the steering wheel tight, let his voice strain audibly tight because for all his carefully planned talking points, he was quit suddenly only half a breath away from breaking. 

“I don’t want to be mad at you, Ilya.” it came out a whisper. “I don’t want to be sad about you. I want all this shit to be over with so I can move on. I have to move on, it's been like ten years and I can’t– I can’t–” 

“Shane."

“I gotta go. I’m not doing this. Not again." Shane shut the door and slammed the car in reverse,  skidding his way out of the parking lot gone.

Ilya stood there for a long minute alone before getting in his car and leaving too. 

From Ilya: Am 0-2 in talks. This one was maybe worse.

From Sveta: I am sorry, Ilyushka.

*****

“Dad.” It never used to be hard for Shane to talk to his Dad, but it took him all damn day to work up the courage to make the call.

David picked up on the first ring, happy to hear from Shane and happy to chat about whatever was on Shane’s mind. Of course he had a minute, he had all sorts of time now that he was retired, hey speaking of needing a dang hobby, did Shane ever make up his mind about which renovations he might need help with, cos David would be so happy to scoot on up into the foothills and–

“Dad.” Shane dropped onto the couch, tucking into the corner with a pillow hugged to his chest. “I need to talk to you about something. I need to uh–” 

Shit. Shane held the pillow closer, rubbing his cheek at the textured slip cover. He hadn’t ever talked about relationship stuff with his parents, not when he tried dating a girl in highschool, not when the first time with Ilya left him questioning everything about himself, not even after Vegas when he’d been too messed up to function, but had brushed off any questions with a shrug and muttered promise that he was fine. 

He’s never once talked about relationship stuff with his parents, but he had to talk to someone about something, Shane had to do something to ease the noise in his head and the ache in his chest, he had to talk to somebody. 

“I was hoping you could give me some advice.” the words stuck in Shane’s throat. “About, um. I uh–” 

“Hey, are you alright, kiddo?” David’s mellow voice pitched in concern. “I don’t want to make you feel bad about not calling, but Shane you don’t ever call and now you sound half messed up. What’s wrong? Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“Trouble? No, I’m not in trouble.” Shane hadn’t ever been in trouble. No detentions in school, no over accumulation of penalty minutes, he’d only ever been in one fight for the duration of his hockey career, no he wasn’t in trouble.

“I just." Fuck, maybe he was in trouble. Maybe the fact that Shane couldn't call home without his Dad worrying something was wrong cos he couldn't even get a few words out before his throat closed up meant he really was in trouble, just not the police station- bail money- too drunk kind of easily dealt with trouble.

Jesus fucking Christ, how was a hypothetical DUI somehow less trouble than talking about Friday night with Ilya Rozanov?

“Shane?” David prompted when Shane went silent on the other end. “You okay?”

“I went on a date Friday night.” Shane bit into the pad of his thumb until it stung. “Well not a date date. It was um-- we said it was—"

He tucked his hurt thumb into his fist and squeezed tight. “Okay it was a date. Yeah.” 

“A date!” David tactfully skipped over Shane’s stammering and attempted denial, mercifully didn’t blurt out how shocking the news was and how it was about damn time Shane gave romance a shot, and decidedly didn’t rope Yuna and her well meaning but intrusive nosiness into the conversation. “That’s great! How was it? Who is sh—“  

Shane braced himself to lie to his Dad and talk about a her for the conversation, but David switched mid breath and corrected, “Who are they? Anyone we know?”

“No. You don’t know… them.” The casual change of pronouns felt like support and permission and approval from his quietly perceptive Dad, and Shane held the phone closer to his ear, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily. “I knew them a long time ago. We recently reconnected. Sort of.”

“Good for you! I’m sure they’re thrilled to be back in your life!” David didn’t push for details about the person. Shane appreciated it. “So is this a friendship turned romance, or…?” 

“We were together for a while.” That was the easiest, simplest, vaguest explanation he could give his Dad. “Back in 2014.”

“Way back in 2014, huh?” David’s voice did something odd, a weird inflection like a question he hadn’t wanted to ask had just been answered, or like maybe he’d known something back then and was finally getting confirmation. “Okay. And what happened, the two of you broke up?” 

“You could say that.” Was it a break up if they hadn’t been dating, but one of them disappeared and the other one pretended he was fine for ten goddamn years only to find out in really humiliating ways that he wasn’t fine at all? 

“Yeah okay, we broke up back in 2014. But we went on a date Friday and I think they want to get back together. Or work things out between us which is–- I guess that’s the same thing. Maybe. I don’t really know. I don’t," he rubbed his eyes until spots popped behind his lids. “I don’t know, Dad.”

“You loved them?” David ventured, but Shane went quiet for a minute, two minutes, and David moved right on, “Okay, so it was a bad break up. You’re messed up about it and what, you’re mad at them and mad at yourself for still being affected by it?”

“Yeah.”  Yes. “That sounds about right.”

“Well, I can tell you from experience that trying to hide that kind of anger doesn’t work out for anyone. Neither does trying to reason and justify your way through it.” He thought a minute, then continued, “Feelings are just feelings, Shane. They aren’t right or wrong, they just are. We can’t help what we feel, so you’ve gotta acknowledge it. Gotta talk it out.”

“I know. I know I can’t just push it down and ignore it.” Shane knew. His mom scolded him about it, his therapist scolded him about it, he knew. “But trying to talk about it makes me want to punch a wall. Or punch them, maybe. Right in their stupid handsome face.” 

“Lots of things are generally forgiven in the beginning stages of getting back together after a bad break up, but Shane I dunno if ‘punching them in their stupid handsome face’ is one of them.” David’s amused smile was audible over the phone. “You should take some space and time to work through your anger, talk it out with them and then you know, maybe try another date?”

“Right.” Shane pushed a hand through his hair. “Right. Yeah. That’s probably what I should do. Work through it. Talk about it. Try again.” 

David waited patiently, and Shane twisted his fingers in his hair nervously, “What if after I work through how mad I am, there isn’t anything left? Like if I take time and space and whatever, maybe therapy? What if when the anger is gone, I don’t feel anything for them?” 

“Then at the risk of sounding like your extremely practical, wildly unromantic mother,” David clicked his tongue sympathetically. “If there’s nothing left after the anger is gone, then that’s all the answer you need. There’s nothing left between the two of you, and you’ll have to make peace with that.” 

“Okay well.” The next option was somehow worse, “What if I take too long working through it and they get tired of waiting? What if– what if I lose them again because I can’t get my shit together like a normal person?”

“Shane.” It had hurt David right to his core the first time Shane came home from school upset after being bullied, asking what was wrong with him, wanting to know why he wasn’t normal. It didn’t hurt any less now that Shane was thirty-three instead of thirteen and asking the same sort of thing. “Kiddo, listen–” 

“Don’t say the thing about how being normal is over-rated.” Shane pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the worst of his ever present migraine. “This isn’t about that, Dad. I don’t– I don’t need reassurance that it’s okay to be not normal. I just–” 

Fuck. He held the phone away for few seconds. “I need to know if–” 

“Shane, is this person the type to let you get very far away without saying something?” David interrupted, and Shane frowned, “What do you mean?” 

“Do they bother you.” David tried to explain. “Seek you out. Do they text or call you first, do they chase after you to stay engaged, not let you get quiet and shut down, that sort of thing.” 

“Uh yeah. Yeah, they fucking bother me.” Ilya hadn’t texted since Friday, hadn’t talked to him since the disastrous attempt after practice on Monday. Shane’s phone hadn’t lit up with a single notification from Lily in days and it wrecked him that he was wrecked about it. “It’s annoying. They're annoying.” 

“Mmhmm.” David didn’t mention how heartsick Shane sounded when he said annoying. “Well then, I don’t think you need to worry about them getting tired of waiting on you.” 

“They went ten years without talking to me.” Shane stated flatly. “They had the chance to talk to me and didn’t. Chose not to.” 

“Did they say why they didn’t talk to you?” 

“I…didn’t ask.” All at once Shane realized he hadn’t asked Ilya why he’d never texted back. Friday night had been learning about the fucking plan, Monday’s conversation had derailed into Ilya calling him a liar because Shane’s pre-planned, pre-rehearsed understanding speech was too politely false, and between all the noise, Shane had learned why Ilya disappeared but hadn't asked why Ilya had never texted back.

“Holy shit.” he scrubbed his hand over his face, raking his nails at his cheek. “I didn’t ask. I know why we broke up, they had good reasons, their Dad was sick and there was all this other stuff but shit. I didn’t ask about why they never talked to me again."

“Okay. Okay.” David waited for Shane’s anxious breathing to slow again, “The reasons for the break up. You understand them? Feel like you can empathize with how they were feeling at the time?” 

“Yeah. I understand all the reasons.” He did understand. “But I’m still pissed off about it.” 

“So tell them that.” David encouraged. “I’d bet they understand you being mad the same way you understand why they had to break things off in the first place.” 

“I don’t know, Dad.” 

“Here’s the thing.” He started with a quiet sigh, “If you're the right person for them, if they love you or used to love you or want to love you again, if they’ve decided and know that you're the right person for them, they’ll wait. They’ll let you be mad, they’ll work through the bad days for and with you, they’ll put in the effort.”  

“But what if–” 

“And if there’s even a tiny part in your heart that knows they are the right person for you, the person you want to be with more than anything?” David prompted gently, “It won’t take as long as you think to figure it all out. When two people love each other and are willing to put the work in, the figuring it out stage tends to go pretty quick." 

“God, you really are the romantic one, aren’t you?” Shane tried for a smile. “Mom would have told me to just go ahead and punch them.” 

“I admit to being a softy at heart, yes.” David chuckled. “My advice is to take it slow. Feel what you need to feel. If you need space, take it. If you need to hit something, aim for the punching bag and not their stupid handsome face. And if you need to talk? I’m here. All the time, Shane. I'm here."

“…thanks Dad.”

“Sure do love you, kiddo.” 

“I love you too.” 

The line disconnected and David tapped his phone at the palm of his hand a couple times before leaving the kitchen and going to find his wife in the well appointed study of the cozy Montreal house.  

“Hullo my love.” Yuna smiled at him from behind her desk, “Who was on the phone?” 

“Shane.” David said slowly, and when Yuna’s eyes widened worried, he added, “He needed some advice about a date. About a relationship.” 

“A relationship.” Yuna set her wire rimmed glasses aside and propped her elbows on her desk, clasping her hands under her chin. “Who is he? Anyone we know? 

“They,” David raised his eyebrows pointedly, and Yuna nodded in silent acknowledgment that since Shane hadn’t officially come out, they couldn’t just assume. “Broke up with Shane back in 2014.” 

“Oh. 2014.” Shane hadn’t ever said anything about a relationship, a break up, or a partner that summer, but Yuna had cried herself sick stressed about her son for those few awful months when Shane had stopped talking, stopped eating, and folded in on himself lost. “That’s– hm. Okay.” 

She came around the desk to take a seat on the small sofa by the window, holding out her hand for her husband to come and sit by her. “He still isn’t ready to talk about it?” 

“No.” David settled into the comfortable cushions and tugged her into his side and dropping a kiss on her hair. “But apparently they’ve reconnected enough to go on a date, and Shane has some misgivings. He’s still mad about the break up and he’s worried that after all the anger is gone, maybe there won’t be anything left.” 

“If that’s the case, then he’s better off without them.” She said flatly. “But on the other hand, if they’re back after ten years and pursuing him, maybe the time apart let them both grow up to be the person one another needs instead of stupid kids making stupid decisions and breaking each other’s hearts.” 

She hummed thoughtfully, “What did you tell him to do? 

“To talk it out with this person, give himself time to be angry and sort through those feelings, and to trust his heart to tell him what he truly wants.” 

“That’s boring advice.” Yuna was predictably unimpressed with that option, and David huffed at her, “What should I have told him?” 

“Well.” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “How did you handle it when we broke up the summer after college?” 

“I lasted two months without you.” he replied promptly. “Then I got drunk, walked to your apartment and shouted how much I loved you until you came downstairs and slapped me.” 

“Exactly.” Nod. “I slapped you and then I kissed you and we were married a few months later.” 

“So what,” David nudged her teasingly. “You want to call our son back and tell him to go loudly profess his love until this person–” 

“What? No!” She cut him off with a loud snort. “No, I think Shane should go break the jerk's nose in retaliation for breaking his heart, then they should kiss and make up!” 

“Hm. Romantic as ever.” David deadpanned and Yuna laughed, snuggling in closer, “It worked for us, didn’t it?” 

"It certainly did, my love." 

She was quiet a moment, “I miss him, David. And I’m so worried about him. I know he’s in his thirties and grown, but he’s always been different. He took the retirement so hard, and now he's up and disappeared and we never hear from him and sometimes I worry…” 

“I know.” David kissed the top of her head again. “I know. I worry about him, too.”

*****

Shane and Ilya didn’t talk at Thursday practice, not a single word. 

None of the other parents seemed to notice Shane was on the ice before the girls arrived instead of hanging by the bleachers to welcome them in, and none of the other parents seemed to notice Shane staying on the ice until everyone was gone, ostensibly cleaning up and checking for any deep gouges before the Zamboni took the ice, keeping the ice and the boards as a literal, physical barrier between himself and the normal social interactions that came along with twice weekly practice. 

Ilya did, though. Ilya noticed all of it and set his jaw tense about it, but Shane didn’t talk to him, look at him, acknowledge him, so Ilya did the same.

Nobody else noticed when Thursday practice sucked in a very specific, very pointedly silent sort of way, but Ilya thought about putting his fist through the drywall and Shane thought maybe he’d pick up a fifth of something alcoholic on the way home, and that’s how Thursday went. 

Thursday sucked. 

Friday was marginally better. 

“Alright girls.” It had been a helluva week, but Shane made sure he had wide, encouraging smiles for the girls as they gathered for a pep talk. “First game today, is everyone ready?” 

“Yes Coach!” 

The first official U9 game of the season was a friendly scrimmage, played on half ice so little legs didn’t get too tired chasing the puck around, and with both coaches acting as linesmen to keep everyone on track. There was no pressure, no stakes, they kept score but every parent in the stands was encouraged to cheer for every attempt on goal from both teams, and when the visiting team trudged through the doors of the Montbonne community ice rink, Shane made sure his girls were lined up outside the guest locker room to shout hello and offer high fives. 

Ilya took his seat with the rest of the parents and tried his absolute damndest not to stare at Shane, but when Nadya lumbered over in full goalie get up with Mariya hurrying along behind and tugged at Shane’s sleeve, of course Ilya had to look, of course he had to lean forward and crane his neck to catch the Coach wince a little kneeling down to be eye level with the twins, of course he had to watch Shane nudge Nadya’s chin up and smile at her as he answered her question while holding out a hand for Mariya so she didn’t feel left out. 

Ilya was shredded so raw after Friday and Monday and a week’s worth of silence, it physically stung to even look in Shane’s direction but he had to watch Shane be gentle and careful and good with his girls, he had to. 

Damn it. 

“I’m s-scared to lose th-the game.” Nadya whispered. “What if it’sss my f-fault and everyone is m-mad?” 

“Nah sweetie, that’s not how it works.” Shane tugged Mariya’s glove so she would come closer and listen too. “That’s the thing about being a team. We work hard, we work together and sometimes we win and sometimes we don’t, but it’s never just about one person. It’s always about all of us.” 

“Don't worry sister, I’ll keep the puck away from you and our goal.” Mariya promised solemnly and Nadya wrinkled her little brow uncertainly, “Ok-kay. But what if–” 

“Hey.” he shook his head. “Remember? Not in your house.” 

“N-not in my house.” she whispered, and Shane urged, “Not in your house, Nadya.” 

“Not innn my house!” 

“Not in your house!” Mariya cheered and Nadya threw both arms up, “Not in m-my house!” 

“And if a few goals do get in?” Shane stood back up, rubbing his knee when it twinged. “It’s not a big deal and nobody’s gonna be mad, in fact we’re all gonna be super proud of you for being brave enough to stand between a puck and the goal cos hey,” he tugged at one of her curls escaping from her tight braid. “I’m not brave enough to be a goalie. That’s all you, Nadya.” 

“Not in m-my house.” She said one more time, serious and fierce and determined. “Let’s go.” 

“Davay!” Mariya shouted and grabbed for her sister to they could hurry back to the locker rooms and the volunteer moms who would help put on the rest of the gear. 

Shane stood there and smiled after them. Ilya sat there and watched until Shane finally turned back to the bleachers, then Ilya jerked away to stare at the ice, pushing and pressing at his chest where it all felt scraped ragged raw and the prickly awareness of Shane looking up at him made it all a hundred times worse. 

From Sveta: Kiss the girls for me, I’m so bummed I can’t make their first game. You will FaceTime after so they can tell me all about it?

From Ilya: Of course. 

From Sveta: How is Jane?

Ilya put his phone away and didn’t answer. The teams took the ice a few minutes later and nothing else mattered beyond cheering for them anyway. 

Half ice games were fun and fast, the time divided into halves with an intermission instead of three periods and shorter breaks. The girls scrambled every which way chasing the puck while the two coaches-turned-linesmen skated back and forth directing their respective teams through the plays and ensuring everyone followed the rules, that slips and falls were easily brushed off and that no one was too terribly upset over losing face offs. 

Later in the season things would be more official, by January the U9 division would be playing full ice games, dealing with stricter calls and more defined strategies, but for the first game, for the first scrimmage, it was all about getting out there and having a good time. 

Shane cheered and clapped and smiled the entire time because it was so great to be on the ice, to hear the girls calling for one another, to hear the parents shrieking in excitement whenever one of their kids got anywhere close to the puck, and when the other coach shouted something about the girls looking like little bumble bees swarming all over place, Shane laughed out loud agreeing with him.

The scrimmage was entertaining. Easy. Downright joyful, really. Not a single point was scored despite several fantastically clumsy shots taken on goal, both Shane and the visiting coach had to keep intervening at face offs to remind the girls that it was time to play, not hang out and chatter with their newly made friends, and when the final buzzer blew, both teams emptied off their benches and skated around in haphazard circles, too excited to bother following any sort of post-game protocol and fuck, Shane loved it. 

He’d missed it. He was so glad to have a version of hockey and a taste of that unhinged joy back in his life, even if and maybe especially because it came by way of coaching. 

“Good job. You’re amazing. Good job. So proud of you.” Shane rapped his knuckles at each player's helmet as they hopped off the ice and beamed up at him on the way to the locker room. “Good game. Proud of you. You guys are the best. Amazing. Good job.” 

The volunteer moms followed the girls into the locker room to help take off skates and pads, Shane went to clean out the players benches and exchange a few words with the visiting coach, and the rest of the parents laid out snacks and drinks, and gathered coats so they could vacate the rink in a timely manner once everyone was done and ready to go.

“Ilya, oh my gosh did you make cupcakes for the girls?” Janey’s mom gasped when Ilya opened the bakery box he’d brought as contribution to the group snacks. Coach Hollander’s group text had politely suggested orange slices or peanut  butter crackers to help the girls recuperate after a long game, but Ilya had purposefully, maybe peevishly ignored the suggestion and baked up a couple dozen cupcakes with whipped frosting and sprinkles instead.

“These look amazing!”

“I'm tempted to eat them myself and tell the girls there’s only fruit!”

“This is the cutest thing, oh my goodness.”

“Well Rozanov, thanks for making all of us who brought fruit and protein snacks look bad!”

It was downright irritating how much Shane enjoyed the thought of Ilya in an apron searching through the hilariously over organized sprinkle drawer for the exact right decoration to put on the frosting. Downright irritating and maybe a tiny bit encouraging, because when one of the parents called for Shane to come see the cupcakes, Shane managed to look at Ilya without flinching for the first time all week, and when Ilya met his eyes for a too brief split second, Shane almost managed to smile.

But shit. The instant Shane’s dark eyes landed on him, the instant the corner of Shane’s mouth started to lift, Ilya looked away.

He’d been so sure Friday would end okay. He’d been positive Monday’s conversation and his apology would be a big step towards fixing things. Instead, there had been radio silence for a week, too many sleepless night, and now Ilya was flinching gun shy from eye contact and it was— Ilya was—

“Hey Coach, I want you to meet my brother in law.” Bailey’s mom flagged Shane down, dragging someone along with her as she hurried to Shane’s side. “This is Louis. Louis, this is Coach Hollander, as in the Coach Shane Hollander.” 

“The Coach Shane Hollander.” Louis was tall, his dark hair swoopy, and his green eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked Shane over and smiled slowly interested. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Fuck. Ilya dropped onto the bleachers, his head snapping around looking away so he didn't have to see Shane's answering smile, because the immediately bitter roil of jealousy in his stomach nearly made him nauseous. 

Fuck. 

“Nice to meet you.” Shane didn’t like meeting new people. Hell, he barely liked small talk conversation with people he already knew, but he shook the guy’s hand anyway, offering a polite smile and a halfway curious lift of his brows when Louis clasped a hand on top of his and murmured, “So nice to meet you too.” 

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Bailey’s mom patted Shane’s arm and winked at him. "Have fun, boys." 

"Uh." Shane blinked after her, then blinked up at Louis when the guy kept holding their hands together. "I don't uh--"

"Shane Hollander." Louis kept hold of Shane's hand, then switched to speaking French, his deep voice rolling with each syllable as he talked about Shane being a legend, how he hadn’t believed it when his niece had told him who the new coach was, how he’d been so happy to drive up and watch Bailey play in her first game, and how meeting Shane was just the cherry on top. 

“Um. Thanks. Yeah, Bailey’s great. Sweet kid. Super funny too.” Shane pulled his hand from Louis’s grasp and hooked his thumbs in his pockets, rocking back on his heels and nodding along with Louis’s comment about the game, “She loves to play and it’s so fun to coach her. Yeah.” 

Louis was objectively gorgeous, good looking in a tidy, man bun sort of way, wearing flannel that looked designer and jeans that looked custom tailored, and his hands were soft, his green eyes piercing, his smile warm… Shane wondered if it would be weird to suggest Louis maybe chat up Matilde because the guy seemed like exactly her type. 

“Hey Coach, I heard you bought the old lake house way down at the end of the lane?” Maggie’s dad wandered over to join the conversation, and Shane took a step back from Louis’s piercing gaze and quiet compliments to answer, “Yeah. I’m staying out that way.” 

He didn’t know why or how his real estate purchase was public knowledge, but apparently it was, because one of the other dads chimed right in, “The cabin was abandoned for a few years, wasn’t it? And I know it wasn’t hardly maintained before that, the couple who owned it were only part timers around here. You must have had to redo the whole place!” 

“Working on it.” Shane didn’t want to explain whatever the hell his issue was with finishing the work and making the cabin a home, so he agreed vaguely, “The list is never ending but I’m chipping away at it.” 

“Oh well, heck.” Mr. Davis joined the conversation too, clapping a friendly hand at Shane’s shoulder. “We should just go ahead and get it all knocked out for you, yeah? Get everything buttoned up before winter hits real hard?”

“Oh sure sure!” Maggie’s dad agreed quickly, “If a couple of us head that way and bring the tools, I bet we could check your list off in a day!”

“Wait.” Shane looked around the small circle in confusion, wholly mystified by the sudden attention on his living situation. “What’s going on now?” 

“It wouldn’t take much.” Mr. Davis raised his voice and waved over Angela’s dad. “Rick, you’d come out and help Coach do some things around his cabin right?”

“You need help out there Coach?” Rick asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d be happy to help, come out and run the electric for you or even do some plumbing. I can do everything except the real fancy stuff, get your sinks hooked up and hot water heater calibrated or what have you.”

“Do you have all the material?” someone wanted to know and Shane nodded slowly, “Yeah. I got everything ordered. It’s sitting in the spare bedroom.“

“My Dad was a contractor, built houses my whole life.” Louis tilted his head to catch Shane’s eye and smiled hopefully, “I remember a thing or two, I’d be happy to come help if you’d like.”

“Well, that settles it!” Mr Davis clapped his hand together. “Let’s meet at Coach’s place tomorrow morning around nine and get it done, huh?” 

A chorus of agreement, hand shakes and pats at Shane’s back apparently solidified the plan in stone, and Shane huffed a disbelieving laugh, “Seriously? This is— wow. Uh thank you.”

“Anytime Coach! Come on Janey! Let’s get home!”

“See you tomorrow, Coach!” 

“Good game, Coach! You’re so great with the kids, we really appreciate that.”

“I will see you tomorrow, hm?” Louis held out his hand again and Shane took it automatically, too stuck on the shock of so much freely given help to notice Louis’s eyes lingering over his body, or to clock the heat of Louis’s palm against his own when Louis held on longer than necessary. “First thing in the morning?”

“Yeah. That will be kind of crazy, I didn’t expect everyone to jump in and want to help me out– oh wait. Bye girls!” Shane dropped his hand to wave at Bekah and Angela as they left, “Good game! See you Monday at practice!”

“Bye, Coach Hollander.” Louis tried one last time to hold Shane’s attention, his full lips turning down into a frown when Shane gave him a quickly polite smile but was very clearly distracted by everything else going on. “So nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Larry. Uh-- Louis." Shane shook his head apologetically. "Sorry. Nice to meet you."

The rink cleared quickly, parents bundling the girls up and out into the chilly October air, the visiting team loading into the small bus that would take them back down the highway towards home. Shane had big smiles and waves for the girls as they left, more absentminded goodbyes for the parents, and when he did a walk through of the locker rooms, he was too busy stressing about how the fuck to handle all the people who planned to overrun the cabin with tools and noise and helpfulness to realize Nadya and Mariya were still running around playing by the bleachers.

“Nadya! Mayday!” He whistled at them in pretend exasperation, “What are you still doing here? Pack it in girls, I gotta close up! 

The girls booed him loudly, and Shane pointed at them faux threateningly, “Five minutes, then I’m gonna bag you up with the snack garbage and toss you into the dumpster.”

“Yeah right, Coach!” 

“Y-you like us too m-much!” 

“No, I don’t!” The girls just giggled at his huffiness and went right back to running in circles, so Shane took a breath, took a breath, took a breath, and made his way towards the bleachers. 

The twins were still hanging around which meant Ilya was still hanging around. Shane had barely been able to look in Ilya’s direction at the start of the game, but after cheering the girls on, after cupcakes and celebrations and the offer of community and help and support, he found his courage and set his shoulders, lifted his chin and strode up into the bleachers to drop onto the bench next to, but not too very next to Ilya.

“You were waiting around for me?” He asked with his hands clasped between his knees and his eyes trained on the ice. 

Ilya purposefully adjusted on the bench so he wasn’t matching Shane’s posture and denied, “No. Apparently is bad parenting to abandon girls at the rink, so if they are playing, I have to be here too.” 

“Right.” Shane rubbed his hands together. “So listen. Ilya–” 

“Oh, are you talking to me now?” Ilya wasn’t proud of how mad he sounded, but it had been such a shitty few days, he didn’t really care. He pushed his hand through his hair a couple times messing with the loose curls, tapped his foot and bounced his knee, then determinedly, physically quelled the too obviously anxious fidgets and settled for tugging at his ear, pinching and rubbing his earlobe trying to keep his tone at a notch lower than pissy, “You ignored me all week, I wasn’t sure you even remembered my name.” 

“Really? Okay.” Shane snorted at him. “Well, you ignored me for ten whole years, so why don’t you shut the hell up about it?” 

Ilya’s head swiveled round in shock, his jaw dropping at the snapped reply and for a couple seconds Shane looked just as taken aback by what he hadn’t meant to say quite so loud and quite so mean. 

“Uh.” Blink. “I mean–” 

“Wow.” Ilya almost smiled about it. Nothing about the situation was funny in the slightest, ten years and Shane’s anger and Ilya’s attempted apologies that were all too little, too late for circumstances far out of either of their control wasn’t funny, but Shane being bitchy and bluntly challengingly rude instead of painfully neutrally polite was encouraging and familiar in the weirdest way and Ilya almost smiled about it. 

“I didn’t mean to–” Shane shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said--” 

“No, is fine.” Ilya went back to looking at the ice. To pinching his ear lobe. “Better than planned speech.” 

“Right. Okay. Well.” Shane went back to looking at the ice too. “You looked sort of jealous sitting up here.” 

“No, you are wrong.” Ilya propped his elbows on the bench behind him, lips thinning in irritation. “I am not jealous of handsome brother in law who speaks perfect French and was staring at you like he wanted to eat you.” 

“What?” Shane glanced at him. Glanced away. Ilya looked too big and broad and dangerous sitting sprawled out with his feet planted wide and arms stretched out, Shane had to look away. “No. I was talking about everyone volunteering to come help at the cabin. You looked like you were feeling left out.” 

He frowned, “I wasn’t talking about Louis.” 

“Oh, it has a name.” Ilya rolled his eyes. “Okay well, I am also not jealous of contractor guys working on your house. So there.” 

“Yeah, because some parents volunteering to help their coach with a couple projects before winter  isn’t the sort of thing to be jealous about.” 

“Nope.” Ilya wanted a cigarette so bad he was buzzing for it. He settled for running his tongue over his teeth and along the inside of his mouth before pointing out, “You never said you needed help with house, though. I would have helped, if you said you needed help."

“When in all of our super extensive conversations would I have mentioned that sort of thing?” There went Shane being bitchy again and he almost apologized. Almost. 

“You are being a dick.” Shane didn’t apologize. Ilya side eyed him and sort of wanted to smile, sort of wanted to hunch his shoulders and hide from the bite of it. “Purposefully being mean.” 

“You told me to be mean.” Shane stated and Ilya countered, “You said you wanted to be friends. Friends are not mean to each other.” 

“And you kissed me like you wanted to be way more than friends, which must be why you’re sitting way up far in the bleachers acting like a jealous loser.” 

Ilya jerked back around staring at him again, but that time Shane didn’t apologize, didn’t look guilty, didn’t look like he was surprised by how angry he sounded. 

Shane stood up and dusted his hands off on his pants and told him, “I’m gonna go say goodbye to the girls. I’ll see you practice on Monday.” 

“...see you on Monday.” 

Shane’s phone buzzed with an incoming text message as he was closing up the office and heading out to the parking lot. 

From Lily: You are an asshole.

From Jane: Takes one to know one. 

From Lily: That was bad come-back, try again. 

From Jane: Don’t try to make me laugh when I’m pissed at you.

Shane sat in his car and stared down at his phone, rubbing his chin and watching the three blinking dots at Lily’s side of the conversation as Ilya sat there waiting for him to keep talking. 

From Jane: I wasn’t lying about understanding what happened in Vegas. Wasn’t lying about being sorry for reacting so bad. I meant all of that. 

From Jane: You want me to be honest? Okay. Honestly I’m fucked up about Vegas and knowing you planned it, and I’m fucked up about you being here and around me all the time and idk if I’m anywhere near ready to be normal about it. 

Shane’s thumbs flew over the keyboard as he typed it out fast and frantic, working himself up angrier with every word. 

From Jane: If you’re gonna call me a liar every time I try to be polite about it, then I’m just gonna be mean. Cos fuck you. Are you kidding me? 

From Jane: Fuck you and your stupid plan and fuck you for being mad that I tried to understand and didn’t just punch you, do you seriously want me to punch you? That is bullshit.

From Jane: I don’t want to be a dick about this but I think that’s all I got. I'm mad and I don’t know how long I’ll be mad about it. 

From Lily: Okay. I will brace myself for bullying and yelling and you being mad. Bring it on.

From Jane: I’m serious.

From Lily: Me too. Keep talking to me. 

*****

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and cold, and by the time the guys all showed up with their trucks, tool bags, and overly helpful dispositions, Shane had been up for hours trying to make the cabin look a little less pathetically unlived in. 

He shouldn't have even worried about it.

Maggie’s dad Michael didn't blink over the missing outlet covers when he plugged in a big bluetooth speaker so they had a soundtrack to work to. Mr. Davis didn't seem to notice or care about the various states of half finished, half attempted projects around the cabin before he took a quick look at everything that needed done and got right to work doling out projects and handing out material.

Rick climbed into the attic to look at the furnace, then went right to the laundry room to work on the hot water heater and had nothing to say about the overflowing laundry basket or how Shane clearly hadn't had the emotional or mental energy to wash anything all damn week. Everyone else scattered around to hang blinds, patch drywall, sand down rough patches and pry open paint cans, and not one of them was remotely bothered by how obviously Shane hadn't committed to living there yet.

Shane thought he’d have to brace himself and fake it all day, he thought he’d be worked up anxious and embarrassed having so many people in his space, he’d even dropped by the ATM in town to pull several hundred dollars worth of cash in case he was expected to cover gas money or pay for the labor. He didn’t know what the hell to expect when a half dozen guys showed up unasked, unprompted, and unassuming to put his cabin together into something cozy and comfortable. 

But. 

“Coach, is it true you hold the record for most goals scored in a Cup playoff series?” 

“Uh yeah. I do.” 

“Okay but did you really break your own shot accuracy record three years in a row?” 

“...yes?” 

“Did you ever try figure skating?” 

“What? No, I never–” 

“One time me and the fellas got blasted on cheap gin and went out onto the lake, y’know where they cord it off so the kids can skate? And we said to ourselves, we said hey, how hard can figure skating be right? Anyway, make a dumb story short, I’ve got a scar on my leg about six inches long…” 

Shane thought he’d have to brace himself and fake it with a smile and pay for the privilege of help. 

Instead the day was full of shouted hockey stats, random questions, and stories that started with alcohol and ended with hospital visits. The music got louder and the work went faster, the pizza arrived and the stories got funnier, the day went on and the projects got done until the bedroom was painted, the bathroom pipes officially fixed, the furnace no longer squeaking and the drywall patched, the table sanded and loose floorboards nailed down, the blinds hung and closet doors reset and by the end of it–

“Thanks for having us out, Coach! This was real fun.” 

“We should do this again, it’s about time we all started hanging out! I’ll bring some beer next time and we can tackle those sagging boards on your back porch?” 

“Y’know, Katie’s been wanting to have you over for dinner, any time after practice you should just stop in. We have a real open door policy with the neighbors, no need to be formal about it.” 

“Oh so hey, my kiddo Ryan? He’s so jealous you’re Lacey’s Coach, he can’t hardly stand it. If you were willing to sign his poster of you, he’d be thrilled to death. We’re doing a seafood boil on Tuesday, come on by you’re always welcome.”  

“Sarah would be mad at me if I forgot to ask, she coordinates the fall dance for the high school, any chance you’d be willing to chaperone? We take turns doing that sort of thing and you’re the new fella in town so time to pay the dues!” 

By the end of it, Shane was too overwhelmed by the generosity to do much more than smile and wave as the team dads loaded up and drove off in a cloud of dust and exhaust and shouted good-byes. 

Louis left his number scrawled on a napkin in the kitchen along with a message about understanding how difficult it was to be open in a small town, but how he’d love to take Shane to the city and treat him to a nice night out, just give him a call or text and let him know. 

Shane picked up the napkin and read the message, then picked up his phone and sent a text. 

From Jane: How is your Saturday?

Way over on the East end of Montbonne, Ilya was setting up the twins in the upstairs loft with a Saturday night movie and a wild amount of popcorn when his phone buzzed, and his heart rate spiked when he saw it was from Jane. 

“Okay girls, here. Nadyushka, popcorn extra butter, extra salt, candy mixed in for ultimate sugar rush.” he handed Nadya her favorite purple bowl, Boris the Tiger and her pillow. “Masha, here is popcorn, candy divided by color into little bowls, Otto the Snake and your blanket.” 

“S-Spasibo Daddy.” 

“Thanks, Daddy.” Mariya frowned at the orange and blue candies, then switched the bowls so orange was next to yellow, and blue was closer to green. “Are you going to watch with us?” 

“No, I hate this movie.” 

“You knnnow all the Frozen s-songs!” Nadya argued back and Ilya clicked his tongue at her, “No, only the Olaf one.” 

“You sing the ice one when you shovel snow!” 

“No, is lie.” Ilya plonked a kiss on each of their heads. “Watch your movie. I will be in kitchen cleaning up dinner mess.” 

From Lily: Pixar and stuffed animal and sticker themed cos I have girls. 

From Lily: How was home repair day with construction buddies?

From Jane: I hooked up with other people after you. 

Ilya turned the water on to fill the messy sauce pan and frowned at the message, tapping his finger at the screen as he tried to figure out what the hell to say to that. 

It would be easier if they were face to face. Shane always thought he was covering his emotions and hiding his feelings, but he gave it all away in thousands of different tells, and if Ilya could see him, he’d know how to handle the unexpected information. 

From Lily: I never heard of you dating anyone. 

From Jane: I didn’t. Never more than a couple dates sometimes. But I hooked up with people on vacation. With guys.

From Jane: Not all the way. But some stuff. 

Ilya gave up on the dishes.

From Lily: Why not all the way?

From Jane: It wasn’t good.

From Lily: They were not good to you? 

From Jane: No, they were fine. 

From Jane: But they weren’t you. 

*Jane unsent a message* 

Shane unsent something, the message blipped out deleted before Ilya had a chance to get a glimpse, and he swore under his breath, shaking his head.

From Lily: What did you unsend?

From Jane: That guy asked me out.

From Lily: Did you say yes?

From Jane: Are you jealous? 

“Fuck.” Ilya rubbed his mouth. “Fuck, okay. Okay.” He started to text back, but Shane texted again first. 

From Jane: I’m pissed off I want to talk to you.

From Jane: Everyone was really nice today and all I wanted to do was talk to you. That’s annoying. You’re annoying.

From Lily: So stop texting me. 

Shane stopped texting him, the little bubbles disappearing as he exited out of the conversation. Ilya tossed his phone onto the counter and got to work on the dishes, scrubbing at the baked on pasta and filling the dishwasher with jerky movements, kicking himself for misjudging the text chain and giving Shane a reason to stop talking. 

Shane was mad and being bitchy about it, and yeah Ilya had said to bring it on, he’d been fine with Shane's anger cos at least they’d be talking. But Ilya hadn’t been prepared for the whiplash of getting an unexpectedly friendly text, then getting hit with questions that felt like he was being purposefully provoked. 

Yes, he was jealous and no, it didn’t feel good. Yes, he wanted to talk to Shane but Jesus Christ, he hadn’t expected the honesty to be so brutal. Yes, he knew they both needed space to process but oh fuck every single time his phone buzzed with a message from Jane, Ilya was immediately helpless not to respond. He hadn’t been casual and nonchalant and normal about Shane before Vegas, he certainly couldn’t manage it now, fuck. 

“Daddy.” The dishes were done, the kitchen cleaned and Ilya was settled into the couch in the living room with his own show when Mariya came downstairs to find him. “Hi. You look sad.” 

“Nyet, Masha.” Ilya opened his arm so she could tuck into his side, closing his eyes grateful for the reprieve from his swirling thoughts when she snuggled into a tight hug. “I am not sad. I am okay, are you okay?” 

“I need another snack.” she informed him, and Ilya hummed at her, “Is very serious problem? A snack?” 

“Yes. Nadya needs one too.” 

“Okay.” Ilya heaved himself off the couch, scooping Mariya up with him and tucking her under his arm like a football to carry her to the pantry. Mariya giggled and wiggled and kicked her long legs and Ilya wheezed because she was getting big, but managed not to drop her until they’d located chips in the pantry and the snack emergency was taken care of. 

From Jane: Fuck you, don’t tell me what to do. I’ll talk to you if I want.  

From Lily: Then talk to me. 

From Jane: … … … 

From Jane: … … … 

From Jane: I don’t know what to say. 

*****

“I watched all your games.” Ilya strode into Shane’s office half an hour before Monday’s practice, pushing the door shut behind him and dragging a chair up to Shane’s desk. “All of them. If I could not watch live, I would download and watch later. But I saw all of them.” 

“Uh, hey Ilya.” Shane checked out the office window to make sure none of the other parents had arrived yet. “What are you doing right now, what is this?” 

“We always say we did not talk and now you say you don’t know what to say to me. I want to fix that.” Ilya spread his hands wide, nervous and clumsy, but trying like hell. “So I am talking. Now you talk. Go.” 

“Um.” Shane took his glasses off slowly, setting them down on the desk. “When did you get so in touch with your feelings?” 

“After the girls were born.” Ilya didn’t hesitate. “I could not go through life with glares and sarcasm and hope someone else like Sveta or you would take time to understand me.” 

“I–” 

“Two years therapy after girls.” he held up his pinky and ring finger. “To deal with losing my Papa and my Mama’s suicide.” 

“Holy shit, Ilya.” 

“And more later, because I was fucking terrified to be parent. So yes. Okay. I am in touch with my feelings.” He waited a beat, then repeated, “I watched all your games, Shane. I missed you and wanted to see you the whole time I was gone. I did.” 

“Okay.” Shane swallowed. “Okay, so you missed me enough to watch all my games, but didn’t miss me enough to text back a single time for ten years?” 

“I didn’t text back because I didn’t want to admit I missed you.” Ilya searched Shane’s face, blue eyes darting cataloguing every nuance of Shane’s expression. “And was dangerous for a while. We had to hide here, but I had to hide in Russia too. If I messed up and said something or texts proved you were not Jane and someone saw my phone? Dangerous. After being married, texting back felt like cheating and I could not–” 

He shook his head. “I could not do that. Not to Sveta. Not to you. No.” 

Shane’s brow furrowed, and Ilya gave the silence as long as he could before he got too nervous, “Okay. Your turn. Now you say something.” 

“My turn.” Shane ignored the realization that if texting had felt like cheating, then Ilya really hadn’t gotten over him. “How mad were you when I won the Cup three times and beat your record for most goals scored in a play off series?” 

“Not mad.” Ilya didn’t miss a beat, talking quick so he wouldn’t lose his nerve. “Only proud. Sad the second time because it reminded me what I gave up. Third time, I took a shot when commentators talked about breaking records and setting up a dynasty. I got wasted and typed a bunch of Instagram DMs to you but never sent them.” 

Shane blinked. “No, you didn’t.” 

Shane blinked. “Did you really?” 

“Yes.” he nodded. “I did. Because I could not talk to you, but I wanted to. All the time. Okay?” 

“Okay.” Shane didn’t know what the hell to say. “I don’t um–” 

“You said you wanted to be friends.” They only had a few minutes until other parents started dropping kids off for practice. “Only parent and coach. You meant it?” 

“I don’t–” Shane stared at him, wide eyed and little bit freaked out by the influx of honesty. “I don’t have an answer for that right now.” 

“Okay.” Ilya rapped his knuckles at the desk and stood up. “Figure it out. Let me know.” 

“I–” Shane sat there stunned when Ilya turned on his heel and left just as quickly as he’d showed up. “Fuck.” 

From Jane: I don’t like it when you’re bossy.

From Lily: Yes, you do.

From Jane: Fuck off.

*****

“Coach Hollander.” Saturday was another game, another ridiculously entertaining, heartwarmingly cooperative half ice scrimmage between Shane’s girls and a visiting team, and when it was over, Louis came to the office and leaned against the door, folding his arms and tilting his head, tsking his tongue playfully disappointed, “I gave you my number, I thought you would call.” 

“Louis.” Shane paused writing November’s game and practice schedule on the oversized wall calendar, tapping the end of the marker at his palm awkwardly. “Hey. Yeah. Sorry about that. Busy week.” 

“No harm done, I get it, you have a lot going on.” Louis shrugged his broad shoulders. “But when Bailey asked me to come watch her game again, I thought maybe I’d take the chance to stop by and try for a second chance.” 

He raised his eyebrows, “You busy tonight?” 

“I am busy tonight, yeah.” Shane wasn’t busy. He also wasn’t interested. There was no real reason for him to not be interested in tall, dark, handsome and clearly available, but, “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.” 

“Is it me?” Louis wasn't so much offended as he was legitimately surprised by the rejection. “Or is it Montbonne?” 

“What’s wrong with Montbonne?” Shane bristled immediately protective over the little town that had started feeling beautifully safe lately, and Louis shook his head, “Nothing’s wrong with Montbonne, but you know. Small town people, small town minds. Linda is real good about the whole gay thing, that’s why she wanted to introduce us, but I’m sure the rest of this place isn’t. So is it me you aren’t interested in? Or are you afraid this rustic little hovel will turn its back on you if you are seen out on a date with a man?” 

“I um–” Shane froze. “Well, it’s–” 

“I get it.” Louis waved him off. “I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, but I get it. Text me if you ever change your mind, I will always be down to spend some time with the Shane Hollander.”

“The Shane Hollander.” Shane tried not to roll his eyes so hard. “Right. Sure. I’ll see you around.” 

“Bye.” Louis left, taking his man bun and designer flannel and expensive cologne with him and Shane went back to filling out the next month’s calendar, switching between different colored markers to specify practices versus games, marking down extra available ice time, crossing out the days Rachel was having the bleachers repaired so the rink would be shut down. 

Filling in the schedule was soothing. Calming. Visibly organizing the next four weeks of his life satisfied the part of his brain that needed structure, and Shane smiled at the big calendar when it was all filled in with color coordinated entries and neatly printed words, home games versus away games specified with an asterisk and notes under the practice times so parents would know what specific skills he planned to work on.

“Nerd.” Ilya was at the office door, both the girls' bags over his shoulder. “You are admiring your own calendar? Nerd.” 

“Fuck you. It’s a nice calendar.” Shane capped the marker then winged it towards the door, grinning when Ilya smacked it out of the air without even flinching. Ilya hadn’t stayed late after the week’s practices, he hadn’t come by early before the game to talk, but there’d been a few texts back and forth for the last few days, and Shane tentatively, definitely happy to see Ilya, even if Ilya was making fun of his damn calendar. “What are you still doing here?” 

“Waiting for you. Game is over, everyone is gone, come on Coach.” Ilya inclined his head towards the rink doors and the twins spinning around with their arms out wide, laughing and talking as they bumped into the walls and off one another. “Time to go.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Shane grabbed his coat and turned off the lights. “What are you guys up to–” 

“He is the one who asked you out last week?” Ilya cut in brusquely and Shane shoved his arms into his coat, then nodded, “Yeah. That’s him. Bailey’s uncle. Louis.” 

“Hm.” Ilya put a hand on Mariya’s head when they got close to the girls, stopping her mid turn and holding steady until her world quit tilting and she could take a step without falling over. “Did you say yes?” 

“Not that time.” Shane reached for Nadya and stopped her mid turn too, waiting for her to shake off the dizziness before letting go. “Not this time either.” 

“Why not?” Ilya knew he was setting himself up to be bitched at, he couldn’t imagine any scenario where he could ask about Shane’s dating life and not get hit with some insane level of angry sarcasm cos Shane sure as hell wasn’t going to joke about that sort of thing with him. Not yet and honestly, probably not ever. The topic of dating other people was probably always going to be a sore subject between them and Ilya damn well knew it. 

But he was a glutton for punishment and desperate for any sort of attention from Shane, so he prodded, “He is your type, yes? Tall, handsome, speaks French. Looks like he irons his jeans and folds his socks.”  

“Nah, that’s not really my type.” The girls zipped into their jackets and pushed through the double doors out into the late afternoon sunshine, and Shane waited until they were out of hearing range to raise his eyebrows right at Ilya, “Sure seems like your type though. Maybe you should ask him out.” 

“Maybe I will.” Ilya held the door open and tried not to smile so wide when Shane turned sideways into him to get past. “You still have his number?” 

“No, I threw it in the trash.” Shane locked the doors and rattled them to make sure they’d latched. “So good luck calling him or whatever.” 

Ilya kept smiling all the way through buckling the girls into the car and stashing their hockey bags in the back, and he was just starting to formulate an answer to Shane’s sass, when Shane cleared his throat and spoke up again, “Um, Ilya? When you get a sec–?” 

Ilya started the car and turned the heat up for the twins, then stepped back outside and over to where Shane was fidgeting with his keys, shuffling his feet, obviously stalling waiting to say something. 

“I wanted to uh,” Shane started, then stopped. Wet his lips and took a breath and started, “Before everything got–” then stopped. 

Ilya waited. Shane exhaled noisily and tried again, “Before the date. It was nice to know you again. Back when we were together before Vegas, I know we weren’t anything,” wince. “real. But we were friends. Texting and laughing about stupid shit and keeping each other company even when you were in Russia and I was in Montreal. It just uh–” 

He looked across the parking lot. Down at the keys in his hands. Over to the adjacent parking lot where a few families were leaving the bowling alley. “We were always fun and even though everything’s weird with us right now, it’s been nice to have some of that back again.” 

He nodded quickly. “It’s been nice to have you again. I missed–” Us. This. You. “I missed it.” 

“Yes.” Ilya’s whole frame softened beneath Shane’s stuttered confession, the ever present tightness in his chest easing once he knew Shane had felt the relief of reconnection between their sporadic texts and the more difficult conversations, too. Even when he didn’t know how Shane was going to react to something, even with the looming weight of Vegas and misunderstandings and apologies at their shoulders, even though Shane was angry and Ilya had no fucking idea how to fix it, he still looked forward to every single text from Jane, every single glance and tiny smile. 

Shane was being honest, so Ilya was honest right back, “Yes. Has been fun together again. I want to do more of that. We should be,” he started to hold out his hand, but thought better of the girls watching and dropped it back to his side. “We should be more like that.” 

“I’d like to.” Shane’s voice hitched maybe a bit emotional at the open eagerness from Ilya. “But first I need to get past the urge to run you over all the time. Cos I’m still mad. So.” 

“Okay.” Ilya couldn’t stop smiling. “When you are not tempted anymore by vehicular ah–” 

“Manslaughter.” Shane prompted and Ilya’s smile widened to a grin, “Vehicular manslaughter, yes. Let me know so we can start having fun again.” 

“I’ll… let you know.” 

*****

From Lily: I think is homicide if you want to kill me.

From Jane: What? 

From Lily: You said vehicular manslaughter. I think is vehicular HOMICIDE if intentional.

From Jane: Sorry, are you making sure I know exactly what I’ll be charged with the next time you piss me off?!

From Lily: Knowledge is power. 

From Jane: Jesus Christ. 

From Jane: So did you ask that guy out? Bailey’s uncle. Did you ask him out?

From Lily: Obviously no.

From Jane: Why obviously? 

From Lily: He is not my type. Too nice. I only like pretty boys when they are mean to me.

Shane rolled his eyes and put his phone away, refusing to put even a single second of thought into why he was so relieved Ilya hadn’t gone after Louis. 

He refused to put even a single second of thought into why he jumped to grab his phone again when it buzzed with another message from Lily. 

From Lily: I like your glasses. They look nice on you. Cute on freckles.

From Jane: What am I supposed to say to that?

From Lily: You don’t have to say anything . But we should talk more. So I am talking.

From Jane: Okay well. I like your butt and your fancy hair. 

From Lily: You think it’s fancy? I knew it. 

From Jane: Don’t push it. I’m still mad at you. 

From Lily: Hear me out.

From Lily: What if I show you my butt? Still mad? 

*Jane has notifications silenced*

*****

The weekend before Halloween, the highschool student council put together a masquerade ball for the annual fall festival dance, and Shane didn’t hesitate to say yes when he was asked to chaperone. 

It seemed like the neighborly thing to do, didn’t it? Everyone had come out to the cabin to help him with no questions asked, no expectations for repayment and nothing but kind words and funny stories and support, so yeah Shane was happy to chaperone a highschool dance. The cabin wasn’t home and Shane still hadn’t updated his mailing address away from the PO Box in Montreal, but Montbonne was community enough, he was part of it all enough to do neighborly things, right? 

Right. 

That and it wasn’t as if Shane had anything else going on for his Saturday nights, so why the hell not keep an eye on a group of teenagers in gaudy, glittery masks and Amazon ordered formal wear?

“Shane Hollander.” Ilya had been roped into chaperoning the dance too, and when he spotted Shane striding through the gym doors in a perfectly tailored, just snug enough to be interesting several thousand dollar suit, Ilya grabbed an extra glass of overly sweet punch and made his way across the scuffed floors and around the streamers and balloons to pop up at his side. “You look pretty.” 

“Thanks. You look--” Shane took the paper cup of punch and looked Ilya over from head to toe. “Well. I thought you said Svetlana threw all your slutty club rat clothes away. She let you keep the shirt though, huh?"  

Ilya choked on the neon red punch, sputtering and wiping his mouth, “This is vintage Jean Paul Gaultier!” 

“No, it’s nice.” Shane hid a smile behind a quick sip. “I just didn’t know the chaperones were supposed to wear costumes too.” 

“I cannot believe how much of an asshole you are now.” Ilya huffed at him. “Does everyone else know? Everyone must know. Everyone! Shane Hollander is a—!” 

“Nope, nope, stop.” Shane hushed him when the double doors were opened wide and propped up with signs so the high schoolers could start filing in. The music started, the overhead lights went down while colored spotlights and sparkling decor lit up the dance floor, and the room got loud with the cheers and excitement of the arriving teens. 

Beneath the cover of the shifting lights and rowdy music, Shane shifted his weight sideways and bumped against Ilya’s shoulder, then leaned another bit closer so he could keep his voice low, “I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Oh?” Ilya looked down at the near lack of space between their bodies, then around at the quickly filling gym. “Is this a mean girl trick?” 

“Mean girl trick?” Shane frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Like if you are hot popular girl telling the weird girl she is cool.” Ilya stretched his fingers to lightly brush the back of Shane’s hand. “Then setting her up for a prank.” 

“Oh my god.” Shane rolled his eyes at him. “No. I’m not playing some mean girl trick on you. I’m glad you’re here. I mean it.” 

“Okay then. I’m glad you are here too. Is nice to see each other other than at practice. Nice to see you when you are not,” he cleared his throat theatrically, “bullying me.” 

“You told me to bring it on.” Shane reminded him with a carefully cautious smile and Ilya took a sip of the overly sugared punch, wincing when it burned saccharine sweet down his throat. “Yes, I did. You are still mad at me?” 

“Some days.” Shane admitted and Ilya only nodded, “Okay.” 

“Are you,” Shane wished he was brave enough to hold Ilya’s hand. Wished they were anywhere other than a crowded gym around a hundred nosy teenagers so he could hold Ilya’s hand. Wished he wasn’t terrified to ask, “Are you getting tired of waiting for me to figure my shit out yet?” 

“Nope.” Ilya moved his hand so their fingers brushed again, hooking their pinkies for one, two, three breathless seconds before letting go. “Keep bullying me. Keep talking. I’m a big dangerous boy, I can handle it.” 

“Big dangerous boy.” Shane looked down at the non distance between their hands, then up into Ilya’s blue eyes. “In the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen?” 

“Asshole.” 

Chaperoning meant they couldn’t stand there next to each other all night trading barbs and checking each other out, so Shane started making his rounds at the edges of the gym and Ilya posted up at his assigned spot by the fire exit to make sure no kids tried to sneak out from the parent approved, community sponsored event. 

The dance was fun, for what it was. The teens were endearingly dedicated to masquerade-appropriate behavior with their costumes and pretending not to know one another’s names, everything was dazzled and feathered and glittered, the girls wore gaudy costume jewelry and most of the senior boys wore hilariously shaped fake mustaches as some sort of group inside joke. The punch was shockingly sweetened, the refreshment table groaning under the weight of chips and dip and dozens of desserts, and the songs blended together into one continuous belt of noise courtesy of an over enthusiastic DJ. 

The teens were having a great time, but the evening passed at a glacial pace for the chaperones. Ilya did a few laps around the gym and promptly had a headache, needed a cigarette, and was seriously considering shipping the twins away to a fucking convent when they turned thirteen so they’d never be at a highschool dance with some sweaty, twiggy teen boy trying to grind on them. 

Yikes. 

The lone bright spot in the tedious evening of community involvement was that thanks to the oscillating, multicolored, migraine inducing spotlights, no one could tell where Ilya was staring, so he didn’t have to take his eyes off Shane. It worked out, because he couldn’t take his eyes off Shane and it did swoopy, flip floppy, nervous things to Ilya’s heart when it sure seemed like Shane couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

Every time Ilya looked away from the teens on the dance floor to find Shane somewhere across the room, Shane was already looking at him. Whenever their paths crossed as they meandered their way around the gym, Shane had a quick smile and sometimes a quiet comment. When there was a break in the dancing to announce the winners of Best Costume and Cutest Couple, Shane brought water bottles and posted up at Ilya’s side like he couldn’t help but want to be close, and when Ilya unfolded his arms and dropped his hands so their fingers brushed, Shane didn’t move away, and fuck. 

Fuck. Chaperoning the dance was a peculiar sort of responsible torture, but the little moments and quick looks when Shane was friendly and almost flirty like maybe he’d worked through being pissed off and was reconsidering whether or not he wanted to be only parent and coach were amazing.

“You are chatty tonight.” Ilya hoped the music covered the petulantly jealous dip to his voice when Shane left a rather animated conversation with one of the teachers and came to stand by him for a minute. “Having fun over there?” 

“What, with Ms. Parker?” Shane slumped against the wall and rotated his messed up foot gingerly. He’d thought moving around during the dance would make the evening go faster, but all he’d gotten for the effort of taking laps was his knee twinging after walking on the unforgiving floor and his feet hurting cos he’d worn dress shoes along with his suit when he should have worn jeans and a hoodie and tennis shoes. “Yeah, she’s nice.” 

“You were speaking French?” Ilya pressed. “Looked cozy.” 

“It’s so damn loud in here, we either had to be right up close to each other or shout at the top of our lungs to be heard, that wasn’t cozy, it was frustrating.” Shane slanted him an annoyed look. “Don’t say we were speaking French like it means something weird. Most people here speak French, I’m surprised you haven’t learned it yet.”  

“I am still learning English.” Ilya muttered embarrassed, but Shane scoffed, “Your English is fine, what are you talking about?” 

“No, is still bad like before.” Ilya shook his head. “Should be better, but I only spoke Russian when I took care of Papa and when the girls were little, we spoke mostly Russian. Sveta taught the girls English and put them in preschools for English when we moved here, but I did not try very hard. I should have.” 

His lips twisted self consciously. “The girls speak better than me and Sveta is fluent. I think with my accent, I maybe sound stupid when I talk too much. So no, I do not want to learn French so I can sound stupid in another language. No.”

“You don’t sound stupid.” Shane sent him a sidelong glance. “And I like your accent. If you want to learn French, I could help you. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“I know enough French to kiss.” Ilya waggled his eyebrows and Shane’s face flushed dark red beneath the swirling lights. “Is enough for me. Want to test my accent for that?” 

“Fuck off.” Shane ducked his head to hide his grin, then sighed and straightened back up. “Gotta get back to it, I guess. I’m pretty sure one of the boys has a flask in his suit jacket and I’d be a pretty shitty chaperone if I let that pass." 

“Stay here.” Ilya tossed his empty water bottle in the trash. “Rest your leg. I will make rounds to make sure teens are behaving better than I used to at dances.” 

“Wow. Yeah, I bet you were a fucking menace at these things.” Shane laughed softly. “Thanks, Ilya.” 

He settled into the wall again to rest his knee, to watch the kids filing past the refreshment table, and to track Ilya through the room in the tackily expensive vintage shirt that managed to look amazing stretched across his shoulders and tucked in at his waist. Shane took advantage of the distance and flashing lights to stare the way he never let himself stare at practice or games or whenever he had to remind himself that Vegas had been planned, and Ilya had purposefully stayed away, and he was still fucking mad about it. 

Some days Shane had to actively remind himself he was still fucking mad about it. 

Most days lately, he just looked forward to the texts and shared smiles and reveled in how good it felt to smile again. 

*****

The dance started winding down at close to eleven p.m., slow songs playing one after the other to bring the adrenaline down to manageable levels, the refreshment table empty and the punch bowl dry. Most of the other chaperones were sitting down and chatting amongst themselves, the older teens were starting to look antsy to get out and to a no doubt alcohol fueled after party while the younger teens were shyly pairing off with whoever had caught their eye during the night. The floor was littered with glitter and feathers, more than a few pairs of high heels had been swapped for comfortable sandals, and right as the principal made an announcement for the last fifteen minutes, Shane’s phone buzzed with an incoming text. 

From Lily: Upstairs. 

Ilya had somehow slipped out of the gym without Shane even noticing, and Shane glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, then finished his drink in a single gulp and hurried out the nearest door, making a beeline line for the wide set of stairs at the far end of the hall leading to the second floor classrooms. 

“Hollander.” Shane reached the top of the stairs and Ilya whistled to catch his attention, waving him down the hallway to a window and bench tucked into a gap between the lockers. “Here.” 

“You know, one of these days I’m not gonna come running whenever you snap your fingers.” Ilya was sitting at the very end of the bench, so Shane settled onto the other side, sitting sideways and undoing the buttons at his jacket so he could stretch his legs out and cross his ankles, the very tips of his shoes almost reaching Ilya’s thigh. “Or when you send a bossy one word text.” 

“Mm maybe.” Ilya wedged the window open a few inches and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. “But would be a shame. It is so fun when you are a good boy.” 

“Shut up.” Shane rested his head against the wall, wrinkling his nose at the smell of tobacco. “You still smoke?” 

“Come on, sneaking away from dance to have cigarette in the hall?” Ilya held the cigarette close to the window and waved his other hand around the abandoned hall. “Is totally highschool thing to do.” 

“Not for me.” Shane maintained. “I never smoked. Not once in my entire life.” 

“I guess I am cooler than you.” Ilya grinned when Shane huffed at him, and bent down to blow the smoke out the window. “You went to dances in high school?” 

“No, never.” Shane denied. “I hated high school.” 

“Why?” 

“I didn’t get it. Didn’t see the point of it.” The music from the gym wafted up the stairs to their little hideaway, the words indecipherable but the melody familiar and beat slow, a love song, maybe a ballad, something meant to keep people dancing close and conversations quiet. Shane hummed along with a few notes, then explained, “High school was like– it felt like everyone was playing a part, right? Like a stage production where everyone had a script and knew their lines and had it all memorized. Everyone except me. I...didn't. I couldn’t. I felt like I was pretending every goddamn day, but everyone else was pretending better so I was always a little bit behind on the joke or something.” 

He leaned over to look down the long line of identical lockers, the coordinating colors and closed doors with their matching hardware, the decorated signs on the walls, the scuffed floor and worn carpet.

“I couldn’t wait to be gone.” Shane settled back onto the bench with a little shrug. “I couldn’t wait to escape and get to the part of my life where I wasn’t pretending all the time.” 

“Hockey.” Ilya guessed and Shane’s mouth tilted in a smile, “Yeah. Being on the ice. I memorized press conference answers and figured out how to deal with the publicity, but playing? I don’t have to pretend. It just works. I get on the ice, get a stick in my hands and a puck in front of me and everything falls right into place. It’s always…” 

He sighed. Swallowed. “It used to be perfect. All the time.” 

“You still feel like that?” Ilya knocked some ash out the window. Nudged his leg sideways enough to bump into Shane’s shoe. “Like you are pretending if you are not playing. Faking and trying to catch up all the time.” 

“No. Not here.” Shane hadn’t realized it was true until right then when he said it out loud. “Not now, at least. When I first moved to Montbonne, yeah. It felt like I was scrambling trying to figure out what I was supposed to do, but no, not anymore. Not with the girls. Feels like I can finally fucking breathe again after months of like–” 

Belatedly Shane realized he’d been running his mouth rambling, and he winced self consciously. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to drag that out." 

“No, is okay.” Ilya took a deep drag of the cigarette and motioned for Shane to keep going. “Keep talking. Tell me.” 

“Okay.” Shane studied him for a minute, then changed the subject to ask very softly, “Why didn’t you tell me when you moved back? You’ve been back for years and you didn’t say anything to me.” 

“Shane–” 

“No, I get that it felt like cheating when you were still married.” Soft soft soft, Shane almost whispered it into the empty hall, past the cold breeze winding in from the window and the hushed music from downstairs. “I get that. But what about after? When you split up? It’s been over a year since the divorce, and you saw the game, you saw me get hurt, you had to know I was sitting there freaking out cos I couldn’t play anymore but you– you didn’t say anything. Why not?” 

Ilya turned his head to exhale out the window and smoke clouded up over his face, obscuring his profile and the sharp line of his jaw while he thought through his answer. 

Finally, “I thought if I texted or called.” his throat moved when he swallowed. “You would be mad like you are mad now. And if you were not mad, then I thought it had been too much time, you were moved on.”

He turned to look at him, eyes sad and serious. “We were not out back then. Not official. Not dating. You were important to me and yes, five years was everything, but really we were nothing. I thought you moved on and I was a hook up from years and years ago, so not someone you would leave wife or girlfriend or boyfriend for. So what, we would maybe have a drink and dinner? Catch up once and never talk again? I would not want that.” 

Ilya sniffed, rubbing at his nose. “I would always want more than that with you. So it was easier to stay away than to text and be told no. Or be told you forgot me. Or have to see you happy with wife and picket fence and beautiful children.” 

He smiled tired and resigned and like he’d had the same conversion with himself a hundred different times, “I am not a good enough person to see you in that life and be happy for you, Shane. I know that. Was easier and safer to stay away. 

“Pussy.” Shane muttered and Ilya nodded, “Yes. I was scared. But tell me. If I did text and want to see you when me and Svetlana divorced. Would you have said yes then?” 

“I don’t know.” Shane hated that he didn’t know. “Maybe. I want to say I’d be polite enough to meet for drinks and at least catch up, but maybe not. I don’t know.” 

“And I would not want fake and polite Shane Hollander.” Ilya shrugged. “So it does not matter, hm?” 

“No. I guess not.” 

“I watched all your games, Shane.” Ilya ground out his cigarette and dropped the butt in the nearby trash can. “Every single one. I kept your messages. All of them. Yes, I was scared and was easier to stay away, but I still wished you were close. I didn’t text or call or find you, I didn’t think I was allowed or welcome to do that, but I wanted to. Maybe that does not mean anything to you, maybe is not enough for you to not be mad at me anymore, but it was all I thought I could have. You understand?” 

“I understand.” Shane understood. “But I don’t know if that’s enough for me to forgive you all the way yet.” 

“Okay. I will keep waiting.” The music changed downstairs as the dance came down to its final few minutes and Ilya stood up from the bench, “Want to dance?” 

“Dance.” Shane repeated blankly. “Right here? What if someone comes up and sees us? No way, that’s not a good–” 

“Shane.” Ilya shook his head, “We are not scared kids anymore. Not stupid rookies hiding in hotel rooms. No one is looking and no one cares, is okay to do what we want now. And I want to dance with you.”

He held his hand out, palm up and fingers curled coaxing, “Do you want to dance with me?”

“Fuck.” Shane clenched his fists open and closed, open and closed. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay. I do want to dance with you.” 

“Come on.” 

Ilya pulled Shane up from the bench, careful without being obvious about it as he made sure there was enough space for Shane to untangle his legs and find his footing, enough room that he wouldn’t bump into the bench and twinge painful at his knee and foot. They fumbled a little trying to figure out who would lead, hands knocking and shoes bumping until Ilya got his hand at Shane’s waist and linked their fingers together close to his heart and all Shane had to do was lean into him and follow.

All Shane had to do was sink into him and let Ilya lead, and as Ilya moved them slowly swaying to the faint music, Shane closed his eyes and let himself fall. 

He tucked in to Ilya’s shoulder, knotting his fingers in the silky shirt and hiding his face in the curve of Ilya’s neck so his lashes fluttered featherlight at Ilya’s skin with blink and he could feel Ilya’s heartbeat pick up faster faster racing against his lips. Ilya made a quiet, wondering noise low in his throat and folded in around Shane, spreading his hand wide at the small of Shane’s back to hug him close and settling his other palm at the base of Shane’s neck, tangling his fingers in the ends of Shane’s hair and holding him tight. 

“Shanychka…” he murmured and Shane nodded against him, not sure exactly what the variation on his name meant but shaken right down to his core by Ilya whispering it like he was awestruck by the whole thing.

They fit into each other easily, perfectly, notched in matching without a second thought. Ilya rubbed slow circles at Shane’s back with his nose turned into Shane’s hair and Shane knew if he lifted his head, Ilya would kiss him. He knew if he pulled back even a little bit, Ilya would lean down and kiss him. The knowing of it loomed large and a little bit terrifying, so Shane didn’t lift his head and Ilya didn’t push, and the song kept playing so they kept swaying slow dancing in the empty hall. 

Eventually the music faded away to nothing, and a few seconds of silence reigned before the high schoolers downstairs started clapping and laughing, all the gymnasium doors opening to release the kids into the hallway and parking lot as the dance ended and the night was officially over. 

Ilya loosened his hold at Shane’s waist regretfully, letting go slowly, lingering as long as he dared before dropping his hands all the way down. 

“So um.” Shane folded his arms against the sudden chill in the hallway, shivering almost trembling as the lack of heat from Ilya’s body around him, the cool night air from the open window and the emotional shock of distance left him freezing cold. “What do we do now?” 

“Now we go to crappy hotel room and get drunk on cheap, shitty vodka.” Ilya laughed when he really wanted to drag his hands through his hair and curse over the evening ending, then drag Shane back into his arms and beg for the night to not be over. “Have clumsy awkward sex. Full high school dance experience.”

“And here I thought I was missing out on something great about high school dances all these years.” Shane returned dryly. “Clumsy awkward sex fueled by shitty vodka? I think I’ll pass." 

“Shane.” Ilya made up his mind in an instant, decided the night couldn’t be over until they talked about one more thing, and stepped back into Shane’s space with a hand at his waist and his fingers at Shane’s cheek, sliding down to cup his chin and hold him. “Listen to me now, please.” 

“What are you doing?” Shane didn’t fight the hand at his chin and he didn’t pull away from Ilya’s grip at his waist, but he did shake his head, trying to get ahead of whatever was coming so they didn’t ruin their dance with another disastrous conversion. “Ilya, we don’t have to– it’s been a fun night, we don’t need to–” 

“Poslushay menya.” Ilya hushed him. “Listen. I am sorry, okay? I am sorry. Let me say it so this time you will hear me and believe me.” 

“Ilya.” Shane couldn’t look away with Ilya holding his chin, so he grabbed for Ilya’s shirt pleadingly, tugging at the soft material so Ilya would relent. “It was a long time ago and I understand, okay? I told you I understand and yeah, some days I’m still a little mad but I’ll get over it. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to matter. We can move on and be okay with–” 

“What if it did though?” Ilya swept his thumb at Shane’s jaw. “What if we let it matter?” 

“I don’t– I don’t um–” it was abruptly too hot in the hallway and Shane was sweating. “Ilya, we don’t have to do this tonight. We can talk tomorrow, or–” 

Ilya moved forward, and Shane accommodated moving backwards without thinking, following the barely there pressure of Ilya’s hand at his waist without even realizing until his back hit the lockers on the other side of the hall and he was effectively pinned in between the unforgiving metal and the bulk of Ilya’s body. 

“What are you doing?” Shane didn’t fight it. He shivered past the brush of fingers down his throat and shifted his weight into the heat of Ilya’s palm, keeping his eyes down cos eye contact was too much right then. “What– why–” 

“I will be very honest right now, okay?” Ilya didn’t let him hide, lifting Shane’s chin until he found his eyes again. “You will listen.” 

“I–” Shane swallowed. “Okay.” 

“I did not kiss you goodbye in Vegas because I was scared I would stay if you asked.” 

“...wh-what?” 

“Listen.” Softer. Ilya rested their foreheads together and traced the shape of Shane’s mouth with the very tips of his fingers. “I did not want to leave you. I did not want to go home. I decided in Sochi yes, but I knew if I told you, if I let you in, then I would change my mind. If you asked me to stay, I would. I did not kiss you because it would break me.” 

“Ilya.” 

“You maybe would have come up with some twelve step, ten year plan to fix everything because you are smart.” Ilya said quietly. “Or maybe you would have told me to go, that it was right thing to do and maybe you would have been proud of me. But first you would look at me very sad, and I would have to kiss you, and then I would change my mind.” 

“So you planned to make me angry instead?” Shane was holding onto Ilya’s shirt again, pinching it between his fingers. “That was better than risking me being sad?” 

“You did not do what I thought you would.” Ilya allowed himself the briefest dotted kiss at Shane’s temple before putting their foreheads back together and closing his eyes, losing himself in the memory of Vegas. “I thought you would push me away in the bathroom, but you stayed. I thought you would ignore text about penthouse, but you came to find me. You said yes to strip show, yes to showing off for me, bozhe moy, you were so good and did everything I asked and then you asked for me. Then you needed me. And it–” 

He exhaled shakily. “It was okay for me to be fucked up for leaving you. That was my choice, my fault. But I did not want you to be sad, so I tried to leave you angry. I thought you would be mad and quit me, thought you would delete my number and erase me, but you didn’t. You kept texting and I kept saving them.” 

“I cannot change it. How it happened or what I did.” Ilya’s voice cracked with regret. “And I am sorry.” 

“Ilya—”

“I did not kiss you goodbye in Vegas.” he set his thumb to the corner of Shane’s mouth, notching in closer to Shane’s body until they were sharing air, noses bumping, lips only an inch apart. “Is not a mistake I want to ever make again.” 

Closer. Quieter. “I do want to be friends with you, Shane Hollander. Real friends like we were before, and better than we were before, but I do not want to be only friends. I want to see you and be with you and kiss you goodbye every time I can. Is that okay?” 

“Holy shit, Ilya.” Shane whispered and Ilya whispered back, “Tell me no and I will not say it again. We will be only friends. Or only parent and coach if that is what you want. Is up to you. Tell me no and I will stop bothering you. I promise. 

“I– I um–” 

“No?” 

“…yes.” Faintly. “Yes, Ilya. Kiss me goodbye.” 

“Come here then.” Ilya fit his hand around Shane’s throat and drew him in to cover him in a slow, solid kiss. Shane cursed stunned into the first press of lips and knotted his fingers into Ilya’s shirt, pulling him closer and holding him tight, but Ilya didn’t deepen the kiss, didn’t push it long, didn’t try to sweep his hand low at Shane’s ass or tighten his grip at Shane’s throat to make him gasp and open. 

Ilya kissed him slow and solid and sweet, then pulled away to murmur, “Thank you for dance.” before wiping Shane’s mouth gently and letting go, backing up, turning around to leave. “Goodnight, Shanychka.” 

“G-goodnight, Ilya.” Shane thunked his head against the locker, set shaky fingers at his lips and closed his eyes, biting at his bottom lip so he wouldn’t do something stupid like laugh out loud overwhelmed by it all. “Holy shit.” 

Then he did laugh a little, just quietly to himself in the empty hall with both hands over his mouth and a blush burning dark red into his cheeks, skin prickling and heart pounding and a goofy smile stretching at his face. “Oh holy shit.” 

**** 

From Lily: Is okay if you are still mad at me. Can I have time to figure out how to make it better?

From Jane: How much time?

From Lily: I won’t stop trying until you tell me to.

From Jane: … okay.

*****

Chapter Notes: 

Things I love about this Chapter:

Ilya calling Shane out on lying via a planned speech. To be fair, Shane wasn’t lying, he was trying to “logic” his way through the emotions so he wouldn’t collapse trying to cope with them (same girl, same) and yes, he DOES understand Ilya’s pov and the reality/reasons of what happened but he’s also not ACTUALLY dealing with it.  

I love David. He’s so aware of Shane’s struggles with Big Feelings and has such good, patient advice while Yuna’s like “smack the guy and move on.” Them both knowing Shane is probably gay but waiting until he’s ready to talk about it is so supportive and great. 

Ilya bullying Shane into being a Bitchy Queen. Shane internalizes so much, so even if he’s being mean at least he’s TALKING and eventually he’ll be able to say Real Important Things. 

“Not in your house!” “Not in my house!” Protect goalie!Nadya at all costs, she’s precious. 

Shane being chatted up by some objectively hot French guy and thinking “huh he’d be great for someone else” because his Whole Type is only Ilya so it doesn’t occur to him to pay attention to anyone else. Sorry for the broken hearts scattered across Canada, Shane is oblivious and unbothered. 

Honorable mention for the working on the cabin scene. Shane's been in survival mode for so long, he legit doesn't know what to do when help and companionship is offered in the framework of friendship and community vs a transaction (therapist) or responsibility (his parents and Hayden).

Ilya in therapy because he knows he can’t get through life how he always did without affecting his girls and he is DETERMINED to be a better person/Dad for the twins. He chose to get help to save/change himself for the sake of the people he loves and that’s so beautiful. 

Love love the dance. Big Feelings for them getting chances to have those dorky innocent early dating experiences together. Plus the distance in this chapter with most communication being via text then suddenly they are holding each other, quiet and private and sharing a kiss??

Shane pretending in school, faking social interactions, thinking everyone else was better prepared for the ‘role’ they play… hi, it’s me. Getting diagnosed and learning the word “masking” was quite literally life changing for me. Goes hand in hand with trying to “logic” through intense emotions vs dealing with them.

Ilya admitting that texting Shane would have felt like cheating, and that he knows he’d never be happy for Shane/settle for catching up and moving on because he will always want more. He never stopped loving Shane even for a second. When he’s like “here are the ways I never let you go, I realize it’s not enough for you forgive me, but it’s all I let myself have.” OW PAIN straight through the heart. 

The mutual awareness that what’s done is done and the past can’t be fixed… sometimes life is just like that. Love Shane repeatedly verbalizing his anger and Ilya repeatedly acknowledging it, Shane is still processing and Ilya is willing to wait but neither of them can keep their eyes or hands or lips off each other so yes, still some work to do but they’re going to get nekkid in between the difficult conversations because it’s what they (and us!) deserve. 

Coming Up! It's Halloween, and the boys share a very sweet late night moment.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 6: Halloween (never have we ever...)

Chapter Summary

Content Warning: The girls completely steal the show, they are so fun

Shane wasn’t in his office after Monday practice, and Ilya frowned at the empty room, frowned out at the empty ice, frowned when he looked around the rink and didn’t see Shane at all. 

Where in the hell…?

“Ilya?” Shane ducked his head to get out from under the support braces on the far set of bleachers and paused confused when he saw Ilya looking wholly lost, turning in searching circles in front of his office. “Uh hey. What are you doing?” 

“What are you doing?” Ilya squinted at the elbow length gloves Shane was wearing, and the trashbag clutched in his fist. “You are picking up trash?” 

“Yeah, I guess the maintenance guy was sick over the weekend and the high schoolers left a big mess.” Shane held up the trash bag as explanation. “I figured if I was here, I’d pick some of it up.” 

“Okay. And these.” Ilya mimed up to his elbow. “Bright yellow hazmat gloves because…?” 

“It’s trash, Ilya.” Shane said flatly. “I’m not gonna pick it up without gloves, that’s gross.” 

Then belatedly, with a quick look around the rink, “Where are the girls? I thought you guys left like ten minutes ago.” 

“We saw Rachel when we were leaving.” Ilya wandered closer to the bleachers, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and holding out his hand for the trash bag. “She needed help carrying boxes to the bowling alley and the girls wanted to help refill the prize cabinet display. Rachel said she would text when they were done.” 

“Prize cabinet display, huh?” Oh, Ilya was using the time to come back over and see Shane, maybe to kiss him goodbye like he’d done at the dance. The thought made Shane’s heart race, then made him feel like a whole idiot for getting flustered over the idea of a potential kiss, so he decidedly ignored that train of thought and shoved the garbage bag towards Ilya. “So what are the odds the girls come home with ten pounds of random useless arcade prize junk after this?” 

“Fuck.” Ilya’s eyes went briefly, widely panicked. “I will trip over the slinkies they put on stairs and break my neck.”  

“The stuffed animals will fall apart after a day and the girls will cry.” Shane kept picking up trash, stepping onto the first bleacher and bending down to scoop up discarded soda cans. “The weird off brand dolls will break and you’ll have tiny plastic body parts all over the house. At the very least, Rachel is gonna give them a bunch of candy and you’ll have to deal with that all night.” 

“Eh. Maybe I will leave them in arcade overnight, let them sleep it off.” Ilya kept step with Shane down the length of the bleachers, holding out the bag obediently for every piece of trash. “They can survive on cotton candy and popcorn, yes?” 

“Nadya would be fine, but Mariya would get upset about the different colors of cotton candy mixed together in those bags.” Shane cracked a smile, and Ilya shot him a curious look, “You know about Masha being picky with food?” 

“I noticed it, yeah.” Mariya divided her fruit snacks by color and only ate one piece at a time. The day one of the parents brought baggies of trail mix to share, she’d stared down at the mixed up pile like it was the worst thing she’d ever seen. Nadya ate popcorn with both hands, cramming buttery salty pieces into her mouth as fast as she could, while Mariya stopped to wipe her hands on a napkin or paper towel or her shirt between every bite. 

Shane had noticed because when he ate candy, he separated it by color too. Trail mix, chex mix, even granola bars with too many ingredients were visually frustrating and a textural nightmare. Popcorn was a no go for teeth and gum reasons, for mess reasons, for butter and salt and calorie reasons. Shane had noticed and he chuckled about Mariya hating the mixed up bags of swirled through cotton candy, but really, he felt the same way. 

Ilya chuckled too, then tucked that little bit of information, the reminder of how much Shane cared about the twins way down deep in his heart for safekeeping. 

Huh. 

“They’re funny.” Shane moved up a row on the bleachers and Ilya moved up too, staying one below him so it was easier to catch the trash. “All the girls on the team are, but the twins are really funny. I dunno if they actually mean to be funny or if they’re just figuring out enough of the world to have a natural sense of humor but it’s great.” 

“I think is natural.” The row didn’t have as much trash, and Ilya stepped up another bench when Shane did so they could keep working. “Seven years old, they are funny. Learning how to be real people but they see the world from their height.” he mimed their height with his hand. “And it looks different so they talk different about it.” 

“But also.” he grimaced when Shane dropped an unfortunately nacho-cheese covered paper plate in the bag. “Twins are weird. Two halves of same soul. Nadya and Mariya are very different but still same person. They finish sentences and thoughts and copy motions without even trying. I think they are extra funny because their brains are on same loop.” 

He made a looping motion around his head. “They are chaos goblins. Mirror each other and feed off each other. Me and Sveta never know what they will say or do next.” 

“I think they’re great.” Shane said quietly, honestly. “But I’m probably biased cos they’re your kids and I like you alot most days.” 

“Most days.” Ilya scoffed, tucked that way down deep with all the other good things Shane had started saying out loud, then followed Shane up another bleacher and asked, “Did you ever want kids?” 

“I never thought about it.” Shane chucked a couple empty Sprite bottles in the trash. “All I ever wanted to do was play hockey, and at some point I wanted to be with you, so nothing else mattered." 

“Be with me?” Ilya latched onto that, and Shane hurried to clarify, “You know. In between games and practices and training. I had hockey and hooking up with you sometimes. That was it. I was too busy to think about kids.” 

“What about after?” 

“After what?”

“After. After retiring. Before you moved here.” Ilya shook the bag to push down the pile of trash so Shane could keep adding to it. “Did you think then you would have time for family? Settle down with a nice girl, have kids, get a house with picket fence. And do not say the Walmart brand thing again. that is stupid. I am serious.” 

“Then seriously no.” No. Shane shook his head adamantly. “All I thought about between retiring and moving here was how mad I was that I had to quit. Nothing about getting hurt and retiring felt like a relief. Or– or a chance. It felt like a fucking punishment. I wasn’t thinking about starting a family and settling down, I was thinking about everything I didn’t have anymore. Everything I lost."

“Hm.” The misery in Shane’s voice made Ilya’s chest ache, and he was quiet a moment as they clomped down off the bleachers with a full bag of trash.

“Besides.” Shane took a deep breath, peeled off the elbow length gloves and dropped them in the trash bag. “If I wanted to do the whole white picket fence, cute house, kids and nice girl thing, I’d actually have to be into girls.” 

He took another deep breath. Scratched his brow. “And I’m not. At all. So.” 

Ilya’s jaw dropped at how casually Shane had come out to him. “Shane–” 

“If you take that out to the dumpster, I’ll replace the bags.” Shane kept talking, kept moving, didn’t give himself or Ilya a chance to linger and expand on what he’d just admitted out loud for the very first time in his life. “Thank you.” 

“Yes.” Ilya didn’t push it. “Okay. Be right back.”  

From Rachel: We are done filling the prize cabinet, but the girls wanted to play air hockey so I gave them some tokens.

From Ilya Rozanov: I will be there in two minutes to pick them up. Thank you.

“Shane.” Ilya stopped in the bathroom to wash his hands, then went to find Shane again. “Shane?” 

“Right here.” Shane came from the locker room with a handful of items to add to the lost and found in the lobby. “Are the girls done helping Rachel?” 

“Yes, I have to go.” Ilya waited for Shane to drop everything into bin, then motioned him in hopefully, “Can I kiss you goodbye?” 

“Sure.” Yes. Shane gulped, plucking at the seam of his sweats nervously. Yes yes yes, please. “Uh yeah. That’s– that’s okay.” 

“Come here then.” Ilya met Shane halfway through the lobby and slid his hands around to hold Shane’s waist, knotting his fingers into the thick hoodie material and using it as leverage to pull Shane into a slow kiss. 

Shane came willingly, came eagerly, Ilya barely tugged at him and Shane jolted forward with lips pursed, his hands automatically going to Ilya’s arms to hold his biceps and kiss him right back. 

“Mmmm…” Ilya forced himself to break the kiss after a few too short seconds. He left a there and gone flick of his tongue at the seam of Shane’s lips so he could hear Shane groan for it, then Ilya pulled away, leaning back with his eyes open so he could see if Shane chased it, and yes Shane chased the kiss, swaying forward with his eyes still closed and lashes fluttering and lips parted waiting for more. 

“Do skoroy vstrechi, Shanychka.” Ilya was tempted to give more, take, more, have more, but he said good-bye instead, pressed at Shane’s waist then took a step away. “See you soon.” 

“Okay. Yep. Bye.” Shane rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth where his lips still tingled, then went to get his jacket and lock the office, scolding himself quietly, "Get it together Hollander. It’s just a kiss. You;re in your thirties and you’re still sort of mad at that guy, so keep it together.” 

*****

Ilya texted that night as he was making dinner, leaving the chicken to saute for a few minutes so he could ask,

From Lily: When did you know? 

From Jane: About what?

From Lily: About not liking girls.  

From Jane: Maybe always. Definitely recently.

From Lily: Why? How did you figure it out? Was it VERY recently? 

From Jane: What do you mean VERY recently? Are you trying to get me to say your dick cured me of any lingering heterosexuality? 

Ilya laughed out loud, then checked over his shoulder to make sure the twins were still ensconced in their math homework and weren’t going to come barreling in nosy and invasive about why he was laughing. 

From Lily: I was not trying to get you to say that. But you should say it anyway. 

From Jane: Fuck off.

From Lily: When? 

From Jane: It doesn’t matter. I just know. Now. 

From Lily: Okay. 

Sitting in the cabin with a half eaten grilled cheese mostly abandoned on his plate, Shane jumped startled when his phone rang unexpectedly. 

“Hey.” The caller ID said Lily and Shane hesitated one ring, two rings, three rings before picking up. “Why are you calling me?” 

“So I have much better chance with you than I thought?” Ilya shook the bottle of coconut milk before dumping it into the pan with the chicken, then switched spoons to stir the rice. “If you are not into girls, then I do not have to worry about the moms at practice flirting with you. And there is maybe two men in town who are better looking than me, so my odds with you are pretty good, yes?” 

“Um.” Shane bit into the inside of his cheek to try and counter a goofy wide smile. “I mean, you would think so, but actually… no.”

“Oh, you wound me.” Ilya gasped theatrically and Shane rolled his eyes, “Yeah, right.” 

“Shot through the heart.” Ilya pulled bowls from the cupboard and started dishing up the stir fry, sighing mournfully, “And you are to blame.” 

“Really? Quoting Bon Jovi lyrics?”  

“Shane Hollander, you give love a bad name.” 

“Maybe.” Shane ran a hand through his hair, then ran it over his face, around to rub and squeeze at the back of his neck. “But uh– we were never in love. So.” 

“Hm.” Ilya’s voice went very soft. “If you say so.” 

*****

From Coach Hollander: Hey everyone. Since Halloween is tomorrow (Thursday) I am going to cancel practice so the girls can attend the fall festival at the school and go trick or treating. 

From Coach Hollander: We do have a game on Saturday night. I will be at the rink during Open Ice time from 12p–2pm if any of the girls want to come by and get some practice in beforehand. Otherwise, I’ll see everyone Saturday night for the game. 

From Coach Hollander: Have a safe and fun Halloween. 

Shane sent the text to the team group chat, then scrolled down to the text chain with Lily and hovered over the messages, debating whether or not to initiate a conversation, whether or not to check in.

They hadn’t seen each other since the good-bye kiss on Monday and had only texted a few times in the two days since. That wasn't really any less than they usually texted, the messages had been casual and teasing and normal, and there wasn’t any valid reason why Shane couldn’t text and initiate another round of conversation, but there also wasn't really a valid reason why he should text and initiate another round of conversation. 

Except of course, Shane wanted to.

“Fuck.” Shane wanted to do what Ilya did, when Shane sent team group messages but Ilya chose to respond separately in the Jane-Lily chain so they could talk about the team thing, then talk about non-team things and usually end up flirting and laughing and texting for another hour.

He wanted to text something that would reiterate the team chat information, while also implying hinting that he was bummed they wouldn’t have an easy chance to see one another until the end of the week. 

Shane wanted to talk to Ilya. That was all there was to it. He hadn’t stopped thinking about their dance and Ilya taking every opportunity to spend more time with him, even if it was picking up trash after practice or turning a text conversation into a phone call so they could hear each other laugh. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Ilya being vulnerable and honest and asking permission when it came to good-bye kisses and oh hell, Shane hadn’t stopped thinking for a single fucking second about Ilya crooning a Russian variation of his name in that deep, dark, tone of voice…

Fuck. 

From Jane: What are the girls dressing up as for Halloween this year?

Shane chewed at his thumbnail, bouncing his knee as he waited for Ilya to reply. It was a nothing text. Bland enough that his feelings wouldn’t be hurt if Ilya didn’t respond, casual enough to open a conversation, nothing close to as intense as admitting he didn’t want to wait another three days to see Ilya.

Sure, Shane was curious about what the girls had picked for costumes, but he’d hear all about it at the game on Saturday so he didn’t need to text and– 

“Ilya.” Shane picked up on the first ring when his phone lit up with an incoming call. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” Ilya’s voice was tinny and hollow and distant, his phone obviously on speaker. “I’m glad you called.” 

“I didn’t call.” Shane couldn’t help snarking. “I texted and you called. Which is annoying, by the way. What if I was too busy to talk on the phone?” 

“Don’t pretend you have fancy engaging social life, Shane, I know you are always boring, never busy.” The echo over the speaker made Ilya's laugh sound weird. “Besides. If you were busy, you would not have picked up.” 

“Maybe I was being polite.” Shane defended and Ilya snorted, “Okay Polite Guy, hang up then.” 

Shane didn’t hang up. Ilya gave it fifteen seconds before clicking his tongue. “Is what I thought. I am still glad to talk to you, even if you are annoying.” 

“Fuck off, you’re annoying.” 

“No, I am busy.” A noisy clatter emphasized the statement. “But I still want to talk to you. Do you want to talk to me?” 

Yes yes yes, Shane thought. He settled on, “Obviously.” then added “What are you doing right now?” 

“Icing cookies for tomorrow.” The echoing speaker phone call and background noise made more sense once Shane realized Ilya was at the bakery. “My hands are too messy to text so phone call is easier. Or FaceTime. Do you want to FaceTime?” 

“Uh, no.” Shane didn’t want to FaceTime. He’d been cleaning house all day in his torn up sweats and an ancient McGill sweatshirt, and it was hard enough not to trip over his words on a phone call, he certainly didn’t need to be self conscious about how he looked when Ilya always looked good and probably looked even better than usual in an apron and surrounded by sprinkles and what, with a little bit of icing on his cheek or something? 

Fuck. Shane wanted to see Ilya, but he definitely didn’t want to spontaneously FaceTime when he felt less than.

“No.” he decided. “I don’t wanna FaceTime. This is fine. Um. What are the girls dressing up as for Halloween?” 

“Masha is Anxiety Barbie.” A mixer clicked on with a low whir. “The nervous character from Inside Out, but with pink shoes and pink jewelry and pink purse because Barbie. Nadyushka is Ghostface killer.” 

“Wait.” Shane turned up the volume on his phone, trying to hear better. “Wait, Mariya is Barbie themed and Nadya is a horror movie character?” 

“Is always the quiet ones you have to worry about.” 

“That’s amazing.” Shane loved that the twins were very much their own individual people, and that Ilya let them be different, “So they never do like, twin costumes?” 

“They were Thing 1 and Thing 2 as babies.” A rush in the background like mass amounts of sprinkles being shaken out all at once. “Last year they were the twins from the Shining. Stood at the top of the stairs and whispered things down at me.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” A startled laugh burst out of him. “What the fuck?”

“I fussed at Sveta for buying those costumes, yes. I told her she cannot buy costumes when she does not live in the same house as the creepy consequences.” Clatter. Cookie sheets. “But this year, the girls wanted to be different characters.”

“I bet they’re gonna look great.” Shane picked at a worn spot on his sweats. “Do you dress up?”

“No, all my costume picks are slutty and I am too much of a Dad to wear those sort of things anymore.” 

“Slutty.” Shane echoed half skeptically, half curiously, and the mixer turned up a speed as Ilya listed off, “Gladiator. Doctor. Judge. Hockey player.”

“Those are normal costumes.” Shane’s eyebrows rose a little imagining Ilya as a gladiator, but he maintained, “They aren’t slutty at all.” 

“They are when I wear them.” 

“Oh my god.” 

The conversation stalled as the noise in the bakery got louder, and Shane tried to picture exactly what Ilya was doing. He thought it would be nice maybe, to hang out some time in the bakery while Ilya wore an apron and rifled through his ultra satisfyingly coordinated sprinkle cupboard to create beautiful, tasty things. Maybe it would be warm so close to the big ovens, maybe it would be cozy if the shop was closed and it was only them hanging out, maybe it would be easy for Shane to spend time face to face with this new version of Ilya who chose therapy and chose to be better for his girls and was choosing him, choosing time together and choosing to ask for goodbye kisses.

Maybe.

“You are volunteering at community carnival?” The noise shut off abruptly and Ilya’s voice changed, sounded closer and dropped lower like he’d gone into a different room and taken the phone off speaker. “What is your costume?”

“I wasn’t asked to volunteer, so I’m not going to dress up.” Shane never dressed up for Halloween. He never went to Halloween parties or harvest festivals or autumns fairs either. He didn’t eat candy, didn’t drink enough alcohol to matter, being the only sober one at a venue full of liquored up adults was never fun and attending the fairs and festivals had always felt pointless without someone to share it with, so no, “I’m staying home.”

“Boooooo.” Ilya blew a raspberry into the phone. “Boring.”

“Well.” Shane picked picked picked at the worn spot. “Are you going to the carnival? Because if you and the girls are going, then maybe— maybe I’ll go too.” breathe breathe breathe. “We could meet up. Might be fun.”

“Could be very fun.” Ilya clicked his tongue regretfully. “But I am taking the girls to Boston to see Svetlana. Her work sponsors a trick or treat event every year and the girls love it. We are skipping school tomorrow to fly to Boston.” 

“Oh.” Oh. Shane jolted up off the couch and started pacing around the living room like the sudden change in position would do anything to stop his heart from plummeting towards his feet disappointed. “Right. Okay. That sounds nice for you guys. Yeah.” 

It wasn’t a rejection. Ilya hadn’t turned him down. Pre-existing family-centric plans absolutely took precedence over a half assed, last minute suggestion to meet up at a community sponsored event. Ilya not telling Shane about the Boston plans didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t Shane’s business and even if it was Shane’s business, he couldn’t in good conscience be upset about Ilya taking the girls to see their Mom, that would be crazy. 

“Well.” Shane rubbed the back of his neck, paced around the living room, and tried to sound casually unbothered by it, “You said you were busy, so I’ll let you go.” 

“We will be home early Saturday morning.” Ilya offered. “You and I can spend time together before the game?”

“That...might be okay.” Shane wanted to see Ilya, but his pride and chronic uncertainty and the still bruised, still hurt, still angry part of his heart wouldn’t let him say it out loud, not when his reaction to the entirely understandable not-rejection felt like proof he was already way too invested in Ilya and the potential of them and their next kiss. “Maybe. We can see how the day goes at least.” 

“Means no?” Ilya checked in. “You are saying no.”

“Not— I mean, not necessarily.” He stammered. “I just— you know, it’s a busy day. So–” 

“I want to see you, Shane.” Ilya said then, matter of fact and directly to the point. “Saturday before the game. Do you want to see me?”

“Yes.” Quiet. At least for a few seconds, Shane stopped over thinking, over analyzing, over worrying about the nuance and meaning and depth and stress their history seemed to give every single word and sentence and conversation. Ilya spoke up direct and firm and cutting through the bullshit to give Shane a yes or no question, and it gave his brain a chance to be so quickly quiet, it was suddenly easy for Shane to close his eyes and admit. “Yeah. I do want to see you.”

“Good.” Ilya sounded a little bit surprised but mostly overwhelmingly pleased. “Okay then. Saturday.”

“Saturday.” Shane sat back down when his heart jumped into his throat hammering hopeful and excited and anxious all at once. “Okay. See you soon.” 

“Do skoroy vstrechi. See you soon.” 

*****

Thursday

Halloween

“Hello?” Shane picked up his phone when it rang with an unknown number, turning down the TV show he hadn’t really been watching, and sitting back from the dinner he hadn’t really been eating. 

“H-hello.” the voice on the other end was raspy and stammering. “Who is th-this?” 

“Uh.” Shane wiped his fingers on a napkin, switching the phone to his other ear. “Who are you tryna get ahold of?” 

“Wh-what num-mber is this?” 

“Bud, I think you got the wrong number. I’m gonna hang up. Take it easy.”

Shane hung up. His phone rang again few seconds later.

Unknown number. 

“Hello?” 

“S-sorry.” said the same raspy, stuttering voice, but that time Shane caught high pitched giggles in the background too. “I guess I d-dialed the wrong numb-ber.” 

“Ask him about the scary movie.” someone else whispered urgently. “Ask him what his favorite scary movie is!” 

“Wh-what is y-your favorite scary m-m-movie?” the raspy voice cracked with a burble of high pitched laughter. “Name th-the killer in Halloween.” 

“The killer in Halloween.” Oh, Shane got it. He put the phone on speaker so he could look up the next line of the infamous phone call movie script. “Uh… Michael. Michael Myers.” 

“H-he got it right.” the ‘mysterious’ caller whispered, and the reply from their co-conspirator was an exasperated, “Ask him the next question then!” 

“Wh-ho is the k-k-killer–” Another blip of hysterical laughter as the caller struggled to keep it together. “In Friday the 13th?” 

“Jason.” he answered promptly, and had to cover his mouth to muffle a laugh when the caller cackled gleefully, “N-no! That’s wr-wrong! It’s J-Jason’s mother! N-now I get to k-k-kill you!” 

“Nadyushka!” Before Shane could beg for mercy from the ultra scary mysterious caller, Ilya’s deep voice cut through the increasing giggles to scold, “Masha! What are you doing on emergency phone?!” 

“Hush Daddy!” Mariya hissed at him. “We’re scaring Coach!” 

“He th-thinks I’m Ghostf-face.” Nadya insisted, but Ilya clapped his hands, “No, no scaring Coach. Give me the phone, give it here.” 

“You ruined it!” Mariya wailed. “He didn’t know it was us!” 

“Yes, I’m sure you were very convincing. Go find Mama, Go on.” There was a scuffle and shuffle and fuzz of noise as the twins begrudgingly handed over their phone and went to find their Mama, and Shane stayed on the line waiting Ilya picked the phone up and sighed, “Hi. Sorry about that. I told the girls not to call, but they are goblins and do not listen worth shit.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Shane settled back into the couch with a smile. “Whose number did they call from?” 

“This is emergency phone for girls when they are at sleepovers. They have it tonight so if we get separated trick or treating, they can call me or Mama. Your number is in it as Coach in case they cannot get ahold of me sometime, but they are only supposed to call you for emergency, not to be creepy Ghostface Barbies.” Ilya was clearly exasperated by the entire thing. “They are still laughing  though, so thank you for playing along.” 

“No problem.” He was an emergency contact for the twins. Coach Hollander, emergency contact. Shane sort of loved it. “Nadya was very convincing as Ghostface, I was shaking in my boots.”  

“Did you have to look up the script for the next line,” Ilya wanted to know, “Or are you horror movie nerd who already had it memorized?” 

“I mean." Shane hadn’t had the script memorized, but he was all set and ready to defend horror movie enthusiasts simply for the entertainment of arguing with Ilya about what constituted a nerd and whether or not the word carried an inherent negative connotation, but right as he was gearing up to provoke Ilya—

“Ilyushka!” Svetlana in the background, calling for Ilya over whatever the twins were chattering about and Shane froze mid sentence, mid word, mid breath when Ilya replied back and suddenly the four of them were talking in Russian, chatting together and laughing together and hanging out as a whole family unit… and Shane was just Coach on the other end of the line, just Coach who’d been prank called by the twins as a practical joke, just Coach who needed to end the call, put the phone down, and let Ilya and his family get on with their evening. 

“Sorry, is time to go.” Shane jolted back to the moment when Ilya talked at him again, “I will text you, okay?” 

“I–” Shane almost said no. Don’t bother. It’s fine. “Uh—” him freezing up at hearing Svetlana’s voice wasn’t fine, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to say or admit or acknowledge it right then. “Sure.” 

“Bye, Coach Hollander.” Ilya sounded like he was smiling. 

Shane moved past the swamp of insecurity tried to smile too. “Bye, Mr. Rozanov.” 

The phone call disconnected, but by the time Shane had added the twins’ number to his contacts, his notifications chimed with incoming picture messages, four different snapshots of Mariya and Nadya posing their way through a rather glittery, gratuitously stabby Anxiety Barbie and Ghostface mash up. 

From Jane: They look great.

From Ilya: Can’t wait to see you Saturday.

Shane saved the photo of the girls as their contact picture and turned the TV back up, picked at a few more bites of the gone-cold dinner he’d never really planned on eating, and didn’t think about how his stomach had dropped right to the floor hearing Svetlana in the background of the phone call.

That was a problem for the therapist he never saw anymore, a problem for some other time when the lonely didn’t feel so thick and the night didn’t loom out in front of him for so many hours. 

He couldn’t wait for Saturday. 

He didn’t text Ilya back, though. 

*****

“--So Jackie is all upset at me for missing Halloween, and I told her, ‘Hon, I’m upset about missing it too’! It’s not like I have control over the game schedule, I can’t help I was in Chicago for an away game.” 

“Okay but in Jackie’s defense,” Shane tried to interrupt Hayden’s rant, but Hayden raised his voice, “Oh no! No no no, you do not finally call me for the first time in ages and then take Jackie’s side. Bros before–” 

“Take ten to twenty percent off the top there, bud.” Shane cut in quickly, and Hayden huffed, “I wasn’t gonna say hoes, I was going to choose some other word that both clarifies how much I love and adore my gorgeous wife while also expressing how pissed off I am at you for not just being MIA, but also taking her side.” 

“Sorry you had to miss Halloween with the kiddos.” Shane pulled a hoodie on and rummaged for his thick socks, tossing them into his skate bag. “What was the family costume theme this year?” 

“Mario movie themed. Twins were Mario and Luigi.” Hayden answered, sounding much less disgruntled once he could talk about his kids. “They ran around all night making jump noises and using what is probably a super offensive Italian accent. Arthur was Toad and Amber was Princess Peach.” 

“Did Jackie dress up?” 

“She said she did, but also said my punishment for being at an away game was missing out on the costume, so I’m assuming it’s not something she could have worn outside for trick or treating.” 

“Yeah, that’s probably a safe assumption.” Shane checked the time, then checked his messages to see if Ilya had texted. “Too bad you guys lost the Chicago game. Insult to injury, right?” 

“Exactly that, yeah.” Hayden groaned out loud. “Missed Halloween with the kids for the first time ever, missed whatever Jackie was going to wear as lingerie, and we lost. I’m fuckin’ tired of this, Shane-o.” 

“What do you mean, tired of it?” Talking to Hayden was easier, now. The words didn’t stick in Shane’s throat, the conversation didn’t dry up because he wasn’t willing to talk and he didn’t have the energy to ask questions, Shane wasn’t flinching from Hayden being a literal physical reminder of the life he didn’t have anymore. Shane had called first, he’d initiated the conversation, having his best friend chattering in his ear, complaining about domestic issues and generally being blandly, inoffensively fussy was a relief. 

It felt normal. Felt a lot less lonely than Halloween night. 

“--maybe retire? My best bud isn’t even playing with me anymore, so it’s only half has fun and fuck Shane, I think I’m getting old.” 

“You’re not even thirty five yet, Hayden.” Shane carried his bag out to the living room and tossed it on the couch. “Don’t retire. You’ve got four kids to put through college.” 

“Oh please, have you seen college prices lately? Tuition is out of control. I know they were paying you a buttload of money, but us mere mortal hockey players don’t make near enough–” 

From Lily: Flight is delayed in Boston. We will not be home until right before the game, might even be late for the game if traffic is bad. 

From Lily: Sorry. 

“No, I know college is expensive.” Shane had no idea whether or not college was expensive, at least not from a recent point of view. He’d gone straight to playing pro, no college, no degree, and he didn’t have any kids to plan a future for, but he offered a half hearted guess, “But if you do the right sorta investments, you can set up education funds, right? And Nadya’s smart, she’ll–” 

“Nadya?” Hayden interrupted and Shane’s eyes went wide, “Uh, I meant–” 

“Who’s Nadya?” 

“Sorry. No. It’s–” Shane hadn’t put any thought into both his best friend and his sort of ex-current-ish boyfriend having twin girls, and the name mixup was embarrassing. “One of my team parents just texted me, their kiddos are going to be late to the game. Sorry, I was looking at their name.” 

“Huh. Okay.” Unbothered by the slip up, Hayden changed subjects, “So hey, you never told me how your date went. You don’t hafta give me details, but at least tell me if it went good or not?” 

“Uh, the date was sort of a disaster.” Shane tapped his thumbs at the side of his phone, re reading Ilya’s message. “But we’ve spent some time together since then and I think it might actually work out. Maybe.” 

“What the hell!? That’s amazing!” 

Hayden was thrilled. Shane would have more thrilled about the potential of he and Ilya working out if he wasn’t still hesitating trying to get through a fucking text message. 

From Jane: Don’t worry about it. Even if the girls are a little late, I can put them in after intermission to make sure they get some ice time.

“So you’ll be with your folks for the holidays, right?” Hayden wanted to know. “You’ve been a freakin’ hermit for like ten months now, you’ll be back around at least for Christmas, right?” 

“Yeah, I’ll call you. Come by and see the kids and Jackie.” Shane didn’t know what his holiday plans were, but tentatively committing to see his friend and his noisy ass family didn’t freak him out like it had six months ago, so he nodded and repeated, “Definitely. We’ll figure something out.” 

From Lily: Sorry for missing us hanging out too. 

“Can’t wait! Let me know if you and your girls win the game tonight! Love you, Shane!” 

“Yeah, Hayden. I love you too.” 

From Jane: No worries. See you guys at the game. Drive safe.

Shane sent the messag,e then stared down at the screen waiting for Ilya to text back… something. Something direct and intense and bold enough to call Shane out on his vague texting bullshit and bolster him into being honest. 

I’ve been looking forward to Saturday all fucking week. I can’t wait to see you. Don’t be late, get here faster. I’m losing my fucking mind trying to be casual about this. I shouldn’t be this invested this soon. I should be scared you’re gonna break my heart. Holy shit, I am fucking terrified you’re gonna break my heart. 

From Lily: Put all those strategy skills to use figuring out how to sneak a smooch after game. 

Thank fuck. Shane grinned, thumbs flying over the keyboard to respond. 

From Jane: Sneak a smooch? Only losers say that sort of shit. 

From Lily: But only winners get to smooch Shane Hollander so… 

From Jane: LOSER. 

*****

The girls lost the game. No amount of cheering from the stands, encouragement from Shane, or extra effort provided by Mayday bringing her patented doom once they arrived was enough to keep the other team from scoring twice, but that was alright. 

“Good game. I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing. Good job.” Shane had high five and helmet taps for each of his players, and when Nadya peeked up at him and whispered, “Wh-what’s your favor–favor–favorite scary movie?” Shane made his eyes very wide and whispered back, “Oh my gosh, someone really freaky called me and asked me that on Halloween!” then laughed out loud when Nadya threw her little head back and gave her very best impression of a witchy cackle. 

Seven o’clock wasn’t all that late for a Friday night game, but for a gaggle of seven and eight year olds coming down off a Halloween candy high, an hour of ice time and half an hour of snacks meant eight-thirty might as well have been midnight, and the girls were tuckered out yawning exhausted by the time Shane got the visiting team loaded into the bus and on the road back home. 

“Goodnight, everybody.” Shane stood at the double door rink entry to give another round of high fives for the girls as they headed to the parking lot with their parents. “Oh, I want everyone to try and think of a team name for us? Something cooler than Montbonne U9 Girls. We need a real name, you guys think about it and we’ll vote at the next practice, okay?” 

“Night-night Coach!” 

“See you, Coach!” 

“Let’s be the Blueberries!” 

“No, we should be the Koala Bears!” 

“No no no, the Unicorns!” 

“Coach.” Mariya shoulder checked him as she hurried past. “Let’s be the Amazons!” 

“I w-want to be th-the Rainbows.” Nadya slipped her hand into Shane’s and squeezed his fingers tight. “M’not always cr-creepy!” 

“Not always, huh?” Shane laughed down at her, “That’s good to know.” 

“Come on girls, time to go.” Ilya held the door open for the twins, shot a quick glance at Matilde and Nychele who were still hanging around very obviously waiting for Shane’s attention, then tapped his index finger at his lips twice before following the girls out into the parking lot. 

Shane didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t know what being hushed was supposed to mean, but he shrugged it off along with the disappointment over missing out on a kiss, and turned to Matilde with a smile, switching to French and picking up Nychele’s bag so he could politely but firmly herd them towards to the exit while chatting. 

Matilde didn’t really have much to say, she just wanted to talk. Just wanted to linger. Shane was just as un-interested in her as he’d been in Louis, but he didn’t mind the conversation and didn’t mind Nychele running in circles around them chiming in with her own observations and comment. When Matilde put her hand on his arm, he very courteously extricated himself and held the door open so they could leave, sighing and mentally preparing himself for the day when he’d have to get specific with turning her down. 

Awkward.

Lily’s name lit up Shane’s phone screen before he finished waving Matilde and Nychele goodbye, and he picked up right away. 

“Ilya. Hey.” 

“Will you come over?” Ilya asked right off the bat. “I want to see you tonight.” 

“What? No, I can’t do that.” Shane said no so fast, he had to stop and wonder if he was saying no because going over to Ilya’s house was actually a bad idea, or if after all these years, anything about Ilya and them that sounded even slightly public or obvious or noticeable triggered an automatic, knee jerk denial.

“I mean. Um.” he hesitated. “I don’t know if–- Ilya, we can’t hook up at your house.” Shane was the last person in the arena, but he still lowered his voice and glanced around like someone might over hear. “That’s crazy. The girls are there and what if your neighbors–” 

“I didn’t say hook up.” Ilya huffed at him. “Come over and we will just watch a movie.” 

“Just watch a movie.” Shane carried the extra snacks into his office, then went back for the leftover Gatorade bottles. “Tell me the truth, have you ever just watched a movie with anyone at any point and didn’t try to feel them up?” 

“Scouts honor.” Ilya promised. “Come over, we will watch a scary movie, nothing else.” 

“Oh, now it’s a scary movie, huh?” Shane shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his skate bag, locking the office behind him. “How scary?” 

“Not bad enough for nightmares.” Came the quick confirmation. “But maybe enough so you need to grab onto my big strong shoulders and hide on my lap. Maybe you will need a smooch to calm down during the scary parts. But don’t worry, I will not make fun of you for needing a smooch. Is okay.” 

“A smooch, Jesus Christ.” Shane dropped into the front seat of the car and turned up the heat, rubbing at his forehead and blowing out a sigh. “Um.” 

“There are worse things to do on a Saturday night than share a popcorn and watch a movie.” Ilya started to coax, but before he even finished his sentence, Shane was agreeing, “Yes.” 

“Yes?” Ilya’s voice brightened in excitement. “You will come over?” 

“Yeah. Send me your address?” Shane’s phone blinged a second later with an address on the East end of Montbonne. “Okay. I’ll head that way.”

It was probably a bad idea, going over to Ilya’s house after dark when it had been an intense week of sort of crazy spiraling feelings and wishy washy uncertainty about their situation. Maybe the movie was only a movie, but there hadn’t been a single time in any situation with Ilya where they were sitting close together in the dark and clothes didn’t start coming off. The girls might still be awake so maybe Ilya meant it to be a family type of movie night, but oh fuck Shane didn’t think he was anywhere ready for that sort of thing, and if the girls were asleep and Ilya meant it as a late night date situation…

“Fuck.” Shane jammed the car into drive and headed for the main road, turning East towards the foothills and Ilya’s house. “This is probably a bad idea.” 

Probably definitely a bad idea for the sake of his emotional stability and all the what if nonsense he couldn’t get out of his head about the status of whatever they were doing and the unhealthy amount of time he spent thinking about their next goodnight kiss. 

Probably definitely a bad idea, but Shane smiled and sped just a little bit faster down the empty roads heading East towards the foothills. 

From Jane: Be there soon. 

From Lily: Good. 

*****

“Hi.” Ilya was waiting for Shane when he pulled into the well kept driveway at the end of the street in East End Montbonne. The porch light was bright and welcoming. and Ilya stepped outside to wave Shane in wearing jammies, a super snug Henley top unbuttoned enough to show the gleam of his necklace at his throat and a set of wildly printed plaid pajama pants. His curly hair was rumpled and messy, the long sleeves pulled almost over his fingers and his feet bare, and the whole look was so unexpectedly domestic cozy soft, that Shane had to stop at the bottom of the porch stairs and blink at him for a few seconds. 

“Shane.” Ilya snapped his fingers at him playfully impatient. “Is freezing tonight. You can leer at me inside all you want. Come on.” 

Then as he grabbed Shane’s hand to haul him up the stairs and out of the cold, “But we have to be quiet, the girls are already asleep.” 

“Right. Yeah. I’ll be quiet.” 

Inside the house, the domestic cozy soft vibe was even worse. Or– or maybe it was better? In the warm lamp lighting, Ilya’s eyes looked extra blue with the dark shirt stretched over his shoulders and wrapped fitted at his biceps, his necklace looked extra gold glinting bright against his skin and the dot of beauty marks at his throat, the pants were hilariously almost atrociously plaid, but up close and inside the house, it was obvious Ilya wasn’t wearing anything under his bottoms.

Shane’s eyes dropped from the mussed bedhead to the shine of gold to the broad shoulders, further to the tuck of his waist and down to the bulk and bump of Ilya’s cock under the thin cotton pants, and oh hell, Ilya was very obviously not wearing anything underneath them.

Fuck. Shane’s mouth went dry, throat closing up parched, and when he managed to drag his gaze up again, Ilya was smirking just enough to make him blush hot. 

“Sorry.” he shook his head. “Sorry, I um– it–” 

“I told you was okay to leer at me once we were out of the cold.” Ilya winked, and took his hand again, towing Shane through the entryway and around the corner into the expansive living room. 

The TV was on but the lights were off, the long couch in front of the entertainment center piled with pillows and blankets, the sofa table laden with drinks and snacks. Shane pressed at Ilya’s hand quietly grateful and sort of amused when he saw both cans of ginger ale and a couple bottles of the beer he usually ordered at Jacob’s place, kettle corn and chips and what looked like M&M’s divided by color and arranged into small bowls. 

“Leftover Mariya snacks?” he guessed and Ilya squeezed his hand always impressed and affected when Shane proved how well he knew the girls, “Not her snacks, but when she saw me open the bag, she wanted to organize them anyway.” 

Shane grinned about it, and Ilya grinned watching him, then dropped Shane’s hand to pick up a folded pile of clothes and hold it out. “Here. Clean pajamas.” 

“Clean pajamas.” Shane took the fleece and plaid pile awkwardly. “Uh. Why?"

“I thought you would not want to hang out in your game clothes.” Ilya motioned to his clothes. “Your all day clothes. Is hard to relax without changing sometimes.” 

“Uh yeah. It sure is.” Shane stressed for the entire ride about not having clean clothes to change into. Most people didn’t care about that sort of thing, Ilya wasn’t gonna be a dick about Shane showing up in the same clothes he’d worn to the game, Ilya had invited him over right away, he'd expect Shane to show up in his game clothes and wouldn't think it was rude, but Shane had still stressed about it. 

The offered pajamas menat Ilya had expected Shane to show up in his game clothes, but had also assumed– maybe already knew, maybe he remembered that nit picky detail from all those years ago?– Shane wouldn’t be able to relax until he changed into something that didn’t stink like hockey and the rink or the day.

Shane had stressed, but Ilya had pre-emptively fixed it, so now there were jammies for Shane to wear-- a warm shirt and long pants and even socks, which meant Shane didn’t have to be self conscious or uncomfortable or even think about it anymore. 

Ilya’s habit of shutting down the noise in Shane’s head to the point where all he had to do was say yes or no to whatever Ilya offered sure was— it was sure was something. 

“My room is there.” Ilya pointed him down the adjacent hall. “Bathroom too. Take your time.” 

“Thanks.”

Shane didn’t waste much time looking around Ilya’s bedroom. He turned on the bathroom light so he could wash up and got a fleeting impression of a large master suite, a big bed and solid, matching furniture, but he didn’t look around, poke around, be nosy about any of it. He made quick use of one of the washcloths to wipe under his arms and down his abdomen, opened a couple drawers looking for deodorant and mouth wash, then got dressed in the borrowed pajamas and hurried back to the living room before he did something stupid like suggest their goodnight kiss happen in the bedroom. 

“Better?” Ilya had to clear his throat and swallow so the words worked when Shane came from the bedroom wearing his clothes, the shirt a little too wide at the shoulders and the pants a little too long at his feet. They’d never done anything like sharing clothes, wearing pajamas, cuddling up for movie night dates, and the visual emotional shift of it all, the difference between Shane in his own clothes and Shane in his comfy, sleepy, well worn favorite clothes left him reeling. “You look– you look cozy.” 

“Better, yeah.” Shane put his neatly folded clothes on a side table, then put his hands in his pockets– Ilya’s pockets– and smiled sheepishly. “And yes. Cozy. Thanks.” 

“Good.” Ilya inclined his head towards the couch. “Come on.” 

The movie was Scream, because of course it was. Shane settled in against the arm of the couch with a ginger ale and the small bowl of brown M&Ms, one foot tucked under his knee and a pillow hugged at his lap, and mouthed his way through that first infamous phone call scene before elbowing Ilya and deciding, “I think Nadya was a more convincing Ghostface.” 

“I don’t know.” Ilya sat on the middle cushion with a beer and his popcorn, close enough for their knees to bump, but not too close to crowd. “I think Masha laughing in background of phone call ruins the mystique of it.” 

“Okay, that’s valid.” 

“Is funny how sometimes horror movie lines could also be lines from porno.” Ilya commented when the killer shrieked about wanting to see the Casey character’s insides, and Shane paused with a handful of M&M’s halfway to his mouth, “I think maybe you aren’t watching the right kind of porn.” 

The movie boyfriend Steve died a grisly death and Shane clicked his tongue, “Crazy they got Drew Barrymore for this movie, then killed her off so quick.” Their arms knocked when Ilya reached for his beer and Shane wondered if or when Ilya would try to hold his hand again. 

“No one expects the pretty blond girl with big boobs to die right away.” Ilya shifted his weight so their legs were wedged tighter together. Shane flexed his toes so they pressed at Ilya’s thigh and countered, “Everyone always expects the pretty blond girl with big boobs to die right away. When have you ever seen a movie where that character lives till the end?” 

Ilya pursed his lips thinking, and Shane warned him, “Don’t say porn.” 

“Spoilsport.” 

“Weirdo.” 

The Ghostface killer popped up in the window leering at Drew Barrymore’s character and Shane wouldn’t admit to falling for the jumpscare, but Ilya leaned over and faux whispered, “This is where you can hold onto my big strong shoulders, okay?” 

“Leave me alone.” 

The scene shifted to day time, to school and the classic gang all sitting around a table. Ilya finished his beer and smacked his lips, “Scooby Doo is hot.” 

“That’s sliding into weird territory again, Ilya.” Shane’s gaze dropped over the span of Ilya’s back when he leaned forward to put the empty bottle on the table. “Maybe we don’t talk about Hanna Barbera characters while watching scary movies.” 

“No, look at him.” Ilya’s brow cocked curious when he settled back into the couch and caught Shane staring. “He is hot. His mouth. Long tongue? Come on. You like him too.” 

“Matthew Lillard is Shaggy.” Shane elbowed him. “Not Scooby-Doo. The stoner guy, not the dog. Sheesh.” 

“Ah.” Ilya nodded sagely. “Ruh-roh.” 

“Nope. Stop that, that’s so stupid.” Shane was laughing, eyes bright and cheeks crinkled up cos his smile was so wide, and Ilya almost leaned over to kiss him. 

He didn’t, though. It didn’t count as a goodbye kiss if they were still in the early half of the movie and even though Shane kept looking over like they could or should be doing something other than calmly sitting next to each other fully dressed with the lights off and a scary movie playing, Ilya wasn’t going to push it. 

If Shane wanted him, all he had to do was say something or-- or do something. After a week of more silence than Ilya had liked, and the nagging feeling that Shane hadn’t been okay over Halloween and maybe might have completely cancelled hanging out if Ilya hadn’t called and persisted, Ilya very much wanted Shane to say or do or initiate something. 

He didn’t respond to how often Shane looked his way, or how Shane pushed his foot at his leg to extend the little bit of physical contact, and didn’t act on the urge to lean over and lick the smile right off Shane’s gorgeous mouth. 

He’d said they could just watch a movie and Ilya had meant they could just watch a movie, so if Shane wanted more…

“Hey.” The next time Ilya leaned forward to put the popcorn bowl on the table, Shane ran his fingers lightly along the inside of Ilya’s arm as he sat back, then took his hand, linking their fingers together. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” Ilya picked up Shane’s hand and kissed his knuckles, turned it over and kissed the center of his palm, then tucked both their hands into his lap. “Is okay.” 

The movie went on. Sidney made dumb decisions like opening porch doors and carrying on creepy phone calls with serial killers. Ilya rubbed his thumb along Shane’s hand and Shane quit watching the movie all together in favor of watching the light play off their entwined hands, zoning out lost for a while into the soothing rhythm of Ilya’s touch and the slight rasp of calluses against his skin. 

Someone died. Shane wasn’t paying attention, and jumped when Ilya nudged him, “You are sore?” 

“What?” Shane shook his head, trying to blink out a fuzzy headspace. “Sorry. What?” 

“Sitting like this.” Ilya tapped Shane’s knee. “It hurts your leg. You keep moving like you are sore.” 

“Oh.” Shane hadn’t realized he was shifting around sore on the couch, but once Ilya pointed it out, fuck he really was uncomfortable after sitting the same way for so long, his right leg almost numb from folded up under his body and his left knee aching from the odd angle propped over his foot. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s okay though, I just need to–” 

Shane let go of Ilya’s hand so he could unfold from the couch and stretch his legs, raising his arms above his head to crack his back and yawn, shaking his head and trying to blink away a sudden wash of exhaustion. Coming out of the daze of Ilya pressed to his side, holding his hand and stroking at his fingers was a shock, Shane was hit with the reminder of how tired he was after a long day at the ice rink, his back aching and knee throbbing and eyes drooping weary. 

“Idi syuda, dorogoy.” Ilya moved to the other side of the sofa and got comfortable, legs spread and arm open along the back of the couch, patting at his lap. “Shane. Here. Lay down.” 

“Yeah, um, okay.” It always made Shane shivery when Ilya spoke Russian to him, the harsh sounding syllables blending melodic in his deep voice. It felt intense and intimate and Shane had to take a steadying breath before he could nod. “Okay.” 

Shane took one more drink of his ginger ale, then scooted across the couch awkward and a bit ungainly trying to figure out where to lay his head, how far to lean in, where exactly to go. 

“Got you.” Ilya caught him halfway there, coaxing Shane closer and holding him steady until Shane was stretched all the way out with his head on his lap.

“Okay?” he waited for Shane to get comfortable with one arm crossed over his chest so it wasn’t bent under his weight, then reached for a blanket and pulled it to Shane’s shoulders, smoothing it down his side and tucking it in. “How’s that?” 

“S’good, thanks.” Shane hesitated, hesitated, then set his other hand on Ilya’s leg and turned his nose into the bulky muscle of Ilya’s thigh, humming under his breath when it was better. 

Ilya went very still, heart racing and skin prickling goosebumps when Shane’s breath puffed warm through the thin material of his pajama pants. He could feel the shape of Shane’s mouth and the ridge of his nose as Shane pressed his face in nuzzling at him and Ilya scarcely breathed until Shane finally exhaled against him and went still. 

“Is okay?” He checked in, and Shane nodded, rubbing his cheek at Ilya’s thigh with his eyes closed. Ilya turned the movie down a couple notches, then slid his hand into Shane’s thick hair, combing and scratching through the silky strands, gentle over Shane’s earlobe and featherlight across the freckles dotted on Shane’s face. 

The corner of Shane’s mouth tipped up into a tiny smile over the attention, so Ilya kept it up, through Shane’s hair and across the flawless skin at his cheek, along the delicate whorl of his ear and down the line of his jaw, the column of his throat.

Up again to brush his knuckles at Shane’s chin, eyes hooded and lips parted as he traced the corner of Shane’s mouth with his fingertips, at Shane’s ear brushing through the baby fine hairs and then with his hand spread wide and palm spanning at Shane’s scalp, grounding, holding, settling until Shane went heavy into his lap, breathing slow and skin flushing in sleepy contentment. 

Everything about the entire night was new. Spending time at Ilya’s house. Watching a movie together. Shane in Ilya’s pajamas and Shane with his head on Ilya’s lap when nothing was happening except cozy, drowsy cuddling. 

Everything about the entire night was perfect, and Ilya didn’t take his eyes off Shane’s profile, his mouth twisting in rueful acceptance of how over sentimental mushy Shane Hollander made him feel in moments like this when they could have been hooking up, but Ilya was wholly content to sit there quietly thrilled about making new memories instead of being bogged down mired in the leftover drama of their messy past. 

“Ty krasivyy.” he whispered heartfelt and a little bit awestruck, but Shane was asleep lightly snoring pillowed into Ilya’s lap and didn't hear it, and that–-that was just fine. Ilya said it anyway, said it again, "Ty takoy krasivyy." 

The movie ended at some point past eleven, and Shane woke in time to see the end credits, the soundtrack turned down low and the TV mostly dark as the tiny print words rolled across the screen. 

“Hey.” Shane rolled onto his back, trying to stretch and grimacing when he tried to talk and the words came out croaky and gruff, “S-sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” Ilya went back to tracing Shane’s face, over his brow and down his nose, along the sleepy flush in his cheek and across the constellation of freckles under his eyes. Ilya propped his elbow on the arm of the couch so he could look at him, gazing at Shane knowing full well he probably looked stupid and sappy and smitten, but not caring in the slightest cos Shane was blinking slow up at him from beneath those long lashes, lips parted and head tilted into Ilya’s lap like he was completely okay with Ilya heart-eyeing down at him like a goddamn fool. 

“Ty krasivyy.” he said again, hoarse and a little bit needy as he traced the bow of Shane’s lips, and his breath caught harsh when Shane turned his head trying to chase the touch, mouth parted and tongue poking at his bottom lip like he was tempted to to lick. “Fuck, Shane.” 

“I–” Shane realized what he was doing a split second too late, and he flushed dull red, gaze shuttering and tension stiffening into his shoulders “I should probably go.” 

“You could stay.” Ilya came back to Shane’s lips, pressing his thumb to the corner of his mouth. “Stay.” 

“No, I–” Shane’s eyes darted towards the stairs, to the second floor where the girls were sleeping. “I should go. It’s late.” 

“But you live down a long, dark, scary road.” Ilya countered with a small smile. “Is hard to see at night.” 

“I have headlights.” Shane smiled too, his nose scrunching in amusement. “I feel like those are made specifically for brightening long, dark, scary roads.” 

“There is definitely a serial killer in the woods by the lake.” Was the next suggestion and Shane shrugged faux nonchalantly, “Nah, no way that’s just a silly rumour that stuck around after a bunch of people died on the road exactly thirteen years ago tonight. Nobody really believes it.” 

“Sounds like something the pretty person with big tits would say in a scary movie,” Ilya groped a hand over Shane’s pecs, “right before they die.” 

“I’ll have to take my chances.” Shane covered Ilya’s hand at his chest. “Guess this is goodnight?” 

“I guess so.” Ilya smoothed his hand down Shane’s abdomen, then around to hold at his waist. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes. Definitely.” Shane propped up on his elbows, lips pursed and eyes closed waiting…

…but when Ilya didn’t kiss him, Shane opened his eyes again and frowned, “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Ilya shook his head, blue eyes darting over Shane’s face and a small smile on his face. “Just… looking.” 

“Okay, but I’ve been waiting like a week to kiss you.” Shane ran his tongue over his lips, eyes dropping to Ilya's mouth. "So come here and kiss me. Please?"

"C'mere, sweetheart." Ilya’s smile widened like it was the best thing he’d ever heard, not just permission but mutual want, and he cupped his hand at Shane’s cheek to close the little bit of distance between them and catch Shane’s mouth in a slow kiss. He nudged it deeper with a push of his tongue until Shane opened with a quiet groan and let him in, first bracing his hands at Ilya’s chest then plucking at his necklace and pulling at his shirt, finally looping his arms around Ilya’s shoulders to hold him in close and draw it out long. 

“Whoa.” Shane blinked a few times stunned when Ilya broke the kiss and eased away. “Feel like you should buy me dinner after a kiss like that.” 

“Next time.” It took everything Ilya had not to kiss Shane again. He settled for a dotted kiss on the tip of Shane’s nose and told him, “Thank you for coming over tonight.” 

“Thank you for… inviting me.” It should have been stiff and formal and awkward to end a kiss and what had ended up definitely being a date by exchanging thank yous, but the sweet innocence of it only made Shane smile. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Ilya spread a hand at the small of Shane’s back to help him sit up, “You could come by the bakery for lunch.” 

“Maybe.” The maybe was almost definitely a no, but Ilya didn’t push it. He got it. A movie night spent cuddling was enough new for right then. Spending purposeful time together in public with the pressure for Shane to eat out of politeness and expectation, and with the risk and stress of someone seeing them, starting a rumor, or putting two and two together was a lot all at once. 

Maybe was almost definitely a no, but Ilya’s lips were still tingling from the kiss, his heart racing from the arousal and open affection shimmering in Shane’s eyes, so it was alright. 

“What should I do about–?” Shane plucked at the pajama pants, but Ilya waved him off as he stood and gathered up the drinks and snacks from the sofa table, “Take them, it’s fine. Give them back next time.” 

“Next time. Okay.” Shane picked up his folded clothes and car keys, and once Ilya came back from putting everything away in the kitchen, they walked together to the front door, glancing up the stairs to make sure there wasn’t a light on in the girls’ bathroom or hallway. 

“So. Um.” Shane paused waiting while Ilya unlocked the door and turned on the porch light, fidgeting with his keys and clearing his throat. “So–” 

“Come here again.” Ilya hooked an arm at his waist and pulled him into another kiss, and Shane, “Oh thank god.” dropped his keys and clothes at the entryway table and yanked Ilya in tighter, knotting both hands into Ilya’s hair and shoving his tongue past Ilya’s lips to drive the kiss messy and wet. 

“Shane.” Ilya pushed him backwards, pinning Shane onto the door and caging him in with his bulk, bracing his hands at Shane’s waist, gripping at his hips, grabbing at his ass to grind against him and Shane stuttered out something wordless and shocked when the thin pajamas did nothing to disguise the hard jut of Ilya’s cock at his hip. He lifted up to meet Ilya, shifting his weight and rocking unto his toes so their cocks slotted together heavy and hot, and Ilya had to wrench away from the kiss to bury his face in Shane’s neck trying to muffle a hungry groan. 

“Ilya, f-fuck!” Shane’s head thunked against the door, open mouth gasping for air as Ilya bit at his throat, kneading and groping greedy at his ass and mumbling in Russian, sounding desperate and pushed right to the brink as he grabbed for Shane’s chin, then spread his hand wide to grip Shane’s neck and catch him into another hard kiss. 

“You should go.” Ilya rumbled and Shane nodded nodded nodded, then kissed him again, sucking at his tongue and dragging his teeth at Ilya’s bottom lip until Ilya cursed into his mouth, “Shanychka, pomiluy menya, have mercy.” 

“Mercy?” Shane panted through a raspy, wanting laugh and Ilya used his hold at Shane’s neck to tilt his head sideways again, mouthing and licking and sucking bruising kisses over his pulse. “Ilya–Ilya– please–!”

“Go.” Ilya left one last kiss at the hinge of Shane’s jaw, nosing at the soft spot behind his ear and exhaling noisily. “Go. Text me when you get home.” 

“When I get to the cabin.” Shane nodded dazedly. “Yeah. I’ll text you.” 

“Goodnight, Shanychka.” 

“Okay.” Shane wiped his mouth and nodded again. “G-goodnight.” 

****

From Lily: Did you make it to cabin, or did the serial killer on your scary road get you?

From Jane: You know, if it’s my road and my cabin, odds are I’m the serial killer.

From Jane: But don’t worry, I didn’t snatch myself out of my car and drag myself into the woods to bury myself in a pit. 

From Lily: You are not funny. 

From Jane: Fuck you, I’m hilarious. 

From Jane: So we never did this before. Movies. Cuddling. That sort of thing.

From Lily: No, definitely not. 

From Jane: It felt like a date.

From Lily: Weird?

From Jane: No.

From Lily: Good. We should do it again. 

From Jane: Yeah. I think we should.

*****

Chapter Notes:

It's so so tempting to just let these boys kiss and get the hell on with it, like smooch it up fellas, you know you're soulmates.

But it feels more true to this-verse Shane specifically to still be hesitant when it comes to trusting/indulging his emotions. It's one thing to kiss and head towards sexy stuff without putting too much thought into it, another thing entirely to actually be open about his feelings especially when his feelings about Ilya are still very complicated.

Nadya as Ghostface while Mariya is cheering her on/reminder her of her lines in the background is maybe my most favorite thing ever.

Ilya cataloguing/memorizing/tucking it all way down deep in his heart whenever Shane says anything sweet and especially the ultra soft way Shane cuddles in slow blinking and smiling up at him?? Softy McSoftpants over there. (except he's not soft at all in those pajama pants, ba dum tss). Also obsessed with Ilya finding time/excuses to hang out with Shane, turning text convos into phone calls. He wants to have something real with Shane so badly.

Honorable Mention: Ilya being so affected by Shane wanting him/asking for a kiss.

Movie night giving the same innocent, lost teenage experience, young love vibes as the dance from Ch5. Sharing pajamas, making dumb jokes while watching old movies, holding hands and making out? Shane being flustered about how hot Ilya is when he's comfy cozy, and Ilya's brain short circuiting seeing Shane in his jammies? Top tier.

BUT Shane freezing up/being caught off guard by remembering that Svetlana is a very real and present part of Ilya and twins every day life? In the business we call that FOREEEESHADOWINNNNNG!

Coming Up: The team goes on a road trip. Svetlana makes an in person appearance. The boys finally get their pants off again.

Chapter 7: Complicated (we've had worse ideas)

Chapter Summary

Content Warning: Shane spirals after meeting Svetlana and it's panicky and stressful while we're stuck in his head.

Content Warning: They do be nekkid (HOLLA)

“...Here come Montreal’s Shane Hollander down the ice, Rozanov is going after him just as fast as he can, but when Hollander gets going there isn’t much that can stop him before he puts one in the net…” 

“...Montreal’s Shane Hollander fresh off of being crowned Rookie of the Year and he’s showing us why in this first game of the season, if this is how good he is at twenty, you can only imagine what a full career is going to look like…” 

“...Rozanov with a hard hit! I think the whole arena felt that one, but Hollander almost looks like he’s laughing? Yes! He is laughing and going right after Rozanov who looks like maybe he’s laughing too!...” 

“...For all the fuss about these boys and their rivalry, you have to think they’re at least friendly off ice because there’s no way they could both be at the absolute top of their game, on their way to being Captains, and not end up sharing a beer together at one point or another…” 

“...Shane Hollander just broke a record for most goals scored in a cup playoff! Look at the grin on his face, the crowd is on their feet, this is huge!...” 

“Daddy.” 

“Shit!” Ilya yanked his earbuds out startled when Mariya popped up next to him and interrupted his endless scrolling through the YouTube Shane Hollander clips page. “Ty menya napugala, Masha, you scared me! Do not sneak up on me!” 

“Money in the swear jar.” the seven year old was entirely unbothered by giving her Daddy a heart attack, and picked up his phone curiously. “Is that Coach holding a Cup?” 

“The Cup, yes.” Ilya scowled at her, dug in his pocket for some change and rattled it into the swear jar, then scowled at her again, “Creepy goblin child. Where is your sister?” 

“Painting Boris’s nails.” Mariya stood on her tiptoes trying to see the video better and Ilya sighed, scooped her one with arm and deposited her onto the counter, handing over his phone so she could watch. “This is Coach Hollander? Is that you?” 

“Yes, we used to play together. I told you.” Ilya checked the time, scooted Mariya further back on the counter so she wasn’t in danger of sliding off, then stepped from the kitchen to whistle up the stairs “Nadyushka, vremya zavtrakat’! Breakfast! Boris does not need painted nails before school!” 

“Or at all.” he said to himself. “Because he is stuffed tiger.” then louder again, “Nadya! Now!” 

“C-c-coming, Daddy.” Nadya appeared at the top of the stairs obediently, Boris tucked under her arm. “All d-done with nails.” 

“Let me see.” Ilya held out his arms for her and the tiger, sighing when he saw the glittery green nail polish less than expertly smeared on the beleaguered stuffed paws. “Okay. So while you in school, I will clean his paws?” 

“Spas-s-s-ibo, Daddy.” Nadya was content to be carried on Ilya’s hip until they reached the kitchen, then she wriggled away and went to take the phone from Mariya. “Let me see. L-Let me see, what is it?” 

“Coach is famous, Nadya!” Mariya’s eyes were wide, her jaw dropped wide. “He won three Cups! He is so fast! Faster than Daddy!” 

“But D-Daddy is old, s-so no biggie.” Nadya craned her neck to see, and while Ilya was rolling his eyes about being called old, the girls kept watching the clips and reels, exclaiming every time their coach scored some impossible goal or blitzed down the ice or won another Cup, broke another record, won another Cup, faced the camera laughing and smiling cos he’d won another Cup. 

“Did you know Coach was this good?!” 

“I played with him, Masha. Played against him. I know he is good, yes.” 

“L-L-Look though! He is–” Nadya’s eyes bugged open. “Oh. He isn't w-wearing a shirt. He looks like a super h-hero.” 

“No shirt?” Ilya put a lid over the eggs and plucked the phone right back from the twins. “Okay. We are done with videos.” 

“Is Coach a model?” Mariya wanted to know and Ilya dished up the toast and set it on the table, “No.” 

“He looks like a model.” Mariya pushed Nadya’s chair out for her and Nadya plopped down, eyes wide and head nodding quickly, “Y-yeah.” 

“That is enough. You are not allowed to be sweet on Coach Hollander.” It hurt Ilya’s brain to think about his girls being old enough to have crushes on anyone, much less the same modeling contract worthy, Hall of Fame worthy, yes very good and very fast and very famous Shane Hollander who Ilya had a rather embarrassing, decade spanning crush on. “Eat breakfast, then is time for school.” 

“We should call Mama.” Mariya whispered to Nadya as she shoveled eggs into her mouth. “She would know if Coach was a model. And if he was better than Daddy.” 

“Coach was better than me, but only after I stopped playing. I won the Cup first, do not let anyone tell you different.” Ilya gave them both a cup of water, and when Nadya opened her mouth to be sassy, he pointed a finger at her, “No. No more questions about your Coach and modeling. Eat your food before you break my heart, I am too old for this and also not old enough for it yet, so stop.” 

“But–” 

“Respect my authority, girls!” 

“Daddy.” Nadya laughed at him around a bit bite of toast. “Y-You don’t have any ath-athor-ty.” 

“I am raising goblin children.” Ilya propped his hands on his hips and muttered a curse and a prayer up to the ceiling. “Lord save me.” 

Ilya hoped a day at school would be enough to distract the twins from the morning’s conversation, but alas. 

“Coach!” Mariya raced from the car the moment it was time for practice, full out sprinting for the arena and bursting through the double doors to find Shane. “Coach! Are you famous!? Coach! Are you famous!?” 

“Are y-y-ou a model!” Nadya was right on her sister’s heels, and by the time Ilya made it into rink, both twins were dancing around a severely confused Shane, rattling off questions as fast as they could think of them, talking over each other and over whatever answers Shane tried to give. 

“Girls!” Ilya whistled short and sharp and Shane’s head snapped around to find him, but the noise didn’t slow the girls down even a hitch. “Quit bothering your coach!” 

Then in a tone of voice that was much softer, “Hi, Coach Hollander.” 

“Mr. Rozanov.” Nadya was holding onto one of Shane’s hands and Mariya was practically climbing his other arm hollering questions, but Shane’s smile for Ilya was small and private and looked like maybe he’d spent every minute of the weekend thinking about their movie night, the same way Ilya had spent every minute of the weekend thinking about their movie night. “Hi.” 

“Sorry about the goblins.” Ilya grimaced towards the girls and Shane’s smile went a little wider before he shook his arms firmly and said, “Girls. I need these.”

Ilya’s mouth dropped when the girls promptly slid free. “How did you do that?” 

“H-he has athorty.” Nadya pronounced it like ath-or-tee, and Shane covered his mouth to stop a laugh at both the pronunciation and the way Ilya’s jaw unhinged over the pertly sarcastic answer. 

“Go get dressed for practice.” Ilya handed over their bags and pointed to the locker room. “Go.” 

“Wait wait wait!” Mariya dug into her skate bag and pulled out her skates. “Will you sign our skates! Cos you’re famous?!” 

“Uh.” Shane checked the time then nodded. “Yeah, come on. I’ve got a silver marker in my office, I’ll sign on the black so it shows.” 

The girls cheered and Ilya sighed, but picked up their bags and followed Shane into the office, waiting patiently and watching maybe fondly as Shane crouched to carefully and neatly write along the bottom edge of the boot on one of Mariya’s skates, then turned and did the same to Nadya’s skate. 

“Okay.” he capped the silver marker and stood back up. “Go on and get dressed.” 

“Look look look!”

"C-Coach wrote a nnnnote!"

Mariya’s skate read ‘my favorite doom bringer’ and Nadya’s skate read ‘my favorite goalie’ and both were signed 'I'm so proud of you--- Coach Hollander'. 

Ilya had to swallow a jolt of emotion over the sweet messages before he could nod and answer, "Is very nice, yes."

The writing would wear off the skates in hardly any time at all, so Ilya pulled out his phone to snap pictures of the signatures before pointing both twins towards the locker room and ordering, “Get dressed. Now. No more fooling around.” 

The girls ran off laughing and talking excitedly and Shane raised his eyebrows, “Well apparently that particular tone of voice carries some ath-or-tee. They listened that time.” 

“Don’t you start with me.” Ilya warned and Shane leaned back against his desk, arms folded and head tilted grinning, “So you watch old videos of me in the mornings, huh?” 

“Obviously.” Ilya checked to make sure no other parents had wandered into the rink yet, then partially closed the office door and sauntered towards the desk, his hands in his pockets and tongue poking at the side of his cheek playfully. “Is best part of waking up.” 

“Folgers?” Shane unfolded his arms once Ilya was close enough to touch and Ilya leaned in to bump their noses together, “Mmm no, I meant jerking off to old videos of you.” 

“Hey–!” Shane shoved him back with a startled laugh, but Ilya caught his wrist and pushed in close again, shifting his grasp from Shane’s wrist to his hand and twining their fingers together. 

“Hi.” he whispered. Shane breathed out slow, a little bit shaky and nodded, close enough for the fringe of his hair to hit Ilya’s forehead, “Hi.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“God, yes.” 

“Come here.” Ilya hooked his arm at Shane’s waist and bent in to kiss him, but just before their lips met–-

“Daddy! Nadya needs help with her shoulder pads and I can’t find my socks!” 

Ilya made a frustrated noise and Shane grinned into the few millimeters between their lips. “Duty calls?” 

“I think they could wait long enough to–” 

“Daddy!” 

“Shit.” Ilya could have just dropped a quick kiss onto Shane’s mouth and pulled away. He also could have let the girls wait fifteen seconds so they could get a proper kiss in. He was a parent first, but also desperately wanted way more than fifteen seconds or thirty seconds or even several minutes with Shane. With the memory of their movie night playing in his head and Shane slow blinking up at him, half smiling like he was eager, oh hell, Ilya wanted to lock the office door and forget about the girls and throw the Coach right on the fucking desk.

“Coming, Masha!” Ilya was a parent first and a hard up horndog second, so he squeezed at Shane’s waist and forced himself away. “Shane–” 

“Go help the girls.” Shane’s whole body buzzed with proximity and anticipation and everything thrilling about Ilya being pressed up against him asking for a kiss, but he rolled his shoulders, offered a smile and nodded, “I get it.” 

“Raincheck?” Ilya asked hopefully and Shane agreed, “Raincheck.” 

Just before Ilya stepped out the door, Shane raised his voice, “Ilya. It’s cool to see you being a Dad. A good Dad, I mean. Not that I ever thought you’d be a bad one, it’s just–” 

Ilya’s brow furrowed a little and Shane took a breath before repeating, “You’re a good Dad, Ilya. How you are with the girls is…” he spread his hands in a vague motion, “It’s amazing. You’re doing amazing.

“I am trying." Ilya nodded shortly. "Thank you.” 

He drummed his fingers at the door, then added, “You are good with them too. And I like seeing that. You,” he inclined his head towards Shane, then towards the locker room, “and my girls.” 

Something shifted in Shane’s eyes, curious and maybe hopeful. “Yeah?” 

“Yes.” Fuck Ilya wanted to kiss him. He very nearly did, too. He almost pushed off the door and crowded back into Shane’s space to lick the gorgeous smile right off Shane’s pouty lips, but the double doors to the lobby swung open to admit a handful of parents and noisy players at the same time Nadya started calling for him, so Ilya sighed, tapped his fingers at his mouth twice in Shane’s direction, and went to go be Dad. 

Shane didn't frown about the missed chance for a kiss when he honestly did love seeing Ilya in full Dad mode, but he did frown a little at the repeated hushing. 

What the hell was that all about? 

*****

From Jane: Why do you shush me?

From Lily: What? When? 

From Jane: At practice. You did it after the game before movie night, too. You put your finger to your lips and hush me when other people show up.

Shane took a sip of his ginger ale, then scratched his thumb at his eyebrow before texting again. 

From Jane: Are you worried I’m going to say something to anyone? 

From Lily: What? No. Can I call you? 

From Jane: Not a good time. 

It actually was a perfectly good time. Shane was forcing himself through eating at least most of a well balanced meal, protein and greens and even a starch. He was sipping at a ginger ale so slowly it was going flat. There was no reason Ilya couldn’t call, except that Shane didn’t want to have to say the next part out loud.

From Jane: You don’t have to worry. I won’t tell anyone we’re doing… whatever. I’ll keep it quiet. Like we always did. It’s fine. 

From Lily: Stop. Listen. 

From Jane: I can’t listen to a text message. 

From Lily: Fucking smart ass. READ then. I was not shushing you. I was blowing you a kiss. 

From Jane: What? 

From Lily: Putting fingers to my lips. Blowing you a kiss. I do it with the girls too.

From Jane: Tapping twice? 

From Lily: Two kisses, always. One for each of the girls. With Sveta, goodbye kiss is two taps- one from me, one from girls. 

From Lily: With you is two kisses because I can never just kiss you one time, I always want two kisses. 

“Oh holy fuck.” Shane put his phone down and sat back on the couch, rubbing at his knees, at his thighs, then up and over his face. “Holy–” 

After almost five minutes, his phone chimed again. 

From Lily: I will not do it anymore if you don’t like it. 

From Jane: I didn’t say that. I never said I didn’t like it.

From Lily: Oh so you loved it and are blushing and being shy. That is why you stopped texting.  

From Jane: Fuck off. I’m not shy. 

From Lily: But you are blushing. What color pink are you? Rosy? Scarlet? Flamingo?

*Jane has notifications silenced*

From Lily: You can silence notifications but I know where you work, I will come bother you at practice again and you cannot mute me in person. 

“Fuck.” Shane shoved a bite of potatoes into his mouth and chewed it fast so he could blame the heat in his face and the embarrassingly juvenile pitter patter of his heart on a big meal instead of Ilya’s open admission of always wanting two kisses. “Holy fuck…” 

*****

Thursday practice came around like clockwork, Mariya and Nadya shouted greetings and jumped for high fives as they ran past Shane, and when Ilya moseyed over to the bleachers with his hands in his pockets and a snarky, teasing look on his stupid handsome face, Shane sternly told himself not to smile and determinedly went back to studiously, obsessively filling his plans for the practice. 

“Hullo Coach Hollander.” Ilya slid onto the bench next to him and Shane shook his head, “Don’t start with me, I’ll break this clipboard right over your head.” 

“Oooh sexy clipboard talk.” Ilya unwrapped a toothpick from the cafe and stuck it in his mouth. “So.” 

“Stop.” Shane wrote in Nychele’s name, flipped back a page to see his notes from Monday, then jotted down what he was going to work with her on before the game on Saturday. “Let me get this done.” 

“You really thought I was shushing you?” Ilya didn’t give up, sprawling back with his feet planted wide, elbows on the bench behind him, rolling the toothpick with his tongue. “Like. Kindergarten teacher. One two three, eyes on me.” 

“Ilya.”

“The twins's teacher says, ‘hocus pocus, everybody focus’,” Ilya needled gleefully. “Is that what you thought I was saying to you?” 

“Sir.” The muscle in Shane’s jaw jumped with the effort of clenching his teeth to suppress a smile. “Harrassing the coach is not allowed.” 

“Tootsie roll, lollipop, we were talking, now we stop?” 

“The clipboard threat still stands, Mr. Rozanov.” 

Ilya finally shut up, and sat there looking at Shane’s profile with a small, smitten smile until Shane gave up pretending he was working and set the clipboard aside, clasping his hands between his knees to admit, “Okay. It’s pretty fucking cute. The blowing a kiss thing.” 

“I knew you liked it.” Ilya gave a quick look around the rink to make sure they were still alone, then shifted enough to sweep his fingers slowly up and down Shane’s lower back. “You were blushing flamingo pink, yes?” 

“I think it’s enough to admit I liked it.”  Shane scooched back into the featherlight touch, gratified when Ilya spread his palm wide and warm at the small of his back. “We don’t need to talk about theoretical shades of pink.” 

“Okay.” Ilya’s gaze roved over the span of Shane’s back to the width of his shoulders, to the size of his arms then back to the dip of his waist, then he sat up, keeping his hand steady and low right above Shane’s butt and moving until his chest pushed into Shane’s shoulder, “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” Shane twisted around to meet him with lips already pursed and Ilya smiled into the first kiss, then let the smile fall away so he could cup Shane’s face with his other hand and draw him into another kiss, molding their mouths together and humming happily when Shane’s hand landed on his knee, slid up his thigh, hooked under the hem of his shirt to find a hint of skin. 

The kiss drew out long. No kids hollered for help from the locker rooms, no parents arrived through the double doors with other players in tow, not even the vending machines or heating systems kicked on with any moment interrupting, quiet shattering startle of unexpected noise. Ilya melted into the soft heat of Shane's mouth and shuddered when Shane moaned breathless and needy against his tongue, and oh they needed to pull it back before things got carried away quick.

"Shane." Ilya didn’t have to open his eyes to see if Shane chased the kiss. He heard Shane whisper, “Ilya.” and felt the nudge of Shane’s nose against his own, another pass of lips at his mouth before they pulled all the way apart. 

“I was right.” Ilya brushed his fingers at Shane’s chin, then up to the line of his cheekbone, higher to the freckles on the delicate skin beneath Shane’s eyes. “Definitely flamingo pink.” 

“Fuck right off, Rozanov.” Shane was about the least angry he’d ever been, his hand still under Ilya’s shirt, thumb tracing the little creases of skin where Ilya’s stomach rolled as he sat up.  “Go away and leave me alone.” 

“If you insist.” There was the noise at the double doors as more parents arrived, signalling the end to their too brief, before practice privacy. Ilya slid his lips from the corner of Shane’s mouth to the edge of his ear and whispered, “You better stop blushing before everyone else comes in, though. They’ll think you’ve been canoodling.” 

“Canoodling?” Shane’s eyes cut to the doors as more parents came in and he pulled his hand from under Ilya’s shirt, sliding back several inches and putting his clipboard over his lap as he went. “What the fuck kinda word is that?" 

“I’m a Dad now.” Ilya reminded him with a wink and a strategic prop of his foot up on the bleacher, his coat draped over his legs. “I can’t say sex. Is vulgar.” 

“Vulgar. Right.” Shane huffed a laugh at him. “Um anyway–” 

“Anyway.” Ilya nodded towards the incoming parents. “Get out on the ice, Coach.” 

“Yeah.” Shane took a deep breath and stood up. “See you after?” 

“I’ll stay, yes.” Ilya waited until Shane looked down at him, tapped his lips twice for a kiss and grinned when Shane’s whole face shaded red. “See you after practice.” 

“Fuck.” Shane scrubbed at his mouth, looked to see if anyone was looking in their direction, then bent down and smecked a quick kiss to Ilya’s lips again. “Okay. See you after practice.” 

*****

Saturday

Montbonne was nothing close to city-sized, but it was still one of the largest towns in the surrounding area so almost all of the neighboring hockey teams traveled to them, bussing in from the rural communities to play at the Montbonne community ice rink. The highschool team traveled alot within their division, but the younger teams and especially the children’s teams stayed close to home other than a couple away games in the nearby city. 

The next scheduled game for the team was one of the infrequent away games, the first of the season for the girls and the only one that would require an overnight trip. 

If the girls had been older, the game could have been a day trip. A couple hour bus ride to the city, a couple of hours at the rink, then another few hours home would have been nothing for middle school aged kids, but four hours on the road and the stressful thrill of playing in a new place made for long days and cranky seven year olds, so Shane opted to make it an overnight trip. 

He reached out to the hotel closest to the ice rink to book enough rooms for the chaperones and a handful of girls to stay together, then prepaid for the entire thing. The hotel wasn’t overly expensive, but Shane knew of at least three team parents who would bow out of the overnighter and drive all the way home to Montbonne because they didn’t have the extra money for a hotel, so for the sake of keeping the team together, for the sake of all the fun the team would have playing in the pool and at the pizza and arcade place across the street, and honestly because it wasn’t enough money to even matter to his bank accounts, Shane paid for it all. 

From Mom: Honey, did you just book a block of rooms at a hotel in some random city? I got an alert on your card.

From Shane: Are you tracking my card? 

From Mom: What? No. I’m admittedly an obsessive helicopter parent, but no, I’m not tracking anything. I’m still listed as a contact on some of your older accounts and apparently this card hasn’t been used in a while so it was red flagged. 

From Shane: Oh yeah, I guess I haven’t used it in a while. 

From Mom: And you’re spending a couple thousand on a hotel because…

From Shane: I thought you weren’t tracking me. 

From Mom: I’m not. I’m just nosy. 

From Shane: I’ve been coaching a U9 girls hockey team for the last couple months. We have an away game, so I booked a block of hotel rooms so we could make it an overnight trip. Most of the families are lower income and never get out of Montbonne, so I thought it would be fun. Good team building and camaraderie sort of thing. 

From Mom: YOU’RE DOING WHAT?!! COACHING WHAT?! 

From Dad: Kiddo, I don’t know what you told your Mom, but she is pacing around the kitchen waving her hands and shouting about how she knows more about the goddamn Kardashians than she does her own son anymore, and how mad that makes her. 

From Dad: So….?

From Shane: I’m coaching a U9 girls team. It’s been really good for me and I’m having a great time. 

From Dad: Oh so Mom’s over reacting to some really great news. Good to know. Let us know how your team does and if we can come see a tournament or something. Proud of you, kiddo. Love you. 

From Shane: I love you too, Dad. 

“Alright Montbonne U9 Division girls team!” Shane stood up at the front of the bus and clapped his hands loudly. “Or should I say…” he raised his eyebrows and paused dramatically, “Alright Mighty Loons!” 

Whatever else he planned to say was lost behind the immediate clamor of thirteen screaming girls, half who had voted for stealing the Mighty Ducks name, half of who hated ducks and wanted to be loons instead, and all who broke into shrieked quacks and loud hoots trying their damnest to mimic the birds who populated the lakes and ponds surrounding Montbonne. 

Most of the parents laughed. A few who had known about the team name change ahead of time and had been subjected to several days worth of hooting and quacking looked like they were already a couple Excedrin doses into a migraine. Ilya whipped around and glared at Shane like he was personally offended by the choice of a loon for the team animal. 

“Mighty Loons of Montbonne.” Shane laughed and clapped his hands again, trying to get a handle on the noise. “Is everybody ready? We checked all the bags, everyone has skates, chaperones have their girls?”

A chorus of affirmations rang out from the adults, and Shane turned to Bekah’s dad who had volunteered to drive the bus on one of his rare weekends off, “Alright. Let’s get going.” 

Shane took his seat about halfway back in the bus and pulled out his phone to double check the hotel reservations, the game location and what time they needed to be at the rink, that the party room he’d booked at the pizza arcade place for afterwards was still good to go. Then he switched over to the text chain with his parents to scroll through his mom’s frantic spam texting about 'lack of information' and 'never communicating' and how she wanted to celebrate important things with him—

“Coach Hollander.” 

“Uh, Mr. Rozanov.” Shane startled when Ilya dropped onto the bench seat beside him, glancing around the small bus to see if any of the girls or chaperoning parents were looking. “Chaperones are supposed to be spaced out every three rows with the girls, not sitting two chaperones to a seat?”

“Okay Mr. Rules and Regulations.” Ilya rolled his eyes, then very casually set his hand high on Shane’s leg, and very casually dug his fingers into the inside seam of Shane’s jeans before lowering his voice to ask, “What room are you in at the hotel?”

“I booked rooms on the same floor so it’s easier to keep track of everyone.” Shane sent another nervous look around the bus, then dared to cover Ilya’s hand at his thigh. “But I'm— I’m up on the third floor. I can’t stay as a chaperone in any of the rooms with the girls anyway, so I figured. You know.”

“So if I make sure the twins want to spend the night with their friends and one of the other chaperones?” Ilya prompted and Shane nodded his head just once, just quickly, “Maybe I’ll text you my room number?”

“Mm.” Ilya squeezed his thigh, “Maybe I’ll knock.” 

Ilya got up to find his own seat near the back with the twins, and Shane settled in with his glasses and a book for the two hour journey, content to know the eight attending parents were more than enough to handle the thirteen girls and he could turn his brain off for at least a little while before the game.

But first.

From Jane: I’m pretty sure public groping on a school bus is against the rules.

From Lily: Calm down, Goody Two Shoes. Was not a grope. 

From Jane: Goody Two Shoes?? Fuck you.

From Lily: Later tonight, yes.

Shane put his phone down fast enough for it audibly smack against the seat’s crinkly upholstery. 

From his seat in the back, Ilya saw the quick motion, thought he heard the clap of phone screen against the vinyl and laughed about it, then texted,

From Lily: So you are not interested in finding nice girl to settle down with, kids and house with white picket fence. 

From Shane: Obviously not. At least not the girl part. 

From Lily: What about settling down with a boy? I am not nice, but my dick game makes up for it and my house has white picket fence already. 

From Lily: Unfortunately, the children are goblins and is too late to change that, but if you can manage to wrangle them into behaving like humans, I will bake you sweet treats and feed them to you with my fingers. 

From Lily: Could be fun. *devil face emoji* 

From Jane: Did you say DICK GAME? 

From Lily: I know my strengths. 

Shane quit texting back. Partly because a grown ass man listing his ‘dick game’ as a reason to settle down together was so fucking stupid it made his head hurt, and partly because Ilya joking about settling down together–- and Ilya was joking, Shane was sure of it. Ilya was joking about it, being dumb about it, saying stupid things trying to make Shane laugh and it had worked, Shane was definitely laughing about it.

But Shane didn’t quit texting back because he was laughing at the whole dumb thing. Shane quit texting back because even though Ilya was joking about them settling down together, the idea of it still made him feel… buzzy. Kind of fuzzy. 

Anything other than one-and-done occasional hookups had been off limits, out of bounds, impossible for so long that there hadn’t been any reason for Shane to even briefly consider anything more serious or permanent or acknowledged between the two of them. 

But now they were retired and living in a small town, their lives were intertwined through hockey all over again. Ilya was most definitely joking about settling down together but for the very first time, Shane thought, oh. He thought, huh. He thought, holy shit that could be a real thing and it made his heart race and head spin so he scrunched down on the bus seat with his book held up in front of his face trying to be invisible as he talked himself down from– from whatever. 

It was whatever, Ilya making jokes like that. Whatever, cos talking about any future beyond maybe their next date or the next team practice was insane. Whatever, because there was no way Ilya was really serious so there was no reason for Shane to even be thinking about it, he needed to forget about it and get back to reading his book. 

Whatever. 

The bus ride to the hotel was a relatively quick two hours of excited kids, patiently amused parental interference when the noise got bad, and Shane absolutely not thinking about the settling down thing while also trying not to think too much about Ilya knocking at his hotel door later that night. 

“I’ll go get us checked in at the front desk.” Shane announced as he gathered his bag and stood up. “Parents, please make sure the bus gets all the way cleared out, gather the girls into chaperone groups so we can do a head count, and I’ll be back in a few minutes with room assignments.” 

Shane hurried off the bus and across the parking lot to get to the hotel lobby, ignoring the vibration of his phone in his pocket. Most likely it was Ilya texting something sure to leave him flustered, and since this was the first away trip with him as head coach of the Montbonne U9 girls team the Mighty Loons, Shane needed to be locked in to Coach headspace, not smiling at his phone and getting shivery because his boyfriend– boyfriend? Was Ilya his boyfriend? Holy—

“Coach Hollander!” 

Shane had every intention of not thinking about Ilya or the upcoming night and walking through the hotel doors as a fully capable Coach, but somewhere between him wondering if Ilya was his boyfriend and scrolling through his phone to get the reservation information, someone called his name, “Coach Shane Hollander?” and Shane’s day took an abrupt turn towards uncomfortable. 

Oh fuck. 

She was beautiful. The woman who called his name and stood up from one of the lobby chairs to walk his way was beautiful, but not just beautiful, she was stunning. She could have been a supermodel. She was tall and slender and striking, her wildly curly hair tinted just auburn enough to make her green eyes glow and her full lips red against her olive toned skin. She wore bangles up her wrist, carried a purse from a brand that regularly cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and when she smiled widely bright and with a dimple tucked into one side, she was so obviously Mariya and Nadya’s Mama that it nearly took Shane’s breath away. 

Nearly fucking suffocated him really, cos Svetlana Vetrova hurried across the hotel lobby with a smile and her hands outstretched and Shane’s chest seized up so tight all he could do was stand there and stare. 

Svetlana Vetrova. 

“I don’t mean to ambush you.” She laughed once she was close, reaching to clasp his hand between both of hers. “But I haven’t seen the girls play once this season and when Ilya said you were headed this way for a game, I booked a quick flight to surprise them!” 

Shane told himself to answer. To nod. To smile, to talk, to blink, to do anything, but he froze up cold, his eyes darting all over her face and breath coming shallow. “I– I um–” 

“It’s weird, right?” Shane felt locked up, clogged up, fucked up trapped in his own head staring frozen, but Svetlana didn’t seem to notice as she pressed her slim fingers into his palm and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “Finally meeting one another after all this time? I feel like I’ve known you for fifteen years, but this is the first time we’ve ever had a conversation. It’s so crazy.” 

Conversation. Talking. Shane was supposed to be having a conversation, Shane was supposed to be talking, but all he could do was blink blink blink at the stunning woman who held his hand like she knew him and whispered like they were long time friends, and smiled the same way Nadya and Mariya smiled. 

“I wasn’t sure how the room situation would work with all the chaperones, but I thought I could peek and see which rooms you have, then book one adjoining?” She asked pleasantly. “If it’s not too much of a problem, if it wouldn’t mess up where everyone’s sleeping or anything.” 

The words came at Shane from down a long tunnel, first echoing and rattling around the empty shock in his head and then muffling out beneath the rush of oh no and oh fuck and panic.

Shane was supposed to be having a conversation, was supposed to be talking, but he was stuck staring down at Svetlana's hand in his, long fingers and flawless warm skin and manicured nails, she was soft and stunning and smelled like money, something floral and expensive and feminine, she was Ilya’s best friend, Ilya’s ex wife, Mama to Ilya’s kids, she was everything Shane wasn’t, exactly opposite and exactly who Ilya had needed for all the difficult moments in his life and Shane was– he was–

– “No, it’s not a problem.” Shane’s chest hurt, head hurt, heart hurt because he hadn’t breathed in ages, he hadn’t breathed in– in like ten minutes, he had to breathe, the steel bands at his chest had to loosen so he could breathe, surely Svetlana would notice that he’d been quiet not breathing just staring for like ten fucking minutes. 

But, “It is weird.” Words. Tunnel. Noisy then muffled because Shane said them out loud but didn’t mean them and didn’t mean to say them. He was so sure he was wholly shut down, but his mouth moved and the words came out, did he sound robotic? Shane thought he must sound robotic the way his Mom complained that he sounded robotic when he was overwhelmed in a situation but too polite to just fucking leave and his body went on autopilot. 

Thank Christ for autopilot. 

Shane said, “No, it’s not a problem you’re here.” and it apparently sounded perfectly normal and not robotic and obviously it hadn’t been ten minutes since he breathed or since he blinked, because Svetlana lit up with another one of those painfully familiar smiles, and then Shane said, “It is weird that we’ve never actually met though. Like uh– like we were orbiting each other for a really long time and finally crashed in to meet, huh?” 

“So weird, I know.” Svetlana pressed at his hand again, her earrings tinkling as she laughed. “So the room thing…?” 

“Yeah. Uh.” Autopilot. All those years of Yuna not letting Shane run away when he got anxious, and David practicing quick answers and easy sentences with Shane so he didn’t shut down panicking finally paid off. “So all the rooms have two queen sized beds and a pull out sofa.” 

Shane rattled off the information and told himself to blink. Couldn’t look her right in the eye, so he  gestured around the lobby, out towards the parking lot as he explained, “You know, some chaperones are traveling with their kiddos and others are overseeing a couple of the girls, so there’s plenty of room. Um.” 

Blink. He scratched his nose. Had to do something with his hands. Autopilot speech, autopilot motions. “I don’t see why you can’t stay with Ilya and the girls.” 

“That’s amazing, thank you so much.” Svetlana tilted her head, her sweet smile softening at the edges, “You know, it really is great to finally meet you. I know this isn’t the time or place for the two of us to sit and have a heart to heart, but I hope you and I get at least a few minutes this weekend to chat.” 

“Chat.” Shane nodded jerkily, then nodded again when he thought maybe the first one had been too obviously empty, too obviously fake. “Right. Yeah. Maybe. We can see how it goes.” 

“I hope we get some time. You’ve been such a big part of Ilya’s life for so long, and now you’re such a big part of my girls’s lives.” She laughed again, melodic and soft and exactly how the twins laughed when they weren’t cackling like little devils over a prank or joke. “They talk about you all the time. Do you know how hard Nadya laughed when you played along with the Ghostface thing? Her little face turned all red and she was squealing all high pitched and Mariya was doing that silent, whole body shaking laugh thing! They adore you.” 

“They’re good kids.” Blink. Breathe. Swallow. Shane’s mouth and throat were so dry, he thought maybe his skin was drying out cracking on the surface brittle like he’d shatter if she squeezed his hand one more time. “Really amazing girls. I’ve enjoyed having them on the team.”

“You know, Ilya always says you’re not nice, you’re just quiet so everyone thinks you’re polite?” Svetlana winked at him. “But I think you’re a sweetheart. Every bit as nice as I always heard.” 

“Um–” There was no autopilot setting for that kind of statement, so Shane just blinked. Breathed. “Um–” 

“I’m going to go say hi to the girls.” She let go of his hand. “So nice to finally officially meet you, Coach.” 

“Really nice to finally officially meet you too.” 

Svetlana swept her way out the lobby doors, turning every head in the room as she went. 

Shane detoured left away from the check-in desk, left away from the employee waiting for him to check in, left towards the closest bathroom and left into the closest stall, and dropped to his knees to be sick into the toilet as all the messy reality that had marred the first attempt at a not date for him and Ilya roiled back up ugly and unignorable and obvious. 

Fuck. 

Oh fuck.

*****

“MAMA!” 

Svetlana didn’t know her unexpected appearance had ripped Shane from a blushy, buzzy, boyfriend themed headspace and left him spiraling, choking, throwing up sick in the hotel lobby bathroom. 

She was thrilled to have finally met the Shane Hollander, the Coach Shane Hollander who both her best friend and her girls couldn’t stop talking about, she was thrilled to skip out of work in time to take a quick flight from Boston and see the twins play, and when she stepped out from the hotel lobby and into the parking lot, Svetlana was thrilled enough to almost cry when Mariya spotted her immediately and screeched at the top of her lungs before yanking Nadya away from their friends and making a beeline for her. 

“Mama!” 

“Mmmama! Mama, wh-wh-what–what–what—!” 

“Hi, my little loves.” Svetlana crouched down and opened her arms, wheezing theatrically when both girls barreled right into her. “Hi beauties, how are you?” 

“What are you doing here?” Mariya crowed, and Svetlana kissed her square on the forehead, “I wanted to see you play!” then scooped Nadya into a tighter hug, holding her close and murmuring for her to, “Settle, settle, Nadyushka, it’s alright. Breathe and try again.” when Nadya’s words got tripped up stammering, stuck on a single syllable because she couldn’t calm down enough to form the letters. “Dyshi, milayi. Skazhi eto po-russki, hm?” 

Nadya switched to Russian and the words immediately came easier. She grabbed onto the lapels of Svetlana’s expensive coat and only tripped over a few syllables as she rattled off a dozen questions about where her Mama had come from and how long she was staying and if she would cheer for them the loudest in the stands. 

“Sveta.” Ilya switched to Russian as well as he made his way over, setting the girls bags aside so he could pull her up into a quick hug. “What are you doing here?” 

“I made myself sad thinking about how I’ve been too busy to see the girls play even one game so far this season.” Svetlana set her long nails at his chin and smiled before pressing a kiss to his cheek, then carefully wiping away the print of her lipstick. “When you said this would be an away game, I clocked out of work early and caught a flight to the city, then an Uber to the hotel. I didn’t want to miss another one. You don’t mind?” 

“Konechno, nyet. I am glad you are here.” Ilya hefted the bags up over his shoulder again. “You can stay in our room? Coach said all rooms have two beds and a pull out sofa.” 

“Coach,” her green eyes twinkled at him. “Told me the same thing.” 

“You met him.” Ilya craned his neck to look over her shoulder, frowning when he couldn’t see Shane through the lobby doors. “Did you talk to him?” 

“I did, only for a minute. I hope we get to spend time together after the game.” she lowered her voice a notch when one of the other moms spotted her and waved before starting their way. “How is it with him lately?” 

“Please.” Ilya scoffed at her as if offended, “I do not kiss and tell.” 

“I have heard every sordid detail of everyone you’ve ever fucked.” she scoffed right back, then paused for emphasis and raised a finely arched brow, “Except for Jane. You do not tell me things about them.” 

“No.” No. Before they were married, Ilya had shared and perhaps overshared details of his hook ups and conquests with Svetlana, often times over vodka, often times after the two of them had finished hooking up and were lounging around talking. He had been secretive and careful about Shane back before, had been honest and broken about Shane when he’d left for Russia and hadn’t been able to hide his aching heart from his oldest friend, and now he was not so much secretive about Shane as he was greedy keeping the good things for himself, all the little smiles and the way Shane’s nose scrunched when he laughed and how every kiss lately felt like some sort of hopeful promise. 

No, Ilya did not talk about those things with Svetlana, but he nodded and admitted, “I keep kicking my younger self for being stupid and scared about him.” 

“Ilyushka, your younger self had reason to be scared.” she murmured, and when he only nodded, she coaxed, “Not anymore though? At least tell me that much?” 

“No, I am still stupid and scared, maybe more now.” Ilya confessed with a crooked little smile. “But things are good. Yes.” 

“Good.” she brushed at his cheek lightly. “Incoming nosy team parents, so stop looking so lovesick or they will think we are getting back together.” 

“The horror.” Ilya deadpanned and she elbowed him laughing, then turned with a big smile and a quick clap of her hands, “Matilde! How are you! I haven’t seen you in so long!” 

At some point between Svetlana being swarmed by the other team moms and the kids getting cranky with standing in the parking lot, Shane came back outside. Ilya spotted him immediately, lifted his arm immediately trying to catch Shane’s attention and wave him over, but Shane ignored him. 

No one noticed. Ilya did, though. 

To everyone else gathered in the parking lot and to anyone who happened to be passing by and observing the loosely orchestrated chaos, it seemed like Coach Shane Hollander was simply in full Coach mode, busily passing out maps of the hotel so everyone could find their rooms and busily dividing up the room keys so every chaperone had one to carry at all times and one as a spare. Shane’s smile probably looked normal, his voice sounded maybe a smidge stricter than usual but hey, organizing and overseeing an overnight trip for a gaggle of seven and eight year olds required a lot of concentration and a lot of effort, so no one noticed if Shane seemed more tense than he had a few minutes previous, or if maybe his posture was too locked down to be casual. 

Ilya noticed, though.  

“Okay chaperones.” Shane kept talking sort of stilted, kept standing almost painfully straight with his hands full and smile brittle around the edges and Ilya frowned about it. “I’ve got maps of the hotel, all the rooms are on the first floor so we don’t have to worry about stairs and elevators and I’m gonna pass out the room keys randomly, you guys can swap so everyone is where they want to be. Remember, chaperones need to text the group chat to confirm which girls are in which rooms so I have a running list in case anything happens.” 

Mariya went darting up to grab their room key and a map of the hotel and Ilya frowned when Shane’s smile was a little less bright, when he shook his head as she tried to tug his hand and pull him over to meet her Mama. 

“I’m gonna get up to my room and unpack, then over to the ice rink to figure out where everything is.” Shane didn’t look at Ilya and the girls, didn’t look at the other parents and kids, no one else probably noticed in the clamor and chaos but Ilya sure as hell noticed that Shane was talking to a spot just over everyone’s shoulders, staring at some point in the distance even when he threw his arm out motioning to the ice rink across the street from the hotel. “I’ll be back by 3:30pm to meet everyone in the lobby so we can head to the rink together, okay?” 

Everyone agreed. Everyone scattered. Hotel maps and room keys acquired, the kids all grabbed at their parents or designated chaperone’s hand and started bodily dragging the adults towards the doors while shrieking questions about the pool, about the arcade Coach had mentioned for after the game, about snacks and dinner and whether or not they could jump on the bed. 

Iya kept watching Shane, brows furrowed as Shane very quickly got out of a conversation with Mr. Davis and very efficiently got the last clump of bags and belongings sorted to the right kids, then flashed a very perfunctory smile at that spot over everyone’s shoulders before turning on his heel and setting off around the corner of the hotel, probably to a side door that would get him to his room without having to see or talk to anyone else.

Huh. 

“Ilya?” Svetlana urged, and Ilya turned back to her and the girls with a quick smile, “Yes. Let’s go.” 

From Lily: Everything okay? 

*Jane has notifications silenced*

*****

It had never occurred to Shane how many times during a practice or game he looked into the stands at the parents and specifically to find Ilya, until every time he looked up into the crowd of parents and siblings at the game, he saw Svetlana sitting next to Ilya on the bleachers. 

Fuck. 

Shane looked away again. Again again again. He couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help seeking out Ilya from among the faces in the crowd, and couldn’t help jerking away recoiling when he saw her too. 

Not because they were difficult to look at. No, Ilya and Svetlana were the sort of couple who belonged on magazine covers and had been on magazine covers when she’d accompanied him to awards ceremonies or fundraiser galas back when Ilya played for Boston. They were such a striking pair sitting together with Ilya’s sharply handsome features and Svetlana’s movie star good looks that even parents and spectators from the other team were craning their heads to look, whispering among themselves gossiping because maybe they recognized Ilya from when he played or maybe they recognized Svetlana from some of her modeling work, or maybe the two of them were so clearly out of place on the bleachers of a U9 girls hockey game, people couldn’t help but stop and stare. 

Shane didn’t know if the curdling feeling in his stomach was jealousy or insecurity or sadness or something worse, like the bitter reminder and realization and visually forced acknowledgment that no matter his daydreams or how much Ilya liked to kiss him, Svetlana had been there before Shane had come along, she’d been there when he was gone, and she was still there, would always be there. 

And it was fine. It was fine. She was Mama and Ilya’s best friend and Shane knew he was over reacting, he knew he was. 

But no amount of mentally scolding himself to keep it together or endless reminders that Svetlana and Ilya were only friends and only co-parents was enough to drown the lingering, gnawing, fear of being replaceable in Ilya’s life the same way Shane had been abruptly replaceable on the Metros, in the world of hockey, in the record books. 

Fuck. He missed earlier in the day when he’d only been thinking about a simple goodnight kiss. 

“He’s moving well on the ice.” Svetlana took a sip of her soda, then tilted the straw so Ilya could take a drink too. “How many surgeries did he have on his leg?” 

“I think two, but his foot is screwed together, same with his leg. Knee still hurts some days.” Ilya put his fingers to his lips and whistled when Nadya threw herself down in the crease to stop a puck from sneaking by. “But yes, he is moving good. Much better than he used to.” 

Later, “Look how responsive the girls are with him.” Svetlana marveled, peeling off a piece of the giant pretzel to dunk in the almost boiling nacho cheese. “The entire team pulls right in and listens to him, even Masha. Is he a very strict coach?” 

“He does not even raise his voice.” Ilya shook his head, then jumped to his feet clapping when Mariya won a face off with a bigger girl from the other team. “I think is combination of good kids responding to a good person and good Coach.” 

“Shane is wonderful with them.” Matilde turned around to add to the conversation. “You know, he even repeats things in French for my Nychele and for Angie sometimes to be sure they understand the practice drills or new maneuver. We all love him.” 

“I can see why.” Svetlana agreed with her, and once Matilde had turned back to the game, Svetlana elbowed Ilya very sharply and hissed, “Fix your face. You are in your thirties, stop looking so pissy and jealous just because someone else has a crush on the Coach!” 

Ilya rolled his eyes and she elbowed him again until he glared at her and at least made an effort to rearrange his face into something less annoyed by Matilde’s enduring infatuation with Shane.  

Near the end of the game, Svetlana unfolded her map of the hotel and tapped her finger at the highlighted section of rooms, the description underneath that read, ‘Room Block for Mighty Loons'. 

“The Mighty Loons, huh?” she slanted a devious look in Ilya’s direction. “You must hate that.” 

“Is stupid noisy bird.” Ilya was predictably grumpy about the mention of his least favorite Canadian animal. The citizens of Montbonne loved the loons who came to the lake every spring to lay their eggs and fill the night with their songs, but one time Ilya had thought the haunting howling noise was a wolf and neither Svetlana nor the girls had ever let him live it down. “They should have just been Mighty Ducks. No one cares about copyright infringement with little girls, it would have been fine.” 

“Pussy.” Svetlana clicked her tongue at him. “Scared of a noisy duck—!” 

The sound of their laughter carried all the way out onto the ice. 

Shane cupped his hands around his mouth and called for a time out so the girls could have a quick water break, and didn’t let himself look. 

****

11:30 that night found Shane still wide awake in his third floor hotel room, too worked up to sleep, too frozen in place mentally scattered to do anything other than scroll through the commercials and crappy late night shows. 

From Lily: What is a girl to do in the city on a night like this? 

He was not gonna panic, he was not thinking about her and them and how pretty of a family they were, no Shane wasn’t going down that rabbit hole, he wasn’t gonna spiral over something so stupid and pointless, Svetlana was Mama and best friend and Shane was—

From Lily: If only someone would come look at the moon with me and tell me I am prettier than all the stars, I would give them my virginity SO fast. 

Shane needed to relax because no matter the history between he and Ilya and how every single kiss felt like more, at this point he was still only Coach. It had only been a few kisses and Ilya was joking about settling down, it was a joke, it didn’t matter, Shane was over complicating things and rushing things for no fucking reason, he needed to stop.

From Lily: Okay, is depressing when I cannot even give my virginity away. What is going on with you?

Shane’s notifications were fully silenced, his phone on Do Not Disturb mode, and it was only cos he was already scrolling aimlessly through social media that he even saw the incoming call notification at the top of the screen. 

His heart jumped right into his throat when he saw Lily’s name pop up, and after three, four, five rings worth of indecision, he picked up. 

“Hello? 

“You do not want to come look at the moon and stars and take my virginity?” Ilya started off immediately snarky, laughing as he complained, “I do not want to admit it, but you are very sexy when you are playing hard to get, Shane Hollander.” 

“Hard to get.” Shane gave up on the pointless TV shows and clicked the television off, plunging the room into darkness other than the light from his phone and the single small lamp by the headboard. “I’m not playing hard to get, Ilya. I’m just not gettable. Not tonight.” 

“I thought you were going to text me your room number.” 

“Yeah. I thought about it.” Shane had thought about it until he made himself sick about it. “But then I thought about how I’m supposed to be focused on the team, and being backup for any of the chaperones who need it. I’ve got a ton of things to do and it’s risky to hang out, right? Don’t want to risk any of the kids seeing us and asking questions and you know.” 

He blew out a slow breath. “You get on my nerves. So.” 

“You like me.” Ilya countered, smug and playfully accusatory, and Shane couldn’t find the energy to sound anything other than exhausted when he muttered, “Yeah, I do. But all the other reasons still stand.” 

The call went quiet for a minute. Shane didn’t know how to fill the silence. He sat on the edge of the bed pinching the bridge of his nose trying to stave off a migraine and worried at the inside of his cheek and didn’t know what the hell to say. 

Then. 

“Shane.” Ilya was quiet. Careful. “I did not know Sveta was coming to the game. And I am sorry you are uncomfortable or–-or upset about it. You do not need to be. There is no reason to–” 

“It’s fine, Ilya.” Shane cut him off. Pinched at his nose harder. “Other chaperones invited their partner, too. It’s not–” 

“I did not know Svetlana was going to be here.” Ilya repeated, firmer that time. “And is not the same as Janey or Bailey’s Dad coming along, I know it is not the same. You care about Sveta being here.” 

Shane didn’t respond to Ilya stating the obvious, and after a few seconds, Ilya prodded, “It is difficult for you to see us together with the girls?” 

“No.” Shane lied right through his teeth. “Nope. It’s fine. You guys are a good looking family, it’s crazy how much the girls take after Svetlana, they're like her mini-me's."

“I forget sometimes.” Ilya ignored Shane’s attempt at deflecting. At downplaying and denying and hiding. “What is normal for me and Sveta is not normal for most people, especially not divorced people. It has been like this for so long, I forget it could be weird or uncomfortable. I don’t want you to be upset.” 

“I’m not upset.” Lies lies lies. Shane was so bad at lying. “I’m glad you guys have a healthy co-parenting relationship. Seems like a good solid arrangement, and uh–” 

“Shane.” Ilya didn’t want polite. He said, “Shane.” and it was scolding, reproachful, disappointed that after everything, Shane was trying to lie to him when Ilya was trying to honestly figure it out. “Come on.”      

“Fine.” Shane flopped back on the bed, an arm over his eyes and the phone held tight to his ear. “Your ex-wife is here and it's weirding me out."

“My best friend.” Ilya corrected. “Yes.” 

“Ex-wife.” Shane maintained, but Ilya insisted, “Svetlana is my best friend and Mama to our girls. That is more important than how she used to be married with me. This is who she is now. Only thing that matters.” 

He hesitated, then sounded almost amused when he asked, “Would it help if you I told you she is rooting for us?” 

“What?” Shane jolted upright on the bed again. “What? No. No, that actually makes it worse.” Fuck, he hated that idea. “Ilya that’s actually worse because what–-what, if we did meet up tonight, she’d know exactly where you went and what you were doing and with who?” 

“Not exactly.” Ilya hedged. “I do not kiss and tell details about you and us. But yes. She would know I was with you.”

“And that’s not weird to you.” 

“No.” 

“Well it’s really fucking weird to me.” Shane bit at his thumbnail, shredding it between his teeth in a burst of anxiety. “And listen. Listen. Fuck.” he scrubbed at his mouth. “Ilya, I know you were joking about the settling down thing. I know you were. But it was nice to– to think about.” 

Admitting it out loud made Shane feel small and young and naive. He screwed his eyes shut and admitted it anyway. “It was nice to think about for a few minutes. But then Svetlana showed up and it um– it just reminded me that uh–” 

That it would be so fucking easy for you to erase me and replace me and move on like you did after Vegas. Like my team, my fans, and so many of my friends erased me and replaced me and moved on after I got hurt. 

It wasn’t the same thing. Vegas. Retiring. Vegas had been the consequence of a scared kid making tough decisions and another scared kid who wasn’t brave enough to ask about it. Retirement had been medical and necessary and no one’s fault at all. Neither one meant Ilya would erase him and replace him and move on now just because Svetlana had showed up to one game but holy shit. 

Holy shit, no amount of Shane trying to be calm and logical and rational about the situation was able to shut down the part of his head and heart that kept telling him to cut his losses and run before he got hurt again. 

“Shanychka.” When Shane trailed off quiet for too long, Ilya said very softly, “We should talk about this. About Svetlana and us, yes?” 

“I don’t want to talk about your ex-wife and us hooking up.” Those were the wrong words to use. Svetlana wasn’t just the ex-wife and even in the middle of his noisy messy mindset, Shane knew he and Ilya would never just be hooking up, it would always be more between them. 

But he said 'ex-wife' and 'hooking up' to try and keep some distance, to try and keep some control. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He didn’t know if he was working to convince Ilya… or himself. 

“Shane–” 

“Hey, remember the thing about how you either give me time and space to work through shit, or I end up being mean about?” Shane asked sharply defensively panicked when yet another soft ‘Shane’ from Ilya left him shaking. “Remember that? Cut it out or hang up, I don’t want to talk about it!" 

“Okay.” Ilya sounded a little bit lost, maybe a little bit resigned. “Can I still see you tonight?” 

“You still want to see me.” Shane asked in disbelief. “I just told you I was gonna be mean if you don’t drop this."

“I’ll drop it.” Ilya assured him. “But you could be mean anyway. Bring it on. I love being bullied by pretty people.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Just that fast, all the anger whooshed from Shane’s body, his shoulders dropping and jaw unclenching under Ilya’s quiet acceptance and acknowledgment that he needed time, the unspoken willingness to wait, to keep waiting, to not get tired of waiting for Shane to figure his shit out. 

“I think.” Shane wanted to say yes. Instead he shook his head and put a hand to his chest trying to stop the overwhelmed tremor starting down deep in his core, “I think taking this um–- this thing any further at a hotel full of players and their families isn’t–- maybe we should wait until we can be somewhere more discreet, right?” 

“We used to do this in hotels all the time.”

“No I know, it’s just—”

“I want to see you tonight.” There it was, the blunt honesty that never failed to make Shane’s heart race while simultaneously cutting through the buzz and fuzz and noise in his head until conversations and decisions and even ratcheting spiking whirling emotions settled down simple. “Even if you are stressed about Svetlana. Even if you want to yell at me or whatever. I want to see you anyway. Do you want to see me?”

“Yes. Fuck.” Shane said yes and meant it, but then he gave in again to the wriggle of fear in his heart and backtracked, “But seriously. Tonight probably isn’t a good idea. Everything seems really complicated all the sudden so–” 

There was a knock on his hotel room, and Shane pulled his phone away from his ear and frowned at the door in confusion. Another knock, just as fast and firm as the first, and Shane unfolded off the bed and shuffled across the carpet to check the peephole and see who was bothering him at damn near midnight. 

Ilya. 

…what? 

“Ilya.” Shane unlocked the door and swung it open, glancing both ways down the hall to see if anyone was awake and out and looking in their direction. “What are you doing here? How did you get my room number?” 

“You gave everyone a highlighted print out of rooms on the first floor, but there was a room number on third floor highlighted too, marked as reserved under the “Mighty Loons. I took a guess.” Ilya looked Shane over from head to toe, smiling when he realized Shane was wearing his pajamas, the borrowed shirt and plaid bottoms Shane hadn’t yet returned after their movie night. “You look pretty.” 

“Holy shit.” Shane’s throat jerked when he swallowed hard. “Ilya. This–-this isn’t a good idea.” 

“Maybe.” Ilya acknowledged with a short nod, then raised his eyebrows pointedly, hopefully, “But we’ve had worse ideas, yes?” 

“Fuck.” Shane gave in, quit fighting what he wanted by getting lost in everything he was scared of and said, "Yes." then tossed his phone onto the table and grabbed for Ilya with both hands, dragging him into a kiss, “Yeah we’ve had worse ideas. Come here.” 

“Shane.” Ilya kicked the door shut behind him and fumbled to lock it, turning the deadbolt as best he could without breaking the kiss for too long, and getting his hands back on Shane as fast as he could manage. “We can talk–” he stripped his shirt off when Shane yanked at it, tossing the long sleeve somewhere towards the sofa. “If you want to talk. About Sveta or the thing I said about settling down, we can talk about it –” 

“I don’t want talk about those things.” Shane raked his nails across Ilya’s bare back, digging his fingers into the bulk of muscle at Ilya’s shoulders and pulling him in closer. “Not right now, definitely not right now. Too complicated. I don’t wanna–” he sucked a hard kiss to Ilya’s jaw as he fumbled with Ilya’s pants, pushing them down and out of the way. “I don’t wanna talk about complicated things.” 

“Let’s talk about something uncomplicated then.” Ilya scooped Shane right off the floor, carrying him the few steps to the bed and laying him out on the rumpled blankets. “Like why you,” he kicked out of his pants and underwear and crawled naked up the bed to cage Shane in, bracing over him and bending down to cover his mouth in another searing, sucking kiss. “are wearing my pajamas?” 

“I only brought them along to give back to you.” Shane insisted, and Ilya laughed under his breath, pushing Shane’s knees apart and settling onto him, “Is why you are wearing them tonight? Because you were going to give them back?” 

“Ohhhh fuck.” Shane moaned out loud when Ilya lay all the way against him, heavy and hot and already hard digging into his leg, arms bent and biceps flexed, shoulders broad and yeah, a little bit softer than he used to be, but still big enough to pick Shane up and toss him around, still solid enough to handle Shane and strong enough that Shane could handle him and no one would get hurt. No one would break. 

Shane wrapped his hands at the width of Ilya’s arms and closed his eyes, mouth falling open in breathless pant cos it felt so fucking good to be pinned down heavy for a few minutes, it blanked his mind right out and left him stunned. 

But, “F-fuck right off, Rozanov.” he managed when he remembered to talk and remembered to smile up into Ilya’s gorgeous blue eyes. “Maybe I’ll just go ahead and keep your stupid pajamas.” 

“Keep them.” Ilya’s face did something complex, something emotional, something very nearly soft for the few seconds where Shane looked like he would be happy to lay there pinned. Then Shane planted both hands at his ass and rocked up into him, grinding the length of his cock into Ilya’s hip, and all thoughts of soft disappeared as Ilya swore out loud, dropping his head onto Shane’s shoulder and groaning, “Keep them and let me fuck you.” 

And, “Shane.” Ilya wrapped his hand at Shane’s throat, big palm spanning Shane’s neck and his thumb pressing in over Shane’s pulse as he mouthed and licked his way down to Shane’s chest. “Can I fuck you?” 

“N-no, I can’t.” Shane’s head fell against the pillows, breath coming harsh when Ilya’s hold at his neck tightened almost reflexive, maybe unconscious to each lift of his hips, each dig of his cock into Ilya’s leg. “I can’t um–” 

“You can’t?” Ilya pulled away to check in, “Something is wrong?” 

“Nothing's wrong. But I'm not ready. I’m not–” Shane shook his head, embarrassed. He couldn’t meet Ilya’s gaze, so he focused on the necklace hanging down between them, the glint of gold against Ilya’s bare chest . “I’d need a shower first. A uh– a long one. I didn’t get ready cos I was freaking out, and now I feel fucking stupid about it, so-–” 

“Not stupid, no.” Ilya lay back down, covering Shane with his whole body so Shane would make another one of those punched out, wanting noises and went back to kissing along his throat, down to his collarbone, further to the swell of his chest. “Next time, yes?” 

Shane probably should have denied it, should have at least given it a little thought before immediately agreeing, he probably shouldn’t have committed to next time when his head was still messed up and his heart was all over the place, but, “Yes.” he arched into the sting of teeth at his nipple, knotted his fingers in Ilya’s hair and keened under the heat of Ilya’s mouth pulling at him, “Yes.” because everything about everything else was complicated, but this with Ilya had always been so beautifully simple. “Next time.”  

“Let me see you.” The room was dark except for the small lamp at the headboard, but Ilya still groaned like he was awestruck starving when he dragged the borrowed pajama pants down and could get his hands all over Shane fully naked for the first time in years. 

“Oh fuck, Shane.” Ilya didn’t hesitate to devour him, first with his hands and then with his mouth and his tongue tracking down over Shane’s body. Shane squirmed a little fighting the urge to cover up, but Ilya didn’t let him hide, didn’t let him flinch away. He pressed grasping and kneading at Shane’s chest and down his side, across his stomach and at his waist, leaving wet kisses in his wake and nosing practically nuzzling through the hair at the base of Shane’s cock and further down at his balls. Shane gasped and tried to lift into him, but Ilya didn’t stop, wriggling further down the bed and shoving Shane’s thighs apart as he went so he could push his face into the pillow soft skin and trace the faint stretch marks with his tongue. 

“Okay like this?” Ilya handled Shane’s left knee carefully, propping it up over his arm and then up over his shoulder to open Shane up for more, and Shane babbled, “Yeah yeah yeah, that’s fine, I’m fine like— fuck–!” 

Shane’s mouth fell open, back bowing up off the bed when Ilya licked up his cock and then took him all the way into his mouth in the same motion. “Ilya—!” He flailed around searching for something to hold, grabbing at Ilya’s hair, at Ilya’s shoulders before he clenched his fists tight into the sheets, flopping back onto the bed, “Oh fuck, that’s so good.” 

“Here. Open.” Ilya pulled off Shane’s cock after a few leisurely licks, and slid back up Shane’s body to get two fingers at Shane’s mouth and order, “Open.” 

Shane opened up obediently, drew Ilya’s fingers into his mouth and sucked up at them noisily until Ilya croaked, “Fuck.” and bent forward to kiss Shane around the push of his fingers, sliding his tongue in alongside Shane’s until the pool of saliva left his fingers spit slick and soaking wet. 

“Enough, Shanychka, enough. Good job.” Ilya kissed him again as he slid his fingers free, swallowing the thready moan from Shane and reveling in the quick peek of Shane’s dark eyes gone hazy and soft before he moved back down Shane’s body and asked, “Is okay right here? Just a little?” 

“Fuck…” Shane moaned, legs falling further open when blunt, slick fingers pressed at his hole. “Ilya...” 

“Not inside.” Ilya promised hoarsely. “Not this time. But is okay to touch you? Just a little bit?” 

“Y-yeah. That’s– yeah. Don’t stop. It’s okay, but please–” Shane rocked his hips up, the leaking head of his cock smearing pre come against Ilya’s stomach. “Please.” 

“Yes.” Ilya sounded like he growled for it, his voice gone low and rough as he licked Shane base to tip, lapping at the spill of precome from the slit then swallowing him back down. He rubbed purposefully at the furled skin at Shane’s entrance, the pad of his thumb just rough enough to make Shane whine and writhe and bear down like he wanted more. Ilya didn’t press inside, didn’t break his promise, only kept circling pressure at Shane’s rim and bobbed his head up and down fully willing to choke on Shane’s cock, taking him into his throat and hollowing his cheeks sucking tight until Shane’s thighs were shaking, the only sound in the room the crudely wet sound of Ilya mouth sliding along his length and Shane’s harsh breathing getting louder and louder as he rocketed towards finishing. 

“Ilya, I’m gonna cum.” Shane wanted to slow down and make it last. The not-date had been too much too fast, over too soon after too long apart, and there in the hotel he wanted to take some time to enjoy it but oh he was too worked up, oh Ilya was too greedy for him, and all too soon– “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Ilya—!” 

He barely got the words out before Ilya was humming in response, his throat tightening and the noise vibrating around the head of Shane’s cock until his vision whited out. Ilya felt up over Shane’s abdomen to get his hand over Shane’s heart, squeezing and kneading at his chest and Shane had just enough time to grab at Ilya’s hand and hold tight before, “Fuck, I’m—!” his cock was throbbing, swelling up another notch harder before he spilled down Ilya’s throat. 

Ilya spread his hand wide at Shane’s sternum and took it all, swallowing and gulping and digging his fingers into Shane’s chest, dragging his tongue at the underside of Shane’s cock to coax everything from him until Shane curled up off the bed cursing, almost sobbing, overstimulated and overwhelmed. 

“Shane.” Ilya pulled off slowly, then shifted sideways off Shane’s body and scooted up the bed to crush a kiss to his mouth, stretching out long and laying half over Shane to press him to the mattress. Shane was shaking, grabbing at the sheets and at the blankets with each breath coming ragged and Ilya pried Shane’s hands loose from the sheets to fold his arms over his chest and lay harder against him, petting down Shane’s side and rubbing at his stomach, as Shane struggled to come down and come back from it. 

“Settle settle, sweetheart, is okay.” Ilya mumbled against Shane’s flushed skin, murmuring a mix of Russian and English punctuated by a flurry of little kisses, “You did so good, you are beautiful, good job, good job, breathe, yes good, take your time, just breathe…"

Eventually, the comforting rumble of Ilya’s words pierced through the cloudy, floaty daze in Shane’s mind and he stirred trying to move, “Sorry. Fuck. I um–” he shook his head again, trying to clear away the fog. “Sorry, come here. Let me–” 

“No, is okay.” Ilya soothed him quickly, thoroughly enjoying the bliss etched into Shane’s stunning features, the lack of stress or tension at his brow, the loose and lazy tilt to Shane’s lips. “Take your time.” 

“You say that.” Shane turned his head to find Ilya’s lips, sighing into a real kiss Ilya was all too happy to give him. “But you know, you’re kind of humping a hole through my hip right now.” 

“Sorry.” Ilya wrapped a big hand at Shane’s hip and squeezed him tight, rutting his cock harder into Shane’s leg as he did. “But can you blame me? Fuck, Shane. You are so…”

The words trailed off into a kiss, into a bite. Ilya swept his hand up to Shane’s chest and then to his neck, mouthing and nipping at the curve of his throat and up at his pulse, sucking and nibbling at Shane’s earlobe. “Ty neveroyatnyy, you are incredible. If you even touch me, I might cum.”

“Okay, well don’t do that yet.” Shane trailed his hand down Ilya’s chest and stomach to circle loosely at his cock. "Don’t cum yet, at least give me a minute to enjoy it.” 

“Enjoy it.” Ilya had to grip the base of his cock hard so he wouldn’t spill at the first brush of Shane’s fingers against him. “Fuck. You– you want to enjoy this? To enjoy me?” 

“I really do. Come here.” Shane propped up on his elbow chasing another kiss, sitting up more to take control of the kiss and push it deeper, coaxing Ilya back onto the pillows as he went. 

“Are you okay?” Ilya couldn’t help asking as Shane slid down the bed to get between his legs. “Is your knee–” 

“I’m fine.” Shane took a few seconds to get comfortable, and Ilya shook his head, “Shanychka, I only want–” 

“My mouth?” Shane rested his chin at Ilya’s navel and looked up the length of his body at him, blinking at him from beneath his thick lashes, eyes hot and lips parted, tongue peeking out pink above his bottom lip.  “You want my mouth.” 

“Holy fuck, yes.” Ilya gulped and his cock twitched in response, spilling a trail of precome against his stomach. “But only if you are okay? No pain with your knee or–” 

“I’m fine, so shut up about it.” Shane sealed his lips around the fat head of Ilya’s cock, swirling his tongue at the leaking tip and yes he fully intended on working his way slowly and luxuriously down every single inch of Ilya’s cock, not stopping until his mouth was full and throat closed up under pressure and his brain shut down quiet so he could relax into it, but—

“Fuck–!” Shane barely got any of Ilya in his mouth at all before Ilya’s self control slipped and Shane had to pull off coughing and gagging when a too quick, too hard thrust jammed the thick cock to the back of his throat. “Ilya, fuck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Ilya tried to apologize frantically. “Sorry, you feel too good, too much, too good, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shit.” Shane coughed one more time, then wiped the drool from his mouth and braced both his hands at Ilya’s hips, pinning him to the bed and warning him to, “Settle down.” 

“Oh.” Ilya’s eyes went very wide, then very hot and he shook his head slowly, “Oh no, no I will not last long if you are going to be strong and bossy about it.”

“Well you’re gonna have to try.” Shane swept his thumbs along the vee of Ilya’s hips, over a beauty mark and mole tucked into the crease of his thigh. “I’ve missed having you in my mouth, so seriously gimme a minute to enjoy it before you cum.” 

Ilya stared at him shocked and Shane hesitated, “Um. Please?” 

“No no, I should be saying please.” Ilya grabbed for Shane’s chin and coaxed him closer, sat up in the bed enough to lay a sweet, if not a little awkwardly angled kiss to Shane’s mouth and whispered harshly begging, “Please please please, dorogoy, please.” 

Shane wanted to go slow. But Ilya was already throbbing against his tongue, leaking a steady spill of precome against his lips and down his throat so next time, Shane promised himself as he held Ilya’s hips down and sucked him hard and fast. Next time he’d go slow and make Ilya last and he’d be able to really enjoy it, but oh fuck it was still so goddamn good to feel Ilya writhing and jerking under him. So amazing to get his hands up and over Ilya’s body where he was so big and bulky and solid yet softer in the most addictive places, there at his waist and a little further up at his chest and down at his legs. 

Ilya had more hair than Shane remembered, thicker at his chest and down below his navel and Shane scraped his nails through it, followed the trail down to cup and cradle at Ilya’s balls, rolling them in his palm as he pushed himself another inch lower taking more of Ilya into his mouth and at his throat until every pinched breath smelled like Ilya’s body wash and Ilya’s sweat and Ilya’s cum and Shane groaned for it, screwed his eyes shut and buried himself deeper gagging for it. 

“Don’t stop, Shane th-that’s so good, too good, fuck–!” Ilya shoved his hands into Shane’s hair, pulling and tugging and then grabbed for his face, stroking at his cheek and stretching as far as he could to feel Shane’s neck where the bulk of his cock slid a little further with every determined bob of Shane’s head and purposeful, hungry swallow. 

“Up up up.” Ilya tried to get Shane up and into his arms, tried to hook his thumb at Shane’s mouth so he would know to let go and sit up and kiss him, Ilya wanted to kiss Shane and hold him when he came, but Shane didn’t sit up, didn’t let up, only opened wider and moaned sloppy and wet as he pushed his nose into Ilya’s stomach to have all of him. 

“Shane.” Ilya came grinding against Shane’s face, biting into his knuckles so he wouldn’t yell and wake the rest of the floor, the rest of the hotel. “Sh-Shane– fuck–” 

Shane swallowed and swallowed until he couldn’t breathe and finally had to pull off. He hid his face in the crease of Ilya’s hip and cut his nails into Ilya’s side holding on just as tight as Ilya was holding onto him, his heart racing and lips swollen, throat raw and his own cock half hard again. He rolled his hips grinding into the mattress not trying to cum again, but chasing the heat and arousal and satisfaction of the moment so he could sink in deep and get lost.

“Fuck Hollander.” Ilya finally groaned in the same dragged out, fucked out way he used to say it, his voice worn ragged and his laugh wheezing and hoarse, “You killed me. I am dead. That was so good.” 

“S’good, yeah.” It was good. They were good together. Shane closed his eyes and thought it felt like deja vu. Thought it felt like he was nineteen again getting his entire world turned topsy turvy inside out by a mouthy blond Russian with a sharply sweet smile and gentle, guiding hands.  

Then, “We will talk later, yes? We need to talk. But right now stay.” Ilya reached down to comb through Shane’s hair again, tender and coaxing and pleading, “Stay right there. Right here. Don’t let go yet.” 

Fingers at Shane’s mouth, pressing at his bottom lip and then past his bottom lip to rest on his tongue. “Don’t let go yet.” 

Shane shifted up enough to rest his cheek at Ilya's stomach, then closed his lips lightly suckling at Ilya’s fingers and nodded in wordless agreement,  mouth full and head quiet, the overwhelmed tremor in his body easing as he came down sated and settled and warm.

“Good job.” Ilya’s voice came from somewhere far above him, cottony thick and bass pitched rumbling, “So good, you did so good, I missed you.” before he switched to speaking Russian and Shane couldn’t understand him anymore. 

Shane’s last coherent thought before everything went blessedly, beautifully, blank was–

–how come everything can’t be this simple? 

****

Neither Shane nor Ilya meant to fall asleep, but when Ilya opened his eyes next, the bedside clock said almost 3 a.m. and fuck, he had to go. 

Shane was still pillowed on his stomach, and Ilya whispered regretfully, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” 

Shane mumbled something tired and incomprehensible and Ilya crooned whispered adoration down at him as he tried to ease Shane over onto the bed and up into the pillows without disturbing him too much, pulling the blankets to Shane’s bare waist so he wouldn’t wake up freezing in the morning. 

He got dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could, using the light from his phone to find his discarded clothes, and taking the time to locate his Shane’s pajamas and lay them out on the nearest chair for the morning. 

Before he snuck out of the room, Ilya bent back over the bed and kissed Shane’s forehead, his cheek, the corner of his sleep lax lips and then left one more featherlight brush of lips on the freckles beneath Shane’s eyes. 

“Sweet dreams, Shanychka.” 

Ilya closed the door quietly and crept away down the hall. 

Inside the room, Shane rolled over into the pillow that still smelled like Ilya and hugged it to his chest, then drifted back to sleep with a very tiny smile on his lips. 

Sweet dreams. 

*****

Chapter Notes:

This is the fastest I’ve ever hit 100k words on a fic. These boys own my soul and it's fine, they can have it, I'm so happy living right here.

Shout out to AO3 user Gavran who gave me the inspiration for "Shane being Famous" scene. I loved Ilya indulging in watching old videos of Shane, the girls promptly "Coach is famous AND handsome??" and how it led directly into Shane being able to tell Ilya he's a good Dad, while Ilya is so clearly smitten by Shane being so good with his girls.

Ilya's stupid little texts. I rewatched ep6 yesterday and I am always struck by how playful Ilya is once he’s secure/settled with Shane and I love this version of Ilya who gets to be playful and dorky like that. Shane thinking he's being hushed when Ilya taps at his lips and Ilya being so romantic about it before roasting Shane into oblivion. I love it.

The team name lmaoooo. MIGHTY LOONS!

Svetlana. Gratuitous 'good golly' because I'm in love with her and actually had to cut out some of my shameless descriptions of her being just insanely beautiful.

BUT Shane freaking out seeing Svetlana in person. Sometimes we (*cough* me, myself and I) work through trauma and think we are totally coping and totally healed but then here comes an unexpected trigger and we are spiraling again, freaking out thinking that we AREN'T better so maybe we should just run away and give up on everything, and that's where Shane is right now.

He isn't mad at Ilya anymore, he understands Vegas and he's letting himself chase kisses, and be more honest with his emotions but holy shit, Svetlana shows up and Shane is thrown right back into that awful mindset of being replaceable in Ilya's life and then he spirals about how quickly the hockey world moved on without him too and then oh shit, now he's depressed about how nothing in his life is permanent and committed and he's lost.

Working through trauma is not a simple, straight line from hurt to healed, those ups and downs and steps forward and sliding back can be really fucking brutal, but Shane will get there (we will get there in our journeys too!) and it will be so worth it at the end.

The contrast between Ilya’s readiness to plan/joke about hypothetical futures etc vs Shane's knee jerk reaction of "no this is a bad idea" for anything emotional before he deflects/brushes over conversations in favor of just having sex will be Very Important coming up.

Oh they do be Nekkid, yall. I love everything about this scene. Shane wearing the borrowed pajamas. The body worship. Ilya constantly checking in not only before touching but also to make sure Shane’s knee/leg is okay. Fingers in mouth cos Shane needs something to suck on and Ilya kissing him around his fingers, WHY did I like that so much??  Ilya physically keeping Shane grounded with his weight so Shane could stop buzzing overstimulated and slip right into the floaty spacey good stuff.

Shane getting bossy with Ilya and holding him down cos he wants that dick, dammit, and Ilya blue screening over it. Ilya slipping into more and more Russian and the sound of it putting Shane right under. Shane chasing the ‘mouth full, brain empty’ vibe because he remembers how being with Ilya gets him to that specific quiet place. (Y’all read Bare, you know what he wants and needs!!) Ilya begging him to stay and Shane agreeing and then the whispered goodnight and finally, Shane smiling to himself while hugging Ilya’s pillow.

*whew* I just love them.

Coming Up: Unfortunately, sex doesn’t negate the conversations they definitely need to have, but boy howdy the boys are gonna try anyway. 

Chapter 8: Rekindled (feels like the very first time)

Chapter Summary

They do be (sappy sweet, emotional remembering vegas and the first time, insanely intune to one another, drifting off spacey floaty blissed out post orgasm already back in love) nekkid.

From Lily: When can I see you again? 

From Jane: Practice today. 

From Lily: Is not what I meant. 

From Lily: When can I suck your dick again?

From Lily: Or if I ask very nicely, will you let me finger you until you cum?  

“Coach Hollander?” the lady at the post office counter waved Shane forward. “Come on up.” 

“Shit– I mean shoot– I mean sorry.” Shane shoved his phone in his pocket and hurried forward, waving apologetically to the people behind him in line. “Sorry. Um– I was– there was a text on my phone, um–” 

“No worries, Coach.” She was unbothered. She didn’t care. She was polite and efficient and mentioned her twelve year old nephew being jealous that the girls hockey team got such a cool coach, printed out a postage label for everything he needed to mail, then waved him on his way. 

Easy peasy lemon squeezy or whatever, all while Shane was sweating bullets wondering if the entire fucking world could tell he was all worked up cos Ilya was texting him things about fingering.

“You didn’t text back.” At practice that afternoon, Ilya pointed the girls towards the changing room, then came to stand by Shane, slouching over the boards with his body half turned in Shane’s direction so he could keep an eye on the locker room in case the girls needed help and also keep an eye on the faint flush slowly but steadily climbing Shane’s neck, into his face and into his ears the longer Ilya stood there smirking at him. “Why not?” 

“I was at the post office when you sent that.” Shane managed through gritted teeth, his eyes firmly on Bailey and Janey who were already skating around center ice. “What were you thinking texting me like that?”

“I was thinking…” Ilya drawled out the end of the word. “About fingering you. Obviously.”

“Keep your voice down.” Shane pursed his lips so he wouldn’t laugh. Pursed his lips and wondered if he could stop himself from blushing just by sheer force of will. “That text was super inappropriate.”

“For who?” Ilya asked innocently and Shane sputtered, “For the— the person at the desk! Because I was paying attention to your text instead of getting in line! And— and what if someone read it over my shoulder! And—“ 

“And what?” Ilya did lower his voice but he didn’t make any attempt to sound even a smidgen apologetic, “And you ran out of time to answer me? Is okay, you can answer me now. Yes or no Shane, do you want me to—"

Ilya tapped at his thigh so Shane would look down at his hand, then made an explicitly vulgar motion crooking his fingers up.

“Okay well.” Shane’s head snapped away, his eyes wide and mouth clicking shut hard enough to be audible. “That was so inappropriate, you just lost any and all chances to see my dick out.”

“Boooo. Two thumbs way down.” Ilya turned both his thumbs down with a disgruntled pout. The girls came tromping out of the locker room and he shifted his weight to put a few more inches between them, then lowered his voice again that time actually trying to be discreet, “After practice. Is okay if I—”

“Yes.” Shane answered quickly, and Ilya cocked an eye brow at him, “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“Does it involve a goodbye kiss?” Shane might have been flustered every which way by the fingering thing, he might’ve been— was definitely— still a little off kilter about the whirlwind that had meeting Svetlana and then the evening with Ilya, but he wasn’t above hoping for a kiss, and he risked a glance sideways praying Ilya wouldn’t laugh at him when he very quietly, very earnestly, “Cos the answer to that is yes.” 

“Good to know.” Ilya’s smile was small and pleased and endearingly crooked. “Yes, a goodbye kiss. But a minute to stay and talk too. Do you have time?”

“Yeah. I’ll make time.” 

“Okay.” Ilya straightened up off the boards and headed for his usual spot on the bleachers, angling his body enough to hide a press at Shane’s fingers as he passed. “See you after. I will send you dirty texts all practice.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”  Shane hissed, but Ilya was already gone, the other girls were already taking the ice, it was already time to start. 

Shane ditched his hoodie and stepped onto the ice, skating towards the blue line and whistling for the girls to assemble around him. “Hi girls, how are we today?”

All the girls chimed in with various exclamations of their day, how much fun the overnight trip had been, and how boring school was when it was too cold to play outside, and Shane listened to it all with a wide smile.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he ignored it clear up until the last fifteen minutes of practice when he let the girls loose to play tag and work out some of their wiggles, then discreetly slid his phone halfway out of his pocket to check the messages. 

From Lily: I missed you all weekend, Shanychka. Never enough kisses.

Fuck. Shane shoved his phone back in his pocket and skated over to join the game of tag, determinedly distracting himself from his phone and the message and Ilya’s disconcerting ability to completely throw him for a loop. 

Never enough kisses? Jesus Christ, another dirty message about fingering would have been less disconcerting than a cutesy message about missing him, fuck.

From Jane: I hate you. 

From Lily: Rude. 

After practice, Shane wasn’t surprised or upset or anything other than thrilled when Ilya ducked into the office, kicked the door shut behind him and took several big steps forward to drag him into a kiss. 

“Hi.” Shane started, but Ilya shook his head and kissed him again, short and sweet and with his hand cupped at Shane’s cheek as he pulled away. 

“Always two.” Ilya reminded him, but when Shane turned into his hand nosing at his fingers, Ilya bent in for a third kiss dotted at the corner of Shane’s mouth, a fourth at his cheek when Shane’s lips parted warm and caressing at the center of his palm. “Fuck. Or–or more.” 

“Hi.” Shane said again, and that time Ilya smiled at him, “Hi. I gave Masha and Nadyushka all my coins for the pinball machine so we have a couple minutes.” 

“Okay.” Shane pinched the side of Ilya’s hoodie between his fingers and used the bit of leverage to pull Ilya closer. “You wanna make out a little bit?” 

“I mean yes, obviously.” Ilya rolled his shoulders, sighing almost shivering when Shane’s hand slid under his hoodie and under his t-shirt to settle solid against his side. “But we should talk?” 

“Should we?” Shane scratched his nails ticklish at Ilya’s waist, thumbing over the slight bump of a mole close to Ilya’s belly button. “Or maybe…?”

“Shane.” Shane being open and obvious and eager with him was heady and exhilarating and usually more than enough to derail any coherent thought process, but Ilya shook his head. “We should talk about Svetlana. And us. And the…settling down thing? It bothered you?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Between one blink and the next, Shane’s gorgeous eyes darkened flinty, a ripple of tension in his body hardening into the touch at Ilya’s side before he relaxed again and went back to circling distracting patterns on Ilya’s stomach with his fingertips. “It’s fine.” 

“You don’t want to talk about it.” Ilya checked over Shane’s shoulder to see how far away the desk was, then set his hand at the back of Shane’s neck, his thumb over Shane’s pulse. “Do you need to talk about it?” 

“No, I don’t need to talk about it.” Shane’s eyes went a little dark again, but when Ilya took a step forward, he didn’t hesitate to move backwards obeying. Ilya walked him across the office with the weight of his hand solid at the base of Shane’s neck and Shane went willingly, trustingly, eyes on Ilya’s face. “I said it’s fine.” 

It wasn’t all the way fine. Shane wasn’t all the way fine, but getting stuck in a cycle of bone deep jealousy and debilitating insecurity about Svetlana wasn’t something a single conversation would fix and right then when Ilya was locked in maintaining eye contact, holding Shane secure enough that Shane wasn’t worried about bumping into chairs or tripping over the uneven part of the flooring or running into the desk, he did not want to talk about it.

He could only handle big thing at a time. One life altering decision at a time. Coaching the team, fixing up his house, sharing kisses and dirty texts and hooking up with Ilya again was more than enough on his plate at the moment, so no Shane wasn’t all the way fine, but he was fine enough to insist, “I’m okay.” 

“Okay.” Ilya didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to bully or pressure or freak Shane out by insisting on a conversation either, at least not yet. It felt like it really fucking mattered that Shane had been obviously upset about Svetlana’s appearance, but maybe not. There was a chance Shane just needed to work through his feelings alone first. A chance the upset reaction had been a one-and-done shocked moment, but after time to process, Shane understood the unorthodox dynamics and was alright with it. 

…there was a chance Shane was nowhere near as head over heels ready to make it all real the way Ilya was. Maybe he really was fine and really didn’t care. Maybe llya was putting too much emphasis on the situation because he was already thinking weeks and months ahead while Shane wasn’t. 

Which was fair, all things considered. That wasn’t a conversation Ilya was willing to push or pressure Shane about either, but shit.

Shit. 

“Okay.” Ilya tightened his grip at the back of Shane’s neck, a hint of pressure to serve as warning in the second before Shane would have bumped into the desk. Shane shortened his last step accordingly and settled leaning against the desk without too much of a jolt and Ilya couldn’t help smiling, heart racing at the easy obedience and willing submission and open trust. 

“Good job.” he said softly, quietly, and Shane held his gaze for another few seconds before swallowing and nodding and dropping his chin, his eyes back down at where his hand was still tucked under Ilya’s shirt, his fingers drawing idle patterns against Ilya’s skin. 

“I don’t know when we can do this again.” Shane shook his head when Ilya inhaled sort of loud like he was going to interrupt, “No, I don’t mean it like– like ‘I’m nervous’ or whatever. I mean, logistically speaking. I don’t know when we’ll have time. You have kids. You have a full time job. I am staying super far out of town. We can’t leave the girls on the ice or hanging out here at the rink for more than a couple minutes. Can’t hook up at your house cos that seems weird with the twins and everything. Montbonne is too small a town for us to get a hotel room…you know?” 

“I know, but we will figure something out.” Ilya crowded in against him, fitting into Shane’s body from shoes to shoulders and wrapping both arms around his waist, humming in contentment when their bodies notched together. Shane tucked his face into the plush material of Ilya’s hoodie and cuddled in close, and Ilya folded in around him reveling in the warmth and heat of being held, letting the solid bulk of Shane’s body and the press of Shane’s hand at his side quiet a wriggle of unease about whether or not Shane was really okay with Svetlana, whether or not Shane was anywhere near as committed to them as Ilya was. 

The hug lengthened out long and Shane burrowed deeper into Ilya’s arms, hiding his face and hiding a smile when Ilya shifted to hold him tighter until they were both clinging to one another, leaning against the desk and leaning into to each other. Ilya didn’t mention the hitch in Shane’s breath when the extended hug and easy intimacy unlocked something fragile and emotional deep in his chest, and Shane didn’t point out that Ilya was holding him tight enough to feel bruising like Ilya was a little scared to let go.

Neither one said anything about the hug feeling more intensely overwhelming than the previously suggested make out session ever would have been, but they stayed wrapped around and into each other for as long as they could before Mariya and Nadya got loud in the lobby as the money ran out and their private, quiet time together was up.

“Hm.” Ilya made a resigned noise, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Shane’s temple, “Time is up today, I think.” 

“Yeah.“ Shane croaked, then cleared his through and tried again without emotion dragging the words rough, “Honestly it’s surprising the twins lasted that long being so quiet.”

“I gave them every coin in the house to bribe for quiet time.” Ilya answered wryly as they untangled from one another. “Still was not long enough.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have been mad if they stayed quiet a little longer.” Shane folded his arms over his chest, tucking his chin to look at his feet as Ilya backed up to fix his clothes. “Uh listen, though—"

“Shane.” Ilya stepped right back into his space, hand at Shane’s chin to draw him up into a kiss. Shane sighed into it, put his hand right under Ilya’s shirt again to stroke lightly at his side and kissed him back. 

“When can I see you?” Ilya wanted to know, and Shane tried to smile like he wasn’t abruptly cold and lonely and tipsy turvy adrift as soon as Ilya let go of him again, “Soon? Hopefully?”

“Soon. Okay.” Ilya winced when Mariya bellowed for him from outside. “I will text you.”

“Okay, but hey.” Shane rapped his knuckles on the desk and did his very best to sound stern. “No more dirty texts, okay? At least not without warning so I know not to answer my phone in public.” 

“Shane Hollander.” Ilya sighed from the very bottom of his feet as if the simple boundary was inquisition levels of persecution. “You are a thief of joy.” 

“Because I want you to warn me before sending risky texts?!” 

“You are stifling my creativity!” 

“Oh my god, shut the hell up.” 

Ilya laughed his way out of the office.

Shane crumpled back into the desk and figured it probably wasn’t great that the aftermath of a hug left him feeling ripped in half and really fucking alone. 

He needed to talk to someone. 

****

On Tuesday, Shane scheduled an appointment and kept the appointment with his therapist for the first time in months. 

“Shane.” Dr. Soule was endlessly kind, unobtrusively direct and honestly pleased to see him on the other side of the camera for their telehealth appointment. “I have to say, I was surprised to see you on my books. It's been a while."

“Sorry about that.” Shane mumbled, but Dr. Soule shook her head, “No, not sorry. No need to be sorry, I am just happy to see you again. How are you?” 

“Not doing great, I guess.” he twisted the drawstring of his hoodie around his finger. “If I needed an appointment, right?” 

“Knowing what I do about you, I was worried things were going terribly when you were skipping appointments.” she corrected with a small smile. “You actually keeping an appointment gave me hope that you are doing better.” 

“Oh.” Shane’s lips twisted into a rueful smile “Actually, yeah. That’s– that’s sort of true. I’m doing okay most of the time. A lot of the time.” 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Dr. Soule adjusted her thin glasses on her nose and made an encouraging motion. “Please tell me what you’ve been up to since our last appointment.” 

“You told me to spend some time away from the city and all the reminders of how my life had changed.” Shane started slowly. “So I– I moved.” 

“You moved.” To her credit, Dr. Soule only let the briefest flicker of surprise cross her face. “Alright then. Tell me about the move.” 

Shane told her about the move, about picking a little town hours outside of anywhere he’d ever spent any time and only taking what fit in the back of his car with him when he left. He tapped the plastic end piece of the hoodie drawstring at his teeth and told her about the cabin, about putting off the needed repairs and how it wasn’t home, but it was okay, and how it was a little more okay now that some of the parents on the team had shown up and spent the day helping. 

“Oh, I’m volunteer coaching a U9 girls team?” Shane told her about the team, how funny the girls were and how he’d rediscovered the simple joy of hockey while teaching them the basics. He traced the plaid designs on the borrowed stolen pajama pants and talked about skating again, how being on the ice gave him back a piece of himself, how his knee and leg were so much better with regular activity and maybe just because he wanted them to be better instead of sitting and wallowing in a mess of self pity. 

“I am… sort of seeing someone.” Talking about Ilya— not Ilya, Shane said they and them and only the vaguest possible terms— was slower. More cautious. A there and gone mention of knowing each other years ago. A wince about the dragged up awful feelings around the break up and a tiny smile about how it was better every single day and sometimes he couldn’t fucking believe how much fun he was having.

“Well, I have to say.” Shane stopped for a drink of water and Dr. Soule took her glass off with an impressed little noise. “Shane, it sounds like you are doing amazing. You’ve made huge strides physically, your decision to move might have been a knee jerk response to your trauma but clearly it was the right thing to do. It seems like you have friends, a community, and a burgeoning relationship that makes you smile bigger than I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah. Yeah things are,” Shane nodded in agreement. “Things are pretty good lately.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.” She murmured, then with a lift of her chin and an authoritative ring to her tone, “So now tell me what is wrong with all of it, because you didn’t book an appointment just to tell me how great your life is.”

“Right.” He clenched his hands into the soft fabric of Ilya’s pajama pants. “Okay. So here’s the thing.”

The thing was that Shane felt stuck, every minute of every day. Trapped in his head, mired in insecurity, bogged down in an endless spiral of second guessing himself, his choices, his wants and needs, his heart and soul. 

“Even when I’m happy.” He confessed haltingly. “I can’t get rid of the thought that this isn’t what my life is supposed to be. I love coaching the girls, but I never would have chosen this for myself. This person I’m spending time with, I honestly don’t know if I would have given them another chance. I got hurt and everything changed, I couldn’t control any of it and hey, it’s sort of worked out, for the most part my life is fine, but you know, it’s—"

Breathe. “It’s not what I planned, or expected, or even wanted. This is a life I couldn’t imagine ever wanting before I got hurt and now it’s like,” he tapped at his temple. “Now it’s like my head won’t shut up enough for me to even enjoy the parts I really love about it.”

Shane’s head only ever shut up when he was on the ice in the early mornings. When he was surrounded by the noise and chaos and energy of the team. When he could hear Ilya’s heartbeat in his ear and had the weight of Ilya’s arms around him, when his mouth was full and everything else was blessedly silent. 

He didn’t tell Dr. Soule that, though. Not the Ilya thing. He told her, “Sometimes things are fine, but as soon as I’m alone or the adrenaline of a game,” or a kiss. “wears off, I start questioning everything all over again. I’m not sleeping, I’m– I’m trying to get better about eating, and I’m not angry like I used to be, or at least not very much. But.” 

Shane closed his eyes for a few seconds. “The other day something happened. It wasn’t a big deal.” Svetlana. “But I couldn’t stop freaking out. I tried to like– like calmly and rationally work through what was going on and I knew exactly why I was freaking out but I couldn’t make myself stop, not for hours. It isn’t even the first time that happened, it happened a couple months ago too, but I thought I was getting better at handling it and I guess this proves I’m…  not.” 

“What eventually helped you settle down?” Dr. Soule wanted to know but Shane shook his head, so she let the question go with a brief nod. “Since that incident happened, is the noise in your head better or worse?” 

“Worse.” He said miserably. “It felt like I was getting a handle on it up until that point and now I’m right back stuck and trapped in my head and wondering what the hell I’m doing when nothing about this was supposed to be my life. Distracting myself with good moments only makes the come down worse. I thought I was gonna fucking cry after a hug yesterday and I can’t um– I can’t…” 

He stopped talking. Gave up trying to explain. Dr. Soule made a few notes, then set her pen aside. 

“Shane, you lost all control of your life when you were hurt.” It was a statement, not a question. “You had to navigate a body you didn’t recognize, find a place in society outside of hockey, the loss of structure took away a lot of ways you coped with your anxiety and mental health and you understandably, were very lost for a while. You should give yourself grace on the hard days and be kinder to yourself in the tough moments. You know this.” 

“Yeah.” Shane knew all that. Had told himself all those same things for countless late night panic attacks and the more recent emotional upheaval that had come with Ilya dropping back into his life. “Grace and being kinder to myself. Sure. I know.” 

“Sometimes when our lives change in unforeseen, uncontrollable ways, what comes along afterwards can feel surreal, almost alien because it doesn’t fit our mental picture of where we planned to be at a certain age or point in life.” She said after another moment of thought. “No, you didn’t think about coaching girls hockey while you were on your way to winning another Cup. No, perhaps you wouldn’t have reconnected with this person and sparked a relationship if you were busy every day of the week, every week of the year with your career. But you are teaching hockey and you have reconnected with them, and you told me yourself, you are having fun with it.” 

“I am.” he maintained impatiently. “So why am I second guessing and worrying and feeling like I don’t belong? Like it’s not my life and it’s just happening to me or– or around me? Why am I freezing up and freaking out when I know I shouldn’t be? Why does someone being nice to me feel like a trap? Why does it all feel so out of control?” 

“Because you can’t control it. Or rather, you won’t.” Dr. Soule answered simply, and Shane just blinked at her. “You lost control of your life after your injury, but Shane, I think you gave up control of the rest of your life so you wouldn’t have to deal with your new reality. You settled into a point of view where everything that happens is a consequence or side effect or aftermath of your accident. You have made no effort to take control back and rejoin your life as an active participant." 

“I don’t–?” he gestured helplessly. “No. I mean. I moved. I bought this place. I’m coaching. I’m–” 

“You said the cabin wasn’t home. You said you were staying there, not living there.” 

“Sure. Right. It’s just–” Shane looked up and around the little place. “Okay?” 

“You called the team a volunteer opportunity instead of a job or career or even a passion project, and then men who helped you fix the cabin ‘parents’ rather than friends.”

“Well yeah, cos—“

“You can’t or won’t define this new relationship in any specific terms.”

“…no.”

“You see Montbonne and everything there as only happening because you got hurt, not as a choice you made and a life you are living. That is why the good moments only feel temporary. That is why the stressful moments panic you to the point of paralysis. You are passive in your own life. You haven’t put down roots and built a foundation for this new period in your life, and as a result, you have nothing stable or steady or sheltering to support you. Not a literal, physical place to call home and it seems, no person you trust enough to open up to. 

“…oh.” And “...no.” 

She waited a beat, then delivered her verdict with a sad smile and devastating discernment, “Shane, you are scared to commit, to hope and plan and stay, because a part of you thinks it will all be taken away and there won’t be anything you can do about it, just like when you got hurt and lost your career, your team, your entire sense of self. You are afraid of being forgotten, of being replaced, so you have made yourself temporary by consciously or perhaps unconsciously refusing to give any permanence to this new chapter in your life. Until you decide to actively participate in your life and establish some permanence, your emotions will continue you to overwhelm you because you have no base of support."

Fuck. Shane dropped his face into both his hands, his mind flashing back to commentators talking up the rookies who were already vying for his spot, to the not-date and Ilya admitting Vegas had been planned, to Svetlana who was everything Shane hadn’t and couldn’t have been back then. 

Replaceable. He was so goddamn tired of feeling replaceable. 

“Okay.” Shane felt very small all the sudden. Very tired. “How um, how do I fix that. Change that. I don't want to be temporary. I don't want--"

“We change it with small steps.” She assured him comfortingly. “I’m not saying you have to designate the cabin as your permanent house or commit to living in Montbonne for years, I’m not even saying you should go ahead and pre-emptively volunteer to coach another year. Start small. With something easy.” 

“Like what?” 

“Alright.” Dr. Soule consulted her notes again. “Your significant other. When the two of you make plans, who initiates? Who texts first? Who takes the first steps towards intimacy, emotional or,” she raised her eyebrows, “otherwise? Is it you?” 

“No.” No, it most certainly wasn't Shane initiating half of anything between he and Ilya. Hanging out at practice, the not-date, the dance, the texting, the phone calls, almost all of it was Ilya. “No, I don’t really do much of that.” 

“Why not?” she prompted. “Do you think they wouldn’t like it if you initiated? Or maybe they would reject you?”

“No.” Ilya would probably melt into a fucking puddle if Shane took charge pursuing him. “Nothing like that, no.” 

“Why don’t you initiate more with them?”  

Because I’d have to admit how much I want him. Because I’m scared to get my heart broken again cos clearly I never recovered the first time. Because I can’t imagine he’d settle for me when he already has everything he wants with his best friend and his kids and his bakery. Because I don’t know if I fit into his life and I’m scared to find out. 

“I just uh–” Shane shrugged. Scratched at his cheek. “They’ve always been more in charge of things. Even when we were together before. They’re bossy. And it works for us. So.” 

“Even bossy people,” her gray eyes twinkled like she knew he meant Dominant, like she could tell Shane was the sort to want to be told to get on his knees and then praised for obeying. “Want to know they are wanted and needed and desired. I think a good place to start actively participating in your own life would be to start initiating with your partner. The next time you want to see them, text first. Don’t stay quiet when you want to be honest. If your relationship has progressed to physical intimacy, be open and explicit with your wants and needs. Try something as small as initiating a hug. Let yourself enjoy being held, but also notice how your significant other enjoys being held by you.

“Why um–” he rubbed the back of his neck, eyes averted. “Why should I start with them? With a hug or whatever? Shouldn’t I work on myself before trying a relationship?”

“Arguably yes, but it is possible to both work on ourselves while also working on a relationship.” She assured him, then winked, “Not to mention, the reward for actively participating in a relationship is usually instantly, physically gratifying and nothing motivates us more than instant physical gratification, right?”

“Uh.” Shane sort of wanted to die. Sort of wanted to text Ilya right then and there. “Yes. Right.”

“Homework for this week.” Dr. Soule started typing, filling in an email to Shane with notes about their session as well as written goals for him to work towards. “I want you to purposefully take at least one opportunity to initiate something meaningful with your significant other. I’m hesitant to give you meal related homework because I don’t want to push you into regressing, but this week I would also like you to plan one meal outside the house. A restaurant, a cafe, it doesn't matter so long as it's somewhere you can sit and eat something you enjoy."

Shane's uncertainty must have showed on his face, because Dr. Soule clarified, "I won’t stress you out by asking about it next week at your appointment, this is a personal, private goal for you and you alone. But I do want you to honestly evaluate how easy or difficult it is for you to go out and eat, and I want you to honestly consider the potential consequences of your struggle with food as it relates to your desire to coach and continue skating. Establishing permanence and stability in our lives also requires being honest with ourselves. Alright?”

“Initiate something with my significant other and go out to eat.” Shane repeated. “Okay. I can do that.” 

“I’m glad to talk with you again, Shane.” She told him and Shane’s smile was small, but genuine, “Thanks, Dr. Soule.” 

The email came through a few minutes after the video call ended, and Shane re read the week goals, then put the next appointment into his phone and set a reminder.

“I can do this.” He put a hand to his chest, rubbing over his heart where Dr. Soule’s words about him refusing to commit, about him staying temporary because he was afraid of being replaced had landed bruising into his pride and cracking at the walls of his denial. “I can do this.”

****

From Lily: Do you want to come to bakery and see my sprinkles cupboard? *devil face emoji*

From Jane: Do you mean a tour of the bakery? Or are you making fun of me liking organized stuff again. 

From Lily: A little bit making fun because I know you are horny for sprinkles. But mostly a tour of the bakery. And the apartment upstairs.

From Jane: I didn't know there was an apt upstairs.  Is it a studio? Are you looking for a long term rental or are you going to rent it out as a little vacation spot. I bet you could have it booked all summer no problem especially if you market it like a B&B and meals at the cafe are included in price. 

From Lily: Wanting potential renters was not the point of mentioning the furnished, private apartment above bakery.

From Jane: Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy and overstep, I don’t need to see the apartment, a tour of the bakery would be great. 

From Jane: Do you want me to pick up the girls after school and bring them on my way in today? Or do you want me to come by tomorrow morning after skating so it’s not too busy at the bakery yet and you’ll have time to walk me through?

From Lily: I think maybe we are miscommunicating. 

From Jane: ???

Downtown Montbonne was both charmingly historical and frustratingly dated. The brick and mortar buildings made for darling photos and aesthetically pleasing advertising, but were a nightmare to heat, cool, and maintain. The sidewalks were pedestrian friendly with mature shade trees and well kept grass, but parking was non existent and inconvenient, requiring a roundabout trek to designated lots hidden from view as to not disturb the aura of slow, nostalgia, small town life. The lack of billboards or traffic lights on the main drag kept the foothills and distant mountains in view at all times, but the litany of yield signs and the assumption that everyone was polite enough to actually yield made for frustrating mid day traffic and nightmarish summer season crowds. 

Shane hated downtown Montbonne. The visually calming layout was not near enough to counter the dizzying frustration of trying to find a place to park, to U-turn, to get anywhere in any amount of reasonable time. It was exactly the sort of thing that made Shane want to scream, the idea of sacrificing functionality for beauty and vibes made him want to screech, but–

From Lily: Parking is stupid here and is too cold to walk very far. Turn left at first stop sign and park down delivery alley behind the bakery. My car is by back door.

“Thank Christ.” The alley was easy enough to find, wide enough for the big delivery trucks to get in and out but privately discreet as well, sandwiched between the back of the two story buildings on one side and the back of City Hall on the other. Shane was able to pull right up next to Ilya’s car outside a door marked ‘Bakery Delivery Only’ and park out of view of Main Street without getting turned around frustrated by the unnecessarily complicated downtown layout. 

“Here we go.” Shane took off his beanie, running a hand through his hair as he trudged through the slushy know the back door and knocked. “Here we go. Okay. I’m supposed to initiate, I’m supposed to let myself enjoy being held and make sure and notice how much Ilya enjoys it cos hey, a fucking hug shouldn’t make me break down. It’s fine. Here we go. Here we–” 

“Shane.” The heavy back door swung open on squeaky hinges. “You are early.” 

“Uh–” All of Shane’s self motivating reminders dried right up, stuck halfway between his brain and his suddenly parched throat when the lights in the hall framed a halo around Ilya with an apron tied fitted around his waist, Ilya in a white t-shirt with a little bit of orange frosting smeared on his thick forearm, Ilya with a floral bandana protecting his curls and his face flushed from the heat of an industrial sized oven.

Holy fuck. 

“Ten minutes early is right on time?” Shane tried helplessly, and Ilya snorted, “No, ten minutes early is ten minutes early. Come on. Inside. Is cold out here and my nipples do not like it.” 

“Your nipples.” Shane’s eyes dropped to Ilya’s chest, to the thin white t-shirt. “Uh.” 

“Shane. Is fucking cold, come on.” Ilya grabbed for Shane’s arm and bodily dragged him inside, pushing the door shut behind him and latching it locked. “You are early so I still have to clean up cookie mess. Do you want one?” 

“A cookie?” The view of Ilya walking away with the apron tied in a bow at the small of his back was distracting as hell. Shane fumbled out of his coat and left his beanie on the rack by the door and hurried down the hall after Ilya, trying to remember what he’d been thinking about before Ilya had opened the door looking like the nice guy hero from some smarmy small town Hallmark movie. “Uh. Cookie. Yeah. I eat those.” 

“You do not sound sure.” Ilya teased as he unhooked a massive mixing bowl from the floor mounted mixer and hefted it up to the table to dump pounds of cookie dough onto the stainless steel surface. “Do you eat cookies?” 

“Yeah. I eat–” Ilya’s arms bulged as he lifted the heavy bowl, biceps straining at the seams of his white t-shirt and fuck there went Shane forgetting what the hell he was saying all over again. “Um.” 

Shane had seen Ilya in and out of hockey gear, lounging in comfortable sweats and poured into an expertly tailored suit, freshly dripping wet from a shower and musky sweaty slick from a workout. Shane had seen every inch of Ilya naked dozens of different times but oh he had never seen Ilya aproned up and casually efficiently competent hauling huge baking bowls and dividing up dough with quick slashes of a heavy duty knife. He’d never seen Ilya twirl a cookie scoop between his fingers before portioning out precisely sized chunks at lightning speed. He’d seen Ilya lift weights but there was something very different– maybe better-- about watching Ilya fill and lift full size baking sheets one after another to fill a nearby rolling rack. 

Holy shit. 

“What was the question?” Shane watched transfixed as Ilya thunked a bin of autumn colored sprinkles on the table and started rolling the sugar cookie dough through it. “Something about—” 

“Do you want a cookie?” Ilya smirked when he caught Shane gawking. “Or maybe a kiss?” 

“Both. Both.” Shane dragged his eyes up from the twist and work of Ilya’s fingers pushing the cookie dough through the sprinkles. “Both is good. Can I have both?” 

“Very much yes.” Ilya plucked an already cooled and decorated cookie off a different tray and put it on a napkin before moving around the big table to drop a short kiss on Shane's lips. “Better?” 

“Mm.” Shane hooked his fingers into Ilya’s apron strings and dragged him back, covering his mouth in a much longer kiss. “Better. Yes.” 

“Good.” Ilya couldn’t stop smiling over Shane pulling on his apron, and he dragged a stool out from under the bake table so Shane could sit, then kissed him one more time for good measure. “I need a few minutes is all. Sit and have a snack.” 

“I’ll do that.” The cookie was pumpkin and cinnamon and nutmeg, ultra soft with a swirl of cream cheese frosting, a candied walnut set in the middle as decoration. Shane took a bite then put it back on the paper towel purely out of habit, purely because he hadn’t eaten sweets as part of his hockey diet and he didn’t eat sweets now because the calories and fat and sugar content was insane when he wasn’t half as active as he used to be, and–

Wait.

“Holy shit, this is really good.” He took another bite immediately. “Ilya, this is really good.” 

“Obviously.” Ilya deadpanned. “I am good at my job.” 

“Fuck off and take the compliment.” Shane flicked a stray sprinkle at him and kept nibbling at the pumpkiny treat, rotating on the stool so he could look around the brightly lit space, at the highly polished tables and multiple mixers ranging from table top sized to the one so large it was mounted to the floor and secured into a steel strut against the wall. Two rolling bakery racks were filled top to bottom with trays of frosted cookies, the triple compartment sink was full of used icing bowls, and the entire place was warm thanks to the wall-to-wall revolving shelf oven, warm and smelling like sweet dough, cinnamon and cloves. 

It was every bit as cozy as Shane had imagined it would be, Ilya clearly comfortable in the space and in his work, and when that familiar reminder that hey life wasn’t supposed to be like this and hey he'd never be here if he hadn’t gotten hurt came creeping in, Shane took another bite of the cream cheese covered cookie and told himself to stay present. To participate. To not get lost wondering what if and to sit there and enjoy it. 

“Can I help?” Sitting and watching didn’t feel as actively participating as offering to jump in and clean, so Shane swallowed the last bite and offered, “Do dishes or something?” 

“No. Stay there.” Ilya shelved the last two trays of cookies and wiped his hands down his apron. “I will be done soon.” 

“What are the girls doing tonight?” 

“One of their friends is doing craft night.” Ilya gathered up the pans and bowls and carried them to the sink, turning on the water to fill the basins as he went back for more dishes. “Paint and sip, except is watercolor and sparkling apple juice. They feel very grown up about it.” 

“You didn’t want to spend the evening doing water color and having apple juice with a bunch of seven year olds?” Shane teased and Ilya rummaged under the table to find a bottle of vodka, poured a shot into a measuring cup and tossed it back, smacking his lips and deciding, “No. Vodka and frosting and being leered at by hot hockey coach is more my speed.” 

“I'm not leering at you.” Shane was leering at him. It was fine. “What are all the cookies for?” 

“Last minute special order from car dealership in the city.” Ilya wheeled the carts into the walk in so the dough could chill overnight. “I gave business card to a parent on the team we played last weekend and they called in a panic. Retirement party or something. I said it would cost extra for last minute and because I will have to transport two hours for delivery, but they did not care. So I am here tonight and again early tomorrow morning, and will take girls with me to deliver tomorrow afternoon.” 

“Do you get big orders like that alot?” 

“More than you think.” Ilya motioned Shane away from leaning on the table so he could spray it down and clean it off. “I am picky which ones I take because it is so much extra work for small business and takes away from time with the girls, but Christmas for twin goblin children is scary expensive, so the extra money helps."

He shrugged and Shane grinned, “Yeah, you seem like the type of Dad to go into debt for Christmas presents.” 

“Shane, please. Of course not. I put it all on my Black AmEx and send the bill to rich ex-wife.” Ilya laughed at him, then tossed the cleaning rag towards the laundry bucket and held up two fingers, “I have to clean myself up. Two minutes. Be right back.” 

“I’ll be here.” Shane nodded, then quickly, “Oh wait, could I have a–” Ilya was down a short hall and through a door before Shane finished his question, and Shane tapped his fingers at the brightly cleaned table and sighed. “Damn it.” 

Shane needed a drink after eating the super sweet cookie, and after a minute of waiting to see if Ilya was going to make a quick reappearance, Shane finally slid off the stool and hurried around the table to take a peek at where ever Ilya had put the vodka. 

“Here’s hoping Ilya keeps more down here than dangerously high proof alcohol.” There was a dorm-sized mini fridge tucked under the baking table, wedged between bins of cookie cutters. Shane popped the door open and scanned the shelves, seeing the expected vodka, several bottles of water, small cans of Nadya’s favorite sparkling juice and a gallon sized jug of Mariya’s preferred apple juice… and a six pack of ginger ale. 

Oh. It was his favorite brand. The plastic rings were already removed for ease of access and minimal effort. They were the mini cans so even if Shane was sipping slow, the drink wouldn’t go flat as fast as the larger cans would. 

Fuck. Shane picked a can up and held it to his forehead when he was suddenly hot, his hands a little clammy. The forethought and insight and planning Ilya had put into Shane showing up for a bakery tour was crazy, having Shane’s favorite drink readily available was such a small thing but it felt huge, Ilya was so goddamn good at all of it while Shane had to hype himself up just to ask for a hug, fuck.

“Are you snooping?” 

“Shit. Shit!” The can fell right out of Shane’s hand when he jumped up startled by Ilya’s reappearance. It dented against the concrete floor, rolled noisily towards Ilya’s feet and Shane winced. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to–” he paused, tilted his head. “You changed your clothes?” 

“Yes.” Ilya had swapped the white t-shirt for a black v-neck, his apron and floral bandana for slicked back hair and the frosting cleaned off his arms and hands. “I meant to be cleaned up before you came for bakery tour, but you were a Punctual Polly so you had to see me in work clothes for a while first. This is better.” 

“I mean.” Shane liked the black shirt, black pants, slick hair look, but there had been something really specifically great about messy bakery Ilya too, so he shrugged, “It’s better to be a Punctual Polly than a… Always Late… Amelia?” 

“Shut up, that was terrible.” Ilya huffed at him and scooped up the dented can, chucking it right into the trash. “Here, do not drop this one.” he grabbed another from the fridge and opened it before handing it to Shane, then took his other hand and twined their fingers together. “Come on. Time for tour.” 

Shane took a sip of the perfectly chilled, perfectly crisp ginger ale and smiled a tiny bit. “Okay. Time for tour.” 

The bakery was impressive, far bigger than the customer entrance and sales counter area would have suggested, clearly far larger than the original footprint for the old business had been. Ilya towed Shane from section to section, offering short explanations of whatever everything was and pausing every time Shane had a question. 

“This was original set up.” he waved his hand to the customer lobby and the retail shelves behind the counter. “Whole bakery was only this. No room for tables or sandwich bar or more than one register or any storage.” 

“So you,” Shane ran his toe along a slight hitch in the flooring, something no one else except maybe a building inspector would notice. “Took out a wall here to open it up?” he glanced up and nodded upon finding a massive steel support beam stretched across the ceiling. “Doubled the size of the lobby so you could put tables in, put in a designated sandwich bar and…” 

He pulled Ilya along behind him as he moved towards the sales counter to tap his toe at another barely noticeable hitch in the floor. “Another wall. Is this the building next to you? Did you buy them out and take out the walls?” 

“Same building.” Ilya smiled, always impressed at Shane’s attention to detail. “Old owners used only this half for bakery and rented out the other half, but it was empty for a long time when I bought the property.” 

“So you took out the walls to make a whole retail area.” The space behind the expanded sales counter was full of bread shelves and pastry display cases. “Smart.” 

“Built this.” Ilya rapped his knuckles at the drywall as he took Shane down the hall towards the office. “I needed an office,” he opened the door enough for Shane to see the computer and desk, the couch where the girls napped or read or watched TV while he worked. “And we needed big pantry.” the door on the other side of the hall was floor to ceiling storage, shelves laden down with dry goods, precisely labeled bins full of special ingredients. A big closet held Costco-sized amounts of food safe cleaning products and a fourth door opened into a small but comfortable employee area with lockers and cubbies and a fridge for drinks. 

“Holy shit, this fridge is crazy.” the walk in fridge taking up most of the bakery wall was mind bogglingly big, but still somehow less impressive than the wall-to-wall sized oven with it’s huge rotating shelves. “Why do you need an oven this big, are you really this busy all the time?” 

“No, but when I am?” Ilya shrugged. “I can do entire day’s bread in two cycles. Twenty dozen cookies at a time. Was so expensive, but it means I do not have to be here at three a.m. and miss the morning with the twins, do not have to be here late during the day and miss picking them up from school. The money is worth it.” 

“What’s the overhead on a place like this?” Shane opened the cupboards over a smaller table in the corner, lighting up with a grin when he found the legendary sprinkles cupboard with its labels and color coordination and organization. “I’m sure the initial renovations put you back quite a bit, but month to month? Is downtown Montbonne real estate expensive for the sake of being downtown? Did you run into any issues with a historical committee or anything when you started redoing everything?” 

“Mr. Real Estate.” Ilya took Shane’s hand again, dropping an affectionate kiss on his knuckles. “I bought it out right. Used part of my inheritance from Papa to buy it free and clear and cover renovations. Overhead is only utilities, supplies and wages. Is very easy to make money.” 

“Easy to make money when you have money to start with.” There was no heat or accusation in Shane’s tone, only a shared acknowledgment on just how easy it was to find and fund dreams when the bank account was well padded. “What about the apartment upstairs? Can I see that too?” 

“Yes, I do want to show you apartment.” Ilya squeezed Shane’s hand and led him out of the bakery and into the back hallway again, over to a door Shane had assumed was a closet when he’d first arrived. 

“Here.” Ilya pressed Shane into the wall, cupping his chin and kissing him slow and searching, fucking his tongue slick and wet past Shane’s parted lips until Shane moaned into his mouth and sagged into him a little. 

“Come on.” Ilya bumped their noses and kissed him once more. “Upstairs.” 

The stairs leading to the apartment were steep. Ilya had added a sturdy railing, heavy duty outdoor carpet and well treaded edging to cut down on slip risk, but he still cautioned, “Careful of your knee?” as they went up together. 

“It’s okay.” Shane’s knee didn’t twinge until three quarters of the way up the steps, but anyone’s knee would have been sore after an unexpected climb, so that was okay. Besides, he was less focused the dull ache in his screwed together foot and more focused on tucking his fingers into the back of Ilya’s pants to feel the shift and flex of muscle low in Ilya’s back as they climbed, his leg and knee was fine. 

“Oh, this is nice.” The upstairs apartment wasn’t as fully updated as the downstairs bakery, but it was still nice, spacious and well divided into useable areas with a modest sized kitchen and larger living room where the windows pointed towards the mountains. “You should be able to rent this out no problem.” 

“Maybe.” Ilya was in no rush to rent out the apartment. He didn’t need the money and wouldn’t have time to do the necessary work to finish updating it until after the busy holiday rush.

"I like this layout." Shane wandered through the kitchen inspecting the counters and sharing his thoughts about cupboards, eye-balling the living room for square footage and running his hands along the couch while talking about the flooring company he’d used for one of his rentals in Montreal and how the new waterproof, scratch proof stuff was so much affordable now than it had been when he’d first started out. 

“This is big for a half bath, does the master have an en suite?” Shane had opinions about how great an extra spacious half bath was, especially if Ilya was going to advertise the property as a short term vacation rental. He thought the pedestal sink in the half bath would be better as a small vanity for the sake of additional storage, not to mention a small sized stack washer and dryer wouldn’t take up that much space and would be a great addition that would add plenty of value.  

“Is the big couch a sleeper sofa?” Shane had opinions about the furniture too, about the recliner sofa that required more room than it should to accommodate the lay back feature and would be better served as two different recliners spaced around the room. The TV was mounted but a small entertainment center would complement the empty wall, had Ilya looked into the ones with power strips built right in to counter the far spaced outlets in the apartment?

“Ah, no. No I have not.” Ilya had not looked into entertainment centers or stack wash-and-dryers, nor had he put any thought into two separate recliners instead of a combined small sofa. He followed Shane into the master suite and sighed longingly towards the bed while nodding along with Shane’s nosily detailed observations and opinions about everything from the curtains on the window to the size of the master bath and how he really should have a tub, people liked at least the option of taking a bath, was the shower recently remodeled or old enough to justify ripping it out and oh, Ilya could take some of the space in the walk in closet and put a small safe there for people to lock up their valuables…

By the time Ilya’s phone beeped with a fifteen minute reminder to get the girls after their paint-and-sip craft night, he had made his peace with finding a comfortable spot on the couch and just watching Shane poke his way through the space sharing his hundreds of observations. Ilya had hoped the night would go in a decidedly different direction, a very specifically naked direction since the private apartment was convenient and discreet and a perfect solution to Shane’s worry about them not having any time or place to be together, but Shane smiled for the entire thirty minutes he spent wandering through the apartment talking out loud about all the potential and fuck Ilya liked Shane’s smile and animated gestures and visible enjoyment way too much to try and redirect. 

It was a great night. A relaxing and entertaining little date. they would have plenty of other chances, plenty of other nights for Ilya to make sure he was a little– a lot– more direct with his intentions when he asked Shane over to hang out. 

“Tell the girls I said hi?” Shane asked as they headed back down the steep stairs, but Ilya shook his head, “No, because then they will squawk about wanting to see you too, and squawk about how I did not bring them cookies. Too noisy.” 

“So take them cookies.” Shane zipped into his coat and Ilya shook his head again, “No, they do not need sugar cookies after a night of apple cider and snacks.” 

“Is this like when I said you should get them ice cream after that fight at school and you lectured me about good parenting when you had already promised them ice cream?” Shane wanted to know. “Because you should just admit to being a softy pushover Dad instead of lying about it all the time.” 

“No, I will not do that.” Ilya opened the door for Shane, coming close so he could leave one last, lingering kiss on Shane’s lips. “Text me when you get home?” 

“Yeah.” Shane didn’t want to leave. The bakery was cozy, Ilya was being sweetly doting, it had been so fun to talk real estate and business logistics and two hours had gone by in the blink of an eye without any time left over for lots of kisses and maybe something more. 

Shane didn’t want to leave, but he nodded and promised, “Yeah, I’ll text once I get to the cabin. Goodnight.” 

“Okay.” Ilya propped himself against the door frame, arms folded against the cold night air so he could watch Shane drive away, lifting his hand to wave as the tail lights disappeared around the corner. “Goodnight, Shanychka.” 

From Masha-Nadyushka: WE WANT COOKIES

From Daddy: No. Never. Suffer. 

There were worse things in the world than being a softy pushover Dad who brought fresh baked cookies for his daughters even though it was technically after their bedtime and definitely past when they were usually allowed to have sugar. 

The girls didn’t understand why Ilya made them promise not to tell Coach Hollander about the cookies when he picked them up from their friends house, but neither Mariya nor Nadya cared, not when they got to happily snack on a sprinkled, frosted, fantastically pink super soft cookie as a surprise dessert. 

“Straight to brushing teeth.” Ilya told the girls as they raced into the house with a severe case of the sugar-after-8pm-case of the wiggles. “Then jammies and bed. No arguing. Go go go.” 

The girls went. Ilya dutifully took pictures of their water color masterpieces to send to Svetlana, then propped the newest art up on the shelf next to a family picture, and went upstairs to double check Mariya had actually brushed her teeth and that Nadya was putting on her own pajamas instead of stuffing Boris the Tiger into his pajamas. 

“Everyone is warm?” Ilya tucked the girls in tight, layering an extra blanket over Nadya and making sure Mariya had her sleep socks on because she hated thick winter blankets tangling at her legs, but it was too chilly for her to poke her bare feet out below the edge of the heavy quilts. “Okay. See you in morning.” 

“D-d-did you send picture to Mmmama?” 

“Da, Nadyushka, I sent them.” Ilya turned on the night light, turned off the overhead light, and tapped his lips twice towards them. “Sweet dreams and I love you. Mama loves you. Boris the Tiger and Otto the Snake love you.” 

“My tebya lyubim, Daddy…” 

Ilya’s phone was lit up with a message notification when he got back downstairs and he grabbed it in one hand, grabbed a drink with his other and flopped onto the couch with a ready smile on his face and a tentative, tender sort of hopeful pang in his heart.

Shane.

From Jane: Hey so the bakery is amazing. I don’t have much reference for what commercial bakeries are supposed to look like, but the place is really cool it’s super obvious you care a lot about it. You should be proud of it. 

From Lily: I am proud of it. And thank you.  

From Jane: I like you in an apron, too.

From Lily:  So if I stayed in apron and messy with frosting, would I have a better chance of seeing you naked?

From Jane: Funny you should say that.

Ilya eyebrows shot towards his hairline. 

From Lily: Why is that?

From Jane: Can I say something stupid?

From Lily: Can I laugh?

From Jane: I’ll block you.

From Lily: Is risk I’ll take, I know where you work, I will track you down.  

There was no reply for a few minutes and Ilya tapped at his screen impatiently, mind racing wondering what Shane wanted to say, why he was hesitating, why he thought Ilya might laugh at him.

From Lily: Tell me. What is it. 

From Jane: First. I had a lot of fun today. It was cool to see you work and learn about your process and the tour was great. Most people roll their eyes and tune me out when I start talking too much, but you let me ramble about the apartment and all my ideas for it and didn’t roll your eyes at me or at least I didn't see it, so thank you. That was… nice.  

From Lily: I rolled my eyes but only because I disagree about pedestal sink vs vanity. Not because you were talking too much. I liked it. We should do more things like that. 

From Jane: Yeah we should. I had a really good time. It felt like a date and I… am not mad about that. 

From Jane: But I wish we would fooled around a little upstairs. Not that hanging out and talking isn’t a waste of time. I swear I had a good time. But. You know. 

The repeated reassurance replaced the pining ache in Ilya’s heart with both a pitter patter of anticipation and a burble of laughter because sometimes Shane was so goddamn oblivious, Ilya was sort of definitely obsessed with him for it. 

From Lily: Shane. Did you think I invited you to bakery only to look at sprinkle cupboard? 

From Jane: I mean. It’s a nice cupboard. 

From Lily: Bozhe moy, is a good thing you are so pretty.

From Jane: ?????

From Jane: Wait.

Ilya’s phone rang and he blinked down at it for a surprised few seconds when Jane’s name flashed across the screen. Shane hadn’t ever called him first, not a single time back before and certainly not since coming to Montbonne and Ilya picked it up slowly. Curiously.

“Shane.”

“Holy shit.” Out at the cabin, Shane paced a stressed out path through his living room, around the kitchen, and back to the living room, rubbing at his face and feeling like a whole idiot. “You didn’t invite me over just for a tour of the bakery.” 

“Hello to you too.” Ilya checked to make sure the upstairs lights were still off and there was no noise from the hopefully sleeping girls, then took the phone call to his bedroom, closing the door halfway and dropping onto the bed. “No, I did not only invite you to bakery for a tour, that was an excuse to get you upstairs. But you are right, it was very fun. Nice to spend normal, no pressure time together.”

“Right. Right.” Shane paced back through the living room. Around the kitchen. To the windows overlooking the forest and the lake and then tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling and mentally kick himself. “Super nice to spend all that time together while you were hoping to get naked, but I was waxing poetic about the flow of the fucking kitchen and criticizing your furniture choices.” 

“You made interesting points.” Ilya assured him, but his voice cracked with barely smothered amusement and Shane threw his hands up in frustration and embarrassment, “Fuck, Ilya! Seriously?!” 

“Shane, I had a good time.” Ilya was still a little bit giddy about how fun the evening had been. Shane wandering through his space and talking, laughing, rattling off random information while unsubtly leering at Ilya and smiling the entire time? Ilya had loved every single second. “I am not disappointed and I want to do it again. Time together. Easy date nights.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek hoping his wide grin wouldn’t be audible through the phone, “Even if you are more turned on by the sprinkle cupboard and surprisingly spacious half bath than by me.” 

“Oh my god.” Shane pressed his forehead to the cold window and blew out a noisy breath. “Okay. Fuck. Okay I’m just gonna–” he screwed his eyes shut tight. “Ask me again.” 

“Ask you what?” 

“Ask me to–to come see the bakery again.” he stammered. “Or the sprinkle cupboard or whatever. Ask me again.” 

“Okay.” Ilya reclined back onto the bed, crossing his feet and stretching his arm up over his head so he could twist at his hair and mess with his earlobe “Shane, do you want to come see very organized, very pretty sprinkles cupboard at my bakery?” 

“Uh yeah. Yeah, that sounds really cool. I’m definitely interested to see what you’ve built and also, isn’t there a fully furnished, super private apartment up above the bakery?” Shane rubbed at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and talking fast to get everything out before he lost his nerve or got self conscious and gave up. “Because I’ve been thinking about you for like– like weeks now, but especially after hooking up at the hotel last week, so is there any chance you would show me the bakery and then show me the upstairs apartment and maybe fuck me on that big bed at some hopefully sooni-ish convenient time?” 

Silence. Shane got it all out then shut his mouth, and the phone call went absolutely silent. Dead air. He couldn’t even hear Ilya breathing.

Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Ilya.” Shane clenched his hand into a fist until his nails cut crescents into his palm and fought through a wash of utter mortification to force the words out from that secretly, tenderly honest part of his heart, “I want to see you. Do– do you want to see me?” 

“So much, yes.” Ilya breathed, his eyes wide and heart pounding, exhilaration skittering through his veins and pinpricking goosebumps all over his whole body over Shane being so bold. “The bakery is closed on Mondays, but I go in to do inventory and prep and grocery shopping. I drop twins off at school by eight and will be alone at bakery until two-thirty.” 

“Okay.” Shane nodded nodded nodded. “Okay. So I will be there at one?” 

“Come at noon.” Ilya countered hopefully. “I’ll make you lunch after we are done.” 

“Maybe um.” Shane backpedaled to drop onto the couch, pulling the sleeves of Ilya’s borrowed shirt down over his hands. “Maybe I’ll be there at eleven. We can do the upstairs thing, then have lunch together and just keep hanging out? Have some extra time?” 

“Greedy.” Ilya murmured in hoarse disbelief, and Shane laughed quietly, “No, I just– I mean yeah. I want you. So.” 

“So.” Ilya pressed the phone tighter to his ear, listening close to every single syllable, every hitch in Shane’s breath, every little pause. “Monday at eleven. Or ten-thirty. If you want.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

“Okay.” Ilya knew his smile was big enough to look stupid, he knew it was. “I cannot wait.” 

“Yeah.” It came out a whisper, sticking behind the terrified, excited lump in Shane’s throat. “Me either.” 

“Soon, Shanychka.” 

“...soon.” 

Shane’s therapy homework for the week had been to initiate something purposeful with his significant other and to go out to eat at least once. 

Outright asking Ilya to fuck him and then staying for lunch afterwards covered both of those things, right? 

Right. 

Check and check. 

*****

Monday

From Jane: Still on for today?

From Lily: YES.

The delivery alley behind the bakery felt a lot less discreet on Monday around lunch time, and a stomach churning twist of anxiety, worry, what if someone sees gagged Shane for a nauseating few seconds before he was able to breathe past the long ingrained panic of being outed and swing into the parking spot next to Ilya’s car.

They were adults. They were friends. No one would automatically assume the worst if they happened to recognize Shane’s car at the bakery, and oh Shane wondered why he still assigned the worst label to being seen with Ilya, that was probably something he needed to figure the fuck out. 

Later, though. That was a problem for later, just like the Svetlana thing, just like the permanence thing, just like the second guessing questioning everything.

Later. 

“Shane.” Ilya opened the door on the first knock, took Shane by the hand and pulled him inside, turned the lock then pushed Shane up against the door to cover his mouth in a hard, hungry kiss.

“MmmwaitIlya—“ Shane’s hands went to Ilya’s face in a half hearted attempt to pause the kiss long enough to get a proper hello in, slid into Ilya’s curls when the attempt at talking only made room for Ilya’s tongue sweeping past his lips, and finally settled at Ilya’s broad shoulders, digging in and clutching tight for balance when Ilya palmed over his hips then grabbed big handfuls of his ass and Shane’s knees went promptly, embarrassingly, weak.

“Not yet.” Ilya felt the tremor and near crumble in Shane’s frame and caught him around the waist, holding him close and easing away from the kiss to croon, “Yeshche net, not on your knees here. Upstairs, yes?” 

“Holy shit.” Shane wiped at his mouth with trembling fingers. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Ilya brushed the back of his knuckles at Shane’s cheek, leaning in for a second, quick little kiss. “I am glad you’re here.”

“Yeah. Hi. Fuck.” Shane ran his hands over Ilya’s shoulders, down to his arms. “Is me being here going to mess up your inventory day or whatever? You said you had stuff to do?”

“No, you are not messing anything up.” Ilya shook his head, his fingers still at Shane’s cheek, his other hand settled at Shane’s waist petting restless circles at Shane’s side. “But do you want to see sprinkle cupboard first? As foreplay?”

“Fore— what the fuck? No!” Shane laughed and shoved him away. “Shut up.”

“Mmmm no.” Ilya conceded a few inches worth of pushed away if only for the sake of seeing Shane smirk about it, but he didn’t go far. A few inches of distance was a few inches too many, so Ilya conceded, but then bullied his way right back into Shane’s space, right back into pinning Shane against the door for one more hard kiss. “Now come on. Upstairs.”

“Okay.” Shane’s smile was a little loose, a little loopy as he pushed off the door and took Ilya’s offered hand. “Lead the way.” 

The apartment at the top of the stairs was clean. It hadn’t been necessarily messy the first time Shane had seen it, but it was clean clean when Ilya unlocked the door and motioned Shane through. The carpet had vacuum lines, the kitchen smelled faintly of something lemony, the decorative wax warmer and lightly scented wax cubes were definitely new. 

“Did you like,” he slanted a curious look at Ilya, “clean extra good in here?”

“Yes.” Ilya patted at Shane’s ass, less than subtly herding him towards the bedroom. “I am trying to seduce you with Lemon Pledge. Is it working?” 

“Did you buy extra pillows?” There were at least eight pillows in coordinating colors stacked on the bed, and Shane picked up the long cylinder shaped one, waving it so the decorative tassels on each end flip flopped. “Why does this one have tassels?” 

“What, you do not like fancy tassels?” Ilya tsked at him. “So boring.” 

“This is a different comforter than the one I saw when I was here last week?” Even with the overhead light off and only a strategically placed lamp casting the entire room in soft light, the difference in blankets was obvious, and when Shane plucked at the dark blue blanket with raised eyebrows, Ilya rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers playfully impatient, “Shane! Stop noticing things and take your clothes off!” 

“Asshole.” Affectionate. Asshole but affectionate. Shane was smiling, almost grinning as he shrugged out of his jacket and lay it over the top of the dresser, then started on his shirt. “God forbid I notice the effort you–” 

“No, wait. Wait wait, just–” Ilya’s expression changed. Sobered. His smile fell away, the teasing light dimming from his blue eyes. They’d been laughing, but then they weren’t. They’d been teasing and casual and easy about the impending nudity and imminent intimacy, but then Ilya went quiet, hands flexing at his side and jaw set tense, the moment went serious and crucial and fragile and Shane– Shane didn’t know what to do. What to think. 

“Ilya?” Shane paused uncertainly, one arm already out of his shirt and one still fully sleeved, the rest of the t-shirt hanging awkwardly clumpy by his neck and over his chest. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong.” Ilya shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. Only–” Ilya came close to touch, to set his palms at Shane’s waist and slide round to hold at his abdomen, pressing at the soft skin of Shane’s stomach and sweeping his fingers through the faint trail of hair leading into Shane’s pants. He skimmed his hands up to span at Shane’s ribs, under his shirt to cup and grope at his chest, thumbing over the peak of his nipples and exhaling audibly shaky when Shane’s eyes went hooded and heavy focused at his mouth, at his lips, at his tongue. 

“I wanted to…” Ilya wanted to slow down. To hurry up. To watch Shane strip and ogle every single inch. To undress Shane himself. Ilya wanted…

“Yeah, okay.” Shane nodded. Kissed him. “Fuck. Yeah, me too. I get it.” 

Shane got it. He grabbed for Ilya’s shirt and covered every inch of exposed skin with his hands, greedy and grasping and worshipful the same way Ilya was greedy and grasping and worshiping at him. Undressing each other was clumsy and graceless and a little chaotic, made all the worse– all the better– for how they couldn’t seem to detach from each other’s mouths. Ilya kissed like he was starving, like he would shatter if he didn’t have his hands in Shane’s hair and his tongue shoving past Shane’s lips and that was okay, that was okay because the only thing keeping Shane together was the delicate chain of Ilya’s necklace twisted through his fingers. 

He couldn’t let go or he’d fall, Shane couldn’t let go or the noise and questions and uncertainty would rush back in, so Shane held onto the necklace and held onto Ilya and muttered, “Yes.” nodded, “Yes.” pleaded, “Yes.” when Ilya tossed his shirt aside and stripped off his own so Shane could drop his head forward nuzzling into Ilya’s chest and mouthing at his nipples. 

“Yes.” the answer was, “Yes.” and Ilya whispered something unintelligible in Russian, awestruck and rough over a low groan when Shane promised, “Yes yes yes.” to Ilya fumbling at his waist band, shoving his pants and underwear down in a single quick motion and immediately grabbing for his ass, dragging Shane forward to rut and rub against him. 

“Is okay.” Ilya held onto for Shane’s wrist when Shane tried to untangle from the necklace, and Shane shook his head, “I don’t want to break it.” 

“It will not break if you listen.” Ilya caught him into another kiss, dragging his teeth at Shane’s tongue and bottom lip and setting his hand at the back of Shane’s neck like he used to do back before, like he’d started doing again lately,  his palm steady and grip just tight enough to make Shane’s eyes go hazy and his limbs go loose. 

And, “Listen.” Ilya ordered low and firm, but it wasn’t so much about Shane listening as it was about him following, eyes on Ilya and hand at Ilya’s chest as Ilya walked him towards the bed and Shane shuffled backwards willing and trusting until Ilya told him to, “Sit.” and Shane sat, letting go of Ilya’s necklace in time to put both hands out to catch himself on the bed. 

Ilya started to smile, to tell him, “Good job.” and bend to kiss him before taking off his own pants, but Shane grabbed for the back of Ilya’s thighs and dragged him forward first, pushing his face into Ilya’s crotch and exhaling warm over the bump of his cock. 

“Shane.” Ilya undid the fasten of his pants, but dropped his hands back to his side permissive and Shane immediately pulled them down, scraping his nails at Ilya’s hips and nosing into the crease of Ilya’s thigh and through the wiry curls at the base of his cock. 

“Shane–!” Just Shane’s lips closing at the head of his cock was enough to make Ilya jump, his head falling back and teeth gritted as Shane mouthed and kissed over him. “N-not too much.” he cupped Shane’s jaw, hooking his thumb at the corner of Shane’s mouth, “Not too much, I won’t last and I really want to fuck you.” 

“Yeah.” Shane pulled off with a wet sounding pop, his dark eyes already blown wide and voice thick with need. “Yeah yeah, okay.” 

“Up.” Ilya untangled his feet from his pants and leaned forward over the bed, patting at Shane’s waist to coax him backwards up the bed. “Up. Scoot.” he followed Shane up to the pillows and stretched out next to him, bracing his arm by Shane’s head so he could comb and pet through Shane’s hair and cover his mouth in a searing, sucking kiss until Shane was shifting restless under him, grabbing at Ilya’s back and whining something impatient against his lips. 

“Ilya.” Shane hooked his foot at Ilya’s calf, canting his hips up and angling for any sort of friction, a touch, any attention for his cock. “Please.” 

“Anything you want.” Ilya said it in Russian, promised it into a kiss at the hinge of Shane’s jaw, again into the curve of his throat, onto his collarbone. He stretched his hand wide over Shane’s chest then dragged it solid down Shane’s abdomen to his waist, circling his fingers at Shane’s cock and pulling over him slowly, watching Shane’s lashes flutter closed and his kiss swollen mouth drop open, his brows furrowing like he was concentrating and focusing on every single sensation. 

“Stay with me.” Ilya dotted a kiss to his nose and stroked over him again. “Shane. Here. Stay with me.” 

“M’here.” Shane opened his eyes and swallowed jerkily, gaze darting all over Ilya’s face until he found Ilya’s mouth and locked in focusing again. “M’here. Just um–” 

“You want more.” Ilya ran his tongue over his lips and nodded, encouraged in the same near inaudible tone, “Have more, Shanychka.” 

“C’mere then.” Permission. Shane lurched up to kiss him, knotting his fingers in Ilya’s hair and yanking him down to make it happen faster. Their mouths crashed together and Shane fell back into the pillows, bringing Ilya with him and heavy onto him. Tentativeness gone, the next kiss was messy, the grasp of their hands hurried, the noise Shane made when Ilya bit pulling at his nipple was loud and shameless and Ilya hummed when he heard it, worked his way down Shane’s body to shove Shane’s thighs apart then bent in kissing, nuzzling, and smothering a needy groan into Shane’s stomach. 

“Does this hurt?” Ilya smoothed his big hands from Shane’s thighs to his knees, slowing when he got to Shane’s left knee and saw the white lines and shadows of stitches branded permanent down Shane’s leg and into his foot. “Still bothers you?” 

“Always a little.” Shane crumpled the blanket into his fist anxious when Ilya sat back onto his heels to see all of him, the mess left after multiple surgeries on his left leg and the little bit of roundness to his tummy, where he was broader and meatier through his chest and shoulders. “It um– I mean, it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just–” 

“That was a bad day.” Ilya’s lips were whisper soft on the marred skin. “Mne zhal’, I was very sad for you.” 

“Y-yeah. It was a pretty shitty day.” The scar tissue and nerve damage meant Shane couldn’t feel much of Ilya’s mouth or the careful kisses, but it made his chest tight, made his eyes sting to watch Ilya kiss the disfigurement and hurt like it wasn’t ugly, like Shane wasn’t fucking damaged like he felt damaged every goddamn day. “Ilya–” 

“Up like this for me.” Ilya didn’t miss the initial flicker of insecurity or the sheen of fragile emotion in Shane’s eyes when he lay another kiss to a particularly twisted scar, so he shook his head, switched to holding Shane’s right knee and coaxed it to bending, promising, “Ty idealen,” then instructing, “Hold here.” 

Shane held his right knee up and out of the way, flushing dark red as the motion spread his hips and left him open, and Ilya swore softly, “Fuck Hollander.” as he tracked the rush of color up Shane’s stomach, through his chest and into his face. “Come here, right here.” 

Ilya had to search deep for his self control, his voice straining tense as he bent Shane’s left leg carefully carefully, propping it over his shoulder, “Is okay?” He ran his hand over the long scar up Shane’s tibia and turned his head to kiss his knee again. “Feel okay?” 

“Y-yeah, it’s good. It’s–” Shane inhaled sharp when Ilya rearranged so he was laying down on the bed, Shane’s knee still over his shoulder and his hands braced at the underside of Shane’s thighs to hold him open. “Holy shit, are you going to–” 

Shane’s back bowed up up off the bed, his hold slipping at his right leg and other foot reflexively kicking in shock when Ilya leaned in to lick him, flicking his tongue at Shane’s entrance and coming back for longer, slower lick when Shane jolted and cursed and, “Ilya, fuck–!” 

“Okay?” Ilya had pre-emptively tucked lube between the mattress and the bed frame and he grabbed for it, drizzling it over his fingers before getting his mouth back at Shane’s hole, lapping sloppy wet across the furled rim and circling the pad of his thumb testing, prodding at Shane’s rim.  

“Ohhhhh my god.” Shane grabbed for the blankets, grabbed for Ilya’s shoulders, grabbed for his knee again so Ilya wouldn’t stop. He felt the exact second he loosened up open, felt the vibration of Ilya’s groan right into his veins when Ilya could push his tongue past the tight muscle and get inside and fuck, it had been such a long time. It had been a long time. Shane had scrubbed down and cleaned up and thoroughly prepped, but it was still shocking to feel Ilya’s thick fingers in him, stroking past his prostate, and fingering him open between long licks of his tongue, Ilya lips pursed against his hole, kissing and pulling at his rim. “Oh holy shit–!” 

“More?” Ilya paused long enough to check in, and Shane stammered, “M-more. Don’t stop.” so Ilya didn’t stop. He ran his hand up and over Shane’s knee reassuringly when Shane’s heel dug into his back, his leg shaking where it was propped over Ilya’s shoulder, then dove back in slurping and sucking noisy and wet until Shane was writhing against his face, grinding down against his nose, and Ilya couldn’t stop rutting his aching cock into the bed. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck enough!” Shane broke begging first, letting his right leg drop back to the mattress and tugging at Ilya’s hair hard. “Enough c-come on. Get in me. I don’t wanna cum like this. No, I–I do, fuck it would be– but– but—!” 

“Shane.” Ilya’s mouth was slick with lube and spit when he lifted his head, his smile wicked and blue eyes practically glowing as he kept thrusting his fingers into Shane’s tight channel. “You can cum twice before we are done?” 

“Oh fuck.” Shane wheezed a little. “I don’t–I don’t know?” 

“Next time we will try.” Ilya decided, then wiped his mouth and slid up Shane’s body to kiss him square on the lips. “Turn over on your stomach.” he patted at Shane’s hip, at his rear. “On your stomach, come on.” 

He helped Shane roll over, moving pillows and holding Shane steady and erasing the potential awkwardness of readjusting by covering Shane in a flurry of kisses, across his chest and over the scar at his shoulder, down his back as Shane settled face down on the big bed with his legs close together. “Is okay for your knee?” 

“Yeah no, I’m good, it’s good, you feel–” Shane gulped when Ilya started kissing his way back up his spine, up between his shoulder blades and finally at the back of his neck, his breath puffing at the fine hairs at Shane’s ear. “Ilya—oh.” 

Oh. Ilya slid his arm under Shane’s stomach, readjusted lower to prop under Shane’s hips and lifted him up easily, held him up easily to wedge a pillow under his hips and prop his ass up several inches. 

“Shit.” Shane kind of wanted to laugh. Kind of wanted to swoon. He wasn’t petite or small or delicate but Ilya manhandled him without so much as a grunt and the feeling of being deftly maneuvered, of being effortlessly cared for clouded cottony into his head, wrapping round his ears and insulating him warm. 

“Good?” Ilya ran his hands down Shane’s back, kneading at his rear then holding him open so he could lick at him a few more times. “Shane.” he nipped a bite into the curve of Shane’s ass. “Still good?” 

“S-so good, oh my god.” The pillow under his hips kept any pressure off his knee and sure Shane had been fairly confident he could have handled being on all fours, hell Shane had been bound and fucking determined to handle being on all fours whether he was sore clear up and down his hurt side for days after or not. 

But Ilya straddled the back of his legs, his knees on either side of Shane’s thighs and that was better, it was perfect, no pressure and no real weight, just solid heat and the familiar reassurance that Ilya had planned ahead to make it good the same way he…always… used…to…

Fuck. Shane had a split second realization, an epiphany linked to a hundred different memories of all the other times Ilya had planned ahead to make it good between them, even back when they were kids and just fooling around, even back when it had been Shane’s very first time. 

Cloudy cottony, insulating warm. Being taken care of was so much. Too much. Shane had to close his eyes and tell himself to breathe, then tell himself to stay present and say something because Ilya had paused touching him when Shane went quiet and he didn’t want that to happen, he didn’t want Ilya to stop. 

“What um– what did you do?” Shane open mouth gasped when Ilya reached under the pillow to find his cock, stroking him back to full hardness and adjusting him straight so Shane could roll his hips thrusting lazily into the pillow. “Mmmfuck…” a slow swipe over the tip of his cock made him shake. “Did you Google sex positions for people with bad knees?” 

“Hm, you didn’t?” Ilya tore open a condom packet with his teeth and unrolled the thin latex down his shaft, coating himself in more lube as he nipped and kissed at Shane’s shoulder. “I thought Shane Hollander was a nerd, always did his homework.” 

“I was a hockey prodigy, Ilya. I didn’t do any homework past middle school—fuck!” his overly explanatory snark cut off when the blunt head of Ilya’s cock bumped at his hole. “Ilya–!” 

“I did research to make sure it would only feel good.” Ilya notched his cock into the cleft of Shane’s ass and rocked forward a few times, spreading lube over him and groaning in appreciation at the sight of Shane glistening wet. “Ready for me?” 

“Yeah, ready.” Shane hooked his fingers into the sheets and nodded quickly. “Yes.” 

“I will be slow.” Ilya promised hoarsely, and true to his word he was slow. Careful and mindful and slow easing into him, nudging the blunt head of his cock past Shane’s rim until the pressure gave with a jolt and slick slide and Ilya had to smack a hand onto the bed to stop the urge to thrust sudden when the tension was gone and all he could feel was Shane clenching tight around the first few inches of him. 

“Ilya.” Shane got loud even at only that, panting and gasping and scrabbling for the pillows, the muscles in his back quivering as he instinctively arched up into the heavy cock splitting him open and simultaneously tried to writhe away from the endless pressure and relentless push. “Holy sh–sh– it’s too much, fuck.” 

“Almost almost there.” Ilya grit his teeth and went slow, transfixed by the sight of Shane’s body shifting beneath him and by every little cry Shane tried to muffle, the little flex of Shane’s ass every time he humped at the pillow stuck under his hips. He bent far over Shane’s body to kiss a freckle on his back, that same scar high on his arm and kept going, sinking bit by bit and inch by inch into Shane’s body until he was nudging at his rim, grinding forward at his hole with short little thrusts. “There. You have me, all of me. Still okay?” 

“Please.” Shane rubbed his forehead into the pillows, clutching almost tearing at the sheets. “Please, Ilya.” 

“Shane?” Ilya didn’t move, could barely breathe, forced himself still and waiting for Shane to answer him. “Still okay?” 

“Oh fuck, please fuck me.” Shane blurted out, his voice gone high pitched and cracking with desperation. “Please fuck me, Ilya, I n-need— I need—!” 

The first hard snap of Ilya’s hips made Shane choke, lodged the words sideways sticking in his throat. Before he got his breath back, Ilya pulled nearly all the way out and stroked all the way back in and the next breath ripped from Shane’s lungs as a frantic moan. 

“Fuck, Shane.” Ilya held him tight, fingers digging dimples into Shane’s rear to hold him open and hold him still as he set a fast pace, driving in and out of Shane hard enough to make the bed move. The headboard rattled noisy at the wall, but it wasn’t near as loud as the sound of Shane pleading for, “More, more more.” as Ilya kept checking in, “Okay? Shane, Shanychka, dorogoy, tell me is okay?” 

“Fuck it’s s-so good.” Shane managed between each punched out breath, his whole body jolting with every hard thrust. “So good, Ilya, oh my god.” 

“You are doing so good.” Ilya kissed his cheek, his temple, set his teeth to Shane’s shoulder and bit down until Shane shuddered beneath him, “Talk to me. Tell me what you need.”

“Just d-don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“I’m here.” Ilya pounded into him, rasping into his ear, “You have me, all of me. Here, yes?” 

Shane was tight around him, solid beneath him and Ilya couldn’t stop touching him anywhere he could reach. He left score marks at Shane’s back and spanned his hands at Shane’s waist, pushing his thumbs obsessively into the dimples low at Shane’s back just above his butt. He felt under the pillow to grope at Shane’s stomach, to smear his fingers through the precome leaking from the tip of Shane’s cock and try to stroke him in time to every thrust and plunge into his core. 

Shane’s face was turned so Ilya could see his eyes closed, lashes glistening a little where they fanned over his freckles. Shane’s lips were moving with breathless, gaspy little cries, his knuckles white where he clenched at the sheets holding on for dear life, and Ilya shook his head, “Give me hand.” and pried Shane’s hand free from the tangle of sheets, twining their fingers together instead so Shane could hold onto him as tight as he needed. “Is good, da? Better?” 

“So m-much better…” 

Shane didn’t know what Ilya said after that. The buzzy timbre of Ilya’s voice rumbling Russian at him faded into background noise somewhere beyond the burn and stretch of every solid thrust hammering into his body, carving out a place for Ilya to fit. Ilya’s hands were scalding hot against over sensitive skin and Shane melted beneath every touch and press and grasp of Ilya’s fingers all over him. With his legs together and body pinned beneath Ilya’s weight, Ilya felt huge inside him, like every stroke was knocking at the back of his throat and Shane couldn’t close his mouth, needed his lips parted and tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth so he could breathe.

The glow of arousal low in his center was almost after thought because being full felt too good, he was full and it was easy and Ilya was holding his hand, crooning into his ear. Shane thought half coherently and mostly spacey that the race of his heartbeat matched the rhythm of Ilya driving into him like a bass line reverberating in his head and plucking at his skin. He was loose limbed and floating, cock leaking into the pillows and balls full, white spots dancing behind his lids every time Ilya bottomed out in him and he knew he was making noises, panting maybe whining asking for more and he could only hope Ilya could hear him…

“Stay with me, lyubimyy.” Ilya whispered when Shane’s litany of please and more and good, it’s good, don’t stop went quiet. Shane went quiet and Ilya slowed down to lay almost all the way over Shane, covering him with his body and grinding slow and deep at Shane’s rim,  pinning their hands to the pillows above Shane’s head and squeezing Shane’s fingers tight. “Stay with me.” 

“Stay with me.” Shane’s vision was blurry when he opened his eyes, so he closed them again and felt a tear drip from his lashes, trickling down his cheek. “Ilya, s-stay with me.” 

Don’t leave me. Don’t replace me. Don’t disappear. 

“I am here, Shanychka.” Ilya whispered back like he’d heard all the things Shane’s heart was screaming. “Here here here, I promise.” 

Ilya rained kisses all over Shane’s face, at his cheek and brow and into his hair, at the back of his neck and across his shoulders. Ilya kept rutting into him, kissing everywhere he could reach but always always returning to Shane’s mouth, craning his neck to reach his lips and taste the little noises and tiny sighs right off Shane’s tongue. 

“MmmmIlya…” All at once Shane was there, floaty and insulated warm but then too quickly close to finishing and it caught him by surprise, the low burn of need in his core flaring bright and ratcheting up high and he gasped, “Ilya, gonna cum–!” 

“Shane.” Ilya groaned when he felt Shane tighten up clenching around him. “Can you cum on my cock or do you need my hand? My mouth? Anything you want.” 

“Just you.” Shane braced himself on his elbows, pushing further back onto Ilya’s cock as best he could and wailing out loud as he came, “Just y-you, fuck—!” soaking into the pillow and spurting up his stomach, the mess smearing into his skin as his arms gave out and he collapsed back onto the bed shivering from head to toe. “Oh my god, ohmmmygod…” 

“Fuck, that was so good.” Ilya stroked at Shane’s side, massaging at his ass and rubbing his back, trying not to be impatient but unable to help it as he rocked into Shane with little thrusts and quick swivels of his hips. “You feel so good, you are so…” he trailed off into Russian, muffling the words into Shane’s back, his lips moving against the flushed skin. “You are okay? Can I–?” 

“So good, s’good, Ilya…” Shane slurred the words, his smile dazed and sweet as he pressed at Ilya’s fingers. “Come on. Cum in me. In me, in me, in me…” 

“Fuck, you are too much for me.” Ilya only lasted a few more hard strokes before he was cumming too, burying his face between Shane’s shoulder blades and squeezing hard at Shane’s hand, groaning out loud with his heart caught up into his throat when the moment was too much, too much. 

Shane wondered what Ilya was saying to him, wondered if Ilya would ever tell him what the Russian words meant when Ilya whispered it all in a trembly sort of voice as they lay together breathing choppy and harsh and trying to come down. 

Whatever it was, whatever Ilya kept murmuring between exhausted kisses at the corner of his mouth and at his temple sounded important. It sounded careful and special and tender and Shane tried to stay present enough to decipher it all, tried to stay coherent enough to be active and-- and participating, he wasn't participating if he was blankd out spacey right? He tried to focus, to figure out if he’d heard any of the strung together words before in some context where he might understand–

–where he would know if–

“You want?” Ilya sat up on his elbow to keep most of his weight off of Shane without having to pull out yet, and slid two fingers along the seam of Shane’s lips, tapping at his bottom lip. “Open.” 

Shane opened. He sort of wanted to know what Ilya was breathing and kissing into his cheek, but with the weight of Ilya’s fingers on his tongue and Ilya’s cock still mostly hard keeping him full, Shane gave in to the fuzz in his head and closed eyes too blissed out, fucked out spacey to care about anything other than laying there warm and held and quiet. 

“Good job, sweetheart.” Ilya kept whispering to him in Russian, rubbing at Shane’s chin with his thumb and tucking in as close as he could without squishing him, staying in as long as he could until he softened. “You did so good. You’re so sweet for me, Shane, Shanychka, I swear I never got over you…” 

*****

They ate lunch downstairs at the big bake table, stools pushed close together and drinks raided from Ilya’s little fridge. Lunch was oven baked sandwiches, mozzarella melted onto bread Ilya had made just that morning, thin sliced chicken piled high with tomatoes and arugula and red onions and drizzled with a vinaigrette, basil pesto sauce in a little bowl along with a red pepper glaze and Ilya held both sauces up with a little shrug, “I did not know which you would want. So. Both.” 

“Thank you.” Shane dipped his sandwich first in the pesto, then in the red pepper and made a pleased noise over both. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes.” Ilya confirmed and Shane shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re this good of a cook.” 

Then after he swallowed a big bite of the clearly, specifically made for him lunch, Shane wiped his mouth and commented, “You know uh, we’ve never done this before. Hanging out after? We never did this back then, not even once.” 

“No.” Ilya agreed. “Lots of things we did not do back then.” 

“Yeah.” Shane chewed through a few more bites. “So. Upstairs. Was it –” 

“Yes, better than I remembered.” Ilya crunched his way loudly through a chip. “And I thought I remembered everything.” 

Shane stared at him a minute, a tiny smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “No, I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t asking that, I meant–” 

Ily waited and Shane cleared his throat, nodding, “For the record, it was better than I remembered, too. You. Us. Holy shit.” 

“Good.” Ilya winked at him and kept eating. “What were you going to say? What was okay?” 

“That I brought it up? Shane peeled the top layer of bread off the sandwich so he could cut into the chicken and toppings with a knife and fork, then stopped to smile about Ilya bringing him a knife and fork without having to ask. 

“The apartment thing, I mean.” He clarified when Ilya didn’t answer. “When I called and said uh, all of it?” 

“Yes.” Ilya didn’t comment on Shane switching to only eating the chicken and mozzarella and veggies. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“I dunno.” Shane shook his head. “I just uh–” 

“We are not dumb, scared kids anymore, Shane.” Ilya got up to snag the roll of paper towels from a nearby shelf.  “We do not have to play games or beat around bush about it? Although,”

He waggled his eyebrows in the direction of Shane’s lap. “Nice. I like you with more hair.” 

“I like all the extra hair on you too.” Shane mumbled, and Ilya grinned at him, then kept talking, “I want you, Shane. To be around you and be friends with you and yes,” he jabbed his finger towards ceiling and the apartment above their heads. “To be with you. You want me, too. No need to be shy about it, hm? No guessing games.” 

“Right. Okay. No guessing games.” he stabbed at a tomato, spearing it with his fork. “And in between upstairs apartment things, we’re supposed to have normal conversations like normal people?” 

“Yes. Normal conversations, but hard conversations too.” Ilya wasn’t going to ask about Svetlana or how Shane’s eyes went dark whenever he was pushed about anything, but he made a point to say, “When things come up– not dicks, I do not mean dicks coming up.” he winked again when Shane sputtered into his water. “--When other things come up that we should talk about. We should do that. Otherwise we will only be like dumb scared kids again.” 

“That’s fair.” Shane blew out a slow breath. “Okay. Yeah. We can try that.” 

“Okay.” Ilya nudged his foot into Shane’s under the big table. “What else are you thinking?” 

“That skating is gonna be a little awkward at practice tonight?” Shane offered and Ilya pursed his lips, “Mmmmsorry.” 

“No ,you aren’t.” Shane nudged Ilya’s foot right back. “But I’m thinking... are you available like this every single Monday?” 

“You want to canoodle every Monday?” Ilya leaned over to kiss him, settling his hand warm and steady at Shane’s knee and squeezing lightly. “Sounds like a date.” 

“Do not call it canoodling, that’s weird.” Shane warned, but he grabbed for Ilya’s hand and, "Come back." then took a quick drink of water and motioned Ilya in for a real kiss, framing Ilya’s face in his hands only pulling back enough to rest their foreheads together so he could very softly, very shyly whisper, “I missed you, Ilya.” 

“I missed you too.” Ilya had to close his eyes, had to set his other hand on Shane’s knee to keep himself steady when the quiet words threatened to crack right through his chest. “Thank you for being here.” 

Shane smiled into another kiss, bumping their noses affectionately. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“One day soon,” Ilya squeezed at Shane’s leg before leaning away to keep eating. “I want to fuck you in your boring coach office.” 

“Oh no.” Shane immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not. That’s crazy. No way.”  

“Hm.” Ilya shrugged and popped another chip into his mouth, cocky and confident and visibly obviously smitten as he nudged at Shane’s foot again. “We'll see.” 

****

Chapter Notes: 

I love Dad!Ilya who has whole night time routines with his girls that includes assuring them their stuffed animals love them, never stops thinking about them even when he's with Shane, folds like origami to their every request, has spent a shitload of money and structured his entire life to ensure he can be as present and available as possible for their every need, who wears floral bandanas and keeps his work fridge stocked with their favorite juice. I just love him.

BOY HOWDY baker!Ilya though. A dorky floral bandana and casually flipping a cookie scoop through his fingers while sipping vodka? Okay okay okay. Cool cool cool cool cool.

My original plan was to have Shane's return to therapy happen off screen and just mention it in passing because we have been living ALOT in Shane’s head but I wanted to include this first appointment because the whole thing about Shane participating in his life rather than staying consciously or unconsciously detached (cabin vs home, parents vs friends, no defining terms for his relationship with Ilya) as a defense mechanism is going to feature very heavily in his journey towards healing.

Ilya inviting Shane to see his sprinkle cupboard lmaooo. I loved this whole scene. Shane who takes everything at face value and is so intent on openly acknowledging and appreciating that Ilya is inviting him into his life vs Ilya who had Fully Horny Intentions but is so head over heels for Shane he's happy to sit and give heart eyes while Shane talks about real estate. Canon Hollanov never gets any time to just exist with each other until The Cottage and even then their time is very limited, so I'm really excited for this AU specifically so we can see them in so many domestic, easy, no rush scenarios.

Shane needing Ilya to give him another chance to be honest ie: ask me again if I want to come over and then Ilya having his flabbers fully fucking ghasted by Shane being so bold makes me laugh out loud, but also if y'all read Bare (or tbh pretty much of my Omegaverse or D/s stuff) you know how important it is to me for the Dom/Top/Alpha character to feel equally as pursued and needed and wanted as the sub/bottom/Omega and the way Ilya melts at every bit of attention from Shane is so sweet and also feels very canon.

Things I love specifically about the sex scene:

Ilya taking the time to clean. The apartment was already clean and put together but as soon as Shane was like "hey let's do nekkid things" Ilya went shopping and deep cleaned and put in all that extra effort to make sure Shane felt like being open and brave and vulnerable was well worth it.

Needing to undress together and Shane holding Ilya's necklace to ground himself, and Ilya holding Shane's hand later for the same reason. Shane BEGGING "please fuck me." Ilya kissing Shane's scars and Shane thinking maybe he isn't damaged (he's NOT) and the insane intimacy of Ilya basically covering Shane the entire time so they never stop touching. "Stay with me" from Ilya because he's obsessively cataloguing everything and knows the second Shane starts slipping, then "stay with me from Shane as like, a heart wrenching plea for a hundred things he can't say out loud yet. The constant reassurance 'I'm here, you have me' and then of course, 'Better than I remembered'. Sheesh, loverboys.

ALSO: Shane fighting to stay present while Ilya loves and encourages and considers it a compliment/necessary and sacred part of their dynamic when Shane going quiet after sex? That will be A Whole Important Dynamic later on.

Do we think Ilya’s gonna get to fuck Shane in his boring coach office? 

Thank you to everyone who reads, extra thank you to everyone who comments. I am always surprised by how many people read my little scribbles and also then also running around screaming in excitement over every comment so thank you thank you. 

COMING UP: it’s gonna feel like Déjà Vu as they fall into each other and for each other again and again and again… 

Chapter 9: Déjà Vu (again and again and again)

From Jane: Any plans for Monday? 

Ilya finished spreading the mix of white chocolate chips and dried cherries edge to edge on the rolled out dough, then wiped his hands and picked up his phone. 

From Lily: Today is Monday. 

From Jane: Right. Do you have any plans? 

From Lily: Prep for tomorrow. White chocolate chip and cherry sweet rolls. Cranberry orange pound bread. Sourdough for sandwiches. 

From Lily: You have plans? 

From Jane: Practice tonight. 

From Lily: This conversation is so boring I will die. Do you want to come over for Monday bakery tour? 

From Jane: I’m actually already here…? 

From Lily: Jesus Christ. 

“Jesus Christ, Shane.” Ilya huffed when he opened the back door and Shane hurried in from outside. “Why didn’t you come inside? Door was unlocked.” 

“Felt rude to just walk in.” Shane protested. “I didn’t ask to come over, so I didn’t want to assume I could just walk in, and I knocked but you didn’t answer!” 

“On Mondays if my car is here, you just come in. It’s fine.” Ilya snagged the end of Shane’s scarf and pulled it off his neck, tossing it towards the coat rack. “No need to be boring and polite about it.” 

“Boring and polite?” Shane undid his jacket and put it on the rack as well. “So next time, you want me to be an asshole?”

“No, but I want your asshole.” Ilya grabbed him into a kiss and Shane’s attempt at sounding at least a little bit annoyed, “Ilya, that’s gross.” was entirely invalidated by just how quick he was to back Ilya up into the wall and deepen the kiss wet. 

“I think you like it.” Ilya decided smugly and Shane laughed against his mouth as they stumbled through the door leading upstairs, “God, I really do.” 

They barely made it up the stairs in one piece. It would have been easier if Ilya hadn’t been pulling at Shane’s shirt, would have been easier if Shane wasn’t sticking his hand down Ilya’s pants, would have been easier if they stopped kissing long enough to quit stumbling over their feet and banging into the wall and bruising their hips and lower back against the hand railing but whatever. 

Whatever. The stairs were eventually conquered, the upstairs apartment eventually reached, Ilya broke the kiss just long enough to kick the door shut behind them, then snapped his fingers and ordered half teasing, half shaking with exhilaration, “Okay. Clothes all the way off. Let me see you.” 

“Impatient?” Shane goaded as he yanked his shirt off and Ilya crowded in to kiss him again, “Yes,” muffled into a twist of tongue, “And greedy. So whip it out.” 

“You whip it out.” Shane couldn’t drop to kneeling as fast or as easily as he used to, but he went down to his knees anyway, running his hands up Ilya’s thighs and tipping his head back to look up and up at him. “Come on.”

“Fuck Hollander.” Ilya’s voice caught ragged, his blue eyes widening shell shocked. “Fuck. Are you–” 

“I thought you were impatient.” Shane traced his index finger over his lips, then followed it with his tongue, licking his lips until they were shiny. “Put it right here.” 

“Bozhe moy, Shane.” Ilya barely got the words out when Shane pushed his pants down and lifted his cock free. “Fuck.” 

Shane flattened his tongue and ran it up the underside of Ilya’s length, closing his lips sucking at the tip and Ilya’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open over an unsteady breath, “You are so beautiful like this, so pretty on your knees.” 

“Ilya.” Shane’s smile was quick and flustered and pleased, a dark pink blush burning at his cheeks and into the tips of his ears. “Keep– keep talking. Keep saying things like that.” 

“Things about how good your mouth is–fuck!” Ilya dropped his head back groaning when Shane rewarded the praise by taking an inch of him onto his tongue. “Fuck. Okay. Yes. Yes. You will keep your mouth full, and I will keep talking. That is what you want?” 

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” Ilya whispered. “Okay okay okay, anything you want.” 

Shane kept his mouth full. Ilya kept talking. He slid his hands into Shane’s hair, cradling at the back of Shane’s head, not pushing only holding as Shane licked his cock up and down, coating him in saliva and smearing it at his lips and told Shane how good he was, how pretty he was on his knees, Ilya had been thinking about him, about this, all goddamn week.

Shane’s mouth stretched slick and obscene around the width of Ilya’s cock and Ilya brushed his knuckles at Shane’s face to feel the bump of himself at the inside of Shane’s cheek, slipped his thumb past Shane’s gorgeous lips to feel the heat of his mouth and the push of his tongue and crooned about Shane being so warm, so wet, taking him so well and driving him crazy licking at him. 

Shane swallowed around the head of his cock and Ilya’s hips jerked forward helplessly, his fingers clenching tight in Shane’s hair before he got himself back under control, and he muttered a curse, stammering and stuttering telling Shane his mouth was perfect, it was too good, he was beautiful, Shane was beautiful, Ilya had missed having him, holding him, missed them and missed this, blyat Shanychka ty mne nuzhen…

Ilya came with his hand around Shane’s neck so he could feel every shift and spasm of Shane’s throat as he swallowed swallowed swallowed. 

Shane came grinding the heel of his hand into his crotch, his mouth full and eyes closed, drool and cum messy at the corner of his mouth as he spilled into his pants undone by the adoration in Ilya’s deep voice and the weight of Ilya’s cock on his tongue and bumping at the back of his throat. 

Fuck.

Shane fell back onto his butt and scooted dazedly across the floor so he could lean against the bed. He was loopy, lethargic, his head lolling back loose and his eyes too heavy, his limbs too weighted, mentally and physically so far dazed that even breathing felt like too much effort and each labored inhale came from way down at the soles of his feet, each slow exhale leeching the tension out of his frame to leave him sagging slumped. 

“Shane. Dorogoy. Here. Very slow.” Ilya uncapped a water bottle and held it to Shane’s lips, tilting it enough to pour past his lax lips and down his sore throat. He settled his hand solid and steadying at Shane’s thigh, digging his fingers into the seam of Shane’s pants to ease the tremble in Shane’s frame. “Sip.” 

“I j-just uh– just need a minute and then I’ll– I can um– I can get cleaned up and–” The water hit Shane’s throat room temperature and soothing, not too hot to shock him, not too cold to make him flinch. Room temperature, only enough for a swallow and a little extra to coat the inside of his mouth. Ilya sat budged up against him shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee and Shane focused on the solid line of Ilya’s body, the heat of his skin, the lingering taste in his mouth and on his tongue, the echo of Ilya praising him…

“Oh." He jumped when soft lips pressed against his own, jumped and then moaned into the kiss, shoulders dropping and knees falling open as Ilya budged in to kiss him longer, cradling his face between his calloused palms and nudging at his nose. “Ilya.” 

“Stay.” Ilya slid his hand to the back of Shane’s neck, massaging firmly at the knotted muscle. “No rush.” 

“Mmmmjusneedasecond…” Shane needed a second. A minute. An hour. He’d made a plan to initiate, to show up and maintain some control, to not let himself get overwhelmed and overstimulated and lost but then Ilya had opened the door and kissed him, made him laugh and pulled him up the stairs and just like that, Shane had been lost. Dizzy, dazed, spacey hazy lost. On his knees drifting. Mouth full, ears full of praise, brain empty, it was so easy, too easy to let go and let Ilya overwhelm him but that hadn’t been the plan. 

The plan had been establishing permanence and actively participating, but falling to his knees and going all loopy wasn’t exactly participating in establishing anything permanent and fuck, Shane just needed a second and a minute to get his head out of the clouds and then he could–

–then he could–

“Shane.” Another kiss. Ilya covered Shane’s mouth then put his hand at Shane’s chest covering his heart, foreheads and noses touching and sharing air. “Is okay. You need another drink. Here.” 

“G-give me a sec. I just need to–” 

“Open.” 

Shane opened, lips parted and eyes closed and chin resting in Ilya’s palm so Ilya could direct him up and open and pour another swallow of water into his mouth, down his throat, settling into his consciousness. 

“Good job.” Ilya took a drink too, then capped the bottle and set it aside. 

It was… weird… that Shane was making such an effort to get steady and get coherent and get done. Weird that Shane’s eyes creased distressed at the corners, his mouth set tense, and brow wrinkled like he was trying to– trying to what? Find the energy to get up and leave? Fight his way out of the cottony, cloudy headspace?

Ilya though, oh, and reached to brush his fingers at Shane’s lips thinking maybe Shane wanted needed something in his mouth to ground him, but then no Shane didn’t turn into it the way he usually did and Ilya didn’t want to say he didn’t like it, but–- but he didn’t really like that. 

“Shane?” he asked uncertainly, because he didn’t know how to ask why Shane didn’t want what he usually wanted, Ilya didn’t know how to ask why the come down this time felt different than it had at the hotel, different than it had last Monday. “Everything is okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Shane turned into Ilya’s body, not his hand or the offer of his fingers but into Ilya’s shoulder, nosing at his shirt and closing his eyes breathing in the smell of the familiar cologne, instantly easier centered with the grounding scent. “I’m fine. Just need a minute, then I’ll get up and get cleaned up and–” 

“I have extra pants in the downstairs office.” Ilya told him quietly, dropping a kiss on Shane’s brow. “For when I make a mess in the bakery. I will get them. You stay here.” 

“I–” 

“Stay.” 

Shane stayed. Ilya grabbed his extra set of sweatpants from the downstairs office and made a mental note to stock the apartment dresser with spare clothes because if Mondays were going to be a whole thing, he wanted to be prepared. He rushed back upstairs and started the shower so it would be warm, then sat back beside Shane on the floor, budged in close shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, lined up all the way down their bodies and holding hands tight. 

“You said um–” Shane rubbed his cheek at Ilya’s shoulder. “Something about white chocolate chip cherry bread?” 

“Yes.” Ilya dropped a kiss onto Shane’s hair. “The dough is chilling in fridge but will only take an hour to bake and be ready to eat. You can stay. I will make some for you.” 

Shane wanted some. White chocolate chip cherry bread fresh from the oven sounded heavenly, eating a slice while Ilya brought him a drink and gave him dozens of kisses and smiled at him sounded heavenly.

Objectively, Shane knew the craving for sugar was his body reacting to the physical and emotional toll of intense sex, he’d spent enough time coming down from post-game exhilaration to know that a granola bar or even balanced smoothie would be more beneficial than a thick slice of buttery, sugary dessert bread but– but—

Next time. 

Next time Shane would make an effort to ensure he didn’t get so carried away. He’d make an effort to stay present and engaged and participating to make sure it all felt better balanced. Something something whatever Dr. Soule had been saying about building a base of support so he wasn’t so easily overwhelmed. Making sure he didn’t feel temporary by paying attention to Ilya’s reaction and reassuring himself that the attraction and need went both ways. 

Next time Shane would work on all that. 

This time Shane sat down in the bakery wearing an extra pair of Ilya’s sweats, licking butter and melted chocolate off his fingers as Ilya set an ice cold ginger ale in front of him then tipped his chin up to cover his mouth in a long kiss. 

Ilya breathed a sigh of relief when Shane kissed him back tasting like chocolate and ginger and  told himself the uncertainty he’d felt upstairs was nothing more than a blip. Nothing more serious than an unexpectedly emotional comedown. 

It was okay. 

Everything was fine. 

*****

The best thing about the Montbonne Community Ice Rink was that it was practically ancient, a left over relic from back when the homes were all brick and the commercial buildings were damn near fortresses. 

The walls were hugely wide to hide massive support beams and all the required insulation, the concrete slab floor was permanently cold from end to end and the electrical grid could have powered half the town, but instead cranked out a never ending supply of energy to ensure the ice stayed ice and the dozens and dozens of lights stayed on. Every window in the rink was double paned and the doors ultra solid, the interior walls for the offices and locker rooms far thicker than the standard in an attempt to keep heating bills down without freezing players and coaches and Rachel right out of her office. 

The best thing about the Montbonne Community Ice Rink was that it had been built to bear the brunt of decades worth of Canadian winters and all the collective wear and tear of years worth of players and skaters coming through the doors. The rink had been built to last and it was very specifically beautiful how happy voices and laughter from the ice could echo all the way to the soaring rafters…

…but once the ultra solid doors were closed and the double paned windows curtained, the thick walls of the private offices were rendered effectively soundproof. 

Soundproof, but Shane still pulled the collar of his sweater over his mouth and gnawed at the hem of it to muffle his groans and whimpers and punched out little wails as Ilya fucked him. 

Just in case. 

“You feel so good around me Shane, fuck.” Ilya wasn’t near as concerned with the noise as Shane was. Not only was he at least ninety percent sure that the office was in fact damn near soundproof, but he wasn’t the loud one. Everything Ilya said whispered into Shane’s ear as he fucked him, mouthed into kisses at Shane’s back because Ilya was obsessed with the flex of muscle as Shane braced himself against the desk and pushed into every thrust. 

Shane had to bite his sweater so he wouldn’t yelp every time Ilya’s cock stabbed over his prostate, but Ilya licked a wet stripe up Shane’s neck and bit a kiss to the hinge of his jaw to croon, “No one can hear us, Shanychka, be loud, I love your noises.” 

“Shut up.”  Shane hurt his hand smacking it on the desk in a too hard, too futile attempt to quiet another whimper. No matter how much Ilya loved his noises, people would absolutely hear him if he got loud and no no no they couldn’t risk that. 

“Shut up,” he gasped out, eyes closed and mouth hanging open and cheeks burning in a blush because the rhythmic squeak creak squeak of the desk joints rocking back and forth pushed to their limit with Shane’s weight braced over it and Ilya pounding into him was loud enough to be sirens in his head. “Shut up or– or I’ll make you stop. If you get us caught, I swear I’ll—” 

“Stop?” Ilya stopped mid thrust, not deep enough in to be any fun, just far enough out to be frustrating. He knew Shane hadn’t told him to actually stop, he knew Shane was just being bratty but Ilya could be bratty too, and like an absolute motherfucker he stopped just to prove a point. 

The point being of course, that the noise Shane made when Ilya stopped, the way he cursed something borderline incoherent because he was annoyed and devoid and confused enough to be pissed off was immediately louder than anything he’d been trying to muffle. 

And Ilya laughed at him. He stopped mid thrust knowing full well Shane would fuss about it, then swatted his hand crack at Shane’s ass and goaded, “No no, you shut up so we don’t get caught.” 

Ilya was laughing but then he was groaning as Shane reached back and grabbed a fistful of his hair, dragging him down and dragging him in until Ilya was buried deep again, bent over Shane’s back with his chin at Shane’s shoulder, Shane holding onto his curls in a vice grip. 

“You are a fucking asshole.” Shane hissed and Ilya smothered a few chuckles into a kiss at Shane’s ear and apologized, “Sorry, sorry. Can I keep fucking you now?” 

“You shouldn’t have stopped.” Shane didn’t let go when Ilya started moving in him again. He arched his back and kept one hand on the desk but he left his fingers tangled up twisting and curling through Ilya’s hair, scratching at Ilya’s scalp to keep him close, his head turned into every brush of Ilya’s lips across his cheek, “Fuck you– you shouldn’t have stopped.” 

“I know.” Ilya shouldn’t have stopped for the sake of the joke, he shouldn’t have stopped to laugh at Shane, he shouldn’t have stopped ever, not then and not after Vegas, Ilya should have stayed, he knew that, he knew that. 

“Sorry.” he whispered. “Prosti menya, lyubimyy…”

Shane shuddered like he knew the sorry meant more than right then, but shook it off and kept pushing into every thrust, shoving back onto Ilya’s cock until his hips were sore from being held so tight and his arm shaking from holding his weight beneath every hard push, his breath coming choppy and chest heaving, “Ilya Ilya Ilya– fuck–!” 

“Shane.” Ilya finished first, hands bruising tight gripping at Shane’s ass and head tilted back, moaning brokenly as he came. 

“Sh–Shane–” he trailed off mumbling in Russian as he pulled out of Shane’s body and tossed the condom away. He was stumbling, a little bit dizzy, unsteady on his feet as he dropped to his knees and turned Shane around to finish him too. 

“Holy shit.” Shane pulled the sweater sleeves down over his fingers and covered his mouth with both hands when Ilya bobbed over him with cheeks hollowed and lips tight, slurping and moaning as he sucked at him. Ilya’s mouth was hot, his lips stretched and shiny as he drooled hungry and sloppy over Shane’s cock. Ilya slid blunt fingers behind his balls and back to his hole, pressing past his rim to find his prostate and that was enough, fingers and Ilya’s mouth and the vibration of Ilya humming around him like he was starving for it was enough to make Shane cum spilling down Ilya’s throat while the sweater did exactly nothing to muffle his desperate shout. 

“Oh holy fuck.” Shane would have fallen if it weren’t for the desk at his back and Ilya’s big hands  immediately braced at his thighs holding him steady. “Ilya, holy shit. That— that was so good, fuck.” 

“Yes. Agree.” Ilya was flushed red and grinning wild as he nipped a satisfied kiss to the crease of Shane’s hip. “I love it when I win.” 

“Did you win?” Shane shoved a trembly hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Cos uh,” he chuckled breathlessly, “Feels like maybe I won.”

“I got to fuck you in coaches office.” Ilya pointed out smugly. “I win.”

“Oh yeah.” Shane’s grin was a little bit dopey. “That took surprisingly little convincing.”

“I think maybe you planned it.” Ilya made sure Shane was propped against the desk before letting go and fumbling for the wash cloth folded sort of suspiciously conveniently on the corner of the desk. “You have clean up towel,” he wiped himself down, then wiped his hands, “had lube and condoms in desk.”

“You showed up with lube and condoms too.” Shane pointed out, and Ilya shrugged, “Yes but I am devious. So.”

“Jesus Christ.” Shane rolled his eyes, then rolled them harder when Ilya added with a lecherous waggle of eyebrows, “Thank you Coach, can I have another?”

“Definitely do not call me Coach when my dick is still out.” Shane flicked him in the ear and Ilya stood up to kiss him, his fingers sweeping lightly under Shane’s eyes along the spray of freckles as he covered Shane’s mouth in a sweet kiss. 

“MmmShanychka.” he exhaled, his other hand creeping round to rest at Shane’s waist and Shane almost leaned into it. Almost chased a second kiss and almost dropped his head to Ilya’s shoulder, almost looped his arm at Ilya’s neck and let his whole weight sag forward cos he knew Ilya would catch him and let him sit quiet a minute.

Instead, “Get off me so I can open the door and air this place out, it stinks like sex in here.”

Shane wrinkled up his nose and laughed, pushed at Ilya’s chest to create some space and grinned like it was fine, like nothing was weird, like he wasn’t actively fighting every single cell in his body and the whining needy voice in his head to stay standing on his own two feet and call their little office encounter done. 

“We have a few minutes.” If Ilya would have blinked, he would have missed it. If he hadn’t been still connecting the dots between Shane’s freckles drawing constellations with his fingertips and hovering close enough to count the fan of Shane’s lashes, Ilya would have blinked and missed the split second shift between Shane sighing into a kiss and Shane putting up a wall or flipping a switch or closing the proverbial door between them so he was talking normally and standing up straight and stepping away to tidy up like it was fine. Like nothing was weird. Like there hadn’t ever been even once in their entire history when he hadn’t melted soft and quiet into Ilya’s arms for at least a minute or two after they were done.

Huh.

“This was fun.” Shane wiped down, cleaned up, and got to work disinfecting the desk, tying up the small trash  bag where Ilya had dropped the condom and tossing the soiled hand towels into a different bag to take home and wash. He tucked the lube and string of condoms back into the very back of the locking drawer on his desk, neatly rolled the cuffs of his sweater so the wet patch where he’d bit and drooled trying to stay quiet wasn’t against his skin then headed to unlock the door, sending Ilya an expectant look, “See you at practice tomorrow?” 

“Um. Yes.” It wasn’t right, how quickly Shane was buttoned up, put together, presentable. Ilya didn’t like it. He didn’t know what it was exactly that he didn’t like about it, Shane was smiling and kiss flushed and checking to make sure they’d see each other tomorrow, but it wasn’t… right. And Ilya didn’t like it.

“Yes, tomorrow.” Ilya zipped back into his jacket. Made sure his pants were closed. Apparently they were done. Done with sex and done tidying up and done with the middle of the day meet up.

It was reminiscent of back then, of before, when sneaking around came with a time limit, when cursory cleanups had included copious amounts of cologne and deodorant to cover the smell of sex, when once the clothes were back the eye contact was non existant and someone was quick to get to the door and go, but even then Shane had lingered for end of date kisses. Even then Shane had said good-bye with his voice slurred soft and his eyes bright. 

“I can kiss you goodbye?” He hesitated before asking, not because Shane had ever told him no, but because Shane wasn’t slurring soft and his eyes weren’t bright and they were so abruptly cleaned up, packed up, done that Ilya was still a little uncertain about whatever it was that wasn’t quite right.

On Monday, he’d been able to coax Shane to stay with the promise of sweet treats and kisses but there wasn’t anything like that at the office, no way for Ilya to extend it all longer to make anything extra comfortable so they could linger.  

So he asked uncertain and hesitant and careful, “I can kiss you good-bye?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Shane pursed his lips into a short good-bye kiss, then hooked his fingers in Ilya’s coat and pulled him back for a longer one, sliding his tongue at the seam of Ilya’s mouth and moaning low in his throat when he tasted the remnant of himself on Ilya’s tongue. 

“MmmmIlya…” That felt better. Felt closer to right. Shane swayed in chasing the kiss, hummed against Ilya’s mouth and bumped their noses lightly teasing and that felt better and normal and right. “I’ll text you tonight?” 

“Yes, text me.” Ilya was being ridiculous. Probably. Making sure a middle of the day rendezvous was discreetly and quickly finished before someone wandered through the community arena and potentially discovered them was exactly the sort of thing the always prepared and always conscientious Shane Hollander would do, so— so Ilya was overthinking it. 

Probably.

***** 

From Lily: You were very bossy at practice today.

From Jane: If I’m not bossy, the girls all bully me. Have you ever been bullied by a dozen seven and eight year olds? They’re so weirdly mean.

From Lily: I live with Mariya and Nadya, of course I am bullied all the time.

From Lily: You should come over. Get on my lap and be bossy to me.

From Lily: Pull my hair so I do what you want like Ratatouille.

From Jane: … … … 

From Jane: New rule, no referencing Pixar movies when you’re trying to get me naked.

From Lily: But you will be bossy with me? 

From Jane: I could be a little bit bossy with you. 

“Don’t move, don’t move, stay right there, just like that—!” Despite Shane’s less than positive opinions about the furniture arrangements in the above-bakery apartment, the couch in the little living room served perfectly well as a place to push Ilya down and climb onto his lap. 

“Fuck, you feel good, Ilya that’s so good, fuck.” Shane’s leg and knee would hurt tomorrow guaranteed but it was well worth it to straddle Ilya and ride him right into the cushions, holding at Ilya’s hair tight enough to probably hurt and being bossy with him by way of breathless orders and gasping pleas as he fucked himself on the thick cock chasing his orgasm. 

“Harder, though.” Shane dragged Ilya’s face into his chest, arching into the pass of Ilya’s tongue at his nipple, the pull of Ilya’s lips pursed at him, the sting of teeth, “Harder, like that, bite me, yes!”  

“Come on, Hollander.” Ilya kept his hands planted on Shane’s ass just like he’d been told, kept his lips and teeth and tongue licking sucking biting at Shane’s chest just like he’d been told, didn’t move no matter how tempting it was to thrust up every time Shane dropped down to grind against him, didn’t let go of Shane’s butt to stroke his cock even though Shane was rock hard and bouncing with every motion, smearing tacky dots of precome over his stomach. 

No no no, Ilya stayed put, stayed still, stayed head back and eyes blown wide with lust watching Shane’s gorgeous features crease and wrinkle and change with a thousand different expressions as he got close, close, closer to cumming until finally, 

“Fuck Ilya, c’mere and kiss me. Kiss me, c’mon.” Shane slammed their mouths together in a brutal kiss, fisted his hands into Ilya’s hair and held on for balance as his cock jerked throbbing, striping white up his abdomen and messing all over Ilya's stomach. "Ohhhh fuckkkkk..."

“So good, sweetheart.” Ilya’s voice bottomed out into a growl as he finished too, rutting up against Shane’s weight and biting at his bottom lip, sucking at his tongue and vibrating with a starstruck, satiated groan from way down deep in his lungs, “That was so hot, Hollander. What the fuck…” 

“Must–must have been.” Shane panted through a long kiss, his mouth tilted into a satisfied grin. “If you gotta call me Hollander over it.” 

“Fuck, yes.” Ilya wrapped both arms around Shane’s waist, holding him steady and trying to encourage him closer, trying to make sure Shane knew he should slow down and settle down and stay. They weren’t at the office, there was no rush, no chance anyone would see them, he wanted Shane to stay.

“Is okay.” he budged up into another kiss, clicking his tongue when Shane swayed like he might fall into him. “Take your time, we have time.” Ilya dotted a kiss to Shane’s jaw, swept his lips to the corner of Shane’s lips, traced the same path with his fingertips subtly offering if Shane wanted to open up and settle in sucking at him for a few minutes. “No rush.” 

No rush, but Ilya didn’t know what the fuck to do when Shane gave him one more quick kiss then climbed off and went to wash up. 

“God, that was so good.” Shane rolled his shoulders and shook his arms out and stretched, toes curling into the carpet and back arched, hands up above his head and body on full display for a beautifully bare moment before he sighed and smiled and dropped his arms back to his side, “You handle being bossed around like a champ.” 

“Please Coach,” Ilya couldn’t tear his eyes away from Shane stretching preening naked. “Can I have another?” 

“What did I say about calling me Coach when my dick’s out?!” Shane laughed as he scooped up his clothes and headed to the bathroom to clean up, “It’s weird! Don’t do that!” 

No, what was weird was how every time after the first time in the apartment, Shane was putting an end to their meet ups– to their dates– faster and faster. First, with apologizing for being too loopy. Then, being quick to clean up. Now, taking his clothes to the bathroom to get dressed, putting a literal door and physical walls between them until he reappeared fully ready to leave, to move on, to go. 

Ilya didn’t like it. 

“Hey.” Ilya slid his pants back up his hips but left his shirt off. Held his hand out towards Shane’s and curled his fingers invitingly. “Come and sit a while. We have time.” 

“Wish I could.” Shane sat at the tiny kitchen table to tie his shoes. “But I’m supposed to be at the highschool in like twenty minutes for some fundraiser thing. I promised I’d help out.” 

“Really.” Really Shane had waited all day Monday to come over to the bakery when he had something scheduled right after? “Why are you doing that?” 

“Chaperoning the dance was pretty fun.” Shane threaded his belt through his waistband and cinched it, then started looking around for his keys. “And everyone here has been so great to me, feels like I should take the time and invest back in the community, you know?” 

“Okay.” Ilya fidgeted with a loose thread on his pants, awkward and unsettled and uncomfortable with just how much it felt like all those years before when time was limited and the afterglow was rushed because everything happening outside their infrequent private moments was always more important than whatever happened when they were wrapped up in and around each other. “I will… see you later?” 

“Definitely.” Shane came back for a good-bye kiss, tugging at Ilya’s hair with a little smile. “This was really fun. See you later.” 

“...Bye.”  

*****

“I didn’t ask you about this last week because I know it takes more than a few days or even a few attempts to feel as if there has been any improvement,” Dr. Soule smiled encouragingly at Shane through the computer screen, “But today I’d like you to tell me what you’ve done in the last couple weeks to establish permanence in your life.” 

“Okay.” Shane ran his hands up and down his legs a few times, then held onto his knees to ground himself. “Okay. Permanence. Last couple weeks I’ve been working on initiating with my,” he swallowed, “significant other and uh, setting the pace in certain things so I can control different situations and don’t end up overwhelmed all the time.” 

“Mmhmm.” Dr. Soule nodded. “And how has that been going? How are you feeling about your efforts?” 

“Insane.” Shane answered bluntly. “I am feeling insane about it. I knew I was too overwhelmed all the time, but forcing myself to recognize it and try to counter it makes me feel insane.” 

“Alright.” she made a few notes on her page. “Tell me why that is.” and then after a beat, “And tell me, is the insane part of it all specifically connected to re-establishing a relationship with your significant other or more about–” 

“Yes.” Shane interrupted. “Yes. It’s specifically connected to– to them. I’m doing okay with the other stuff, I think. I’m working on my food stuff, I’ve started volunteering around town to create connections and stability in Montbonne, I even set up to get some of my mail forwarded out here. So. So that’s all fine.” 

“What is it about your significant other that has made these last few weeks difficult?” 

Shit. 

“...everything with them is more.” he said slowly. Quietly. “If I’m having a good time, it’s the best time ever. If I’m mad at them, I want to blow the world up. The physical stuff, the uh, the intimacy,” he cringed just saying the word. “Was always a lot. Back when we were together before, it was always a lot but now it’s—” 

Dr. Soule waited. Shane closed his eyes. “I thought putting a schedule or time limit on hanging out with them would help me disconnect and not feel so fucking unstable all the time, but I think it makes it worse. I want to stay with them but I know I should leave, so I make myself leave and it kills me and then the come down from it is like– you know, the first couple times we were together it was crazy, but I figured it was just reunion–” 

He stopped just short of saying sex. 

“I thought because it was the first time in a long time.” he finished lamely. “But now I’m realizing and remembering that it’s always this intense with them. Always. And I guess I handled it okay before, but I’m not handling it okay now.” 

“Okay.” she scribbled down another note. “Why do you think that is?” 

“Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” he ventured, and Dr. Soule shook her head, “No, Shane. At this point in our therapy together, I should have equipped you with the tools and knowledge to put it into words yourself. You tell me why the highs and lows and come down of being with this person are so intense for you, why the steps you’ve taken to establish permanence in your life seem to backfire around them.” 

“Wow. Okay. Um.” He pulled his sleeves down over his hands, picking at the fraying hems of his favorite, ancient, McGill sweater. “Okay. So we were never… permanent… to each other. Back before. It worked because I was busy with hockey and they had their own career so not being serious or permanent to each other was fine. It was mutual, I guess. Our lives only overlapped a little bit so it was easy to be overwhelmed with them, and then move on with my day or my week. It worked.” 

“You understand what compartmentalization is.” she stated rather than asked, and Shane nodded, “Yeah. Boxes in my head. Hockey was the biggest box. My personal life was a different box. Off season life was a different box. Everything is separate, nothing is messy, nothing overlaps. It makes life easier.” 

“Exactly.” Dr. Soule had asked only once during their first session if Shane had ever been evaluated for or diagnosed with any level of neurodivergence. The answer had been a resounding if not confused no, and she’d never brought it up again, but she did take note of things like how familiar Shane was with the idea of boxes in his head and how much easier he found life to be when everything was separate and tidy. “So the way this person overwhelms you. You were aware of it before, but could compartmentalize it away into it’s neat little box so it didn’t affect your career or your family life.” 

“Yes.” Yes…ish. Shane had always tried really fucking hard to keep the Ilya thing contained, but it hadn’t taken long to spill into the other parts of his life and it wasn't until after Vegas that Shane could finally stuff it all down and tape it all away, burying the Rozanov box in the back of his head and the bottom of his heart. 

So, “Yeah. I could just–” he made a motion like he was squashing something down. “Yeah.” 

“What has changed that you can no longer separate and effectively handle the specific way they overwhelm you?” 

“My life overlaps a lot with theirs.” Shane didn’t mention Mariya and Nadya, the twice weekly practices and once weekly games, the Jane and Lily text chain that was separate from the team group chat. “But, their life only overlaps with mine in one area. And they have a dozen other big important priorities to deal with all the time. Their life is complicated. Family stuff, they're established in town, they have connections to everyone and are busy all the time and I’m just um– I’m–” 

“You are temporary.” she finished and Shane’s shoulders slumped, “Yeah. I could move away tomorrow and their life wouldn’t change at all, but if they up and left tomorrow my life would–” 

Fall apart. Echo empty. He would be missing two players on his little team, his phone would stop buzzing with so many notifications, he wouldn’t have lunches to look forward to and Monday bakery tours to enjoy and kisses to dream about. 

“It used to feel balanced.” he said after a long moment. “I was busy, they were busy, when we were together it was great, but we had lives and priorities and careers so we were both equally unimportant to one another.” That was all technically true, but it still felt like a lie. “Now it feels like I’m risking everything including my fucking sanity to be with them, but they aren’t risking anything at all.”

“Trying to create permanence in a situation where you feel someone else holds all the power is a difficult, scary thing.” Dr. Soule acknowledged. “I cannot in good faith say whether they are unaware of the imbalance or how complicated their situation seems from your point of view, but I will say that your efforts to make connections in the community so your entire social and emotional life doesn’t revolve around this one person is a healthy and productive attempt to counter it.” 

“Okay?” 

“I will also say,” she steepled her fingers in front of her chin, “some times when our usual coping tactics have been taken away, everything feels like a risk. Our flight or fight response comes out in full force after emotional and physical trauma and we have to re-train ourselves to recognize the difference between good overwhelmed and bad overwhelmed.”

“When our hearts start racing, sometimes we can’t tell the difference between a panic attack or butterflies in our stomach,” she winked at him, “and the better supported we are, the more established and permanent our lives are, the easier it will be to make those distinctions. I think how you are handling things is a good start, you are reaching for outside connection, you are giving yourself limits and clearly you can recognize your negative reaction to being overwhelmed by them is largely based on the fear of being replaced or being temporary in their lives. Those are all good things.” 

“But?” Shane pressed when she went quiet. “But…?” 

“But.” the doctor conceded with a small nod. “I would caution you against being so busy building walls and searching for support that you forget to open the proverbial door to opportunity and connection. There is a very special freedom and very specific peace found in knowing when it is safe to let yourself be entirely overwhelmed, and I would hate for you to miss it because you were too scared to let go and give someone the chance to catch you.” 

“I don’t know how to build support and safety while also like– jumping off the cliff and hoping someone doesn’t let me crash.” he mumbled, and Dr. Soule’s smile was kindly sympathetic, “It takes time, Shane. Time and trust and effort and my favorite thing–” 

“Communication.” he finished with a tiny smile and she chuckled at him, “Communication. Exactly. As much as it pains us, sometimes we have to give things time, work hard and definitely use our words.” 

“Okay.” The hour was up, and just as well. Admitting how temporary he felt in Ilya’s very well established life made Shane nauseous and he wanted to go lay down. “Thank you, Dr. Soule.” 

“Talk to you next week.” 

“Okay. Bye.” 

*****

From Lily: We will be gone Weds- Saturday. Sveta has long weekend for American Thanksgiving and wants to take the twins shopping and to see Christmas lights in the city. 

From Shane: That sounds fun. Tell the girls I’ll miss them at practice. No game this weekend though, so they won’t miss much.

From Lily: Do you want to come with us?

From Jane: Are you serious. 

From Lily: Yes. Skip Thursday practice and come with us. 

From Jane: That’s family time. I’m not going to intrude. 

From Lily: Not intruding if you are invited. 

Shane didn’t text back for a long time.

From Lily: I want to see you before we leave. 

From Jane: Yeah I want to see you too. Monday? 

If the kisses seemed more desperate on Monday, if any attempt at conversations felt squashed, if Shane was blisteringly present, aggressively participating, urging Ilya on harder and faster and scoring marks down his back, “Fuck me like this, come on, come on, I want you, need you, come on” before getting on his hands and knees so Ilya could him into an arch and fuck him until Shane was screaming and Ilya was dizzy from cumming so hard–

– that wasn’t really a bad thing, right? If it all seemed like a noisy attempt on both their parts to maybe not talk about how the invitation to a family weekend had tilted something noticeable in their relationship, that didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong. 

And if Shane was so shaky afterwards the he couldn’t even stand up, if he was fighting to stay present by biting at the inside of his cheek until it stung and gripping at the messy sheets and blankets until his hands ached, well–

Well. 

“Ilya.” Shane couldn’t take it. Couldn’t get grounded. He’d been the first to pull away and Ilya had given him the space but now Ilya was getting dressed and Shane couldn’t even get off the fucking bed, so he whispered, “Ilya.” and let himself whimper when Ilya came right back to the bed to stand between his knees and comb through Shane’s hair, coaxing him forward to rest against his stomach. 

“Fuck.” Shane looped his arms around Ilya’s knees and pressed closer, smooshing his face into Ilya’s stomach and rubbing his nose through the dark hair at his navel. “F-fuck.” 

“Shane.” Ilya sighed in quiet relief when Shane pulled him in tighter, setting his hand warm and solid at the back of Shane’s neck to hold him, sweeping his thumb at Shane’s pulse to feel as his heart beat finally started to slow. They were out of time. Ilya only had twenty minutes to get dressed and get over to the school to pick Mariya and Nadya up and he hated that he had to wonder if Shane had planned it that away again, if Shane had purposefully waited to come over until they would be too limited to take the time to linger together. 

Fuck. Ilya didn’t want to think that so he focused on Shane again, holding him close and rubbing at his shoulders, down his back as far as he could reach without disrupting Shane from nuzzling and mouthing at his stomach. 

“I wish we had more time, Shanychka.” he murmured, “But we really don’t today.” 

“I know.” Shane knew. Dr. Soule had told him not to miss opportunities to connect but the way Ilya so easily stripped him down vulnerable still felt too risky. Too unbalanced. Knowing Ilya was going to spend the weekend with Svetlana and the twins made it all feel risky unbalanced worse so Shane had planned their meet up short and now he was shaking and unsteady and even if he was brave enough to ask Ilya to settle him quiet, they didn’t have any fucking time. 

Damn it. 

“Okay.” Shane made himself let go. He sat up and sat back and cleared his throat. “Okay. You guys are leaving Wednesday?” 

“Yes.” Ilya moved away to give Shane the space to find his clothes. “Wednesday morning. The girls will be at practice tonight.” 

“Good. Yeah. I’d like to see them before you guys head out.” Shane stood slowly, rubbing at his face, his eyes, his chin. “So. Um–” 

“Shane.” Ilya reached for him again, grabbing Shane’s wrist and stepping in close to stare into Shane’s eyes, searching his face. “You are okay?” 

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah. Why?” 

“Just…” Ilya studied him for another few seconds, then leaned in to kiss him lightly on the lips. “Okay. If you are okay.” 

“I’m fine.” Shane stepped back, stepped back, lied right through his teeth, “Just a little tired. Do you mind if I take a quick shower? I’ll be done before you have to leave so you can still lock everything up.” 

“Come say bye before you leave?” 

“Definitely.” 

Shane didn’t go and say goodbye. 

From Jane: You were on the phone when I came downstairs. I didn’t want to interrupt. 

From Jane: Have fun with everyone this weekend. 

Ilya didn’t like it. 

****

Ilya didn’t know when he’d gotten old and boring enough to be stressed out by every possible thing at carnivals, but clearly it was at some point between the time back in 2012 when Marleau had dragged him to Six Flags and the moment Thursday afternoon when Nadya and Mariya took off sprinting at top speed towards a ferris wheel towering so high above the park that Ilya was promptly sick to his stomach just looking at it. 

“No.” he chugged at his soda trying not to gag. “No no girls, you can not ride that. No. Is too high and there are no seatbelts. No.” 

“Ignore your Daddy, he’s a wuss.” Svetlana handed Ilya her purse, the girls backpacks, all the assorted treats and stuffed animals they’d already won from the carnival games, then grabbed the twins’s hands and raced excitedly towards the line for the ferris wheel. “Girls trip yay!” 

“I’m going to rock the seat until we’re moving like crazy!” Mariya crowed, and Nadya chimed in, “M-me too! Rrrrrock the boat! Rock th-the boat!” 

“Don’t tip the boat over!” Svetlana sang as they ran, “Rock the boat, don’t tip the boat over! Rock the boat!” 

“When they die, I will laugh.” Ilya dropped onto the closest bench, setting aside the bags and snacks and stuffed prizes with a weary sigh. “Will be their fault for going up on dangerous fucking thing, bozhe moy, no way those are safe. No.” 

From Lily: *picture message* Mariya was pouting because she cannot go on something called the Drop of Doom because she’s too small. So Sveta took them on this dangerous ride instead. Heaven help me. 

From Jane: We don’t call her Mayday because she’s a delicate little flower. 

From Jane: Isn’t that just a Ferris Wheel? Those aren’t dangerous. 

From Lily: IS TOO HIGH. 

From Jane: Pussy. 

“I w-want those ones, Mama.” Friday was shopping day, and while the huge outdoor shopping center close to their hotel had dozens of stores that would have made any child delirious with choices, Nadya decided to squish her little face right up to the window display outside a shockingly expensive shoe store and gasp, “Look at th-them! Look!"

“You have good taste, my little love.” Svetlana peered over Nadya’s shoulder and laughed. “Tell your Daddy which ones you want.” 

“No.” Ilya was already carrying four shoe boxes and several big bags from the last big store, and he scowled up at the brand name shoe store, then down at the red bottom heeled designer pumps, then over at his sweet daughter and her wildly enabling Mama. “No, Nadyushka. Not until you are sixteen. No high heels, no red bottoms, nothing brand name. You will bankrupt me.” 

“Masha, come look.” Svetlana snagged Mariya’s hand and showed her the shockingly expensive sneakers with the same iconic red soles. “Do you like these?” 

“Sveta no!” Ilya tried to argue, but Mariya gasped, “They have spikes on them!” and all Ilya could do was stand forlornly on the walkway with his arms full while the girls went in to see if the overpriced shoes came in little girl sizes. 

From Lily: Nadya discovered Louboutin sneakers. My bank account will not survive this. 

From Lily: This would be easier if you were here. You could use your bossy Coach voice so they will listen. Would balance out family and give me a chance to win arguments so I do not have to buy expensive shoes.

Shane didn’t text back. Ilya tried not to let it bother him so much that Shane was funny and engaging and normal right up until Ilya mentioned the word family. 

From Lily: What are you doing tonight?

From Jane: Not a whole–

“Coach! Come sit with us!” Shane shoved his phone in his pocket and sent a self conscious wave towards the middle table at Jacob’s bar where Rachel and Matilde and a couple people Shane didn’t recognize were motioning him over. “Come on! We can have five people on a team, so come sit with us!” 

“Here you go, Coach.” Jacob grinned delighted over Shane finally showing up for one of his Friday Trivia nights. He handed Shane an answer sheet, a pen and a beer, then pointed him to the table. “Cozy right on in there with all those super single girls who I’m sure would be thrilled to know just how super duper safe their virtue is with a fella wiht your particular... interests.” 

“Fuck off.” Shane huffed and Jacob laughed at him, “Go on. We’re gettin’ ready to start.” 

“Thanks.” 

Trivia night was a new thing. A never attempted thing. An insanely far outside Shane’s usual wheelhouse thing. He showed up to participate anyway. Shane was trying to establish permanence and community and something outside of the topsy turvy uncertainty of Ilya, and Jacob texted him every Friday morning inviting him over, so with Ilya out of town and Shane decidedly not thinking about how his knee jerk reaction 'no' to the invitation to join in family things had only been a cover for how badly he wanted to say 'yes', he set his jaw and braced himself for a night full of noise and made his way over to the table. 

“Hey Rachel. Ravi de te revoir, Matilde.” Shane settled onto a stool and lifted his beer. “Next round is on me?” 

“Sounds good, Coach.” Rachel pressed at his arm lightly. “What made you finally come to one of these things!” 

“I figured if I didn’t start showing up at things other than practice, people would think I was weird.” Shane offered with a little smile, and Matilde laughed far too loud, “Oh no! Coach, no we don’t think you’re weird! We all adore you!” 

“Oh good.” Shane ignored the buzz of his phone in his pocket and nodded. “Well, here I am. Let’s see if I know anything about trivia, huh?” 

****

Ilya did not win the argument about whether or not the girls needed Louboutin sneakers. Once Sveta found a pairs in her size that matched Mariya’s spiky little set and Nadya’s glossy black set, he had no hope of dissuading them from the outrageous purchase and his fussing about the girls being irredeemably spoiled was only slightly mollified by Sveta paying for the whole thing herself.

“Are you still grumpy about the sneakers?” Later that night, Svetlana wandered out to the hotel suite balcony with a blanket around her shoulders and two drinks in hand to find Ilya, “Is that why you are freezing to death trying to be broody and cranky out here in the cold? 

“Is not that cold and I am not brooding.” Ilya turned his head to exhale a plume of smoke away from her and Svetlana snorted, “Ew, and smoking?! I thought you quit!” 

“I did quit.” Ilya held the cigarette out and Svetlana passed him one of the drinks so she could take the cigarette neatly between her long fingers, dragging in deep and exhaling in a wispy cloud. “Just like you quit, yes?” 

“Just like I quit, yeah.” She tipped her head back and groaned in relief. “God, you’d think I wouldn’t miss it after so long, but I still do.” 

“Mm.” Ilya took the cigarette back, burrowing deeper into his own blanket. “Girls are asleep?” 

“Oh yeah, we wore their asses out.” Svetlana folded her legs under her body as she sat down, cozying into the chair and arranging the blanket to cover her feet. “The carnival yesterday and all the shopping today? They will sleep until noon and probably go to bed right after we go see the lights tomorrow night. You will have comatose twins for the flight back home.” 

She took a sip of her drink, watching him closely over the rim of the glass, “You are quiet tonight.” 

“Cannot get a word in between you and the girls chattering.” Ilya swirled his glass a few times and took a drink, smiling when he tasted the familiarly expensive vodka they both favored. “You are like noisy hens. Cluck cluck cluck.” 

“Noisy hens? No no.” She laughed at him. “I think you mean Mighty Loons hooting.” 

“Ugh.” he groaned at her and she laughed again, reached for another pull at the cigarette and demanded, “Ask me about the blind date Bonnie set me up on last Friday. “

“Tell me everything about blind date last Friday.” Ilya hooked his hand under her chair and dragged it closer to his with one quick yank, waiting until Svetlana tucked her toes under his legs before adjusting the blankets to make sure she was all the way covered and plenty warm. “How douchey was his cologne?” 

“Well for starters,” she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “He wasn’t wearing cologne, there is a ninety percent chance it was some atrocious Axe Body Spray flavor that he’d gotten complimented on one time ten years ago and just refused to give up.” 

“Axe Body Spray.” Just hearing the words gave Ilya flashbacks to highschool locker rooms and tacky early 2000s club wear and scent names like Midnight Thunder and Panther Extreme. “I know you think is funny to be called MILF by the interns at work, but you have to date boys who are legal to drink, not barely out of highschool still wearing Axe.” 

“Fuck off, he was forty two.” she groused and Ilya cracked up, “Sveta, that makes it worse!” 

“I know!” she huffed at him. “And when he found out what I did for work, he joked that maybe I should be paying for dinner then, or at the very least go Dutch like 'modern liberated' women liked to do.” 

“He wanted you to pay to go on date with him.” Ilya clicked his tongue. “You stayed after that? The old Sveta would have ordered most expensive wine on the list then threw it in his face for fun.” 

“Yeah well, the old Sveta wasn’t on track to head up the entire advertising department, so new Sveta has to practice a smidgeon of self control.” she denied with a wry little smile. “I told him I was fine with paying Dutch, then ordered an insane amount of food and ate it right in front of him.” 

“Da, there’s my girl.” Ilya grinned and Svetlana shook her head, “Oh, it gets worse. He told me he finally feels ready to settle down and find a wife to have kids with, and that Bonnie had told him I was in my thirties, but he hoped not very far into my thirties because geriatric pregnancies were a real concern after females passed their prime fertility window.” 

Ilya waited with eyebrows raised and Svetlana nodded, “Yes, The Axe Body Spray and insecurity about my income were one thing, but the second he said female I was done.” 

“You left?” 

“Oh no, I wasn’t done with my food.” she wrinkled her nose wickedly, “I had the waitress move me to a different table and kept eating, ordered dessert, an extra bottle of wine. It was a good night for me. He, however, did not like my attitude much at all.” 

Svetlana opened her phone to show Ilya the screenshots of dozens of texts the guy had sent all within a few hours. “I blocked him of course, but oh boy. Maybe I’ll just never date again. It is rough out here for those of us who didn’t move to the middle of nowhere and inexplicably reconnect with our first love and forever soulmate.” 

She waited, but when Ilya didn’t respond to or even acknowledge her less than subtle subject change, she nudged at him with her foot. “Ilyushka. How is your Jane?” 

“I…do not know.” Shane hadn’t texted him in hours. It was a silly thing to care about when they regularly went days without seeing each other and sometimes whole days without texting, a silly thing to care about when Ilya had been busy with his girls and Sveta for two whole days now and Shane was most likely busy too.

Ilya cared anyway. 

“You don’t know.” Sveta raised her eyebrows curiously. “What is wrong?” And when Ilya’s jaw set tense, she shook her head, “I am not asking you to kiss and tell. Be vague or whatever. But tell me what is wrong.” 

“Nothing is wrong. We are better than how we used to be. Way better. We have fun and spend lots of time together and how he is with me–” Ilya took a drink to hide a melancholy smile. “Is private. But. Beautiful.” 

“Okay.” she encouraged. “So why do you seem upset about it? 

“Sometimes I think he is putting space between us.” Ilya’s brows lowered in thought. “Not physically, but in his head. And in his heart. I ask him to talk about it, but he won’t and I can’t complain. Why would I complain? He is funny and sexy and bozhe moy, when he kisses me…” 

He took another drink, then pressed the glass to his forehead. “I do not know, Sveta. Something feels wrong.” 

“It’s been ten years apart, Ilya.” Svetlana pointed out comfortingly. “And only a few months together again. He is going through a lot and maybe you don’t know him like you thought you did. You have both done lots of growing up and changing, hm?” 

“Maybe. But I think,” Ilya almost didn’t want to say it out loud. “It reminds me of before Vegas, when we did everything separate and had to stay hidden. I think he wants it to be like that again and I– I do not want that.” 

“Ah.” her face creased in sympathy. “I think I understand.” 

“I want real things with him. All things with him.” Ilya ashed out the cigarette and rubbed at his eyes. “I invited him to come with us, but he said no. He thinks is too complicated with you and the girls and our history but it is all very simple to me. I want to be with him. End of story. Is the easiest thing to know in my life beyond how much I love Masha and Nadyushka and how you will always be my best friend.” 

“It's easy to call a story simple when your book has annotations and authors notes and outside point of views.” she pointed out gently, and Ilya frowned at her, “Sveta, I am not drunk enough yet to talk in book metaphors.” 

“That’s fair.” She finished her drink and reached for his hand. “Ilya, do you tell your Jane that we book adjoining but separate rooms and I always stay with the girls on these sort of trips?” 

“...no?” 

“So he thinks we share a room and maybe a bed.” Svetlana nodded. “Have you told him we have not slept together since at least a year before we separated? That it has been years since we even kissed any way other than sweet to each other?” 

“I–” 

“Did you tell him the decision to keep the twins and get married was not because of romantic love, but based around the idea that there were worse thing we could do than try to raise kids together with our best friend? Or that when we left Russia, it was with the already discussed understanding that once we had lived here or Canada long enough to ensure you and the girls citizenship, we would separate?” 

“Sveta–” 

“He thinks we are complicated and messy and maybe,” she chose her next words very carefully, “because you have a whole life with me and the girls, maybe he will never be as important to you as we are. You need to talk to him about it. Details and honesty and give him time to process. Otherwise he will think it is safer to do things the way you did before Vegas.” 

“So. Solution is time and effort and communication?” Ilya asked wearily, and she sat up to kiss him on the cheek, “Spoken like a man who put himself through a lot of therapy and already knew the solution before I said it. I am going to bed because it is cold and you are grumpy. Goodnight, Ilyushka. I love you.” 

“Love you, Sveta.” 

Svetlana went back inside Ilya’s suite to get to the adjoining room, crawled into the king sized bed between Mariya and Nadya and tucking in close to them. Ilya followed her in after a minute, checking on her and the sleeping girls before closing the door three quarters of the way and climbing into his own bed for the night. 

From Lily: Will you come by bakery on Monday? 

From Jane: Yeah. 

From Lily: Okay. Cannot wait to see you. 

From Jane: I can’t wait to see you either. 

Ilya put his phone down and wondered if Shane meant those words just as much as he did.

*****

Shane let himself into the bakery at six-thirty on Monday morning, knocking loudly as he pushed the back door open and calling, “Ilya? Can I come in?” 

Music drifted towards him from the front of the bakery something jarring and driving and definitely not in English and Shane followed the rumbling bass line down the hall, unzipping his coat and taking off his hat as he went. “Ilya? It’s just me. I know it’s super early, but–” 

He stopped when he came around the corner and saw Ilya working at the big bake table, sleeves rolled up and apron cinched tight and muttering to himself in Russian as he sifted and mixed ingredients and rolled out thin layers of dough onto dozens of prepped cookie sheets. 

“Um.” Shane cleared his throat, then leaned forward and rapped his knuckles on the stainless steel table. “Ilya?” 

“Shanychka.” Ilya startled when the noise cut into his concentration and music, startled more when he looked up and saw Shane standing there. “Chto ty delayesh'? What are you doing here?” 

“I got done skating and saw the lights on when I drove past.” Shane eyeballed the stacks of trays and mix of ingredients all over the place. “Is it okay that I’m here now? Or are you too busy?” 

“No, not too busy.” Ilya wiped his hands on his apron and hurried to kiss him, not quite able to hide just how surprised and pleased he was by Shane taking the initiative to show up unannounced.

“Hi.” he didn’t want to risk getting flour and honey on Shane’s clothes by pressing too close, but Ilya still stole a second kiss, humming into Shane’s mouth and licking past his lips to deepen it hungry for a few seconds. “I am glad to see you.” 

“Hi.” Shane twisted his fingers into Ilya’s apron strings and tugged him in close enough to push their foreheads together. “You smell like honey and a whole lot of butter.” 

“What dreams are made of, obviously.” Whatever distance and uncertainty had plagued Ilya all weekend evaporated the second Shane smiled at him, and Ilya dropped a relieved kiss on Shane’s nose. “Can you stay?” 

“Yeah, it’s like six am, I don’t have anywhere else to be.” Shane pulled a stool out from beneath the bake table and folded his arms on the table. “What are you doing working this early? Where are the girls?” 

“Decmber is so busy, I have to do extra prep work.” Ilya slid a cookie sheet onto the rack and pulled an empty one down, dropping a chunk of dough into the center and flattening it out with a heavy rolling pin. “Alicia comes to house early so I can get to the bakery. She takes the girls to school then comes to work, leaves work early to pick girls up for me and helps with homework and usually dinner until I get home.” 

“Oh.” Shane watched Ilya roll out the dough to a paper thin width and set it aside, reaching for another tray and another chunk of dough to do it all over again. “That’s nice of her.” 

“Alicia loves the girls, treats them like grandbabies.” Ilya turned the music down so he could hear Shane better. “And they think they are getting spoiled when Granny Alicia makes them breakfast and sings favorite songs on the way to school.” 

He shrugged, “It works. I do not stress about Masha and Nadyushka being stuck here at bakery while I work early or late, I do not stress about work not getting done because I cannot find babysitter for them. Is only for a few weeks and maybe a couple times during the rest of the year, so it’s okay.” 

“I could help sometime.” Shane offered. “Pick them up from school or something. Hold onto them until it’s time for practice on Monday’s and Thursdays. They could just hang out in the office with me at the ice rink or run errands with me. Whatever.” 

“Okay.” Ilya smiled at him, the frazzled anxious part of his heart settling a little with the reassurance that Shane clearly was very much okay with at least the twin-specific part of Ilya’s complicated life. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” Shane thought spending more time with the twins was both the sort of permanence thing Dr. Soule would be happy he was attempting, and also the sort of overwhelming, in too deep to a complicated dynamic thing that would drive him right to the brink of insanity. 

Probably would be fine, though.

Probably.

“What were you saying when I came in?” Shane changed the subject away from the ever present worry about how unbalanced and temporary and risky it felt to notch himself deeper into Ilya’s life. “You were speaking Russian?”  

“Is the recipe for Medovik.” Ilya switched trays again. “Honey cake. Is my Mama’s recipe, one of the only ones I have from her. I say it in Russian so I do not forget it, and when the girls help me bake, we say it in Russian so they do not forget it either, so they have a piece of their babushka.” 

“Your Mama’s recipe.” Ilya being so wiling to share so important a memory and detail made Shane’s heart clench. “That’s really special.”

“I think so, yes.” Ilya smiled ruefully, “Hopefully the girls appreciate it as special instead of boring things they do with Dad.”

“Well, it sure sounds good.” Shane commented, and Ilya raised his eyebrows, “The honey cake?” 

“Well yeah, but.” He cleared his throat, scratching at the back of his neck. “You reciting it in Russian. It sounded nice. I liked it.”

“You like when I speak Russian.” Ilya stated, and Shane promptly started stammering, “I think I already told you that, I told– I definitely said at least once that you– at the dance, you said something about–” 

“Shanychka.” Ilya set another tray aside and made a show of wiping his hands, straightening his apron, chin up and eyes playfully sharp as he meandered around the table and crowded into Shane’s space, tilting his chin up and murmuring, “Lyubish’ kogda ya s toboy tak govoryu, m?” 

“Fuck.” Shane sat up to kiss him, pulling at Ilya’s apron strings again to keep him close, “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but you should keep saying it.” 

“Hm.” Ilya would have gladly stayed right there kissing Shane’s upturned lips and murmuring any number of filthy, adoring things to him, but the timer went off on the big oven and he sighed, letting go reluctantly. “This is gingerbread coming from oven right now. When it cools, you will have some?” 

“I could stick around for some fresh gingerbread.” Shane let go of Ilya’s apron and propped his elbows back on the table, his eyes lingering at Ilya’s arms as he started pulling tray after tray of gingerbread from the oven. “How was the weekend in the city?” 

“So good.” Ilya reset the timer on the oven and loaded in the individual trays of Medovik layers. “So expensive. You do not understand how expensive it is to keep spoiled girls happy at carnivals and shopping centers and at Christmas light displays. I paid too much money for special hot chocolate. Was highway robbery.” 

“You could tell them no.” Shane told him with a short laugh, and Ilya snorted, “You try telling them no. Let me know how it goes.” 

Ilya closed the huge oven doors, double checked the timer, then rolled the racks of fresh gingerbread towards the back of the bakery to cool down so he had room to keep stacking trays of medovik. “How was your weekend?” 

“Same as always.” Shane shrugged. He’d cleaned the cabin. Read through his books. Done his twice daily yoga. He’d managed to eat a normal amount of food while feeling fairly okay about his carb and calorie intake cos regardless of his stomach being softer than before or feeling bigger than he used to, he felt mentally sharper and slept deeper and skated and coached better when he wasn’t starving all the fucking time. “Not as interesting or as expensive as your weekend, that’s for sure.” 

Shane didn’t mention the trivia night at Jacob’s bar. It had taken all his mental energy and all of his courage just to go to the damn thing and then he’d been talked at until he had a migraine, his social battery drained for maybe decades after all the chatter and random interactions, he hadn’t known half of any of the answers to the pop culture and social media questions– it had been a tough night. But Shane had made it through and everyone had been real nice about it and seemed genuinely excited for him to show up and participate, so he thought he might go back the following Friday. 

He didn’t mention it though. Having something to do that didn’t revolve around Ilya or hockey felt important and Shane wasn’t ready to share it until he knew if it was a positive, do-able thing or not. 

“Will you tell me what you’re doing?” Shane changed the subject. “With all the little layers?” 

“Yes. So Medovik is layer cake.” Ilya had been running on auto for over an hour that morning, mumbling the recipe to himself but going through the memorized motions without any conscious thought. He’d made the recipe so many times, layered the cake the exact same way so many times he didn’t even have to think about it, so when Shane asked about it, Ilya had to stop and think and… 

Shit. “Ah.” he frowned, hesitating. “Yes. Okay. So first I–” 

“I messed you up, didn’t I?” Shane laughed, but it wasn’t mean. “You do it by habit but can’t explain it out loud?” 

“No, I can explain. But in Russian, because–” Ilya tapped at his head. “I have to think it in English. First, I–” 

“Ilya.” Shane shook his head. “Explain it to me in Russian.” 

“You will not understand?” Ilya hesitated, but Shane shrugged, “That’s okay. I like how it sounds and I’m sure I can follow along. If you don’t mind.” 

“Okay.” Ilya agreed with a very soft, very tiny smile. Shane coming to the bakery early to spend time with him, laughing about the girls, wanting to learn his Mama’s recipe and wanting to hear it in Russian– it felt like maybe Ilya was stressing over nothing, like Shane wasn’t really putting up any distance between them and Ilya was just anxious because he’d waited so long and wanted it all to go so right. 

“Okay.” Ilya put two fingers to his mouth and tapped twice in a quickly emotional kiss, then picked up the first mixing bowl and switched to Russian to walk Shane through the recipe and process the same way his Mama had so many times, the same way he did with Mariya and Nadya. 

Shane sat and listened, not understanding a single word of the explanation but wide eyed invested in everything Ilya did. He watched closely when Ilya slowed down to show him the specifics of a step, tilted his head and nodded whenever Ilya picked up an ingredient and added it to the bowl, there was a whole section where Ilya talked fast and mimed layers with his hands and Shane surmised, “You bake the individual layers and then stack them?” and Ilya lit up with a wide grin at seeing how close Shane was paying attention even with the language barrier. 

The sweet cream filling was whipped up in a mixer and Ilya scooped up a little bit on the edge of a dessert spoon and held it out across the table for a taste. Shane licked it clean then handed it back and made a face, “Ewwwww!” when Ilya made a show of promptly licking the same spoon with an exaggeratedly lewd expression. Ilya pulled the cooled layers off sheets and talked Shane through stacking each piece with painstaking accuracy, the filling piped in just thick enough to bolster the cake but not so thick as to overwhelm the delicate layers. 

It was a labor intensive process, careful and precise and dedicated and Shane sat there with his elbows propped on the table and his chin in his hands listening to Ilya talk and watching as the desserts took shape, one after another for the better part of an hour. 

“Okay. All done with that for now.” Ilya pulled the last trays from the oven and shelved them quickly, then ditched the oven mitts and his apron and told Shane, “Come on. Come here with me.” 

“Where are we going?” Shane held onto Ilya’s hand and followed him out of the main baking area, into the hall leading to Ilya’s office and then through a door he hadn’t noticed before. “Wait, what’s this room? I don’t remember seeing this when you showed me the bakery the first time.” 

“Is maintenance room for oven, did not matter for tour.” Ilya pushed Shane through the door and shut it locked behind him. “Most important, it is private.” 

“Private? Why would– oh.” Shane got it when Ilya glommed right onto him, hands diving under his shirt and mouths crashing together as he pushed Shane back back back into the wall and covered him with his body. “Don’t you have–mmm.” Shane’s mouth fell open obedient beneath the squeeze of fingers at his jaw and impatient sweep of tongue along his lips. “Mmmoffice for this? Or upstairs? Isn’t that the– fuck, Ilya–!” he groaned when Ilya’s hands found his nipples, tweaking and groping at his chest. “Isn’t privacy what the upstairs apartment is for?” 

“Do not have time for apartment this morning, Alicia will be here after dropping off girls very soon.” Ilya latched onto Shane’s neck, mouthing and biting up the corded muscle of his throat and tightening his arm at Shane’s waist when Shane predictably sagged into him as his eyes fell shut and his knees went weak beneath the attention. 

The maintenance room was dark and warm, smelling like sweet dough and sugar cinnamon from all the pastries rotating through the big oven on the other side of the wall. The rumble of the oven’s huge fans and grumble of the rotating shelves was loud enough to cover Shane’s curse when Ilya yanked his pants open and grabbed for his cock, loud enough to muffle Ilya’s gasp when Shane dribbled spit into his palm and started jerking him off rough and fast. 

“Oh fuck you feel good. More more more, come on.” Shane panted into messy, uncoordinated kisses as they raced to try and get off and Ilya sucked at his tongue, at his bottom lip, at Shane’s ear and groaned, “I missed you, Shanychka.” as their hands bumped and fingers tangled trying to stroke each other and then themselves and then everything together as sweat and precome mixed with the spit and they slid a little bit smoother. 

“Fuck Ilya.” Shane thunked his head back on the wall and begged as Ilya dug his teeth into the curve of his neck and bit down sucking hard enough to leave a mark. “Yeah that’s good. That’s good, fuck. M-Mark me up. Come on.” 

“You will bruise so pretty.” Ilya bit down harder, thrust up into Shane’s palm faster, grinding into him and pulling at his hair, holding at his face and then his throat until Shane laughed something breathless and covered Ilya’s hand at his throat so he would squeeze. “You want more?” 

“Y-yes. More.” he gasped out wrecked and ragged when Ilya’s fingers spasmed against his trachea, digging in and cutting off his air for a delirious few seconds before he was, “Ah–ah–ah–fuck!” cumming into Ilya’s hand, eyes screwed shut and mouth dropped open, throat moving with aborted little swallows as he strained up into Ilya’s palm and arched up into the pressure at his neck. “Fuck.” 

“Shane.” Ilya buried his face in Shane’s shoulder, chasing his release with his own hand when Shane’s fingers fell away limp. “Shane please– please–” 

“Here. Here.” Shane dragged Ilya’s head up to catch him in a kiss, sucking at his tongue and drawing it out filthy until Ilya cursed and finished messy all over their joined hands. “Holy shit, Ilya.” 

“I am glad,” Ilya had to gasp in a breath and wet his lips before he talk, “you decided to be here early today. Was a long weekend,” he swallowed, pushing their foreheads together and cupping Shane’s cheek with his clean hand. “Was a long weekend without you. Missed you.” 

“I–” Shane almost lied. Almost played it off. Almost called it casual. 

“I missed you too.” he whispered and closed his eyes against the relief of saying it out loud. Held on tight to Ilya to stop the tremor from way down in his core over finally admitting it. “I missed you. Yeah.” 

“I have more clothes in office, at least another shirt and a hoodie if you want it.” They were a mess, sticky and tacky and breathing hard trying to come down, and Ilya hadn’t planned any further ahead than wanting a private place to kiss Shane right into cumming, so he stepped back enough to yank his t-shirt off, using it to wipe Shane’s hands and then at Shane’s stomach before folding it over and cleaning himself up as best he could. “I will grab–” 

They froze in place when the unexpected sound of multiple voices drifted in over the rumbling drone of the huge oven. Shane’s eyes popped so hysterically shocked wide that Ilya had to cover his mouth to quiet a burble of laughter at Shane’s immediate panic. 

“This isn’t funny!” Shane hissed and Ilya muffled another laugh, “Your eyes are this big, Shane.” 

He mimed huge goggles over his face and Shane punched him in the shoulder, “Ilya! What if they see us!” 

“No, no is fine.” Another giggle escaped as Ilya tried to shush Shane, but Shane’s eyes kept getting bigger as Alicia and Brylie’s voices came closer down the hall. “Is fine, I promise.” 

“Ilya, this is not–!” 

“Shane.” Ilya kissed him hard, didn’t let up until Shane sagged against him with a low moan. 

“Shane.” gentler, more adoring, Ilya couldn’t resist brushing through Shane’s messy hair, across his freckles, at the corner of his kiss swollen lips. “I will distract them. You run. Will be okay, I promise."

“Didn’t they see my car?” Shane blurted in a renewed jolt of panic, but Ilya shook his head. “No, they do not park back there, too many cars blocks delivery alley. They park in lot and come through front door. I will tell them sweater was mine if they saw it. Now go. Hurry.” 

“Fuck.” Shane darted in for one last kiss. “Fuck fuck fuck—!” 

Ilya cracked the door open to make sure Alicia and Brylie were in the staff room clocking in, then swatted Shane on the butt and sent him running to collect his sweater and keys and hopefully get out the back door and into his car gone before anyone was the wiser. 

“Alicia, that is you?” Ilya leapt across the hall and into his office, counted to ten, then opened his office door as loudly as possible. “Brylie, you too?” 

“Morning, Ilya!” Brylie called from the employee room. “I have free period until ten today, so I thought I’d come help for a while! Is that okay? It won’t mess up payroll for me to be here for a couple hours?” 

“No, will not mess up payroll.” Ilya checked his phone when it blinged–

From Jane: Made it.

–then breathed a sigh of relief and managed a normal smile when Alicia bustled out of the back room with a clean apron on. “Hi. How are the girls?” 

“The sweetest angels ever, of course.” Alicia beamed up at him. “We had so much fun today. Do I need to pick them up from school too?” 

“If you don’t mind yes. Medovik prep is all day thing and we sell so much of it, I need as much time as possible to get ahead of it.” 

“Of course! I don’t mind at all!” Alica headed out into the main bakery and Ilya slumped against the office door frame, chuckling under his breath as he texted back, 

From Lily: We should be spies. So good at being sneaking. 

From Jane: I almost had a heart attack. I’m too old for this sneaking around ninja shit. 

From Lily: We could just tell everyone. 

Ilya didn’t sent the last text. He thought about it, typed it, then deleted it and put his phone back in his pocket. 

The morning had been incredible so far. Ilya felt seen and appreciated and admired, Shane had come apart just as sweetly desperate as he always did and no there hadn’t been a chance to linger once Alicia and Brylie showed up, but Ilya thought maybe Shane would have stayed if he could. He thought after a morning spent talking and being sweet together, Shane would have stayed, maybe if Ilya had taken him to the office and the small sofa Shane would have fallen into his arms quiet and settled for a while. 

They still needed to talk though. Ilya still needed to find the right time to tell Shane the details and specifics about his relationship with Svetlana and the boundaries they had in place about each other dating. He would make sure Shane had time to sit with the information and process it, Ilya would figure out how to be perfectly clear about it all so there wasn’t any more confusion about complicated things or what they both wanted. 

Before Ilya could do things like suggest they date publicly, they needed to talk and after they talked, maybe Shane would stop leaving so soon after they were done, stop shying away from certain conversations, things would be better and Ilya could stop obsessing sick to his stomach over what it meant that Shane wouldn’t go hazy spacey quiet for him anymore. 

They just needed to talk. Then everything would be fine. 

…right? 

*****

Chapter Notes: 

Called this one Deja Vu partly for the title drop (holla) and partly because it's giving me Ep4 montage parallel vibes where the sex is fantastic, but when they are apart, Ilya is clearly falling more and more for Shane while (in-show) Shane is focusing on his career and (TwinVerse) Shane is focusing on his mental health. Also because Shane is trying to figure out how to put them back in the comfortable box of Familiar Dynamics while the last thing Ilya wants is to be trapped in that box again, so Shane is embracing the "feels like it used to be" while Ilya hates it.

Ilya being 1000% down to do exactly what he's told so long as Shane is on his lap and pulling his hair. Love to see it.

Shane and the boxes in his head to compartmentalize everything about his life as a coping technique and struggling with how this new era in his life doesn't separate out as easily as he wants it to. He can't just put Ilya in a box and only open it on certain schedules, Ilya is a big part of everything in his life in Montbonne and it's freaking him the hell out because how is it okay for Ilya to be this big in his life... when as far as Shane knows yet, he is a very tiny easily replaceable part of Ilya's life? Yikes.

Ilya walking along behind Sveta and the girls holding all their purchases and trinkets and bags while they run rampant through a carnival and then through a shopping center, trying to argue about expensive shoes and being worried about too high rides. Top Tier Doting Dad Behavior. Don't save him, he's exactly where he wants to be.

Love Svetlana clocking Shane as Ilya's first love and soulmate. Her advice about "hey, you have all the details and Shane doesn't so maybe share those fucking details" is so simple but so good. Ilya sees it as simple-- they want to be together, so they should just be together but it's more complicated than that and they definitely need to talk about it and also the time to process it.

The bakery scene! Obsessed with Ilya making his Mama's recipes of course, but MORE obsessed with Shane sitting there with a small smile and absolute heart eyes listening to Ilya recite the recipe and directions in Russian. He doesn't understand a word, but he's just happy to be there and be part of it.

One of my favorite Hollanov things in canon and every AU is how if they stop overthinking and just let their hearts/bodies figure it out, things really do simplify into "i want to be with you, end of story" and their biggest obstacle is always getting caught up in their heads with anxiety and doubts.

Coming Up! It's a Holly Jolly Christmas Chapter with a dash of Tis The Season Angst.

Thanks for reading and commenting!