Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Heated Rivalry (TV)

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, Hayden Pike & Ilya Rozanov, David Hollander & Shane Hollander & Yuna Hollander, Shane - Relationship

Characters:

Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Hayden Pike, Hayden Pike's Children, Jackie Pike, Jean-Jacques Boiziau | J. J. Dagenais, Theriault (Game Changers), Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Additional Tags:

Sickfic, Sick Character, Cancer, Mentions of Cancer, Balls | Testicles, Ilya Rozanov Loves Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov Takes Care of Shane Hollander, Sick Shane Hollander, Happy Ending, Funny, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, this is your reminder that I am not a robot, I am just fucking insane, and I have a lot of fucking downtime and ideas, I type fast because my brain doesn't function like a normal human, its problematic for my priorities... beneficial to my readers, productivity in life is way down... productivity in fics is at an all time high, Be nice to me, and no... i dont spell check., Crack Treated Seriously, Autistic Shane Hollander, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Blood and Violence

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-07-24 Completed: 2026-09-17 Words: 129,501 Chapters: 23/23

Balls

Summary

Shane is nineteen and straight in a dick-loving way (obviously), until Ilya finds a gift on his left nut... leading him to lose a ball, and in turn, gain an Ilya so much earlier in life. Be warned, this is tough subject matter delivered with the utmost respect... but also a hell of a lot of humor and laughs.

Come for a ride and see where life could have taken Shane and Ilya if they had figured their shit out at nineteen, and not twenty-six, with a supportive cast of characters and teammates. It will make you laugh, and cry... and get a little gooey.

PS: Check your balls if you've got 'em

 

David had refused to let Ilya take an Uber back to the hotel, so now Ilya was trapped in a small SUV, with his blowjob-buddy’s dad, after not only revealing to the poor guy that his son had an appreciation for Russian cock, but also that his balls were all kinds of fucked up. What a Tuesday.

“He’s going to undersell what’s happening to him.” David said finally, glancing at Ilya. “You’ve seen them, obviously, right?”

Yes, David Hollander. I’ve fondled your son’s balls and swallowed his cum like it was champagne. “Yes.” Ilya said instead.

Notes

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

"We should talk." Shane practiced, staring at himself in the hotel mirror. He rolled his eyes at himself. Fucking talk about what, Shane? What the fuck are you going to say? "1410." He muttered, mocking his own stupidity from that afternoon. "Fucking idiot."

He moved to sit in the chair and stare into space. What the hell was he going to tell this man? Hey, so… My sexual experience is limited to what could only be described as an unsuccessful archaeological dig to find a clitoris, with no desire, and only a need to reciprocate a shitty blowjob…all while pretending she was a dude, he thought to himself as his blood pressure increased. God, you can't even jerk off outside of the shower for fear someone might discover you have a dick at all. You complete fucking waste of puck bunny potential.

Sex wasn't something Shane really cared about—well, he enjoyed the end result, but the process was never overly appealing. He had decided sometime between his voice deepening, and the arrival of hair down there, that his minor longing for dick was just a hormonal oversight, and not an intentional choice. Sure, his dick sometimes twitched to life at the sight of his male classmates, but that was just a coincidence—it couldn't have been Jack getting him to half mast, he must have just happened to step in front of Jill at the exact right time. Right?

Even his solo sessions had always been the same. In a shower, shaft only, don't touch the butt—don't even touch the balls, aka the quicksand to the asshole. It was like Monopoly—go straight to orgasm, do not pass the hole, do not collect the balls. Masturbating had always been less explosive pleasure, and more shaking hands with his dick like they just ended a job interview—professional but hopeful. Not to mention, he had lied on his resume. You're not gay, you're polite. It would be rude to cum at the thought of a woman. Disrespectful, really.

He looked at his watch again. This mother fucker is late to our… our… Whatever the fuck this is. 

His mind wandered to the sharp lines of Rozanov's lower abdomen. It was like a god damn treasure map, leading him to seven inches of pirate booty. Shane chuckled to himself, I guess maybe my booty is the treasure. Fuck. Shane didn't even know how this worked. He didn't need to. He was obviously super straight—in a penis loving way. Still, he wondered if there was some kind of silent aura that radiated off of him that said "insert your seven inches here, please." He supposed it was possible, because Rozanov somehow had silent aura of "I am going to fuck your ass through the headboard."

He wasn't gay, but he also found himself wondering if he could find the entire alphabet on Ilya Rozanov's body. He had the V nailed down, low on his abdomen. His ass more closely resembled the letter B than an ass—or maybe an M or W depending on the angle. Fuck, will I get to see the other angles? The way his lean waist tapered into broad shoulders—a letter Y if he’d ever seen one. The one he really wanted to find was the O.

He's not coming to talk, is he?

Ilya clocked just how desperate he was around the tenth floor in the elevator, when he stood alone having just watched the door slam on the mother of his potential fuck buddy. I hope he knows that this is a hookup. Oh sweet Hollander. It was unfortunate that he looked so much like her. He feared he might be balls deep in the golden Canadian boy and a vision of his disappointed mother would pop up. I guess I will just have to fuck him from behind.

He was working hard to convince himself that sex was all that this was about, and he only had about fifty more feet to complete the task before he would be eye to eye with the boy who had somehow managed to captivate him in more ways than once since he approached him in that Regina parking lot. I can't wait to kiss those beautiful freckles. The thought snuck in, but he didn't mean it. Fuck.

He was about as sexually experienced as an eighteen year old could be. He had managed to fuck and suck his way through much of Moscow, and he was ready to conquer Boston as well—but he needed to get the Shane Hollander of it all out of the way before he could. The man—nay, the boy—had slunk into his thoughts like an annoying worm, setting up shop in his mind. He would like to think that jerking off in the shower in front of him would have been enough to squash the worm, but he feared that it only made him burrow deeper. As if the freckles hadn't been enough, his dick was equally attractive, and he needed to be closer to it. He needed to touch it. 

1410, he thought as he passed 1408. You can turn around and leave. He knocked gently on the door instead. Shit. The moment Shane opened the door, he knew he was done for. Somehow Shane Hollander always managed to look nervous in the cutest way, as if he wasn't six feet of muscle, toned abs, and top-tier athleticism. It was fucking endearing, and tonight was no different. He opened the door tentatively, like a man who might already be regretting handing over those four simple digits. You are so fucking hot.

"I think we should talk." Shane said, almost a whisper. "Do you want to sit?"

Absolutely fucking not. He needed his hands on his body, and the second Shane brushed his fingers against his arm it felt like an open invitation. "Not really." Ilya said, and before he could even stop himself he had Hollander backed against the wall.

"This is such a bad idea." Shane said.

No shit. "What is?" He said instead, and then his lips were on Shane's, tender and sweet. Oh, I am so fucked. Please kiss me back.

As soon as their lips met for the second time, Ilya knew he was in trouble. He had come in with the intention of devouring the poor guy, only to find himself slowing down to enjoy every second of what might have been the most passion-filled kiss he had ever experienced. He thought he wanted to have his dick in his hands in record time, and now his hands explored his hair instead, and moved almost lovingly down the side of his body. He wasn't even in a hurry to get him undressed.

This is so much better than talking, Shane thought as he forced himself to remember to move his mouth along with Ilya's. Participate, for fuck's sake. He reached up for his jacket, in search of the fucking Rozanov Alphabet that lived beneath it. He needed more, and Ilya allowed it. You are so fucking hot. Shane lunged back in his direction, his mouth finally showing up to the party too. It took all of thirty seconds for him to realize that he had been doing the sex thing all wrong, because somehow whatever the fuck this make-out was, it was better than any blow job he had ever experienced. Blow job, yes. Suddenly he found himself with his hand on Ilya's cock, and then on his knees even more suddenly. He needed to taste him. It only took him another thirty seconds to know that he could live with Ilya's dick in his mouth for the rest of his fucking life. "Stop, stop, stop." I guess he doesn't want me to.

It took less than three minutes in Shane Hollander's hotel room for Ilya to know that his sexual experience was limited—at least with men. It also would have only taken four minutes for him to cum down Shane Hollander's throat, so that said more about Ilya's feelings for the guy than it did Shane's inexperienced mouth. He's freaking out, Ilya thought as he pulled back from Shane to slow things down. "This is your first time with a man?" Obviously.

"Yeah. You?"

God, even his little nod is so attractive. Don't screw this up for him. "Uh no." Ilya didn't really care about the short conversation that came from that, because the intention of it was just to calm Shane back down, to let him know that he was safe. The fact that Shane admitted that he liked sucking his cock was just an added bonus that landed him in his bed. "I want to see you." He said, gesturing to a Shane Hollander that still had on entirely too many clothes.

"You saw me in the showers."

Yeah, you saw me jerk it for you in the shower… return the favor, fucker. "I want more." Somehow watching Shane fold his clothes had him even closer to coming all over the bed than the blowjob had—he was just so god damn charming. Shane walked towards the bed, and Ilya was panting as he got to see him in his full glory. Fucking stunning. "Come here."

Shane's brain turned back on the moment he laid in the bed next to the Greek God that was Ilya Rozanov. He couldn't even look at him for fear that his dick dam would burst wide open and he would paint the hotel bed in cum and whatever remained of his dignity. What the hell are we doing?

"So… what do you want to do?"

Suck your dick into a new dimension. "I don't know." He said instead. Ilya was rolling over, and before Shane could even take another breath, he was looking at his dick being stroked by the hand of his archrival. All he could do was lick his lips and throw his head back with a small nod. Ilya kissed his chest, soft and warm, and that was all it took for Shane to give in to his desire to have his mouth on him. He pushed him to his back and scooted himself down the bed, being sure to adjust their bodies so he could feel his own hard dick grinding against Ilya's thigh as he took his cock into his mouth. His experience in dick sucking was limited to what he knew felt good on his own body—but he didn't really even know what that was. He had certainly never been blown well enough to ever be attracted to the blower. He was realizing now that it may not have been their blow job skills that were the problem, but rather the fact that the blowers came in with built-in vaginas. Perhaps the problem wasn't the engine, but rather the make and model. This is so fucking hot, he thought as her heard the pleased sounds coming out of his rival.

"Fuck, Hollander." He moaned, his hands gently grazing through Shane's hair. Fuck, is right. "Like dat." Shane was sure he had never been with a sexual partner that actually made sound beyond the forced moans that offered just enough encouragement to keep going long enough that they could fake an orgasm. This was nice. This was hot. This was actually fucking educational. He found a rhythm that Ilya seemed to like.

Don't blow your load in this poor guy's mouth. Ilya grabbed the back of Shane's head with just enough force to let him know what was coming. He pulled him off and finished himself, painting ropes of cum across his stomach. He couldn't help but feel some kind of strange affection when he noticed Shane staring at his hard work. Maybe this was too much for him. Ilya rolled over, reaching for a Kleenex. "Was fun." He said, giving Shane an out if he didn't want to take it any further. He regretted it almost immediately when he rolled over to see the definition of child-like disappointment on Shane's face. Oh, he wants it.

He rolled over and sprawled himself over Shane's body—his incredibly gorgeous body. There was finally a look of relaxation on Shane's face. It was a serene look that told Ilya he had earned his trust. "Let me show you how to do this good." He said as he made his way south of the border. Shane's dick was as beautiful as the rest of him, and Ilya wasn't sure he had ever been as thrilled to return the favor as he was right then. I am not sure I can ever be with another man. I have peaked. He took him into his mouth and went to town, reaching up to grab his pec, being sure to squeeze it in a way that would be more pleasure than pain.

He allowed his other hand to become acquainted with Shane's balls, rolling them slowly in his hands—they were a fucking gift too. Tight and full, just waiting for a release. His fingers grazed over them, down the seam and back around before he gripped them once more, smoothing his thumb over one ball and then the other. He gave one a small tug, and Shane shuddered—he was only a minute into this, and Shane was already about to burst. He tugged the other gently, feeling a small knot on his sack. Cute, he has a mole, he thought—something Ilya was familiar with given the constellations that covered his own body. Freckles and some surprise moles. He's incredible. Before he knew it, Shane was coming down his throat in a panic. Ilya didn't give a single shit—he would drink every last drop from this man and then ask for more. He was learning in real time that he would never get enough of Shane Hollander. He took a second on his way up to really memorize this moment. The way he felt in his mouth. The way his balls felt in his hand. The sounds of pleasure that snuck out of his beautiful mouth. I need more.

As they lay there, allowing what just happened to sink in, they both seemed to come back to reality—a reality that could only be met with a laugh. Shane sat up, balancing the understanding that he had just finished what was his most successful sexual endeavor with the fact that it was with his soon to be rival. Worse yet, he knew he was already completely fucked. I can't wait to do this again. I want him to stay. I want more of this right now.

"You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?" He asked, a little shy, as if his dick hadn't just been in the man's mouth.

"Yes, Hollander. I am going to tell everybody." I wish I could.

Shane got the sense that he was joking, though he often struggled to know for sure. What he did know for sure was that the man he would soon be battling on the ice, who had stolen his dream of being the first overall pick in the draft, had somehow given him the most beautiful first experience with another man. He got the sense that if he could trust him with his body the way that he did, he could trust him with this secret.

"I have early flight tomorrow."

Shit. "Yeah, me too." Please don't leave yet.

Ilya didn't seem to be in a hurry to get dressed, and that gave Shane time to really let the events of the last ten minutes sink in. What the fuck are we doing.

He didn’t want to leave, he could have stayed all night, but the thought of Shane’s mother’s face popped into his mind and he knew he couldn’t risk a surprise visit. He pulled on his jacket and looked at Shane one last time, drinking him in, before he offered a final goodnight and walked out the door. I am going to find a way to make you mine.

Chapter End Notes

This is so fun... I wrote Just Pretend and loved the mix of humor in with the angst. It's something I have always done, but Just Pretend was much heavier in the humor department. I wanted to take that and apply it to what I am known for, which is unfortunately a good sick fic.

I have also always relied on an alternating POV to tell a story, and I am trying it the other way for the first time. I found it limiting, and also it made the stories way longer because I needed both perspectives in separate chapters all the time. This has been different, and harder in a lot of ways, but it's also been fun to try. I hope their internal monologues are clear enough doing it this way.

That said, I have the first 2 chapters of this one done... and four days off with no plans. So as a reminder, I am a real human... not a fucking robot. I just have the damn time, and a brain that works on overdrive. These scenes play out vividly in my mind all day, and then I sit down to write them in one go. It is not unheard of for me to write 10k-20k words a day, which means that this story could be completed within the week... One of these days I will actually learn to build some kind of anticipation, but I am in this for the fucking instant gratification, and I'm okay with that. Let my brain be tickled the way it likes, OKAY?! Okay!

Love you all. Please leave your love and comments as usual. They are always making me smile.

Chapter 2

As their feet touched under the table for the second time, Ilya’s mind could only go to Shane’s dick. He wondered if he was half hard under the table too. He wondered if he would have a moment to steal him away and have his way with him. He wanted to fuck him with the lights on. He wanted to get a full view of his cock, hard and dripping for him. He wanted to see that sweet mole in the light on the back of his sack, and not just feel it under his thumb. He wanted to fucking devour Shane Hollander that weekend. 

Shane anticipated that once they stepped onto the ice and the season started, the feelings that had followed the best blow job of his life would have fizzled, replaced by a level of hate that would motivate him to be the best—it didn’t. Not even a little bit. Instead he found himself lining up across from Ilya Rozanov at the faceoff dot having magically acquired x-ray vision—because he could most definitely picture every curve of muscle on his body, and the way his cock glistened with his spit right there under his equipment. He was almost grateful to the MLH for fueling their rivalry, because the only thing that Shane wanted to fuel was Ilya Rozanov’s orgasms. 

He really did think that this was just about the sex, until he was sat at a table in front of reporters and he watched Ilya struggle with the intense English of it all. Suddenly he felt the overwhelming need to protect the man, to make him feel safe there the same way Ilya had done for him in 1410.  

That need to protect him didn’t translate on the ice of the skills competition—Shane was learning more and more about himself, and sharing the ice with Rozanov like this taught him that being competitive with him was part of what turned him on so fucking much. This was a man who was at the top of his game in every area that mattered—on the ice, and in the bedroom. After beating his newly set record, his dick was already hard in his jock, and having to sit only feet away from him on the bench, passing casual banter back and forth felt nearly impossible. Do not cum in your jock strap in front of Scott Fucking Hunter. “1221” Ilya said, skating by him. Fuck. 

By the time he knocked on the door, he was feeling a little more tired than usual, irritable even, and then the fucking man on the other side of the door had the audacity to make him wait in the hallway like an idiot. His blood was boiling when the door finally opened—unfortunately, that meant that it was also pumping right to his cock. He took one look at the cocky fucking face of a smiling Rozanov and he needed to swallow his tongue right then and there. He kicked off his shoes like the polite Canadian lad that he was, and then his mouth was glued to Ilya’s. He felt drunk and dizzy with lust. 

“Get on your knees.”

I’m gonna cum right now, Jesus. He obeyed. He thought that being walked like a fucking dog would have been a turn off, something he would have to fight against—turns out, he had never been more turned on in his damn life. Maybe it was because he had just walked Ilya like a dog on the ice in front of millions who were watching at home on TV, beating him at his own game that made the secret reversal behind closed doors so much hotter. 

Ilya’s jaw dropped at the sight of an obedient Shane Hollander on his knees. He couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough. He needed his hands on him, everywhere. Oh you are a freaky little minx, aren’t you Hollander. If he thought about the possibilities that this was going to open up any longer, he would finish right there in the back of Shane’s throat, so he pulled him up and carried the man to bed—he was ready to worship that cock-sucking-loving god the way he deserved to be. He wanted to fuck him, and he wanted to fuck him hard. “Get on your stomach.” He whispered in his ear, almost kindly, so as not to scare the guy. Shane rolled over reluctantly, and it made Ilya’s heart swell even quicker than his dick—he really did trust him, and something about that felt special. It was a small glimpse into how Shane perceived Ilya, and it was so vastly different than how the world did. Maybe he won’t run away from the rest of me. “Have you ever?” Shane shook his head. “Do you want to?” 

Shane was about as good at hiding his fear as he was at hiding his newfound love of being bossed around in the sack. Ilya wasn’t going to push it. When Shane turned around and met his gaze, looking as sweet and nervous as ever, and explained to him his lack of desire to turn into a sex-sound white noise machine for Scott Hunter next door, it was something that Ilya could respect. 

“Okay, next time.” I can’t wait for next time. I hope there are a million next times. 

“Next time?” Shane asked. I think I like you a little too much to keep having a next time. 

“We play in Montreal in two weeks.” 

“Yeah, but…where are we going to meet?” You can’t fuck me in the arena! 

“You are homeless?” Shane shook his head and Ilya continued. “Then I come to your house and…”

“It’s an apartment.” Shane clarified. 

Ilya was delighted by this man’s increasing stress level. You are so precious, Hollander. “Hollander, you are having panic attack. It’s just a plan to fuck.” It’s just a plan to fuck… for the first time. So I can do it again and again and again after that. Shane nodded, and Ilya’s lips were back on his, his tongue sliding right between his lips where it belonged. 

“Let’s go to the shower.” Shane said, when things were turning hot and heavy again. “The water will drown out the sounds.” 

Ilya smiled into another kiss. “Ah, yes. You are very loud for fifteen seconds it takes you to cum.”

“Fuck you.” Shane said, already heading in the direction of the bathroom. 

That ass is so beautiful, Ilya thought as he caught up, giving Shane a firm clap on the ass that made him jump. 

This time felt different than the last. It was slower, more passion and less worry—honestly, way more fucking passion than what was warranted for two straight-passing, two-time fuck buddies. I’m fucked, Shane thought as his knees found the floor of the shower. The water cascaded over him as he took Ilya deep, one hand stretching up to play with his pec and his nipple, the way Ilya had done to him—he was nothing if not a quick learner. I’m learning, alright. Learning I’m gayer than a fucking rainbow convention. He moaned around Ilya’s hard cock and the sound that he made shot straight through Shane’s ears and down to his own erection that was about to fucking burst. God, I wish I was allowed to be gay. I want this man’s dick for every meal. 

The view of Shane on his knees, with the hot water forcing the blush that usually lived only on his cheeks beneath his freckles to new places all over his body, was enough to kill him right there in the shower. He would die a happy man. Shane was high from his victory in the skills competition, and if losing to that man meant enjoying this view of Shane utterly destroying his dick, he would happily wave the white flag every game before the puck even dropped. He was breathtakingly beautiful, and the feeling of his warm mouth on his dick was the thing that had gotten him off solo session after solo session over the last few months. It was safe to say that Shane Hollander and his stunning freckles, with his rock hard body and cock, precious smile, and perfect mole-dotted balls to match, were living rent free in his mind. I want to hold those nuts. I want to taste that dick. He was going to cum, and he knew Shane well enough already to know that he would not be ready to take it. He ran his fingers through his hair to pull him off, and this time he was surprised when Shane’s hand came up to grab his cock, stroking him furiously until Ilya came all over his chin and chest. The water washed it away before it could freak him out. Add that to the fucking spank bank. 

Ilya pulled Shane up from his knees and attacked his mouth with the kind of ferocity that Shane already knew would have him coming back for more. He had no idea how an eighteen year old boy could kiss with such vigor without making Shane feel like his mouth was just there to fuck his tongue into—it wasn’t that at all. Ilya’s kisses were filled with a kind of passion and fire that radiated through Shane like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was the only feeling in the world that rivalled lighting the lamp on the ice, and Shane chased those feelings in equal measure. “Fuck, Rozanov.” Shane whispered in his ear as he moved his kisses from his mouth down to his jaw, to his neck, at the same time his hand found his cock, throbbing and untouched for too long. “Fuck.” He breathed again, and then Ilya was kissing his way down his chest, stopping at his nipples to give them a little love and attention. The swirl of his tongue against it had him seeing colors. I’ve been with too many girls to have never sucked a nipple. The thought snuck in. Fuck, I must have been so dissappointing. He wouldn’t be disappointing now—now that he attended the College of Ilya Rozanov, majoring in Tongue Fucking, with a minor in Male Titty Squeezes. Fuck, Shane. Focus. If you think of Professor Rozanov you’re going to cum before he even gets down there. And then he was down there. “Yes.” Shane moaned. 

Ilya’s hands pulled Shane in from behind his strong thighs, taking him right to the back of his throat as Shane moaned. He could tell that he was about to cum in record time. Fuck Hollander, you are all about beating records tonight. He slowed down, teasing the tip with slow, strong licks across his slit, tasting the precum before it could be washed away. His hands moved to his balls then, cupping them like he had months earlier, reacquainting himself with just another perfect part of the Hollander anatomy that his mind wandered too all day and night. He let go of his dick, to move further south, taking one of his balls in his mouth while his hand moved down to work his cock. 

“Jesus.” Shane muttered.

Ilya grinned, looking up at him as he released one ball from his mouth with an exaggerated pop. He winked at him before taking the other into his mouth, his tongue moving around it like it was a fucking lolipop—and then his tongue felt it again, the mole that he had only pictured in his mind based off the grazes of his thumbs months earlier. He wanted to meet that mole and give it all of the love that it deserved. He pulled back to investigate, his smile faltering when he saw only the smooth, ever-perfect skin of Shane Hollander’s sack. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit disappointed, so he brought his hands down, giving them a gentle tug before resuming his dick sucking duties. He was only a few deep sucks in before his thumb hit the mole once again, and he pulled back, his thumb still over it this time. What the fuck?

This time, he moved his thumb and forefinger over the spot and he was quick to discover that the mole didn’t live on the surface, but rather beneath it. He rolled it in his fingers, knowing from the simple touch alone that it had grown since the first time he had felt it. I have been jerking off to a pretty mole that didn’t exist. Ilya was just vain enough to have compared the size the last time to the mole on his own face, picturing it right along with the vision of Shane as a whole in his borderline-pornographic jerk off dreams. Whatever it was, it was now more sizeable than the mole he was very familiar with on his own face. “Does this hurt?” He said, suddenly feeling the need to diagnose whatever dick treasure this was. 

“What?” Shane said, a little breathless and confused. 

“This.” Ilya rubbed the small knot between his fingers. 

“My balls?” Shane asked, only slightly annoyed. 

“This.” Ilya said, rubbing harder. 

“Would you just fucking blow me, Rozanov?” Shane said, now fully annoyed. He grabbed the back of Ilya’s head that was still being dazzled by his fucking nut sack, apparently, and pulled it up and towards his cock. Ilya took the bait and took him deep. “Ah fuck. Like that.” Shane said, throwing his head back against the tile. He was feeling a little spicy after Ilya had the nerve to turn his blowjob, fun time into a full on ball-sack investigation, so he was sure to buck into his mouth just enough to remind him what he was supposed to be doing. It took only a few good thrusts, and Shane was coming—once again down the back of Ilya’s throat. “Oh fuck.” He groaned one last time before Ilya finished sucking him dry and came up for another deep kiss, much sloppier now given the slight tremble coursing through Shane’s entire body. 

When their lips finally parted, Ilya’s hands fell naturally back to a now over-sensitive Shane’s junk, his palm once again cradling his balls—and then he was back down on his knees. “Rozanov, I can’t…” 

“I am just looking.” He said, with a face that suggested that Shane might have a third fucking testicle down there. 

Fuck, I might… I haven’t exactly explored them. Monopoly jail rules… do not collect balls. “Can you stop that?” He said, finally turning off the water. 

“I am just…” 

Shane swatted his hand away and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He headed back to the hotel room to collect his things. Maybe he will ask me to stay. Ilya followed him out. 

“Have you always had this?” He asked, not willing to drop it. 

“Have what? Balls?” Shane asked, ever confused by this ball-obsessed Russian. 

“You had bump there last time… It is bigger now, I can feel…” 

“Probably.” Shane cut him off. “I don’t know.” 

Ilya smiled wide now. “What do you mean you do not know?.. You do not touch yourself there?” He joked. 

“No.” Shane said simply. “Not really.” 

That made Ilya’s face drop. Not because he was disappointed that Shane was somehow a better lover for him than he was for himself, but because he knew that Shane would have no fucking clue what was going on down there and if it really was a problem. “Sit.” He said, pointing to the bed. Shane once again obeyed. Oh, Hollander. You freak. “Towel off.” He said, and this time Shane was a little more reluctant, but he unwrapped the towel from around him. Ilya crouched down between his legs. 

Does this man expect me to be ready to be blown again… the thought was cut off when Ilya lifted his now soft dick and wrapped his hand around his sack. What the fuck. “What the fuck?!” Shane said, quickly covering up his member, along with Ilya’s hand with the towel again. “What are you doing, Roza…” 

“Give.” Ilya said, reaching for Shane’s hand. He grabbed it, but Shane pulled it back. Ilya looked up and met Shane’s gaze, he looked scared. Ilya removed his hand and placed his palms gently on Shane’s now-towel covered knees instead. “Hollander, you need to feel… you need to know if whatever this is is growing or changing.” He said seriously. 

“Oh? Are you a doctor now?” Shane joked, instinctively placing one of his hands on Ilya’s. 

“You should go see one.” He said seriously, and just like that, any sexy energy that had been floating around the room had been sucked right out of it faster than Ilya could have sucked him off again. “Please…” He said, slowly moving Shane’s hand. “Give me your hand.” 

He was almost begging, but the softness in his eyes had Shane right back to trusting him wholeheartedly. Ilya guided Shane’s hand to his own balls, starting on the right side. “See, this is smooth.” He grazed his thumbs around the sensitive skin. “But this…” He moved Shane’s hand to the other side.

This is the most embarrassing moment of my fucking life, Shane thought as his hand landed on his own fucking testicle. Ilya moved it for him. But it’s kind of sweet. 

“You feel?” Ilya asked, forcing Shane’s hand to the side of his sack where the lump lived beneath. 

Fuck. I feel. “No.” He lied. Ilya was up and moving towards the bathroom again, and he had an air of frustration to him now. Like this was a fucking inconvenience to him. Like he was ruining his plans for fucking. “Where are you going?” He didn’t answer, instead he came back with a small compact mirror. “Ah, is that for your makeup?

“Shut up Hollander.” He opened the mirror and positioned it to the back side of Shane’s sack around where he had Shane feeling. “Hold.” He said, forcing the mirror into Shane’s hand. Then his hands were back on him. 

You could just leave. This is fucking absurd, Shane thought, but he was also one towel away from the promise of round two, so he wanted to see how this was going to play out. Shane held the mirror where he was asked, as Ilya pulled his fucking nutsack taut behind it. “See… there.” When the skin was tight, and his ball pushed up, he could see the smallest node in the mirror on the backside of his sack. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably always been there.” I hope it’s always been there. He said, moving the mirror. Ilya was annoyed now, more than Shane thought he had the right to be. “You don’t need to worry about it.” 

Ilya stood. “Where is your phone?” Shane just stared at him. “You have phone, yes?” Shane nodded. “Give.” He said, motioning with his hand. 

Shane let out an exasperated sigh and stood to retrieve his phone. Maybe he is going to give me his number. He handed it to Ilya, and a moment later he was crouched back down pointing it at Shane’s dick. “Woah, woah, woah.” He said, quickly covering his junk. 

Ilya swatted his hand away dramatically and grabbed his dick in the most clinical, non-sexual way he had ever been touched. “Hold.” He said, like that was an entirely normal proposition at this point in the evening. For some reason, Shane listened. When it was out of the way, Ilya found that same spot and pulled it taut with one hand as he snapped a photo. 

“I don’t want that on my phone.” Shane said, flaccid dick still in hand. I am never going to be able to get fucking hard with this man again. 

“You need to go get checked.” He tried again. “But if you are idiot, at least now you will see if it changes.” Ilya’s phone pinged on the nightstand then. He handed Shane’s back to him and moved towards his own. 

He was happy to see that his phone screen wasn’t filled with a photo of his balls, but rather a text message to a new contact—Ilya Rozanov. Shane smiled before panicking. “Should we be using our real names?” He wondered aloud, seriously. 

Ilya shrugged. “We are friends.” Then he let out a cheeky smile. “You can delete the messages about your dick in my mouth.” He walked towards Shane and planted another kiss on his lips. “Go to doctor, Shane… like big boy. Then you can have my dick in two weeks like lolipop.”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Will I get a sticker too?” 

“Mmm, yes. Sticker that says I survived Ilya Rozanov’s dick.” 

He laughed again before the idea of his name in his phone forced the fear back up. “You’re sure about the names? What if…”

“Hollander, the league can put us in commercials that say we are enemies… doesn’t mean it is true. I like you. You like me. We are friends. Yes?” Shane shrugged. I mean, do friends suck their friends' dicks? “World will not see two friends on different teams and think…ah yes, they must be fucking.” He got into Shane’s eyeline. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” Shane said, less than convinced. Why the fuck would I live through the embarrassment of going to a doctor, when I already had to fucking live through it here. He's going to give me the damn lolipop no matter what. "Two weeks." He said smiling. 

"Two weeks." 

Chapter 3

Being cock blocked by the weather was a great catalyst for diving head first into more immersive straight-boy training. Because Shane was, after all, not gay. He couldn’t be—the weather just reminded him. Whatever this thing with Ilya “the ball fondling” Rozanov was, was just a blip on the radar of otherwise very clear, super straight, mega-hetero, weather patterns. So he enjoyed the feeling of another man’s dick in his hand, in his mouth—that didn’t mean he was gay. It just meant he had to try harder not to be.

I think I’m super fucking gay. Shane thought around the time of the millionth Ilya text. 

ILYA ROZANOV: How many times can you cum in one hour?

Oh, I’m gay. Shane typed out a message, and then another, and another, before finally hitting send. They had been doing this for over nine months since the All Star Game, and it was always the same shit. Ilya sexting, Shane missing the point, returning the text with just enough gas to keep Ilya going, but never enough to propel him towards his bed. He couldn’t do that anymore. He was too straight. 

He spent his summer building what would be his summer home, just up the road from his parents, all paid for by an entry level contract and the many endorsements that Yuna Hollander had bullied businesses into signing him to using the diversity card—he couldn’t imagine how many more she might wrangle if she knew that his diversity card was actually sexuality-platinum in comparison to the gold card that came with being bi-racial. He stayed just busy enough to forget about the incredible cock-owner that he knew was probably living it up in Moscow. Summer had been busy, and he was tired. Always tired. 

ILYA ROZANOV: Where are we meeting? 

Ilya knew he had him. After almost two years of pursuing the little fucker, he had him. He had learned his tells. He had finally learned how to balance the flirty banter, competitive spirit, and downright filthy texts, and now he had Shane by the fucking balls. I’m sure he got his balls checked, right? He knew he would be in Shane’s bed before the end of the day, because he had finally worn him down. 

When they took to the ice with half hard dicks and not enough fucks to give about the final score, all the pieces seemed to fall back into place for another season—though Ilya clocked the subtle changes in Shane this season too. 

He’d been watching the highlights, he always did, but this season they seemed to be missing something—Shane Hollander. He was on the ice game after game, but he didn’t seem to be the difference maker he had been the season before. Maybe it was the sophomore curse, or maybe he was learning a new system, Ilya wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Shane seemed to be sucking the fucking fun out of their competitive dynamic by being a step behind the play all night, putting Ilya in a position to take the puck instead of finishing his checks. I just want to hit you, Hollander. I want to plant your ass in those boards and touch you. 

When Ilya checked his phone after the game and found an address and a door code, he suddenly didn’t give a shit about their 1-0 loss. He had been waiting nearly ten months to fuck Shane, and the time had finally come. Actually, he’d been waiting to fuck Shane from the moment he laid eyes on him in Saskatchewan. 

He returned to the hotel just long enough to shower again, slip on his tightest, most ass-flattering pants, and a shirt with a V as deep as Mariana’s Trench. When he caught his own grin in the mirror, he was almost ashamed of just how fucking tickled he looked—utterly delighted at the very thought of his lips touching Shane’s once again. 

The uber dropped him off in what could only be described as Jack the Rippers paradise—a dark alley with not a witness in sight. Will he murder me? He was just as tickled to be holding the 4-digit password to Poundtown in his hand. He punched them into the door and came upon a well lit staircase, leading him to the pearly gates of Shane Hollander’s perfectly puckered ass hole. This was his heaven, and he swore he could hear the angels singing. He climbed them to meet his maker, punching the code into another door—the final barrier to entry to Shane’s metaphorical back door. I wonder if he’s inside waiting for me. Naked. 

Shane’s condo was about as bland as Ilya expected—the view of the Montreal skyline really being the only show stopping part of it. Everything else was clean lines and modern lighting. Very Shane Hollander. It was also quiet. Very quiet. As he moved forward in the room, removing his jacket, Shane came into view on the couch—he was sprawled out and asleep. Ilya smiled, continually enchanted by the soft soul that was his Shane. I want you to be mine. 

He had three quality wake-up options and he ran through them quickly in his mind. One, he could suck his dick to oblivion. Two, he could shout directly in his face to scare the fuck out of him. Or three—Ilya sat down slowly on what little piece of couch remained, leaning over Shane, planting a soft kiss on his sleep-soft, relaxed lips. 

Shane’s eyes fluttered open, only to be met with the most beautiful eyes looking down at him. Fuck, did I fall asleep? He looked around, confused. “What time is it?” He asked, instinctively reaching for Ilya’s hand. Gross… what the fuck did I do that for. 

“Just before midnight.” Ilya said softly, squeezing his hand back.

Shit. We probably don’t have much time. Shane smiled up at him. “Good game. Sorry we beat you.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. 

“Ah. Barely.” Ilya said, leaning down to kiss him. I want more of this… but we won’t have time for the other part. “So, where do you want me?” He said, trying to move this along. Not because he wanted to fuck and run, but rather the opposite. He wanted to be close to Shane, he wanted to fuck him, but he also wanted to leave time to take care of him after it was over—he wanted Shane to feel safe and important, and not just like an ass to be fucked. “In the kitchen? On the floor?” He continued. 

Shane huffed a laugh and sat up. “Fuck you.” He kept Ilya’s hand in his as he stood, and Ilya couldn’t help but notice the small wince in his face. He stretched and twisted his torso as he stood, as if he was stiff only three weeks into the season.

“You good?” He asked, trying to stay casual. 

“I’m good.” Shane said, smiling into another kiss now that they were standing eye to eye. He turned and led them up the stairs, his groin pulling in that new unusual way that had presented itself at the start of the season. You’re too young to have soft tissue shit going on. He stood up straighter and picked up the pace, ignoring the pull and everything else. You’re fine. He’s here. 

“Did your mom buy all these pillows?” I’m happy you have a wonderful mother. 

“No.” Shane said, already annoyed and still trying to wake up from his post-game, surprise nap. “I hired someone. A designer.” 

“You think there is enough?” Ilya continued to tease. 

“You’re an asshole.” Shane grinned. 

“I think you like it.” I know you fucking like it. 

You know I fucking like it. “I can smell the cigarettes from here.” He continued. He really did hope he would quit smoking—lung cancer would be a bad way to start a life together. Christ, Shane. You don’t get to fucking start a life together. Slow your roll, dude. 

“Ah.. I had one.” Ilya said, pretending to be annoyed at Shane’s care. 

“You shouldn’t be smoking.” 

“And you shouldn’t be talking.” I can’t take this anymore. “Come here.” 

Shane smiled. “No, you come here.” 

“No. You come here.” 

Jesus Christ, are we going to fucking do this all night? Just as he thought it, Ilya’s lips crashed onto his, and Shane remembered just how perfectly they fit together. He brought his hands up, digging his thumbs into Ilya’s chiseled cheeks, then around his head to pull on his golden curls. Nine fucking months. The thought hit him as he instantly regretted the fucking games they had been playing for the last nine months—well, the game that Shane had been playing. Ilya had done an exceptional job of pursuing Shane, and Shane did an equally excellent job of pretending he liked pussy to avoid venturing further down the path towards Ilya’s cock. It was its own kind of yellow brick road—I think I missed you, most of all, he thought as he deepened their kiss. It was true too, in his many moments of picturing he and Ilya together over the last nine months, they always came back to the kissing. Even if Ilya never touched his dick again, he could survive off his kisses alone—and then Ilya touched his dick, and Shane could hear the gay-angels sing agaib. 

“Yes.” Shane moaned into his mouth, already reaching for the hem of Ilya’s shirt—though he could probably suck his nipples right there, the V of his shirt plunging halfway to his fucking treasure trail. He ripped it up and over his head, his lips landing on his chest again and again. 

Ilya returned the favor, pulling Shane’s hoodie and shirt over his head. Fuck, I missed you Hollander. He had a strong desire to just slow down, so he didn’t dip back in for another kiss, instead, he reached out his hand, and when Shane accepted it he led him to the bed. He threw off the first two layers of unnecessary, bullshit, privileged-people pillows, before he guided Shane down to the bed—and then he kissed him. 

Ilya kissed, and kissed, and kissed—slow and reverent. He wanted to worship this man, and plaster ever inch of him with the warm kisses that he deserved. He kissed his lips, his jaw, down his neck to his chest, and then he kept going. He kissed his waist, and his hip, down to his dick, never in a hurry to remove his pants. He kept going, kissing down his clothed thighs, to his knees, his calves. He kissed him down to his toes. Just a hundred small, wet kisses, to wake up every nerve in Shane’s beautiful body. 

By the time the last nerve had been kissed, Shane’s cock was throbbing. He found himself reaching for his own waistband, pulling down his pants just as quickly as the slow pace Ilya had set allowed. I need your skin on mine. “Pants.” Shane said, gesturing to Ilya’s. 

Ilya smiled sweetly. “Needy, Hollander.” He teased. 

Shane rolled his eyes, a little embarrassed. “I mean… yeah.” He didn’t deny it. “It’s been awhile.” 

The casual comment got Ilya’s mind reeling. It has? It hadn’t been for Ilya. He had slept his way through every piece of ass that Moscow clubs had to offer that summer. Shit, they were all women. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. It had never been easy to hook up with men in Moscow, given the white-murdery-men-in-cloaks-at-town-square vibes the entire country gave off in regards to gay men and women—but it was always possible. Especially when you’re Ilya Rozanov. He had had no desire to sample anymore dicks—he’d already made his decision, and that decision was erect and full, sitting on Shane Hollander’s lower abdomen. “Mmm saving it for me, Hollander?” He groaned into his mouth as he worked off his own pants. 

“No…” Shane tried. “I mean, I guess… I don’t really go out.” He tried again. 

Ilya stopped. “Shane Hollander, have you not had sex in…”

“Shut up.” Shane shot back. 

Wait, maybe this isn’t just first time with man.. maybe… Ilya softened his voice. “Hollander, have you ever?… with anyone?” 

Shane shook his head, clearly embarrassed. You’re a fucking loser. You’re nineteen fucking years old and famous. 

Ilya smiled again, clearly not deterred. “We will go slow, okay?” He said, and Shane believed him. He leaned down, now fully naked, his cock rubbing against Shane’s as he plastered Shane’s face and neck with more wet kisses. “You still want?” He asked, hovering over a very nervous Shane. I could just do this all day, sex or not. 

“I still want.” Shane said, mocking Ilya’s accent playfully. 

Ilya kissed him once more and then Shane was moving again, rolling over to open the nightstand. I hope I ordered the right things. I’ll have to cancel that subscription if I didn’t. “Ah, you think this will be enough?” Ilya teased when he pulled out the strip of condoms. 

“Fuck you.” Shane said, resting back against the pillows. 

He looked so soft. So tired. So damn beautiful. Can’t wait. Ilya smiled into another kiss, no longer able to pretend that he was anything but ecstatic about the prospect of where his dick was about to be in twenty minutes. He looked at Shane, and kissed him one more time, then looked back at him again, almost looking for permission to continue. Shane’s wandering eyes told him everything he wanted to know. You are such a prude, Hollander. Ilya kissed his chest, then his nipple, then his stomach, all on the path to his dick—to his hole. 

Ilya stayed at his dick only long enough to kiss it softly a few times, before his attention moved lower. He reached for the lube, slicking his fingers before gently circling Shane’s hole—just enough to once again ask for permission. Shane’s moan was permission granted. Ilya only lasted for ten seconds before his insistent need to use his mouth and tongue the way gay-god and bi-Jesus intended kicked in. He scooted down the bed and breathed a hot breath against Shane’s hole, before moving in for the kill. He licked across it once, his tongue wide and flat—but he needed more. He reached up to grip Shane’s thighs and push them up, giving him better access to his dinner—but the restaurant closed the moment he heard Shane’s next groan, more a painful shout. 

The pain shot through Shane’s back and abdomen like a lightning strike, immediately putting an end to any kind of electric pleasure he’d been feeling before that. His legs slammed back down unintentionally, nearly kicking Ilya’s jaw in the process. This is so fucking embarrassing. The pain lingered, and Shane pushed himself up the headboard, trying to brush it off. “Come here.” He said, reaching for Ilya in an attempt to pull him back in. 

“What was that?” Ilya said, sitting back on his heels instead, his hard cock not catching up to the newfound, not even a little bit sexual, tension in the room. 

“Nothing. Come here.” Shane tried again, this time he was leaning forward to reach for him. 

“Hollander… I’m not doing this.” Ilya said, now backing himself right off the bed. He was moving to find his clothes. 

What the hell. No, please. “Please come back. I’m fine…” Ilya shot him a look that said you’re a fucking MLH All-Star designed to hide pain and push through, and you just shouted out loud in pain. “My back and stomach have just been bugging me… probably a pinched nerve or something.” 

Ilya had a thought then—a terrible and dark thought. For nine months they had text back and forth, waiting for this night. The whole time, Ilya had assumed that Shane was taking care of himself. Sure, he was bad at taking care of himself in Russia—his mental health in a consistent downward spiral while his alcohol intake rose. That was just summer. But Ilya expected better of Shane, and he wondered now if the nervous and scared boy he had begun to fall for was too fucking nervous and scared to see a fucking doctor. He didn’t go get checked. 

He stopped the attempt to get dressed and looked back at Shane on the bed. Without a word, he crawled up towards him, and he could tell from the look on Shane’s face that he thought he had won the battle—he didn’t. Ilya’s mission had changed from eating ass to inspecting balls, and his heart was pounding equally hard for both missions. “Did you see doctor?” He asked. 

“You know they…”

“I know team doctor goes through broad questions, yes. Did you do tests. Did you tell them about lump?” 

Shane could see where this was going, and he brought his knees up and together. “No.” Ilya said, pushing them down and to the side with a force that was no longer sexy, and no longer asking for permission. He reached out a hand to cup Shane’s balls. How fucking romantic, Ilya thought before his face dropped, because it took less than a second for him to feel the difference that nine months of no medical care had made. No—well over a year of no medical care. Who knows how long that mole-mistakable lump had been there before then. 

There was no way to describe the feeling—his left nut was now just hard. One nearly-solid mass that felt out of place compared to its still soft and tender counterpart. It felt physically heavy in Ilya’s hands, and he wondered how the fuck Shane couldn’t feel that change in his own body. It had to have been uncomfortable. He knows this is fucking worse. Ilya pressed above his pelvis then, and up on his lower stomach. He clocked the small wince on Shane’s face. 

“Shane..” Ilya said, and it had some bite in it. A far cry from the sexiness that was Ilya uttering his last name in a state of bliss. “You fucking idiot.” He said, ripping himself off the bed again, and Shane knew playtime was over. “So you want to just die? Yes?” Ilya said, pulling on his boxers at record speed. 

“What? No.” Shane said, cowering against the headboard. He pulled a blanket over his junk. “We can…”

Ilya stopped midway through putting his pants on and shot him a glare. “We are not doing anything, Hollander. I will not hurt you just so you can say you had sex.” 

“Rozan…”

“No. You can go lose virginity to doctor, Hollander. He is only person who should touch you right now.” 

“Ilya…” Shane tried, having never said his first name out loud. Ilya gave him the space to fill the silence, eyebrows raised—but Shane didn’t actually have anything to say. He took a deep breath. “Can you please just… stay?” It came out a bit choked, like the request took a lot out of him. 

Ilya pulled on his shirt and came to the edge of the bed. He reached for Shane’s hand and kissed it. I just need you alive. “Move over.” Ilya said softly, nudging Shane. 

“But this is my side…” Shane started before he could filter. You’re so fucking annoying. He started to shift, but Ilya was already laughing under his breath and moving to the other side. “Could you…” he pointed to his boxers on the floor, too embarrassed to even stand up and grab them himself. We can’t fuck now… this can’t be the story of my first time. 

Ilya stopped and grabbed the boxers, and while Shane put them on he noticed that Ilya was taking his own clothes off again, leaving only his underwear. He pulled the covers over and crawled in the bed, lying on his side and looking up at Shane. Shane followed his lead and laid down facing him, the familiar tug in his groin returning as he did. Ilya reached his hand up and grazed a thumb across Shane’s freckles, holding face in his hand. “Why did you not get checked, Shane?” He asked seriously, but kindly. 

Shane shrugged as best he could. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“What is? Being sick?” 

I’m not fucking sick. “I’m not sick.” He said, trying to defend himself. 

“You don’t know that.” Shane rolled onto his back and stared up to the ceiling. “It is more embarrassing to have balls played with by doctor, or die nineteen year old virgin?” He joked—but there was too much truth to it. Shane didn’t respond, and his eyes never left the ceiling. “Do your parents know?” 

That made Shane look at him—he looked at him like he was the dumbest mother fucker on the planet. “Yeah, Rozanov… I told my mom and asked her to fucking look at my nuts.” 

Ilya laughed, but it wasn’t funny. None of this was. He was genuinely worried about Shane. He got serious again. “You need to tell them. And you need to go to doctor, Hollander.” He was right back to ceiling-staring. “Shane…” Ilya tried again. 

“So if it’s cancer… then what?” He started. 

Fuck… he went right to cancer. Ilya just listened. 

“I am done hockey, before I even get started… and you’re gone. We don’t fucking see each other anymore because we can’t see each other if I’m not fucking traveling to Boston. My team looks at me like I’m a fucking freak, before they even really got to know me…”

“Yes.” Ilya said, simply. “And you live.” He took a breath. “And if it was that serious… we would figure it out, Shane. Illness doesn’t close border.”

“Why do you care so much? You barely know me.” Shane said, his walls up entirely. 

Ilya smiled. “I have a feeling I might know you better than anyone else, Hollander.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “Yeah? Well I don’t think I know you well enough to have you diagnosing me every fucking time we are together.” 

Ilya inched closer and reached his hand up to Shane’s face again, forcing it to turn and meet his gaze. “My mother died when I was twelve.” He took a breath, but never broke eye contact. 

Shane swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “Cancer?” He asked, assuming that’s where this was all coming from. 

Ilya shook his head. “Suicide.” He said simply, and then added, “I found her.” Fuck, that was only seven years ago. Shane turned his body now so he could really look at Ilya. He looked younger all of a sudden, and far more vulnerable. “She didn’t take care of herself.” Ilya continued. “And my father… he is sick.”

“Cancer?” Shane guessed again. Nailed it. 

“No.” Ilya said, almost with a smile. 

Fuck, just shut up Shane, he thought as he did his best to give Ilya his full attention. He hadn’t had conversations this serious with anyone—he was fucking nineteen years old, there hadn’t been a need. He was out of his fucking depth. He didn’t want his balls fondled by a strange doctor, just as much as he didn’t want to act like he knew how to be a comfort to his teenage gay awakening. Get me the hell out of here. 

“Dementia… or something.” Ilya said. Ilya didn’t really know for sure—he just knew that that man’s brains might as well have been thrown in a blender the way they all but leaked out of his body one memory at a time. “He… forgets…” He took a breath. “He is confused, angry.” He looked at Shane. “I don’t like going home. It is not fun place to be.” 

“I’m sorry.” Shane said, and he thought he meant it. He didn’t know what else adults were supposed to say to that kind of admission. 

“Shane… I care because I think you have become important to me. I would like to keep you alive.” Ilya admitted. He playfully squeezed Shane’s leg. “I’m not done with you.”

Oh fuck. “Okay.” Shane said finally. He closed his eyes. “Okay… I’ll go in.” 

“Tomorrow.” Ilya added. 

“Well maybe not…”

“Tomorrow, Hollander.” Ilya said again, more sternly. “Please.” 

“Fine.” 

Ilya leaned in to kiss him, slow and tender. Sex was off the fucking table for the night. The hot sexual tension had been pushed off a fucking cliff by testicle tumors, dead moms, and brain-soup dads—but Ilya and Shane were still stood at the edge of it looking down together, and that somehow felt okay. “I can stay…flight doesn’t leave until morning… if you still want.” 

Shane smiled and leaned in to kiss him. “I still want.”

Chapter 4

The knock on the door came while Ilya poured himself a coffee. He had been sure to set an early alarm with the hopes of spending some time with Shane before he had to be back at the hotel for airport pick up. He anticipated a quiet morning, maybe even a cuddle, followed by a shower blowie before hitting the road. Instead he woke up to an alarm that didn’t even cause an exhausted Shane to stir, so he made himself a coffee, and proceeded to panic at the sound of the knocking. 

He was grateful he made the choice to get dressed before heading down, because before he could even attempt to hide, he heard the sound of the door code being punched in. Who the fuck is showing up at his house before 8:00am? He made the choice to just act casual—as casual as a large, bisexual Russian man who was pouring coffee at his fuck-buddy-rivals condo the morning after a failed attempt at ass fucking, sabotaged only by a potential teste-tumor and dead mom talk, could be. 

“Morning, honey.” The voice said, setting grocery bags on the floor. 

Oh Hollander, please tell me your mom does not do your grocery shopping. “Morning.” Ilya said instead, forgetting entirely that his already scary, low morning voice, came with a Russian accent that may raise questions before her eyes even landed on him. 

“Jesus Christ.” She said, hand landing over her heart that he was sure was pounding out of her chest as much as his was. Her face did something confusing as she realized who was standing in front of her. “Oh… hi.” She said, not taking off her jacket or making any kind of forward motion that would suggest she felt safe in his presence. 

“Coffee?” He offered, trying to lighten the mood. What the fuck am I supposed to do right now? 

Why the fuck is Ilya Rozanov acting like a barista in my sons kitchen? “Sure.” She said, taking a cautious step into the room. She looked around, clearly searching for Shane. “Where is my son?” She asked finally. 

“Sleeping.” Ilya said simply, wondering if that would be a normal thing to know. “We, uh… we were supposed to go for…” He couldn’t seem to come up with a good enough lie to explain why on earth he was there serving coffee the night after a game. “He is sleeping.” He tried again. 

“Ah.” She said, sceptically, as she finally settled on a stool at the island. Ask questions before he can. 

Ask questions before she can. “Maybe you want to wake him?” He asked at the same time his mother spoke. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Ouf. Please save me, Hollander. “We, uh…we just hung out last night. I fell asleep here… on couch.” He lied. “We are… friends.” He decided. 

“Hmm.” She said, still skeptical. “He never told me you are friends…” 

Ilya shrugged. Yeah, and he never told me his mother would be interrupting our fucking booty call.

“Mom?” Ilya heard from the stairs. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of his mother and his…Rozanov…standing at the same island. “You’re early.” He said, moving a little quicker down the stairs. 

Yuna looked at her watch. “I’m actually late.” 

Shane looked at his. Fuck. Why am I so fucking tired. He had slept in. “Shit. Sorry, mom… I can shower and we can…”

“Or you could come have a seat and explain to me why Ilya Rozanov is in your house at 8:00am, making coffee.” She offered instead. I feel like this is something David should be here for. She looked at him as he settled in the stool next to him, Rozanov already pouring him a coffee. 

“Morning.” Ilya said, just above a whisper. 

Shane just nodded in his direction, both a thank you and a good morning. 

“Well…” Yuna prompted again. Shane gave the back of his neck a good squeeze, the stress radiating out of him. This is the worst day of my fucking life. It took all of three seconds and a single stolen glance between Shane and Ilya for Yuna to clock what was going on. “Oh…” She nodded. Oh. Oh boy. Oh fuck. She looked between them—at the shit eating grin on Ilya’s face, and the look of sheer terror on her sons. “For how long?” 

“Fuck me.” Shane muttered under his breath. 

Yuna rolled her eyes. “How long, Shane?” 

“Last fall.” He admitted. 

Ilya was annoyed. He shook his head and looked Yuna in the eye. This mother fucker is underselling my hard work. “It was before then. Summer. The commercial shoot.” 

Yuna nodded, seemingly unfazed. “Okay… so, you’re…” She pointed between them. 

“Gay.” Shane said, out loud. What the fuck are you doing?! Do you even fucking know that for sure?! He glanced at Ilya who was still wearing a devilish smile—actually, it was almost proud this time. Oh I fucking know.

Yuna let out a small laugh. “I was going to say together, but thank you for confirming.” 

“Oh…” Shane said, still looking at Ilya. “Well…” He swallowed hard. “We aren’t together… really.” Are we together? 

“For record, I am not gay.” Ilya said, and he looked as if he thought that this was all quite funny. This is fucking terrifying. “I am…” He looked at Yuna and hesitated, not knowing for sure if he could trust her. He looked down at Shane who was now exchanging a look with his mother, and it looked like a look of understanding and love—he decided he could be as brave as Shane today. “I like both.” He said softly. 

You better not break my little boys fucking heart, you fucking Russian asshole. “Hmm.” Yuna said, clearly not a fan of that news. 

“Mom…” Shane began. 

“Do you trust him?” She said, her eyes looking less understanding, and more like she suddenly hated Russian men. “I thought you two hated each other.” 

“I trust him.” Shane said, quicker than anything he’d said before. He looked back at Ilya and smiled. “We, uh… he’s a good guy, mom. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

She nodded. “Does that mean he’s going to be around…how the hell is this going to work?” 

Shane looked down at his hands, wrapped around a steaming mug with an iron grip. “I don’t know. We haven’t really…” 

“I’ll be around.” Ilya said, with so much confidence it pierced right through Shane’s heart. Please let me be around. 

Holy fuck. My career is going to be over. He better be fucking worth it. Shane’s hands brushed over his face. He was suddenly really fucking stressed. 

Yuna must have sensed the tension building again. “Rozanov, when do you have to leave today?” She asked, her voice less maternal, and more break my kids heart and I will fucking murder you in the Jack the Ripper paradise out back. 

“Ilya.” He corrected. She’s actually going to murder me. “I have to be back at hotel in an hour.” 

Yuna reached out and rubbed a slow circle on Shane’s back. “Do you want me to call your dad? He’s at the hotel. Maybe we introduce him to Rozanov…” She looked at him. “…To Ilya, and we talk this out before he has to leave?” 

Shane just nodded before dropping his forehead to the counter, trying to remember to breathe. “Fuck.” He muttered again. “What the fuck is happening right now?” That was meant to be an inside thought.

Ilya reached over the island and gave Shane’s arm a firm squeeze. “I think this is good, Hollander.” He glanced at Yuna who was offering him the smallest smile. Ah… you like this? No murder if I am kind to him? His hand went from a squeeze to a nice grazing of the skin, something calming to ground him. “World doesn’t need to know, Shane. But your parents love you.” Right? He thought, looking at Yuna. I hope his father is same way. My father would kill me. “I think we are safe with them.” Yuna nodded, and so did Shane. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Shane said, almost a whisper. 

“Hollander, we are teenagers with weird job. You are gay… is not big deal.” Ilya said softly, hand still grazing his arm gently. “Better they know now than lie for years…just because hockey won’t like it. The lying might kill you.” He continued. I should know, it’s been killing me for fucking years in Russia. 

Fuck, my balls. How is this all happening at the same fucking time. He finally lifted his head and turned to his mom who had just wrapped up a text to David, inviting him to join them. Lying might kill you… yeah… or maybe I’ll already be fucking dead before anyone can find out. “Mom, I need you to make me an appointment.” You should probably learn how to do that. 

Ilya huffed a laugh. She books his appointments too. Fucking Hollander. She couldn’t even ask for what before Shane was talking again. Fuck, Hollander. Bravery is fucking hot on you. 

“My, uh…” He looked down to his crotch. Oh fuck it. You already came out of the closet, what’s one more embarrassing fucking thing on a Tuesday morning. “I think there is something wrong… down there.” He slammed his eyes shut, as if the embarrassment would cease to exist if he couldn’t see the words land. 

“Oh…” Yuna looked at Ilya first. “We should get you tested, both of you.” She started. “This is totally normal, it happens… but…”

“Ew, mom. No!” Shane shot back. 

“I’m negative.” Ilya shrugged, and Shane’s brows furrowed in his direction. “What? I got tested last week before…”

“No.” Shane said, stopping his line of thinking. “I mean thank you, but no…” He turned to his mom. “This isn’t about…” He looked down at his hands again. “Sex..” He said as quietly as possible through gritted teeth. “It’s my…” He paused—for way too fucking long. 

“He has big lump in ball.” Ilya said, once again a little too confidently for a man who had just been busted by his fuck buddies mom. 

“Ilya…” Shane said, looking and sounding like an angry toddler. 

Ilya looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Hollander, you outted me to your mom.” He gestured to her. “I think I get pass on this one.” 

Yuna saved Shane from having to fill the silence. “For how long?” 

“January.” Shane lied. 

“Is not true.” Ilya said again. Would you just fuck off, Rozanov? Shane thought, but he didn’t stop him. “Since October. At least. Was small then… Now it's big. Very big.” He was making hand gestures that Shane didn’t fucking appreciate—but his mom seemed to. 

“Can I see?” Yuna asked, nonchalantly. 

Shane gawked at his mom, not even sure what the hell to say. Are you fucking nuts?! “What the fuck, mom. No…”

“First of all…” She began. “Watch the language… Second of all, I’ve seen them a million times, Shane. This isn’t…”

“Normal? This isn’t normal mom! Showing your mom your nineteen year old fucking balls…”

“Language, Shane.” Ilya said through a laugh. 

“Shut up.” Shane replied to Ilya, his eyes never leaving Yuna. “It’s not normal to show your mom your balls.” 

She shrugged, clearly annoyed. “It’s not normal to sleep with your Russian rival, and not bother to tell your parents despite the fact they are staying in a hotel across the street and have breakfast plans with you the next morning… but here we are.” 

“Hello…” They heard from the doorway, just in time for Shane to shout, “I’m not showing you my fucking balls, mom!” 

David approached much less cautiously than Yuna had, already extending a hand to shake Ilya’s. “David.” He said calmly. 

“Ilya.”

David nodded before clapping Shane on the back. “Well, I’m not sure what could be weirder than walking into my son's place on a Tuesday morning to see Ilya Rozanov… but tell me more about these balls you don’t want to show your mother and we will see where the day takes us…” He looked around at the various confused faces around the room, ranging from a concerned Yuna, to a smiling Russian, to his sons, which looked like he could simply pass away at any moment. “Does someone want to catch me up?” 

Somehow, Ilya was the first to jump in. He pointed to Shane. “Gay.” He said simply. Then to himself. “Bisexual.” 

“Together?” David added, pointing between the two. Shane and Ilya looked at each other and shrugged in sync before nodding. David nodded back, not giving a single feeling away. What a fucking romantic way to confirm we might be together, Shane thought. This is a fucking nightmare. “And the balls?” David asked. 

“I need to make an appointment.” Yuna said. 

“You don’t make your own appointments yet?” David asked, looking at Shane a little disappointed. 

“Oh my God…” Shane started, and Yuna interjected as she looked at her phone. 

“So what do you need? Family doctor? Urologist?” She was scrolling, looking for information. 

“I don’t know, it’s… like a tumor? Maybe?” Shane said quietly. 

The room fell silent, and David made his way to Shane. “Stand up.” Shane looked at him, exhausted from the last ten minutes of hell. “Come here.” He said again, arms open wide, waiting for his boy to land in them. 

Shane stood reluctantly, allowing his dad to hug him. “Dad, I’m not a doctor. It could be nothing…”

David shook his head. “We will get to that.” He squeezed him a little harder. “I’m proud of you, buddy.” He said quietly in his ear. “He’s good to you?” He said, even quieter. Shane nodded against his shoulder. He let Shane go. “Your family is good with this, Ilya?” He asked, turning to face him. 

Ilya smiled. “Uh, no. My country is not good with this…” 

David nodded. “Okay…” He looked at Shane, then to Yuna and Ilya. “Yuna, don’t book the appointment.” He looked at Shane. “Let’s make some calls to your team doctor and start there. He will be able to get the referrals you need.” He looked at Ilya. “Rozanov, you’re safe with us here, okay? We will keep a lid on this until we can figure out a plan… but if he trusts you, we trust you. Okay?” Ilya nodded. “Now… this tumor thing...” He looked back at Shane. “Is this serious?” 

“I don’t know.” Shane started, but Ilya already knew he’d be quick to brush it off. 

“It’s serious.” He said, before Shane could finish. You aren’t going to die because you’re stubborn, Hollander. 

“Alright.” David said, reaching out his hand to Ilya. “Give me your phone.” Ilya handed it over without question, and David took it and started typing. He handed it back. “You have our numbers now. We will get yours added, and we can keep you in the loop with whatever happens if Shane isn’t able to.” He looked at Shane. “Okay?” 

Shane nodded. How the fuck did forgetting about breakfast plans turn into this. “The league can’t know…”

Yuna reached out for his hand as he sat back down. Oh, my boy. “They don’t have to.”

“How the fuck are they not going to know?” Shane continued, his voice almost shaky from his heart hammering in his chest. 

Yuna shrugged. “You’re early in your careers, sweetheart. The league has marketed you two as rivals, but that narrative really doesn’t exist within the league, does it? Other guys have friends on other teams all the time, right?” 

“Yes.” Ilya answered for him. 

“Exactly. So, you two are friends until you’re ready to say otherwise.” Shane let out a giant sigh, and didn’t seem convinced by any of this. His head found the island again. “Honey, if it was later in your careers it would be harder to change the narrative and hide this… but you two haven’t established yourself as enemies yet. You’re still rookies in this league… you can show them whatever you want them to see.” 

“We could get friendship bracelets, Hollander.” Ilya joked. I would totally wear one. 

Shane let out a small laugh and lifted his head. “I’m scared.” 

“Of which part?” David asked softly. 

“I don’t know…of my own fucking identity.” Shane admitted. “What if they find out about me, and then hockey is just gone.” He closed his eyes and thought about his balls. Stupid fucking balls. “Or what if I’m fucking sick, and I can’t even play anymore.” 

Nobody knew what to say, so instead, Ilya moved around the island and found a place next to Shane. “Come here.” He said, reaching out to grab his arm. Shane went willingly this time, as Ilya wrapped him in a hug. “It will be okay.” He squeezed him a little harder and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “We will figure this all out. Okay, Hollander?” 

“Okay.” 

Just look ahead. Say nothing. Don’t fuck this up. David had refused to let Ilya take an Uber back to the hotel, so now Ilya was trapped in a small SUV, with his blowjob-buddy’s dad, after not only revealing to the poor guy that his son had an appreciation for Russian cock, but also that his balls were all kinds of fucked up. What a Tuesday. 

“He’s going to undersell what’s happening to him.” David said finally, glancing at Ilya. “You’ve seen them, obviously, right?” 

Yes, David Hollander. I’ve fondled your son’s balls and swallowed his cum like it was champagne. “Yes.” Ilya said instead. 

“So how bad is it?” David continued. 

Ilya let out a breath. Fuck. “Uh… lump was small. On left side… last fall. And then bigger at All-Star Game.” 

“Is that where you hook up?…” David asked quickly. “Fuck, sorry. Never mind.” He said, brushing off the question. 

Ilya laughed. “Yes.” He said, not bothering to hide anything at this point. “And in our cities. We have only been together couple times…”

“That’s it?” David asked, seemingly forgetting about his son’s balls. 

Ilya shrugged and nodded. “Yes.” 

“But this is… serious?” He asked, almost confused. 

Ilya huffed a small laugh. “I care about your son. He is…” He looked out the window and thought about how he wanted to say this. He will think I am fucking crazy if I tell him I love him. “I have not been with other man since him. He is… special.” That will do. 

“But if it turns out that he is sick… what then?” 

Ilya looked at him now, almost insulted. “Then I will be there.” It really was that simple. He told Shane that he needed him to be alive, and that was the truth. If he could help him stay alive in anyway, he would be there. 

“That’s a lot for a nineteen year old kid.” David added. 

“Ah…” Ilya began, looking back out the window. “I have not been kid for very long time.” 

David nodded and didn’t push him for more information or clarification. “So this lump…” He tried again. 

“It is huge now. I told him in January to get checked, but I think he is embarrassed… and then last night he…” He shouted in pain before I could fuck him. “He has pain in back and stomach.”

“Okay.” David said simply, as he pulled up to Ilya’s team hotel. Ilya turned to open the door, but David’s hand landed on his arm before he could. “Hey… thank you.” He smiled then. “You know what’s funny?.. we always come to the Boston-Montreal games, because he always seemed so nervous about them last season. We thought it was just the pressure of your rivalry… and the intensity of it all.” He looked at Ilya. “I guess we maybe misread the situation a little bit.”

Ilya smiled. “Ah, no. He was nervous… maybe just for different reason.” He joked. “Thank you for being good about this.” He added. “I’m not sure I’d be so lucky.” 

David frowned. “It’s not luck… it’s just what you boys deserve.” 

I never should have let him see my fucking balls… how the fuck did I let him see them one fucking time and now what?… I have fucking ball-disease and a boyfriend? How the fuck did this happen? Shane thought as he took what felt like his final steps towards the worst day of his life, down the hall of their team doctors private clinic. We didn’t even fucking clarify what we were to each other. He’s going to go fuck someone who’s balls aren’t fucking defective before the end of the day. 

“Right in here, Shane.” Dr. Jarvis said, gesturing into his office. 

Shane entered behind him and sat in the chair next to the examination table, not willing to fully commit to what was to come. He had never been here, but it resembled any other doctor’s office he’d ever been in. 

From what he could tell, Jarvis was a good dude. He’d only met him for his annual physical—the kind that kept your MLH insurance going, and not the kind that involved much beyond a handful of questions, and absolutely no nutsack attacks. Jarvis was relatively young, and nameless beyond the nickname Doc that every team doctor seemed to have. The idea of a team doctor was still a little bit foreign to Shane—he knew that he was always present on game day, and he took care of everything from the prenatal care of the WAGs, to injury diagnosing and baseline management. Shane had been lucky to avoid him this long. 

He sat down on the wheely stool in front of him, his arms looking ripped in a plain black t-shirt, his legs strong in dark wash jeans—Shane had clearly interrupted him on his day off. He was also, as Shane was noticing now, very attractive. He was probably in his early forties, with salt and pepper hair starting at the temples. He wore a wedding ring, but aside from that the clinic offered no other insights into his personal life. I can’t believe this guy is going to be looking at my fucking nuts. I’m so glad my parents fucked off back to Ottawa. 

It was with much convincing, and excellent tag teaming with David, that Shane was able to get Yuna Hollander the fuck out of Montreal for this. He couldn’t escape the embarrassing phone call to Dr. Jarvis that she insisted on making on his behalf—likely due to her utter disbelief in Shane’s abilities to functionally adult without her. Fair. If there was one thing that Shane was sure of, it was that he never needed to hear his mother mention his testicles ever again. 

“So, your mom mentioned you have some concerns about your…” Dr. Jarvis was grinning. 

“About my junk, yes.” Shane finished for him. 

“You have a lump there? That’s grown?” Shane nodded, and Jarvis was now opening a file on the computer, beginning to type. “When did you first notice it?” 

“October.” 

“Okay, so recent.” He was typing. 

“Last October.” Shane corrected. 

He stopped typing. “Okay… did you mention it to another medical provider?” Shane shook his head, and Jarvis was back to typing. “Okay, and it’s grown?” Shane nodded. “How much?” 

Shane pulled out his phone. “I have a picture, actually.” 

Jarvis nodded. “Okay, I’ll have a look when I do the examination if I need to.” He looked back at Shane. “Any pain? In the testicle or otherwise?” 

Fuck. “Yeah.” Shane admitted. “My, uh… my back, and stomach sometimes hurt. When I love a certain way.” 

Jarvis just nodded. “Any night sweats?” 

Shane hadn’t thought about it, but he realized now that he’d been showering more often in the morning before heading to the rink. He honestly thought it was more of a new superstition and routine that he had developed, but he realized now that it might have been to wash the sweat off his body. “Uh… yeah, actually. I think maybe?” 

Jarvis nodded again, typing again. “Fatigue?”

Shane nodded. Fuck. 

“Alright.” Jarvis said, pushing away from the computer. “I can step out. I want you to throw on that gown on the bed, and I’ll come back in and have a look. Sound good?” 

Sounds fucking awful. Shane nodded and watched as Jarvis stepped out of the room. He removed his clothes in record time, being sure to fold them neatly, sandwiching his boxers in between the pants and tshirt bread, as if the boxers were somehow the embarrassing part of this experience. He slipped on the gown, and sat on the examination table. 

Dr. Jarvis returned a minute later after knocking lightly on the examination room door.

“Ready?”

Shane let out a humourless laugh. No. “Sure.”

“Alright.” Jarvis offered him an easy smile before rolling the stool closer. “Go ahead and lie back for me, Shane.”

Shane eased himself onto the examination table, every muscle in his body tense. He stared at the ceiling tiles, trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t about to have another attractive, grown man inspect the most embarrassing part of his anatomy twice in less than twenty-four hours. At least Ilya could kiss them. 

Jarvis washed his hands, pulled on a pair of gloves, and spoke as he worked. “I’m going to examine your abdomen first, then your groin and testicles. If anything is uncomfortable, let me know.”

“Everything about this is uncomfortable.” He groaned. Fuck, more inside thoughts escaping. Is that a symptom of cancer too?

“I meant physically.”

“…Right.” Shane said, already blushing. 

Jarvis smiled to himself before resting gentle hands against Shane’s abdomen. He pressed methodically, working from one side to the other.

“Any pain here?”

“No.”

“And here?”

Shane winced. “Little bit.”

Jarvis nodded, making a mental note before continuing lower. “What about here?”

“Yeah… that one’s worse.”

Without commenting, he finished the abdominal examination before lifting the gown that covered Shane’s junk. “I’m going to examine the right side first.” Shane swallowed and stared even harder at the ceiling. 

The right testicle was examined quickly. “This side feels normal.” Jarvis moved to the left. Almost immediately, Shane felt the difference in his hands. He slowed. His expression didn’t change dramatically—years of medicine had clearly taught him how to hide surprise—but there was a subtle shift in his focus that was impossible to miss. Oh shit. He spent several long moments carefully palpating the enlarged testicle, feeling around the borders of the mass before tracing gently upward, feeling parts of Shane that he had never even bothered to explore himself. 

“Does that hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“And when I press here?”

Shane sucked in a breath. “…Yeah.”

Jarvis compared both sides again before examining the lymph nodes in Shane’s groin. When he was finished, he peeled off his gloves and sat quietly for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

Shane hated the silence. “So…” he finally said. “How bad?”

Jarvis rested his forearms on his knees. “Shane, I can’t make a diagnosis from the physical examination alone. We need imaging before I can say exactly what we’re dealing with.” Shane nodded once. “But…” There it is. “…I am concerned.”

“Okay…”

“I’m concerned that this is a testicular tumour.”

Shane stared at him. “So… cancer?”

“I don’t know that yet.” Jarvis met his eyes. “I think it’s suspicious enough that we need to act as though it could be until we prove otherwise.”

Shane rubbed both hands over his face. “Fuck.”

“I know.” Jarvis’s voice remained calm. “The fact that it’s enlarged significantly over several months concerns me. The back pain you described concerns me. Your abdominal discomfort, the fatigue, the possible night sweats… none of those things confirm a diagnosis on their own, but together they tell me we shouldn’t wait.”

Shane sat quietly, trying to absorb everything. “What happens now?” Now that my fucking career is over. 

“I’m going to call our ultrasound technologist in. I want this scanned today, and we can do it right in this office.”

“Today?”

“Within the hour.”

Oh fuck. 

Forty-five minutes later, Shane found himself lying in a dim ultrasound room with a towel beneath his hips while the technologist spread warm gel across his skin. Across his fucking sack. Fucking kill me. 

She smiled kindly at him, as if that made this less uncomfortable. Jarvis stood over her shoulder. “Try to relax, Shane.” Fuck off, Jarvis. 

She began by scanning the right testicle, capturing measurements and blood flow before moving to the left. The atmosphere changed almost immediately. They didn’t say anything alarming. They just got quieter.  The probe lingered over the left side as image after image appeared on the monitor. She measured the mass repeatedly, adjusted the doppler settings to evaluate blood flow, then saved several more images from different angles.

Shane knew enough from years around sports medicine to recognize professional silence. He looked toward the screen. “Can you tell what it is?”

“I’m sorry.” She replied gently. “Dr. Jarvis will go over everything with you.” Jarvis left the room. 

When Shane returned to the examination room twenty minutes later, he was already waiting and he pulled the stool directly in front of Shane so they were nearly eye level when he sat down. “I’ve already reviewed the ultrasound with the radiologist.”

Shane felt his stomach tighten. Well that was fucking fast. 

“The ultrasound shows a solid mass inside the left testicle.” He paused long enough for Shane to process the words. “It isn’t a cyst. It isn’t a fluid collection. It isn’t something that looks like an infection...”

Shane looked down at the floor. “So…”

“So at this point, we have to assume this is a testicular cancer until proven otherwise.”

The words settled heavily between them. Shane swallowed. “How do you prove it?”

“With surgery.”

“You just take it out? Not even a biopsy?” What the actual fuck. 

Jarvis shook his head. “We don’t biopsy testicular tumours, Shane.”

Shane frowned. “Why not?”

“When a solid mass develops inside the testicle and has the appearance yours does on ultrasound, the standard treatment isn’t to put a needle into it. Instead, we remove the entire testicle through an incision in the groin.”

“The whole thing?”

“Yes.” Jarvis spoke matter-of-factly, but never without compassion. “The surgeon removes the affected testicle and spermatic cord together. That specimen is then sent to pathology, where it’s examined under a microscope. That’s how we determine exactly what type of tumour it is.”

“And then?”

“Then we stage it.” Jarvis leaned forward slightly. “If the cancer is confined to the testicle, surgery may be all you need. If pathology or additional imaging shows that it has spread, we may recommend chemotherapy. We’ll also arrange blood tests today, and we’ll order CT scans of your chest, abdomen, and pelvis after surgery to see if there’s evidence of spread elsewhere.”

Shane was quiet for a long moment. “So… I’m losing my fucking ball.” Fucking great. 

“I’m afraid so.” The words landed harder than he expected. Jarvis let the silence exist before continuing. “Before we schedule surgery, there are some steps we need to take.” Shane looked up. “I want you to visit a fertility clinic.”

Shane blinked. “What?”

“You still have one healthy testicle, and many men remain fertile after this surgery alone. But if your pathology shows that chemotherapy is necessary, treatment can affect fertility. Because of that, we recommend sperm banking before we operate.” Shane let out a shaky breath. “You may never need those samples…but if you decide ten or fifteen years from now that you’d like children, you’ll be very glad you had the option.”

“Fuck.” Shane muttered. This is so fucking embarrassing. “I guess that’s how I’d have to do it anyway…” His eyes widened, regretting that immediately. Fucking filter, Hollander. 

If Jarvis had caught what that might have meant, he didn’t let it show. He reached for the phone on his desk. “I’m going to call a urologist as soon as we’re finished here. Given what we’ve found today, I’d like you seen urgently. I expect surgery within the next week.” He looked Shane squarely in the eyes. “I know this is a scary conversation, and I don’t want to minimize that. This is serious, Shane.” Shane nodded silently. “But I also don’t want you leaving here believing this is hopeless.” Jarvis rested a reassuring hand on his forearm. “Testicular cancer, even when it requires surgery and chemotherapy, is one of the most curable cancers we treat in young men. The important thing is that you’re here now.”

Shane looked down at his hands. “I almost wasn’t.”

“I know.” Jarvis gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “And I’m very glad you came.”

I’m never fucking coming again… See yah later, Rozanov. 

Chapter 5

SHANE: Could you come back? Please? We need to talk about everything. 

Shane watched the bubbles appear in the group chat with his parents. 

MOM: Of course. Are you at home? 

SHANE: Yes. 

More bubbles. 

MOM: We will be there in five. Do you need anything? 

Five? What the fuck?! Shane didn’t know much at the ripe old age of nineteen, but what he did know was that Ottawa, the place he grew up in, was much further from his front door than five minutes. 

SHANE: What the hell guys. You didn’t go home? 

Bubbles again, though they seemed pointless now given the fact that they were probably crossing the fucking street downstairs by now. 

DAVID: You’re our only kid, and you were about to get life changing news. You really think you were going to win that battle? 

This cancer better be gone after surgery. I’m not sure I’d survive treatment with my mother in a hotel up the block. 

SHANE: Whatever. I’m fine. 

Shane realized that they all seemed to know what this was before he did when he was greeted four minutes later with a tear-filled hug from his mom. It’s not that big of a deal. “I’m fine, mom.” He tried. She squeezed him a little harder. 

“Have you eaten?” She asked, already heading towards the kitchen. 

“I’m not hungry.” Shane said, as Yuna opened the fridge and got to work. Oh Jesus. “Seriously mom. Can you just sit?” 

Don’t tell me what to do, you little shit. Yuna could admit she was a little bit frazzled by all of the new facts she had learned about her son in the last twenty-four hours. She was trying to balance the overwhelming love she had for her baby, the shock of learning of his sexuality and the giant Russian attached to it, and the overwhelm of a potential and likely cancer diagnosis—and then that little shit was going to look her in the eye after months of lying to her and tell her to sit down. You better watch it, you perfect, sick boy. She made her way to the couch. “Alright, let me see your notes.” She outstretched her hand towards Shane. 

“Notes?” Shane asked, confused. 

You’re killing me, Smalls. “You went into an appointment about a tumor and didn’t write anything down?” This is why you take your fucking mother with you. 

“Uh, no.” Shane said, slumping down on the opposite end of the sectional. Is there a fucking quiz?

David let out a small laugh, settling next to Yuna. “It’s fine, Shane. Just tell us what they said and we will walk through it.” 

I didn’t think this far. How the fuck do I tell my parents I have cancer? Or assumed-cancer. Shane was reeling, looking at anything but the people who were staring him down with his stupid best interest in mind. 

“Is it cancer?” David offered. You can just say yes, buddy. 

Shane nodded, and Yuna did her damn best not to cry. “They, uh…” Shane looked at the ceiling. “They did an ultrasound, and it’s a mass… so I guess they just assume it’s cancer and cut it out.” 

Yuna took a breath. “Okay. So… testicular cancer then?”

Shane shrugged. I’d prefer to never say the word testicle or testicular again, but ball-cancer isn’t great either. “I guess?” 

“You guess?” Yuna said, now balancing annoyance with worry. Who fucking raised you? “So you will have surgery? To remove your…”

“Yes. Please don’t say testicle again, mom.” 

Yuna rolled her eyes. “Grow up, Shane.” She took a breath. “When?” 

“Sometime in the next week.” Shane said, almost proud that he knew the answer. 

“This week?!” Yuna nearly shouted. She pulled out her phone. 

“What are you doing?” Shane asked, now just as annoyed as her. He shot a look to his dad that said please fucking do something about her. 

She didn’t even offer him a glance. “I’m extending our hotel.” She paused and looked up. “Actually, we should probably just stay here with you, so I can…”

“NO.” Shane said, cutting her off. “Mom, I love you… but I don’t need you staying here during all of this. I’m embarrassed enough about the whole thing. I don’t need my mom here checking on my fucking balls.” Ball… I guess. 

“Shane…”

“I’m an adult, mom. I’ve lived away from home since I played juniors. I can figure it out. I’d appreciate help getting home after surgery, but I don’t need you here all week. Okay?” 

We will see about that. “Okay.” She took another breath. “So what then?” 

Shane thought about it, not wanting to disappoint his mom with what little information he retained from the appointment. “Maybe nothing. He said sometimes pathology clears and it’s done.” 

“If it doesn’t?” David prodded. 

“I think I would have to do some kind of treatment?” Shane really should have paid better fucking attention. I should have brought my mom. Fuck. 

“Chemo?” David tried again. 

Shane shrugged. “I guess.” 

Yuna brushed her hand down her face. “Okay, so what do we need to do, Shane? Do you have appointments coming up? Is Dr. Jarvis taking care of it all? What the hell is our next step?” She looked at a blank-faced Shane. “Shane… you need us there from now on. This isn’t okay… we need you to have all the information.” 

He sighed. “I have to go to a fertility clinic tomorrow.”

Yuna was surprised that he actually remembered something. “Oh, what time? I can take…”

“No!” Shane said again. This time he felt bad and softened for her. “I’m sorry… I know you’re trying to help. But I really don’t need you in the waiting room while I have to…” He trailed off, not wanting to be on the same fucking planet at his mom in that moment. 

“Masturbate.” She said calmly. 

“Jesus Christ, mom.” Shane said, standing up abruptly. “I think I need to go lie down… I’m tired.” Tired of talking about my dick and balls and what man I want them in and around. 

“Sit down, Shane.” David said sternly. Shane listened, but the new shade of red on his face suggested he was entirely over the investigation of his sick nuts. “We will figure out the team stuff, and treatment, and anything else… but I can’t leave here today without knowing how you’re actually doing. How are you feeling about all this? And in general… health wise?” 

Dad can stay. “I feel fine.” Shane said, honestly. 

“You found out you have cancer… and you’re fine?” David asked, a little skeptical. 

Shane shrugged. “I don’t feel sick. A little tired maybe… but otherwise I feel fine.”

David nodded. “Okay… you know that might change. How do you feel about that?” 

Not fucking stellar, dad. He shrugged again. “I mean I want to play… I don’t want to be sick. But maybe I can do both.” 

Oh Shane, buddy. David nodded. “We can figure that out when we get there.” He looked at Yuna, then back to Shane. “Do you think I could come with you to the next appointment? Not the fertility clinic, but the next doctor's appointment? I think you need an adult there to ask questions and figure out what we need to prepare for.” 

Shane nodded. “Sure.” 

“Okay.” He looked at Yuna. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one day. Why don’t we head back to our hotel and let the boy get some rest.” He looked back at Shane. “And maybe talk to Ilya? Or some of your boys?”

Fuck. I need to tell Ilya all of this. “Yeah. I guess so.” It should be a short conversation. It’s not like he’s going to stick around. “I have to go for a CT and blood work on Thursday morning. Do you want to pick me up at nine, dad?” 

David smiled. “I’ll be there.” 

“Shit dude, I’m sorry.” Hayden said, looking over at his teammate who was staring off into space. “Shane?...” 

“Hmmm… what?” Shane said, coming back into the room. Well, his body had been there the whole time, but his mind checked out back in Theriault’s office as Jarvis blabbered on—he was pretty sure his brain was still in there and it had never made it to the dressing room where his team was suiting up for practice. 

Shane was fine in the way that he had been straight a week earlier. In theory, he was fine. He had woken up that morning, his mind already on the fertility clinic, and he had forgotten entirely about the fact that he was a professional hockey player with a job to do and a team to talk to. It wasn’t until Jarvis called to confirm the appointments he had arranged that the concept of telling his team was introduced. Team, right. Those guys. So, maybe he wasn’t fine. Maybe he was just living one moment to the next, trying to make it to the next day—just like he had gone from one woman to the next, never getting past second base, and never really feeling any kind of pleasure. So maybe he wasn't straight, and maybe he wasn't fine, but he was trying to be. Look how that worked out on the gay front, idiot. 

He was grateful for Dr. Jarvis, who had done ninety-eight percent of the talking in Coach’s office—the two percent that Shane handled was reserved for more “I’m fine’s” and head nods. It seemed like his attitude going in of, so what, I’m losing my left nut and most of my dignity, didn’t quite match Jarvis’ version of the same conversation which skewed more, this is incredibly serious and we need to act quickly or his diagnosis is potentially life threatening. He didn’t like Doc’s delivery, because it came with a lot of mopey faces and inauthentic apologies. If he had it his way, he would have led with “this is fine… I will have one less nut, but I promise I will score way more goals.” Instead, he had a front row seat to watch himself be benched by a doctor who used words like immunocompromised, and pain management, and long-term side effects—but he was still fine, really. 

Hayden smiled. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.” 

Shane’s eyes swept across the room, and he couldn’t help but notice that most of them looked more devastated than he felt himself. Fuck, these are real adults. It must be serious. “Yeah… um. Thanks?” Shane said, and he was beginning to wonder if he was in some kind of weird state of shock. What am I supposed to feel right now? He smiled anyway. “I will still be here. I will just…” Wait, will I still be here? I don’t know if I actually listened to Jarvis. Shane glanced at him, and it was clear that Jarvis had seen this before and knew to take over. 

Jarvis looked at the room of concerned men. “Shane will very likely need chemotherapy.” He began. Fuck. I missed that confirmation. “And in the later rounds he will be severely immunocompromised.” Dammit, there is that word again. “It won’t always be safe for him to be here.” He glanced at Shane again. “Once he recovers from surgery, though, we will get him back out on the ice in whatever way is safe for him. That might mean that he’s alone, or with only a couple of guys at a time.” Ah fuck. 

Shane was staring at his shoes now, but he recognized JJ’s voice from across the room. “Is there anything we can do to make this easier?” 

He tried to hide the confusion on his face, but Shane really was confused again. He wondered when the fuck these young men went to fucking Compassion College of Caring for a Ballless Friend—because he missed the memo. The idea of caretaking, or even the idea of just being there for a friend who was going through something was fucking foreign to him—uncomfortable and awkward, even. He wasn’t an asshole, he knew that. He really did care about the people in his life, but he couldn’t seem to relate to people on a level that would allow him to be fully present in their darkest hours. Maybe he was afraid he would do it wrong. Or maybe he was just fucking weird. The thought of sitting at someone’s bedside while they underwent cancer treatment made him want to die—so much so that he was almost glad he was on the other side of it. He couldn’t have cancer wrong, could he? You might actually be bad at this. But it’s fine. Somehow, being there for somebody in a vulnerable position made him feel more vulnerable than the recipient of his attention. Maybe it was just harder to mirror a person’s mood and demeanor when they were going through something, and Shane was very bad at being himself. 

“Shane?” JJ tried again. 

Fuck. That question is for me. Jarvis saved the day again. “The only thing you can really do is remember to check in. If chemo is needed…” He glanced at Shane. “...and my gut is telling me it will be.” Ugh. “Then shoot him a text and see if he could use some company. Chemo cycles are anywhere from six to ten hours in a chair, multiple days a week… company and support is nice. And the best way to be there through this kind of thing is just to be there. Treat him the same way you do now.” Oh, is that all you’re supposed to do? Maybe I’m just a bad friend to begin with. Jarvis looked around the room. “Any more questions?” 

Shane didn’t even wait for the answer. He looked at his watch and stood. “I have to, uh… I have an appointment.” He looked at Jarvis who gave him a knowing smile. “You guys have my number.” Please don’t fucking reach out about my ball problems. And just like that, Shane was walking out of the dressing room, not really feeling much beyond denial and I’m fine. 

Another thing off the to-do list. What the to-do list lacked in size, it sure made up for in overwhelm. Just over twenty-four hours earlier, he was as healthy as could be. Now, he had a to-do list that looked a little like this: 

• Make your bed
• Tell the rival who sucks your dick, and that you might be falling in love with that you will soon only have one ball to suck because you didn’t fucking listen to him when he told you to get checked
• Break it to your mom that her baby boys balls aren’t perfect
• Let your team—you know, the ones willing to pay you millions of dollars when your entry level contract is up—know that you were a waste of a second round pick because your sophomore season will be spent in a hospital and not on the ice
• Complete a CT scan that will surely tell you the pain in your back and gut isn’t gas, but rather the cancer that you fucking ignored for too long—you stupid piece of shit
• Jizz in a cup

He had hoped that making his bed to start the day would make the rest of it easy—but as it turns out, crisp sheets were not a cure for facing the consequences of his own inaction. Fuck.

Ilya had survived a country that didn’t take too kindly to him, his mother’s suicide, and a father who didn’t know how to love him—and somehow the rollercoaster ride of his last forty-eight hours managed to trump it all. He knew he was too young to have found his soulmate, obviously—but Shane Hollander sure was soulmate shaped. Before they could even fuck, something he had waited months for, he was meeting the guys parents and facing the fact that he very likely had ball cancer—yet somehow, he was smiling. 

He had survived the Hollander’s—all three of them in their type A, overly optimistic, too attentive and adoring, glory. He sat next to a father who wasn’t his, in an SUV for twenty minutes and talked casually about his son’s balls, without ever feeling like he was in danger of being thrown in a shallow, Russian grave. While he couldn’t escape the glare of Yuna Hollander that suggested she wasn’t quite on board with her son’s choice of dick-sucker, he managed to feel accepted before he shut the door behind him that morning. Now, he was just waiting on the call that he knew was coming, and he was running out of patience. Come on, Hollander. Just tell me so I can start to mourn your beautiful balls. He knew he wasn’t at the top of the priority list, but he also didn’t anticipate having to wait an entire day to find out how the appointment had gone. It felt like a test he was failing. 

The phone finally rang that afternoon—a full twenty-four hours since he had met with his team doctor. About fucking time. 

“Well, hell…” Ilya started. 

“It’s cancer.” Shane said, cutting off any joyful greeting that Ilya could have come up with. 

Ilya couldn’t help but huff a small laugh. No shit. He knew this already. Unlike Shane, he didn’t just ignore problems like this—he researched, and he really fucking wished he had researched this one the first time he knew there was a problem. Nobody researched my mama. “Ah, I missed you too, Hollander.” 

“Shut up.” Shane shot back. 

Ilya took a deep breath. “You will be okay, Shane. Even if it is bad, it is very treatable.” 

“Mmm yeah. I forgot you were a doctor.” Shane joked. 

Ilya didn’t want to joke. “How are you, Shane?” 

He took a deep breath. “Everyone keeps asking me that… but I’m fine. I think?” 

Another small laugh escaped Ilya. “You are allowed to be fine… just know that I will be here when you decide you aren’t anymore, okay?” 

Fuck, another graduate of the College of Compassion. “Thanks.” I think I am really just fine, though. 

“I am sure you have talked about this all day, yes?” 

“Mhm.” Shane said, he was fucking tired. 

“Okay.” Ilya said softly. “You don’t have to tell me all about it today. We can talk about it next time I see you, or whenever you are ready.”

“Okay.” Silence fell between them, and then Shane blurted out his next sentence. “I’m on my way to cum in a jar… or a cup?” He paused. “I’m on my way to cum in something.” 

Now Ilya couldn’t stifle his laughter. “Ah, hopefully something is not a person, yes?” 

“It’s not.” Shane said a little too seriously, and then he let out another embarrassed sigh. This is fucking exhausting. 

“You want kids?” Ilya asked. 

Wow, we are skipping a few steps. “I mean, yeah. I think so. Someday.” 

“Then this is no big deal, yes? You are gay… you cannot put baby in me, Hollander. You need lab baby anyway.” Ilya joked. 

Woah… does he liked to be fucked too? Why didn’t I think of that dynamic. “I know that… but something about this feels…” He took a breath. “I don’t know.” 

“Ah… don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Filter yourself, Hollander. You are going through hard thing. It can be hard. What does it feel like?” Ilya could hear Shane breathing through the phone, almost as if he was trying to breathe away some emotion that was trying to surface. Ilya knew that feeling. “Shane…”

“Maybe, like… emasculating?... I don’t know.” Another deep breath. “I don’t know anything. I’m just tired.” 

Ilya smiled softly, but his heart was breaking too. “This doesn’t make you less of a man, Shane. You will be more of a man with one ball than most would be with two.” 

“How did you know…”

Ilya cut him off. “Ah, Dr. Google. They are going to cut it out, yes?” 

Another sigh on the other end of the phone. “Yeah.”

“Mmmm… well, I can’t wait to meet your new junk, Hollander.”

Shane huffed a laugh now. “Well, we will see how it heals. Maybe I won’t want to fucking show you my junk ever again.” 

Ilya knew he was serious, but he didn’t feel the need to correct him over the phone on a day that would have already been overwhelming—he would wait and show him how much he didn’t fucking care about that next time they were together instead. “Where you have to go jerk off in cup?” He asked instead. 

Shane laughed again. “I, uh… I booked and AirBnB.”

“This sounds like weird lab.” Ilya said confused. 

“They asked how far I lived from the fertility clinic, and they said I would have to provide my sample there in the clinic, because I lived too far for transport. So I asked how close I had to be and I booked and AirBnB. I figured I would get it done and go home.” Ilya burst out laughing. “Please don’t make fun of me right now.” 

“Hollander… you rented sex house to have sex with yourself for five minutes. How much did you pay?” 

“$200.00” Shane said, lying. $350.00 fucking dollars… it’s in a great fucking location downtown. It has a pool. 

“That is expensive orgasm, Shane. I could give you one for much cheaper.” 

Shane laughed. “Yeah well, I might need you to fucking help. Everytime I think about what I have to do I am convinced I will never be able to get hard again.” 

Ilya got serious for a second. “Does it hurt?... to do that stuff?

Shane sighed again. “Oh, um… yeah... Sometimes.”

Ilya huffed out a breath. “I am sorry. I should have asked the other night before…”

“It’s my fault for not telling you.” Shane continued, and then he smiled. “You can make it up to me by Facetiming me at the AirBnb in thirty minutes. How does that sound?” 

The silence stretched for a few seconds before Ilya finally spoke. “I am hanging up, Hollander. I am forty minutes from home in arena parking lot… I will hurry home right now. Do not cum in cup before you call me, yes?” 

Shane laughed. “Okay, Rozanov.” 

Shane stood outside the AirBnB with a specimen cup in his hand and the distinct feeling that his life had become a poorly written sitcom. Where’s the fucking laugh track? The building was sleek, modern, and entirely too nice for what he was about to do inside it. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed brick, and a fucking rooftop pool that he would never use because he had rented this place for exactly one purpose, and that purpose could be completed in under ten minutes if he could just get his shit together. Get real, you could do this in a minute, Shane.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. Twenty-eight minutes since he'd hung up with Ilya. Two minutes to spare before their scheduled FaceTime. Perfect…plenty of time to have an existential crisis in a luxury rental.

The key was in a lockbox by the door, so he let himself in, locked the door behind him, and stood in the middle of the pristine living room like a fucking idiot. It was beautiful—and here he was, about to jerk off into medical-grade plastic so that someday, maybe, he could have children with a man he'd only recently started sleeping with. This is fine. You’re fine. He set the cup on the table, staring at it like it might offer some kind of guidance. It didn't. It just sat there, sterile and clinical and deeply unsexy. His phone buzzed.

ILYA ROZANOV: I am home. You ready, Hollander?

Shane typed back quickly.

SHANE: Define ready.

ILYA ROZANOV: Your dick is out and you are thinking of me, yes?

Shane huffed a laugh.

SHANE: Not yet. Give me a second.

Jesus Christ. Shane shrugged off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, and sat down on the couch. He picked up the specimen cup again, turned it over in his hands, and wondered if there was a dignified way to do any of this. There wasn't. He unscrewed the lid, set it on the table, and tried not to think about the fact that this was his life now. 

His phone rang. He answered it, and Ilya's face filled the screen—messy curls, lazy grin, beautiful eyes that looked far too amused for someone who was about to participate in what was essentially a fucking medical procedure.

"Ah, there you are." Ilya said, his voice warm and teasing. "You look nervous, Hollander."

"I'm not nervous." Shane lied.

"Mmm, you are terrible liar." Ilya leaned back against what looked like his headboard, shirtless, and Shane's brain short-circuited for a second. "You are in fancy jerk off house, yes? Show me."

Shane flipped the camera around, giving Ilya a quick tour of the living room before turning it back to himself. "Happy?"

"Very nice. You have good taste." Ilya's grin widened. "Now show me cup."

"Absolutely not."

"Shane…" Ilya's voice dropped, playful but insistent. "Show me cup. It is like Facetime threesome, with plastic."

Shane sighed, picked up the specimen cup, and held it up to the camera. "There. Happy now?"

Ilya burst out laughing. "This is what you are so worried about? Is just little plastic cup, Hollander. You act like it is…what do you call…mouse trap for your dick."

"It might as well be." Shane muttered, setting the cup back down.

"Ah, no. Your dick is safe. I promise." Ilya's expression softened, just slightly. "You are okay?"

Shane nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine." Why did I book a fucking condo? I could have done this in a house, where no one else was walking the god damn halls. 

"Mmm." Ilya didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he shifted on the bed, his hand moving lower, out of frame. "Okay. You want to do this, yes?"

Shane's mouth went dry. "Yeah." Not really. Not like this. 

"Then stop thinking so much." Ilya's voice was low now, rough in a way that made Shane's pulse quicken. "Just look at me, Hollander. Forget about cup. Forget about everything else. Just… look at me."

Shane did—and for a moment, it worked. The anxiety faded into the background, replaced by the heat in Ilya's gaze, the way his breathing had already started to change, the way his hand moved slowly, deliberately, just out of view. Shane's own hand moved to the waistband of his pants, and he hesitated.

"You are thinking again." Ilya said, his tone teasing but gentle. "Stop."

"I'm not…"

"You are. I can see it on your face." Ilya's grin returned, softer this time. "You want me to help?"

"How are you going to help from there?"

"Ah, I have very good imagination." Ilya's hand moved faster now, and Shane could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened. "And I am thinking about you, Hollander. About your mouth. About how you sound when I touch you. About how you look when you cum."

Fuck. Shane's hand moved without thinking, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. He was already half-hard, and the sound Ilya made when he saw him, low and appreciative, and almost reverent, didn't help.

"There you are…" Ilya murmured. "You are so fucking beautiful, Shane."

Shane's face burned. "Shut up."

"No." Ilya's voice was firm now, commanding in a way that made Shane's breath catch. "You are. And I am going to tell you every time until you believe me."

Shane didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. He just focused on Ilya's face, on the way his eyes had gone dark and hungry, on the way his breathing had turned ragged. His own hand moved in time with Ilya's, and for a few minutes, it was easy to forget where he was and why he was doing this—until it wasn't.

"Wait." Shane said suddenly, his hand stilling. "I need to…" He reached for the specimen cup, fumbling with it awkwardly, and Ilya started laughing again.

"Ah, you are going to drop it, yes?"

"I'm not going to drop it." Shane snapped, but his hands were shaking slightly, and he had to set the cup between his thighs to keep it steady. "This is fucking ridiculous." This would be hot if it wasn’t about the million potential children that need to shoot out of my fucking balls and into this stupid fucking cup. 

"Is very ridiculous…” Ilya agreed, still grinning. "But also very sexy. You are about to put your beautiful children in jar."

"I hate you, so much."

"No, you don't." Ilya's voice softened again, and his hand slowed. "You are doing so good, Shane. Just… keep going. I am right here."

And he was—even through the screen, even across whatever distance separated them, Ilya was there, somehow making this entire absurd situation feel less terrifying. Shane's hand started moving again, faster now, and Ilya matched his pace, their breathing syncing up in a way that felt almost intimate.

"Fuck." Shane muttered, his head falling back against the couch. "Ilya…"

"Me too. Come on, Hollander. Let me see you." Ilya said, his voice rough and strained. 

Shane came with a choked sound, his hand fumbling to angle himself toward the cup, and for a few seconds, he forgot to be embarrassed about any of it. He forgot about the clinic and the surgery and the fact that his life had been turned upside down in the span of forty-eight hours. He just felt good. I’m fine. 

When he finally caught his breath, he screwed the lid back onto the specimen cup and set it carefully on the table. Ilya was still on the screen, watching him with a soft, satisfied expression.

"You okay?" Ilya asked.

Shane nodded. "Yeah. I'm…" And then it hit him—all of it. The weight of the specimen cup on the table. The reason he'd needed to provide it in the first place. The surgery that was days away. The testicle he was going to lose. The cancer that had been growing inside him while he ignored every warning sign because he was too fucking stubborn to admit something was wrong. His throat tightened.

"Shane?" Ilya's voice was sharper now, concerned. "Please talk to me. What is wrong?"

Shane tried to answer, but the words wouldn't come. He just stared at the cup, at the tangible proof that this was real, that this was happening, that in less than a week he would be in an operating room losing a part of himself that he couldn't get back. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Shane…"

"I have to go." Shane said quickly, his voice cracking. "I have to get this back to the clinic. Twenty minutes or less they said."

"Shane, wait…"

But Shane had already disconnected. He sat there for a moment, staring at the blank screen, the specimen cup, the too-perfect apartment that he'd rented for $350 because he couldn't handle one more blank and clinical room that day. And then he stood, got dressed, grabbed the cup, shoved his phone in his pocket, and walked out the door—he didn't let himself cry again until he was in the car.

I don’t think I’m fine. 

Chapter 6

Chapter Notes

The anesthesiologist had barely finished pushing the anti-anxiety medication through Shane's IV before the edges of the room started to soften. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but it was enough to make it feel like every problem he had carried into the hospital with him suddenly felt a hell of a lot lighter. 

He blinked slowly at the ceiling. "...Huh." The fluorescent lights are actually kind of pretty. I like the way they hum. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door before a man in blue scrubs stepped inside, already pulling a marker from his pocket.

"Morning, Shane. I'm Dr. Wilde. I’ll be performing your surgery today."

Shane looked at him for a long second. "...You're, like..." He squinted. "An animal." Shane laughed to himself. “Wild. Ha.” I’m so funny. 

The doctor smiled. "I get that a lot."

Yuna sighed. "The medication is working."

"Oh, it's workinnn." Shane nodded confidently. "I'm having... just a terrific time."

David pinched the bridge of his nose, embarrassed, and Dr. Wilde laughed before turning his attention toward the real adults in the room. "So, I just wanted to come in before we head to the operating room, make sure everyone understands exactly what we're doing today, answer any last-minute questions, and then I'll mark the operative side."  He gently lifted the blanket enough to confirm the left side before drawing a small arrow on Shane's lower abdomen. The surgeon tucked the marker away.

“First tattoo.” Shane said, grinning like an idiot. “Maybe I’ll tattoo the word MISSING on my sack after surgery… like a missing person. Only it’s my nut.” 

Dr. Wilde carried on without acknowledging the stream of consciousness coming out of one of the soon to be legends of the MLH that sat before him. "So, this operation is called a radical inguinal orchiectomy."

Shane blinked. "...Gesundheit."

Dr. Wilde just smiled like this was far from the first medicated teenager he'd ever met. "The reason we perform this through the groin instead of directly through the scrotum is because, when we're dealing with a testicular tumor, we want to avoid cutting through the scrotal skin. The lymphatic drainage of the scrotum and the testicle are different. Going through the groin allows us to remove the testicle and spermatic cord together in one piece without increasing the risk of spreading tumor cells locally."

David nodded. "So you're removing more than just the testicle?"

"Correct." He spoke calmly. "We make an incision in the left groin…roughly six to eight centimeters long, similar in location to where we'd make an incision for certain hernia repairs.” He looked at Shane, who was too far gone, but still the patient. “You’ve probably seen some on your teammates before.” He looked back to the people who were actually capable of taking in the information. “Once we're through the layers of tissue, we identify the spermatic cord."

Shane's eyes followed absolutely none of this. There was a tiny sticker on the ceiling. It had a cartoon cloud. He liked that cloud. Why the fuck is that there. He smiled at it. I like you, cloud. 

"The spermatic cord contains the blood vessels supplying the testicle, the vas deferens, and several nerves and supporting structures."

Yuna frowned slightly. "You remove all of that?"

"Only on the affected side." He nodded reassuringly. "The cord is divided high up near the internal inguinal ring. We place clamps, tie off the vessels securely to prevent bleeding, and then remove the entire specimen intact."

"...Specimen..." Shane whispered thoughtfully. He looked at his dad. "...I'm a specimen."

David looked over. "Apparently."

"That's kinda badass."

Dr. Wilde continued without missing a beat. "Once it's removed, we inspect carefully for bleeding, irrigate the surgical field, and close the layers individually with dissolving sutures beneath the skin. Depending on the skin itself, we may use surgical glue or absorbable stitches on the surface."

"And recovery?" Yuna asked.

"I expect him to go home later today."

Yuna nodded slowly. "What should we expect afterward?"

"The first several days are usually the most uncomfortable." He folded his hands. "There will be swelling of the scrotum. Bruising often extends into the groin and sometimes even down toward the penis due to gravity. That's completely normal."

Shane's eyebrows lifted. "...Purple." Nobody acknowledged him. “Like Barney’s dick.” 

Again, nobody acknowledged him. "I recommend supportive underwear twenty-four hours a day for the first week or two. Ice packs over the groin, not directly on the skin, for twenty minutes at a time can help considerably."

"Walking?" David asked. 

"We actually encourage it. Short walks around the house reduce the risk of blood clots and help recovery, but no lifting over about ten pounds, no strenuous exercise, no skating, no gym work." He smiled. "I'm afraid hockey is off the schedule for a while."

Shane gasped. "No balls, no hockey… Just cremate me already." 

David snorted and Yuna shot them both a look. "What about pain?" She asked. 

"He’s going to be sore for a few days. He'll likely feel tightness in the groin, particularly standing upright. Stairs won’t feel great, sitting down and getting out of bed tend to be the most uncomfortable movements initially. He’s a tough kid, after a few days it should improve, but he will have pain meds to get him through the first few."

"And what happens after?" Yuna continued. 

"The specimen goes directly to pathology after surgery." His tone became slightly more serious. "That report tells us exactly what type of tumor we're dealing with, whether there are mixed components, whether the tumor has invaded surrounding structures, and whether there is lymphovascular invasion."

Shane stared at him. He had absolutely no idea what a lymphovascular invasion was. It sounded made up. "...Lympho..." he mumbled."...Velociraptor."

Dr. Wilde blinked once.

"...Close enough." Shane added. 

David couldn't hold it together anymore and Yuna covered her mouth, trying very hard not to laugh.

"The pathology generally returns within a few days, but we are really just needing to know what type of testicular cancer we are dealing with at this point. We know from his CT imaging and blood tumor markers that we are dealing with a spread already, but it will determine the next phase of treatment." He looked at Shane. "It will almost certainly involve chemotherapy." He finished gently. "But today..." He smiled at Shane. "...today our only job is getting this out safely."

Shane gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "You seem... super qualified, Wilde."

"I appreciate that, Shane."

"You got this." He added. 

The surgeon grinned. "I'll try not to let you down, buddy."

Shane pointed at him with exaggerated seriousness. "I'm gonna take a nap now."

"That's perfect, Shane." 

As Dr. Wilde left the room, Shane leaned his head back against the pillow, staring dreamily at the little cartoon cloud on the ceiling. "...Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you think... they let me keep it?" There was a beat of silence. "My ball buddy?"

Yuna buried her face in David's shoulder to cover her laughter. Shane looked between them, utterly confused. "What?...I was gonna name him."

Ten minutes later, Shane was being wheeled down the hallway into an operating room, and while he seemed utterly disassociated from the whole experience, David and Yuna were left to wait for their baby boy in a waiting room. That in and of itself was hard to understand—the fact that the waiting also involved texting Russia’s Greatest Bi-Sexual Love Machine added a whole new layer to it. 

DAVID: Hey buddy, they just took him in. He was feeling very relaxed with the drugs. They expect that he will be out in an hour. 

ILYA: Thank you David. If he is okay later please let me know. I will Facetime him. 

David smiled. What a good kid. He typed again. 

DAVID: I will track your flight, but plan to pick you up from the airport at 10am. You’re still good to stay with him tomorrow?

He watched the bubbles, but he already knew the answer. David didn’t know why or how, but he just trusted the guy. He could sense that he only had the best intentions with his son. And he damn well knew that a post-op, loopy Shane, would want his parents nowhere near his newly adapted reproductive organs. 

ILYA: Of course. I will take good care of him. 

I don’t doubt that you will, kid. David thought as he tucked his phone back in his pocket and waited on news of his baby boy. You’re gonna be alright, Shane. 

An hour later, when they entered the recovery room, Shane’s left nut wasn’t the only thing that was missing—so was their delightfully stoned, content boy. He was replaced by a disassociated, overmedicated, but emotional boy that was balancing needing a hug, and not wanting to be touched ever again.

“Hey buddy.” David said, reaching for his hand. Shane allowed it to be held, but he didn’t hold it back. “They said everything went according to plan, and we will get to go home as soon as the discharge papers are signed.” Shane didn’t answer. Come on, buddy. “Ilya will be here in the morning. That will be nice, eh?” 

Shane swallowed hard. “He doesn’t have to come.” 

David furrowed his brows. “He wants to come, Shane. We all just want to be here for you.” 

“I’m fine.” Shane repeated, for the millionth time. “I’m tired, dad. Can you just wake me when it’s time to go?” I don’t want anyone to fucking look at me with fucking sad eyes again today. 

“Sure, buddy.” 

When they arrived home hours later, Shane only made it as far as the couch that his mom had made more comfortable for him before leaving for the hospital that morning. Everything hurt. It was nearly impossible to walk standing completely upright, and moving from a standing to a sitting position, then to laying, could only be accomplished with the help of David. “Easy, buddy.” He said softly as he slowly helped him to lower onto the couch. 

“Fuck.” Shane muttered. “This fucking sucks.” Worse yet, he knew that the narcotics and anesthesia hadn’t worn off fully—this was going to really fucking suck in a few hours. What the fuck did I do to deserve this. 

Yuna did what Yuna always did—she got to work in the kitchen. The sound of the blender whirred in the background, and before long Shane was handed a pretty pink smoothie. “No thanks.” He mumbled, pulling a blanket up under his chin. 

“You really should try to eat something, honey. You fasted all night and all morning.” She insisted. 

“Mom… if you want me to puke that thing up, I’ll drink it.” He shot her a look that was far from kind. 

“Alright.” She took it back and put it in the fridge, and Shane caught the look David was giving him.

“What?” Shane barked. 

David huffed a laugh. “Nothing.” 

Yuna returned a moment later, no smoothie in hand. She knelt down on the ground in front of Shane and reached for his hand. He pulled it away, but it didn’t deter her. She spoke softly. “Honey, the nurses told us to check the dressing when we got home, to make sure it isn’t oozing or bleeding.” She reached for the blanket to pull it down. “I need to…”

“No!” Shane shouted, a little too loudly. “This is embarrassing enough, Mom. I don’t need you looking at my junk to see if it’s oozing, making me feel like even less of a fucking man.” He turned his head to hide his tears. 

“Shane…” She tried, and he could hear the emotion in it, but he couldn’t turn to face her. You can’t face these fucking consequences either. You’re fucking weak. 

David stood then. “Yuna, honey…” He placed a gentle hand on her back. “Can you give us a minute, please?” 

Shane wasn’t looking, but he could hear the sound of a sniffle, and then he felt a warm kiss on his cheek before she left the room. Then he felt the angry eyes of one David Hollander on his face—the very eyes that would land on him when he talked back to a coach, or disrespected a teacher as a child. Those moments were few and far between, but still he remembered the feeling of those eyes landing on him. 

I am going to kill you before any cancer could, kid. “Shane, look at me.” Shane didn’t turn to look at him, and he could feel his tears burning hot down his cheeks. “Now, Shane.” He finally turned, and rather than wiping away his tears himself, David reached for a kleenex and handed it to him. He took a breath. “Buddy, I know this is hard…”

That’s a fucking understatement, Shane thought. 

“But I’m gonna tell you right now that having one nut says a lot less about your manhood than the way you treat your mother does.” He softened his face. “Your life, all of this…” He gestured around the room. “You wouldn’t have any of this without her.” He pointed down the hall to the room where his mother was almost definitely crying now. “I know that this isn’t fun… and I know that you feel embarrassed by it all, but it's our job to love you… and we don’t care if you are a grown man, living away from home… you’re our baby boy, and you have fucking cancer.” He took a breath. “We have a right to feel some type of way about that too, okay?” 

Shane nodded, another stream of tears falling from his eyes. “Okay.” 

David smiled. “I get it, kid… I really do. I get you not wanting her to become your nurse, and she can learn to respect that boundary too… but for the love of god, Shane, you need to let that woman be your mom right now. Alright? Take the fucking smoothie and say thank you, even if you don’t drink it. And when she comes out here and just wants to hold your hand, please let her… because you lost one of your balls today, but she is watching her everything lose a piece of himself too. And watching you fight this is going to be hard enough on all of us.” He reached up now that Shane was calmer and brushed away another tear. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered. 

 “I know you are… she knows too.” He smiled. “You’re allowed to be angry, Shane. This is a hard thing to go through at nineteen… but you’re angry at the wrong thing right now. At the wrong person… and she loves you enough to let you direct that anger at her.” He gave Shane’s arm a squeeze. “But I love that woman too much to let you do it, alright?” Shane nodded and David started to pull the blanket down slowly. “Okay. I’m going to look at this thing... and by this time tomorrow, your boyfriend will be here to do it instead.” He smiled. 

“He isn’t my boyfriend.” 

David’s hand stilled. “Don’t do that either, buddy.” 

“Do what?”

David had the blanket fully down, and he was pulling down the waistband of Shane’s pants to find the dressing living beneath it. “Don’t push away another person who cares about you because you’re mad over something none of us could control.” He looked at Shane. “That guy is getting on a plane to be with you after a major surgery, before a long cancer battle, Shane… let him be your fucking boyfriend.” 

Shane let out a small laugh, but it hurt enough to swear off laughing for a few days. “Thanks, dad.” 

When David returned from the airport with only the highest-quality Russian ass in tow, he was delighted to walk into a more peaceful condo. It had been a rough night for Shane when he woke up with the realization that the narcotics and anesthesia had worn off and he was raw-dogging his way through the pain that had crept in overnight. It was a hard thing to watch his boy breathe through the throbbing pain that David could relate to only on the basis of being a dick-and-balls owner himself. All they could do was stay close to the couch to offer gentle encouragement while they waited for the oral pain medication to kick in. This is going to be a hard fucking journey. Today though, he was happy to walk into the sight of his sleeping boy’s head in his mom’s lap on the couch, as she gently massaged his scalp. That hair will be gone soon. 

“Oh, Ilya. Hi.” She whispered. She looked down at Shane. “I can move and let you…” 

Ilya looked down at a peaceful, sleeping Shane and smiled. He is so fucking cute. “No.” He said, shaking his head. “He is comfortable. Don’t move.” He looked up the stairs. “I think I will go shower to get airplane germs off, and then I can come take over.” Yuna nodded, her smile stretching wider as she settled back on the couch and resumed her maternal head massaging duties. Oh to be loved by your mother. 

He headed up the stairs with only a backpack—the unfortunate reality of their situation, resting on his back. He didn’t need a suitcase, because he would have only two nights with Shane. Two nights to pour as much love into him as he could before he had to be back on a plane and back in the arena. 

The flight allowed him to have some time alone to reflect on what his life had become, and by the time he landed he felt an immense amount of guilt—because while Shane was suffering, Ilya was happy. He was happier than he had been in a long time. Maybe ever. He had stared out the airplane window and wondered to himself how long they would have taken to admit that whatever they were doing was more than just casual had it not been for a life changing diagnosis—and it wouldn’t have been Shane who was at fault for the delay. Well, not entirely. Ilya knew himself well enough to know that he thrived when he had a purpose. To talk about his own feelings, and navigate any kind of relationship that involved communication was nearly impossible for him—but caregiving, that was just in his bones. 

Caregiving somehow came naturally to Ilya, and he knew why—if he had a role, a job, something that was required of him, he had value. He was just a boy when he watched his mother suffer, but he knew how to make her smile. He worked hard at it everyday. His ailing father was nothing short of scum, unable to love, and unable to forgive—but he was sick, and Ilya was able to add value in his miserable life by simply being there to help him through the day. If he couldn’t be loved, at least he could be needed—and Shane needed him. So he was there. And he was happy to be there. 

He showered quickly and then opened his backpack to put on new clothes and to take a moment to turn the bedroom into an oasis of comfort for Shane. He set the small bottle of massage oil on the nightstand, a new fleecie, soft blanket that matched his room on the foot of the bed, and crackable instant ice packs that he stole from the Raiders training room in the drawer. He filled his own water bottle with cold water for Shane, and he made a mental note to bring his meds up when they tackled the stairs to go to bed. He unplugged the clock from the wall, knowing that Shane Hollander would be too drugged up to care about the time if he couldn’t see it, but overly concerned about his missed routines if he could. This wasn’t the kind of night he ever could have planned for, but it felt a little bit like a night that the universe knew they needed. 

Shane was still asleep when he came down the stairs, so he took that time to sit with David at the kitchen island and go over his medication schedules and any other pressing details. 

“He will be down to just T3’s tonight, so he might wake up in pain again, so just try to stay on schedule. Wake him if you need to, before they wear off. He should be in a lot less pain by morning.” David said, writing down the time of the last dose. “If you could, try to get him to eat. He’s been drinking water, but he really hasn’t eaten much since he’s been home.” Ilya nodded. “He needs the dressing changed…” David smiled at Ilya. “It’s in a bit of an uncomfortable spot, and he should have had it done this morning, but he was waiting for you.” 

That is so fucking precious. He is saving his junk for just me. “What honor.” Ilya joked. 

David huffed a laugh. “I know you’re joking… but it kind of feels like that at this point.” 

“Has he seen it?” Ilya asked then, his face dropping slightly. 

“No.” David said simply. “We haven’t encouraged him to look either. We figured he would when he’s ready.” He glanced over to the couch and smiled. “He’s really just been doing this for the last day.” 

Ilya smiled in Yuna’s direction too. “Looks like best way to recover.” Ilya said, and wished so badly he had his own mother to help him through the bad days. 

David grinned back at him. You’re a good dude. “When he wakes up, we will get him up and walking. He is supposed to move, and he can walk on his own, he just needs some… encouragement. It’s uncomfortable” He looked towards the stairs. “I’m sure you could get him to conquer those today.”  

Ilya nodded. “I will make sure he gets in his real bed tonight.”

David looked to his hands on the island for a moment. “Ilya… why are you good at this? You’re pretty young to be so… present?” 

Ilya let out a small laugh. “I, uh…” He thought about it. “My family is not like yours… too many problems, not enough love.” He smiled softly. “I think maybe I learn to try to fix problems before they…” He thought about it again. “Before they could hurt me.” 

David let out a sigh. “For a guy with not a lot of love in his family, you sure seem to have a lot of love to give my kid.” 

“Ah, yes… well…” He looked at Shane. “Is easier to care when the love is given back.”

David smiled and blew out a breath. I have a few choice words for this fucking family of yours. “You’re a good man, Rozanov.”

Ilya laughed. “Only for him… don’t tell people.”

“Good morning, honey.” They heard Yuna say quietly from the couch. “How you feeling?” 

Ilya waited to hear the answer before he moved. “I’m okay.” He said softly, and Ilya smiled. 

“Your new Russian nurse is here.” Yuna joked, and Ilya heard Shane let out the smallest laugh. 

Ilya moved around the island on a quest to meet the gorgeous eyes of his Shane. His heart sped up ever so slightly at the sight of his small, but beautiful smile, as he melted into his mother’s touch. “Hi.” He said softly. 

“Hi.” Shane said back. He looked up at his mom. “I need to go pee.” He said quietly, like even his most basic human needs felt embarrassing right now. 

Ilya moved towards the couch. “Where do you need me?” He asked, reaching out a hand to Shane. 

Shane grinned. “I’m okay… I just need to go slow.” He maneuvered himself to an upright position, his mom’s hand never leaving his back. Ilya could see in the way he paused and pinched his eyes closed that he was adjusting to what was likely a head rush, and a rush of pain to his one-balled-member. He smiled despite the fact that none of this should have been cute. Everything you do is fucking cute, Hollander. Shane opened his eyes and looked at Ilya. “Could you maybe just sit, and help me push up… everything just… tugs. It’s uncomfortable, and…” 

“Shut up, Hollander.” Ilya said, sitting down beside him. “Help me up, is enough.”

Shane smiled. “Okay.” 

They moved together as Ilya helped him to stand. “You need help walking?” 

Shane all but pushed him away. “Nah… I’m okay. Thank you.” Now that they were standing, Shane leaned in for the smallest kiss. God, I missed you. “I’m happy you’re here.” He said, feeling brave—maybe from his newly acquired view from outside of the closet, or maybe from the last dose of narcotics still working through his veins. 

“Me too.” Ilya said before watching Shane lurch off to the bathroom. He looked so sore. So hunched. So slow. This must be killing you. 

While he was in the bathroom, Yuna and David were already gathering their things, and Ilya got the sense that this was less about their desire to leave, and more about their son's desire to feel like a damn man again, with his man, just for a night. He respected the hell out of them for it.  “Are you headed out?” Ilya heard Shane say in his parents direction when he old-man walked his way out of the bathroom. He is like old man snail. Very cute old man snail. 

“Yep. You are in good hands, kid.” David said, walking over to give him the most gentle hug. His mom did the same. “You have our number. Just call us if you need us. We are only five minutes away.” 

“Thanks, dad.” Shane said, walking them, ever so slowly, to the door. When it closed, Shane let out an audible exhale and Ilya couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Sick of parents, Hollander?” 

“You have no idea.” Shane said, seriously. “They are great, but I don’t think I realized how much I crave silence until they were back in my home all day and night.” Ilya smiled at that, realizing that Shane didn’t seem to mind the sounds he made. 

“You hungry?” Ilya asked. 

“No.” Shane said, honestly. 

“Too bad. Smoothie or soup?” Ilya asked, treating him like a toddler now. 

Shane let out a small laugh, regretting it immediately as he made his way to the island just in time to lean on it for support. “Smoothie.” He said through gritted teeth. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah… fine.” Shane said, obviously over that question. 

“You look good, Hollander.” Ilya said, backing up to really take him in. He put on a cheeky smile. “Little more crooked, maybe?” He made a hand gesture of an uneven scale. Still enough to fondle. 

Shane didn’t smile. He looked down at his hands, planted on the counter top. “I’m not sure I can do jokes yet, Ilya.” 

He looked so fucking sad all of a sudden. Ilya couldn’t take it, he moved closer to him, placing a hand on his. “How about kisses? Can you do kisses?” 

Shane smiled, and it was almost genuine. “Very small, not sexy kisses, yes.” He looked at Ilya. “I don’t think I want to risk getting hard at this point in my life.” 

“Ah, yes… very fair.” Ilya said, leaning in for the softest, smallest, most tender of pecks on his beautiful plump lips. “What else can you do?” He joked. 

Shane took a breath. “A shower… I’d like to do a shower.” He smelled himself. “No, I need to take a shower. I just…” He trailed off. 

“You just what?” 

Shane frowned again, in that way that was sure to kill Ilya. “I just don’t want to look at myself.” He buried his face in his hands, brushing them down the length of it in frustration. 

Ilya rested his hand on his shoulder, so as not to arouse him in any way. “You don’t have to, Shane. I don’t have to either, if you don’t want me to.” 

“Would you?” Shane asked, seemingly so embarrassed about every little request. 

“Are you seducing me, Hollander?” Ilya joked. “I would love to meet your new balls. Or ball. Whatever… it would be honor…”

“Ilya…” 

“Sorry… no jokes, right.” He could see on Shane’s face that he was exhausted, and that this no-joke boundary was as serious as the cancer in his body. He really wasn’t ready to have any kind of fun about this. He raised his hand to Shane’s face and grazed his thumb over his freckles. “Of course I will look, Shane. I will tell you whatever you want to know. I will paint a fucking picture of it if you want.” Fuck, you can’t handle the no jokes can you. Go to fucking therapy. Shane let out a small laugh despite himself. “Shane, I know they are important to you, and that this is awful thing… but you need to know that I really do not care. Okay?” He leaned in and kissed his forehead. “They could have added ball down there, I wouldn’t care.” Enough, Rozanov… he said no jokes. “We will go slow, and we will do this however you want. Yes?” 

“Yes.” Shane said, nodding. 

“You want to go now?” Ilya asked, and Shane nodded. “Smoothie first.” He ordered, and of course, Shane was happy to humor him. You little minx.

The walk up the stairs felt so intimate, and that eased something in both of them, knowing that they physical intimacy would be limited for the next few months. It felt good to just enjoy touch that was not driven by their sexual desires, but rather their desires for closeness. Ilya was patient and encouraging—it was necessary given that every lift of Shane’s leg came with a new painful sensation. There was a deep and painful tugging both across the incision, and beneath the skin where he was held together by stitches and a prayer. It felt like he was being kicked in the nuts—or nut—every step. He walked hunched over, unable to fully straighten up without feeling an ache across his entire midsection. They took it slow, Ilya there to offer support, one hand never leaving Shane’s back. 

“I feel like I’m gonna hurl.” Shane admitted when they reached the landing. 

“Ah, yes. Please don’t… I can do one ball, I cannot do barf.” Ilya joked. He looked at Shane who was smiling and breathing hard. “Sorry. I am bad at no jokes.” 

“I think I have established that you need them to deflect more than I need you not to do it. It’s fine.” He said, honestly, and Ilya just smiled. 

“You are almost there.” Ilya said, looking at the remaining stairs. 

When they made it to the top, Shane looked spent, and Ilya wanted nothing more than to tuck him in and cuddle him until morning, but he also knew that if they didn’t conquer the shower now, it would only get harder with each passing hour. Shane needed to face his new reality, and Ilya knew that it would be easier to face together. 

They entered the bathroom together, and the mood in the room was at an all-time low. Ilya could see the tension and fear on Shane’s face. God, this must be so hard for you. He leaned in to kiss him gently. “We don’t have to do this.” He said, meaning every word. 

“I want to feel clean.” Shane admitted. “I think it will make me feel better.” 

Ilya knew he was right, so he reached for the hem of Shane’s hoodie and shirt and lifted them over his head. He noted the bruises on his arms from where the IV’s had likely been, as well as the small red patches where he had likely reacted to the sticky heart monitors. He still looked so fucking beautiful. He reached for the waistband of Shane’s sweatpants and looked at his face for permission. Shane’s hand landed on Ilya’s. “Could you, maybe…” He looked away. 

“Hollander…” 

Shane looked back at him. “Could you get undressed first?” He said, sheepishly. “I… I don’t want to feel like a patient right now. I just want to feel like I’m showering with my boy…” He trailed off. 

Ilya let out a small laugh and pulled his shirt over his head. “With your what, Hollander?” He teased. 

“I didn’t mean…” 

“With your what, Hollander?” He prodded again, and now Shane was outright annoyed. 

“Can you please not make fun of me? This is hard enough without you being an asshole.” He said seriously, and Ilya realized once again that he had struck a nerve. I just want to go to fucking sleep and wake up alone with two balls.

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” He said earnestly, then he grinned again. “You do not deserve asshole for boyfriend. I am sorry.” Shane let out a breath of relief but he didn’t smile. You are breaking my heart, Hollander. Ilya rested his palm against Shane’s flushed cheek and leaned in to kiss his freckles on one side, and then the other. “I am very lucky to have such cute boyfriend.” That forced a small smile on Shane’s face, but Ilya could see the sadness in it. “What do you need right now, Shane?” He asked softly, wanting to fix the sadness in his face. 

“A fucking time machine.” He said, a little bitter. He closed his eyes, unable to voice his needs while looking into the eyes of the man he needed most. “Maybe just a fucking hug.” 

Ilya let out another small laugh, and he peeled off his pants and underwear before going in for a hug. Maybe he is like baby. He needs skin to skin. He approached Shane slowly, and pulled him in gently, tucking his face into his neck as he held him close. “Is okay to have hard time, Shane.” 

“I know.” Shane said, but it was far from convincing. 

“I know this is scary, but you are brave.” He pulled back just enough to kiss his temple softly. “You are so so brave, Hollander.” 

“Not brave enough to go to a fucking doctor when I should have.” He muttered into Ilya’s neck, and Ilya could feel the pain in it. He regretted it now, obviously, but Ilya was once again faced with an immense amount of guilt hitting him in the face, knowing that without this terrible thing, they might still be sneaking in an annual hookup and lying to the world about it. He knew he would give up everything they had if it meant Shane could be healthy, but he also knew that wasn’t possible now. 

Ilya reached a hand up to the back of Shane’s head, gently massaging his scalp the way he watched Yuna do it earlier. Fuck, I will miss this hair. “You are not coward, you are just young. And you are strong enough to fight this so year from now we can look back and laugh together. Okay?” 

A year from now? Will you still be around? God, I need you to still be around. How the fuck are we going to do this? How the fuck is cancer easier than whatever the fuck we are going to have to face the next couple of years? Jesus. “Okay.” Shane took a step back and looked at him. “Okay… okay.” He just kept repeating it as he glanced at the shower. “I think I’m ready.” 

“Okay.” Ilya said. Shane looked so fucking gassed, but he wanted this moment to be as pleasant as it could be. “You want chair in there?” 

Shane shook his head. “No. I just want to get this over with as quick as possible.” 

Ilya nodded, and his fingers went back to his waistband. “Can I?” Shane nodded again, and this time his eyes moved over Ilya’s shoulder, to embarrassed to look him in the eye as he pulled down his pants. “You want me to look here, or in there?” He gestured towards the shower. 

“In there.” Shane said. 

Ilya moved to the shower, turning it on and checking the temperature more than once to make sure it was perfect for his Shane. “Incision can get wet?” He asked, unsure. 

Shane nodded. “They said it was okay to clean it with just water in the shower as long as it’s healing okay.” 

“And is it?” 

Shane shrugged. “I, uh… I guess I don’t know.” 

Ilya smiled. “Okay.” He moved slowly towards Shane and reached his hand towards the dressing. “I will look here. Just at incision… to be sure. Okay?” Shane nodded. Ilya crouched, and respected the boundary that Shane had set, looking only at the bandaged area before gently peeling up the tape. 

The incision looked angry, red and raised, with an alarming amount of bruising that Ilya didn’t necessarily expect. I guess they had to stretch hole very wide for such nice ball to come out. “It looks okay for shower.” He said softly, about to stand. 

Shane pushed his shoulder back down. “What does it look like? The incision?” 

Ilya smiled up at him. “Ah, probably about size of Hayden Pike’s dick.” 

Shane let out a laugh, and winced immediately. “You’re such an asshole.” He took a breath. “Seriously.”

“Let’s get in shower… you have, what do you call?... goose bumps?” He brushed his warm palms along the sides of Shane’s thighs before standing again. “I will tell you when you are warm.” 

Shane nodded and he stepped into the shower slowly. He tilted his head back under the stream, letting the warm water wash over him. It felt nice, aside from the slight burn he felt when the water cascaded down his abdomen, over the incision and the swollen area. His eyes were closed, soaking it in, when he felt hands on his head again, gently massaging his hair and scalp. “Mmm. That feels nice.” Shane muttered, so Ilya kept going. After awhile, Shane opened his eyes and met Ilya’s gaze. “I think I’m ready.” His eyes were red-rimmed, and Ilya felt awful that he hadn’t recognized his tears amidst the cascading warm water. 

“Okay. You want me to describe everything?” Ilya asked, leaning in to kiss all around Shane’s face. He nodded, and Ilya crouched down, keeping one hand on the back of Shane’s thigh in an attempt to ground them both. He took another breath. “Incision is not big. Maybe three inches?” He offered Shane a gauge with his fingers, but Shane was staring at the wall behind him, not allowing his eyes to drift down at all. “The bruising is…” He inspected more carefully. “It is impressive, really. Very dark, around incision, and down into your groin.” 

“My dick?” Shane asked, eyes never leaving the wall. 

Ilya smiled wide, only because he knew Shane wasn’t looking. “Yes, little bit…” He looked up at Shane. “Can I touch? Just to move?” Shane nodded, and he seemed too tired to even be embarrassed by the thought of Ilya scootching his flaccid cock out of the way to get a better look at his uneven nutsack. Ilya smiled though, looking at the new future of his sexual-endeavours straight in the eyes—or eye? Or ball? You are still so beautiful, Hollander. “Ah, you are still so beautiful, Shane.” He said softly, and he meant it. 

“Shut up.” Shane said, shifting his weight back and forth. 

He is probably hurting. “Shane, it looks good, really. You are very… puffy. Swollen. Very purple. It looks sore.” He looked up and Shane was nodding. 

“It is.” He admitted. 

Ilya looked back at his junk. “I think you think maybe it looks like something is gone… missing. It doesn’t.” Ilya said, honestly, and he noticed Shane finally looking down. Only for a moment, and only to lock eyes with Ilya,as if he was gauging whether or not he was telling the truth. “Right side looks same. Left side just looks less full… skin is flatter, maybe. But does not look like they just chopped off ball.” He stood up slowly and pulled Shane in by the waist. “It looks healthy, Shane.” 

Shane let his head rest on Ilya’s chest and he took a shaky breath in. “Thank you.” He said, barely above a whisper. “But I’m not healthy.” He said, and his voice cracked. 

“You will be.” Ilya said, rubbing his back in slow circles, plastering the top of his head with soft kisses. 

Shane let out a sob, and it broke Ilya’s heart in an instant. He never thought he would hear the man cry, and now he was watching it happen against his own chest. He just held him a little tighter and let him cry it out. “I don’t know how to do this without you here like this, all the time.” Shane admitted. Please don’t fucking run. 

Ilya closed his eyes and kissed his head some more. “I will be here every chance I get, Hollander. We will figure out, yes?” He felt Shane nod against his chest. “Let’s get you to bed, Shane. You have had long day.” Shane went willingly and wordlessly. 

“You bought me a blanket?” Shane said, when he was comfortable in bed with a new dressing, and an ice pack uncomfortably living over his nuts—nut. 

“Mmm yes. I figured you could use soft blanket to keep you warm when I am not here.” Oh, I am so fucking boring.

Well that was fucking cute. “And the lube?” He gestured to the nightstand. 

“Not lube, Hollander. You really think I am asshole.” Ilya moved to the end of the bed and lifted the blankets just enough to reveal Shane’s legs and feet, before grabbing the massage oil. He rubbed it together in his hands and gently lifted one leg into his lap. “This okay?” He asked, and Shane closed his eyes, nodding, as he melted into the pillow. Ilya massaged his legs and feet firmly, but not enough to hurt him, while sports highlight played quietly on the tv behind him. “Your team… they know?” Ilya asked then. 

Shane nodded. “Yeah.” 

“And?” 

“And what?” 

Ilya smiled. “And they are nice about it?”

Shane was surprised by the question. “Uh, yeah. Of course. They…” He thought about it. “Actually everyone seems to be better at this than I would be.” 

Ilya looked at him confused. “Better at what?” 

“Caring.” Shane said, matter-of-factly. 

Ilya furrowed his brows. “Hollander, you care very much. About everyone. About team. About parents. About me. You care too much about hockey…” He joked. “What do you mean they are better at it?” 

Shane shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How the fuck do I tell him that if the roles were reversed I would have run for the hills. “I think if this was you… I wouldn’t be massaging your feet right now. I don’t think I know how to like, be there for somebody. I can't take care of myself... clearly. Nevermind someone else. I'm just... awkward, I guess.” 

Ilya looked confused again. “Hollander, you were there for me at press conference. You were there for me talking about my family. I think you are doing fine.” 

“I didn’t even say anything to you.” 

Ilya smiled now. “Sometimes is better not to.” He said softly. “You like when people talk to you about this?” 

“Not really.” 

“But it would be harder alone, yes?” 

“I guess so.” Shane said quietly. 

“You are good at showing up for people because you don’t talk, Hollander. You listen. That is what I try to be to you.” He grinned again. “You would not stay if I got sick?” He joked. 

“I don’t know… I would want to. I just wouldn’t be good at it like you.” 

“You would stay, Shane. I know because you could have lied to your mom, about us… but you were brave instead.” He gave Shane’s foot an extra squeeze and shot him that devilish grin. “I think you like me, Hollander.” He winked. 

I think I love you. “Whatever.” Shane said. “Come here.” He patted the bed next to him. 

Right as Ilya was moving his way up the bed slowly, they heard the mood change on the tv, as the panel spoke. 

“The Montreal Metros announced today that nineteen year old phenom, Shane Hollander, will be stepping away from the team indefinitely after undergoing an undisclosed surgery this week. You have to imagine that this might hurt the teams chances at sneaking into the playoffs this season, given their struggles last season.” 

Fuck. “We can turn off.” Ilya offered, reaching for the remote. 

“It’s fine.” Shane said. “I wish they just fucking released what it was for, instead of having everyone question my fucking longevity in the league.” 

“Why didn’t they?” 

Shane took a breath. “I don’t know. I think my agent negotiated with them and said that I should get to announce it how I want, or some bullshit. I don’t want to do it… I just want people to know so I can fucking get on with it.” He looked at Ilya. “I don’t want to show up to the arena bald in a couple of months and have everyone figure it out that way.” 

Ilya smiled. “You will be very sexy bald man.” He got serious again. “How do you want to tell people?” 

“I don’t.” Shane said, almost childishly. 

Ilya laughed, snuggling against Shane’s chest, knowing he couldn’t sleep on his side to do the same. “You want people to know, but don’t want to tell?” 

“Yes.” Shane said, as if those two things could exist together. 

Ilya laughed, and the feeling of it against Shane’s chest was the first bit of joy that Shane had felt that day. “Maybe once you start treatment you make post on instagram.” 

“Maybe.” Shane said, eyes drifting shut. 

“Maybe I come visit and I make post… about me and my good, cancer-filled, pal, Shane Hollander. Then they know we are friends too.” Ilya offered, only half joking. 

“Mmm, sadly, that admission might soften the cancer blow. People will focus on you instead of my fucking disease.” 

“Let them.” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s chest. “Good night, Shane.” 

“Good night, Ilya.” I fucking love you.

Chapter End Notes

Let's talk for a second about literacy...

When I first started making sickfics, I was always complimented on how realistic the medical aspects were. I just want to say, that I find the research and medical stuff to be some of the easiest things to write, because they are based on facts and not feelings. It is much harder to illicit feelings than it is to educate a reader on the medical facts.

Literacy is about more than just having the ability to read. It is the ability to read, sometimes between the lines, and understand while taking bias and other things into consideration. It is about doing the research (properly, without said bias), and forming an opinion based on the facts. I take this seriously, and it's important to me to put out stories that people can somehow relate to, without straying too far from the facts.

So, for anyone who is curious about my research process, here it is!

1. I google. A lot. And I land on medical journals and reliable websites for all of my medical information. From there, it's as simple as reading, until I have enough of an understanding to form a picture in my mind. In this case, it involved a lot of medical journals, surgical reports, and google images of literal balls hahaha! I Ctrl+F the shit out of the websites, searching for the keywords I know I will need in the story.

2. Once I know what diagnosis I want to pursue, I look up the treatment plans. Some have multiple options, others are cut and dry. I look up the chemo medications and all of their side effects. I never throw them all at the poor guys, but I try to dial in on a couple that will really stand out. I have some for Shane already that are actually easter egg'ed throughout the last couple of chapters that will become relevant later. I want you to be able to reread the works and see the signs that were too subtle the first time.

3. I go on Tiktok and Instagram, and I search the diagnosis to find real life examples of people battling it. That is where I pull the emotional shit from, as well as the descriptions of the recovery, etc.

It feels real, because it is real. It is all based off real cases and real people, and then applied to these two bozo's that we know and love.

I hope you enjoy this chapter... it got a little long. There will be more medical stuff to come, but our boy Wilde really walked you through what the hell they did to poor Shane. I might not go that in depth all the time, but this story has really become a bit of a PSA to check your fucking balls if you have them... so I felt it was important to include the nitty gritty details.

See yah next chapter! Where hopefully we can have some more silly's again.

Chapter 7

“Hop up on the table, Hollander.” Jarvis said, pointing to the exam table. 

“There will be no hopping.” Shane joked, feeling a little more like himself seven days post-op. 

Jarvis smiled. “Do you want them in here for this?” He asked, gesturing to his parents. 

“No.” Shane said, grateful for the reminder. 

Jarvis smiled at them and directed them towards the door. “I will do the exam, and save the good stuff for my office. Fair?” 

“Fair.” Yuna said with a smile. “We will be right outside,  honey.” She said to Shane, and he had to remind himself to not be so fucking annoyed with his overly-loving mother. 

“Could you not be? Could you maybe just go wait in his office?” Shane asked, as if she could see his junk through the door. Hey, if I can see Rozanov’s naked body through his equipment, you just never know. The x-ray vision may be genetic. 

“Okay.” Yuna agreed, smiling at Shane and Jarvis while David all but pulled her out of the room. 

Jarvis turned back to Shane with a grin. He was used to treating guys for injuries, but this was an entirely new team-medicine experience for him too, and it was funny to be reminded that some of his players—his patients—really were still kids. He couldn’t remember the last time one of them brought a parent to the office with them, but he was happy to see that Shane had their support through this very difficult thing. “So, how you feeling kid?” 

Shane laid back on the table, gown already on, ready for easy access to the one-ball-wonder that was his dick these days. “Okay.” He said, honestly. 

“Give me a pain scale.” Jarvis asked. 

“Four when I’m sitting. Six when I’m moving.” Shane said, once again trying to stay honest. 

“So manageable, that’s good.” He gloved up and reached for Shane’s gown, looking to him for permission that Shane granted with a small nod. He pulled it back to reveal a mosaic of colorful ball-trauma-induced bruising, and an incision that was pretty well healed. “I need to feel around, but let me know if I’m hurting you and I will stop right away, okay?” Shane nodded, and Jarvis continued his examination. It was far more gentle than the time before, and Shane appreciated that. He removed his gloves and tossed them in the trash before pushing back from the table. “You can cover back up. Things look good. It’s all healing well.” He watched Shane psych himself up to bring himself to a sitting position and smiled when he managed alright. “Alright, do you want to talk next steps in here, or in my office with your folks?” 

Shane shrugged and smiled. “Could we get anything… not so mom-approved, taken care of in here?” 

“Like what?” Jarvis said, grinning. You really are just a kid. 

“I don’t know… anything with the mention of fucking balls. Sex. You know…the embarassing stuff.” 

Jarvis let out a laugh. “First of all, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about any of this. You have been facing it all with a lot of grit and grace. You could help a lot of other young guys when this is all over…or now, even.” Shane smiled. “Second of all, I think the worst parts are behind you in terms of the embarrassing parts. Chemo will be its own kind of beast, but we can talk about that.” He looked at Shane a little longer. “Do you have… sex questions for me?” 

“No.” Shane shot back, a little too quickly.

“Maybe like, when you can have it again?” Jarvis asked. These fucking puck bunny chasing assholes. Of course you want to know when you can stick that thing in another girl.

“I have no desire to do that right now.” Shane said, smiling down at his junk. 

Jarvis huffed a laugh. “Well, any girl worth having won’t care, Shane… and you might not be feeling up to it once treatment starts anyway.” This guy needs a buddy right now as much as he needs a damn doctor. 

“Oh..” Shane said, realizing in an instant that coming out to his parents didn’t mean he was magically out to the world. “Yeah…” He said, but he must have looked deeply concerned. Or confused. Or just fucking stupid. 

Jarvis got serious for a moment and furrowed his brows. “Shane, you know that anything you say here stays between us, right? Medically, at least. If you have questions…” 

Shane didn’t even have time to filter himself. “I just don’t…Nevermind.” 

Jarvis lifted his brows, seeing if he might have more to add. “Okay…

“I don’t sleep with women…” Shane said after a long delay. What the fuck are you doing, you absolute fucking idiot. 

Dr. Jarvis pursed his lips and nodded his head before landing on a small smile. “Thanks for telling me.” He said, a little too professional. “Do they know?” He asked, gesturing towards the door. Then he bowed his head. “You don’t have to answer that! Medically, I’m happy you told me, Shane. We are dealing with your reproductive and sexual organs, it’s good to know how I can better address your concerns where sex is concerned down the road. It’s important.” 

“They know.” Shane offered. 

“Oh thank God.” Jarvis said with a long exhale. That was really fucking unprofessional. “I’ve been with the team for almost eight years…as you can imagine, this isn’t a common occurrence. I can admit I’m a little grateful that I can’t let anything slip.” Shane let out a small laugh. “Actually… there was one more thing I wanted to give you.” He opened a drawer of the small desk that housed the computer and pulled out a brochure. “This is about prosthetics… if you’re interested down the road.”

“What do you mean?” Shane asked, confused. 

“A lot of men get used to their new… situation, and they just leave it as is. But if down the road you feel like it’s something you may want to explore, there are options for prosthetics, They are placed under the skin to give you the illusion of having two testicles.” Shane opened the brochure, but closed it immediately when he realized there were very real, very unsexy photos inside. “Sometimes they do it at the same time, but because of your diagnosis they would not have wanted to bring in a foreign object and open you up to any kind of infection before treatment.” 

“Thank you.” Shane said, hitting the brochure across his thigh and holding it up. “This goes in the embarrassing category, for the record.” 

“Of course it does.” Jarvis said standing up. He clapped Shane’s shoulder before reaching for the door. “Get dressed, Hollander. You can meet us down the hall and we will discuss what you can expect from here.” 

Jarvis waited until everyone had settled before opening Shane's chart. The joking that had carried them through the exam faded naturally from his face, replaced by the kind of quiet confidence that had earned him the trust of an entire MLH organization.

"Alright." He began. "I spoke with your oncologist this morning. We now have everything we need to move forward with your treatment.” The room became still. "The pathology confirmed what we suspected before surgery. The tumor we removed from your left testicle was a non-seminomatous germ cell tumor. That's the most common type of testicular cancer we see in young men your age. Unfortunately, the scans also confirmed that the cancer had already spread before surgery." He rotated the monitor so the family could see the CT images. "These are the lymph nodes at the back of your abdomen." He traced a line with his finger. "They're called the retroperitoneal lymph nodes. They sit in front of your spine and wrap around the major blood vessels that supply your abdomen and legs. Testicular cancers almost always spread here first because that's where the lymphatic drainage from the testicles naturally goes. It isn't something you did wrong…it’s simply the route this disease tends to travel."

Shane leaned forward, studying the image despite not having the slightest idea what he was looking at. "Is that why my back hurts?"

Jarvis smiled faintly. "They're a big part of it. Those lymph nodes have become enlarged as cancer cells collected there. Because they sit so close to the muscles, nerves, kidneys, and the front of your spine, they create a deep, aching pain. A lot of patients think they've strained their back or pulled a muscle. Others describe it as stomach pain because the discomfort wraps around into the abdomen."

Shane nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

"You told me your lower back had been bothering you for months, and more recently you'd started having pain through your stomach. Looking at these scans now, that timeline fits." Yuna swallowed hard as Jarvis clicked to the next image. "Unfortunately, we also found disease in your lungs." Her eyes snapped to the screen. "The good news is that we're talking about several very small nodules, not large masses. They aren't affecting your breathing, and they're exactly the kind of metastases we commonly see with this disease."

David frowned. "So... what is the actual diagnosis, Doc?"

Jarvis closed the chart and looked directly at Shane before answering. "Shane, you have Stage III testicular cancer." Silence settled over the office. Shane stared at the floor while Yuna instinctively reached for David's hand. Jarvis let them have a few seconds before continuing. "I don't want that number to scare you. Staging tells us where the cancer is… it doesn't tell us whether we expect to beat it. Testicular cancer behaves differently than many other cancers. Even at Stage III, it remains one of the most curable solid cancers we treat." He looked from Shane to his parents. "Our goal is not to slow this down. Our goal is to cure it." The tension in the room eased just enough for everyone to breathe again. "The surgery removed the primary tumor, but surgery alone can't eliminate microscopic cancer cells that have already traveled elsewhere. That's why chemotherapy is the next step."

He slid a printed treatment schedule across the desk. "Tomorrow morning you'll have a port placed beneath the skin just below your collarbone. It's a small device connected to one of the large veins leading into your heart. Instead of putting IVs into your arms every day, all of your chemotherapy, blood work, fluids, and medications can be given safely through the port. Considering how much treatment you're about to receive, it'll make the next few months considerably easier."

Shane looked down at the schedule. "So I’m starting right away?"

"You are. The oncologist doesn't want to give this any more time than it has already had." Jarvis pointed to the calendar. "You'll receive three cycles of BEP chemotherapy. Bleomycin, Etoposide, and Cisplatin.” 

Fuck, I hope there isn’t a quiz. Those sound like things on the fucking periodic table. 

“Each cycle lasts twenty-one days. During the first week of each cycle, you'll be in the cancer centre Monday through Friday for several hours each day. The following two weeks are lighter…you'll return once each week for Bleomycin while your body recovers before beginning the next cycle." He ran his finger to the end of the schedule. "If everything stays on time, you'll finish treatment in January. By then, we'll repeat your CT scans and blood work. Our expectation is that those enlarged lymph nodes will shrink dramatically, the spots in your lungs will disappear, and your tumor markers will return to normal."

"And if they don't?" David asked quietly.

"Then we adjust. Testicular cancer has very well-established treatment pathways. We always have another step available if we need it. But right now, this is exactly where I would expect a nineteen-year-old in Shane's position to start." He folded his hands. "I also want you prepared for what the next couple of months will probably feel like. Cisplatin is an excellent drug against this cancer, but it isn't gentle. Fatigue will likely become your biggest challenge. You'll probably lose your hair. Nausea is common, although we have very effective medications to keep it under control. Food may stop tasting right. You may notice ringing in your ears or changes in your hearing, numbness or tingling in your fingers and toes, and because chemotherapy suppresses your immune system, even a fever of 38 degrees becomes something I want you calling the cancer centre about immediately." He looked directly at Shane. "This is going to be a hard winter, buddy." Then his expression softened. "But based on everything I know about this disease, your age, and how you've responded so far, I fully expect this winter to become a chapter in your life abd not the ending of it."

“Okay.” Shane said, slumping further into the chair. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” He looked at Yuna first, anticipating a list, but Shane managed to get a word in first. 

“You told the boys I might be able to skate during all of this… can that still happen?” He was deflated now—the reality of the next season of his life hitting him all at once. 

Jarvis nodded. “I don’t want you in full equipment anytime soon given the location of your surgery.” He raised his brows knowingly. Nothing embarrassing, Jarvis. “But we can revisit the idea in a couple of weeks, after your first treatment, and once your incisions have healed. I don’t see why we can’t get you out there just to keep your legs fresh.” He took a breath. “I do need a hell of a lot of honesty out of you though, Shane… you’re young, but you aren’t invincible. I need you to start practicing the art of listening to your body. Okay? I know for a fact that once treatment starts there will be many days when you shouldn’t be on the ice. I need you to listen to your body on those days. Okay?”

Shane nodded. “Am I allowed to fly?” He asked next, Ilya on his mind. 

Jarvis smiled. “Privately, yes. I wouldn’t recommend commercial flights with a weakened immune system. Unless it’s an emergency.”

“Okay.” Shane said again. You’re going to be fine. Just get through it. 

“Should we be moving to Montreal for the next few months?” Yuna asked. 

Please say no, please say no, please say no. Shane closed his eyes and waited for an answer. 

Jarvis looked at Shane and smiled. “That’s entirely for you to decide together.” He looked at the three of them again. “Shane…” Shane looked up. “You are an adult, and I think you are capable of making your own choices… but if there comes a time when you aren’t able to physically take care of your needs, they need to know about it. That means complete honesty on the days where you feel too tired, or too weak. Got it?” Shane nodded. “You are in Ottawa, correct?” 

“Yes.” Yuna said, reluctantly, knowing this man was not on her side. You were supposed to say yes, you PHD, MD piece of trash. 

“Again, it’s up to you… but I think we can find a way to have the boys there at the centre during infusion times when their schedule allows, just to combat the loneliness of it all. You can cycle in… but oftentimes the few days following treatment are harder. You could get through the first round and find out what works for you.” 

Shane’s face fell into his hands, trying to rub the stress right out of it. I just want to be fucking alone. 

“Shane, you need to learn how to ask for help. You can’t fight cancer alone.” Jarvis said. What are you a fucking mind reader? “You’re going to be exhausted in a way you have never felt before, and it’s better to ask for help when you need it than to wait and feel worse after not taking care of yourself.” 

Shane nodded, then grinned. “Am I allowed to drink?” 

Jarvis smiled back and let out a little laugh. Fucking children. “You heard about the funeral, did you?”

“You heard about it?” Shane asked, surprised. 

“I overheard when I was working on one of the guys.” He admitted. He grinned at Shane again. “You off the hard stuff?” 

“Just taking regular Tylenol and Advil.” Shane said honestly. 

Jarvis nodded. “I can’t really recommend it, given your current circumstances…” He gestured to his junk. “But I think it would also be fair to have a good night before treatment starts. Just don’t be an idiot, Hollander. We can’t have you stumbling around and falling after surgery. You really shouldn’t be doing this at all… but I get it.” 

Shane smiled and nodded, before wiping off the smile when he saw the judgmental faces of his parents. He looked at them, then Jarvis. “I’ll behave.” 

Hayden was dense in a lot of ways, but Shane had to give him a little bit of credit when he let him know that the restaurant and bar they had rented out for the night was only a minute from Shane’s house, so he could leave anytime if he needed to rest. Shane didn’t plan on needing a mid-funeral nap, but he appreciated the gesture. Fuck, will my life just become staying in close proximity of preplanned nap locations? Will I even leave my house in the next three months? He shook the worries from his mind as he hobbled down the street to the bar. His junk felt better—but certainly not perfect. He was still bruised, still sore, still a little groggy and fatigued, but he needed this and he knew it. He really just wanted to feel like a nineteen year old for a night. 

“SURPRISE!” He heard in a very unharmonized symphony of shouts from varying places across the bar. It was unexpected, given the fact that this was not at all a surprise. In fact, it had been planned only after he had given the boys permission to do so. He smiled anyway, as he was greeted by genuine hugs and pats on the back. 

The bar was bright and fun, the kind of place young people would gravitate to after a concert or a game downtown when they weren’t quite ready to say goodnight to the fun they had been having—and it was full. It was full of his teammates and their wives and partners, his coaches, and even the medical team, Jarvis included. They all seemed to be genuinely excited to see him, and Shane realized that this was a group of people who were watching him grow up before their eyes, in dressing rooms, and in their kitchens and living rooms on the nights they invited him into their homes just to make sure he was being taken care of—and now they were going to see him battle cancer. Maybe they all needed this. 

Shane had no experience with cancer, aside from the cells that were growing inside of his own body. As he looked around the room, he wondered if he was the only one. It was entirely possible that the real adults that were showing up for him had been forced to show up for someone in the same boat before—maybe even with an unfortunate end result. While he was living his life, reminding himself that he was fine, his teammates and friends may be living theirs with the knowledge that the last time they had been forced to go through this with someone, that they had not ended up being fine. So, while this night was planned with only the best intentions and in the spirit of fun, he also knew that this was a form of therapy for everyone in attendance. 

“Welcome.” Jacky said, solemnly, as she handed him a funeral program. He couldn’t help but laugh when he looked down at it. An image of a single, poorly illustrated testicle was centered on the page with a title that read, IN MEMORIAM—SHANE HOLLANDER’S LEFT TESTICLE, with the dates included—May 10,1991-October 30, 2010. He especially enjoyed the tagline at the bottom of the card—Gone, but never forgotten—in bed. 

“Thank you, Jacky.” Shane said, matching the hilariously solemn nature of her greeting. He wrapped her in a hug as best he could around her, suddenly very noticeable, very large, baby bump. “How are you feeling?” He asked, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping back. 

“Like a fucking whale.” She joked, before turning serious. “How are you feeling, buddy?” 

He smiled and nodded. “I’m hanging in there.” He said softly. 

“Good! Then let’s get you a drink, shall we?” 

Jacky walked him towards the bar where many of his teammates appeared to already be more than a few drinks in. He laughed again when he saw the large custom banner hanging above the bar—HANG IN THERE, with another lovely illustration of a hanging, single-nut, ballsack. SOmehow this was a love language that Shane seemed to understand more than the concept of these guys holding his hand through treatment. He snapped a picture of the banner before opening his texts with Ilya.

SHANE: They went all out. 

He sent him the photo of the banner, along with one of the funeral program he had been handed. 

ILYA: I love it. I hope you have a good night, Hollander. You deserve it. 

Shane smiled briefly before the bubbles appeared. 

ILYA: I miss you. 

He replied with a heart emoji and put his phone back in his pocket for the night before he was being offered a seat at the bar, and a flight of drinks were being placed in front of him. “Alright, buddy…here are your signature drink offerings for the night.” JJ began. He pointed to the first, something white and creamy. “Here we have the Ball Buster.” He pointed to the next, which appeared to just be a Guiness. “The Gonad Guzzler.” Shane laughed as he pointed to the next, something orange and fruity looking. “And lastly, the Scrotal Sunrise.” 

“Thank you.” Shane said, reaching for the Scrotal Sunrise, naturally, but it didn’t take him long to indulge in all three of the drinks before him. I wouldn’t want them to get too warm. 

A couple hours into the strangest funeral he had ever attended, Shane was feeling… good. He felt loose. He felt loved. It was nice to spend time with all of his teammates outside of the arena, especially knowing that his time with them would be limited over the next few months. He was glad that he came. He was even happier that they had loved him enough to plan such a stupid fucking event. These assholes like me. 

“Well fellas, I think it might be eulogy time." Hayden slurred suddenly. 

“Seriously?” Shane said. This is going to be good. 

“Ahem.” Hayden said loudly, making his way up to stand on the bar with a paper in hand. “Today, we gather to remember a loyal companion who spent nineteen years hanging in there through compression shorts, puberty, and likely some questionable hookups.” He bowed his head, turning on the fake sadness. “Lefty wasn't perfect. He had a tendency to be a little... lumpy. In the end, he became more trouble than he was worth... But in one final act of selflessness, he gave Shane the chance to catch the problem, fight it, and keep living the life he loves.” He looked at Shane and smiled. 

Oh my God… am I going to fucking cry at my balls funeral. Fucking figure it out, Shane. 

Hayden continued. “He is survived by his brother, Righty, who has reluctantly accepted a promotion to full-time employment, supplying all the testosterone our boy will need to keep getting it up for future lucky men or ladies.” He smiled at Shane again. 

Woah… what the fuck. Does he know?! Or is he just being… Politically correct? Shane furrowed his brows in deep thought. Hayden doesn’t really do politically correct. He straightened his face and put a smile back on. I am so glad my mom isn’t here. 

“Though Lefty may be gone, his legacy lives on…in the stories we'll tell, the jokes we'll never stop making, and in Shane himself, who proved that losing one ball doesn't take away any courage, strength, or manhood.” Hayden’s face softened. “In all seriousness, dude.” He looked at Shane again. “We all love the shit out of you… and we are with you as you enter the next phase of treatment, whatever you need. We can’t wait to have you back on the ice, but more importantly we can’t wait to see you healthy again.” Shane felt a burning behind his eyes all of a sudden. He took a sip of his Gonad Guzzler, trying to push them back. Hayden raised a glass. “To Lefty, Righty, and to Shane.” The bar cheered and toasted a man’s left nut. This is fucking wild. 

Hayden hopped off the bar and wrapped Shane in a hug. He held him a little longer when he heard the choked sound of Shane’s breathing. Awe, buddy. “You’re alright, my guy… let it out.” 

Shane pulled back and wiped away a single tear that had managed to escape, but in front of him, a line of teammates had assembled for more hugs—and one by one, he made his way through them all, his face red and tear-stained by the end. By the time he made it through them all, there was a cheer around the room demanding a speech. Fucking assholes. 

He looked at the bar, then down to his crotch, then over to Jarvis who was already shaking his head as if to say don’t even fucking think about it. Shane smiled and addressed the room from ground level instead. “I, uh…” He began. 

“LOUDER!” He heard from the back of the bar. Fucking JJ. 

Shane turned up the volume just enough to satisfy. “Thank you… for all of this.” He said, gesturing around the room. He took in a shaky breath. Why are you so fucking emotional about something so fucking stupid? “I didn’t expect to be so emotional tonight… but I, uh… I just really appreciate you all.” He took another breath. “I’m not sure any of this has really hit me yet, but it’s nice to know I have a team behind me when it does.” And Ilya… I have Ilya. He raised his glass and ended simply. “To beating cancer.” 

“To beating cancer.” Everyone shouted.

Fuck, I really don’t want to do this. Shane pulled out his phone again to text Ilya. 

SHANE: I don’t think I can do this. This is so fucking hard. 

By the next morning he would very likely have a hangover like so many other teenagers would, but by afternoon he would have a foreign object installed under the skin on his chest—the pathway for chemo to do it’s fucking job. I just want to do my fucking job… with these guys. The prospect of going from being Shane Hollander: Two-Testicled MLH Phenom to Shane Hollander: One-Nut Wonder, Battler of Cancer was daunting as hell. Tonight, he was a nineteen year old guy drinking with his buddies and their families—tomorrow he would be a fucking cancer patient. Last month he was waking up everyday to go to his job on the ice, loving every minute of it—next month he would be waking up bald, sick, and wanting to die. He had no idea how to fucking handle the change. I want to go to sleep and wake up when this fucking nightmare is over. 

His phone rang then. “Excuse me.” He said to whoever was in front of him, as he stepped outside into the crisp November air. 

“Hi.” He said softly, emotion still living in the back of his throat. 

“I love you.” He heard on the other end of the phone, and suddenly all of Shane’s drunken defenses came crashing down. He lowered himself slowly against the brick wall outside of the bar, bowing his head between bent legs, the booze softening the pain between them. He took a couple of shaky breaths, and Ilya continued. “We will do this together, Hollander. Okay? You are going to be okay. We are going to be okay.” 

“Okay.” Shane mumbled. It’s all he could get out. I love you too, is what he wanted to say. A group of drunks stumbled out of the bar and their eyes landed on him then. 

"There's our guy." They announced, but only Hayden caught the look on Shane's face. He looked at Shane, and back to the boys. "You guys go ahead, we will be there in a minute." 

"Sorry, I have to go." Shane said into the phone, before abruptly hanging up on Ilya.

"You okay? Who was that?" Hayden said, unintentionally nosy.

"Rozanov." Shane said, like the drunk fucking idiot that he was. He clapped his hands over his face, both to cover his embarrassment and wipe away the tears on his face. 

Hayden laughed, which felt unexpected. "What did he want?" 

Shane shurgged. "We're uh... we're friends. He was just checking in... it was just poorly timed." 

Hayden nodded. "I was good friends with some of my draft class those first years. I bet it's nice to have someone who can relate to everything you two have been going through." He looked at Shane. "I mean, not this, obviously..." He gestured to his crotch. "But the media circus stuff." 

"Yeah." Shane said simply. He wasn't sure if it was the liquid courage, or the fact that Hayden had openly introduced the idea of Shane fucking men with his singular ball during a bullshit eulogy only an hour ago, but he found himself unable to filter. "He's going to be around, Hayden... like, for treatment and stuff." Shane gave him a look that said and to fuck me, and he hoped Hayden might be able to pick up on it without him having to say the words.

"Oh..." Hayden said, a little confused at first. Then he looked at Shane a little longer, clocking a face he didn't recognize—until he did, maybe. "Oh!" He said quickly. "Is he..." He trailed off. "Are you..." 

"Where are they going?" Shane said, knowing that he didn't want to go further down the closet exit path tonight, not like this, but relieved that he may have taken the first step. 

Hayden looked at the bunch of stumbling idiots who were making their way down the sidewalk in the direction of the arena. "We came to find you... we thought maybe we would take our pre-treatment buddy for one final skate before... well before it changes." Hayden smiled softly, looking down at his hands. 

"I don't know if I can..." 

He heard a voice coming from the door then. "Give me a pain scale." He said, zipping up his jacket. Doc. 

Shane smiled. "Four... with the help of some liquor, I'm sure."

Jarvis looked at Hayden and Shane, then up the street to where the boys were walking, then back to Shane. "It gets past a five, you stop. No equipment. No bending around the incision... you have one of those idiots tie your skates for you. Deal?" 

Shane beamed, like a kid on Christmas morning. "Deal." 

JJ took the job very seriously for a man who could barely stand at that point in the night. "Sit your ass down, Hollander." He pointed toward a bench in the dressing room before dropping to one knee in front of Shane. "Doctor's orders. No bending." His accent was thicker, as if the tequila and Scrotal Sunrise’s made him more French. 

Shane laughed, easing himself onto the bench while the room buzzed around them, drunk and alive, ready to have fun.  "I can tie my own skates."

"You hockey players never fucking listen." JJ yanked the first lace tight, winking at him. "You and your one ball just sit while I take care of these.”

"I'm going to hit you." Shane said, smiling. 

"Did anyone remember the bubble wrap for Hollander’s dick?" Mitty asked, tying his own skates. 

“Fuck you.” Shane rolled his eyes, but he couldn't stop smiling. JJ finished the first skate, gave the tongue a firm pat, then reached for the second. "There." He stood and admired his work. "Little uneven… just like your sack."

“Is this my life now?” Shane asked, still not offended. 

“Probably.” JJ admitted with a shrug before he helped him to stand. 

The walk down the tunnel felt strangely emotional. The cold air hit his face as he stepped onto the ice, and for a second he simply stood there, breathing it in. The smell of the rink, the scrape of blades, the echo of pucks bouncing off the boards—it was home. Tomorrow, hospitals would become his home for a while. Tonight, he wanted one more memory of this place. It’s just a few months. You’ll be back. 

The boys knew better than to push the pace. There were no races, no hard stops, no hard shots. They passed a puck around in lazy circles, laughing whenever someone missed an easy pass that any professional should have made. Every now and then somebody drifted alongside Shane just to bump his shoulder or chirp him before peeling away again. 

For the first few minutes, Shane almost forgot why they were there—then his body reminded him. The dull ache low in his abdomen sharpened just enough that he recognized it immediately. He coasted another lap, hoping it would settle, but by the time he reached the far blue line, the ache had climbed from the steady four he'd been living with to something unmistakably worse. Jarvis had been clear—a five and you’re done. His pain had gone from a four to a seven in only a few minutes. Shane glided toward the bench without saying a word. 

JJ noticed first. "You done?"

Shane nodded. "I’m good."

JJ didn't argue. He just bumped Shane's shoulder as he sat down, then shoved another water bottle into his hand before skating back toward the group. Nobody made a big deal out of it. Shane watched them finish another few laps from the bench, smiling to himself as Hayden nearly wiped out trying to deke around MItty. They looked exactly as they always had—loud, stupid, and way too competitive for a drunken weeknight. Shane allowed himself to stay present, and to just be Shane Hollander for one more night—but his heart was also breaking. 

You’re going to be okay. It’s just a few months. He tried to smile, but his frown kept creeping back. This is really fucking hard. 

Chapter 8

Chapter Notes

Here's a short one to wrap up the day! :)

Remember... no bad guys, only bad circumstances. ;)

...Other than maybe the ancient owners later in the story... but we leave more words for the good guys than those fuckers.

Hayden sat down at the kitchen table with the seriousness of a man who wasn’t surrounded by his twins' shitty artwork, too many toys, and terribly painted rainbow toenails. “Thanks for coming, guys.” He started, looking at the faces of JJ, Mitty, and a handful of other teammates. 

“Dude, are you like, getting a divorce or something? Is Jacky having an affair?” JJ asked, wondering why on earth he was forced to come over on a perfectly nice day off, with no sign of Jacky around to even feed them. 

“No…what?” 

“Woah, is she having an affair?” Mitty added. 

“What? She’s nine months pregnant with my baby, you fucking idiots.” Hayden said, already annoyed. 

“You sure it's yours?” JJ said with raised brows and a shit eating grin. “You’re out of town a lot, Pike.” JJ teased. 

“Are you saying my wife is a cheating whore, JJ?” Hayden said, putting it back on him. 

“No… I’m saying she’s a brilliant woman who made a bad choice the first time.” JJ continued. 

“Fuck you.” Hayden shot back, looking down at the papers in front of him. He rubbed his eyes, annoyed and trying to get back on track. 

“Dadddddddy.” He heard from the other room. “Can you come wipe my bum?” Said the small voice. 

“Oh fuck off.” Hayden said, standing to move. 

“Swear jar, daddy!” The other small voice said from the living room.

“Coming sweetheart.” He said as he left the room to help. He pointed at the second twin, Ruby, on the way out of the room. “Whose side are you on?” He said, having already filled the fucking swear jar that month. 

“Do you wipe your own ass?” Mitty asked when Hayden finally returned. “Or does Jacky do that for you too?” 

Hayden buried his face in his hands again. “This was a mistake.” 

JJ looked around the room. “How can you afford this place with the lowest salary on the team?” He joked again. “Fifth lowest I guess… the rookies have those damn entry level contracts, but we all know Hollander will blow us all out of the water when he signs.”

Hayden got defensive. “I mean, I’m good with my money… and I have…” He realized what he was doing. “Would you just shut the fuck up and let me talk?” He fired back, blood pressure rising higher and higher with every passing second. 

“Jar, dad.” Emma said. Hayden shot her a look and she went back to playing. 

Mitty turned to her. “Is mom allowed to swear?”

She smiled. “Yeah… she said because she grew us inside of her.” The eloquent three year old whoopsie replied. 

Mitty smiled. “Girl has a point. You sure they are yours? They are so well spoken and smart.” 

Hayden’s eyes went wide and he had no words. He was entirely over the Roast of Hayden Pike when he had assembled this flock of assholes in the spirit of being a good friend and teammate for their ailing, single-balled, buddy. He took a deep breath. “Alright, can we please just fucking do this?” 

“You still haven’t told us what we’re even doing.” JJ said, annoyed at his friend. 

“I’M FUCKING TRYING TO!” Hayden shouted. 

“Jar.” All the men said at once. 

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Shane started treatment yesterday…” 

“Oh shit. This is about that.” One of the guys said, settling into the now sadder conversation. 

“Do you have any chips or something?” JJ said, searching the cupboards. “I’m hungry.” 

Hayden was about to lose his ever-loving mind. He had two young girls, and another kid on the way any day, and here he was parenting the shit out of a group of grown men who bullied him into submission multiple times a week. You are fucking weak, Pike. “Sit the hell down and listen.” He snapped at JJ. JJ smiled and listened. 

“He started treatment yesterday, and I was there.” Hayden continued. 

He couldn’t get another word in before he had a small hand tugging on his pant leg. “Did Uncle JJ get chips?” Ruby asked. Hayden stopped his line of thought again and went to the cupboard, grabbing a bag of chips, all but throwing it to the girl. “I can’t open it.” She said, and he was forced to swallow his pride and take it back to help. She grinned and was kind enough to offer a single chip to JJ before running back to the living room. 

He was about to start again, but he turned to find Emma in his seat. “Where’s Uncle Shane?” She asked sweetly as she looked at all of her uncles in the room—the youngest, most fun, and favorite, clearly missing. 

Hayden lifted her off the chair and spoke softly. “Uncle Shane is sick, remember?” He took a breath. “We have a lot of mean germs in our house from preschool, and from mommy’s visits to the doctors office… so Uncle Shane has to take a bit of a break from coming to play so he can stay healthy.” Fuck, this is so unfair. He’s a fucking kid himself. She seemed satisfied with the response and scampered off with her sister. 

The boys could tell that that hit a little too close to home for Hayden—it did for all of them. 

“How was he?” Mitty asked. 

Hayden took a massive breath in, collecting himself as he exhaled. “Um… good. He was good.” He sat back down and looked back at the papers. “I think he was a little nervous, but his parents were there, so I think that helped.” He looked at the boys. “Uhhh…and Rozanov was there too.” 

“What the hell?” More than one guy said, realizing at some point that hell didn’t warrant a swear jar payment. 

“Yeah…” Hayden said, trying to figure out what to say next. “I…um…” He was stalling, and he also didn’t know what to say. “I think they have like, a thing?” He was met with confused faces and absolutely no help from the apparently-reformed-peanut-gallery-of-dick-heads. There was a silence that was longer than anything Hayden had ever experienced in the overstimulation-chamber-of-hell that was his female-filled, home of hormones. Say something, you pieces of shit. He waited them out as everyone stared at each other like a bunch of confused Muppets. 

“Sooo…” JJ finally said, bravely. “Hollander is gay? For Rozanov?” There was some laughter around the table.

“Don’t do that.” Hayden said quickly. 

“Do what?” One of the guys asked. 

“Don’t laugh about it.” Hayden looked at them as they all went silent. That’s right, fuckers. “He showed up, didn’t he?” He looked down at the paper and pointed at it. “And he gave me every single date that he can be there with him… perfectly aligning with the Raiders schedule. So, I think it’s serious.” He took a breath. “As serious as two nineteen year olds can be, I guess.” 

“Buddy, you had like four kids by nineteen.” JJ said. 

“Oh fuck off… We had the twins when I was twenty-one.” 

“And already on your third accident…” Another joked. 

Hayden shook his head. “I fucking hate you guys… can we get back to this?” 

“It’s not a big deal.” Mitty said, simply. “Is it?” 

Hayden shrugged. “I mean… it shouldn’t be? But the kid already has fucking cancer, and if this gets out, it will just be another thing to stack on his fucking plate. And I asked you guys here…” He looked at the eight guys in front of him. “...Because I know you’re not assholes.” He laughed. “Well I know you're not assholes to Shane…” They laughed. “I think we need to work together to support them, but maybe not let the organization know… I’m not sure that our ancient  ownership group would be quite so welcoming, especially with a rival in the mix. And I don’t know about you guys… but I think I would like to keep the guy around to win some Cups.”

There were nods of agreement. JJ continued to dig through the cupboards as he spoke. “I don’t think Rozanov is a bad guy… I actually kind of like him. He’s young and cocky. If Shane likes him, he can’t be that bad off the ice. Sounds like my kind of guy, honestly.” 

Hayden breathed a sigh of relief. “I honestly thought you’d be the one to have a fucking problem with this…I gotta say, I’m relieved.”

JJ was offended. “He’s a kid. I was no better when I was new in the league.”

“You’ve been in the league for three minutes, JJ…You’re no better now.” Mitty teased. “Let’s not jump on board the veteran-train.” 

“Whatever… I have earned my spot around here.” He looked at Hayden. “So, is Hollander out? With you at least?” 

Hayden shrugged again. “Kind of? They really didn’t hide it when I was there.” 

“Did they fuck in the cancer center?” JJ asked after looking around the room to make sure the chip-monsters had left the area. 

“God… no. Rozanov was just, like…I don’t know. Tender? Sweet even.” Hayden said softly. “He looked tired, actually. Like this is all weighing on him too.” 

“Do you have his number?” Mitty asked. 

Hayden pulled out his phone. “Yeah, actually. We exchanged them before we left… Just in case. Fucker put me in his phone as 15th Best Metro.” He caught the smiles on the faces of the boys, as if that warranted more respect than the fact that he was holding their guys hand through cancer treatment. 

“Make a group chat.” Mitty said, as if this whole supporting their buddy and his apparently also gay or bisexual boyfriend, who happened to be their biggest rival, through cancer was not the most complex thing ever. 

Wow. This is not how I expected this to go. “Okay, for what?” 

“Well…” Mitty pointed at the papers in front of Hayden. “I assume Mr. Pike is about to assign us Hollander-sitting homework, right?” 

“Well… I look at it as more being a good fucking person duties, but yeah.” 

“Great… well I’m sure his boyfriend would appreciate updates when he can’t be there. So make a group chat. With all of us…include his parents even.” 

“Don’t do that!” JJ said, jumping in. “I fully plan on filling that bitch with inappropriate ball jokes and questions about their sex life.” There was another round of hushed laughter in the room, agreeing without saying it. 

“Okay… no parents.” Mitty continued with a smile. “If this is what the kid needs… we do it. Maybe ask his permission first, but he should know that we’re in his corner. In their corner.” 

Hayden felt an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes. Shane was… important. He had been important in his life since the minute he met him. He walked in that dressing room as a fresh eighteen year old, away from his family and navigating his role as not just a professional hockey player, but as a half-Japanese minority, with the weight of an entire country’s and an entire leagues expectations on his shoulders—he hadn’t even known to add his sexuality to the already full diversity platter yet. God, and then he had to lose a fucking ball on top of it. Shane didn’t need a team then, he needed a family—and that’s all Hayden had to offer him. For the last year and a half, he had blended into their life seamlessly. What had started as a weekly dinner had become frequent visits, birthday party invitations, and quiet holidays with a family that wasn’t his. Hayden could relate to Rozanov more than he wanted to now, because he too was watching somebody he loved go through a hard thing, with no way to help beyond showing up. He would do whatever he could to make it possible for Rozanov to show up because it’s what his friend needed—he wasn’t sure the boys would be on the same wavelength. 

They must have sensed the change in Hayden’s demeanor. “You good, Pike?” JJ asked softly. 

He nodded. “Yeah. This just sucks. All of it.” 

“Rozanov?” Mitty asked. 

“No.” Hayden clarified with a laugh. “Although, I was kind of hoping he would.” He took a breath. “They’re nineteen… they shouldn’t have to deal with any of the pressure they’ve been dealt already in their careers… And now life threw Shane cancer and falling in love with the one guy he maybe shouldn’t have.” 

JJ moved around the table, clapping Hayden on the shoulder. He spoke softly. “Hey… Jacky fell in love with the wrong man too, and look at how that worked out.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Chapter 9

The automatic doors to the cancer centre opened with the same soft whoosh as every other entrance in the hospital, but somehow this one felt different. I can’t believe this is fucking happening. The rest of the hospital was full of people trying to figure out what was wrong with them—this wing was full of people who already fucking knew. This fucking sucks. 

Shane slowed for half a step as he crossed the threshold, one hand unconsciously drifting to the bump beneath the collar of his hoodie. The port sat high beneath the skin of his chest, still foreign enough that every seatbelt, every shirt seam, every absent-minded brush of his hand reminded him it was there. Two weeks after losing his left nut, his groin still pulled when he walked too quickly, and he still struggled to look in the mirror at a reflection of a body he didn’t quite recognize—now they were asking that same body to survive months of poison.

His mother noticed him hesitate before he realized he had stopped. "You okay, honey?" Yuna asked quietly.

Please don't ask me that all fucking day. You all know the answer. Shane forced a smile that fooled absolutely no one. "No.” He admitted. "But I don't think turning around is an option, is it?"

David squeezed the back of his neck as they continued toward reception. "Pretty sure they'd just call you and make you come back tomorrow."

"I guess so." Shane sighed.

"And then you'd have to be nervous twice." David added with a smile.

Shane was young, and a bit of an idiot for thinking that not having his parents there would be as simple as asking them not to come. He didn’t necessarily want to do this alone, he just didn’t want visitors—no, he didn’t want witnesses— either. The idea of eighteen-thousand fans in an arena cheering for him, at an event that they paid to be at, that was thrilling and something worth leaving the house for, was a hard enough concept to grasp, and often one that made him deeply uncomfortable despite the fact that it was his fucking job—he really just loved the game, fans and money aside. The idea of having people who knew him, and knew him like that, sitting in a stuffy room all day while poison pumped through him, while he pretended it wasn’t bothering him, was a complete fucking nightmare. He knew he could pretend his way through this, pretend that he was fine, so long as there was no one there to witness it. If he had it his way, he would pop back up in society in six months with a full head of hair, a clean bill of health, and maybe even a prosthetic left nut, while his friends, family, and the whole fucking world simply forgot that he was ever less than perfect. 

The receptionist welcomed them, and Shane wondered what it would feel like to be the first face people have to see when they are walking into one of the worst days of their lives. It’s like being a fucking Walmart greeter if the Walmart only sold pain, poison and broken dreams. After checking him in, she strapped a hospital band on him that would be a permanent fixture for the next few months, and directed them toward the infusion suite. He looked at the band and it felt surreal that it was his name on it. It’s fucking nuts that I could sign this and sell it for profit. 

The room was much larger than Shane expected. There were rows of oversized recliners stretched beneath bright windows, each paired with IV poles and a small rolling table. Some patients seemed to be watching the TV’s mounted on the walls. Others slept. One older man worked on a crossword puzzle while chemotherapy dripped steadily through clear tubing into the port beneath his shirt. A young woman, barely older than Shane, nodded along to music played through headphones while a man quietly read beside her. Across the room, an elderly couple played cribbage between medication changes, as though they had turned chemotherapy into another weekly date.

The room was remarkably quiet. Machines chimed occasionally, pumps beeped when bags emptied, nurses laughed softly at the station—but everyone seemed to instinctively respect the invisible weight each person carried through the door. Everyone patient had their place, and every medical professional had their role. It’s like a fucking cancer patient petting zoo. Bland food, no one is talking, everyone is just waiting for attention, and some might be off to slaughter before the end of the year. Every chair held a different story. A different diagnosis. A different prognosis. Different people waiting for the same damn miracle—leave here alive.

They were handed off to a lovely nurse, whose name tag read Melissa, though Shane noticed that she didn’t introduce herself beyond a warm smile—he wondered if there would be an endless cycle of nurses over the course of treatment, and maybe they just didn’t want to overwhelm the patients with the pressure to remember all their names. Too bad half the people here probably fucking know mine. 

"First treatment?" She asked with a warm smile, though his chart in her hands would have told her that already. He nodded. "We'll take it one step at a time." She led him to an empty recliner near one of the windows. "I know everyone talks about how uncomfortable the chairs are." She said while adjusting the footrest. "But we do our best to keep you comfortable. You'll be spending a lot of time in it, so tell me if you need more pillows, blankets, or anything else that might make you more comfortable."

Can you give me my left nut back and rip this thing out of my chest? “Are there better chair options?” Shane asked, quickly realizing that he sounded like a brat. He corrected quickly. “Not here, I mean. Like, for me… I mean in general, is there some kind of top of the line cancer-having chair?” 

She smiled, a little confused. “I mean, yeah. Probably. Free healthcare problems, am I right?” She said, playfully nudging him. Shane was already privileged, but he wasn’t quite the ten-million-dollars-a-year kind of privileged that he was poised to become yet—unless that part of his story had a similar fate to his rotten left nut. Still, he knew that he had the resources to help with things like stupid fucking chairs. He glanced at his mom, and there was a silent exchange that told him that she was picking up what he was putting down. You know, mom… if you treated cancer like you did my endorsements, this would be a lot easier. More business, less feelings. 

Shane settled into the recliner, and shifted more than once trying to get comfortable. It was unfair really—first, he had to adjust to a surgery that had taken something away, only to then have to adjust to another to install something new. Neither felt comfortable as he adjusted himself in a chair he would be expected to live in for the next eight or more hours. 

Melissa noticed the discomfort. "Still sore from surgery?"

"A little."

"I’m sorry." She smiled. “Do you want me to tell you that it’s normal and go all medical on you? Or just tell you that it just sucks and that I’m sorry?… because I can go either direction today.” She washed her hands before kneeling beside him with a small sterile kit.

“Either is fine.” Shane said, a little too seriously. He was nervous. Her kneeling down to do her fucking job was making him nervous. 

"Today we'll access your port for the first time." She said softly. Shane looked away. "It usually isn't as bad as people imagine." She cleaned the skin over the raised disc, waited for it to dry completely, then held the port steady beneath her fingers. "Big breath for me, Shane."

The special needle pressed firmly through the skin and Shane flinched. "Ow." He said quietly, a little childish. I’m already so fucking over this. 

"I know. I’m sorry. It gets easier." She flushed the line with saline. "You'll probably taste something metallic soon." 

A strange, cold sensation crept up his neck before an unmistakable taste filled his mouth. "That's weird."

"Everyone says that. I would say I’m sorry again… but I’d have to say it about a hundred more times today, so I like to quit while I’m ahead." She smiled as she drew a small tube of blood back through the line to confirm placement before securing everything beneath a clear dressing. "Perfect. That's your hardest poke for the week."

“Thanks.” Shane said, politely.

She smiled again. “Tell yah what, Shane… you can stop thanking me for torturing you, and I’ll stop apologizing for it too.” She winked, and he smiled knowing damn well that he would be saying thank-you fifty more times that day. Price of fame… manners are measured. 

The morning passed in stages. There were pre-meds first—a litre of IV fluids, and anti-nausea medications that made him feel pleasantly detached without making him sleepy. There were steroids that left a warm flush creeping across his face. Fuck… are these going to show up on a drug test? Then, finally, the chemotherapy. I guess it doesn’t matter after this shit. 

Melissa hung the first bag with care, checking his name and birthdate against the barcode before connecting it to the tubing. What a shitty fucking job. "This first medication is cisplatin." She explained. "We'll monitor you closely the first time. If anything feels different…itching, chest tightness, dizziness, trouble breathing…you tell me immediately, okay?" Shane nodded. "You don't have to tough it out here. We can’t help if we don’t know."

“Thank you.” He said softly. Ooops.

The pump began its steady rhythm. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, because he hadn’t let himself think about it, but it wasn’t this. There was no instant feeling of nausea. No dramatic feeling of poison coursing through his veins. He just felt normal, for now. Bored, maybe. The worst part so far had been the hovering of his parents, and their incessant need to ask how he was doing every five minutes.

“Same as two minutes ago, mom.” He said, rolling his eyes after the tenth time she asked. 

“I just want to make sure.” She said, almost sad. 

He glanced at his dad who gave him a look, before he reached out to hold his mom’s hand. A smile stretched across her face. “Thanks, mom.”

After nearly an hour, an older gentleman walking laps around the infusion room paused beside Shane's chair. "You play hockey?"

Shane smiled. "I do." Fuck. I am really going to have to announce this shit before this old fucker blows my cover on Facebook… or at Coffee Row tomorrow morning. 

"My grandson's gonna lose his mind when I tell him I met you."

 Shane turned on his media training charm, though he didn’t think it was fair that he had to do it here. Just do it Shane. You can make their day. “Maybe give me a few days before you tell him. I’m new around here."

The man chuckled. "I'll do that."

Not long after when he was stretching his legs, a woman in another recliner waved him over while her daughter adjusted her blanket. "My husband recognized you." Shane rolled his IV pole over without hesitation. They talked about the Metros. About the woman's grandson playing his first season. For five minutes, nobody mentioned cancer, and Shane fulfilled his MLH duties, always casually mentioning his desire for privacy and discretion. Fuck I am in the gay closet and the fucking cancer closet. 

It happened again. And again. And again.  A teenage boy receiving treatment across the room shyly asked for a picture. Another woman wanted to know what kind of cancer he had. Are people supposed to ask that? I don’t need to tell a strange woman that my balls are whack. Someone's husband thanked Shane for stopping to chat because it was the first time his wife had smiled all morning. Every conversation cost him a little more energy than the last, but he couldn't seem to say no. The job of a hockey player unfortunately extended to commitments off the ice, but he didn’t expect that the cancer centre would be a part of it—not as a patient at least. How the hell did you not consider this? He could also understand it—he was only a few hours in and he was bored out of his mind. He knew that he was probably the most exciting thing these people had experienced since they changed the snacks in the vending machines. 

Around noon, Melissa found him rubbing at his eyes between visitors while trying to smile through another conversation. She quietly touched his father's shoulder. "Can I steal you for a second?" David followed her a few steps away. "He's incredibly sweet." She said gently. "But he needs to rest."

David looked back toward Shane, who was still listening intently to another patient's story despite the exhaustion settling on his face. Oh, my boy.  "This isn’t sustainable, is it?"

She shook her head. "We have a duty to protect everyone here, including him. His immune system is going to become more vulnerable, and as kind as these conversations are, every extra person stopping by increases exposure."

"So what’s the plan?"

Melissa smiled. "We have some private infusion rooms available for people who can’t tolerate this environment. He can tolerate it health-wise, but this isn’t fair for him either. We would make an exception to keep him safe."

David glanced toward his son again. For the first time all morning, Shane had leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed while someone else was still talking. His smile was still there, it just looked exhausted now. "I think he'd probably appreciate that more than he'll admit." David said quietly. 

“Okay.” Melissa said just above a whisper. “I will go get that room ready, and I will come back to help you get him moved. I’ll make sure the accommodation is added to his file so we can avoid this moving forward. Okay?” 

“Thank you.” David said. 

When Shane was settled in the quiet room, he was feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. His fame came with privilege that he hadn’t asked for, and didn’t always appreciate— but he was only a few hours into his first treatment, and he was already tired. The idea of humoring strangers and keeping up the appearance that this was all fine and fucking dandy had already begun to wear on him, so for today, he was grateful to have a recognizable face. This will make it so much easier for Ilya to visit. 

Six hours into treatment, Shane had officially stopped checking the clock. The first couple of hours had disappeared beneath a blur of introductions, medication names he wouldn't remember, blood pressure cuffs, bags of clear fluid and the steady click of the infusion pump. Somewhere after lunch, time had stretched itself into something slower. His parents had stopped asking every five minutes if he was okay because the answer had settled into the same tired shrug every single time. How the fuck am I supposed to do this everyday this week? 

He felt fucking heavy, his eyes burned from fighting sleep. He had been sitting in a shitty chair in the private room since they were moved, unwilling to give into the evil’s of the hospital bed he had hockey-privileged his ass into having. Every few minutes he shifted, because his groin still protested every movement from a surgery his body hadn't even finished recovering from before they started pumping poison into it. The exhaustion was different than anything hockey had ever taught him. There were games that made his muscles ache, but this was different—the last three weeks had left his fucking soul tired.

He rested his head against the chair, listening to the quiet hum of the pump beside him. Another bag disappeared into his chest, one drop at a time, and he realized with a strange sense of grief that this room already felt familiar—he hated that.

Ilya hadn't slept well since the last time he left Montreal. He'd finally told the coaching staff that he felt something brewing—a stomach bug, maybe. He said it with just enough conviction that nobody wanted him breathing all over the locker room before tomorrow's mandatory practice. Suckers.  By the time they'd wished him well, he'd already arranged a charter.

Less than twenty-four hours—that was all he could steal. He would land, spend one night beside Shane, and fly back before their next game. Thousands of dollars and an elaborate lie for barely a day together, and it was worth every fucking penny.

The receptionist smiled when she pointed him toward the private infusion rooms. He knocked softly before opening the door. He didn’t even notice the many things attached to Shane when he first entered the room, because his eyes landed right on him instead—his eyes always found him first. He looked so soft and sweet in his Metros hoodie, tubes snaking their way through the collar. I’m happy they didn’t make him wear the scratchy gown. The soft blanket Ilya had bought for him was draped across his legs. His head rested against the back of the chair with his eyes closed, his face pale beneath the fluorescent lights. I wish we could trade places, Hollander. 

Yuna moved first when she saw him, greeting him with a warm hug. “Hey. We had no idea you were coming. We could have picked you up.” She said quietly. 

Shane opened his eyes to the sound of her voice, and it took him a heartbeat to process what he was seeing. "...Ilya?" His voice cracked around the name.

Ilya smiled, though it was already falling apart. "Hi, my love." Ooops. I guess you are doubling down on the unrequited love thing. He made his way towards the chair. “You look tired, Hollander. How are you feeling?” 

Shane smiled and dodged the questions. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you do your first day alone… I would be bad boyfriend.” He joked, leaning down to kiss Shane’s cheek. 

David gave Ilya’s shoulder a squeeze. “We will head out for a bit. Give you boys some time. Do you need anything Ilya?” Ilya shook his head. “Okay. We will be back for discharge, Shane. Text us if you need anything.” 

“Thanks, dad.” Shane said, eyes falling from the weight of exhaustion again. 

“You are tired, Shane.” Ilya said, not asking a question. Shane just smiled and nodded. “You have bed… let’s get you in it.” He said, giving Shane’s hand a squeeze. 

“Will you get in with me?” Shane asked softly. 

Ilya smiled. “Horny, Hollander?” He joked. 

“Not even a little bit.” Shane admitted, eyes still closed. My dick is tired. 

Ilya couldn’t help but lean in and kiss his temples once more. “I will go to bathroom and change from germy airplane clothes, and then yes… I will join you.”

“My immune system isn’t shot yet. It’s fine.” 

Ilya stood to move towards the bathroom, backpack in hand. “Ah, yes. But we are in hospital with many other cancer fighters. They don’t need germs either.” 

Well fuck me, aren’t you the most considerate mother fucker on the entire planet. Maybe I am a little horny. “Okay.” Shane said. 

Ilya stopped and looked at him. “You need help getting in bed?” Shane shook his head, and Ilya went to change. 

Melissa walked in the room then. “You are a popular guy, even in here.” She joked as she ushered Hayden into the room. 

“Hey buddy.” He said with an enthusiasm that didn’t match the current environment. 

I really don’t want these guys seeing me like this. “Hey, Hayd.” Shane said, a little tired. 

Hayden held up a smoothie. “I brought you your favorite.” He announced proudly. 

Enough with the fucking smoothies. I’m missing my left nut, not my damn teeth. “Thanks, buddy. You can put it on the table.” 

“It will melt.” Hayden said, like a supportive idiot. 

Shane smiled. “Sorry. My mouth is just… weird.” 

“Weird?” Hayden asked, plopping down on the chair next to Shane, kicking his feet up on the bed. 

Nothing like your nice foot germs on my bed. “Take off your shoes.” He said, finally finding a damn boundary. “And yeah… I guess it’s a thing. Tastes like metal.” He took a breath and smiled when Hayden returned his socked feet to the bed. “I can’t say I expected any of these symptoms a few hours in.” He admitted. 

“Alright, move over Hollander.” Ilya said, exiting the bathroom decked out in Raiders apparel. 

Asshole. Shane looked back to Hayden, and his eyes got wide, realizing he had entirely forgotten that Ilya was not in fact a normal piece of everybody's fucked up puzzle like he was in the Hollander’s, despite having dropped enough hints for Hayden to maybe assume that there was something going on. “Oh, um… Hayden, this is… Rozanov?” He said, a question, not a statement. 

Hayden looked at Shane and smiled, shaking his head. He extended a hand to Ilya. “Nice to meet you in street clothes, Rozanov.” He looked at his clothes. “Well… maybe not those ones.” I can’t say that I took that “he’s going to be around” seriously. “What brings you to Montreal, Rozanov?” He asked, eyebrows raised. 

Ilya smiled shyly in a way that Shane had never seen. “Ah… just visiting a sick friend.” A softer smile landed on Shane.

“Friend?” Hayden asked skeptically. 

Shane’s head fell back against the pillow, closing his eyes. “Shut up, Hayden.” Shane said with a smile. He patted  the side of the bed with one hand, signaling to Ilya to join him as planned. 

It was funny, Ilya assumed that he might retreat into his Russian-born protective tendencies in a situation like this, denying any potentially dick-touching friendships that may come into question—instead, he found himself climbing up on the bed next to Shane. Somehow, having Shane’s parents know about him, about them, freed up some of the space in his mind that had been previously dedicated to the self-loathing that came with being a closeted man in a country that hated anyone who wasn’t straight. If Shane hadn’t been sick, he knew things would be different—somehow they would be harder, as gross as that felt. Ilya had always been one to throw caution to the wind, and in this situation, who the fuck would have the balls to deny comfort to a kid battling cancer. Sure, not every comfort looked quite like a bi-sexual, Russian rival, with a great ass and a significant conflict of interest where their careers were concerned—but it was a comfort nonetheless. Besides, if the fifteenth best Montreal Metro had something to say about it, Ilya wasn’t above talking with his fists in the middle of a hospital—it was a language he knew better than English some days. 

He reached over Shane and grabbed the smoothie from the table. “Have you eaten today?” He asked quietly. 

Shane shook his head. “Not really.” 

“Are you nauseous?” Ilya asked, before forcing the poor guy to drink. 

He shook his head again. “No, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” Ilya said, gently grazing Shane’s arm with his free hand. He handed him the smoothie. “Drink, please. You will feel worse if you don’t.” 

Shane reluctantly accepted the smoothie and drank, unable to hide the confusion that came with the tastebud-transplant someone must have given him without his knowledge. He opted for the speed-method, and drank more than half of it in a single attempt so he wouldn’t have to drag out the miserable taste of it any longer than he had to. It’s the first day… how is this already a thing? Is it fucking with my mouth, or my brain? Jesus. 

When he handed it back to Ilya, he caught the annoyed look on Hayden’s face and he knew without looking that Ilya would be wearing a smug look on his. You smug kid, Hayden thought. “How’s the day been, Shane?” He asked, trying very hard to not form an opinion on whatever he was watching unfold in front of him. Kid has cancer. If he’s what he needs, he’s what he needs. 

Shane thought about it. “Fine.” He closed his eyes again. “Weird. I don’t know?.. It's kind of nerve wracking.” He admitted. He opened his eyes. “Now the nerves of the first day are gone, but I'm nervous about how I am going to feel and what’s coming next.” He felt Ilya squeeze his hand, now poorly hidden under the blanket he had bought him. “I feel fine for now at least.” 

“Good.” Hayden said simply. “Your mom sent me the treatment schedule. I was looking at it and I think we can make it so you always have somebody here with you… at least you won’t get bored.”

I don’t want people here… ever. 

“Ah, me too.” Ilya said, pulling out his phone. 

Hayden still looked a little annoyed. “I was going to talk to the guys and see who could come on what days, just to know you have somebody, but I’m sure you’ll always have visitors. Do you know what days you will be here, Roz?” Hayden asked. I fucking doubt it. 

“What is your number? I will send to you.” Ilya said. Fuck. This is a real thing, isn’t it? Hayden thought. Ilya held a hand up, signaling for Hayden to wait while Ilya typed. “Ah… yes. 15th Best Metro. You have contact. Give me number.” He joked. 

“Fuck you.” Hayden said, but he was smiling. The boys would actually fucking like you. Dammit. 

“I will be safe if other guys are here?” He asked after adding Hayden’s phone number to his phone. 

Hayden thought about it. “Uhhh… I guess I can’t account for surprise visitors, but most of our guys would be okay with it, I think.” Hayden smiled and gestured to Shane with a lift of his head. “I think he’s out.” 

Ilya smiled, looking down at a sleeping Shane. “Did you poison him with smoothie, Pike?” He joked. 

“Nah… I think that’s doing a good enough job of that.” He said, pointing to the chemo bag hung on the IV pole. 

“You will tell them?” Ilya asked. 

“The team? What am I supposed to say?” 

Ilya shrugged. “I don’t know. But I will be here, so I just don’t want…” He looked at Shane. “I want him safe.” He said softly, brushing his hand through Shane’s hair softly. “I don’t care about me. They can be cruel. They can fight me. I don’t care. I need him to be safe… with team.” 

Hayden smiled warmly. You’re alright, Rozanov. “You’re alright, Rozanov.” Fuck. “I will give them a heads up… at least some of them. So he has an army behind him if it comes down to it.” 

“Thank you.” Ilya said. “Hopefully you are better army than hockey team.” He said with a shit eating grin. 

“Fuck off.” 

Shane found himself pretty delighted on his way back to the car. The last time he walked out of a clinic, he was doing so with a cancer diagnosis. The last time he walked out of a hospital, he was down one testicle and a whole lot of dignity. He was expecting to leave the cancer clinic with a puke pail and a death wish—instead he was walking out tired, but relatively unscathed, with his boyfriend at his side. He glanced at Ilya and couldn’t wait to be in the car where he could hold his hand. I can’t be booted out of the cancer closet and the homo one on the same day. The second they sat down in the backseat, Ilya was already reaching for it. Holy fuck. I totally forgot that he said he loved me. I am such a fucking dick. Why the hell would he want to love me right now?!

“You okay?” Ilya asked, mildly concerned. 

Gosh, fix your face Shane. Shane smiled and nodded. “Yeah… just tired.” 

He wasn’t lying. In the ten minute drive from the cancer center to his condo, he had already fallen asleep with his face glued to the cool window. He felt hot, tired, and a little bit gross. 

When they reached Shane's condo, David parked but made no move to get out. Yuna reached for the door handle automatically. They watched as David rested a gentle hand on her forearm. "They've got this." He said quietly. 

She looked back toward Shane, motherly concern written across every line of her face. "I can help him upstairs."

"I know you can, but he won’t want you to." For a moment neither of them spoke. Then David smiled toward the boys. "You two good for the night?"

Shane looked over, forcing just enough of a smile that his parents wouldn't spend the night worrying even more than they already would. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

He nodded. "Thanks for today." I think I’ve reached my thank you threshold for the day. 

"We'll pick you up in the morning." David said. 

Shane nodded again. "Love you guys." Why is it so easy saying it to them?

"Love you too." They said in unison. Yuna finally leaned across the console to give Shane’s knee a quick, comforting squeeze before letting David pull away from the curb. As they pulled away, Yuna let a rare tear fall. 

“He’s going to be okay, Yuna. You know that.” David said, comforting her as best he could. 

She nodded. “I know. This just isn’t something kids are supposed to go through.” 

“I’m proud of him.” David said, smiling. “That kid is nineteen and I am pretty sure he is still scared of spiders and the dark… but somehow in the last three weeks he has admitted who he is out loud, introduced us to a guy we were supposed to hate, and has tackled a surgery and chemo.” He glanced at her. “He’s a kid going through a lot of hard shit, but it is going to make him one hell of a man. He’s stronger and braver now than he was before he knew he was sick.” 

Yuna’s face didn’t change. “Do you think he wants us around? He used to love spending time with us, and now it feels like he wants us to be two hours away back home at all times. What the hell are we supposed to do with that, David?” 

David shook his head and thought about his next words for a moment. “Honey, the world has seen Shane as nothing but talented, strong, driven… and now he thinks they will see him as something sick, and weak. Less of a man even. I think he’s applied that idea to his family and friends too… He’s ashamed of this, even though it’s something he can’t control.” He glanced over at her again, giving her hand a squeeze. “It’s one thing to feel those things about yourself, and another to be forced to show them to the world.” 

She scoffed. “He’s none of those things… and the world isn’t going to see him like that. It’s ridiculous.” 

He huffed a laugh. “I know, Yuna… but he’s a kid. He doesn’t know that. He hasn’t lived long enough to learn that the people who have shown up for all the exciting, fun moments, weren’t showing up because they were exciting and fun. They were showing up because he was at the center of them. So he can’t wrap his head around the idea that we aren’t showing up now out of pity or sacrifice…we’re just showing up to love him.” 

“He let’s Ilya show up.” She said softly, clearly embarrassed at the prospect of being jealous of a kid. 

David laughed again. “That kid is the only person who can even begin to put himself in Shane’s shoes, honey.” He glanced at her again. “And don’t kid yourself, you know Shane is questioning why the hell Ilya is showing up now too.” They pulled up to a red light and David reached a hand over, gently brushing a tear from her cheek. “I can tell you one thing for sure sweetheart…not every day of treatment will be so easy, and when the day comes where he is sick, and tired, and ready to quit… he's going to want his mom. Ten years from now, if they’re still in this when the dust has settled, Ilya might be the man he reaches for… but right now he’s nineteen, and he’s scared, and when the cracks start to show, that kid is going to reach for you. I promise you that.” 

She nodded. “I hope it doesn’t get to that point.” She said softly. “For his sake.” 

The walk upstairs somehow felt longer than it ever had before. It wasn't that Shane couldn't make it, but every step reminded him that healing tissue had been asked to do too much too soon, and now the poison was stacking on top of it. His groin burned with a dull pulling sensation that flared whenever he lifted his leg, while his hips and lower back protested from spending the entire day in one position. By the time they reached the condo door, he was breathing harder than someone his age should after climbing one flight of stairs.

Inside, Shane kicked off his shoes, made it halfway to his bedroom, and simply stopped. "I don't even think I can shower."

"You don't have to." Ilya said, putting Shane’s shoes on the rack the way that Shane normally would have.

"I smell like hospital." Shane said, taking a whiff of his hoodie. 

"Just change into clean clothes. You can shower in morning."

He changed slowly, wincing once when the fabric brushed the still sensitive skin around his port. It was still swollen, tender enough that even soft cotton felt abrasive. By the time he'd crawled into bed he was already fighting to keep his eyes open.

Ilya slipped in beside him, wrapping one arm carefully around his waist, mindful of the places that might hurt. Shane settled against him almost immediately, his entire body relaxing for what felt like the first time all day. Shane listened to Ilya's heartbeat beneath his ear. Eventually he broke the silence. "How long do I get to have you?"

Ilya kissed his hair. "I leave after lunch tomorrow."

Shane frowned. "So..."

"I can stay through your first couple hours tomorrow. Then I have to catch flight."

"Right…" Please stay. The room fell quiet again. "I don't want you to go." But why would you stay?

"I know." Because you love me, idiot. 

Shane swallowed, eyes never opening. "We've never even been on a fucking date." How can you love someone who lost a ball and started fucking chemo before he could even date you? 

Ilya smiled sadly. "No." I will take you anywhere you want to go after you beat cancer, Hollander. 

"We've done everything backwards." Shane said. He glanced up at Ilya. “We sucked each others dick, and then I somehow I lost a ball before we even got to go on a date.” 

"You want to date me, Hollander?"

Shane let out a tired breath. "We haven’t even had sex, Ilya." He said, not humoring his question. 

Ilya looked at him seriously. “Hollander, you are best sex of my life. Dick in hole is not sex.” He grinned then. “I jerk off thinking of my cum on your chest, Hollander… we have had sex.” 

“You know what I mean.” Shane said, sad and defensive. 

Ilya grabbed his chin and tilted it up, forcing eye contact. “I don’t care about that Shane.” 

Shane forced his face away. “Yeah, well maybe I do.” 

“Why?” Ilya said, moving to force eye contact again but deciding against it. 

“Because now I’m missing my fucking left nut, Ilya… and as fun as the stupid fucking funeral was, they got to go home drunk and happy, and I got to come home and actually fucking mourn the stupid thing for the ten hours I had before I was under the knife again for the next thing.”

“Ah, so you think you were better lover with two balls?” Ilya was being serious, but he already knew that it came out sounding like a joke. Fuck, Ilya. No jokes. 

Shane let out a long exhale. “I’m saying it would have been nice to have the chance to fucking find out.” God, Shane. You’re fucking exhausted. Just go to sleep. 

“Shane…” 

“I’m tired.” He said, cutting him off. “I’ll see you in the morning, Ilya.” He rolled over and closed his eyes. 

Ilya wrapped himself around Shane, and he didn’t seem to reject it. Within minutes, he could hear the soft snores escaping his mouth. He leaned in to kiss his temple gently. “I love you, Shane.” We didn’t even kiss. 

Chapter 10

The alarm rang, and Shane didn’t so much as stir. Ilya looked over at him, sprawled out at the other end of the bed in a way that suggested he needed sleep more than he needed the warm touch of Ilya’s body against his. You are so cute. Ilya smiled and rolled out of bed as slowly as he could so as not to wake the bear. 

He moved down the stairs and started a pot of coffee, and something about the fact that Shane still used a simple coffee pot over a fancy espresso machine or Nespresso was so charming. Even making Shane coffee made him smile. He wasn’t sure how he was in love with a man he had spent all of maybe one hundred hours with, but as the coffee brewed, and the sun rose over the Montreal skyline, he felt so at peace knowing he was exactly where he needed to be—and he knew that Shane felt the same way, even if he didn’t have the ability to say it out loud yet. This was life—twenty-four hours of stolen bliss. Bliss that was not created by lust and sex, but rather by the ability to show and love someone through the hard and mundane moments. It’s all he ever wanted. 

He heard the sound of the water running upstairs, and Ilya familiarized himself with the kitchen, tracking down the water bottles, and containers to begin assembling a chemo goodie bag for Shane while he showered. He filled small containers with bland, but hearty foods, like nuts and dried fruits, packing them in a backpack he found in the closet like he was preparing for a day at the beach with his toddler. He filled the water bottles, some with ice, others room temperature, so he was able to offer whatever he was wanting at any given time. Each addition to the backpack was its own little love language. 

Shane stood beneath the hot water in the shower, alone, realizing that he had no desire to share that space with Ilya at that moment. I am already sick of sharing my space. He was tired, and already realizing that the idea of doing this for another four days, and then sporadically for two weeks until the next five-day-chemo-fire-storm was daunting as hell. He was struggling with the idea that he had Ilya downstairs, that he had surprised him for what was probably supposed to be twenty-four hours of bliss, and instead he wanted to shower alone and go back to bed. Everyone was sacrificing their time and energy on a guy who couldn’t give it back, and he was fucking bitter. He knew it. This fucking sucks. 

He pulled on sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie—the uniform of a man who would be curled up on a shitty chair for six hours while his people pretended they wanted to be there with him while he was being poisoned. Fuck. When he made his way down the stairs, the smell of coffee hit him, and for the first time in his life it wasn’t a welcome smell. Then his eyes landed on a hot, shirtless Ilya, and he couldn’t help but wonder why, for the first time in his life, that didn’t feel like a welcome sight either. What is wrong with me?

Ilya noticed him and smiled. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” Shane groaned, plopping dramatically on the barstool. A mug was pushed in his direction, and Shane reluctantly took a sip before pushing it away. 

“Is not okay?” Ilya asked. “Almond milk, yes?” He asked, figuring he had the small part of Shane’s life nailed down. Hates to lose, pouts like child, thinks I am funny, has great dick, one ball, almond milk in coffee. 

Shane shook his head slowly. “It’s fine. I just…” He shrugged. “Just not today.” 

“Okay. You feel okay?” Ilya asked. 

I am going to fucking snap. “Yeah.” 

Ilya nodded. “Okay.” He slid a glass of water across the table for him. “I can make toast. Bland. Boring.” He smiled back at Shane. “Like you.” He said with a wink. 

Shane didn’t smile. He took a sip of the water and his face turned again. “What did you put in this?” 

“Is just water.” Ilya confirmed. 

“Fuck. Okay.” Shane said, both annoyed at whatever the fuck was wrong with his brain or mouth, and fucking astounded that he was one day in and this was already a problem. Is anything going to taste okay next week? 

Ilya came around the island and sat next to Shane. He reached out to set a hand on his thigh, and Shane turned away enough that Ilya knew it was an unwanted advance. Oh, Shane. He pulled out his phone. “I was looking at calendar. I have two day break in two weeks, and optional practice day after. I can skip practice and have three nights here.” He smiled. “We could do date. Like you are wanting. I will plan.” He said softly.

Shane shook his head. “I didn’t say that.” He looked at a confused Ilya. “I said we haven’t had one.” Shane corrected. 

“You don’t want?” Ilya asked, and this time it stung a little bit. 

Shane knew that came out wrong, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to fix his fucking face, or his poorly chosen words. “I'll be between treatments. I probably won’t be allowed to go out in public spaces.” And we are in the fucking closet, idiot.

Ilya shrugged. “Then we have date here.” He said, simply. He was trying his best to not be offended when Shane pulled out his phone and started scrolling, but he didn’t have time to be offended before Shane’s face shifted. 

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath. Ilya watched him scroll again. “Shit.” He repeated. 

“What?” Ilya asked, leaning in to peek. Shane’s head dropped to the counter, but not before handing the phone over to Ilya. 

The first image on Shane’s instagram feed was on full display—a boy from the cancer centre the day before, arm wrapped around Shane’s back, matching IV poles clearly on display. The caption read, “Pretty cool meeting your hero.” It was simple, and honestly it was very sweet, had it not been the thing that would tell the world that Shane was sick. “I knew that would happen.” Shane muttered against the counter, his face now glued to it, enjoying the cold against his hot cheeks. 

“Ah.” Ilya said, reaching out to rub Shane’s back. “You said you wanted people to know…” 

Shane was standing now, as he began to pace around the kitchen. “No.” He said, raising his voice. Why are you such an asshole now? This isn’t you. “I don’t want anybody to fucking know any of this… I don’t want to be fucking sick. I want to be in fucking Vancouver today with my team, on the ice. And instead I’m stuck here, with you, and my parents… and fucking strangers at a cancer centre who think they know me because they’ve watched me score goals for their favorite team.” This is exhausting and it’s just getting started. 

Ouch. “Shane, people are going to know. You can make statement today… I can post too. People can know we are friends, and…”

“We aren’t friends, Ilya.” He said, again realizing how hurtful that sounded. He caught the look of understanding on Ilya’s face, which somehow made it worse. You can’t love this version of me. He took a breath. “You can’t come today, Ilya.” He said, flatly. 

“What? Shane…” Ilya started. Shane was already shaking his head, still pacing. “Sit Shane.” 

“I have all fucking day to sit, remember?” He snapped back. “I have fucking months to sit on my ass.” 

“I am trying to be here for you, Shane.” Ilya said softly.

“I know.” Shane snapped, then he quieted. “I know.” He tried again, kinder. “But I can’t do this, Ilya… not today.  Not now.” 

“You can’t do what?” Ilya asked, earnestly. 

Shane closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I can’t become the cancer guy and the gay guy the same fucking day, Ilya.” 

Ilya huffed a humorless laugh. “Neither of those things are bad.”

Shane returned the laugh, if only out of spite. “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t either of them. You just get to be you through this.” 

“You think that coming out would not be bad for me?” Ilya said, eyebrows raised. “Hollander… if I get caught, I cannot go home again. Ever. Do you get that?”

“Exactly!” Shane shouted. “I’m not fucking worth it, Ilya.” He took a breath. “Not right now at least.” 

“So what? You are done with this?” He gestured between them.

“That isn’t what I said.” Shane said, hands brushing over his face. He looked at him again. “I want to be with you, Ilya.” Well that is fucking something, Ilya thought. “I just…” He took another breath. “I don’t know. I’m just…” The tears were building in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. 

Ilya moved closer, grazing his cheek with a soft hand. Shane leaned into it this time. “You are overwhelmed.” 

My brain is fucked. Shane nodded. “I know everyone thinks they know what I need… but I really do just want to be alone today, Ilya.” I don't know what I fucking need anymore. 

“Okay.” Ilya whispered, leaning in to kiss him. He placed his forehead gently on Shane’s, just wanting to breathe him in. Please don’t run away on me. 

“I’m sorry.” Shane whispered. I don't know how to do this.

“Is okay.” Ilya said, before Shane was already backing away. 

“Good morning.” His mother’s voice chimed from the door, her newfound cheerfulness echoing off of Shane and Ilya who were unable to match her level of energy. “Ready for day two?” She asked. “Are you feeling okay?” She continued, before they could answer the first question. She stopped and looked up at them. “Are we interrupting something?” 

“We’re fine mom.” Shane said, sitting back down at the island. He took another sip of water and grimaced. 

Ilya looked at Shane and then to Yuna and David. “Shane was just telling me how he would like to have a day alone today to rest, so I was thinking maybe we could drop him off and I could take you both to brunch.” He looked at Shane. “Too public?” He asked seriously. 

Shane buried his face in his hands. “I don’t care.” He said, and it seemed true. Ilya figured if anything was said about it, he could just tell them that Yuna Hollander, Queen of Endorsements, was working with him as part of his Canadian PR team. I shouldn't need fucking excuse. 

David looked at his son, at the way his shoulders were slumped, the way his face contorted when he drank the water. He moved to sit next to him, resting his hand on his back. “You sure?” He said, quiet enough that it was just for them. Shane glanced to him and nodded. “Okay. Did something happen?” 

Shane sat up and closed his eyes, battling a sudden head rush. “A kid posted a picture from yesterday.” He said softly. 

“Hmm.” David said. “Well, I guess people will know. Maybe that will feel like a good thing at some point today. Or you could post something yourself.” He offered. “But I get the feeling this might be more than just that…”

“I just don’t want to do be the center of the fucking universe today, dad.” Shane said, and he sounded exhausted. 

“Alright.” David said, a little louder. “Brunch it is.” He said, looking at Ilya. 

Yuna wasn’t so easy. “You’re really going to sit through six hours of chemo alone?” 

Shane rolled his eyes. Sounds like a fucking holiday. “Yes.” What the hell are you not understanding about this? Shane couldn't have explained it, because he didn't have the language for it. He had spent his entire life believing everyone worked this hard just to exist. Every conversation had been a calculation. Every room had its own rules. He watched people constantly—how loud they laughed, when they smiled, how long they held eye contact, when they were supposed to speak, when they were supposed to stay quiet—and then he built himself to fit whatever version of normal that room demanded. To exist in a space surrounded by people was not a walk in the park for Shane Hollander—to do it tired and sick felt impossible. 

After a diagnosis, a surgery, and a day of chemo, he was already exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix. His body hurt, his stomach rolled, his thoughts moved through fucking sludge, and suddenly he couldn't summon the energy it took to keep everyone else comfortable. His room would be full of brave smiles, encouraging words, hopeful conversations, and people trying so desperately to make the best of something awful. He knew they meant well. He even wanted to be one of them, but every cheerful comment felt like someone handing him another thing to carry. They were giving him a tone to match, an expression to wear, and he simply couldn't do it today. Instead of sounding grateful or hopeful, everything came out flat, bitter, or angry. He didn’t want to hurt anybody, but he felt like he no longer had the energy to translate what he was actually feeling into something other people would find easier to hear.

He couldn't survive cancer, and survive being responsible for their emotions as well as his own. He didn't want to reassure his parents that he was okay when he wasn't. He didn't want to smile at strangers who needed one. He didn't want to pretend this wasn't terrifying just to make someone else feel better. For the first time in his life, he wanted permission to stop performing.

Even with Ilya, it felt impossible. Ilya told him he loved him so easily, with unwavering certainty. Before all of this, Shane might have met him there without thinking. He would have smiled, teased him, kissed him, whispered it back until Ilya laughed—but now the words caught somewhere between his heart and his mouth. It wasn't that he loved Ilya any less—if anything, he loved him more. He just couldn't understand how Ilya could possibly love this version of him—this tired, irritable, frightened stranger who barely recognized himself. And he was hyper aware of the fact that that was the version of himself that Ilya had somehow known the longest now. Returning Ilya's optimism felt like trying to sprint on a broken fucking leg. The love was there—he simply didn't have the tools to make it work right now. 

“Are we ready to go?” David said, trying to get the show on the road despite the undeniable tension in the room. 

Ilya picked up the filled-to-the-brim, love language backpack and handed it to Shane. “Water, snacks.” He said simply. 

Shane accepted it and leaned in for a quick kiss. “Thank you.” 

Shane was shown to his room, the same room as the day before, and Melissa was quick to greet him. He somehow felt lighter walking in alone, knowing that he could sleep away the day with no pressure to be something he couldn’t be anymore. He knew that wouldn’t be the case in the days to come, Yuna Hollander would fucking murder him, but he was going to soak it in for the day. 

“No squad today?” Melissa said almost sadly when she walked in to find Shane alone in the chair. 

“Not today.” He said with a smile. “By choice.” He added, just to make sure she wouldn’t judge them for it. 

She nodded. “Okay. How you feeling?” 

“Fine.” He said simply. 

“Tired?” She asked, already knowing the answer. Honestly, she looked tired too. Her brown eyes a little less sparkly than the day before, her well-kept, dark pony of yesterday, now in a greasier messy bun on the top of her head. She was wearing glasses today too, as if she didn’t want to pop in her contacts. I wonder how many shifts she’s worked this week. 

“Yeah.” He admitted. 

“Good.” She said, grinning. “Because you have a perfectly good bed in here. Use it.” She said, not unkindly, but certainly with an edge that said he would most certainly be in that bed at some point that morning. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. “Hollander, if anyone out in that room knew you had a nice bed in here, and that you weren’t using it to its full potential, they may blow a gasket.” 

He huffed a laugh. “Fine.” He said, making his way towards the bed. Honestly, he had wanted to, but something in him had a hard time accepting the privilege knowing that others weren’t extended the same courtesy. I’m fucking spoiled. 

He knew the drill now as she ran vitals, checked labs, and gave him a stab for the pre-meds to begin with the promise of her return later. “We will get you hydrated and well-medicated, and I will be back in an hour to check on you. Hit the call button if you need anything before then, okay?” 

She kept her promise and returned a little while later, poison in hand and ready to go. He startled at the sound of the door and then settled back into the pillow, pulling his blanket up below his chin. ‘Alright Shane, your oncologist changed your protocol just slightly today, having tolerated it well on your first day.” She was making herself busy, gloving up and hanging bags. She paused to look down at him, sitting on the edge of the bed thoughtfully. “The cisplatin can run anywhere from sixty to ninety minutes, so we ran it for ninety yesterday. Today we get to give you the express train and shave off that thirty minutes.” She gestured for Shane to pull down his hoodie and shirt for her, exposing the port and the lines again. “Sometimes we see reactions after the first dose, so we monitor everyone out there carefully, but you’re tucked away in here all alone today, so if you don’t mind, I am going to stick around for a bit just to monitor you.” 

He smiled and closed his eyes. “Okay.” 

“You can just ignore me.” She said, smiling. She hooked him up and Shane thanked her, again. “No problem.” She said, popping off her gloves and cleaning up. “Where is everyone today?” She asked, more making conversation than being outright nosy. 

He smiled. “I just needed a break.” He admitted, opening his eyes to look at her. 

“The quiet is nice.” She said softly.

“Mmm, it’s not quiet.” He said with an almost peacefully serene look on his face. 

She looked around the room, grinning. “I’m confused… do you have visitors I can’t see?” She joked as she made her way towards the door. She turned on the bathroom light, and moved to turn off the overhead lights, taking Shane’s closed eyes as a sign he may want to rest. 

“No, keep those on.” He said quietly. "Please." She smiled and obeyed. “I like the sound... That’s what I mean about the quiet.”

“What sound?” She asked, settling into the chair beside him as she kicked off her shoes. 

He pointed up at the lights. “They hum. It’s… soothing.” He pointed to the IV pump. “And I like the clicks that makes.” He opened his eyes and looked at her grinning. “I can hear you coming because you shuffle your feet. But everyone has their own rhythm out there. It’s nice.” He said before closing his eyes again. 

She smiled. “You remind me of my son.” 

Shane smiled too. “How old is he?” 

“Eight.” She answered, and he shot her a look. “A very mature eight…” She teased. “He’s uh…” She thought about it and stopped herself. “Have you always been like this?” 

He smiled again, more real this time as he lost himself in a memory. “When I was a kid…” He looked at her. “Not a very mature one.” He joked. “There was a shrub outside of my bedroom window at our cottage, and every night the breeze from the lake would hit it and it would brush against the window. I thought it was the most soothing sound in the world and I couldn’t sleep as well when it was calm.” 

“Cute.” She added. 

“When we went back to Ottawa after summer, I couldn’t sleep at all… so my dad went back to the cottage and recorded the sound of the shrub on the window so I could play it every night to go to sleep… but it was calm for like three days.” A wide smile crossed his face. “The cabin was already winterized so he just stayed there for three days with no running water or anything… and then my mom told him when he got home that he could have just moved the damn shrub himself to make the sound.” 

Melissa laughed. “Sounds like a good dad.” 

“He is.” Shane said. 

“Do you still use the recording?” 

He laughed again. “It was on a fucking cassette. I had to rewind it every morning.” He said with a laugh. “So no.” 

“What did you use to replace the sound then?” She asked, very much enjoying this side of the man she had only watched dominate on the ice. 

“Hockey.” He said, face dropping. She didn’t fill the silence when he looked at her. “I don’t think I even knew it until this week… but the shrub on the window was soothing because I think my brain was so busy, and it gave me something reliable and rhythmic to focus on.” He rolled on his side to look at her. “I am realizing that as loud as hockey is, it makes things quiet up here for me.” He pointed to his head. “So I think I’m kind of losing it without it.” He rolled back onto his back. “Something about the sounds in here do the same… and my brain hasn’t been quiet since I was diagnosed.” He stared at the ceiling. “Their voices make my head louder.” 

“It sounds like you might be overstimulated, Shane.” Melissa offered. 

He frowned with a small laugh. "What? By my family?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "People can absolutely be part of it. But I mean... everything." She gestured around the room. "Your body has been through surgery, a cancer diagnosis, your first chemotherapy treatment, you're probably not sleeping well, your appetite's changing, your brain is trying to process a thousand different fears all at once." She rested back in her chair. "Your nervous system only has so much bandwidth." He watched her quietly. "The funny thing about our brains is they don't get to choose what counts as work." She smiled. "Talking to people is work. Making eye contact is work. Following a conversation is work. Trying to figure out how someone else is feeling is work. Deciding what expression to make so you don't worry your mom is work. Pretending you're okay when you're not..." She gave him a knowing look. "...that is a tremendous amount of work, Shane." Shane let out a slow breath. "So when your system gets overloaded, it starts prioritizing." She tapped lightly against the arm of her chair. "It lets go of the extras… You don't have the energy to filter everything anymore… Sounds feel louder… Conversations become exhausting… Your patience disappears before you even realize it. Sometimes people stop tolerating certain textures or smells. Some people suddenly can't handle crowds, or bright lights, or being touched." She smiled softly. "It isn't you becoming a worse person. It's your brain just trying to conserve energy."

Shane stared at the ceiling. "That actually makes sense."

"I imagine yesterday took a lot out of you."

He laughed quietly through his nose. "I was angry when I got home."

"You were exhausted."

"I was kind of an asshole, actually."

"You can be both." That earned her another small smile. She looked toward the humming fluorescent lights. "You said these make your head quieter."

"Yeah."

"And the IV pump?" He nodded. "That's interesting."

He glanced over at her. "Weird?"

"No." She shook her head. "Not at all." She folded one leg underneath herself in the chair. "My little guy notices things I don't even realize exist. He'll tell me one light in the grocery store is buzzing louder than the others. He can hear somebody's phone charger humming from across the room. Certain fabrics drive him crazy. Other sounds..." She looked up at the lights. "...he'll listen to for hours because they settle his brain."

Shane's eyebrows lifted. “My mom used to tell me things just tickled my brain sometimes.” 

She smiled again. “Good mom, too." He nodded. “I've learned that different nervous systems organize the world differently." She smiled. "Some people naturally filter background information. Their brains decide what's important and what isn't before they're even aware of it." He was quiet for a moment. "So if you've spent your whole life noticing every conversation, every voice, every expression, every movement around you..." She paused. "Imagine what happens when your body suddenly has no extra energy left to sort through all of that."

His eyes slowly widened. "It gets... loud."

Melissa nodded. "So wanting to be alone today?" She said. "That doesn't strike me as being a bad thing. It sounds like your nervous system asking for fewer things to process."

He swallowed. "I thought I was just... becoming kind of a dick."

"I don't think so." She smiled warmly. "I think you've hit your capacity, Shane."

The room settled back into silence. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, the IV pump clicked, and Shane realized that he had never been still enough to understand his own brain. “Thank you.” Shane quietly. 

Melissa reached for his hand. “We had a deal about apologies and thank you’s.” She said, shooting him a wink. 

He settled deeper into the pillow and knew that he could trust this woman to keep the silence he so craved, as she watched the chemo bag drip into his chest. The silence was comfortable for thirty minutes before she spoke again. “You’re looking a little pale, kid.” She said quietly, reaching out to place a palm on his forehead. It was very maternal. “You’re sweating.” 

He swallowed hard. “I feel a little… rough.” He admitted. 

“Okay.” She said, giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m going to check your vitals and rule out a reaction… but if everything is okay, I’m in here anyway and I can push a little extra something in your IV to ward off the nausea and help you rest. Okay?” He said quietly. 

Five minutes later she was sat on the edge of the bed, one gloved hand holding Shane’s and another slowly pushing meds into his port. He felt heavy and tired. He swallowed hard once more. “You can turn off the lights now.” He said as she finished. 

She smiled. “Sounds good, buddy.” 

Melissa's last shift of the week fell on day three of treatment, and while Shane slept through most of it with his family at his side, she was sure to stop in to say goodbye before heading out. She handed him a gift, which surprised Shane, given their limited time together. 

"Favorite patient award?" Shane joked quietly. 

"Something like that." She admitted. "I looked at the schedule and it looks like I should be here for at least  part of your next cycle, so you take care of yourself until then. Alright?" 

He nodded. As soon as she left the room, he opened the card attached to the small gift bag. 

Shane, 

I thought this might help your family understand what's going on in that busy brain of yours. Feel free to listen at your leisure (if you find a way to play it in 2010), or throw it in the trash if you decide its not worth exploring. 

-Nurse Melissa

He smiled and pulled the tissue paper wrapped gift from the bag. Inside, a single cassette tape in a case with another note.

I recorded everything I told you. You're dad understood you well enough to record a damn tape back then. They will understand now too. Do what tickles your brain, Hollander.

Chapter 11

BOYFRIEND OF THE YEAR

That is what his sash would say when he arrived to see Shane that day. In the days that followed Shane’s first round of treatment, Ilya found himself looped into many conversations with David and Yuna that bled into the group chat he managed to find himself roped into with the Metros guys, and it served as a way to learn what it was Shane had been feeling—all thanks to Nurse Melissa.  Thank you Nurse Melissa. While they didn’t say it outright, he was left with the impression that David and Yuna were not learning new information, but maybe rather a new perspective on the things they already knew about their son. They didn’t label it, they just looked into ways to adapt to it. 

“How do you know all this?” Ilya asked Yuna on the phone after a lengthy discussion about the inner workings of his favorite person’s unique mind. 

She laughed. “He pretty much threw a cassette at us on our way at the door and told us to listen. We had to stop at a thrift store on the way home to get something to play it on… but Melissa broke down what they talked about and how we might be able to better support him.” 

“So he is not mad at me?” He asked earnestly. 

“No, honey. He was overwhelmed. Overstimulated. Scared.” Yuna had told him. 

So now, his bag was full again, and this time it included top of the line noise cancelling headphones that could play white noise, the same blanket he had already bought him once, knowing he seemed to find comfort in it, allowing him to keep one at home and one for the hospital, and every flavor of hard candy he could find so they could find something that might defeat the metallic mouth that seemed to be a massive deal in his daily life now. Ilya didn’t understand the science of any of it—but he understood the fucking assignment. 

“Sup dude.” He heard as he was packing the last of the bag.

Why did I give him the fucking door code? “Hi Marley.” He said, slinging the backpack over one shoulder. 

“Dude, are you going to the fucking gym? We finally have a couple days off. Chill out and come grab some breakfast with me.” Marley said, opening Ilya’s fridge. 

“Can’t.” Ilya said simply, heading for the door. 

“Come on. I feel like we haven’t seen you at all lately. You keep disappearing on us. Where the hell are you even going?” He asked, taking a swig of orange juice right from the carton. 

Who raised this wild animal? Ilya took a deep breath, slipping on his shoes in hopes that it may help Marley get the hint. “I am going to see Hollander.” Ilya said with a smug smile. 

Marley looked confused. “Woah, you know another Hollander? That's not a super common name. A gym buddy?” 

You are so fucking dense, you hot bitch. Ilya smiled again. “I only know one.” He said simply. 

“Oh…cool.” Marley said, but Ilya could tell that this man managed to think that Ilya forgot about thee Shane Hollander, and he had some new Hollander in Boston. 

“Shane, Marley… I am flying to see Shane Hollander.” He said, gesturing Marley out the door. 

Marley took the orange juice in hand, and continued to the door to follow Ilya out. “Why?” He asked, genuinely curious. 

They kept walking towards the parking garage. “Because he is sick.” 

“I mean… I know that. I saw the posts. But why are you going to see him?” I thought I was your best friend. 

Ilya stopped, and Marley wasn’t paying attention—he ran right into him, spilling his stolen orange juice. “What the fuck, man?” 

You know what, just fucking tell him. He will probably forget by tomorrow. “Because I am bi-sexual, and Hollander and I…”

“You’re fucking Shane Hollander?” Marley said, nearly spitting out his juice. 

Cool it on the fucking juice. “I mean… he is important to me. But yes.” He admitted, beginning to walk again. 

Marley followed, a little more focused now. “Wow… I mean, good for you. That dude is a fucking catch… but does anyone know?” 

Ilya smiled. He is a fucking catch. “His family. That is it.” He stopped again and looked at Marley, who was focused enough to stop on time this time. “You will not tell. Yes?” Ilya wasn’t about to tell this man that he was in a group chat with nine Metros that he seemed to actually like, who were all onboard the Shane Hollander Healing Train with him, for fear that Marley would take that as an invitation to conduct his own here in Boston. 

“You’re asking me to keep your secret?”

“You come steal my juice…” He pointed at the carton. “You can keep my secret.” 

Marley laughed. “I mean, three dollar juice doesn’t feel like a fair exchange for a secret that could have you killed in a couple dozen countries.” He joked. 

Ilya got serious. “Yeah… including mine.” It may have been a stretch. He wasn’t sure they’d kill him, though his brother may want to—but he did know he would not be welcome back. “So, secret. Please.” 

They were walking again. “How is he?” Marleau asked seriously then. 

“He’s doing okay.” Ilya said honestly. 

Marley nodded. “Maybe I can come meet him when we play there in a couple weeks.” 

“Maybe.” Ilya said, reaching the garage. That might actually be nice. He turned to Marley. “I have plane to catch. Please do not tell anyone.” 

Shane was one giant ball of fucked up one-balled feelings. He was relieved that his parents, the boys, and Ilya were receptive to essentially being told you need to fucking chill and be a silent investor in my health, in no uncertain terms. It came as a relief, because while everyone was happy to instruct him to ask for what he needed, nobody had any advice to share on how exactly he could do the opposite and tell people what the fuck he didn’t need—which was an overwhelming amount of overcompensating conversations to try to brighten his terrible fucking days. Honestly, he had come to find that when he was at home, he was more okay with the banter and the general lightness—he almost craved it, which was more confusing. But within the walls of the cancer center, he no longer felt like himself. He felt like a patient, and somewhere in his mind he drew an invisible line of where he could and could not mask. To add to the confusion, he often found himself feeling lonely, despite the fact that he didn’t really want a lot of people in his space or in his ear. He missed the dressing room. He missed the boys. He missed his old life. So, he felt alone in a lot of ways that had nothing to do with how many people were in or out of the room. He was also feeling an immense amount of guilt for how he treated Ilya and his parents specifically. While his words were never ill-intentioned, they had been harmful. He was grateful that they seemed to understand. He was also experiencing a strange kind of mourning, having learned something about his brain and how it worked after years of assuming he was just a little fucked up. He wondered what other ways he could improve his life, simply by understanding the way his brain wanted to live it a little better. 

Then there was the physical side of things. He had returned home alone after his day fifteen bleomycin infusion, and it hit him that this was just his life for another couple of months. Months of pulmonary monitoring, hearing tests, blood tests, and an endless cycle of poison and fatigue. He realized at some point in that first cycle that he just wasn’t going to feel good for some time. He lived everyday with nausea that lived just under the surface, and the drowsiness that came with the drug regimen needed to fight it. Nothing tasted good, in fact, most things tasted awful, and as if his mouth not functioning properly wasn’t enough, his fingers weren’t either. His hands felt like they were being pricked from the inside out, somehow both achy and numb at the same time. His feet hadn’t been far behind. He was struggling in so many ways—but he was also ready to indulge in the joy of being reunited with Ilya. 

ILYA: Plane landed. Need anything?

Shane smiled down at his phone. He didn’t feel good, but he accepted that he wasn’t going to for a while, so instead he turned his focus to enjoying three nights with Ilya. 

SHANE: Actually yeah. There is a drugstore down the street. Could you stop before coming up and grab some popsicles and a heating pad? They should have both. 

Ilya smiled at the text, knowing that it wasn’t easy for Shane to ask for what he needed—he assumed that meant he wasn’t feeling well, or he would have attempted to make the walk himself. Oh, my poor Shane. He was feeling a bit cheeky though, and he knew that Shane and him were back on firmer footing after a couple weeks of daily Facetimes—always initiated by Shane so he wouldn’t need to feel bad if he didn’t want to answer one of Ilya’s calls. Ilya had agreed that he wouldn’t be offended should the phone not ring for days at a time, and he was true to his word. Be whoever he needs you to be right now. Do whatever he needs you to do. 

ILYA: You sure you want popsicle? I have other things for you to suck.

Shane settled onto the couch downstairs in preparation for Ilya’s arrival, and even the quick walk down the stairs knocked the wind out of him. 

SHANE: You’re an asshole. And I’m not sure your cum is a good cure for mouth sores. 

I want to make my mouth sore with your dick. ILYA: I will see you soon. 

Ilya longed for the day where he would walk back into Shane’s condo to an energetic and awake Shane, but today was not that day. He walked in quietly and popped the assortment of popsicles in the freezer and went to change as quietly as possible, as Shane slept comfortably on the couch. He would never wake him.

Ilya settled into the armchair across from the couch, content to simply watch Shane sleep for a while. It was a strange kind of privilege to see someone like this—completely unguarded, existing in that space where the body demanded rest and the mind had no choice but to surrender. He remembered doing the same with his mother as a child, and he was grateful that in this version, Shane could be cured. Shane's face had gone soft in sleep. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, and there was a vulnerability to him that made Ilya's chest ache in ways he didn't have words for. God, I love you Hollander. 

Shane already looked thinner. That was the first thing Ilya noticed now that he had time to observe without Shane's awareness making him self-conscious about it. He still looked like the strong athlete that he was, but his face had gone pale, and there was a sharpness to the face that was once more full. Ilya knew that between the nausea and the aversions brought on by the metallic taste in his mouth that eating had been a struggle for the last two weeks. His hair, still mostly intact, looked different somehow. Thinner, maybe. Ilya could see a few strands on the pillow beneath Shane's head, dark against the light fabric, and he felt something twist in his stomach. You are such a fighter, my love. 

After about twenty minutes of watching Shane sleep like a deeply devoted creep, Ilya forced himself to get up and do something productive. He moved through Shane's condo quietly, making himself busy, but it seemed as if there was no task that Yuna Hollander had not already completed. He checked his phone and updated Shane’s parents and the Metros chat that he had arrived, and that Shane was in good hands. He scrolled instagram for awhile, landing back on the photo from the hospital from weeks earlier. He scrolled through the comments and smiled, seeing how much love for Shane lived in them. He hadn’t made a formal announcement for himself, and Ilya wasn’t sure that he would now—but he knew that Shane had plans on attending a game soon, and then the world would know.

I am so bored. Ilya moved to the living room and started tidying, because he needed something to do with his hands. He folded the throw blanket that had been tossed over the back of the chair, straightened the coffee table books, and collected a few empty water glasses to bring to the kitchen. There was a notebook on the side table, closed, with a pen resting on top. Ilya didn't open it, but he wondered what Shane wrote in there. Lists, probably. Shane loved a good list. Probably sex bucket list, you little freak. 

The heating pad he'd brought was still in his bag, along with the noise-canceling headphones and the assortment of hard candies. Ilya pulled them out and arranged them on the kitchen counter where Shane would see them easily—a tangible reminder that Ilya had listened, had remembered, had tried to anticipate needs before they were voiced. I am trying. 

Shane shifted on the couch around three, rolling onto his back with a soft exhale, and Ilya's heart jumped into his throat, but Shane didn't wake. He just resettled, one arm thrown over his head, and continued sleeping. Ilya watched the rise and fall of his chest and smiled. I wish I could fix all of this for you. But he couldn't fix it, he could only be here—so that's what he did.

Finally, Shane stirred. He woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers. He blinked at the windows, at the angle of the sun, and his brain struggled to make sense of it. That wasn't morning light. That was afternoon light—late afternoon light. What the fuck? He'd laid down for a quick nap after his infusion—just a quick rest before Ilya arrived.  Shane's gaze snapped to the armchair, and there he was. Hot-ass Ilya Rozanov, in joggers and a soft t-shirt, legs stretched out in front of him, scrolling through his phone with the kind of casual comfort that suggested he'd been there for a while. A long while. Oh shit. 

"Ilya?" Shane's voice came out rough, confused.

Ilya's head jerked up, and his face transformed into that lopsided grin that Shane had missed so fucking much. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Welcome back."

Shane pushed himself up to sitting, his body protesting the movement, and looked around like the condo might offer some explanation for the lost time. "What time is it?"

"Almost five."

"Five?!" Shane's brain stuttered over the number. "In the afternoon?"

"Yes." Ilya set his phone aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You were tired."

Shane ran a hand through his hair, and more came away than he wanted to acknowledge. "When did you get here?"

"Around noon."

"Noon." Shane repeated the word like it might make more sense the second time. It didn't. "You've been here for five hours?"

"Yes. Is not big deal." Ilya confirmed, looking entirely unbothered by this fact.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Because you were sleeping." Ilya said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And you needed to sleep. So I let you sleep."

Shane felt gratitude, guilt and embarrassment all tangled together. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I was just going to rest for a little bit before you got here, and then…."

"Shane." Ilya's voice was gentle but firm. "Stop apologizing. You needed rest. I am not offended that your body needed rest."

Shane wanted to argue, but he was too tired. Too tired and too grateful and too overwhelmed by the simple fact that Ilya had sat in that chair for five hours, just waiting, just letting him sleep. 

"Thank you." Shane said quietly.

Ilya's expression softened. "You are welcome." He stood, stretching his arms over his head, and Shane tried not to notice the way his shirt rode up to reveal a strip of toned stomach. Failed, but tried. "Are you hungry?"

I think I might be fucking horny. Shane considered his stomach, which was doing its usual uncertain dance between nausea and emptiness. "Maybe? I don't know."

"Okay. We can try." Ilya moved toward the couch, and Shane realized he was coming to sit next to him. "How are you feeling?" He asked sitting down before leaning in for a quick kiss. 

Shane smiled and leaned in, kissing him back with a smile. God, I missed you. "Tired." Shane admitted. "Still tired. Which is stupid when I just slept for five hours."

"Not stupid. Your body is fighting a war. Wars are exhausting." Ilya pulled him in close enough that Shane could feel his warmth. "What else?"

Shane took inventory. "Just meh."

"The usual," Ilya repeated, and there was something sad in his voice. "I hate that you have a usual now."

"Yeah. Me too." Shane admitted. 

“Usual used to be horny and annoyed.” He joked. 

Shane let out a little laugh and leaned in for another kiss. “I missed you.” 

"Do you want to go upstairs? We could cuddle in bed, watch TV." Ilya offered when he watched Shane yawn for a second time. 

It was a good offer, but Shane's body was screaming at him, every muscle tight and sore, and the thought of just lying down again sounded awful. "Actually…" Shane said slowly, "would you want to take a bath with me?"

Ilya's eyebrows rose. "A bath? Hollander, you want to be naked together?"

"Yeah. I just…everything hurts, and I think the heat might help, and…" Shane felt his face flush. 

"Shane." Ilya's hand found his. "A bath sounds perfect."

They held hands as they moved up the stairs to the large bathroom and Shane ran the water. He added some kind of bath oil and the scent filled the humid air. Ilya watched him and smiled, already excited at the prospect of their skin touching again. It had been so long, and Ilya knew that this was probably a big deal for Shane. The last time they had done anything intimate like this was immediately following his surgery four weeks earlier, and he knew that Shane was still struggling to accept the changes to his naked body. He reached for the hem of Shane's shirt. "Can I?"

Shane nodded, and Ilya carefully pulled the shirt up and over his head. Shane's body was still beautiful, but Ilya could see the changes. The weight loss was more obvious without clothes. It was not a substantial difference on a scale, but it was in the way his body carried it. He was less defined, less engaged. He was tired, and it showed in the way he moved. Everything was slow and deliberate. 

They undressed the rest of the way in comfortable silence, and Ilya was careful not to stare at the healed incision, or anything below it, even though he wanted to memorize every detail of the body he loved and knew was fighting so hard. He knew that kind of attention might feel like scrutiny, might make Shane self-conscious, so he kept his gaze respectful and his movements casual.

The water was perfect. Ilya got in first, settling against the back of the tub, and then held out his hand to Shane. "Come here." Shane took his hand and stepped in carefully, then settled between Ilya's legs, his back to Ilya's chest. The water rose around them, and Shane let out a long, shaky exhale as the heat enveloped him.

"Good?" Ilya asked, his lips close to Shane's ear.

"So good.” Shane breathed. "God, this is exactly what I needed."

Ilya wrapped his arms loosely around Shane's waist, and just held him for a moment. Shane's head fell back against his shoulder, and Ilya could feel the tension in his body starting to ease. The water lapped gently against the sides of the tub, and the steam made everything feel soft and dreamlike.

"Can I touch you?" Ilya asked quietly. "Your back, shoulders?"

"Please.” Shane said, and there was something raw in his voice.

Ilya started at Shane's shoulders, his hands slick with water and bath oil, working his thumbs into the tight muscles there. Shane moaned and Ilya felt it reverberate through his own chest. He worked slowly, methodically, finding knots and coaxing them loose with patient pressure.

"You are so tense." Ilya murmured. "When was the last time you relaxed, Hollander?"

Shane huffed a laugh. “Never.” 

Ilya's hands moved down Shane's spine, following the line of his back, and he pressed a kiss to the nape of Shane's neck. "Is this okay?"

"Mhmm."

"Tell me if anything hurts. If I press too hard." 

Shane nodded, but didn't tell him to stop. He just melted further into Ilya's touch, his body going pliant in the water. Ilya worked his way back up to Shane's shoulders, then down his arms. When he reached Shane's hands. "How is this? Too much?"

"No. It's good."

Ilya massaged each finger gently, working the tension out of Shane's palms, and Shane's breathing had gone deep and even. Almost meditative. Ilya pressed another kiss to the back of his neck, then another to his shoulder, and Shane made a soft sound of contentment.

They stayed like that for a while, Ilya's hands moving over Shane's body with reverent attention. But there was something in the air, too—something unspoken that needed to be said. Ilya could feel it in the way Shane's breathing would occasionally hitch, in the tension that would creep back into his shoulders before Ilya's hands could chase it away again.

Finally, Shane spoke. "I'm sorry, Ilya."

Ilya's hands stilled. "For what?"

"For how I treated you. Before." Shane's voice was quiet but steady. "I was a dick. I was overwhelmed and scared and I didn't know how to handle it, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair."

Ilya resumed his gentle massage, giving Shane something to focus on besides his own vulnerability. "You were not a dick. You were honest."

Shane huffed a laugh. "I was a dick."

"You were honest, Shane." Ilya repeated firmly. "I was trying to help, but I was not helping the way you needed…You told me what you needed, and I listened. That is how this works."

"But I could have been nicer about it."

"Shane." Ilya wrapped his arms around Shane's chest, holding him close. "You were going through hell. You are still going through hell. You do not need to be nice about it…You need to survive it... And if that means sometimes you need to tell people to shut the fuck up and leave you alone, then that is what you do." I can’t wait for you to boss me around like that when this is all over… in bed. 

Shane was quiet for a moment, and Ilya felt him take a shaky breath. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Where else would I be, Hollander?"

SHane let out another small laugh. "I don’t know…Boston. With your team. Living your life. Having fun. "

"This is my life.” Ilya said simply. "You are my life right now. So I am here."

Shane turned his head, trying to look at Ilya over his shoulder, and Ilya could see the shine of tears in his eyes. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." Ilya kissed his temple. "Now stop apologizing and let me take care of you."

Shane settled back against him, and Ilya returned to his gentle exploration of Shane's body. His hands moved over Shane's chest, his sides, his arms, always careful, always asking permission with his touch—and Shane let him. 

"How are you feeling? Really." Ilya asked after a while. 

Shane sighed. "Not great."

"Tell me."

"I'm just…I'm so tired. All the time. And everything hurts in this weird, constant way…Just this ache that never goes away. My hands feel like they're full of static. My mouth tastes like I've been sucking on fucking pennies. Food doesn't taste right. Nothing feels right…" Shane's voice cracked slightly. "And I know it's only going to get worse before it gets better. I have months of this ahead of me. Months of feeling like shit and not being able to play and just…existing in this weird limbo where I'm not healthy but I'm not dying either. I'm just sick."

Ilya tightened his arms around Shane. "I am sorry."

"I just wish…" Shane stopped, then started again. "I wish we had done more before I got sick. I feel like we only got to have this because you fucking found a tumor on my nuts, and we never got to just, like… I don’t know."

"We will have that…" Ilya said firmly. "When you are better, we will have that. But Shane…I do not need you to be healthy to want to be with you."

"This isn't me, though. This is cancer me. This is the worst version of me."

"No." Ilya turned Shane's face toward him, gentle but insistent. "This is you fighting. This is still you, Shane. And I love every version of you."

Shane's eyes widened slightly. "Ilya…"

Ilya held Shane's gaze. "I love you. Healthy you, sick you, grumpy you, sleeping-for-five-hours you. All of you. And I am not going anywhere. Okay?"

A tear slipped down Shane's cheek, and Ilya wiped it away. "You don't have to say it back. I just needed you to know." Ilya smiled and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. "Now can we get out of this bath before we turn into prunes?"

Shane laughed. "Okay."

They dried off slowly, carefully, and Ilya helped Shane into soft pajama pants and one of Ilya's own t-shirts that he'd brought in his bag. Shane pulled it close and breathed in the scent of Ilya's detergent like it was a lifeline. "Come on." Ilya said, taking Shane's hand. "Bed."

They climbed into Shane's bed and Ilya pulled Shane close. Shane came willingly, tucking himself against Ilya's side, and Ilya wrapped an arm around him.

"Better?" Ilya asked.

"So much better."

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together, and then Shane tilted his face up. Ilya understood the invitation immediately. He leaned down and kissed Shane softly, carefully, like he was something precious. Because he was. You are so beautiful.

Shane made a small sound and deepened the kiss, his hand coming up to tangle in Ilya's hair, and Ilya let him set the pace. The kiss was slow and sweet, and Ilya poured everything he felt into it—all the love and fear and hope and devotion that he couldn't quite put into words. When they broke apart, both breathing harder, Ilya rested his forehead against Shane's. "I missed this."

"Me too."

They kissed again, and this time it was deeper again. Shane's tongue traced Ilya's lower lip, and Ilya opened for him, letting Shane explore. His hand moved down Shane's side, careful and questioning, and Shane arched into the touch.

"Is this okay?" Ilya murmured against Shane's mouth. "Can I touch you?"

"Yes. God, yes."

Ilya's hand moved lower, over Shane's hip, his thigh, and Shane's breathing hitched. But then Ilya's hand moved toward his waistband, and Shane tensed.

"Wait." Shane said quietly. "I'm…I'm still kind of sore down there."

Ilya's hand immediately stilled and moved back up to safer territory. "Okay. We stay here then."

"I'm sorry…"

"Shane Hollander, I was not going to grab your dick… and if you apologize one more time tonight, I am going to kiss you until you forget how to apologize."

Shane laughed. "Sorry."

Ilya kissed him again, softer this time. "We have time. We have all the time in the world. I am not in a hurry to touch anything you don’t want me to."

"I just want to be able to…I want to give you…"

"You are giving me everything I need right now." Ilya said firmly. "You are here…You are kissing me. That is more than enough."

Shane's eyes were bright with unshed tears again. "How are you so perfect?"

"I am not perfect... I am just in love with you. Which is better than perfect."

They kissed again, slow and reverent, and Ilya threaded his fingers through Shane's hair. Some strands came away in his hand,and Ilya felt his heart clench—but he didn't stop. He just kept kissing him, kept holding him, kept loving him.

Shane's movements were getting slower, his responses more delayed, and Ilya recognized the signs of exhaustion creeping back in. He gentled the kiss, then pulled back to look at Shane's face. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his expression soft and unguarded. "You are tired." Ilya observed.

"I'm always tired, remember?" Shane mumbled.

"Then rest. I am not going anywhere."

"I don't want to sleep. I want to stay awake with you."

"I will be here when you wake up. I promise." Ilya shifted so Shane could rest his head on his chest, and Shane went willingly, curling into him like he belonged there. "Sleep, Shane. We have two more nights."

Shane's breathing was already evening out, his body going heavy and relaxed against Ilya's. Ilya ran his fingers through Shane's hair carefully and felt the strands that came loose. He gathered them quietly and set them on the nightstand, out of sight, then returned his hand to Shane's back.

Just as Ilya thought Shane had fallen asleep, he heard a quiet voice.

"Hey, Ilya."

"Yeah?"

There was a pause, and then Shane's voice came again, soft and sure and perfect. "I love you too."

Ilya's breath caught in his throat. His arms tightened around Shane, and he pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I know, Hollander." He whispered.

Chapter 12

Chapter Notes

Last one for a few days, team! It's the long weekend and time for family fun!

How the fuck is this my life. Shane stood, legs wide, underwear puddled on the floor. He wasn’t laid out on an exam table, but rather standing, quite informally, in the center of a Metros training room with a warm, gloved hand fondling his sack once again. 

“Looks good.” Jarvis said, and Shane was quick to pull up his pants again. How is this still so fucking embarrassing. “You sure about this? Six hours of chemo followed by a casual skate doesn’t seem like the best plan, Hollander... and doing cancer treatment at the crack of dawn to fit in a skate is crazy work, my guy.”

Shane looked at his feet. “I need it.” 

Jarvis took a deep breath. “Alright. Your immune system is shot, kid. No sharing water bottles. Mask up. And you need to fucking take it easy. Alright?”

“Got it.” 

Jarvis smiled then. “How are you doing? You sure you’re sure about this?” 

Shane nodded. “I’ll take it easy. I just need to feel the ice again.”

“Great… how are you doing?” He asked again, not willing to let Shane win. 

Shane smiled. “I’m… okay. Ish.”

“Tired? Nauseous?” Jarvis prodded. 

“Yes.” Shane said with an eyeroll. “You already knew that, I’m sure.” 

“I just don’t need you pushing yourself past your limits. Any other symptoms coming up?” He continued. Shane made his way through the door. “Shane… I need to know. I don’t need you to be a liability out there.” 

That just annoyed Shane. “Just the stuff you already know.” He closed one eye, annoyed by the one new symptom he was familiarizing himself with that morning. “Actually, my ears are ringing too. I think that was a thing they stacked in the normal column… right?” 

Jarvis nodded. “Unfortunately.” 

“Great.” Shane said sarcastically. He reached for the doorknob. 

“Hollander… please just take it easy. Have fun, but remember that today’s fun will cost you tomorrow.” 

Don’t I fucking know it. “Thanks, Doc.” 

Shane put his mask back on and made his way down the hall to see the boys. It was an optional morning skate, but he knew that no one was taking the option today knowing that he would be there. He could hear the laughter from down the hall and he couldn’t help but smile. Tomorrow this would fly out to Colorado for a game, and Shane would be walking into a hospital for day two of another cycle. This sucks.

“Hollanderrrrrr!” He heard as he walked into the room, a symphony of buffoons excitedly ready to greet him. 

Shane looked down at his feet bashfully as he walked to his stall, soaking in the back slaps and chirps coming his way. When he reached his stall and sat down, he lifted his eyes and smiled softly when he found his teammates getting ready, all rocking masks of their own. He felt Hayden slide along the bench towards him. “How you doing buddy?” He asked, his eyes showing the smile that his mask had covered. 

I'm fucking sick of that question. “Thank you.” Shane said softly. He pointed at Hayden’s mask. “For this.” 

Hayden clapped him on the thigh. “We are all happy to have you back for a morning.” Hayden gestured to Shane’s skates as he pulled off his shoes. “You need a hand with these bad boys?” 

Shane shook his head. “Not today… Incision is all healed up.” He smiled. He reached for his socks on instinct and found them where they always lived, pulling them up underneath his track pants. He noticed how the pull in his groin that normally came with that motion had faded into something that was barely noticeable. At least one area is improving. He reached for one skate and put it on, and then the other, before bending down to tie them. He made it halfway up the row of laces before his hands stilled and he sat back to flex them, trying to massage away the lightning like prickles that ran down through his fingertips. He bent down again and finished one skate. By the time he started the second, his hands were at it again, achy and sore. He didn’t have to say anything. A moment later, Hayden appeared at his feet and finished the job without words. “Thank you.” Shane said, almost ashamed. Today is a good day. He fixed his face. “How’s Jacky? The kids? No baby yet?”

“Fuck… no. She’s a week overdue and I have to keep my fucking phone on the bench now just waiting on the call. She’s bored and miserable.”

“I can relate.” Shane said. Fuck. Good day, Shane. Good day things only.

“I bet.” Hayden said with a soft smile. Then he stood and brightened. “You excited to see us kick your guys ass tonight? He asked quietly. 

Shane smiled. “You know I am.”

“Did he make it to treatment this morning?”

Shane shook his head. “Nah. I had it moved really early to be able to do this. Their plane hadn’t even left Boston yet.”

Hayden got serious. “Why are you doing this today? You can’t feel great an hour out of chemo.” He asked earnestly. 

Shane shrugged. “I think I’ve been struggling with how different things are this season… and…” He glanced around to see who was in the area before pressing on. “Last year I would have been excited to see him… excited to be on the ice with him. Life was… I don’t know. Fun?... I guess.” He looked at Hayden. “I just wanted to feel a little of that today.” He admitted and smiled. “I appreciate how great he’s been… but I kind of miss beating him out there.” 

Hayden smiled. “Life will be fun again one day… I promise.” 

Ten minutes—that’s all Shane got. By minute five his lungs were on fire, and his legs weren’t far behind. The ringing in his ears only got worse as his heart rate became elevated. By six, his stick felt foreign in gloves worn by hands that no longer felt like his. By seven, his feet pricked and ached in his skates. Somehow his missing ball and the surgery that took it away were the only things that felt almost normal, healed. The rest of him was suffering. By eight, his helmet felt uncomfortable on a scalp that was too busy losing hair to feel normal. By nine, his stomach lurched and he felt like he might be sick. By ten, he felt like he had played a full game. 

He thought that those ten minutes might have been exhilarating and refreshing, and while he shared some laughs and enjoyed feeling a little closer to himself for a short time, it hadn’t filled his soul the way he expected it might. He stepped off the ice without a word and went straight to the training room and found Jarvis. 

“Can you help me with these?” He asked softly with no introduction, looking at his skates. 

Aw, kid. Shane looked dejected. “Sit down.” Jarvis removed his skates slowly, one at a time. “You want me to grab your shoes?” He asked softly, and Shane just nodded. “Helmet.” He said, reaching out his hand. 

Shane unbuttoned his helmet and handed it to Jarvis, noticing the insane amount of sweat-damp hair clumps that had gone with it. “Fuck.” He muttered, before he laid back on the table. 

“FUCK!” was the first thing Ilya heard when he stepped into the condo, followed by the crash of… something. He wasn’t sure. He had come in with a smile, ready to surprise Shane with a sneaky snuggle before he had to head to the arena in an hour. He had come in hoping that the joy of being on the ice this morning could trump the awfulness that was the first day of a second chemo cycle. Now his heart was racing instead as he bolted towards the stairs. What the fuck did you do, Hollander?!

“Shane?!” He yelled on the way up. 

“Oh fuck.” He heard again, softer this time. “What the hell are you doing here?” He heard Shane yell from what sounded like the bathroom. 

Nice to fucking see you too, honey. “Hollander?” He said, coming around the corner of the ensuite. Oh. “Oh.” Ilya said, as he looked at Shane, hunched over and leaning on the bathroom counter, clippers smashed on the floor behind him. “Are you okay?” Ilya asked, already afraid of the answer. 

“What do you fucking think?” Shane said, standing just long enough to turn around, revealing a beautiful head with one long strip of hair missing on top. He looked fucking exhausted too, but Ilya couldn’t help but smile. You are so handsome, even with landing strip on head. “Don’t fucking smile right now. This isn’t funny, Ilya.” He leaned forward again, hands braced on the bathroom counter as he stared at himself in the mirror. 

“What do you need Shane?” Ilya said instead, moving towards him. He reached out for his chin and gave it a gentle tug to stand and look at him. He leaned in for a soft kiss at the side of his mouth, not wanting any potential germs to land on his lips. “And hello…” 

“Hi.” Shane said, closing his eyes. He leaned into Ilya and let him hold him. He melted into his body and buried his face in Ilya’s neck, breathing him in. His mom had brought him peppermint oil an hour earlier when he told her that his nausea seemed to be getting worse by the hour, and instructed him to sniff it if he felt like he might be sick. It seemed to work—he knew now that the smell of Ilya Rozanov might work just as well. 

“What did poor clippers do to you?” He teased, taking in the hair on the floor and the broken plastic once again. 

Shane pulled back and rested his forehead on Ilya’s. “I need it gone, Ilya.” 

“Okay.” He said softly. “But is hard when you Hulk-smash tool to finish.” Shane didn’t smile, his head just found Ilya’s shoulder and neck again. “You okay, love?” He could feel Shane shake his head gently against his shoulder. 

“This is hard.” He admitted quietly. “Harder than I thought.” He admitted pulling back to meet Ilya’s gaze. 

“You want me to go to drugstore and grab new clippers?” 

Shane nodded and gave him the faintest smile. “I can’t go to the game like this. Those ones were from like 1998. I didn’t think I’d ever buzz my head again.” 

Ilya kissed his forehead. “Okay.” 

Ilya ran to the drugstore and back in record time, taking the stairs two at a time, his heart hammering in his chest again because of the sound he'd just heard—an awful retching that made his stomach clench in sympathy. Can I not come in this condo to happy guy just one time? He rounded the corner into the ensuite and stopped abruptly.

Shane was on his knees in front of the toilet, one hand braced on the seat, the other clutching his stomach. His entire body convulsed as he heaved, nothing coming up but bile and misery. His face was flushed, eyes streaming, the pale runway of exposed scalp cutting through the dark where the clippers had caught him before they'd met their violent end on the bathroom floor.

"Fuck." Ilya breathed, and he was moving before he'd finished the word, dropping to his knees beside Shane and gathering his hair—what was left of it—away from his face. "I got you, love. I got you."

Shane retched again, his whole body shaking with the force of it, and Ilya felt his own throat tighten in response. “Oh Shane.” He said softly. It was awful to watch. Shane was being turned inside out by poison that was supposed to be helping him. He was watching the person he loved most in the world suffer in a way that made Ilya feel utterly, devastatingly useless.

"Breakthrough meds…" Ilya said, keeping his voice steady even though his hands were shaking where they pushed Shane's hair away from his eyes. "Where are they? You have breakthrough meds, yes?" Ilya was proud that he remembered the Nurse Melissa lessons of round one. 

Shane nodded weakly, then immediately regretted the movement as another wave of nausea hit him. He dry-heaved over the toilet, his body trying to expel something that wasn't there anymore, and when he finally caught his breath he gasped out, "Downstairs. Kitchen cupboard."

"Okay." Ilya pressed a kiss to Shane's shoulder, the only part of him he could reach that didn't seem to be actively rebelling. "Okay, I go get them. You stay here, don't move." Obviously.

"Didn’t plan on it." Shane managed, and even through the misery there was a ghost of his dry humor.

He was up and moving before Shane finished speaking, taking the stairs down so fast he nearly wiped out on the landing. The kitchen was exactly as Yuna had left it—obsessively organized, every surface gleaming, and a row of pill bottles lined up in the cupboard like tiny soldiers. Ilya scanned them quickly, looking for anything that said "nausea" or "breakthrough" or "please for the love of god make this stop," and finally found a small white bottle with instructions to take as needed for severe nausea.

He grabbed it, then spotted the drugstore bag he'd dropped by the door on his way in. The new clippers. He'd almost forgotten, in the chaos of finding Shane like that, why he'd left in the first place. Fuck cancer, Ilya thought viciously, and headed back upstairs with the clippers and the meds.

Shane was still on the floor when he returned, though he'd managed to sit back against the wall, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He looked absolutely wrecked—pale and sweaty and trembling, his chest rising and falling in careful, measured breaths like he was trying to convince his body not to revolt again. The strip of missing hair was even more obvious from this angle, a stark reminder of what had brought Ilya running in the first place. 

"Here." Ilya knelt beside him again, shaking out two pills from the bottle and pressing them into Shane's palm. "Take these. They help, yes?"

"They're supposed to…" Shane said weakly. He dry-swallowed them with the practiced ease of someone who'd been taking pills multiple times a day for weeks, then let his head fall back against the wall again. "Thanks."

Ilya set the pill bottle aside and held up the drugstore bag, the new clippers visible through the thin plastic. "You still want to do this?" he asked quietly. "We can wait. We can…"

"No." Shane's voice cracked on the word, and when he opened his eyes they were bright with unshed tears. "No, I can't…I can't walk around like this, Ilya. I can't go to the game with a fucking landing strip on my head. I can't…" His breath hitched, and suddenly he was crying, really crying, his face crumpling in a way that made Ilya's heart feel like it was being squeezed in a fist. "Just do it. Please. Just get it over with."

"Okay." Ilya said immediately, reaching for him. "Okay, love. Come here."

He helped Shane up, supporting most of his weight as they moved to the counter. Shane gripped the edge of it with both hands, his knuckles white, and Ilya could see the way his whole body was still trembling.

Ilya pulled the new clippers from the bag and plugged them in, testing them once to make sure they worked. The buzz filled the bathroom, and he saw Shane flinch at the sound.

"Hey..." Ilya turned off the clippers and moved to stand in front of Shane, cupping his face in both hands and tilting it up until their eyes met. "You are still most handsome man I have ever met. With hair, without hair, doesn't matter. You understand?"

Shane's laugh was wet and broken. "You haven't seen me without hair yet."

Ilya leaned in and kissed him softly, carefully, on the forehead. "You ready?"

Shane nodded, not trusting his voice, and Ilya moved behind him. He turned the clippers back on and lifted them to Shane's head, then paused. This felt important somehow, like something that should be done with intention rather than efficiency. Like something that deserved reverence—so that's what he gave it.

The first pass of the clippers went right down the center, following the path the broken ones had started. Dark hair fell away in a soft wave, revealing pale skin that had probably never seen sunlight, and Ilya set the clippers down on the counter. Shane made a questioning sound, starting to turn, but Ilya stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Wait…” He said quietly, and then he leaned in and pressed a line of kisses down the newly exposed strip of scalp, from Shane's forehead all the way to the crown of his head. Shane went very still. Ilya picked up the clippers again and made another pass, this time on the left side. More hair fell away, and again he set the clippers down. Again he followed the path with his mouth, kissing the revealed skin like it was something precious, something sacred.

"Ilya…" Shane whispered, and his voice was shaking.

"Shhhh." Another pass. More kisses. 

It went on like that, slow and deliberate and achingly tender. Ilya would run the clippers over a section of Shane's head, watch the hair fall away, and then he would kiss every inch of newly bare skin. His temples. The curve of his skull. The sensitive spot behind his ear that made Shane shiver. The back of his neck where his hairline used to be.

By the time he was halfway done, Shane was crying again, silent tears streaming down his face and dripping off his jaw. Ilya could see them in the mirror, could see the way Shane's expression was caught somewhere between grief and something else, something softer.

"What are you thinking?" Ilya asked quietly, pausing with the clippers in his hand. "Talk to me, Shane."

Shane was quiet for a long moment, staring at his reflection. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I knew this was coming.” He said. "I've been finding hair on my pillow for weeks. I thought I was ready..." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm not ready, Ilya."

Ilya set the clippers down and wrapped his arms around Shane from behind, resting his chin on Shane's shoulder so they were both looking at the mirror. "Ready for what?"

"For this. For…" Shane gestured vaguely at his reflection, at the half-shaved head and the pale, exhausted face and all of it. "For being one more thing."

"One more thing?" Ilya prompted gently.

Shane's jaw tightened. "Do you know what it's like, walking into a dressing room and being the only Asian guy? Every single time. Every team, every level, my entire career. I'm always the only one." His voice was getting tighter, more strained. "Now some of the guys know about you, and suddenly I’m the only Asian guy and the only gay guy. And now I'm the only Asian guy, the only gay guy, the guy with one ball, the guy with cancer…Hell, I’m also probably autistic." His breath hitched. "And now I get to be the guy who looks like a fucking cancer patient. It’s just one more thing that makes me stand out."

"Shane…"

"I'm so tired of being different, Ilya." The words came out broken, raw. "And now it's going to be even more obvious. Now everyone who sees me is going to know I'm sick. They're going to see me and think 'cancer' before they think anything else…”

What the fuck is there to even say? "I’m sorry, Shane." Ilya kissed his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. "But you are not just the things that make you different. You are whole person. You are so much more than any of this." He picked up the clippers again. "You want me to finish?"

Shane looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Finish it."

Ilya worked slowly, carefully, following each pass of the clippers with kisses until there was no hair left, until Shane's head was completely bare and smooth and beautiful. When he was done, he set the clippers aside and ran his hands over Shane's scalp, learning the shape of it, the warmth of it.

"There…” He said softly. "Is done."

Shane looked at himself in the mirror, and Ilya watched his face carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked different, younger somehow, more exposed—but he was still Shane. He was still beautiful. He was still the man Ilya loved more than anything.

"I look like an egg." Shane said finally, and despite the tears still drying on his face and the exhaustion in his eyes, there was a hint of humor in his voice.

Ilya laughed, relief flooding through him. "You look like very handsome egg. Sexiest egg I ever seen. You look good, Shane. I promise. You look…" He didn't get to finish the sentence because Shane suddenly lurched forward, gripping the counter, and Ilya barely had time to grab him before he was retching into the sink, his whole body convulsing with the force of it. The breakthrough meds hadn't kicked in yet, or maybe they had and this was just how bad it was even with them.

"Okay, okay…" Ilya murmured, holding Shane's shoulders. "You're okay."

When it finally passed, Shane slumped against the counter, breathing hard. "Fuck…" He gasped. "Fuck, I can't…I can't go to the game like this."

"No." Ilya agreed immediately. "No game. You go to bed."

For once, Shane didn't argue. He just nodded weakly and let Ilya guide him out of the bathroom, pausing only to grab a clean t-shirt from the dresser. Shane's current shirt was damp with sweat and probably other things, and Ilya helped him change. The clean shirt was one of Ilya's, oversized and soft, and Shane pulled it on gratefully before collapsing onto the bed. Ilya grabbed sweatpants from the drawer and helped Shane into those too, then pulled back the covers and guided him under them.

Before Shane could close his eyes, Ilya leaned down and started kissing him. Not on the mouth. He was too worried about germs, about Shane's compromised immune system, but he kissed everywhere else. His forehead, smooth and warm. His bare scalp. His temples, his cheeks, his jaw. The bridge of his nose. His eyelids when he closed them.

"You are kind…" Ilya murmured between kisses, moving down to Shane's shoulders. "You are good friend... Good son… You make your parents so proud, even when you don't believe it…" He kissed Shane's collarbone through the shirt, then his chest, right over his heart. "You are handsome... So handsome it makes me stupid sometimes..." Another kiss, to Shane's ribs. "You are funny, even when you try not to be… You are smart… You are good teammate." Down to Shane's stomach, which was probably still churning but was at least staying settled for now. "You are best lover I ever had…" Ilya said, grinning when Shane made a weak sound of protest. "Is true. You do things with your mouth that should be illegal. Is gift. You are gift, Hollander." He kissed Shane's hip bones, sharp even through the sweatpants, then moved to his hands, lifting each one and pressing his lips to the knuckles, the palms, the fingertips that were probably still tingling and sore. "You are strong…" Ilya said quietly, seriously now. "Stronger than you know… You are brave… You are fighter..." He looked up and met Shane's eyes, which were wet again but in a different way now. "You are man I love, Shane… Man I will choose every day... Man I want to spend rest of my life with, if you let me someday…"

"Ilya…" Shane whispered, and his voice broke on the name.

Ilya climbed onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle him, and gathered him close. Shane buried his face in Ilya's neck, breathing him in. They stayed like that for a long time, long enough that Ilya started to think Shane had fallen asleep—but then Shane shifted slightly, his voice small and muffled against Ilya's shoulder.

"Can you do something for me?"

"Anything." Ilya said immediately. "What do you need?"

There was a pause, and when Shane spoke again his voice was so quiet Ilya almost didn't hear it. "Can you call my mom? I want…" He stopped, swallowed. "I want my mom."

Me too. Ilya's chest constricted, his heart breaking and mending itself in the same moment. Shane Hollander, future MLH legend, one of the best players in the league, reduced to this—to being so sick and so tired that all he wanted was his mom.

"Of course." Ilya said, pressing a kiss to Shane's bare head. 

"Thank you." Shane whispered, quiet and exhausted, and Ilya just held him. "I love you." 

Chapter 13

It took all of five minutes on a frozen lake for Ilya to discover that Shane Hollander was very much a product of his environment—his super fucking Canadian environment. His country somewhere along the way had decided that the most fun way to spend a weekend was staring down a hole with the blind faith that fish did in fact survive the frigid water temperatures, in pursuit of… supper? No, not even that—because the one time a fish had made it up the hole, it was promptly returned back down the hole and Ilya was told it was too small to keep. What the fuck is the point of this boring activity? I am just in a shack freezing my balls off and don’t even get to keep fish. He glanced at Shane, who was bundled up more than everyone else, his bald head covered with a hand knit toque that he surely only wore to appease his grandmother who had made it for him. Damn, if he freezes off his other ball, we are in trouble. 

This is killing him, Shane thought as he grinned over at Ilya who was trying to shoot laser beams in the lakes direction with his eyes, his gaze locked in on the hole below his feet. Does he think he can fucking hypnotize the fish? Shane reached into the cooler beside him and pulled out a beer, throwing it to him. “Here. Makes the time pass faster.” 

It hit Ilya’s lap and he cracked it, glancing over to David as if he needed permission to drink it. David held his own up in cheers. “Ah yes… Canada is just activities so fun you want time to pass faster.” He took a big swig. “Stare at fire, hit tiny white ball in bush, make fish suffer just to put back. Canada is fun.” He teased. 

“Free healthcare.” Shane said, pointing at his junk and smiling back at Ilya. 

Ilya grinned. “Aw yes. They would have done two for one in Boston and charged you a million dollars… but it would not be this boring.” 

Shane smiled and tilted his head back against the wall of the shack, closing his eyes briefly. “You good, bud?” David asked, changing the bait on his hook before plunking it back down the hole. 

“Mhmm.” Shane moaned. “I actually feel pretty good.” He opened his eyes and looked at Ilya. “Despite the whiny company.” He grinned. 

It was the truth. Shane had conquered his second chemo cycle, though conquer may not have been the right word. He had survived it, while welcoming a slough of unwanted side effects into his orbit that, while listed in the brochure, had not been something he had been anticipating all at once. It took a couple days, but they found the right concoction to keep his nausea at bay. The ringing in his ears was wearing, and didn’t agree with his brain whatsoever. He was at the point where nothing tasted good, so food was just for sustenance and not enjoyment—he had learned that blended drinks, packed with protein, and drank with a straw placed at the back of his tongue so as not to taste any of it, was the only way he could get nutrition without being entirely miserable. I want to be deep throating my boyfriend, not my fucking smoothies. He was somehow still horned up, despite his exhaustion, and that was weighing on him too—he wanted to feel like a man, but was struggling to even feel like a human. His hands and feet still ached in a way that even the best massage couldn’t touch. Still, he was doing okay. He knew his last round would be the hardest, and that the road to recovery post-treatment would be a long one, but for now he was okay—and he was at the cottage

Christmas was coming up the following week, but they were taking advantage of Shane’s short window between treatments, and Ilya’s two day break in the schedule to spend an early Christmas together, and Ilya couldn’t be happier. It had been years since he had spent the holidays with anyone in a meaningful way—and now somehow he had landed in Shane’s favorite place on earth, surrounded by family, celebrating a holiday he had long since given up on. 

“How did you afford cottage so nice so young?” Ilya asked with a smile, genuinely curious about Shane’s projects and investments. “You are drug dealer too?” 

“What do you mean?” Yuna asked, before Shane even could. 

He wasn’t sure if the question was about the finances or if she might have thought that he implied he too was a drug dealer. Something told Ilya that Yuna would probably prefer he be a drug dealer than a guy in financial distress. Maybe I should be drug dealer. Ilya shrugged. “Entry level salary is okay… but not million dollar cottage okay, yes?” 

Yuna cocked her head a little confused. “Well a million a year is not a small amount of money, plus your boys signing bonuses… the endorsements. It’s not like he paid in cash, but he also has the finances available to make investments and do things like this.” 

Ilya was focused back down the hole, not realizing his simple question would lead to a discussion on investment portfolios. Please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please don’t ask. 

“Do you have a financial advisor honey?” Yuna continued. 

Fuck. “Uh, no. Well, kind of. In Russia.” 

Yuna raised a brow. “Do you have a trustworthy financial advisor?”

Ilya opened his mouth to answer. Does the corrupt lady who takes a twenty-five percent cut and makes sure I can pay the rent count? Before he could form the words, his line went taut, and Ilya jumped up. This was not the gentle tug of something small and uninterested—this was a pull. I think I caught Canadian Lake Shark. The rod bent in his hands, the tip dipping toward the hole in the ice, and for a moment Ilya forgot entirely about financial advisors and the uncomfortable weight of Yuna's well-meaning, yet terrifying interrogation. Why they use such tiny rod? The rod bent again and the zipping sound of line going out filled the shack. Maybe you get little rod if you have big dick. He reeled in a couple of times, trying to stay ahead of the fish. Yuna Hollander has biggest dick energy in this room. She is terrifying.

"Oh fuck." He said, gripping the rod with both hands, his beer forgotten and tipping precariously against his boot. "Is big one."

David was on his feet immediately, moving with the efficiency of someone who had spent half his life on frozen lakes. "Keep tension on the line. Don't jerk it. Let him tire himself out a bit."

All I have been doing is jerking it. Fucking cancer. "I know how to catch fish." Ilya said, though his grin suggested he absolutely did not know how to catch a fucking fish, or at least not this fish, not in a shack on a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere Canada. He leaned back slightly, feeling the weight on the other end of the line, the living resistance of something that very much did not want to be caught. You are my bitch, fish. His heart was pounding from the sheer absurdity of it, the sudden rush of adrenaline that came from something actually fucking happening in a place where nothing had been happening for the last hour. Fish… you are my ticket out of talking about my bank account. Come on you fucker. 

Shane was grinning now too, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Holy shit. That thing must have heard all your complaints and came to save the day."

"No! Is because I am good fisherman.” Ilya said, though the rod was shaking in his hands and he was clearly holding on for dear life. "In Russia, we catch fish this big with bare hands."

"In Russia, you lived in a city and probably never saw a lake." Shane shot back, but he was leaning forward now, watching the line in the hole. 

"Oh my god, Ilya, don't lose it!" Yuna yelled. 

This fish is saving me from you right now… I will not lose it. "I am not losing." Ilya said, though his voice had gone tight with concentration. The fish was fighting him, pulling hard enough that he could feel the strain in his forearms, the burn in his shoulders. He reeled slowly, carefully, letting the line give when it needed to, pulling it back when he could. It was a dance, a negotiation, a battle of wills between him and something he couldn't even see yet. This fish is my cancer… I will not lose. 

And then, suddenly, there it was—the fish broke the surface of the water with a splash, thrashing and big—bigger than the sad little thing David had caught earlier and thrown back. It was long and muscular and furious, its mouth open in what Ilya could only assume was a string of fish profanity. Fuck you fish. David lunged forward and grabbed it before it could throw the hook, and suddenly the shack was full of noise—laughter and congratulations and the wet slap of the fish against the floor of the shack as it fought even in captivity.

"That's a keeper!" David said, grinning wide as he held up the net. "Probably five, six pounds. Nice catch, Rozanov."

Ilya was breathing hard, his face flushed with triumph and cold and the sheer ridiculous joy of it. "See? I told you. Good fisherman."

Shane was laughing now, the sound bright and genuine, and it did something to Ilya's chest that had nothing to do with the fish. "You got lucky."

You have no fucking idea. "We eat this tonight, yes?"

"Hell yes." David said. "I'll clean it when we get back. You earned it."

They spent another few minutes admiring the catch, taking a photo of Ilya holding the pike with forced enthusiasm. Fish is gross. I don’t like holding this thing. Then as the excitement settled, Ilya noticed Shane had gone quiet again, his shoulders hunched slightly, his hands tucked under his arms.

"You good?" Ilya asked, keeping his voice low.

Shane nodded, but there was something in his face—a tightness around his eyes, a pallor beneath the flush the cold had brought to his cheeks. "Yeah. I think I'm ready to head back inside though. Get warm."

Sadly, the shack was as warm as could be—but not for Shane. And sadder yet, if he stayed for another ten minutes, that cold could turn into feeling overheated and feverish. There was never a middle ground. 

David glanced over, his expression shifting immediately into something more concerned. "Yeah, of course. Let's pack it up."

They gathered their things and Ilya carried the fish in a net, holding it away from his body like it might come back to life and exact revenge. I am watching you, fish fucker. The walk back to the cottage was short but brutal, the wind cutting across the open expanse of the lake with nothing to stop it. Shane walked with his head down, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and Ilya found himself staying close, as if proximity alone could shield him from the cold.

Inside the heat hit them like a wall after being outside too long. Yuna and David peeled off toward the kitchen, already talking about how to prepare the fish, their voices fading into the background as Ilya turned his attention to Shane.

"Come on." Ilya said, reaching for the zipper of Shane's jacket. "Let's get you out of all this."

Shane didn't argue. He stood still, letting Ilya work the zipper down, peel the heavy coat off his shoulders. Beneath it was another layer, and beneath that, another. Ilya pulled off Shane's toque, before offering him a dry one—a new habit for a beautiful bald head, but Shane declined. He seemed to be more comfortable without it when he was just around his family. 

As each layer came off, Ilya noticed that Shane was still shivering, his body clearly struggling to regulate itself. His hands were cold, his lips had a faint bluish tinge that Ilya didn't like at all. "You are freezing." Ilya said, frowning as he rubbed Shane's hands between his own, trying to warm them.

"I'm fine." Shane said automatically, but his teeth were chattering slightly, betraying him. “Bad circulation, I think.” 

"You are not fine. You are popsicle, Hollander." Ilya kept his voice light, teasing, but his hands were gentle as he worked Shane's boots off, then his socks. Shane's feet were cold too. "Come. We get you in bed, yes? Warm you up properly." Shane didn't argue with that either, which told Ilya everything he needed to know. He guided Shane down the hallway to the bedroom, one hand on the small of his back. 

The bedroom was dim and quiet, the curtains drawn against the afternoon light. Ilya pulled back the covers, the duvet thick and inviting, and Shane climbed in without hesitation, still wearing his thermal shirt and sweatpants. He curled onto his side, pulling the blankets up to his chin, and Ilya stood there for a moment, just watching him.

"You going to stand there all day, or you going to help me warm up?" Shane asked, his voice muffled by the blankets.

Ilya grinned. "Is that invitation?"

"Yeah. Get in here."

Ilya didn't need to be asked twice. He stripped down to his shirt and boxer briefs and slid under the covers beside Shane. The bed was cold at first, the sheets not yet warmed by body heat, but Shane immediately pressed closer, seeking warmth like a plant seeking sunlight.

"Jesus, you're freezing." Ilya murmured, wrapping his arms around Shane and pulling him against his chest. Shane was all sharp angles and trembling muscles, his body tense even as he tried to relax.

"I know." Shane said quietly. "I don't know why. I was bundled up."

"Is okay. I am like furnace. Hot Russian blood." Ilya rubbed Shane's back in slow, firm strokes, trying to generate heat through friction and proximity. Shane's face was pressed against his neck, his breath warm and uneven against Ilya's skin.

They lay like that for a while, the silence comfortable and heavy. Ilya could feel Shane starting to relax, the shivers gradually subsiding as warmth seeped back into his body. Shane shifted slightly, tilting his head back to look at Ilya. His eyes were dark and soft, his expression unguarded in a way that made Ilya's heart pound.

"Hi." Shane said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Hi." Ilya said back, and then Shane was kissing him.

It was slow, tentative at first, like Shane was testing the waters, making sure this was okay. Ilya responded immediately, his hand coming up to cup the back of Shane's head—smooth and bare, the absence of hair something Ilya had grown used to but still noticed every time he touched him. The kiss deepened, Shane's mouth opening under his, and Ilya felt at home in a way he was sure he’d never find anywhere else. I am so fucking in love with you. 

He kissed Shane like he was something precious, something that might break if handled too roughly. His hands moved carefully, mapping Shane's back, the curve of his spine, the sharp jut of his shoulder blades. Shane had lost weight, enough that Ilya could feel it now. It made Ilya want to feed him, to wrap him in blankets, to stand between him and everything in the world that wanted to hurt him.

Shane made a soft sound against his mouth and Ilya felt his own body respond, heat pooling low in his belly. He shifted closer, pressing their bodies together, and that's when he felt it—Shane was hard.

The realization sent a jolt through Ilya, and he felt so many things at once. Relief, maybe. Desire. A fierce, protective tenderness that made him want to both ravish Shane and wrap him in bubble wrap at the same time. Despite the exhaustion, despite the chemo, despite the cold that had seeped into his bones, Shane’s body still wanted this. Still wanted Ilya. I can’t wait to have you back… the way you were.  Ilya's hand slid down tentatively, giving Shane every opportunity to stop him—but Shane didn't stop him. If anything, he pressed closer, his breath hitching as Ilya's palm settled over the front of his sweatpants, feeling the hard line of him through the fabric.

"Ilya…" Shane breathed, and there was something in his voice—a vulnerability that made Ilya slow down and pay attention.

"Is okay?" Ilya asked, his lips brushing against Shane's jaw, his temple, the shell of his ear.

"Yeah. I just…" Shane hesitated, his hand coming up to grip Ilya's shoulder. "I want this. I do. I just... Can we keep it like this? Just... hands?"

Ilya pulled back slightly, enough to look at Shane's face. His expression was conflicted, a mix of desire and self-consciousness that Ilya recognized immediately. "You don't want me to…?"

"Not right now." Shane said quickly, his cheeks flushing. "I just... I'm not ready for you to... I know you've seen it, but seeing and... you know. It's different." I don’t need you blowing the fucking one-eyed monster. 

And Ilya understood immediately. Shane was self-conscious—about his body, about the changes, about the missing ball and the weight loss and the baldness. About being seen too closely, examined too thoroughly. He wanted this, but he wasn't ready to be that vulnerable yet.

"Is okay…" Ilya said, pressing a kiss to Shane's forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "We do what you want. What feels good. Nothing else matters."

Shane's eyes were bright, almost glassy, and he nodded, his throat working as he swallowed. "Okay."

"Okay." Ilya echoed, and then he kissed Shane again, slow and deep, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.  His hand slid beneath the waistband of Shane's sweatpants, then his boxers, and Shane gasped against his mouth as Ilya's fingers wrapped around him.

He was hot and hard and fucking alive in Ilya's hand, and Ilya took his time, stroking slowly. Shane's hips jerked slightly, seeking more friction, and Ilya gave it to him, his grip firm but gentle, his movements deliberate. He wasn't trying to make this quick or efficient—he was trying to make Shane feel good, feel wanted, feel like his body was something to be celebrated rather than mourned. You are so fucking gorgeous, Shane. 

Shane's breathing had gone ragged, his face pressed against Ilya's neck, his hand fisted in Ilya's shirt. "Fuck." He whispered, the word barely audible. "Ilya, that's…"

"Good?" Ilya asked, his voice low and rough.

"Yeah. Really good."

Ilya's hand moved lower, cupping Shane's remaining ball with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. He felt Shane tense for a moment, a flicker of self-consciousness, but Ilya didn't linger, didn't make it into something it wasn't. He just touched, his palm warm and steady, communicating everything he couldn't say out loud—I see you. I want you. You are perfect exactly as you are.

Shane made a choked sound, his body trembling. Ilya stroked him slowly, his thumb brushing over the head of Shane's cock, spreading the wetness he found there. Shane's hips were moving now, small, involuntary thrusts into Ilya's hand.

"You are so beautiful." Ilya murmured against Shane's temple, his lips brushing the smooth skin. "So fucking beautiful, Hollander."

Shane's breath hitched, and then he was coming, his body going rigid in Ilya's arms, his cock pulsing in Ilya's hand. He made a wrecked sound and Ilya held him through it, his hand still moving, gentle now, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until Shane was shaking, his hand coming down to still Ilya's wrist.

"Okay." Shane gasped. "Okay, I'm…fuck."

Ilya withdrew his hand carefully, wiping it on his own shirt without a second thought. Shane was loose against him, his breathing still uneven, his face flushed and damp with sweat. He looked utterly undone, and Ilya had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

They lay there in silence for a moment, Shane's head tucked under Ilya's chin, their legs tangled together. Ilya could feel Shane's heartbeat gradually slowing, his body relaxing into the kind of exhaustion that came after release.

"I'm sorry…" Shane said quietly, his voice rough. "I'm too tired to…"

"No." Ilya interrupted, his hand coming up to stroke Shane's bare head, his touch gentle. "You don't apologize. You don't owe me anything."

"But you didn't…"

"I am fine. More than fine." Ilya pressed a kiss to the top of Shane's head. "This was perfect. You are perfect." This gives me plenty to jerk off to. 

Shane’s arms tightened around Ilya's waist. "I don't feel perfect."

"Well, you are wrong." Ilya said simply. "You are perfect, and I am keeping you, and you are going to sleep now because you are exhausted and I can feel it."

Shane burrowed closer, his breathing already starting to even out, his body going heavy in Ilya's arms. Ilya held him, one hand stroking slow circles on his back, the other cradling his head. I never want to leave here. Outside, he could hear the faint sounds of the cottage, but here, in this room, it was just the two of them, tangled together under the blankets, Shane's breath warm against Ilya's neck, his body finally warm, and Ilya thought that he would burn the whole world down to keep Shane safe. To keep him warm. To make him feel, even for a moment, like he was enough exactly as he was.

"Sleep, my love." Ilya whispered, his lips brushing Shane's temple. 

Ilya stayed for a while after Shane's breathing evened out into the deep, steady rhythm of real sleep. Eventually, Ilya's arm started to go numb, so he extracted himself carefully, inch by inch, replacing his body with a pillow that Shane immediately curled around like it was a reasonable substitute. Pillow will not make you cum, Hollander. He stood there for a moment longer, watching Shane sleep. I love you so much. Then he pulled the blankets up higher around Shane's shoulders, pressed one more kiss to his bare head, and slipped out of the room as quietly as he could.

Ilya padded toward the kitchen and found Yuna and David exactly where he expected them to be—standing at the counter, working on the fish he'd caught. I will not touch that thing. Yuck. David was doing the actual cleaning, gutting, filleting, while Yuna stood beside him, rinsing vegetables in the sink and occasionally offering commentary that David seemed to be ignoring with the patience of a man who had been married for decades.

"He asleep?" Yuna asked without looking up, her hands busy peeling carrots.

"Yes. Out like light." Ilya leaned against the doorframe, watching them work. "He was very cold. I think maybe his body is not so good at regulating temperature right now."

"That's normal." Yuna said, her voice matter-of-fact but edged with the kind of worry that mothers carried. "The chemo messes with everything. His circulation, his ability to stay warm, his energy levels. It'll get better once he's done with treatment."

David glanced over his shoulder, his hands still working the knife with precision. "You did good out there today, Rozanov. That was a hell of a catch."

Ilya grinned, some of his usual swagger sliding back into place like a familiar coat. "I told you. Good fisherman."

"Come sit down. We're almost done here, and then we'll get this thing cooking. You want a beer?"

"Sure." He moved into the kitchen properly, pulling out one of the chairs at the small wooden table and dropping into it with the kind of graceless exhaustion that came from a day spent outside in the cold followed by an emotionally intense hour in bed with the person he was too fucking in love with. How is giving handjob so exhausting? David handed him a beer from the fridge, already opened, and Ilya took it gratefully, pressing the cold can against his forehead for a moment before taking a long drink.

Yuna finished with the carrots and moved to the table, sitting across from him with her own glass of wine. She studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful in a way that made Ilya immediately suspicious. He knew that look. Fuck. It was the same look she gave Shane after he lied for the third time about what he ate that day. She was about to try and fatten him up, like she did Shane—only this time it was about his wallet and not a cancer-riddled body. Fuck fuck fuck. He avoided eye contact, in hopes that it might help avoid the questions he knew were coming. Cancer might be easier than this…

"So…" Yuna said, swirling her wine. "Earlier, when we were talking about money..."

Fuck. "Yes?" Ilya said softly, trying to look calm. 

"You seemed uncomfortable." Yuna continued. "And I just want to make sure you're okay. Financially, I mean. We're not trying to pry, but... you're important to Shane. Which means you're important to us. And if there's something going on, we'd like to help if we can."

Ilya took another drink of his beer, buying himself a few seconds to figure out how to answer. He could deflect. He was good at deflecting. He could make a joke, change the subject, steer the conversation somewhere safer. But there was something about the way Yuna was looking at him that made the usual armor feel heavier than it was worth. Fuck.

"I am not struggling." He said finally, setting the beer down on the table and tracing the label with his thumb in an attempt to self soothe. "I have money. I pay my rent, I eat, I am fine. But..." He hesitated, searching for the right words in a language that still sometimes felt like it was fighting him. "I am not... well-off. Not like I should be, maybe. For someone who makes what I make."

Yuna's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

I mean I live like college frat boy, but drive sports car because my brother can’t come take that away. Ilya shrugged, trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal even though it was. "My agent, my manager... they take a lot. More than they should, I think. But I don't know what is normal, so I just... let them."

"How much do they take?" David asked, turning away from the counter now, his full attention on Ilya.

Ilya did the math in his head, lying, rounding down the percentages into something that felt less humiliating to say out loud. "My agent takes fifteen percent. My manager takes another twenty." The silence that followed was loud enough to make Ilya's stomach twist. Fuck.

"Twenty percent?" Yuna repeated, her voice rising. "Your manager takes twenty percent?"

"Is... is that bad?" Ilya asked, even though he already knew the answer from the look on her face.

"Ilya, honey, that's terrible." Yuna said, leaning forward like she was physically restraining herself from reaching across the table and shaking him. "A standard agent fee is three percent. Maybe five if they're doing a lot of extra work. Fifteen is fucking highway robbery… And a manager taking twenty percent on top of that?" She shook her head, her expression somewhere between horrified and furious. "That's not management. That's theft."

Ilya felt his face heat, embarrassment crawling up his neck like a rash. "I didn't know. In Russia, it was... different. And when I came here, they were the ones who helped me, so I just... I thought it was normal."

"It's not normal," David said, his voice firm but not unkind. "For context, Shane's agent takes the standard three percent. And Yuna manages his career, but she doesn't take anything. She does it because she's his mom and she wants to make sure he's taken care of."

Awe yes, the perfect Hollander’s. Shit. 

"I don't need his money.” Yuna said softly. "I just need to know he's not being taken advantage of. Which is exactly what's happening to you, Ilya."

Ilya stared down at his beer, his jaw tight. He wanted to argue, to defend the people who had been with him since the beginning, but he couldn't. Deep down, he'd always known something was wrong—he'd just been too afraid or proud to admit it.

"There is also..." He hesitated. What the hell are you doing?  "I send money home. To Russia. To my brother."

Yuna's expression shifted, her anger giving way to something gentler. "For your family?"

"For my father…" Ilya said quietly. "Alexei is supposed to take care of him. My father, he... he is not well. I send money so Alexei can make sure he has what he needs. A nurse, maybe. Medicine. I don't know…" He huffed a laugh. He is not caring for him like we are caring for Shane.  "I don't actually know if Alexei uses it for that. I just... I send it, and I hope."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" David asked.

Ilya shrugged. "Alexei is... he has problems. He likes to gamble. He likes cocaine. He likes expensive things and women and... I don't know. I send the money because I don't know what else to do. If I don't send it, then who takes care of my father? So I send it, and I don't ask questions, because I don't want to know the answers."

Yuna reached across the table, her hand covering his. "Ilya, what's wrong with your father?"

Ilya looked up at her, and for a moment, he considered lying. Considered saying something vague and noncommittal that would let him keep this part of himself locked away where it belonged. But Yuna's hand was warm on his, and her eyes were kind, and Shane was asleep in the other room with problems too heavy to take on any of Ilya’s too. 

"I think he has dementia." Ilya said. "Or Alzheimer's, maybe. I don't know. He has not been to doctor…But he forgets things…A lot of things. He calls me sometimes, and he asks when I am coming home from practice. He thinks I still live in Russia. Sometimes he forgets he has two sons. Sometimes he asks where my mother is."

Yuna's grip on his hand tightened. "Where is your mother, sweetheart?"

Sweetheart. Ugh. The question hung in the air a little too long.  "She's dead." He said finally. "She died when I was twelve."

"I'm so sorry.” Yuna said, her voice soft and aching. "How did she die?"

Ilya looked down at their joined hands, at the way Yuna's fingers were wrapped around his like she was trying to hold him together. He thought about lying again. Enough, Ilya. He thought about saying it was an accident, or an illness, or something that didn't make him feel like he was bleeding out in the middle of a kitchen in a cottage in the middle of nowhere. Fuck. But he didn't.

"Suicide." He said, the word sour in his mouth. “I found her." He added. Fuck… you don’t have to say it all. 

The silence felt suffocating. Yuna's eyes were bright, and David had gone very still, his hands braced against the counter like he needed the support. "Ilya…" Yuna said, her voice breaking slightly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Ilya shrugged. "It was long time ago."

"That doesn't make it hurt less." David said quietly.

Yuna took a shaky breath, composing herself with visible effort. "Does Shane know?"

"Yes." Ilya shook his head. "I don't... I don't talk about it. It's easier not to… but I told him that much when I was trying to make him go see doctor." He pulled his hand away long enough to take a drink. He looked at Yuna. “When I was convincing him that I needed him alive.” He smirked.

"Easier for who?" Yuna asked gently.

“What?”

“You said it was easier not to talk about it. Who is it easier for?” She continued. 

Ilya didn't have an answer for that. They sat in silence for a moment. Then Yuna sat back in her chair with the kind of determined expression that suggested she was about to say something he wasn't going to like. Are you going to take twenty-five percent and manage me too?

"Ilya, I want to help you." She said. "With your representation... With your finances. If you want, I can connect you with people who will actually take care of you instead of robbing you blind. People Shane and I trust."

Fuck. I was joking. "I..." Ilya hesitated, the offer feeling too big, too generous, too much like charity. "I don't know."

"You don't have to decide right now." Yuna said. "Just think about it. Okay?"

Ilya nodded, his throat tight.

David finally moved to sit at the table with them, his expression serious. "Your father. Have you ever thought about bringing him here? Well, not here… but to Boston?"

Ilya blinked. "To... to America?"

"Yes." Yuna said, leaning forward again. "If he has dementia, he needs proper care. Real medical attention. A neurologist, medication, maybe a care facility if it gets bad enough. You can't do that from here, and it doesn't sound like your brother is doing it either."

"He would hate it here." Ilya said immediately. "He would hate America. He would hate me for bringing him." He took a deep breath. “He already hates me for coming here.”

"Maybe…" David said, his voice calm and measured. "But it sounds like he's not exactly happy where he is either. And more importantly, it sounds like he remembers you. He asks about you. He wants you around, even if he forgets most other things."

"He doesn't even know I'm gone."

"Exactly." Yuna said. "Which means he wouldn't know he was somewhere new. But you would know he was safe. You would know he was getting the care he needs. And you wouldn't have to send money to your brother and hope it's being used the right way."

I think he would fucking know when nobody else speaks Russian.

David jumped in. "If your father is here, legally under your care, it changes things. For you. If you ever got outed, if things ever went sideways with your career in a way that made going back to Russia dangerous... you wouldn’t have to worry about it as much. He would already be here. Is there anything else that takes you back to Russia every summer?"

Ilya stared at him, the implications of that settling over him. He'd spent so much of his life afraid of what would happen if people knew the truth about him. Afraid of losing his career, his family, his country. The idea that he could build something here—something legal and permanent and safe, felt almost too big to comprehend.

"He would be so angry." Ilya said quietly. "He would hate me."

Yuna smiled warmly. "He might also be relieved. And even if he's angry, at least he'd be alive. At least he'd be cared for."

"I don't know if I can do that." Ilya admitted.

"You don't have to do it alone." David said. "We'll help you. Whatever you need…lawyers, doctors, a place for him to stay while you figure things out. We'll help."

You cannot do that. He fucking hates Hollander. Ilya looked between them, these two people who barely knew him, who had no reason to care about his fucked-up family or his fucked-up life, and felt nothing but guilt. 

"Why?" he asked, his voice rough. "Why would you do this for me?"

Yuna smiled. "Because you love our son…And because he loves you. And because you deserve to have people in your corner, Ilya. You deserve to have a family."

Ilya's throat was too tight to speak, his eyes burning in a way that made him want to look away, to hide, to run. But he didn't—he just sat there, in a kitchen in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, and let himself be seen. He finally spoke again. “What if Shane doesn’t want this… forever. You would be wasting your time… your money maybe… on me. And we could never tell my father it was you helping. He would be furious that the Great Shane Hollander, has parents who are helping him. Too proud.” He said softly. “He could not thank you… ever.” 

Yuna closed her eyes briefly, as if the words stung a little more than intended. Fuck, they won’t like him. And then what? She opened her eyes and he could see the shine in them again. “Ilya, you’re nineteen. If you and Shane don’t work out, that’s fine… that’s life. But you still deserve to have the best life too, and if we can help you do that, it’s the least we can do for the love and care you have shown our son these last few months.” She took a deep breath. “You told him you needed him to be alive… and he is. Maybe because of you… this is the least that we can do and doesn’t feel like a burden, honey.” 

"Okay." he said finally, his voice barely audible. "Okay. I'll think about it."

"That's all we're asking." David said, then he smiled. “Now let’s cook this fucking fish of yours. We usually bake it because…” He glanced toward Shane’s room. “... but we prefer it fried. What do you think?”

Ilya smiled. “Give me the grease… and another beer.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Notes

PIKE: Boys… I think we need to find a way to tell coach and the rest of the boys about Rozanov.

…

MITTY: Um. I am not sure that is something we are allowed to do my guy. 

…

JJ: It’s not. I googled it and that’s called outing. Big no no dude. 

…

PIKE: Well I would talk to the fucking guy first. I just think he could use a night out if he’s feeling up for it… but fucking Roz is in town for New Years. Maybe Shane would come to the team party if he could bring his stupid fucking boyfriend. 

…

JJ: Will he even be allowed? Probably another no no post treatment. 

…

PIKE: I asked Jarvis. His counts might be okay. We could keep him safe. I was with him today guys… he’s not doing well. Mentally I mean. Buddy is checked out. 

…

MITTY: Well yeah… he’s got cancer and he’s in love with Ilya Rozanov. I don’t know which one is worse. 

…

PIKE: If Shane says it’s okay, would you come with me to talk to coach? 

…

JJ: What if dude comes and someone posts a picture. We don’t need the world to know that our boy is fucking the enemy. 

…

PIKE: Just don’t post fucking pictures. 

…

MITTY: Do we really want Roz to come? 

….

JJ: Maybe I could upload a picture on purpose and Rozanov will be deported or something. Then we might be able to actually beat the fucking Raiders. 

…

ROZ: Ah… yes. Good idea. You can get me deported and then tell Hollander that they took his ball and his boyfriend this year. And still… the Metros will lose, because somehow Hayden Pike is best player… and he is worse than his million kids on skates. 

…

…

…

PIKE: Fuck Rozanov… did you fuck with our group chat name again?!

He did. He definitely did. Ilya had renamed the group chat more times than he could count. First it was The Sack Pack, followed by, Two Balls One Chat, and Hayden Pike’s Hate Club. There were others as well that were deemed inappropriate by one or more of the guys. Finally, Ilya had stolen a glimpse of Hayden’s phone earlier that day and noted the group chat titled, Shane’s Ball Brigade. Fucking losers, Ilya thought, as he strategically and quietly changed the name of his own chat with the Metros boys to just that, in hopes they might not check and text the wrong one. Mission accomplished. He was hoping for some juicier gossip, but got this instead. Just a bunch of fucking idiots trying to plan how they are going to out them in a politically correct way. He was also dying to know what the fuck JJ had to google to learn that that wasn't a good idea. Can I tell everyone that Ilya Rozanov is gay, probably. Or maybe, I think I might be a homo... can I throw someone else under the gay bus to keep them off my track.

ROZ: Ah yes… you need to hide phone better.

…

PIKE: Well… are you with him? Should we talk to coach?

…

ROZ: Why would we want to go to stupid party with bad hockey players? If I want to go hang out with bad hockey players I will go to outdoor rink with old heart attack having men down street. 

…

PIKE: You’re such an asshole. He seemed out of it this morning. I thought maybe he’d want a real night out with you next week. Fuck me for trying. 

…

ROZ: You would not want me to fuck you. I cannot get you pregnant. You have breeding kink, yes?

…

ROZ: Wait… you had baby, yes? You did not say today. Is baby okay? Jacky? I hope everything went okay for your family. 

…

PIKE: Yeah. A boy. Arthur. She’s fine. Can we not talk about my wife?

…

ROZ: She is most interesting part about you. Her and kids.

…

JJ: Alright boys… Roz, are we telling coach you boys like dick sucking or what? Party is at his place on New Years Eve. If you guys are coming we can make sure to lay down some ground rules to keep him safe. We want him there to get him his belated Christmas gift… but if you are a package deal I think we can figure it out. 

…

ROZ: I am at airport. I am ok with you telling coach. Maybe I will do same. But I can’t speak for Hollander. You need to make that call yourself. Go see him tomorrow. He could use friends this week I think. 

…

ROZ: Wait no… he could use good friends today. Mitty… maybe just you go. Yes? ;)

…

PIKE: Fuck you.  

Shane really thought that the third and final chemo cycle would have felt easier than the others, but instead it just felt heavier. He thought it would feel like a finish line, but really it just felt like the finish line kept moving as the side effects kept stacking up. He knew that when his last Bleomycin treatment ran through his veins in a couple weeks, that he would be at the start of a new race—the race to get back on the ice. The problem was, Shane was more of a sprinter than a distance runner, and this new race would be a fucking marathon. It would be months, maybe even years of getting back to baseline, and he also carried the knowledge that his baseline may be forever changed. Between the hearing changes, and the way that Bleomycin was fucking up his lungs, he already knew that there would very likely be some permanent damage he would have to overcome. You could have just fucking gone to the doctor and skipped all this fucking bullshit. 

He sat slumped over in the dark, the only light casting below the door of the bathroom, curled underneath his warm blanket in the chair of his room, already sore from too many hours of laying down that week. He didn’t have the energy to even hold his own body up comfortably. His backpack of snacks and water sat unopened next to him, the nausea still settled into him like background static. He felt awful, and tired, and actually, a bit lonely. He was alone, the way he so often wanted to be, but there was always something different about the day after Ilya left. It was a loneliness that had existed long before cancer, but stung even more now that they were a package deal. 

There was a subtle knock on the door, and it bothered Shane that he didn’t know who it was, despite having memorized most of the sounds of the nurses shoes and the footsteps of his regular visitors—his minor hearing loss had made him blind in a way. Please be Melissa. 

Melissa stepped inside with the same easy smile she always entered the room with. He had missed her the day before when he had a nurse that was still nice—but not her. “Oh sweetheart.” She said sadly. 

He looked up to meet her gaze. “Hey.” 

She crossed the room, setting everything down on the table before she reached him and pressed the back of her hand gently on his forehead. “You don’t look like yourself today, Shane.” 

He gave her a half-assed smile. “It’s the haircut.” He joked. 

She slipped the pulse oximeter over his finger and wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm. His heart rate was faster than she’d like, and when his 38.4 degree temperature flashed on the screen she frowned. “Have you felt feverish?” 

He shrugged. “Just tired. The usual.”

She nodded and went back to his chart to review his morning bloodwork. The neutrophil count had finally caught up with him in the last round. 0.3. Her expression softened. “Okay… your white blood cell count is dangerously low. You’re neutropenic, which is normal during treatment… but unfortunately with a fever we need to treat this like an emergency, Shane.” 

He blinked slowly, resting his head against the chair. “Okay.” 

“I am going to draw blood cultures from your port, and send some urine cultures if you’re able to. Your doctor will probably want a chest x-ray too just to have a peek at your lungs… but in the meantime, I am going to start you on IV antibiotics right away and have your oncologist come see you.” She turned on the lights and was already going to work preparing everything she needed. “I don’t think you’ll be going home today, buddy. You might want to call your parents to bring you anything you might need for a night or two.” 

He shrugged again. “Okay.”

She smiled. “The good news is, this will delay the last few treatments until after the holidays. A week maybe. You could have a nice quiet New Years at home with family and you might not feel as awful once we get your counts back up.” 

He smiled, offering no more insight into his thoughts. Yeah, so you can delay the fucking torture… great way to start a new year. 

An hour later, when cultures were collected and the first round of antibiotics had disappeared beneath his chest. Melissa returned and found Shane unmoved in his chair, staring blankly at a wall in the dark. 

“They’re admitting you, kid.” She said softly.”Probably for at least forty-eight hours. Maybe longer. Just until your fever settles and we can be sure that you are clear of any infection.” Shane nodded, and didn’t bother protesting. She pulled the visitor chair beside him before reaching her gloved hand for his. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “You okay, Shane?” He nodded. She glanced over at the light switch and then above to the dark lights. “You want me to turn the lights on? I know you like the sound…” She was already standing, but he gave her a gently tug back, hands still intertwined. 

“No.” She looked back and sat down. “I can’t hear them anymore.” He admitted. 

She gave him a sad smile. “Have you seen your audiologist since your baseline testing?” She asked calmly. He nodded. “What did they tell you?” 

He swallowed hard. “They said I have measurable hearing loss at the higher frequencies for sure. They don’t know if it’s temporary or not.” He hesitated. “The fucking ringing makes it harder for them to know I guess.” She looked at him, but didn’t fill the silence. “It’s so fucking loud, Mel.” He said quietly. “All fucking day and night. And I can’t filter it out. If someone is talking to me I miss things because I can’t pick out their voice over…” He gestured around his head. “Whatever the fuck this is…” 

“That’s tough Shane.” She said, grazing her thumb over his. “Overstimulating.” She added. 

He nodded. “Ilya gave me really fucking expensive headphones that play white noise and shit… but even with those, it’s just white noise over fucking ringing and I think my brain hates that even more. The sounds don’t make any fucking sense anymore” 

Melissa knew exactly what he meant. Over the months, she'd learned how much Shane relied on predictable sensory input to keep himself regulated. The steady hum of infusion pumps. The fluorescent lights. The rhythm of blood pressure cuffs inflating. Things most people ignored had become anchors for him. One by one, treatment had started taking those away. 

“I’m fucking tired of it all.” He finally looked at her. “I don’t want to be sick anymore.” 

Melissa squeezed his hand. “I know.” She wished she could tell him the hardest part was over. She wished she could promise that the ringing would fade, that every frequency would come back, that this admission would be brief and uneventful. Instead, she did the only thing she could do. “Why don’t you get in bed, Shane. They will probably move you up to the ward soon… but I can stay with you until they do. If you want.” 

“Okay.” 

“Hollanderrrrrr.” JJ said as he walked in the hospital room with the swagger of a champion, Hayden and Mitty following close behind. 

“Are any of you sick?!” Yuna barked from the chair next to Shane, her hand wrapped firmly in his. 

The boys smiled, already moving towards the box of masks on the wall and sanitizing their hands to match the vibe of the room. 

“Nah Mama Hollander, we are all good.” They looked at Shane who was half asleep in the bed. “We like him better alive.” JJ said, before moving to the edge of the bed, reaching for his hand. “How you doing, buddy?” 

Shane smiled. “Never better.” 

Yuna made a move to stand. “We can leave you boys to it if you…” She felt a hand pulling her back. 

Shane’s eyes were closed again but he smiled softly. “Please stay.” Fuck, this is just as embarrassing as losing my nut and my hair. He remembered the boys were in the room too and pointed towards the toque on the table. “Pass me that, please?” He said just above a whisper. Yuna listened and passed him the hat, watching as he pulled it over his bald head without ever opening his eyes, his hand landing back in hers. 

Hayden smiled down at him. Aw, buddy… you don’t have to be fucking embarrassed around us. “You don’t trust us alone with you buddy?” He teased. 

Shane huffed a small laugh. “More like she doesn’t… it’s easier to keep her here than to have to answer a million questions about your shenanigans later.” He joked. She will put you in your place if I can't handle you all right now.  

Really, he just wanted his fucking mom. He was burnt out, and sick, and while he couldn’t hear the hum of the lights, and he couldn’t have Ilya tucked beside him—he had her. I just need my fucking mommy, alright? 

“How’s the baby?” Shane asked, still too tired to open his eyes. 

“He’s good, man. He can’t wait to meet his uncle.” Hayden said, perching himself at the foot of the bed. He lifted the blanket gently and found one of Shane’s socked feet, before going in with gentle hands, massaging away the tension that lived there, and up his calves. 

Shane smiled softly. “You’re good at that.” 

Hayden huffed a laugh. “My wife is always pregnant… I have some experience in foot massages.” He joked. It got quiet again, and Hayden pushed through the silence. “When do you get out of here?” He asked quietly. 

Shane shrugged, so Yuna took over. “Couple days, probably.” She looked at her son with a soft smile. “He’s doing okay… they got ahead of whatever it might have been. They just can’t send him home with a fever.” 

“He’s tough.” David added from the corner. He deserves to be fucking done with all of this. 

“So… you will be home for New Years?”JJ asked, eyebrows waggling. 

Shane huffed another laugh. “Yes, JJ.” He opened his eyes briefly. “I don’t have to finish treatment until next week now.” He raised his own brows. “Perks of no immune system.” 

“Soooo…” JJ continued. “If we are allowed in here… hands scrubbed… you will be allowed to come to the party too? No?” He looked at Yuna first who wore a look that said are you fucking kidding me you French fuck?

Shane laughed again. ”I mean, with the right couch and the freedom to nap… you too could party with poison in your veins.” He joked. 

“Seriously, dude. You should come.” Hayden added, switching to the other foot. He looked at Mitty and JJ before continuing. “And we think you should bring Rozanov.” 

Shane’s eyes shot full open. “Are you fucking nuts?” 

They smiled at each other. “We kind of, accidentally… brought it up to Roz. He is down if you are.” He added. 

“It’s at Theriault’s house this year…” Shane added. You are all the biggest fucking CTE-packed idiots. 

Hayden looked at the boys, then David, then Yuna. “We thought maybe we could fill him in in advance…” 

Shane let out another laugh. “Now I know you are fucking nuts.” 

David stood and made his way to the end of the bed. “I don’t really condone going at all… but I don’t think it’s a bad idea for your coach to know, Shane.” 

“You too?!” Shane barked. 

David shrugged. “You’re suffering in so many ways, kid… why not take one of those ways off your plate?” 

“Because he could literally end my fucking career…” The ringing in Shane’s ears escalated as his heart rate did the same. He closed one eye, trying to focus it away to no avail, laying back fully against the pillow again. He groaned.

“He won’t.” Yuna said. You fucking too?! Are you fucking kidding me right now? When did you become the fucking Bad Choice Brigade?! She was already continuing. “You probably won’t be back this season… right?” It was a rhetorical question. Thanks for bringing that up. He pulled his hand out of hers, just on principle—just on bratty, teenage, fucking principle. Don’t touch me with your bad advice. “That leaves you with one season on your entry level contract before you’re a restricted free agent… so maybe they would punish you then with a shitty contract offer, but we could figure that out with your agent. But the organization isn’t going to dump a kid who battled hard through cancer before even getting him to the table when he is set to be the best player in the league, Shane.” She continued. 

“Mmm, yeah… the one balled, bad hearing, fucked up lungs, hero of the MLH.” He joked, but it wasn’t a joke. He had about as much faith in himself as he did in the testicle fucking sitting in a glass jar in a lab right now. 

Yuna cocked her head and gave him yet another Yuna Hollander look, this one saying something like get your head out of your ass, you little shit, and realize that this will pass and you will be back to your fucking two-balled life, one ball down. Shane shot her a look back, trying to say, let me wallow you managerial psychopath. Though he was sure she took it more as, it’s sad-boy-Sunday… just pity me, bitch. “Shane… you know you will be back to yourself by this time next year. Give the guy the benefit of the doubt… and if you can’t do that, give me the benefit of the doubt…” What the fuck does that mean? “... Because you have given me more than enough to work with in the discrimination pool, and I am happy to serve the Metros their own asses on a silver fucking platter if it comes down to it.” 

David smiled and reached down to give Shane’s foot a squeeze. “I think what your mom means is, you deserve to take your boyfriend to that party as much as Hayden deserves to take his wife and million kids… if you want to.” 

“Oh my god… I have three fucking kids. Would you all get off my back?!” Hayden shot back. 

Mitty finally spoke. “How old is Arthur? Two weeks old? You’re due for an accident any day.” He joked. 

Their eyes all landed on Shane, who looked overwhelmed and borderline annoyed now. Hayden stilled his hands and covered Shane’s feet back up. Fuck… we went too far with this. “Buddy… you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured we could break the news for you and let him know you might be bringing a… guest? It might take the pressure off. And most of the team already knows anyway.” 

“Call him.” Shane said abruptly. 

“Roz?” Hayden asked, like an idiot. 

“Theriault… and the other coaches.” Shane corrected. 

“Right here?” JJ asked, confused. 

“Yeah… go call him out there.” Shane gestured to the hallway. “If you fuckers are going to accidentally out me before the fucking ball drops…” Shane caught the coy smiles around the room. “Oh fuck you guys…” Shane shot, before closing his eyes again. 

“Sorry…” Mitty offered.

“What were you going to say?” Hayden prodded. 

Shane took a breath. An exhausted, I am really fucking over having cancer and hockey bros for best friends breath. “I will tell him in here… what’s he going to do? Homophobe it up in a fucking hospital room with a single-nutted, bi-racial, teenager with his parents standing a foot away?” He smiled softly. 

“You are a piece of work, Hollander.” JJ said with a smile. 

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. What the fuck was I thinking. What the fuck am I doing? An hour later, Shane woke up from a power nap that did sweet fuck-all for his nerves or his body, to the faces of his three coaches, all hovering around a hospital bed in a room that Shane was positive was not supposed to be this full considering his current state. 

“Good morning, Hollander.” Theriault said, accent thick and sarcasm thicker, considering it was four in the afternoon and Shane had a whole evening of second guessing this piss poor decision ahead. 

I am going to be sick, Shane thought as he swallowed hard. He was sure that this was just nerves and regret forcing their way up—but then he rememebered that he had just completed two days of chemo, and because of the change in his treatment schedule he had not been filled to the fucking brim with anti-nausea meds that he normally would have taken at home by now. Oh shit, I am actually going to be sick. “Mom…” he managed, sitting up abruptly and pointing towards the trash can in the corner. He gagged, trying to hold it in, and his mom reached him just in time to empty what little he had in his stomach. Maybe I can puke out the gay and skip this thing altogether. 

“Shhhh. Get it out.” His dad said, coming around to rub his back as he retched once more.

Shane spit into the trash can a few times before reaching for the button on the side of the bed, raising it behind him so he wouldn’t have to slump back so far. “Sorry.” He said towards his coaches, reaching for a sip of water. He noted the blank stares on their faces as he handed the trash can back to his mom. 

“We can…” Theriault started, pointing towards the door. 

Oh god, yes please… leave. Like forever. I will pick a new fucking career. “No, I’m good now.” He smiled softly. “Just not… well medicated, right now.” He added. 

They nodded, maybe understanding. He actually wasn’t sure what his coaches understood about any of this. He was realizing in real time that they hadn’t been present beyond the odd text, and that kind of stung a little bit. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe just a professional courtesy. Or maybe just the fact that they weren’t super attached to the kid that they only had one season with before he found himself puking in a trash can on an oncology ward. I am fucking disposable. 

“I’m sorry we haven’t been here more, Shane.” Theriault said, and it seemed genuine, as if he was only realizing the depth of Shane’s situation now, in real time too. “The boys let us know that you were…” He looked at the boys. “Well, that maybe you’d prefer to deal with this privately.” He decided. 

Fuck. Fuck my fucking brain. Shane was still trying to figure out how he could both want to deal with this shitty, terribly vulnerable thing alone, but also crave the support and love of his people. It was a balance he still, with only a few weeks of treatment remaining, trying to figure out himself. Right now, he was surrounded by people—arguably way too fucking many—and he was content. I am putting all my fucking eggs in the antibiotics basket. Jesus. “It’s okay.” He said honestly after a moment. He looked around the room. “I, uh… I haven’t been alone.” He said with a small smile. 

Theriault smiled back at him, and made himself comfortable at his bedside. Shane couldn’t make eye contact. The man was fucking terrifying on the ice and on the bench—sitting this close, he was fucking scarier than the cancer that ate his left nut. He could give me god damn career cancer. “These guys been taking good care of you?” He asked finally, gesturing to the fellas, who were now standing like prisoners of war, hands all but tied together in front of their stiff bodies, doing their best to not be noticed. 

Shane swallowed and nodded. Fucking do it, Shane. “Um. I, uh… I have someone else too.” Shane caught the looks on the faces of the line of idiots standing at the foot of the bed. Well how the fuck else was I supposed to segue into “I like to suck Russian dick.” He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed again. “I’m, uh… I’m gay.” He said, and he caught the faintest snickers around the room. Much to his dismay, the snickers included his own damn mom. He shot her another look. Oh you think this is fucking funny? There was a silence too long for Shane’s liking—though it likely only lasted a single heartbeat. “Like, I like men…” He clarified, as if I’m gay didn’t quite encompass his desire for dick the way he had hoped. He forced himself to glance over at his coach, and the two others standing behind him—they were covering smiles and stealing glances between them. He couldn’t stop the anxious ramble. “Like, I only like men. Attraction-wise… For the record.” He further clarified. I am too fucking tired and infected for this shit.

“Okay…” Theriault said, finally, a smile still on his face as he leaned in closer to Shane. “These fucking idiot teammates of yours called me and told me that we needed to get here, because you had been admitted to hospital and said you needed to update us on something important…” He shot the boys a look, and suddenly they went from stiff prisoners, to meek puppies after being caught pissing on the floor, tails between their legs. “Hollander, I thought we were coming in to find out you were going to die…” He said honestly, his smile faltering slightly. In a shocking turn of events, he reached for Shane’s hand. “Dead… like, not alive anymore.” He joked. “For the record…” Shane smiled and Theriault gave his hand a squeeze before letting go and leaning back. “Being gay is a hell of a lot better than being dead, kid.” He said with a smile, and then he furrowed his brow and shook his head. “I don’t give a fuck, Shane… truly.” He looked around the room exaggeratedly. “So what? Do you have a guy here? Someone who is helping you get through it?” 

Shane swallowed hard again, looking at the boys, then his parents. “Not exactly…” 

“Shane…” Theriault said, raising his brows. 

He had a very low threshold for bullshit, and Shane knew it, so he just spit it out. “It’s Rozanov…” 

Theriault huffed a laugh. “Like, Ilya Rozanov?” He said, leaning back in. Shane nodded, and Coach was back to leaning against the back of the chair, furrowing his brows and taking it in. “Fuck…” He said, opening his eyes wide, nodding his head. “Okay.” He looked at Shane, and his parents. “And he’s been here?...” 

Shane nodded again. “When he can be.” He said, still more than a little terrified. 

“Good.” Theriault said, and Shane shot him a look.

“Good?” Shane asked, confused. 

Theriault shrugged. “I mean, I think that kid is an asshole.” He cocked his head, thinking. “I mean, the good kind… on the ice. I fucking hate coaching against that guy.” He looked at Shane and smiled. “But if that stays on the ice and he’s been able to be here for you, what the hell am I going to do about it?” He looked at Shane more thoughtfully, seeing a new shine in his eyes. “I have to ask… has the relationship…” He paused. “Is it a relationship?”

Shane nodded, wiping away a rogue tear. Why the fuck are you crying right now? His mom handed him a kleenex, and he wanted to deny the offer, but he didn’t. He took it and blotted his tired eyes. Oh fuck it, you have fucking cancer. You've earned these little bitch-boy tears. 

“Okay, then I have to ask… has it affected your game? When we play the Raiders?”

Shane shook his head with a vigor that might make him fucking spew again. “Never.” He smiled then. “I love fucking beating him more than anyone else in the league.” He admitted, and he heard the small laughs from the boys who were there to support him. 

Theriault huffed a small laugh. “Were you scared to tell me?” He asked, a little smug. 

“Fuck yes.” Shane said, looking him in the eye with a faint, tired smile. 

“I’m sorry.” Theriault said, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I know I might come off as an old fashion asshole, but I promise you I am not a fucking biggot.” He looked at Shane again. “Just like your guy is an asshole on the ice, and a good partner off of it… I guess I am a hard ass on the ice, but a pretty liberal guy off of it.” His face softened. “I only want the best for my guys, Hollander… you included. I’m sorry if you have felt uncomfortable in the room, or around me.” He reached out his hand for Shane’s again. “This cancer thing has been a hard one to navigate in the room…as it should be.” He took a deep breath. “It’s hard drafting a kid as good as you, and then being forced to watch you suffer while you should be out there on the ice and in the room. I think it’s taken a toll on all of us.” He glanced to the boys who were nodding in agreeance. “But, being gay… that’s not hard to navigate. Okay? The relationship, maybe… but if you love beating him as much as the rest of us, that part is easy too.” He glanced at Shane who was dabbing at his eyes again. “I need you to focus on you. On getting better, so we can have you back. You let me…” He gestured to the other coaches, and to the boys. “You let us… carry this for you, alright? We’re good here.” He nodded. 

“Okay.” Is all Shane could muster. Then he smiled, before settling back into the pillows, glancing sheepishly at Theriault. “So can I bring him to the party next week?” 

Theriault laughed. “Sure… but he has to bring his own booze.” He smiled. “You can drink the top-shelf shit for free.” He joked. 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I have enough chemicals in my body.” 

Theriault got serious again. “I know.” Then he was moving to stand. “And you should be resting…” He moved to stand directly over Shane’s bed, and the look on Shane’s face must not have been one of peace and serenity, because he slowly dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed, eyes aligned with Shane’s. “He will be welcome in my home, Hollander. Just like everyone else’s wives and children… We will make sure it’s safe for you health-wise, and…” He smiled. “And gay-wise?” 

Shane let out a little laugh. “Thank you.” He said nodding, his eyes tired and red rimmed, but also so relieved. 

Coach stood then, and looked around the room. “This stays between us for now… and in the dressing room. Until we can figure out next steps… whenever that time comes. Yes?” There were synchronized nods all around him. “Good. Get some sleep Hollander… you look like shit.”  

Well I think I shit myself. 

Chapter End Notes

Guys... I might be the worst bad guy writer of all fucking time. I just can't. I just want people to be good, always.

Like cancer sucks... shitty dad sucks... I just can't make these teams suck haha! I actually have no idea how. What is wrong with me? That said... here is more sunshine and rainbows. Kind of? Like our boy is suffering... but with love and support? It's fine... right? Right?

Chapter 15

Chapter Notes

Okay, real talk... you guys fucking earn these chapters with your damn comments!

I just love this fandom, and some chapters get the most wonderful response with interesting ideas, concepts, and feedback, that just inspire the shit out of me. I rushed home from activities today and sat down and typed my littler heart out, inspired by the comments from the other chapter today... and all of a sudden I was copying it to paste it here in AO3 and I checked the word count to see I had typed 8700 words in the few hours I was at home.

So NO, I am not AI... I am just fucking INSPIRED but you kind folks. Please enjoy... and more on that in the end notes.

 I cannot believe we are fucking doing this. Shane thought as he stared at Ilya across the island. “What are you wearing tonight?” 

“Mmm what is dress code?” Ilya asked, turning the page of the car magazine he had been reading on the plane. 

“Cancer chic…” Shane joked. “I don’t fucking know. None of my nice clothes fit anymore.” He plunked down on the barstool, tired from just standing. He was discharged a few days earlier, infection and fever free, and while he felt better than he would have had he been a couple days post-chemo, he still didn’t feel great in the slightest. Also—none of his fucking clothes fit, and it was stressing him the fuck out. 

Ilya closed the magazine and walked around the island holding out his hand for Shane to take. “Come.” He said quietly.

Shane dropped his head, annoyed that he couldn’t have done this exactly three seconds sooner before he had sat down. He moaned, but grabbed his hand. Ilya pulled him upright and towards the stairs. “Ilya, I’m tired.” He said with a half-hearted whine. 

“Oh, come on. You can nap after.” 

“But I have cancerrrr, Ilya.” He whined again, this time with a cheeky smile. 

Ilya stopped on the landing, giving him a nice don’t me and my dick fucking know it, look. He was horny, and he would much rather be spending this walk up the stairs with their tongues shoved in each other’s mouths the way they used to, on their way to shove their tongues in other places. But alas, he was walking with the intent of hosting his own fucking Project Runway with his boyfriend who was a good twenty-five pounds lighter than he was three months earlier—a solid five pounds of that was probably his luscious hair, and Ilya was sure that his left nut accounted for at least another two. Aw how I miss that big, beautiful ball. 

When they walked into the bedroom, Ilya went right into the walk-in closet, pointing at the bed as he barked orders. “Sit.” 

“I’m not a fucking dog.” Shane said, as he sat like a fucking dog. 

Ilya popped his head out of the closet with a grin. “We could cut off other ball… neuter you like dog.” He winked. 

“Fuck you.” Shane said, falling back on the bed while he waited for whatever the fuck Ilya was trying to do. Ilya came out with his arms full of clothes, throwing them directly on top of Shane on the bed. “Hey!” Shane said, sitting up as the clothes fell around him. 

Ilya smiled again. “We can find outfit.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. “I don’t care about clothes, Ilya. It’s fine. I can just…” 

“No.” Ilya said, shutting him down immediately. He sat down, straddling Shane as he met his gaze. “You would not have brought it up if it was not bothering you.” He leaned in and kissed his cheek, still not comfortable with kissing his lips for fear a single germ might land him back in the hospital before he could finish having his ball cancer chemo-zapped at the cancer center. “So let’s find something that makes you feel good.” 

“Okay.” Shane looked around him at the clothes. “I am going to run out of energy before we even try half of these.” 

Ilya grinned again, standing up. “We will start with most likely winner…and I will help get you undressed.” He winked. “I miss getting you undressed Hollander.” 

“I let you blow me this morning…” Shane said with a shit eating grin. “They never said anything about kisses on the dick.” 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “Ah yes… blowing you is as good as being blown. Is that right?” He raised his brows. 

“Oh fuck you.” Shane shot back,  mock offended. “You wouldn’t fucking let me…” 

“Yes, yes, yes. I know. Is killing me, Hollander. But we must conserve your energy for more important things…” 

“Like what?” 

Ilya pretended to think hard. “Like finding you perfect thong to wear to party.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Thong would work so good now…” He leaned in and kissed Shane’s cheek again. “Only one ball to hold with such small fabric.” 

“You’re actually the worst.” 

Ilya reached for the hem of Shane’s shirt. “Off.” He commanded and Shane lifted his arms. “Which shirt?” He asked, gesturing to the messy piles around them. 

Shane shrugged. “Actually, shirts are kind of fine. I like the looser fit. Makes me look, I don’t know… bigger?” He said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “And I still hate the feeling of anything tight on my port.” He admitted with a shrug. 

“How has your temperature been?” Ilya asked softly, looking through the shirt options. 

Shane rolled his eyes. “I told you I’m fine… no fever since…” 

“No.” Ilya said with a smile. “I mean, will sweater be too hot? Or will t-shirt be too cold?”

“Oh.” Shane smiled. God, you are too fucking good to me. “Um, hard to say. I think short sleeves would be fine. I can bring a sweater.” 

“And your blanket.” Ilya added. 

“God, no.” Shane scoffed. “I’m not a fucking toddler. I don’t think I need to bring my chemo blankie to a New Years party.” 

“Okay.” Ilya mocked back, making fun of Shane’s bitchy little attitude. “Short sleeves… here.” He handed him a thinner, dark grey, cable knit polo shirt—it was soft and breathable, but a little rugged too. Ilya realized that he hadn’t really seen Shane dressed up outside of the regular suits they had to sport for the media and game days. He will look so handsome. He tugged it over his head and pulled him up from the bed to look in the mirror. “Good?” He asked, standing over Shane’s shoulder as they looked in the mirror. 

Shane took a deep breath, hesitating. “Yeah… good.” He said eventually. 

“Shane…” 

Shane took another breath, annoyed as usual. “This just fucking sucks. I haven’t even lost that much weight, but I look like a whole different fucking person.” He turned to look at Ilya, tired of looking at himself and his stupid smaller body and bald-ass noggin. “You would have loved me in this shirt a few months ago.” He looked down at his arms. “The guns used to fill the sleeves. I looked very hot.” He joked with a smile. 

Ilya frowned, and unbuttoned the top button of the shirt, planting a kiss on his bare chest. And then another, and another, making his way up his neck. “You are just as handsome now, my love.” Shane rolled his eyes again. You are about to have one ball and zero eyes, you sassy bastard. 

“I look like the product of a q-tip fucking Mr. Rogers.” Shane muttered under his breath, turning back to the mirror. 

“Mr. Rogers? Who is this? Do I need to fight Mr. Rogers?” Ilya said, a little more serious than he may have intended. 

“Just a guy in the neighborhood.” Shane joked, shaking his head. “Bring me some pants.” He said, pointing to the pile. 

I need to remember to look up Mr. Rogers. Ilya grabbed a simple black pair of pants that he thought might be comfortable, but fashionable enough for Shane to feel good. He lovingly pulled down Shane’s sweatpants and helped him balance as he stepped into the pants. They slid almost too easily over his thighs and buttoned with no effort at his waist. When Ilya let go, he noticed how they sank lower on his hip bones. 

“See?” Shane said, gesturing to the pants. 

“Off.” Ilya said, already grabbing another pair, nearly the same style. Black, pliable but sleek, simple. He worked to pull them up as well, running into the same issue. Ilya looked over Shane’s shoulder in the mirror again and he could admit they looked… frumpy, his ass no longer filling them the way it used to. 

Shane raised his brows, looking at Ilya in the reflection, lifting his arms in a, you fucking believe me now, asshole, motion. “I’m a hockey player…” He said, turning around, a little frustrated. “I earned this ass and these thighs with a million hours on the ice and in the gym… and it’s fucking melting away in less than three months without it.” 

Ilya smiled and wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist, grabbing his ass. “I can still work with this.” He said with another wink. I would work with any ass if it was attached to you right now. I am fucking desperate to stick this thing somewhere. 

“Mmm… didn’t sound like it when you were shutting me down this morning.”

Ilya huffed a breath. “Hollander you kill me… All I want is this ass.” He squeezed it again. “But I will not let you pass out or puke on me while I fuck you…” 

“You’re a dick.” 

“I have unsucked dick…” He joked, looking down. 

Shane let out an annoyed laugh. “I will fucking suck you off right now if you let me, you mother fuck…” 

“Shhh.” Ilya said, leaning into kiss his temples. “You are too loud, you will wake up your dick again and I don’t have energy to suck it right now…” He pulled back, grinning. “My boyfriend has cancer…is very exhausting.” 

“Give me those pants.” Shane said, his face now angry with a Russian-menace-induced annoyance. I am going to fucking bite off your ball the next time I see it so we fucking match, you two-nutted fuck head. He pointed to another pair that somehow looked just like the others. 

Same problem. Fuck. Ilya came behind Shane and pulled the waistband out with a hard tug, jostling Shane as he tried to turn the waistband inside out enough to see it. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shane barked as he was continually jostled by a man on a fucking mission. 

“I need to see size.” He said, still digging for gold. 

Shane laughed. “Just fucking look in one of the other five pairs you took out.” He said, and Ilya took the advice, grabbing them all to check the size. 

Ilya moved back towards Shane and kissed him once more on the cheek. “Have nap. I will be back.” He said, before heading towards the door. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” 

Ilya smiled in the doorway. “Ah, going to go see if there is someone on street I can pay to suck my dick.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Mr. Rogers, maybe… and then I will go solve our pants problem, yes?” He raised his brows. 

Shane nodded. “Thank you.” 

“Ah… you don’t need to thank me. This is for me. I can’t go to party with frumpy boyfriend. I need to have hottest date there.” He gave him a third wink. God, you are three-wink level horny. Jesus Christ. “When I find right pants, that ass will be back to being first-class ass. Yes?” 

Shane laughed. “Alright. Get out of here.” 

“I CAN’T WAIT TO FUCK FIRST-CLASS ASS ONE DAY!” Shane heard as Ilya yelled from the bottom of the stairs. 

I’d take a third-class ass if it got me fucked right now, Shane thought as he peeled off the outfit, hanging it up nicely before crashing down in the bed. 

Shane woke to the sound of the shower just before the water turned off. He looked to the window where he found nothing but darkness—again. God, I can’t wait for the day I take a nap and don’t wake up four hours later. He smiled when Ilya emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, only to watch him walk into the walk-in closet. Shane enjoyed the view, having realized that Ilya had no idea that he was awake and watching him. He listened to the sound of him humming, grateful that it was a frequency that he hadn’t lost. It was nice, soothing in a way. It felt like life was just happening for a change, not to him, but around him. He was about to go to a party, with his friends and their families, with his boyfriend, who was casually humming in the walk-in closet while he tried on his clothes. Wait…

“Are you wearing my fucking clothes tonight?” Shane barked from the bed, not committing to moving an inch. Jesus. “Jesus…” Shane said under his breath, as a dressed up Ilya emerged from the closet. He was in a pair of Shane’s black dress pants, with a black, short sleeved cable knit polo to match—the same fucking one he would be wearing in a different color. His arms, however, filled it out, and this gold chain glistened against his chest with the buttons wide open. He moved to do up the last button. “Don’t…” Shane said, with the sexiest smile he could muster. Ilya smiled back. “You look fucking hot like that… although, are we really going to be the fucking couple that matches at the party?” 

Ilya shrugged. “You have like eight of these in different colors, Hollander. Limited options.” 

Shane nodded. “Yeah… My mom finds something I love by accident and then I buy it in every color.” He gestured towards the closet with his chin. “There are belts in there. Top drawer.” 

Ilya smiled and checked, returning with a brown belt to complete the outfit, and a pair of brown dress shoes in hand. “We are same size shoe too… very convenient. And you know what they say about shoe size.” He winked again. Fucking cool it with the winks, Rozanov. Ilya moved towards the bed, perching next to Shane. He looked at his watch—no, Shane’s watch that he had stolen. “We should get you ready to go soon too. What do you need right now? For meds, I mean?” 

“Mmm… all of them.” Shane said, almost shy. 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “I can bring them up. And food? You must be hungry, Shane.” He said tenderly. 

He was—but food was a never ending battle. Honestly, it always had been, but his already limited diet was ruined by the ever-fucking-metallic taste that had taken over his tastebuds, or brain. You’d think I was blowing fucking Tin Man with this mouth. It was hard. Fuck… I’m not allowed to blow anyone around here. He nodded, but offered no further guidance. 

“I know, love.” Ilya said, giving his thigh a squeeze. I know that you are fading away on me because of your stupid fucking mouth. “I could make protein shake? Lots of protein and peanut butter?” He offered with a smile. 

“Sure… add a banana please.” Shane said, closing his eyes again.

When Ilya returned he did so with a protein shake, and a couple bags with what Shane assumed were pants. Shane sat up in the bed, as he was handed the shake and he waited for Ilya to show him the goods. I want to see your fucking goods. 

“I bought you options.” He said, pulling the first from the bag. Simple black pants—boring, just like Shane. Shane nodded, and Ilya proceeded to pull out the same pair in navy and a nice dark brown. 

“Black.” Shane said, simply. 

Ilya pulled one last item from the bag and threw it to Shane. A new toque, that could be described as classy, if there was such a thing. It was one of those toques that Shane had previously deemed “fucking stupid”, because it was thinner, and there was no way the cuff would even begin to cover a person’s ears—fucking pointless for protection from the minus fifty celsius ass-fucking that every Canadian was forced to take each winter. However, Shane understood it in this case—Ilya had gone out of his way to pick out a fashionable toque with the goal of covering his anxiety-inducing bald head, and not his ears. You are fucking incredible, Rozanov. “I love it.” He patted the bed next to him. 

“Perfect.” Ilya said, crashing in the bed next to him, wrapping his arm around his back. 

“I love you.” Shane said, leaning into him. “You showered without me.”

“Ah… yes. We shower together a lot, and someone always ends up on their knees.” He joked, kissing Shane’s bare head. “I wanted us to make it to midnight… we are saving energy, Hollander. You can have quick shower… you have no hair to wash.” He joked as he brought his hand up to gently graze Shane’s scalp with his nails. 

“Mmm. That feels good.” He said, melting into the touch. “Do you miss it?” 

Ilya leaned over and kissed his head again, and again, and again. “No… but I miss you.” 

Shane nodded. He knew what he meant. He missed the Shane that existed before cancer. Before treatment. Before the exhaustion and the pain. “Me too.” Shane said softly. 

Ilya gave his thigh a squeeze again and pulled him in, kissing his head once again. “I fucking love this beautiful bald head, and the man who is rocking it.” He said earnestly. “And I think I might get to see some of my old Shane tonight.” He said softly. 

“I hope so.” 

They pulled up outside of Theriault’s to a spot near the driveway that was embarrassingly labeled as “DO NOT PARK HERE IF YOU AREN’T SHANE FUCKING HOLLANDER.” Clearly an offering of JJ or Hayden, based on the F-bomb and terrible penmanship. They think I can’t fucking walk more than fifty feet? He did a quick inventory of his body, his feet tingling in his dress shoes, and the way he could feel the protein shake sitting heavy in a belly that never felt quite normal. Okay, fine. That was nice of them. He smiled as he looked at the house, knowing they were the last to arrive and that everyone would be inside waiting for him—for them. He moved to open the car door, but a hand landed aggressively on his thigh. 

“Wait…” Ilya said, staring at the steering wheel. 

“What?” Shane said, releasing the door handle and turning his full attention to Ilya. Ilya bit his lip, not lifting his eyes from the wheel. Shane extended a hand and grabbed one of his, white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and took it in his. “Are you freaking out?” Ilya nodded. Shane nodded too and looked out the windshield. “There’s no rush.” He looked back at Ilya and it looked like he was about to fucking combust. If I poked that bulging vein in your head with a pin you might bleed out right in the fucking car. He squeezed his hand. “What are you most worried about?” He asked. Ilya brushed his hands over his face, and Shane would be lying if he said he wasn’t completely and utterly turned on by Ilya’s vulnerability after months of cruising down a one-way street of crisis-management and prevention. Your turn to freak the fuck out, you hot bitch. 

“My father…” Ilya admitted. 

“What about him?” 

“What if there is picture of us… and he finds out. I would not be able to go home, and…” 

“Is your dementia-dad on instagram?” Shane said. Jesus Christ, did your filter peace the fuck out with your white blood cells?

Shane caught the smile tugging at Ilya’s lips. “No… but other people are, Shane. And is less about you, and more about being with Metros.” He said quietly. “Hanging out with enemy would not be… acceptable.” 

Shane shrugged. “Then we keep it cool in there. Ask them not to post pictures of us.” 

“And my team…” Ilya said, back to staring out the windshield. 

“Yeah… you should probably tell them.” Shane said softly. What the fuck. Since when?

What the fuck? What did you do with my Shane? Did fucking anxiety leave with white blood cells? “You want?” 

“You to tell them?” Shane confirmed. Ilya nodded. “Sure… if you want to. I think I’ve figured out that people don’t really give a fuck.” 

Ilya settled back into the seat, head leaning back against the headrest. “Is true…” He looked at Shane. “Why do you think?”

“Why do I think they don’t care?” Shane asked again. 

“Are you fucking parrot, Hollander?” 

Shane laughed. “I think if we had kept this up in secret forever, they would have felt betrayed when they finally found out… or maybe we would have gone on to have successful careers, winning Cups… and all of it would have had a big asterisk next to it when people found out because they thought we were mailing it in against each other…” 

Ilya held up a hand to stop him, brows furrowed. “Hollander, you say like three weird american things there. What the fuck are you trying to say.” Shane laughed again. Fuck, I have missed that laugh. 

“I’m saying we’re fucking kids, Ilya. And everyone we’ve told doesn’t give a fuck because we aren’t tearing down whatever idea of who they thought we were.” He reached for his hand again. “We’re just building it from the ground up, and all they can do is watch… even if some of them stick around just to see us fail.” Ilya nodded. “And I don’t think anyone feels somehow betrayed by two rivals being together, because we haven’t even solidified ourselves as fucking rivals yet.” Shane let out another small laugh. “Plus I have one fucking testicle and cancer… so there’s that.” 

Ilya laughed too. “Okay.” He looked at Shane. “Okay.” 

They heard a loud bang against the glass that caused them both to jump. “Jesus!” Shane shouted, as he looked out the passenger window to two faces pressed up against the glass like idiots. 

“You two fucking in there, or are you going to fucking join us?” JJ said, lips pressed to the glass. 

Shane smiled and nodded. He looked at Ilya who gave him the go-ahead nod too. “We’re coming.” 

Ilya came around to the passenger side in a hurry, giving Hayden and JJ a playful shove in the process. “Hi boys.” He said with a smile, pulling Shane’s half open door open and offering him a hand to get out. Ilya adjusted Shane’s jacket collar and zipped his zipper up as high as it could go before turning to walk in, hand in hand with Shane for the first time in public outside of a hospital room. 

“Come here, man.” A likely buzzed Hayden said, pulling Ilya in for a one-armed hug. JJ followed it up with the same half-hearted attempt at a hug. 

“We’d give you one too, Hollander… but we got the full Jarvis briefing in there before we could even have our first drink… no hugs, no handshakes, no breathing in your general direction, no fun… you know, the usual.” JJ said with a smile. 

“We are happy you could make it, Roz… really.” Hayden said earnestly. “We know how important tonight is for the two of you.” 

“Brave as fuck, boysssss.” JJ shouted as he all but ran towards the house. 

“Ready?” Ilya said to Shane with a hesitant smile. 

“Ready.” 

They walked in the door to warm smiles and more than a couple of loud greetings. Shane forced his eyes shut just for a moment, turning away, the ringing in his ears always louder when the environment called for it—as if his brain couldn’t handle the idea of the fucking ear ringing not being heard over the sound of fun being had. Fuck. He worked on his jacket as Ilya crouched down to remove his shoes—a gesture that he may have found embarrassing in front of so many people even a week earlier, but now it just felt like his boyfriend extending a necessary act of kindness. Based on the smiles being offered in their direction, others felt the same. 

“Oh, come on in, boys!” Mrs. Theriault said as she offered to take their coats. “You look great, Shane. I am so happy you could make it.” She said, about to go in for a hug, quickly remembering the rules. She went in for a hug with Ilya instead, as if passing the germs to him would not somehow get back to Shane—he didn’t care. Not tonight. “And you must be… Rozanov?” She said, questioning, having realized that her husband had likely only spoken about him using his last name. 

Ilya hugged her back warmly and laughed. “Ilya, please.” He said, hanging over his coat. “Thank you for having me.” 

“It’s our pleasure.” She said, just as Theriault stepped in behind her. 

“Happy New Years, boys.” He nodded at Shane. “Hollander, good to see you outside of a hospital.” Shane smiled and he turned his attention to Ilya, extending a hand. “Ilya, nice to see you. Make yourself at home, please.” He gestured inside. “I think most of the boys are downstairs at the bar. We made sure to have a comfortable place for…” 

“Thanks, Coach.” Shane said, not needing to hear about what he was sure were many accommodations made just for him—while appreciated, they were just a reminder that he was not quite playing on the same field as everyone else on a night that was supposed to just feel like living. 

When they walked in they were greeted by countless girlfriends and wives of his teammates, all clustered around the kitchen a few glasses of wine deep, in their most beautiful sparkly dresses. They all looked stunning, and Shane couldn’t help but wonder if Ilya would be checking out the competition in a much different way than other boyfriend’s would be. This mother fucker better not flirt with these beautiful women. Shane watched as Ilya casually nodded in their direction, his hand tightening in Shane’s as if to say, I don’t need pussy when I have that less-than-ideal-currently-flat-ass. Shane smiled. 

Ilya felt almost overwhelmed being surrounded by so many unfamiliar, beautiful faces, and he realized that he really hadn’t spent time like this with his own fucking team. Why the fuck didn’t I go out more often?! He was handed a glass of wine by a random beautiful blonde, which he graciously accepted and held up in cheers. Oh… I am of age here, that’s why. He had been limited to house parties in Boston, though he had snuck his way into many clubs, he was never so bold as to do it in front of his coaches. He was introduced to one after the other after the other, each hot blonde looking more and more like the last hot blonde WAG. Are there no brunettes in Montreal?

Finally they spotted a brunette with a radiant smile and a baby in her arms—not her first based on the outstretched arm demanding a hug, while the tiny baby balanced perfectly in the other without fear of dropping it. “Uncle Shaney.” She said, immediately violating the no hug policy. She realized it quickly. “Shit… sorry. No hugs are hard.” She said, stepping back. “What about you, big guy?” She asked, looking at Ilya. “You a hugger.”

“Yes.” Ilya said, smiling and going in for the hug. “I assume you are Jacky.” He said, pulling back. “Wide of fifteenth best Metro?” 

She smiled. “The one and only.” She watched as Ilya instinctively reached out to her son and brushed his long hair gently with his fingers, looking at him in awe. Okay, Uncle Ilya…

Shane watched it unfold with a smile, only a little jealous that the little fucker had hair to play with. Jesus… you fucking like babies too? I don’t even like babies and this is still a fucking turn on. 

“And you must be Ilya Rozanov…” Jacky continued. “Boyfriend of the best guy I know, and the only man on the planet that I would murder for, and hide a body to protect…” She shot Ilya a look. 

“Ah yes… no murder necessary.” He said with a smile, leaning into kiss Shane on the toque-covered temple. “Congratulations, Jacky… he is very very sweet.” Ilya continued, reaching out to brush his hair again. 

“Don’t touch my baby.” Jacky said, pulling him away. Ilya pulled his hand away promptly. Ha. Idiot. Jacky smiled. “I’m fucking with you Rozanov.” 

“Swear jar, mommy!” A little girl said, chasing another boy as she passed her mom.

She smiled. “That one is mine too… and the one that looks just like her, but doesn’t act like an evil bridge troll.” She extended her arms, offering up the tiny baby. “I have to pump before I can have another drink…” She said, filterless and wonderful. “Hold this for me for a bit, would yah?” She offered him to Shane. “Go see your Uncle Shaney, little man.” Shane smiled and gestured to Ilya with a nudge of his head. She smiled and pivoted to Ilya. “Alright… go see… Uncle Ilya?” 

“NO!” Ilya heard as Hayden approached. “Absolutely not.” He looked at his son carefully tucked into Ilya’s arms like an adorable little football. Hayden spoke in his direction. “Rozanov is fine… or ass hole. Fucker even… anything but Uncle Ilya.” 

“Swear jar, daddy!” A girl said, darting the other direction, and Ilya had no fucking idea if it was the other girl, or the evil bridge troll version. 

Hayden turned towards the stairs. “Come, boys are all downstairs.” 

Shane was happy to avoid another twenty how are you doing’s, and it’s so nice to see you out and about’s, so he followed happily, hand still in Ilya’s. Wow, we are really fucking doing this. 

“Hollanderrrrrr!” He heard in terrible harmony as he made his way down the stairs slowly, as not to rush Ilya and have him drop a newborn down a flight of stairs.  

The basement was fucking exquisite. It was wide open, with floor to ceiling windows and a walkout to an equally exquisite backyard where he could see a fire going under hundreds of lights, hung all around the patio. A long bar lined one side of the room with every liquor imaginable, and the most stunning barware on shelves lining the walls. Mixed in with the modern decor, hockey memorabilia from decades of playing and coaching in a league that made it difficult to collect hardware the way Theriault had managed—hard ass or not, the man had earned every memory that lined the walls. There was a massive projector along the wall that was featuring Youtube clips of the best hockey fights, as his teammates sat around overdressed, and over-liquored, hooting and hollering at the fights. 

“You ever fight, Hollander?” One of them asked, excited to see him.

“Few times.” He said honestly. 

“And?” 

“Not great…” He admitted with a smile. 

“Nice to see yah Roz!” Mitty shouted from the other side of the room where a few guys were playing pool. “You play?” He asked, gesturing at the table. “You fucking score on me once a game… it might be nice to be able to beat you at something.” He said with an inviting smile. 

Ilya looked at Shane. “Go.” Shane said sweetly, having spotted a recliner that looked just a little out of place in the room—likely put there just for him. “I need to sit down anyway.” Ilya followed him to the chair and waited for him to get settled before handing over the tiny newborn and heading to the pool table. 

“What can I get you to drink, buddy?” Mitty asked, handing him a pool cue and heading towards the bar. 

“Hey little man.” Shane said, kissing the top of Arthur’s sleepy little head. He grunted and shifted in Shane’s arms. “Jonesy…” He said, grabbing his teammates attention. “Pass me that blanket, would yah?” Jonesy stood and delivered the blanket, laying it over Shane and Arthur. 

“Good to see you, dude.”

Shane nodded. “Good to be out in the fucking world.” He admitted, getting Arthur more comfortable on his chest, actively avoiding his port, before leaning his head back into the chair. 

“What can I grab you? You drinking?” 

Shane shook his head. “A ginger ale would be nice, actually. Does coach have any of that kicking around.” 

Jonesy gestured to the bar. “I would have to think so.” He clapped Shane on the shoulder. “Be right back.” 

Shane kissed Arthur on the head again, breathing in the newborn smell. “You know… I don’t like babies, but you’re pretty special, you know that?” He whispered softly against his head. “I think maybe you’re a little proof of life, when I haven’t felt much like living lately.” He kissed his head again. “I guess you probably aren’t supposed to have kisses either.” He brushed his cheek against his soft hair instead. “And I’ve gotta say… I’m a little jealous of all your hair.” He smiled and closed his eyes, resting back against the chair.

Ilya glanced over and couldn’t keep his eyes off the complete and utter delectable sweetness that was his Shane, cuddled up with a blanket and a newborn baby on his chest while they watched grown men fight on ice. How is this my life? How the hell do I get to have all of this and no one is here trying to take it all away. His thoughts were interrupted by Mitty and JJ. 

“How you doing, Roz?” Mitty asked, handing him a beer. 

“Good.” Ilya said simply. “Happy to be here.” 

Mitty smiled. “Yeah… I meant with all of this…” He gestured towards Shane. “You boys are getting towards the end. You holding up okay?” 

Wow, these guys actually give so many shits. “Um, yeah… it’s been okay.” He admitted. “I wish I could be here for him more… or like, all the time… but we are doing our best.” 

JJ clapped him on the shoulder. “You know… I think I really fucking hate Rozanov. But you’re alright, Ilya.” He smiled. 

“Ah yes, I would say same… but I never learned your last name JJ. I never see back of your jersey because I am always ahead of you…” 

Mitty and the surrounded guys laughed, loud and real. “He’s got you there, JJ.” He said with a laugh. 

“Fuck you, you Swedish inbred… this mother fucker has scored two hat tricks against you and he is only in second season. Maybe you need to quit playing pool and go watch some fucking game tape.” JJ barked back, Ilya somehow coming out of the chirp-tag unscathed. 

“Ehhhhhh!” They all heard from the other side of the room, as Ilya’s face filled the wall. They stopped to watch, all smiling, as rookie Ilya Rozanov dropped the gloves after a scrum in front of Mitty. He grabbed the defenseman in front of him, whose name he couldn’t remember, but whose face was sat only fifteen feet away next to his boyfriend. Oh, I fucking pummeled that guy. The boys shouted at the screen as they watched a much smaller, much feistier Ilya grab their teammate by the collar and land the first punch before he managed to knock Ilya’s helmet off, clipping in back in the cheek, drawing blood—but Ilya got the last laugh with a strong right hook right to the guys jaw, dropping him to the ice, and being dragged down along with him. Both men, bruised and bloodied, were directed to their own bench to finish out the period and to get stitched up before they would both return in the last period—but only one of them scored the game winner that night, and it wasn’t a Metro. 

“Mmm… I think I scored the game winner that game, no?” He asked cheekily, already knowing the answer. 

The other man in the equation stood from the couch and pointed to his face. “You gave me one hell of a scar, kid.” Jonesy said with a laugh. “Wasn’t the first… won’t be the last.” 

“Should we go round two outside?” Ilya joked, holding his beer up as a peace offering. 

Jones laughed again. “Losing to a rookie on the ice was one thing… I am not sure I could handle another loss in my coaches backyard.” 

“Oh Jonesy… you could take him.” Coach Theriault said as he walked downstairs to join his team. 

“I mean… if you say the word, I’ll jump him, Coach.” He joked. 

“We will see where the night takes us.” Theriault said, crouching down next to Shane. Ilya’s eyes stayed on Shane, gauging the temperature of the conversation about to take place, but he really couldn’t fucking focus with that damn baby resting on his chest. You doubled the fucking cuteness. 

“How you doing, kid?” Coach asked, quiet enough that only Shane could hear. 

Shane smiled. “I’m okay.” He glanced towards Ilya, who was already staring back at him. He looked away, as if he had been caught. “Thank you… for this.” 

Coach looked over to Ilya who was mid-laugh after making a terrible pool shot. You’re alright you little Russian fucker. “He’s alright, Hollander…but if he’s ever not, we know we have Jonesy lined up to do some revenge-damage.” He laughed and then stood. “Alright boys… Can I just have your attention for a second?” 

The boys all quieted instantly—the sign of a good coach. Theriault smiled. I even have you fuckers on a leash when your eight beers deep. “Thank you all for coming tonight.” He started. “It’s always a pleasure to invite you boys into our home. I just wanted to take a second to wish you all a happy New Year.” He looked around the room. “I know it’s been a tough season for us all, especially for you two…” He said, looking down at Shane and over to Ilya. “...But this season has served as a reminder of what is really important in life, and that is family, friends, and the people we love.” He took a breath. “And I love you all…” There was a symphony of mocking awwwww’s before he could continue. “Yeah yeah yeah… I know.” He smiled. “But it is truly an honor to work alongside a group of men who are able to go to work, do their job well, and still make time to show up for your families, and for the people who need you most.” He gave Shane’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “So I am going to turn this over to your…” He looked at JJ and Hayden goofing off in the corner. “...your drunk captains over there… but first I just wanted to say thank you… all of you.” He looked at Ilya and Shane once more. “You have reminded me that being competitive, and hard working on the ice can co-exist with showing love off of it, and I think it’s a reminder we all need sometimes. So thank-you… and everyone get home safe tonight, alright?” 

“You got it coach!” JJ barked as the room whistled and cheered in a way that a very kind, very genuine speech didn’t quite warrant. JJ and Hayden staggered over, grabbing a card from the bar along the way. “Alright Hollanderrrrr…” JJ sing-songed. “You were all… ouuu I have cancer… I can’t hang out, over Christmas, so you missed our gift exchange… but we still have a gift for you.” 

The boys laughed. Ilya laughed. And someone must have alerted the wives to what was about to happen, because out of nowhere the wives, girlfriends, and kids were funneling down the stairs. 

It was Hayden’s turn to speak, and Shane could tell that he whatever he wanted to say was stuck in his throat, behind whatever feelings he was carrying, and probably copious amounts of tired-newborn-dad-tequila-shots. I think a hangover with a newborn might be worse than cancer, Shane thought as he smiled at Hayden, trying to offer some kind of encouragement. 

He watched him take a breath. “Shane… you have only been on this team for one season, and you still managed to leave a hole in it while you’ve been away.” He looked at Shane. “I think that is a testament to the kind of kid that you are now… and the kind of man you’re going to be someday.” Shane smiled, and he could feel the burn in the back of his eyes, that seemed to match Hayden’s. “We miss the hell out of you… and we are so happy you could sneak a couple hours with us tonight.” He looked at Ilya. “Both of you.” Ilya smiled and nodded, a subtle thank you. Hayden handed Shane the card. “We all chipped in… we wanted to do something special to honor your fight.” 

Before Shane could open it, the twins were at Hayden’s side. “Wait, daddy!” They shouted, pulling on his pant legs. “What about ours?!” Ruby shouted louder. 

He knelt down, nearly tipping over from the liquor coursing through his veins like chemo. “You can give it to him in one minute, girls.” He nodded to Shane. “Go ahead.” 

Shane opened the card, and it was clearly custom designed by one of the wives on the team—or maybe a designer. On the front was a cartoon-sack with one nut, and an IV pole attached to him, with a message that read Sorry about your ball. Shane laughed and opened the card, which was filled with messages from who he assumed was all of his teammates, but what fell out was a cheque. Shane picked it up, and his jaw dropped, his eyes filled. “This is too fucking much, you guys.” He said, looking around in disbelief. Arthur jumped at the sound of his much louder voice, and Hayden reached to grab him so Shane could free up his hands.

“It’s not enough.” JJ said, more earnestly than Ilya had ever heard him. 

Ilya made his way over to Shane, sensing he may want him close as he worked through his feelings. He say on the arm of the recliner, and looked down at the card and the cheque while Shane reached for his hand. 2.6 million dollars. Jesus. 

I can’t fucking accept this. “This is insane you guys… I can’t…” Shane began, still keeping his emotions in check. 

“It isn’t for you…” Hayden said with a smile, a tear trying to escape the corner of his eye.”We each chipped in a hundred grand… coaches too.” He looked over at Theriault and over to the other coaches, and then some other players. “Well… that’s an average. We all pitched in what we could towards the goal…I talked to you mom and asked what she thought we could do for you… and she told us you walked into treatment that first day and asked about the chairs at the cancer centre. So we priced it out, and that cheque will be enough to cover brand new, top of the line, infusion chairs at a couple hospitals here in Montreal, including yours… but it will also cover a hundred new chairs for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston… if you want it to.” He looked at Ilya. “Or you could say fuck Boston, and keep it in Montreal… we just figured he might deserve a little thank-you for helping you get this far.” He winked at Ilya. 

Shane’s face cracked, any illusion that he was holding it together completely crumbled as a sob escaped him and the tears ran down his face. “Hey… come here.” Hayden said, leaning down to hold him as best he could with a baby in his arms, and his buddy sunk into a recliner. “We love you, Shane.” He whispered in his ear. Then there was pulling at his pant leg again. 

“Daddy?! Now?!” Emma said, not reading the room whatsoever. 

Hayden pulled back laughing and it allowed for Ilya to slide in closer to Shane, pulling his head into his chest as best he could, while he plastered the top of his toque-covered head in soft kisses. “I love you.” He whispered as Hayden turned to deal with the twins. 

He turned around again. “The girls wanted to add to the gift too.” He turned to them. “Go ahead girls.” He said as he handed Arthur off the Jacky and crouched down between them. 

From behind her back, Ruby pulled out a glass jar, jammed packed from edge to edge with bills and coins. “It’s our swear jar, Uncle Shane… you only swored three times, so we taked out your three dollars and put it in the new one.” Ruby said, so clearly and Shane wondered when the fuck they had grown up all of sudden. 

His face cracked again. “Girls… this is for you. For your trips and other fun things. I don’t need…” 

Hayden interrupted. “Tell Uncle Shane what you thought it might be good for.” 

Emma nodded and took over. “Daddy said kids get sick too.” She turned to look at Hayden and he nodded, all while tears streamed down both Ilya and Shane’s faces—maybe everyone else's too. “You could give the swear money to the sick kids who need it at your hospital. For…” She looked at Hayden again and he shrugged. “For stuff…” She finished, and Shane barked out a wet laugh. 

“Okay.” He said nodding. “Okay… come here.” He said, reaching his arms out, and two twins landed in them. Fuck the no hugs rule. He grabbed the jar and looked at Hayden and Jacky. “How much do you swear… this thing is heavy.” He said, with a shaky voice.

Hayden shrugged again. “Give us a break… someone is always breaking something, yelling, or pregnant.” 

Shane took a deep breath—as deep as he could. “I don’t even know what to say…” 

“Ah, you don’t have to say anything… you just need to go get yourself healthy so you can sign a contract next year where you make that in a fucking week.” JJ said. 

“Swear jar, Uncle JJ!” The girls said in unison, and it was just what everyone needed to break the tension in the room. 

Ilya was feeling buzzed, and happy, and grateful, and a million other things when he walked past a now sleeping Shane in the recliner, surrounded by his teammates who were quick to rotate in and out of hand holding duty as he slept. He wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the love—but something was warming him from the inside out. 

He stepped out onto the patio to cool off, after stealthily sneaking a cigarette he had been given by one of the old veteran Metros defencemen earlier that night. He knew SHane would fucking murder him if he caught him and had the energy—but he was indulging for the first time in months and just allowed himself to do it. He will never know. No sooner did he flick the lighter, did the patio door open behind him. Don’t be a fucking nark. Out stepped Theriault, who pulled a pack of cigarettes from his own pocket. “Sorry.” Ilya said, quick to hid the smoke. 

Theriault laughed, lighting his own. “As an adult… I should tell you to cut that shit out. As a rival coach… please, smoke a pack a day, kid.” Ilya laughed. “It’s fine.” He said, looking back inside at a sleeping Shane in the distance. “I won’t tell him this time.” He smiled and inhaled deeply. 

“Thank you for allowing me to be here tonight.” Ilya said, doing his best to enunciate every word, to both sound smarter, and less drunk. 

Theriault shook his head. “I’m not allowing anything, Roz… you have a right to be here as much as any of the other hot blonde’s around here.” He joked. 

“Ah… you think I am hot?” Ilya said, with a devilish smile. Let’s see if you have sense of humor. Theriault laughed. Nailed it. 

“I’ve seen uglier Russians in the league.” 

Ilya got serious for a second, looking out over the yard. “You think we will have trouble if we come out?” He asked, sheepishly. 

Theriault huffed another laugh. “Definitely.” 

“Fuck.” Ilya said, just as seriously. 

Theriault turned to him. “But you won’t find it here… and if you find it in Boston, I am happy to pay you way less than you’re worth to scoop you up with the coming-out-discount.” He joked, but it didn’t land. “Rozanov… every team in this fucking league would be insane to not pay you what you’re worth. And if they are going to hate you for just being who you are and loving another man through a terrible fucking thing… then let them sign the checks and tell them to fuck off by beating every record you can.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “If you’re name is going to be etched on to a Cup right next to fucking biggots and homophobes… make ‘em pay out the ass for it, kid.” 

Ilya smiled only briefly before the seriousness sunk in again. “Did you hate me?” He asked quietly. 

Theriault huffed a breath and took a long drag again before turning towards the house. “Stay here.” He said, throwing the smoke into the snow before walking in the house. Ilya stayed put, staring out in the yard while he finished his cigarette before Theriault returned, notebook in hand. 

He jumped right into it. “I came back from the hospital this week and told the missus everything… just trying to work through my feelings. Because yeah… I was supportive around the kid, because it's what he deserved and needed in that moment… but I thought I hated you.” 

“Great.” Ilya said with a little laugh. 

“She’s a lot smarter than I am Rozanov… she told me to go to my office to grab my notes from your draft here.” He opened up the notebook in his hands. “We interview you all… you remember, I’m sure.” He raised his brows at Ilya, and he nodded. “Well, I went back to see what I wrote about you then.” He handed Ilya the open notebook. He looked at Theriault reluctantly, asking for permission that had already been granted. Theriault nodded. “Go ahead.” 

Ilya looked down at the page of scribbles and bullet points. Ilya recognized his name and birthday scrawled at the top, and below it more than a dozen bullet points. This is my fucking nightmare… my downfalls in fucking writing. The booze made him just brave enough to read on. 

• Showed up on time

• Well mannered. Shook hands and introduced himself

• Mentioned family before hockey

• Cocky when talking skills—my kind of kid

• Rare combination of confidence and humility

• Extremely mature

• Listed skills as downfall, but also mentioned he wasn’t confident with English. Needs to learn to communicate— translator for first season would help confidence

• Loyal

• Has an edge. Plays with controlled anger

• Quiet confidence—not arrogance

• Team-first mentality

• Seems to listen before speaking

• Will thrive if he feels trusted

• Better person than player 

Fuck. Ilya’s eyes were burning. Never in a million years had he expected to read so many positive things about himself. These are better than fucking wedding vows. With shaking hands and a pounding heart, he handed the notebook back to Theriault. “Thank you.” He said, voice cracking. 

Theriault nodded. “If I said all of that about you as a man and as a player… I think I can get my head around you being all of those things for my future captain in there. Yeah?” Ilya nodded shyly, and quickly wiped away a tear that ran down his face. “You’re going to get through all of this and come out the other end stronger than before, Ilya. I promise you that…” He waved the notebook around. “Because I can tell you one thing for sure… I have notes on about a hundred other guys from your draft class in here, and I’m not sure I’d trust any of them to take care of my own son or daughter… but I would trust you.” Ilya wiped another tear away. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to stop fucking double teaming you and having my enforcers head hunt your ass out there… Me and your boyfriend have some fucking Cups to win, buddy.” 

Ilya laughed a wet laugh. “Alright.” Theriault clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get you boys into a cab so you can tuck that guy in his own bed.” 

They started towards the house. “Wait.” Ilya said suddenly, stopping before they reached the door. He pointed to the notebook. “Can I see Shane’s?” 

Theriault smiled. “Absolutely fucking not.” 

Chapter End Notes

Okay this was a fun one... I love silly and goofy Shane. But here is what inspired me from your comments:

You had mixed feelings about a happy Theriault... but if you have read my other work, you saw it coming! No bad guys, only bad circumstances. That said, the way I attack these stories is simple... I live them in my mind all day, and play our scenarios that I think could realistically happen.

For Theriault specifically... I came at it as an athlete. I am a college softball player, but also played hockey at the highest level until I was 23 years old (I am old now). In all my years of competitive sport, I was coached by all kinds. I had national level coaches who were sweet as pie, and others who were complete assholes on the field/bench... but none of them were bad people. To be a (successful) coach, you need to have some kind of compassion and joy in your heart... because until you make it big (and let's be honest, most don't), you are doing it for very little money (or none), and you are doing it for the love of the game and for your athletes. So, are there MIke Babcock's in the world who have no boundaries, and are generally assholes... yes. But do most view their teams as family? Also yes. Now... management and owners are a different story... but there is monetary gain at the heart of their decisions. For some of them, it's about the $$$ on the check, and not the person's name. That said... I think in this world, where Shane and Ilya are nineteen year old kids who haven't even proved their worth in the league to the owners yet... I think a coach could show up for them in this way.

I was also intrigued by the mixed feelings on the idea of bringing Papa Ilya over... but again, I think it's realistic in this story. I played out a dozen ways in my mind of how the boys could come out as teenagers... and in all of them, Russia and that man are the biggest barrier. But, in this story, we have David and Yuna who know everything so early in Shane's life... so Ilya has grown adults there to guide him and love him through the hard decisions. Bringing his dad over would keep him safe, and keep Ilya in America... even if Ilya dropped him in a home and never visited again.

Same goes for teammates... canon shows us a group of men who feel betrayed by a man they thought they knew... after Cup victories. They are jaded, knowing they have been lied to for years... so why wouldn't they question Shane's integrity when it comes to Ilya? Whereas here, they have nothing to lose. They have won nothing together. They just see a kid who is struggling, and a guy who is helping him. There is no established rivalry, and there is no reason to question their integrity.

Anyway... I think the entire story changes (even if you remove cancer from the equation), if they had come out as teenagers and not well-established adults, and I LOVE exploring that idea here.

Enjoy fam!

Chapter 16

Shane felt fucking awful—again, but hopefully for the last time. He laid on the bed with his eyes closed because opening them felt like lifting weights with muscles that no longer worked. He knew that the room still existed around him when they were closed, but it seemed to exist under layers of static. His stomach rolled the instant he shifted in the bed, nausea swelling high into his throat until he could hold still enough to breathe it away. The ringing in his ears was screaming louder than anything else—a relentless, electric whine that swallowed the room and every thought he tried to have whole. His mom said something and he cracked his eyes open enough to see, but he was forced to try to stitch the syllables together to make a coherent sentence because the ringing had consumed enough of his hearing to make just listening a struggle. His fingertips throbbed where they rested against the soft blanket Ilya had bought him, each finger buzzing with painful pins and needles, while his feet tried to keep up to that level of misery too. He felt the coolness of the ice cube that he was shifting around in his mouth, feeling pain and relief in equal measure as it grazed the new, raw ulcers there, while chasing a few seconds of blessed numbness before the relief disappeared and the stinging continued. His tongue managed to find every one of them against his will. He winced. He felt so profoundly tired, and nothing else. 

Treatment was over—or at least this part was. There would be no more five-day stretches in a hospital room, but rather just a handful of Bleomycin infusions in the coming weeks—surely enough to damage his lungs further, but also enough to close the chapter on chemotherapy.  Still, the word over refused to settle in his soul. It felt like it was hovering, just out of reach, and just fragile enough to shatter if the next scan showed a single, stupid, stubborn, fucking cell that refused to die. He was about to cross the finish line, but he couldn’t allow himself to celebrate while he was still wondering if the race was truly over. 

“You ready, Shane?” Melissa asked with a smile as she hovered over him. He nodded, and with that, Melissa unhooked the lines to his port, completing this part of his nightmare. She smiled down at him, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “How you feeling?” 

“Awful.” Shane said with a small smile. 

“Good.” Melissa said, updating his chart for maybe the last time. “I think maybe you kicked cancer’s ass once and for all.” He looked at him again, his eyes still closed. “You should be proud, Shane.” 

Shane gave the smallest nod. “I will be when they tell me it's gone.” 

“You know, there’s a bell out there… if you want to ring it.” She said, looking at his parents in hopes that they might be able to encourage him to do it. 

He was already shaking his head. “No. After the scans.”

She huffed a laugh.”Well… so you know, the bell signifies the end of treatment. Not the end of cancer… some people ring that bell knowing they won’t see another birthday. It doesn’t take away the power or the meaning of it.” She tried again. 

Shane smiled. “You guilt tripping me into ringing a bell, Mel?” 

She grinned. “I’m just saying that it might be nice to see you do it.”

Yuna was standing. “Alright… let’s get you out of that bed and back home.” She hit the button on the bed to raise it up, knowing his blood pressure was always a little wonky post chemo, and his brain appreciated the slow incline before standing abruptly. “And we have a fucking bell to ring on the way out.” 

“Mom…” Shane tried to argue. 

“Nope… we ring the fucking bell for the people who don’t get to Shane.” He opened his eyes and looked at her, eyebrows raised. “And for me… because my ass hurts from sitting in these chairs for so many hours.” She smiled and leaned down to kiss his head. “You earned it Shane… don’t let the fear of what comes next keep you from enjoying the things that you can actually control. Okay?”

He nodded, unwilling to waste an ounce of energy on arguing. 

They stepped out of the private room that Shane had been so grateful to be given, his dad at his side to keep him steady as they walked slowly down the hallway—he had never felt this week after treatment, and loathed needing the extra help. Actually, he had felt this way before, but he only allowed himself to lean on Ilya in that way because he could cover it up as just wanting to touch the guy. I do not want to touch my fucking dad like that. 

“Bell is this way.” Melissa said, guiding them down the hall. 

Shane couldn’t focus on anything but her feet. It made no sense, given that he knew that he had only lost the higher frequencies in his hearing, but still the sound of her familiar shuffling was gone. The way she lazily dragged her feet no longer matched the sound that he had once memorized when she approached his room. I’m so glad this finish line comes with fucking hearing aids. The bell came into view. Cool… probably won’t be able to hold the fucking string with my static fingers. Or hear it with my fucking static ears. He really did think he would be in higher spirits knowing he wouldn’t need to return here for hours of chemo again—but he was fucking bitter. Not as bitter as everything I fucking eat tastes. 

“Shane?” His mother gently prodded. 

He wasn’t sure when they had stopped moving, the bell mounted on the wall in front of him. “Sorry… what.” Am I actually that deaf, or am I just fucking out of it? He was out of it—very out of it. Exhausted beyond measure, with a mind that could no longer be eased by the simple sounds of fluorescent lights and infusion pumps. At least I can still hear Ilya moan in bed… if he will ever fuck me after all of this. He looked at his mom, who had already spoken again as he zoned out. Fuck. He looked at her in hopes that she might repeat herself a third time. I miss Ilya. 

“Okay… I think he’s maybe a little overwhelmed.” His mom said, turning to address the nursing staff, and… Hayden? JJ? Jacky? The kids? 

What the fuck. He didn’t make a move beyond glancing in their direction, trying his best to focus on his mom. 

She continued, and he closed one eye doing his best to focus. He was fucking overwhelmed with feelings that he didn’t know where to put, with the unannounced presence of his people, and with the god damn ringing in his ears that always got worse when his heart rate increased. How the fuck am I going to hear on the ice if my heart is beating faster than normal?! “We just want to thank you all for taking such good care of Shane, and for doing it in a way that protected his dignity and his privacy.” She looked at Shane and he did his best to pretend he was in the same fucking head space as her. “We are very proud of Shane… and we really can’t thank you allenough.” 

They all looked towards the bell as if he was supposed to inherently know what to do about it. It was simple—he just needed to ring the fucking thing, but his hands didn’t seem to know that. Or maybe it was his heart that didn’t know. He could feel a burning in the back of his eyes again as they glazed over, and he was sad to know that they weren’t tears of relief, but rather of frustration from a body that didn’t work the way he expected it to when this moment arrived. He never really allowed himself to picture the end, but it certainly wasn’t this—he never could have anticipated being overcome with grief, and sadness, and a sense of chronic overwhelm that somehow managed to overwhelm his already chronic overwhelm. My brain is fucked. Where the fuck is the relief. Where is the joy? 

As if the universe could read his mind, he suddenly felt the joy arrive in the form of a warm hand in his—a hand so strong, and so familiar. He didn’t need to look to know who the hand belonged to, so instead he just turned and collapsed against his chest. 

“Is okay. I got here soon as I could.” Ilya said, pulling him in tight as he cradled the back of Shane’s head against his shoulder. “I love you.” He whispered in his ear as he swayed them back in forth ever so slightly in a comforting motion, while Shane cried into his neck. I wish I could carry this for you. He pulled back enough to look at him. “You don’t have to ring, Shane… is just stupid bell.” 

Shane leaned back into his neck and whispered against his throat. “I want to go home.” He let out another choked sound. “I don’t feel good, Ilya.” 

“I know.” Ilya said, squeezing him a little bit tighter. God, Hollander... you are going to kill me. “I will help you ring fucking bell and we can go home together, yes?” Shane nodded into his neck. How am I ever supposed to go back home now?

With Ilya at his side, he turned around and lifted a hand to the small string that somehow represented so much to so many people—to him, it felt empty. At least at this moment. It was attached to the thing that would alert the ward that he was done with treatment—but to Shane the sound of the bell would be the thing that ushered him into his next phase of life. The phase of life that would require him to rebuild all that he had lost over those months—and it wasn’t the lung capacity, the hearing, or even his first-class ass he was worried about. It was the overwhelm that came with the thought that every sexual encounter would lead to a new earth shattering discovery on his body. That every cough would certainly be the result of cancerous cells invading his lungs, and not from a simple virus. That the body that the Metros had paid for would not be able to perform at the level that would be expected of him. There were so many hurdles ahead, that somehow chemo felt like the tip of the iceberg. He rang the stupid fucking bell. 

Apparently, the people around him were able to read the room, and while there was a small round of quiet applause, they didn’t further overwhelm Shane with their joy—other than maybe the twins. They were eager to hear that bell again and again. 

“Let’s go home.” Ilya said, wrapping an arm around Shane’s back as they turned towards the door. Shane couldn’t help but notice Hayden running out in front of them, and he wondered why he was in such a hurry. 

Hayden ran outside to the sight of all of Shane’s teammates and coaches as they lined the path to the cancer center, all with smiles glued to their faces, ready to see a kid who had worked so hard to achieve what they all hoped would soon be a clean bill of health. “Get the fuck out of here guys… run to your cars.” He whisper yelled at them, as he frantically shooed them away. “Go… now!” He tried again. The men looked at him like he was a fucking psychopath before they all started to walk in different directions frantically. Not frantic enough for Hayden’s liking. “RUN YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!” He yelled, and they all scurried away—all but Theriault. Hayden buried his face in his hands, embarrassed as a family walked past him, minding their own fucking business as they watched the entirety of the Metros hockey team being yelled at by their seemingly insane teammate. "Sorry..." He tried in their direction, but they continued to walk with their heads down, likely on their way to alert the fucking authorities about the less than professional member of hospital security that they had just encountered. Fuck, I don't know if them recognizing me would make this better or worse. He may have secured himself a trip to the fucking looney-bin in the name of helping his friend. Worth it. 

Theriault approached with a smirk. “Pike… nice to see you...” He said, looking at his players dispersing like test rats in a fucking maze—confused and aimless. “Can I, uh… can I ask what the fuck you're doing?.. drug problem maybe? Sprinkle of mental illness perhaps?... we can get you some help for that, you know.” 

Hayden was out of breath as he turned around to see Shane and Ilya about to emerge from the building. He stood up straight and looked at his coach. “Now is not the time, my guy…” He said, clapping a hand on his Coach’s shoulder. Theriault looked at his hand on his shoulder in a way that said, don’t fucking touch me you testy little rat boy. Hayden pulled it away abruptly. “He was struggling in there… I don’t think he would want any more eyes on him today.” 

Theriault nodded, as Shane stepped into the sunshine. He approached him slowly, hands in his pockets, before placing a hand on his shoulder—the way a grown man is allowed to do to his players, not the other way around. “I’m proud of you, kid. I just wanted to see you walk out myself.” He smiled. 

“Thanks Coach.” Shane said, tired as ever. 

Coach looked at Ilya. “Aren’t you supposed to be in California or something right now?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Ilya smiled. “I’m right where I need to be today.” 

Chapter 17

Shane paced back and forth behind the island, wondering when the last time he paced even was. When did I have the energy to just walk back and forth, freaking the fuck out? He had gotten used to freaking out from the comfort of his bed. He moved to run his hands through his hair—shit. He sometimes still forgot about the shiny reality that lived up there. “But how?” He asked, probably for the third time. 

“We can talk about it on the plane, Hollander. Please go get packed.” Ilya tried, also for the third time, he glanced at Yuna across the room with a grin. Help me out here!

Yuna got the hint. “Shane… this was supposed to be a fun surprise, honey.”

Shane paused and shot her a look. “Oh yeah… great idea, mom. I fucking love surprises. Changes to my fucking plans are just my favorite thing on the whole fucking…”

“Shane!” David said sternly, not allowing him to slump back into his one-ball-down-bitchiness from months earlier. 

“Sorry.” He planted his hands on the island, running out of energy to pace. He looked at the three of them, now converging in the barstools in front of him like he was on fucking trial on multiple charges of being the most boring fucking person on the planet and had to face the jury. “I’m probably not even supposed to fly. I still have chemo lingering in these veins.”

“You’re flying private.” Yuna offered. 

Of course we are. “I’m supposed to see Jarvis and my oncologist this weekend about today’s scan results.” 

“Already talked to him to clear it. He said you can go over next steps when you get back, and he will call you with your results while you’re there.” Yuna continued. 

Shane couldn’t help but notice the asshole grin on his boyfriend's face as he watched him spiral. “I’m still sleeping like fourteen fucking hours a day… what the hell do you think we’re going to do there?” He continued. 

“Rest.” Ilya said simply. “Hollander, why are you freaking out? Is holiday. To celebrate.”

Shane ran his face over his hands. “Celebrate what?”

“Shut up, Hollander. You know it will be fine.” Ilya said, heading towards the stairs. 

We don’t fucking know anything. “Get back here.” Shane said, shooting Ilya a look. 

“Can’t.” Ilya said, continuing up the stairs to pack for his boyfriend's stubborn, still a little flat, ass. “I have beach to get to.” He shot him a knowing grin. 

Shane all but chased him up the stairs. “How the fuck are you even doing this. You’re supposed to be in fucking Chicago for the All-Star Game… what did you say to your coach?” He turned on a mocking Russian accent. “I am Ilya Rozanov… I am asshole and don’t follow rules and go to beach instead of All-Star Game.” He went back to his own boring Canadian accent. “And they were like… yeah, sure pal. We love a one game suspension and a fine.” He flopped on the bed with an exasperated sigh as he watched Ilya throw clothes into a duffel bag. At least fucking fold them, you Russian animal.

Ilya didn’t stop moving. “No…I told coach that I had boyfriend…”

“No you didn’t.” Shane said in disbelief, eyes widening. 

Ilya finally stopped and sat on the bed next to him. “You told me to. Is not okay?” He asked honestly, resting a hand to still Shane’s now bouncing thigh. 

He looked at Ilya. “I don’t know. Was it?” 

Ilya nodded. “Yes, Shane. It was fine.” Shane didn’t fill the silence. “I told team first… but found out fucking Marley had already told secret to few by accident.” He grinned. “And they all seemed… okay.” 

“And your coach?”

Ilya smiled. “Ah… less okay. But not cruel.” Shane waited for more once again. “He was not happy I asked to miss All-Star weekend. But I tell him that my boyfriend just beat cancer…”

“We don’t know that.” Shane interrupted.

Ilya rolled his eyes. “I told him I need break too. To figure out next steps. To be with you…”

“And?”

“And nothing… he said I have to pay fine. Team won’t. And he asked more about you and how you are doing.” 

“What did you tell him?”

“Ah… I tell him truth. I tell him that chemo did not make you less annoying or boring… that you will appreciate beach vacation…” He gave Shane a look that said don’t make a liar of me, bitch. “So only one lie, apparently?” He continued. 

Shane grinned and stared down at his feet. “But what if…” He took a breath. “What if people see us… and this gets back home to Russia… and…”

Ilya was standing again, reaching for Shane’s meds on the nightstand and throwing them in the bag on the floor. “That is conversation for beach, with drink in my hand, Hollander.” He moved closer and planted a kiss on Shane’s still-smooth head. “Go hop in shower. You smell like self pity and sadness.” 

Shane shoved him away. “Fuck you.” 

“Will be okay, Hollander. Promise.” 

Shane’s blades carved into the ice and drowned out everything else around him. Left, right, left, right. His legs burned in the best way as he accelerated, spraying white ice dust in the air behind him as he moved. His heart was hammering, and his ears and brain were clear. Someone’s skates scraped behind him, frantically trying to keep up. The puck travelled across the ice, landing on his blade—the perfect pass.  The arena swelled into a wall of noise beyond the glass, thousands of voices melting into one endless roar. He dropped a shoulder, cut inside, and a defenseman lunged. Shane pushed past him with ease. Another defender stepped up, squaring his shoulders. Shane didn’t slow—he snapped the puck across his body at the last possible moment, the rubber smacking against the heel of his stick before he threaded a pass through a space that didn’t seem wide enough. His teammate barely had time to touch it before sending it right back. The return landed perfectly in stride, and Shane exploded through the seam they’d opened. The goalie pushed across the crease, pads grinding over the ice with a gritty scrape, glove already rising. Shane sold the shot high, watched the glove move, then rolled his wrists—the puck found the inside of his blade before rocketing it to the far side.

Then the post rang with the bright PING that he loved so much as the puck clipped it on its way in, the mesh snapped tight with a satisfying whip, and eighteen thousand people were on their feet. The goal horn bellowed through the building, vibrating through his body. Teammates were already shouting before he even realized he’d thrown both fists into the air. He let out a yell of his own, and skated past the glass with his arms spread wide, the roar crashing over him like a wave. Gloves pounded against his helmet. Sticks hit his shin pads. He was swallowed beneath a pile of laughing, yelling bodies while the arena kept shaking around them, every cheer reminding him exactly why he’d fallen in love with the game in the first place. Then he tried to move his legs—he couldn’t. 

“What the fuck?!” He said, sitting up in a hurry, his legs heavy and immovable. He sat up to a grinning, Ilya, who was wearing nothing but a sad-excuse for swim trunks, and his Raybans. Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking hot. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Making you beautiful mermaid, Hollander. Sit still.” He said as he continued to carve the insane amount of sand that he had managed to pile over Shane’s legs. “You have good dream?”

Shane admired his work. Why is he so fucking good at everything? He sighed. “No… more of a nightmare.” He looked around and saw nobody on their near-private stretch of beach. “How long did I sleep?” 

“Not long.” Ilya said, focused on the long mermaid tail. 

It’s kind of pretty. Shane stared at the tail. What the fuck am I doing? He moved his legs abruptly. “You’re a child.” 

Ilya moaned and threw his hair back. “Hollanderrrr! You ruined my beautiful work! I worked on that for hours.” 

“You said I didn’t sleep long…” Shane said, annoyed as ever. 

“Couple hours is not long. You needed it.” He looked at him and grinned. “Long enough that I had to reapply your sunscreen…” He looked at the sand that had once been so pretty over his legs. “Well, not on legs… but I put on dick before. In case you wanted to turn into nude beach.” 

Shane didn’t smile. He laid back down against the hot sand. “Not funny.” 

Ilya’s head landed next to Shane’s and he leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Nothing is funny to you, Hollander.” He said teasingly, but it was the truth. Shane licked his lips and stared up at the sky. He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. “Why are you so angry with me, Shane? Did I do something? This really was meant to be fun trip for…”

“I’m not angry.” Shane said, angrily. 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “No?”

Shane let out a sigh that had Ilya thinking he might run out of breath altogether. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He said, moving to stand up. Ilya sat up quicker, moving to help him, but Shane pushed him away gently. “I’m fine.” He turned and made his way back towards their private oasis, only steps from the clear blue, beautiful ocean that Shane couldn’t seem to appreciate. 

“Shane…” Ilya tried. Shane brushed him off. Ilya stood and followed him, brushing as much sand off his body as he could so he wouldn’t get shit for tracking that in the place too. “Shane…” He tried again. He stepped inside and reached for his arm. “Shane…” He tried one more time, and Shane stopped. Ilya watched him drop his head. 

“I’m sorry…” He said, voice cracking. Ilya gave his shoulder a tug to turn him around and Shane collapsed into his arms, letting out a loud sob against his chest. Ilya held him as he crumbled. “I’m sorry… I…” The words broke in his mouth. 

“Shhhh, no.” Ilya said, rubbing his back in soothing circles as he quietly guided him back towards the chair, sitting down as Shane curled himself in his lap, his tears soaking Ilya’s shirt. Oh, my Shane. 

Ilya held Shane for so long that the light off the ocean outside of their door had gone from clear blue, to a dusky orange, the sun nearing the horizon. I hope he didn’t actually have to pee. “Hey…” He said, bringing his face up in his hands to meet his gaze.” You look so tired. “You okay?” He asked quietly, brushing away the remnants of a tear along his jaw. Shane nodded. “Okay… why don’t we get changed and go watch that?” He nodded towards the open door, at the quickly dropping sun. 

Shane nodded again, looking over his shoulder. “Yeah.” 

Ilya sat in the sand and guided Shane to sit in front of him, between spread legs. Shane sat and eased himself back against Ilya’s chest. “You warm enough?” Ilya whispered in his ear. 

Shane ignored the question. “I really am sorry, Ilya.” Shane said, now that his eyes weren’t being forced to land anywhere but the ocean. “I don’t mean to be such a…” 

“Dick?” Ilya offered. 

“Yeah.” Shane said with a gentle laugh. 

“I was kidding, Shane. Is fine. You are dealing with a lot.” 

Shane took a deep breath and Ilya felt him tense in his arms. “I think I might be depressed…” He said quietly. 

Oh shit. Ilya held him a little tighter. 

“Sorry, I know that…” Shane started

“No.” Ilya said, shutting him down. “Talk to me.” 

“I know I have a good life, and I don’t have anything to be depressed about, but…” 

Ilya cut him off again. “Shane, this is normal. I read the books, and they all said this is normal when you have gone through so much, so quick. Your life changed overnight…you had surgery, started chemo, and then we came out, and…” 

“It’s not even that.” Shane said, a little embarrassed. 

“Okay. Tell me.” Ilya gently grazed up and down SHane’s arms, trying his best to ground him as they looked out at the sun as it met the horizon. 

“I mean, yeah… it’s all of that too. But I think all of my…” He took a breath to find the words. “...all my sensory bullshit. I think it’s stacked up. And the routine I had for years, is just gone. And I have tried my best to adapt to it all, but my brain just doesn’t like any of it… and it’s like that has transformed into just another fucking chemical imbalance in my fucking poison-packed brain and body.” Ilya heard him sniffle, and noticed his hand coming up to likely wipe away a tear. He squeezed his biceps, and massaged gently. “I'm doing my best…I’m just trying to get past it, but between my fucking mouth… the way everything tastes, the non-stop ringing in my hears, the hearing loss, the way my clothes sit different on my body, the fucking sand between my toes…” He huffed a little laugh. 

“Sorry.” Ilya said with a little laugh of his own. 

“I don’t know how to handle it all.” Shane said quietly. "My brain doesn't know what to do with any of it." Ilya didn’t fill the silence this time. He really didn’t know how—he knew what it was to be depressed. He had seen it, and he lived it himself. He didn’t know how to fix it for his mom, or himself—so he certainly had no idea where to start with a man like Shane. “I talked to my mom about it and…” 

“You did?” Ilya said, surprised. Why didn’t you talk to me? 

Shane nodded against his chest. “Sorry… I needed to talk to someone, and I didn’t want to scare you with your mom, and…” 

Ilya wrapped his arms fully around Shane and pulled him in closer. “You will not be like my mother, Shane. I have brain like her too… and I am not like my mother. We will be okay.” 

“I know, I just didn’t want to burden you with it. But we talked to Jarvis about meds and therapy this morning. I start when we get back… and it was just one more thing this morning when you brought up the trip. Between that and the change of plans, I think I reached my limit for the day.” Maybe the mermaid tail was my fucking limit... it was a nice mermaid tail though. I should let him try again tomorrow.

“I’m sorry, Shane.” Ilya said softly. “I need to do better. Learning about your…” He knew the word, but tried to search for an alternative. 

Shane huffed a laugh. “My fucking autism, cancer-sadness?” Ilya didn’t laugh, he stayed silent. “It’s fine, Ilya. It’s just one more fucking label… and apparently one that cancer has led me to not be able to ignore.” 

“I don’t want to ignore it.” Ilya said, scooting back so he could move to see his face. He moved next to Shane so they were side by side and reached for his hand, grazing his knuckles with his thumb. 

Shane huffed a laugh again but his eyes glazed over. “I do…” 

Ilya was already shaking his head, as he watched tears well in Shane’s eyes again. “Hey, hey…” He scooted around again, his ass landing in the sand in front of Shane. He wrapped his legs around him and scooted forward until they were chest to chest and raised his hands up to hold Shane’s face. You are fucking stunning. He took in the beauty of his freckles as the warm sunset light cast against his cheeks. “Shane… all the things I fell in love with when we met just have a name now, okay? You are boring man, Shane Hollander. You have same clothes in eight colors. You do same boring routine before and after every game. You eat same gross foods. You jerk off weird enough to not find tumor on ball…” He said with a smile. “These are not things to fix. They are things to love. You have always had this…and is what made you such great man and such great hockey player. ” 

Shane looked at Ilya for a moment and then looked over his shoulder at the ocean. “I don’t know if I can be that man now.” He said, voice shaky. 

Ilya smiled. “Shane, we talked about this. One ball does not make you less of man…” 

Shane smiled too. “Not that, idiot.” He looked at Ilya. “Hockey is who I am, Ilya… and it doesn’t feel the same right now.” He admitted. “I thought getting back on the ice would fix everything… but I have been out there since treatment ended, and every time it just feels worse.” 

“Your body?” Ilya asked earnestly. 

“My mind.” Shane said softly. “It doesn’t feel the same. My body doesn’t feel right…” 

“It will.” Ilya interrupted. 

Shut up. “I can’t fucking hear out there, Ilya.” 

“You are Shane Hollander. You could be completely deaf and still be better than rest of league.” Ilya offered. 

Shane looked at him and raised a hand to his cheek. He leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. “I need you to shut up, okay?” Ilya smiled and nodded, knowing what he meant. “I didn’t even know it until I had cancer, but my brain is soothed by sounds, Ilya…”

Ah, yes… just not my voice. Ilya nodded. 

“...and those sounds don’t exist out there anymore. I noticed the first day that I couldn’t hear the sound of my own blades in the ice… or the people skating up behind me.” His eyes diverted to the ocean again. “My coach blew a whistle, and I saw him do it, but the sound didn’t match… it doesn’t sound like it used to.” His eyes welled as he looked back at Ilya. “I hit the fucking crossbar and the ping we all know and love is a fucking thud now.” He admitted quietly. “I loved that sound, Ilya.” Ilya opened his mouth, but closed it and nodded instead. “I don’t know how the fuck I am going to do it with crowd noise. The ringing is constant, and so fucking loud already.” Shane looked at Ilya and smiled. “You’re allowed to talk now…” 

Ilya smiled and nodded. “You will adjust, Shane. You always do. Your brain has adjusted for years… and with doctors, and therapy… I think you will be back to norm…” He stopped. He is not normal, he is extraordinary. “You will be incredible, Shane.” 

Shane leaned in and rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder. “Did you bring me here to have sex, finally?” He whispered against him. 

What the fuck. “What the fuck, Shane.” Ilya looked at him, eyebrows raised. “No…” He grinned. “I mean… that is bonus. But no, love. I brought you here…” He looked over Shane’s shoulder and cocked his head, squeezing one eye shut playfully. “Actually… I had your mom book this. And she used your credit card… so you actually brough us here…”

Shane laughed. “Are you fucking serious?” 

Ilya shrugged. “Sorry.” He got serious again. “I brought you here because I thought you needed to get away. To breathe for a few nights. And I wanted you to myself for one weekend.” 

“What if your dad finds out?” 

What happened to the sex thing?! Let’s get back to that. He took a deep breath. “Your mom has been working with lawyers for me. The week you were admitted for infection, we had meeting and signed papers for power of eternity…”

Shane huffed a laugh. “Attorney… Power of Attorney.” 

“Yes.” Ilya smiled. “My dad signed papers… willingly. Which I think means my brother was not doing good job of taking care of him.” Ilya took a breath and his eyes filled now.

“Hey…”Shane said, pulling him in for a hug. “You can talk to me too.” 

Ilya nodded against his chest. “Your mom is amazing lady, Shane.” 

“She is.” He agreed. 

“Aw, yes… you should be nicer to her.” He said into Shane’s neck before pulling back to bring their foreheads together. “She took care of everything, and I will have power to make medical decisions for him. He is getting care he needs now, and money goes right to his lawyer and to doctors. Alexei will get nothing.” He sniffed, still feeling the sting of guilt that he always carried when it came to his family. He pulled back again and looked at Shane. “I am staying in America this summer, Shane… because my father is safe in Russia now.” He took another breath. “But I want to be with you, so I am not...so I will stay here.” 

“Ilya…” 

“Shane… I love you.” Ilya said, leaning in to kiss him softly. 

“I love you too. But…” 

“But nothing…” He looked into Shane’s stunning brown eyes. They were so warm, so filled with love and trust. “I know we are young, Shane. But from the second I felt that lump, I knew that I needed you alive… because I need you here with me. I don't need Russia if I have you.” 

Shane’s breath stuttered. “God, I love you.”

Ilya grinned, slow and lazy. "So… about that sex thing?"

Shane laughed and shoved at his chest. "You're unbelievable."

"Yes." Ilya stood, brushing sand off his ass, then reached down to pull Shane to his feet. "I am also very patient man who has not had sex with beautiful boyfriend because of stupid cancer and stupid one-ball sadness."

"Jesus Christ." Shane was still laughing as Ilya tugged him forward, their hands linking naturally, and suddenly they were walking back toward the cabana. 

“Actually, I have been waiting years to have all of you, Shane Hollander.” He said, kissing him one more time before they were moving again. 

“Oh yeah? My third-class ass?” Shane teased, and Ilya stopped again, their faces meeting like their were fucking magnets in their lips. 

“That ass is always first-class, Hollander.”

The sand was cool beneath their feet now, the air turning soft and salty in that perfect way it only did at the edge of the ocean. Shane stumbled a little, still tired, still adjusting to a body that didn't quite feel like his own yet, and Ilya caught him easily, spinning him around so they were chest to chest. "Careful, Hollander." Ilya's voice had dropped, gone quieter, and his hands settled on Shane's hips like they belonged there. Shane looked up at him, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then Ilya leaned in and kissed him again.

It wasn't the frantic, desperate kind of kiss they'd shared in hotel rooms when they were still pretending this wasn't serious. It wasn't the careful kisses from the hospital when Shane had been too weak to do much more than press his lips to Ilya's and hope that was enough. This was slow, and so tender it made Shane's breath catch. Ilya's mouth moved against his like he had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else that mattered except this. Shane made a soft sound in the back of his throat and Ilya smiled against his lips, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Come on…" Before kissing him again.

They stumbled forward like that, stopping every few steps because one of them would pull the other back in, hands tangling in hair, clothes, and skin. Ilya's fingers traced the line of Shane's jaw, his thumb brushing over the freckles that seemed to have multiplied during treatment—or maybe he just had too much time and too much stillness to count every single one of them. I have memorized those beautiful freckles. Shane's hands slid under Ilya's shirt, palms flat against the warm, solid muscle of his back. They were both grinning like idiots, breaking apart to laugh and then diving back in, and by the time they reached the cabana, Shane's heart was pounding, his ears ringing louder—he pushed through.

The cabana was stunning—all white linen and open windows that let the ocean breeze drift through, the sound of waves a constant, soothing rhythm in the background. I hope he can hear them from here. The bed was massive, piled with pillows, and the whole space glowed soft and golden from the lamps Ilya must have turned on earlier. It looked like something out of a dream. 

Ilya kicked the door shut behind them and immediately pulled Shane back into his arms, kissing him again, slower this time. His hands slid up Shane's sides, careful and reverent, and Shane shivered despite the warmth. When Ilya finally pulled back, his ocean eyes were dark and serious. 

"Shane…" Ilya's voice was low. He brushed a kiss to Shane's temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. "I need to know… what is okay? What is not okay?"

Shane blinked, his brain still catching up. "What?"

"Boundaries, love." Ilya kissed him again, soft and lingering. "I know you are…" He hesitated, his hands stilling on Shane's waist. "I know you are not feeling like yourself right now. I know your body is different. I need to know what you want. What you don't want."

Oh. Shane's throat tightened, and he looked away, suddenly unable to meet Ilya's gaze. "I… nothing. It's fine. Everything's fine."

"Shane…" Ilya's hand came up to cup his face, gently turning him back. 

Shane swallowed hard. He wanted to brush it off, to pretend he wasn't self-conscious about the way his body had changed, the way his muscles had softened and his skin had gone pale and his hair—or lack of it—made him feel exposed in a way he'd never felt before. He wanted to pretend he wasn't terrified that Ilya would touch him and realize he wasn't the same man he'd fallen in love with. But Ilya was looking at him like he could see straight through all of that. Like he already knew.

"Maybe..." Shane's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "I don't… I don't want you near the incision."

Ilya's expression didn't change. He just nodded, his thumb brushing over Shane's cheekbone. "Okay."

"The nerves are still weird there…" Shane continued, the words tumbling out now. "It's sensitive, and it doesn't feel right, and I just…"

"Yes, Hollander." Ilya cut him off, his voice firm but gentle. "No incision." He leaned in and kissed Shane's forehead, then his nose, then his lips. "Anything else? Ball is fine?" He smiled.

Shane shook his head, his eyes stinging. "No. That's… that's it." He smiled too. "Ball is fine." Might as well get used to it. One less thing to suck. 

"Okay." Ilya smiled, that crooked, lopsided grin that made Shane's heart do stupid fucking things, and then he was kissing him again, deeper this time, his hands sliding under Shane's shirt and pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion.

Shane tensed instinctively, still not used to his thinner body, the lack of body hair, the port that still lived in his chest despite his chemo having ended—but Ilya caught his wrists gently and pulled them away from his tense body. "No…" He murmured, his eyes roaming over Shane's chest, his stomach, the faint scar that ran along his lower abdomen. "You are so beautiful, Shane."

"I'm not…"

"You are." Ilya's voice was fierce now, his hands settling on Shane's hips, thumbs brushing over the sharp jut of bone there. "You are so fucking beautiful it makes me crazy." He leaned in and kissed Shane's collarbone, then his chest, then the hollow of his throat. "I love this body. I love every part of you." Shane's breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, letting Ilya's words wash over him. Letting himself believe them, just for a moment. Ilya guided him backward toward the bed, his hands never leaving Shane's skin, and when the backs of Shane's knees hit the mattress, he sat down heavily. Ilya followed him down, crawling over him until Shane was flat on his back, surrounded by pillows and soft linen and the weight of Ilya's body pressing him into the bed. It felt safe. 

"Okay?" Ilya asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shane nodded, his hands coming up to tangle in Ilya's hair. "Yeah. Okay."

Ilya kissed him again, slow and deep, and Shane felt the last of his tension melt away. This was Ilya—his Ilya. The man who had sat by his hospital bed and held his hand through the worst of it. The man who had learned to cook bland, tasteless meals just so Shane wouldn't have to eat alone. The man who had come out to his team, to his coach, to their friends, because Shane was worth it. Shane trusted him—completely.

Ilya's hands were everywhere, mapping out every inch of Shane's body like he was memorizing it all over again. He took his time, kissing and touching and murmuring soft words in Russian that Shane didn't understand but loved. When he finally slid Shane's shorts down and off, Shane didn't flinch. He just watched Ilya's face, watched the way his eyes went dark and hungry, watched the way his mouth curved into a smile that was equal parts smug and reverent. "You are perfect." Ilya said, and Shane smiled. 

Ilya discreetly reached for the lube that he brought and hid, so as not to put any pressure on Shane to make this weekend about anything beyond relaxing together. I am glad I brought it... Hope Lube. They moved together slowly, carefully, Ilya's hands slick with lube now as he prepared Shane with a patience that bordered on maddening. They had had months of foreplay, of lazy handjobs, and one-sided blowjobs—and Ilya loved every one of them. But tonight, he wanted all of Shane, and he knew that Shane wanted all of him—he also knew that Shane wouldn’t have enough gas in the tank to do it all. 

Fucking get on with it, Rozanov. Shane had never done this before, and Ilya was gentle, so gentle, his fingers working Shane open with a care that made Shane's chest ache. Every time Shane tensed, Ilya would pause, kiss him and murmur reassurances until Shane relaxed again. 

"Okay?" Ilya asked for the hundredth time, his forehead pressed to Shane's, their breaths mingling.

"Yeah." Shane's voice was shaky, but he meant it. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Ilya kissed him again, deep and slow, and then he was pressing inside, inch by careful inch, and Shane gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to another person. Ilya stilled immediately, his hands framing Shane's face, his eyes locked on his.

"Breathe, love." Ilya whispered. "Just breathe."

Shane did. He breathed through the initial discomfort, through the strange, foreign feeling of having someone inside him, and then—oh. Oh. Ilya shifted slightly, angling his hips, and suddenly it felt good. Really good. Shane's hands flew to Ilya's shoulders, his fingers digging into muscle, and Ilya grinned.

"God…" he murmured, and then he started to move.

It was slow. So slow. Ilya's hips rolled in a steady, unhurried rhythm, each thrust deep and blissful, and Shane couldn't look away from him. He couldn't stop staring at the way Ilya's face had gone soft and open, the way his eyes stayed locked on Shane's like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. This wasn't just sex—this was Ilya saying I love you with his body, with every careful movement, with every whispered word. Shane felt like he was being worshipped.

Shane's hands slid up to cup Ilya's face, his thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and Ilya turned his head to kiss Shane's palm. "I love you." Shane said, his voice breaking. "I love you so much."

"I know." Ilya's smile was soft, his eyes bright. "I love you too, Hollander."

They stayed like that for a long time, moving together in perfect sync, their bodies fitting together perfectly Shane felt every thrust, every shift, every breath, and it was overwhelming in the best possible way. He felt seen and loved. He almost felt healthy. 

When Ilya finally shifted them onto their sides, pulling Shane's back against his chest, Shane went willingly. Ilya's arm wrapped around his waist, holding him close, and when he pressed back inside, the angle was different—deeper, more intimate somehow. Shane's breath hitched, and Ilya's lips found the back of his neck, kissing and murmuring soft reassurances.

"Okay?" Ilya asked again, his voice rough.

"Yeah." Shane's hand came up to cover Ilya's where it rested on his stomach. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Ilya's hips moved in slow, lazy thrusts, and Shane felt himself unraveling. He felt the tension he'd been carrying for months—years, maybe—finally start to ease. Ilya's breath was hot against his neck, his body solid and warm behind him, and Shane had never felt more loved. 

"Shane…” Ilya whispered, his voice strained. "I'm close."

"Okay." Shane squeezed his hand. "It's okay."

Ilya's rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then he was coming with a low, broken sound, his body shuddering against Shane's. Shane felt the warmth of it, the intimacy of it, and something inside him cracked open. He turned his head, catching Ilya's mouth in a messy, desperate kiss, and Ilya's hand slid down to wrap around Shane, stroking him slowly. It didn't take long. Shane came with a gasp, his body trembling, and Ilya held him through it, his heart pounding against Shane’s back.

They stayed like that for a long time afterward, tangled together, their breathing slowly evening out. Ilya's hand traced lazy patterns on Shane's stomach, carefully avoiding the incision below it, and Shane felt tears prick at his eyes for reasons he couldn't quite name.

"Thank you." He whispered.

Ilya pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "For what?"

“For all of this.” 

Ilya was quiet for a moment, and then he pulled Shane closer, his arms tightening around him. "You do not need to thank me, Shane. There is nowhere else I would rather be."

Shane closed his eyes, letting the words settle over him like a blanket. Outside, the ocean continued its steady rhythm, and inside, wrapped in Ilya's arms, Shane finally felt like he could breathe.

Shane woke up to the smell of coffee, and he smiled when he realized it didn’t make his stomach turn the way it had for weeks before. The breeze was blowing through the windows, gently swaying the curtains inside. He opened his eyes and saw a naked ass across the room. God, that is one fucking fantastic Russian ass. But he was quick to close his eyes and sink back into the pillows when he realized he could hear the sound of the ocean waves as they hit the shore beyond the windows. It was peaceful and calm. 

Ilya turned to find the most beautifully serene face he had ever seen. I want this to be our life, forever. He couldn’t wait a moment longer to have his lips on Shane’s skin. He was still naked from the night before, and Ilya realized that for the first time in months his instinct was to cover him with his body, and not a blanket. You are going to be okay, Hollander. 

He was moving towards him before he had a chance to even stop himself. He bent down to place a kiss on the top of his foot. I hope these feet are not in pain. He looked up to find Shane’s smile widening. He kissed his leg, and moved his way up. 

“Stop.” Shane said suddenly, softly. 

Ilya stopped immediately. “Sorry… did I?...” 

Shane smiled again, never opening his eyes. He shook his head. “No… if you keep kissing me like that, you’re going to have my heart pounding… and when my heart is pounding the ringing gets louder.” 

Ilya smiled, a little confused and laid down next to him, resting his head on his chest instead. “You are okay?” 

Shane kissed the top of his head. “Yeah. I can just… I can hear the waves. It’s nice.” He smiled even wider, and Ilya stayed quiet, letting Shane just soak it in. This is what he had brought him here for. But before long, Shane was the one filling the silence. “You know what’s funny…” 

“What?” Ilya said, shifting onto the pillow so he could see Shane’s face. Shane turned to face him too and met his gaze. 

“I have a hard time hearing certain sounds…like in words. The audiologist listed the common ones for me, and I really noticed it with women’s voices… but sometimes men too.” 

“Like what? And why is that funny?” Ilya said, genuinely curious. 

“Umm… like my mom said my name the other day to get my attention, and my brain can’t really process the H in it with her voice. Sounds like Sane, or just ane.” He smiled, and Ilya still wasn’t sure what was funny about any of this Cisplatin-born-hearing-hell that Shane would be dealing with for the rest of his life. “Th words are pretty bad. Sometimes I lose that sound completely… there are a few others too. It's been… interesting...trying to put sentences together with missing pieces.” 

“Why is this funny, Shane?” Ilya tried again, still not willing to smile with his weird-ass boyfriend. Are the wave sounds making him fucking high? 

Shane leaned in and kissed Ilya, deep and slow. His hand lingered on his cheek. “Cancer fucking sucks… and my hearing changes fucking suck…” He huffed a laugh. “But it’s as if the universe decided to take away the same sounds from my ears and brain that you struggle to say with your mouth.” 

Ilya smiled. “Ah, you want my Russian accent to stay bad, do you?” He joked. 

Shane nodded. “I just like the idea that if my hearing somehow gets worse, that I will never have to miss a word from your mouth.”

Ilya let out a relieved breath. “What about this?...” He covered Shane’s hand on his face with his own, grazing it with his thumb. “Ya…tebya... lyublyu…” 

Shane smiled and kissed him again. “Well, I don’t speak Russian… so I can’t say for sure. But I think I caught all of that one.” His eyes welled up again. “I love you too.” 

Ilya smiled, as his own eyes welled. “Maybe universe takes things away from you..." Ilya said softly. "But maybe it does not only take." Shane looked at him. "It gave you cancer. It took sounds from you. Your ball…" He squeezed Shane's hand and smiled. "Maybe it took my country from me… but it gave me you.” 

“Mmm… you want my cancer to stay?” Shane joked, echoing Ilya’s earlier sentiments. 

Ilya smiled. “No… but because the universe brought cancer into our lives, we get to live them together now.” He got serious. “I wish I could have taken the cancer from you, Shane… but without it, I would be going back to Russia this summer. I would be going back to a life I hate. I would be closeted forever… but now I get to have you.” 

The phone rang just as Shane was lowering his hands down Ilya’s body. “What the fuck?” He stood to grab it from the other side of the room, but he missed the call. When he looked at the number, his face dropped. “It was Jarvis.” Shane said, staring at the phone. “He left a message.” 

“That was fast.” 

Shane moved to the bed and sat on the edge, while Ilya wrapped his still naked body around him. Shane’s thumb hovered over the voicemail button, he hesitated. “Is okay.” Ilya said, cradling Shane’s hand in his. He reached around him and pressed play for him, as the sound of Jarvis’ voice filled the room. 

“Hi Shane, it's Jarvis. I know you're away, and I promised I'd call as soon as I had your scan results. I didn't want this hanging over your vacation, so I pulled a few strings and had everything expedited. I'm happy to tell you that your scans are completely clear, Shane. As of right now, there is no evidence of cancer.” Shane’s face cracked as he bowed his head. He could hear the relief in Doc’s voice as he continued. “Take a deep breath, enjoy your holiday, and let yourself celebrate this, buddy. You've earned it…We'll still see you back in clinic to go over everything and talk about follow-up, but for today, I just wanted you to hear these words…You're cancer free, Hollander.” He took a deep breath before wrapping up the call. “Congratulations, kid. Have an amazing trip... and try not to think about me or the hospital for a few days, alright? Take care.”

Ilya hung up the phone and wrapped Shane in his arms tightly as they both let every pent up emotion they had felt over the last few months fall from their eyes—together. 

Chapter 18

Chapter Notes

The summer sun beamed through the cottage windows, falling across the bed and over Shane’s ass as he took a moaning Ilya deep in his mouth. Ilya reached up and gripped what he could of Shane’s hair that was working hard to restore itself to its former blowjob-steering-glory—Ilya fucking loved it. Not only did he appreciate that Shane looked healthier with his soon-to-be mop of thick black hair, but he also appreciated that it gave him something to tug in that way that seemed to motivate Shane to lean just a little bit more filthy. Ilya was very much learning to appreciate a healthier, filthier Shane Hollander. As soon as he had enough energy to no longer look like a fucking cancer-zombie, Ilya allowed him to resume pre-cancer-dick-sucking duties, and boy was Ilya glad that energy had returned in spades. 

You are fucking glorious with my dick in your mouth. “Yes, Hollander. Like that.” He moaned, the pleasure taking over his entire body. 

It was summer, and after a long season of overcoming adversity, the boys were overwhelmingly delighted to be back at the cottage where they could soak each other in for a couple of months before heading back to training camp in the fall. 

Shane never did return to the ice for his sophomore season, but rather focused on rehabbing his post-cancer body. At first, rehab looked like anything but hockey. There were no skates, no stick, no puck—instead there were resistance bands, balance boards, and painfully slow walks on a fucking treadmill while somebody sat and monitored his lung capacity, heart rate, and god knows what else. It felt like he was training to go to the fucking moon more than it felt like preparing for a return to hockey. His body had lost muscle, his lungs were far from the pre-Bleomycin functional machines they once were, and the neuropathy left his hands and feet still feeling disconnected from his body. Some days he only managed a twenty minute rehab session before his body told him he was done, only to require a four hour nap to recover. 

I think you have been rehabbing for blowjobs. Your lung capacity seems fine while you slurp on my cock, Ilya thought as Shane continued to go to fucking work, his head bobbing up and down relentlessly as Ilya admired the view. Who needs lake when I wake up to this view. 

His strength returned slowly as they rebuilt him muscle by muscle, but they worked on the finer points as well. The tingling in his fingers lingered and he worked with therapists on dexterity and grip strength—things he had once taken for granted. The process was a series of painful exercises that felt fucking small for a man who had trained as a professional athlete his whole life. He went from stick handling through three defenders and putting the puck top shelf, to stacking fucking Cheerios on a table like a damn toddler. Eventually a stick was added back into the equation, but Shane liked to think that he made more progress giving Ilya painfully slow hand jobs as often as he could than he did stacking tiny objects on a therapy table. Ilya’s dick was as good a therapist as any. Honestly, sex in general made for excellent therapy, forcing him to work on his stamina, strength, balance, and dexterity, all in one shot. 

“Fuck, Shane. I am going to shoot right down your throat.” Ilya moaned, and Shane sucked harder, faster. 

Shane’s audiologist was his closest relationship next to Ilya, without the benefit of an orgasm, unfortunately. The tinnitus hadn’t gone anywhere, and they had determined it likely never would. Shane was able to accept that the frequencies he had lost would not be coming back either, so instead he was forced to adjust. He dropped his pride and accepted help in the form of hearing aids that he could simply slip on when needed and during games to overcome the crowd noise and focus on the important soundtrack of hockey that he hadn’t been so aware of before it no longer played the way it once did. They worked hard in therapies to find strategies that helped him separate voices from background noise, and learn to fill in the gaps when it came to the spoken sounds he now struggled with. 

“Holy fuck, Hollander. I’m going to cum.” Ilya shouted, forcing Shane down on his dick. 

Shane forced himself off and shot Ilya a sly grin. “Sorry, what was that? I’m a little hard of hearing.” 

Oh you lying little fucker. Ilya grabbed him and tried to force him back down. “Fuck you, Hollander.” He said, as he watched Shane’s mouth open wide for him again. 

“Boys!.. Come help me with this stuff.” They heard then from the doorway. 

Yuna. Fuck. “Fuck, Hollander. You did not say they were coming this early!” He said, pulling himself upright against the headboard as he abruptly removed his hard dick from Shane’s mouth.

“Ow, Jesus.” Shane whined. 

“You could not hear your mother?” Ilya said, briskly getting out of bed. 

Shane smiled. “I mean yeah… I’m not actually deaf.” He said, whispering, as if this was the part that needed to be quiet. “I just thought you were like ten seconds from fucking wrapping it up.” 

“I am not going to cum with your mother in the house, Shane.” 

Shane smiled again. “Been doing it for years, by myself.” 

Ilya furrowed his brows. “This is lie, Hollander… you did not fuck yourself good enough to even find ball tumor, never mind orgasm.” 

“Oh fuck you, I shot my load at my parents house plenty of…” 

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” David said as he walked into what was luckily a still fully clothed Shane, and a naked Ilya who was able to scamper off to the bathroom with his rock hard cock in his hand before David could see him. 

Shane brushed his hands over his face. “Hi dad.” Are you fucking frozen? David stood in the doorway like the world’s most uncomfortable statue. 

“Shit, sorry…” He said again before walking out the door. 

Shane couldn’t help but smile. After having his teenage Russian rival, and gay sexual awakening inspect his ball sack in great detail, then having said ball removed from his body, in turn creating a new sack worth fondling by several doctors, wanking off into plastic cup in a $350 fuck pad, losing his hair, his hearing, and much of his dignity, on top of being a raging homosexual in a conservative sport—his tolerance for embarrassment was suddenly through the fucking roof. It was actually fun to watch Ilya be the one to squirm with embarrassment now. 

When he heard the sound of his parents bantering and opening and closing cupboard doors in the kitchen, Shane got out of bed and leaned in the bathroom doorway looking at Ilya. “You gonna take care of that before coming down?” He asked, smuggly gesturing to Ilya’s still hard dick. 

“No! I will wait until is gone and then come down.” Shane moved closer to him seductively, hand outstretched until it wrapped around Ilya. He let out a small gasp. “Hollander, no. Door is still open.” Shane stretched his leg back and kicked the bathroom door shut. Ilya rolled his eyes. “Just because you have chemo ears does not mean they do.” He continued, but he also made no attempt at stopping Shane.

Shane leaned in close as he stroked Ilya faster and faster. “When did you get so boring, Rozanov?” 

I am very boring now, aren’t I? Shane Hollander gave me boring like STI. “Is contagious. You blow your boring into my dick like balloon.” He said, learning back with his hands on his hips, unintentionally thrusting harder into Shane’s hand. It only took a few more good thrusts and Ilya was coming all over his own stomach, as Shane carefully aimed it away from himself. 

Shane looked him up and down like he was a filthy pig. “Jesus… get a hold of yourself, Rozanov. My fucking parents are here.” He grimaced playfully. “Look at that big mess…clean yourself up.” He gestured to his stomach before grinning and walking out of the room.

Ilya looked down at himself and smiled, almost embarrassed—but so fucking in love. When did Shane Hollander get so fucking fun? “Some of us have two balls worth of cum, asshole.” He muttered under his breath. 

Shane peeked his head back in the room. “I think my one ball gets the job done just fine, asshole.” 

“Oh so that you can hear.” 

Shane made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. “Did you need something, Dad?” He asked, still not sure why his dad needed to come to his bedroom where he knew he and his boyfriend were staying.

David wouldn’t make eye contact. “No… you didn’t answer and I was just… worried.” He admitted, then smiled at the ground. “And I still kind of forget you have a guest here this summer.” 

Well that’s kind of cute. He moved towards his mom and gave her a hug, something he was trying to remember to do more often these days. He could admit that his behavior during his diagnosis and treatment was less than ideal, and as he learned more and more about Ilya’s family dynamics it made him all the more grateful for his own family. “Hi, Mom.” 

“How you feeling?” She said, embracing him tightly. It was a question he still hated, especially when it was the first thing that came out of her mouth, as well as half of the population’s anytime they saw him. He was also trying to remember that the last year had been traumatic for her too, and while he may have lost pieces of himself physically, she lost her peace too. She lost the imaginary world that mom’s have to live inside to protect themselves from the reality that their children may not be invincible. 

“Good… really good.” He said confidently, and it wasn’t a lie. He looked out over the lake and felt nothing but peace and calm—a far cry from the anxiety and panic brought into his world by hospital rooms and infusion chairs. 

“Good.” David said, finally able to look at him. “I thought maybe after we have this little meeting, we could head out on the boat and do some fishing this afternoon. I think Ilya enjoyed it this winter.” 

He would absolutely hate that. “Sure dad, he would love that.” He lied, as he heard footsteps from behind him. 

“What would he love?” Ilya said, quickly moving past Shane to give David and Yuna each a hug. 

Shane smiled. “You’d love to go fishing.” 

Ilya raised his brows. “Ah yes… I love sitting and staring at water while boat makes me feel dizzy.” 

“Perfect.” David said, missing the sarcasm entirely. 

Ilya smiled. Mmm. Genetic. 

Yuna finished putting away the groceries that Shane hadn’t asked her to buy or deliver. “So, Ilya… how is your first summer away from Russia treating you? Are you excited to spend your birthday here next week? Are you going to invite anyone special?”

Are you fucking reporter. “Is good.” Ilya said simply. 

The reality was that it was complicated, and he didn’t know it until he found himself driving from the airport to the cottage instead of on a tarmac in Moscow. He was half a world away from his former life—a life that brought him very little joy, but somehow still carried the weight of a million memories and familial connection. He knew rationally that this was the right choice for his own mental health and future, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a little  bittersweet. 

Yuna smiled and seemed to understand that it might need to be left at that for now. She smiled and clapped her hands. “Alright, we should sit down and sort out your summer boys. Anyone need a drink or anything before we start?” 

David was already throwing the boys each a beer, shooting a glance Yuna’s way that said, you’re going to want a few of these to deal with this. The boys smiled and accepted, and Shane was happy to be able to indulge now.  

Shane nodded and looked outside. “Let’s go out there in the fresh air.” He had had enough being cooped up indoors for one year. 

When they settled outside on the patio, Shane leaned back in his chair and tilted his face towards the sun, soaking up the warmth of it on his face. Ilya admired him with a charmed grin. You are stunning, Hollander. He reached under the table and gently grazed his thigh, unable to keep his hands to himself. I love you so fucking much. 

“Okay… business first.” Yuna began and Shane rolled his eyes. Yuna went on to bore them both for a solid fifteen minutes, rambling on about sponsorships, endorsements, and engagements they would not be able to avoid. 

I could have stayed in bed and cum three times by now. “Okay mom… I think we’ve got it. Boring summer is upon us… we will figure it out.” Shane wasn’t sure why he was in such a rush to move past this part, the next parts were going to be so much worse. 

Yuna reached out her hand and placed it gently on Ilya’s thigh. What is this thigh touching train? Ilya looked at her expectantly, waiting for what was next. “Honey, have you heard from the facility back home?” Home. That is not home anymore. Ilya nodded and Yuna continued. “Okay, and do you think it will be a good fit for him? You’re paying top dollar for his care… so we need to make sure that we are seeing the value. You’ve been in touch with the agency too? With him?” 

Ilya smiled, not at the question but at the delivery. Yuna so often forgot that English passed through Ilya’s ears, and then through the translator that his brain was forced to become, sometimes against his will. It still wasn’t easy, and she bombarded him with questions like the reporters did, leaving no time to answer one question before even processing the others. Reading the room was not a strength for the Hollander’s, and Ilya viewed it as some kind of miracle that they were able to adapt to Shane’s needs so well over the last year. They were able to adapt to his needs because they led with love—he hoped they would do the same for him now that his needs were closer to becoming front and center. 

Shane’s hand landed on his. “Mom… slow down. One question at a time.” 

Ilya was so fucking charmed by this boy. Somehow they were both boys, who over the span of only a couple of years and a lot of adversity, were growing into men together. Men who had learned to advocate and care for each other in a way that so many young couples would not be forced to learn until much later in life. He still wondered how Shane could have ever thought that he was not an adequate caregiver. The way Ilya saw it was simple—from the moment that Shane bravely stepped up to the plate and admitted that he and Ilya were together in his kitchen in Montreal, he was taking care of Ilya. He had selflessly made the choice to be himself, despite it being the most terrifying thing that Shane could think of—scarier than cancer. Still, he did it for himself, and he did it for Ilya. Every step that they had taken since that day had been hand in hand, together against cancer, against fear, against the world. He had become a true partner in a single breath. 

Yuna smiled softly and nodded, understanding. “Have you talked to your dad?”

Ilya nodded. “Is… hard.” He admitted. “He is not happy when he is…” He looked at Shane, not remembering the English word. 

“Lucid.” Shane said quietly. 

“Yes, lucid.” He looked down at Shane’s hand on his. “He is very angry when he is aware of where he is… and who put him there.” He looked at Yuna after a second. “Other times he calls and does not know I am not in Russia. Or he thinks I am my brother. He talks about my mother.” Shane could see the sadness on his face and held his hand a little tighter. Ilya continued. “They are trying to monitor calls… like let him use their phone when he is…” The word escaped him again, briefly. “Lucid… so I know when I see that number that he will be angry. If is his number, he might be confused.” I don’t want to fucking pick up either. 

Yuna nodded. “You know you don’t have to pick any of them up, right? If you don’t want to. He's well cared for, regardless of whether or not you are on the other end of the phone now.” 

Fucking witch. “I know.” Ilya said quietly. He found himself ignoring more and more calls, knowing damn well that his dad had always only called him when he was ready to go on an hour-long rant about Ilya’s inadequacies. But sometimes he felt like he still owed the man something. 

“What about your brother? Has the home mentioned if he has visited? Have you talked to him?”

Three questions. Come on, Mom. Shane thought, but this time Ilya’s face told him that he followed the line of questioning. 

Ilya shook his head. “He has not gone… but Director said that he has had other visitors sign in. Old work friends. Maybe family?”

“Aw. That’s nice.” Yuna tried.

I am not sure why anyone would want to visit. “Yes. And I have blocked Alexei’s number.” Shane beamed at Ilya, so proud of that choice. He knew it hadn’t been an easy one. 

Yuna visibly checked a couple of boxes off of the long list in front of her before speaking again. “Okay, and your agent. Are you happy with your new representatives?” 

Ilya smiled. “I mean, my Manager is little bossy and walks in house unannounced… but agent is very good.” He said cheekily. 

“Brave.” David said, raising his brows. 

Yuna smiled. “Careful… I’ll start to take a twenty-five percent cut, smart ass. Seriously though, you’re happy with that whole situation now?”

“Very.” Ilya admitted. 

“Good.” She smiled at him in the most tender and loving way. 

Shane caught the look and knew in that moment that she was very much looking at a man that she already viewed as family, and she would take care of him the same way she took care of Shane. How the fuck did we get this lucky, he thought as he looked back at Ilya who was casually cracking his third beer. I don’t blame you, dude. 

Yuna turned her attention to Shane and her face got serious again. “Your turn… I need to book your next follow up scans, and…” 

“Already done.” Shane said, a little too proud of himself. 

“What do you mean?” She asked confused. 

Shane started counting on his fingers as he listed his accomplishments. “I have my follow up with oncology booked, new hearing aid fittings the next day, a special meeting with the prosthetic people…” 

Yuna interrupted. “Oh I didn’t realize you decided…” 

Shane interrupted her interruption. “Haven’t decided anything… just having the meeting.” He glanced up to her with raised brows. “You aren’t going to know either way, mom… and I need you not to ask. Okay?” She nodded fondly. “Then I booked a physical with Jarvis for a summer baseline… just to make sure things are improving. And…” He looked at Ilya, confused. “There was something else.”

Ilya smiled at him with so much adoration. “Hair cut…” He said softly. 

Shane smiled. “Yes. That’s it… maybe the most important one.” He brushed his hands through his very uneven hair regrowth—he looked a little mangey, and he knew it. He was still happy to have it back. Yuna looked like she wanted to cry. “What, mom?” 

She couldn’t speak, so David stepped in. “I think we're just proud of you, Shane. Getting all of that done might not be a big deal for everyone… but it is for you. You’re doing a good job.” 

Shane nodded and looked at Ilya. “I didn’t do most of it.” 

Yuna and David looked at Ilya and smiled again. “Thank you, Ilya.” David said with so much fucking love it made the boys chests ache. 

Ilya shrugged. “Is not big deal…" He lied. It was a very big deal, to Shane at least. Ilya knew it because he had thrown himself into a world of researching the million ways he could be a better partner to Shane, who had a brain that in no way resembled his own. He decided quickly that some needed the encouragement to learn how to handle their own shit—but for the Shane's of the world, support looked a little bit different. For Shane, picking up the phone to make a simple appointment came with the weight of a thousand tiny decisions. It came with the fear that the script he made up in his mind might not go to plan. It came with a level of anxiety that somehow rivalled battling cancer itself. If Ilya could do a simple task and solve a million tiny problems for the man that he loved, he would dial the phone as many times as he needed him to. "I just want to go see fake plastic ball too.”

“Fuck you.” Shane said with a smile.

He shrugged again. “Maybe squeeze it? Test it out…” 

“Okay…” Shane interrupted. “Take the thank you and shut up, okay?” Ilya laughed. 

David and Yuna glanced at each other and somehow managed to take synchronized deep breaths before leaning back in their chairs. 

Oh God… what are they about to say, both boys thought at the same time. 

David nodded at Yuna in a silent agreement and leaned forward in his chair. “We need to make a plan for the two of you. Moving forward.” Ilya and Shane looked at each other and nodded, interlocking their hands as they rested on Ilya’s thigh. David continued. “Your teams know. Is there anyone else?” They shook their heads. “Okay, so I think we have a couple options. We could wait and…” 

“We're coming out.” Shane said quickly, before David could get too far down his well-rehearsed list of plans. 

“Wow.” Yuna and David said, looking at each other. 

Shane looked at Ilya and smiled. He met his gaze and looked for the courage that always seemed to live in his eyes. He looked back to his parents. “Our teams know, and they don’t care. The alternative is waiting until we fucking retire… and after surviving cancer, I'm not sure I have the time to fucking wait to disappoint people, Mom.” He looked at her. “People aren’t going to be kind either way… but we have a life to live, and I came close enough to losing it before even getting the chance to love him openly.” 

Yuna swallowed hard. When the hell did my little boy grow up on me? “Okay.” She took a breath. “Are you sure you want to be the pioneers of…” 

“Being gay?” Ilya said with a laugh. He smiled wide. “I think all pioneers were little gay… no technology. Lots of time for experimenting…” 

Even Yuna got a little laugh out of that one. “You’d be the first. You can change hockey, hopefully for the better… but it’s also a lot to carry. You’re sure you’re ready?”

Shane and Ilya exchanged a glance and Ilya spoke again. “Someone has to be first… I don’t think there is better advocate and leader than your son.” He looked back at Shane and felt the tears burning in his eyes. “He is very brave.” He sniffed back the tears and smiled again. “And very very hot.” He winked. 

“Shut up.” Shane said, wiping away a sneaky tear of his own.

They were too busy staring into each other’s eyes like two love-struck baby gay’s to notice the tears welling in David and Yuna’s eyes too. Too much crying with these fucking Hollanders, Ilya thought when he finally looked at them. 

“So, how?” Yuna asked. A woman who needed a plan for everything. 

Shane held Ilya’s hand a little tighter. “We talked about it… and we are going to let our agent know first. And you’re going to have to take care of the sponsors and business end. Then we just plan on…” He looked at Ilya and shrugged. “Living. I guess.” 

“No formal announcement?” David asked with a smile. 

Shane shook his head. “I didn’t announce my cancer… and I’m not announcing this. People who want to show up and fight for us will, and the rest don’t matter.” 

Yuna smiled. “You know they do matter though, right? They matter a lot.” Shane looked at her confused. “Young people who watch this unfold will hear the loudest voices… and the loudest voices are often the one’s who shouldn’t be heard at all.” She smiled softly at the boys. “Just keep that in mind. While you’re out living… do it loudly. Do it proudly. Give those kids something worth seeing… because the things they will be reading online are the things that could hurt them.” 

Ilya and Shane looked at each other again, considering those words. Ilya turned away first, looking at Yuna. “I already have whole country that is too loud… what if we make statement? Is that better idea? Better for kids?”

Yuna shrugged. “I can’t answer that for you. Any choice you make is a brave one… and no straight player has ever had to make a fucking statement about who they love. So if it’s on principle, I think you can stick to it… but if you want to make a statement, maybe you need to write one.” 

“Are you going to let the league know?” David asked. 

“No.” Shane and Ilya answered at the same time. 

The league and its commissioner were known to be less-than-welcoming to anyone who wasn’t a straight, white man. This would be their fucking nightmare, and they had both agreed a long time ago that they didn’t deserve a preview.

“You’re not worried about your jobs?” David continued. 

“Of course we are.” Shane admitted. “But we talked about it… and there are thirty-two fucking teams in this league. If there isn’t a single team in the league that would embrace us as we are, then maybe we don’t need to fill their wallets anymore than we already have… they have more to lose than we do.” 

“Wow.” Yuna said again, leaning back in her chair. 

“What?” Shane asked, a little spicy. 

She smiled. “You’re awfully brave for a boy who was too nervous to touch his own balls less than a year ago.” 

Ilya burst out laughing, but Shane didn’t—he stayed serious and dropped his head. “Maybe being so close to losing everything made me not want to lose anything else.” 

Ilya smiled. “For record… I think he is still scared to touch his ball.” He shrugged. “Not scared to touch mine though…” 

“Shut the fuck up, Ilya.” Shane shot back. 

“Okay, okay, okay…” Yuna said, waving her hands to get back on track. “So what now? You are just together? Ilya, you’re like… moving in here?” 

Ilya smiled at Shane. “I have no where to go… and have sexy landlord here. So I think yes, probably.” 

Shane smiled back. “If you think your agent and manager were overcharging… wait until you see your rent.” Twenty fucking orgasms a week minimum, asshole. 

I hope sex is currency. “I will pay anything for this view.” Ilya said cornily, staring right at Shane. He could see him fucking blush under those glorious freckles and knew he could live here forever. 

Yuna and David just stared at them for a moment. You are so fucking in love, you absolute idiots. “What about hockey? You’ll be RFA’s after this season. What then? You can’t just leave without a lot of negotiating.”

Shane smiled. “We talked about that too.” He sent a devilish grin Ilya’s way. “We still love playing against each other… so we're okay to maybe sign short contracts after this year, with our teams.”

“What!?” Yuna said, a little shocked. 

Shane shrugged. “We’re young, mom. We have a lifetime to be together, and I think we both feel like we owe our teams for being so great this last year… about all of this. We wouldn’t be ready to sign like a seven year extension or anything, but maybe a couple years just to…” 

David smiled and interrupted. “You little shits want to see who can win a fucking Cup first, don’t you?”

They looked at each other and smiled. Ilya shrugged again. “Long distance for couple years is small price to pay to have name on Cup before him.” He said cheekily.

“In your fucking dreams, Rozanov.” Shane shot back. 

You young, fucking idiots. “You’d rather do that than win one together?” David continued.

“Yes.” They said at the same time, smiles wider than they thought possible. 

“For now…” Shane said softly. “If we're out, our time won’t be as limited as it would be if we kept this a secret. We can fly back and forth freely when our schedules allow for it, and we can have our entire summer here at the cottage… or anywhere else we want to travel.” He looked at Ilya again, a look filled with the utmost love and tenderness again. God, I love you so fucking much. “I don’t think we're ready to give up the thing that made us fall for each other in the first place.” 

“And what’s that?” Yuna asked earnestly. 

“Desire to make him cry on ice, and in bed.” Ilya said, grinning at Shane. 

I’m going to fucking kill you. “Jesus Christ, Ilya.” Shane said, embarrassed once again, but his parents laughed. Shane looked at them. “I was going to say our drive to be the best.” He smiled softly, really taking a moment to reflect on that sentiment. “I think we can compete and make each other better on the ice, and still be the best versions of ourselves for each other off the ice too.” 

Ilya got serious again. “If team has problem with us by end of season, we will sign offer sheets together somewhere. Make teams fight and negotiate… but we will not end up somewhere where we will not see each other.”

Shane looked at his mom. “Mom, I want to play with him someday…” He moved his gaze back to Ilya. “And I think I might even want to marry him one day…” 

Ilya smiled. Same. 

Shane went back to Yuna and smiled. “But I still want to destroy him on the fucking ice for a little while longer…” He looked back at Ilya. “With no cancer, and a single fucking ball.” Ilya closed his eyes just briefly, trying to keep his tears at bay. Shane noticed. He reached a hand out and placed it on his cheek. “Hey… you good?” He asked quietly. 

Ilya covered his hand on his cheek and nodded softly. He opened his eyes and allowed a tear to fall. “I can’t wait to beat up my healthy, cancer-free boyfriend for another year. And I can't wait to see you back on ice...even if you are bad at hockey now.” Shane laughed and kissed his forehead. 

“Okay…Wow.” Yuna said softly, voice a little shaky. “And if you decide to make a statement… where will you do that?”

Ilya pulled out his phone. “Can I do now?” 

Shane smiled at him, knowing he was absolutely serious. Honestly, Shane’s threshold for give-a-fucks had changed greatly post-cancer as well. Not even because of the cancer necessarily, but rather from what came of it—a supportive network of family and friends that would die on the “these kids are fucking alright” hill. He loved Ilya Rozanov. What the fuck was the league or the world going to do about it? Were they going to say goodbye to two of the best players the game had ever seen in the name of fear and bigotry? He really fucking doubted that. Imagine putting your cash cows out to pasture because they both happened to be bulls who liked to fuck. 

Yuna laughed. “What would you post?” 

Ilya shrugged. “Sex tape?” 

Shane took his hand from Ilya’s and whacked him across the chest. You’re giving me emotional fucking whiplash, Rozanov.

Yuna looked serious. “Wait… you don’t actually…” 

“God, Mom. No.” He said, suddenly passing the previous raised threshold of embarrassment and give-a-fucks. 

Ilya laughed. “Maybe just pictures. From start of us… from this year. This summer. With corny caption.” He smiled again. “Maybe #igettoenjoyhollanderslonelyball” 

“Seriously?” Shane said, shooting a glare his way. For a guy who didn’t want me to jerk him off in the same house as my parents an hour ago, you sure are feeling fucking bold right now.

“What? You know one ball is my best friend. #dontworryhislonelyballhastwofriends.” He nudged Shane, who was brushing his hands over his face again to hide the blush in his cheeks. Ilya smiled proudly. I want lifetime of making you blush…that is perfect corny caption. 

Yuna smiled. “I can’t believe I am going to say this… but I actually trust you boys. Whatever you decide. But if you are going to post something, give me an hour to call some sponsors. And call your agent, okay?” 

They looked at each other again. “Should we?” Shane asked, and he didn’t need an answer. The smile that stretched across Ilya’s face, and the new shine in his eyes told him that he was all in. They were fucking doing this thing. “Okay.” Shane looked at his mom. “I think we have some fishing to do… but why don’t you make those calls, mom? And when we get back we will, uh…” He looked at Ilya, and suddenly felt choked up. “We will fucking pioneer this shit.” Ilya leaned in, and kissed him really fucking hard—not giving a single flying fuck who was watching. 

Chapter End Notes

This is be completed, promise… I’ve just been taking a very necessary internet break, and it’s been so nice. I have been reading more than writing, and living more than scrolling.

I promise I’ll get the last couple chapters done, but I’m just out here enjoying life and protecting my peace. ♥️

Chapter 19

Chapter Notes

I've had a nice little internet break while I thought about where I needed this story to go. Originally, it was going to stay sunshine and rainbows... but we had to put the boys through it one last time to come out on the other end. We needed a catalyst for change in this fucking league... so I AM SORRY.

Sunshine and rainbows from here on out! Promise! We are almost done. :)

PS: I know the ages of players are probably messed up... but this is a fictional world, okay?

What a fucking night—they could see the headlines already. This would be all over the news and the internet before they even crawled in bed, and Ilya could only hope that they would be on the right side of it. The headlines running through his mind had him convinced otherwise. 

HOLLANDER JAW BROKEN—PROBABLY FROM SUCKING TOO MANY DICKS

A VICTORY FOR THE HOMOPHOBES—ONE HOMO DOWN, ONE TO GO

ROZANOV AIMS FOR ORGY—GETS BRAWL INSTEAD

“Have you ever been in principal’s office?” Ilya leaned in and whispered to Shane, who attempted a fake smile and immediately winced, adjusting the ice pack on his jaw. He shook his head, and Ilya could see how painful the movement was. You need fucking x-ray of jaw, he thought, already taking on some of the anxiety that he knew that would bring Shane. 

Hospital’s weren’t often happy places for anyone—they were certainly not happy places to people who had visited them for days on end having poison pumped into them and also saw them as somewhat of a hearing and testicle graveyard. Ilya was reminded of the fact that his ball had likely been disposed of at said hospital when he watched Shane adjust his fucking sack for the millonth time that day. He leaned in to whisper again. “Just get that fucking thing taken out already.” Shane shot him a glare and Ilya really did wonder just how fucked up his face was when he continued to take the deaf-fake-balled-mute communication route. He wondered if he was about to try to say something, but the door swung open then. 

Theriault entered the room, and Ilya wondered how the fuck he ended up in a rival team’s coach’s office on Tuesday night, as if he could fucking fire him from a team he didn’t even play on. He also wondered how the fuck this wasn't even landing in the top three strangest fucking Tuesday's he had experienced that year. Theriault first went to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a bottle of something amber and three glasses. He looked up and made eye contact with Shane only briefly, who must have shaken his head, because he returned one of the glasses before pouring out two drinks and sliding one over to Ilya. He didn’t sit down. He moved around the desk and crouched down in front of Shane, reaching for the ice bag he was resting on his face. “Let me see, kid.” Shane allowed him to pull it away, wincing once again. “Fuck, Hollander.” He said before giving him a reassuring pat on the leg. “How many stitches?” He asked as he made his way over to the side of Ilya’s chair, still looking at Shane. 

“Twenty-seven.” Shane answered, barely moving his mouth. 

“Jesus.” Theriault said, as he inspected Ilya’s knuckles. He shot Ilya a quick do you not realize these are multi-million dollar fucking hands look, before grabbing his chin and turning his head to see the large bruise that was already blooming on a nearly swollen shut eye. He moved back to his desk and opened another drawer, throwing Ilya a crackable ice pack. His gaze moved back to Shane. “You meet your concussion baseline?” Shane shook his head. Obviously fucking not, Theriault thought, his eyes still landing on Shane’s face in disbelief. “Neck sore? Looked like you could have some major whiplash at the very least.” Shane thought about how to answer for a moment and nodded again. “Jaw? X-rays?” 

Ilya could answer that one. “We will grab Jarvis and take him in when we leave here.” 

Theriault looked back at Shane once more. “You think it’s broken?” 

Both of their eyes landed on Shane, concerned and a little bit angry. Shane’s eyes welled up just enough to show just how over this shit he was. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his face unable to hide the pain of just that simple act. He gave them the smallest nod, almost imperceivable. 

Theriault nodded back and opened yet another desk drawer, grabbing a notebook and a pen and sliding it across the table. “Don’t talk, just write.” He looked at him with so much tenderness and care, and Ilya noticed the way that he always did. “Don’t make it worse.” I thought we were done seeing him in pain. This poor fucking kid. 

Shane closed his eyes again, and moved to rest his head on the back of the chair, failing to realize it didn’t come up that high—a habit from weeks in a hospital bed or an infusion chair. He let out a small whine, regretting it immediately. Ilya reached out a hand and gave Shane’s thigh a quick squeeze, unsure of what else he could do with his hands at this point. His own hands fucking hurt too. 

Finally, the door opened again, and the person they had been waiting on entered the room. She was tall, probably in her late fifties, with strands of long silver hair doing their best to camouflage themselves in her otherwise long, dark, and gorgeous mane. She looked fucking expensive. She looked fucking intimidating. She pulled up a chair adjacent to Theriault’s desk without a word and extended her hand to each of the boys. “Susan Bailey.” She said, as Shane offered her a weak left hand in place of a real handshake, his right still occupied with an ice pack on his face. She did the same to Ilya and he was both impressed by the intensity and strength of her handshake, and unimpressed at the way it felt on his tender right hand. How hard could a guy's fucking face be, he thought as he tried to massage away the pain of it. 

Shane could hear her talking, but he wasn’t able to take any of it in as he replayed the events of the night over and over in his head—no, he replayed the whole year. It had been just over a year since he had started chemotherapy and lost a fucking ball. Six months ago, he and Ilya came out to the world. If you had asked him post-treatment and post-closet-exit how he would be feeling about now, his answer would not have been fucked up with a broken face, and more defeated than he had been with a cancer diagnosis and the prospect of walking around with a half empty ball sack for the rest of his life. 

For a couple of months, he and Ilya had existed in an isolated-sex-cottage-induced bliss, only to return to the ice to be reminded that the NHL and homophobia went hand in hand. You couldn’t filter out slurs shouted into your face, and blatant slashes to the back of the knees while they were uttered the same way you could filter out the negative Instagram comments. They had a rude awakening. They were so fucking grateful that their teams had accepted them so easily, though they found themselves wondering more and more if they had actually fully accepted them, or if the cancer of it all had just adjusted their perspective enough for them to temporarily not care. Luckily, they hadn't reverted back to something more sinister, but it was always in the back of Shane's mind that they could—sitting across from Theriault now, with the soft look on his face, at least gave him hope. They were much less grateful that many of the other teams did not accept them in the slightest. The events of the night were not isolated. They were constant and endless, targeted attack after targeted attack—though tonight was far uglier, and far more personal. 

His mind was already foggy, but Shane recalled scoring his second goal of the night before he found himself face down on cold ice with blood pooling around his face. He remembered the feeling of a fist, and somehow he knew who the fist belonged to, despite the fact that his back was to the guy the entire time. As he skated back to his own bench, hand outstretched to high five the boys in celebration, Dallas Fucking Kent had managed to snake his way behind him wrapping a dirty, blind, cheap shot around Shane’s face, cracking him in the jaw before pile driving him face first into the ice. He remembered the word faggot, though he had heard it so often he wasn’t sure at this point if it had been real, or something his brain just filled in the same way it did with so many sounds that he had still not regained post chemo. 

For months, Shane had kept his cool—tonight he ran out of cool, but he didn’t have the brain or body to even make it to lukewarm. He tried to spring up to his feet, leaving a trail of blood as it poured from his chin. He tried to track down the piece of shit who had tried to fucking kill him. Unfortunately, his brain that likely resembled a pan of scrambled eggs by that point had him spinning in circles, discombobulated as his face acted like a blood sprinkler, spraying the ice with his dick-loving-DNA. Even with his hearing aids, the ringing in his ears and the sounds around him were so distorted he couldn’t seem to get his bearings—and then there were arms under his, dragging him to safety as his teammates found themselves in an all out, bench clearing brawl around him. He was dragged down the tunnel, and helped onto a training table—and now he was here when he should probably be in a fucking hospital. Everyone seemed quick to usher him out of the tunnels and into the offices, as if a war was breaking out down there. Fuck. 

“Shane?” Theriault was trying to meet his gaze, but Shane’s mind was elsewhere. He looked at Susan. “I think we need to get him to a fucking hospital and deal with this later.” He said, coming around to place a hand over Shane’s. 

Shane snapped out of it. “No.” He said, his teeth not separating whatsoever when he spoke, despite the fact that they rested uncomfortably in his mouth—they were definitely not where they should be. 

“Shane…” Theriault and Ilya tried. 

“No.” He said, more sternly. “Tell me again.” He muttered in Susan’s direction, eyes closed from the pain of it. Theriault tapped the notebook and nudged the pen closer, but Shane shoved it away. 

Fuck your fucking notebook. 

She took a breath and tried again. “I am the on-staff legal counsel for the Montreal Metros, Shane.” She started again. She looked over at Theriault when she recognized that Shane once again had his eyes closed and he may not be listening to anything she had to say. Theriault took over, his hand still resting on Shane’s.

“Shane… She thinks that there are grounds to pursue charges here.” He began. “Susan and the team have already reviewed everything, and what Kent did tonight went beyond what you sign up for when you play in this league.” He took a breath and gave Shane’s hand a squeeze. “Shane… this was a blatant assault. If you decide that you want to pursue charges, you will have our support and…” 

“No.” Shane muttered again, his eyes watering. 

Theriault glanced at a frustrated Ilya and back to Shane. “He’s going to be suspended, Hollander. Probably for a very long time...but this could have been so much worse. He could have…” 

“No.” He didn’t have the energy to say much more, but Ilya was about to force his hand. 

Ilya looked at him with a strange combination of rage and love. “Shane… we can’t keep letting guys fucking do this. He could have fucking broken your neck or…” 

Shane looked back at him, with a lot more rage and a lot less love. He spoke through literal gritted teeth, unable to open his jaw properly. “I press charges… he fucking presses charges.” He looked back to his feet, breathing hard through an awful combination of physical and emotional pain. He reached for the paper and pen and wrote furiously. Ilya couldn’t help but stare at his stitched up chin, noticing that his jaw was most certainly, not as it should be, as Shane was forced to free up his ice pack hand to write. 

His was on ice. Yours was off. You’ll be charged and could lose your fucking job.

Ilya looked away too, unable to face Shane. Well fuck. He’s right… but I’m not sure he had to underline anything. Seems a little passive-aggressive, Hollander. 

Ilya had been watching the game from the comfort of Shane’s couch, the Hollander’s there to join him. It was Ilya’s new favorite tradition—watching the love of his life do what he loved, healthy and happy once again with the people who had accepted him like family. It was as wonderful as ever, until it wasn’t. The moment he saw a woozy, bleeding, and clearly fucked up Shane, unable to find his bench or his bearings, he was on his fucking feet. I’m going to fucking kill him. 

The winter air was biting as he ran towards the arena, grateful that Shane lived so close to it. No one on the security team even batted a fucking eye when he barged through the team doors that he had frequented as a player. They didn’t bat an eye as he turned right, the way he always had, instead of turning left towards the Metros dressing rooms. They didn’t bat a fucking eye when he ripped open the door to the opposing teams dressing room—and then there were twenty grown fucking men batting all the eyes as Ilya walked clear across the room to a smiling Dallas Kent. Next thing he knew, Kent was on the floor, and Ilya was taking punches left and right—until he felt hands on him, dragging his ass out the door, down the hall, and back to where he had come from. 

“You need to fucking chill! Alright?!” He heard, but he was doing everything he could to get the hell back in there. He had a fucking murder to commit. “Rozanov!” The man shook him once, getting his attention. Troy Barrett. 

Fuck you, Troy Barrett. Fucking brave for a rookie. Ilya looked at the kid, and spit directly in his beautiful face. 

Troy took a deep breath, hands still on Ilya’s shoulders. “You done now?” Ilya took a second to look around, and realized that the once oblivious security assholes were now very aware of what they had missed and they were surrounding the two men. Ilya nodded and Troy loosened his grip to wipe the spit off his face. Ilya felt bad immediately, not for what he did to Kent—he fucking deserved that. Troy however, did not. He knew Troy had been going through it with the Guardians since he had publicly backed Shane and Ilya when they came out. He was quick to publicly reach out through media interviews with congratulations, letting them know that they should be very proud of themselves. It was fucking bold for a kid so new in the league. Ilya wondered right then if Troy himself may bat for an extra team or two. Baseball is very gay sport... so many balls and dick shaped bats to play with. Tight pants too. Troy was nothing like the future-Ilya-Rozanov-murder-victim, Dallas Kent. He seemed to be on the right side of history in more areas than one. “Sorry, Barrett.” He muttered, wiping blood from a small cut near his eye. 

“All good, man. How is he?” Troy asked, already guiding him in the direction of the Metros dressing room. 

“I don’t know.” Ilya admitted, having been blinded by rage and the desire to stick Dallas Fucking Kent’s head in a fucking blender. “Fuck…” 

Then Theriault had come running down the hall, assistant coaches and Hayden in tow. He saw Ilya and strangely had a look of relief on his face. Fuck, someone told the team I came. Ilya was busted. “My office… now.” Theriault demanded. 

How the fuck would I know where that is? “Where is Shane?” He asked. 

“Office…” Theriault tried again. He looked at Troy. “Barrett.. You better get back there before an all out fucking war starts out here.” He turned to Ilya. “He’s getting stitched up. We will bring him to the office when he’s done. We don’t need you in there right now… we don’t need you down here right now.” He looked at Hayden. “Show him to my office, please… and then get your ass back in there to help our guy upstairs too.” 

Hayden rested a hand on Ilya’s back and guided him towards the large double doors that led them upstairs. “Did you knock the fucker out before they got to you?” He asked quietly. 

A sly smile crept onto Ilya’s face. “I think so.”

That smile was a distant memory now as he looked at the man who seemed to both want to curl up and die, and kill him at the same time. “Shane, if you want to press charges, I will just have to deal with consequences. Is okay.” He tried. Another death glare was shot his way. Okay, guess not. 

Shane grabbed the pen once again, writing something aggressively. It felt longer this time. When he was done, he slammed it down on the desk, grabbed the ice pack, and stood to leave. He slammed the door on the way out. Ilya reached out to read it first. 

Tell the world he called me a fucking faggot, sucker punched me, and smiled about it. Let the queer community fucking eat him alive. 

He turned the notebook so that Theriault could read it, and they both stood. Theriault turned to Susan first. “Thanks, Susan. We will circle back to this when we get him taken care of.” He looked at Ilya. “Go find his keys. I will meet you guys at the hospital.” He clapped a hand on Ilya’s shoulder and grinned. “Did you get him good at least?”

Ilya smiled once again. “I think so.” 

“Good.” 

Jarvis came into the room with a tablet in hand, speaking without his eyes ever leaving the screen. “It’s broken, Shane.” He glanced up at the unsurprised faces of Shane, Ilya, David, Yuna, Theriault, and Hayden. “Oh… you have a crowd.” 

Shane’s eyes landed on him without turning his head. He realized early on that turning his head at this point was a fucking terrible idea. His neck had stiffened considerably since they admitted him, and his face was swollen enough that he could feel the way his teeth rested uncomfortably out of place in his mouth, every stitch pulling when he moved. He felt like shit—again. Only it was so much worse this time, because this time it was caused by a fucking homophobe, and not cancer. This was the result of somebody's choice to fucking hate him, for no reason beyond who he chose to sleep with. Cause of injury—being a fucking homo. “Okay.” He said through a small crack in his busted face. 

Jarvis settled on the edge of the bed in a way that made Shane squirm, bringing back memories of the cycles of visitors who had done the same less than a year ago. “He pointed to the right side of Shane’s face. Your mandible here is displaced. The bone is broken, and it’s shifted, but it hasn’t shattered… so that’s a good thing. You will still need surgery to fix it.” 

“When?” Yuna asked, unable to help herself. 

Jarvis smiled. “We will give him some pain meds tonight so he can get some rest, and they will do the surgery in the morning.” He turned back to Shane. “It will just be a small incision to get in and reduce the fracture, and they will place a small plate and screws to stabilize everything. You won’t have to worry about having your jaw wired shut, but they might have you using elastics after for a little while.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “You’ll still be on a soft or no-chew diet until the bone heals.” 

“More smoothies.” Shane muttered with the faintest smile. 

“More smoothies.” Jarvis said. “Your blender has probably missed you anyway.” 

“Hockey?” Shane asked, looking sadder at that single word than he had during Jarvis’ spiel. 

Jarvis frowned. “You could be back on the ice in a couple of weeks, with a full visor and no contact, but I’m more concerned about this brain of yours.” Shane nodded, already knowing what was coming. “You’re obviously concussed. So we need to get that sorted and get you symptom free before we get you back out there.” 

“Okay.” Shane said, adjusting his balls once again—probably for the third time since Jarvis had entered the room. 

“Seriously, Hollander…” Ilya started. “You will be under…” He gestured to Shane’s dick. “See if they can just take that fucking thing out.” 

Theriault looked between them. “Do I want to know?” 

“Shane! I didn’t know that you decided to…” Yuna began. 

“Mom!” Shane barked, regretting it immediately. He took a deep breath and settled against the pillow. “Can they do that?” He asked, looking at Jarvis. 

“I mean, it’s a long way from your face.” He joked, but Shane wasn’t smiling.

“I hate it.” He said simply.

It was true. Shane had made the decision in the off-season to place the damn prosthetic. It was a minor surgery, and other than the couple days of mild discomfort that followed, it had been fine. The worst part in the beginning was the consultation itself, where Ilya decided he was a fucking scholar with a Master’s Degree in Prosthetic Nut Fondling. He had proceeded to play with no less than ten different ball options, going so far as to reach for Shane’s real remaining ball with the professional in the room so that he could “make sure it was the right feel” —as if he hadn’t fucking memorized the feel of it all day, everyday that summer. Shane had swatted his hand away just in time for Ilya to ask if there were glow in the dark or vibrating options. Naturally, he had to try them on as if they were tits too, wondering out loud if women ever chose to pay for "testicle sized racks", as he proceeded to tell Shane about the biggest boobs he ever got to touch. Shane realized then that the female-admiring part of his twenty-year-old, hot bi-sexual Russian lover may have been a complete fucking scum bag. He was grateful on behalf of women that he had found a man instead—a man without a "supersized set of boobs" to fucking objectify. He wished at that moment that there had been some kind of chemo to treat embarrassment, because he felt like he might die right then and there. 

The fake-nut had turned out to be a sensory nightmare for Shane. He wasn’t sure if it was the feeling of it, the way that it sat uncomfortable next to the real one, or maybe just the fact that he knew that it was fake and exactly how it got there. He was constantly adjusting, constantly fondling his own junk—something he was already so sensitive about without bringing more attention to it. He had convinced himself somewhere along the way that he would be even more sensitive about the lack of testicle, given that part of his job was showering with several other two-balled men. He tried to remind himself that nobody was looking, yet he knew that his whole team could identify who had the largest and smallest dick on any given team, even if they were just looking passively—so the logic was flawed. It was enough for him to want to replace what was missing. He thought he might feel more comfortable during sex, but he was wrong about that too. Ilya loved to play with his balls, the problem was that one of them wasn’t real. There was no feeling, no sensation. It made it feel so detached, so impersonal, so… fake. He knew that he would feel better with it out. He was maybe finally able to accept what cancer had taken from him. 

Jarvis must have read it on his face. “I will talk to your urologist…see if they can coordinate to do it while you’re under.”

Ilya smiled and looked at Shane. “You could recover from both at same time. Would be good.” 

Shane nodded gently. “Please.” 

Shane opened his eyes and found himself in a recovery room, his eyes landing on Ilya. “You’re still here.” Shane mumbled through a cloud of anesthesia and a closed mouth—the elastics doing their job to connect the hooks that were newly fixated on his teeth. He reached down to his sack only briefly, and realized he was relatively pain free and back down to one testicle. He smiled softly, but he was sure he looked like he had had a stroke or something.

Ilya caught the adjustment. “One ball… less for me to suck, while you can’t suck at all. Seems more fair at least.” He joked. He reached for something on the table, and handed it to Shane. The case with his hearing aids. They had taken them out to do imaging the night before. “You want?” He looked up at the lights. “For lights?” 

Shane glanced up at them too, almost mourning their sound. He shook his head. “Still couldn’t hear them anyway.”

He only used the hearing aids in crowded rooms, like the dressing room and doing press, and on the ice to sharpen his senses. Though he had also enjoyed using them when Ilya had pissed him the fuck off and he wanted to use them for evil instead, turning up the built in white noise to drown out Ilya entirely. I should have fucking brought them to the fake-ball consultation. He could admit he played a little dirty sometimes, citing that decision as “an autism thing.” He could own that word sometimes if it meant not having to speak to the fucking Russian Menace who had a bad habit of taking it too far again and again and again. He sometimes wondered if the man would ever fucking grow up, but then again he also loved him for it. Maybe if the Cancer Monster hadn't gotten Shane, he would be just as immature at the ripe old age of twenty too. Ilya got to playfully enjoy the relief that remission and a safe place for his father had brought him. Shane was still forced to grapple with the long term side effects that cancer had gifted him, and a league that seemed to still find a way to hate him despite it all—he had been forced to grow up in a lot of ways. Shane smiled again briefly before falling back into a frown. “Why are you here?” He tried again. “You have a game tonight.” 

“Suspended.” Ilya said simply. 

“How long?” 

He shrugged. “They are doing investigation.” 

“Of you or just him?” 

“Don’t know… both probably.” Ilya said. He pulled out his phone then. “I am putting picture of you on story, okay?” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” Ilya snapped the picture. Shane looked pathetic and in pain. Perfect. He posted the photo with a simple caption that stated surgery had gone well.  “I did what you said last night. I told world what he said.” He glanced at Shane with a shit eating grin. “He will not survive the rainbow platoon.” Shane wasn’t smiling. “It sounds like league may suspend him for year, Shane. What he did was not okay.” 

“What you did was not okay.” Shane said seriously. 

“I was just defending you…” 

Shane was shaking his head gingerly. “No. You know we can’t do that.” He was hard to understand, speaking through teeth that hurt and a mouth that couldn’t open—but he had too much to say. “The only way to win is to just love each other through the noise. You let him get to you and he wasn’t fucking worth it.” 

“You are worth it, Shane.” Ilya said, bending down to kiss his forehead. I wanted to kill him and knocked him out instead. Give me fucking break. 

God, I want to be so fucking mad at you. Don’t make me put in the fucking hearing aids. “What did you post?” 

Shane was genuinely terrified of the answer. When the time came for them to "pioneer this shit" six months earlier, Ilya’s idea of that was to post a series of photos of the two of them—granted, very cute ones—with the caption: 

What is sexuality for man who loves another man with only one ball? I am that. #rivalstolovers #threeballsonelove

Yuna nearly shit herself and threw Ilya into the fucking lake—Shane had laughed at the time, because it was hard to deny Ilya’s lack of give a shits, and it was a bit of a turn on. 

Ilya was hesitant to tell him. “Ilya…” Shane tried again. 

Ilya sighed. “I posted sad picture of your sad face last night when you were knocked out in hospital bed with caption…” He handed his phone to Shane. He grabbed it and squinted hard, Ilya realizing that he didn’t have his glasses, was literally just waking up from a surgery, and he was fucking concussed. He grabbed the phone back and read it himself.

Dallas Kent called my boyfriend a “fucking faggot” and then broke his jaw from behind…Very heterosexual way to handle your feelings about another man. #justsayyouaregay.

“Jesus Christ, Ilya.” Shane mumbled. 

Ilya shrugged again. “Tell me I am wrong. Man would rather be murderer than love another man.” 

The door opened and a familiar face walked in before Shane could say anything more—he was grateful, because he wanted to laugh and he knew it would hurt, but also because he didn’t want to give Ilya the satisfaction of knowing that he thought it was a little funny. 

“Mel.” Shane said with a real, though fractured, twenty-seven stitches in the face smile. “You transfer to the OR?” 

She shook her head and settled on the edge of the bed, leaning in for a gentle hug. For some reason, her presence there didn’t unsettle him—it comforted him. “I just came to see my favorite patient.” She said earnestly. She glanced between Shane and Ilya. “You boys caused quite the stir last night and this morning online.” 

Ilya smiled. “Ah… yes. I was just telling him about my very thoughtful post.” 

She smiled again. “I think it was quickly overshadowed by Troy Barrett and Scott Hunter’s” She said with a shrug.

Shane looked at her confused. “What?” 

“You haven’t heard?” 

Shane grinned again. “I was a little unconscious.” 

Ilya was already looking up Troy on Instagram, at the same time he settled in the bed next to Shane so they could look together. He found the profile—and it was hard given that it had only been created the night before. The only post was a single image of a pride flag, and a beautiful caption below.

“Read it to me.” Shane said, closing his eyes and resting back on the pillow. 

Shane wasn’t expecting anything special—he had lost all faith that the MLH could be a place for people like he and Ilya in the months since they had come out. His brief stint of not giving a fuck, became a very long, still active, stint of giving so many damn fucks. He was anxious every time he stepped into the arena. He had limited their time together in public for fear that they might walk right into a fucking hate crime in the streets. He threw himself into therapy when he realized that the freedom of being out did not cure what he thought was only a cancer-induced depression. He truly felt after seeing the positive comments on Ilya’s less than flushed out coming out post that they may be queer-pioneers for the league, and instead he wondered if they had made it worse. If they had shined a spotlight on themselves so big, intended to shed light on others in the same predicament, that they had actually just created a beacon for the homophobes to gravitate towards like moths to a flame. Maybe that post was the fucking Batman symbol for gay-haters. 

Shane couldn’t read the screen, but he could usually read Ilya’s face, but when he looked at it he had a hard time deciphering exactly what he was feeling. How fucking high am I? It was like he had never seen a single emotion in his life. “What does it say?” He tried again, and he watched Ilya snap out of it with tears welled up in his eyes. 

Ilya looked at it again and read it out loud. 

@tbarrett:
I wasn’t planning to do this tonight, or maybe ever, but here we are…I’m gay.

I'm a rookie in this league, and still I’ve spent a long time wondering what that would mean for my career, my teammates, and my place in this league. Turns out watching someone I thought was a friend call a great man a slur on national television before breaking his jaw out of pure hate made the answer pretty simple. It also made me care a whole lot less about what people like that think. 

If Dallas Kent hates the LGBTQ+ community that much, he’s welcome to fuck off and avoid our dressing room forever… Because there’s been a gay guy in it this whole time. 

Hollander and Rozanov…Thank you. You deserve far better than this league has given you. #istandwith24

“Holy shit.” Shane said, unable to fully process what he just heard, but already Ilya was looking at Scott Hunter’s post. There was a picture of him with his cheek pressed to another man’s cheek—a very handsome man. The second image in the carousel caused Ilya to flinch for a moment—it was of Shane from the night before, blood flying from the open gash on his chin as he failed to find his footing. 

@thescotthunter: 

I’m gay. I’ve played in this league for a long time, and for a lot of reasons I’ve spent my career trying to hide from this secret. Mostly because I was afraid. 

I’m sorry for the graphic photo, but it is there to show exactly why people like me have been scared to speak our truth. 

The first photo is of my boyfriend and I. The man that I’m in love with, and have been in love with for some time. The second is Shane Hollander moments after being called a “fucking faggot” and having his face busted open in front of 18,000 fans. How the fuck does a love like ours earn you a face like that? It shouldn’t. All that blood shed, and what is likely a brain injury and a broken jaw, all for loving another man. This isn’t fucking hockey. 

I’ve been quiet for a very long time because I was afraid of what being honest might cost me. Today, silence feels like it would cost me more. 

Hollander and Rozanov—I am sorry if you have ever felt alone out there. This league needs to do better… and they can start by removing the real problem from the ice for good. Dallas Kent needs to go, or maybe the rest of us will. 

#Istandwith24

Shane felt the breath leave his lungs and the tears building in his eyes as Ilya clicked on the hashtag and read out the countless names of teammates and opponents who had shared it along with photos from the night before. I mean, I had a nice face… they maybe could have chosen a nicer photo. While Shane wasn’t overly pleased that his gushing face was plastered all over the internet, he was also overwhelmed with the support of his teammates, opponents, and so many fans. His breath hitched, and he started to panic, knowing he couldn’t open his mouth to even sob properly. 

He let out a small gasp through forcefully gritted teeth. “Ilya…” He said, tears now forming and rolling down his cheeks, not so much from the overwhelming love, but rather from the inability to functionally breathe in his drug-induced haze and elasticated mouth. “I can’t…” He was hyperventilating, trying to sit up to breathe. 

“Shane, try to breathe buddy.” Mel said, rubbing slow circles on his back. 

I’m fucking trying to, idiots. 

He gasped again as Ilya wormed himself behind Shane, squeezing him from behind. “Shhh. Is okay, Shane. Breathe.” 

Melissa stood up and moved across the room, grabbing a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. She returned and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in towards Shane. “I’m going to help you, okay? It might hurt, but it will help with the panic.” He nodded, still unable to get a full breath, as she gently prodded his lips open to access the elastics. She carefully looped her pinky’s in the elastics and lifted them off the freshly fixated hooks. His mouth opened instinctively, drawing in a deep breath. She was right, it helped with the panic almost instantly, and he was able to get a deeper breath as the tears continued to fall. She reached for his hand and held it tight while Ilya applied gentle pressure around his chest. “You’re okay, Shane.” 

“Were there others?” He asked, forgetting that he shouldn’t fully open his mouth and still breathing hard. She was right. It hurt. 

“That came out?” Mel asked, rubbing up and down the length of his arms while he was still coming down. He nodded. “I don’t know… but I saw the afternoon game playing in the infusion room right before I came up here, and there was a big focus on guys writing 24 on their sticks to show support.” She smiled widely then. “I really fucking sucks that it took something like for people to wake up… but I think you have a lot of people in your corner.” 

“What about me?” Ilya said, teasing. He leaned over and kissed Shane softly behind the ear. 

Mel laughed. “Well, maybe you could sacrifice a testicle, a year of your career, and a busted jaw… it might get you the attention you deserve, Rozanov.” 

They laughed quietly, but Shane also struggled to joke about the sacrifices they had made. On one hand, all of that was true—on the other hand, Ilya had sacrificed any kind of life back in Russia. He had sacrificed his safety in his own country and even outside of it. And now, he had potentially sacrificed his fucking career for a single shot at revenge. 

“Ah… to be fair, we erased that year of my career too.” Ilya said with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Shane is so worried about beating me… he said it was unfair that he missed whole season. So records might still have my name some day, but in our house last season does not exist.” He gave Shane a little squeeze and another soft kiss. “But you see… he has fragile bones anyway. He will keep breaking them and I will win.” 

Shane huffed a laugh, his breath almost fully back in check. “Fragile?” 

Ilya grinned as Mel stood to grab the container of elastics intended to go home with Shane. She mouthed a silent sorry as she prompted him to open his mouth enough for her to replace them. 

“Yes. Very fragile. Fragile balls. Fragile bones. Should have kept fake rubber ball in there… can’t break rubber ball.” 

Mel smiled. “Oh! I saw you had that taken out. Are you comfortable?” She glanced at his crotch. 

Why is every woman so curious about what’s going on in my fucking sack. He nodded, his jaw locked firmly back in place once again. He knew that it was less curiosity in this case, and more a nurse doing her job. “Sensory nightmare.” He managed. She smiled again. 

He actually kind of missed that smile. He didn’t realize how much she had meant to him, how much he had missed her, but something about his brain had important people disappearing from his thoughts, regardless of how much affection he had for them. If people weren’t in front of him, he simply wasn’t thinking about them—with the exception of Ilya, of course. He had learned that about himself in therapy, and he learned in talking to his parents that it had been perceived as a lack of desire to call, to communicate when he left home. He learned that he may even be perceived as being standoffish—the reality was that people outside of his field of view might as well have been inaccessible on a different fucking planet. He had since set timers in his phone to remind him to call his mom, his dad, his friends. He was learning that there were many parts of himself that had the potential to hurt people, though it would never be intended. 

“It makes me happy to know that you can recognize that now.” Mel admitted. She looked at him with the kind of affection he had just realized he felt for her too. “It didn’t tickle your brain, right?” She smiled softly. 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “More like it tickled his sack…” 

“Shut up.” Shane muttered, and then he took a deep breath, settling back harder on Ilya’s chest. “When can I go home?” 

“Soon.” Mel said. “I can go track down your actual nurse to get you an update if you want me to.” Shane nodded and she stood to leave. “Don’t be a stranger, Hollander. We miss you around here. I’d love to see you when you’re healthy for a change…” 

Shane smiled as best he could. “Actually, I’d love to meet your son one of these days. Do you have your phone?” She smiled and walked back to hand it to him. He added his number to her phone. “I think maybe you two were to me what Ilya and I turned out to be for Barrett and Hunter…” 

The smallest hint of a smile crossed her face. “You’re a special guy, Hollander. Thank you.” 

“What about me?” Ilya said, teasing once again. 

“Shut up, Rozanov.” Shane and Mel said in unison. 

“I’ll grab your nurse.” Mel said, and then she was gone once again. 

Ilya placed a hand on Shane’s forehead and pulled him back softly to rest his head fully against his shoulder. He relaxed into it. “Is not fair you know…” 

“What?” Shane said, just above a whisper. 

“I just got that cancer-free mouth back… now is all broken again.” Ilya said with a smile. 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I’m so sorry Dallas Kent got you into a month without blow jobs, Ilya. You must really be suffering.”

“Ah, yes. Dallas Kent hate-crimed my sex life. And is really not fair… because when you talk like that with mouth closed you somehow sound so sexy, Hollander. You sound, uh… fucked out of your mind. Breathless and hot.” 

“Jesus, Ilya… are you saying my broken fucking jaw and messed up teeth turn you on?” Shane said, trying to make his broken face voice less… sexy?

He felt Ilya nod against his head. “Yes… and they took stupid fake ball away. I was excited...wanted to play with my old friend again… but now is just forbidden flappy, fun skin.” 

Shane rolled his eyes. Fucking gross, Ilya. “You could still play with it… I can’t open my mouth. Doesn’t mean you can’t open yours in a few days when the incision heals. You managed to wait like a whole week when they put it in…” 

Ilya furrowed his brows. “How are you supposed to have orgasm without o-face, Hollander? Can’t open mouth for pleasure. Mine or yours…” 

“Well if you hadn’t assaulted the guy, you would be gone playing all over the country anyway. The sex schedule hasn’t changed.” Shane said, still fucking pissed that Ilya had done that. 

Ilya took a deep breath and got serious. “How are you, Shane?” He reached around Shane’s waist from behind and presented his hands palm up. Shane got the message and placed his hands in Ilya’s, smiling softly at the tenderness of it all. 

“Hurts to talk. To move.” 

Ilya nodded, then lifted a hand momentarily to tap the side of his head. “How are you up here?” 

“Fine. Regular concussion stuff. Headache. A little gross… but that could be the anesthesia.” Shane said, matte-of-factly. He felt Ilya shake his head behind him, and huff a small breath against the side of his neck. He kissed it gently. 

“You were assaulted in front of crowd, Shane. On TV. Is not what I meant.” Ilya whispered in his ear. 

Shane felt a burn behind his eyes, but he took a few deep breaths, not wanting to panic again. “Maybe it will make a difference.” He said quietly. 

Ilya kissed him everywhere he could reach, and he felt the shift in Shane’s breath. His back was to him, but he knew he was trying his best not to cry—likely failing. “Shane, my love… this should not have happened. Our love is supposed to make difference… not this. You did not deserve this.”

Shane nodded. “I know.” 

“Do you?” Ilya asked earnestly. 

Shane closed his eyes and took another breath. “Why does it have to be this hard?” 

Ilya closed his eyes too, his brows drawing inward from the pain caused by that question alone. It shouldn't have to be this fucking hard. A love as easy as the love that Ilya felt for Shane should be all the world needed to acknowledge and accept it. He had given up an entire life across the world, because what he felt for Shane was so simple—yet everything that followed felt so fucking hard. 

“Maybe will be easier now.” He said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “You have support in league… this made them brave. You made them brave.” 

“No.” Shane tried to argue. 

“Yes, Shane. You have always been fighter. You fought cancer. You tried to get up and fight Kent even with broken jaw. It is hard for league to…” He dug around his mind for the right words. “Turn blind eye. They see Captain Canada be assaulted… players come out, others support us publicly… they can’t pretend to not see now.” He dropped Shane’s hands and hugged him tightly. “Maybe two twenty year old's cannot change the league with their love… but with enough support, maybe we make it better for kids who come next. Like Barrett.” 

Shane nodded. “I want to go home, Ilya.” 

You are my home, Shane. “I know, my love.” 

“Give me my phone.” Shane said suddenly. Ilya had to maneuver his way out of the hospital bed, raising it up on his way out so Shane could rest comfortably the way he had been against Ilya. He searched his belongings and dug out his phone. He typed in Shane’s password and handed it to him. Shane opened the camera and patted the bed next to him, inviting Ilya over. “Kiss me.” He demanded. 

“Fuck, Hollander. Fake ball removal and no mouth, remember? You can’t be so bossy. It will wake up my dick.” Ilya joked. 

“Shut up.” Shane said, and Ilya leaned in to kiss his cheek. Shane captured the moment and handed the phone back to Ilya. “Make a post on mine… you’re obviously the expert.” Please don’t write “can’t wait to rail him in a few weeks”. “Keep it appropriate… something about love winning, or some other bullshit.” 

Ilya smiled and opened Instagram. “Ah…you don’t think love wins, Hollander?” 

“I mean, my jaw says no.” 

Ilya laughed again and handed his phone back, having posted the picture. 

@ShaneHollander24: 

Our love: 1

Dallas Kent: 0

I’ll be back before you know it. Thanks for the love and support. 

“Shane…” Ilya began, resting his head on their now joined hands on the bed. 

“Yes, Ilya?” 

“Do not scare me again, okay?” Ilya said softly. 

Shane frowned, and his empty hand landed in Ilya’s curls, massaging his scalp gently. I’m so fucking sorry. “Okay.” 

“Shane?” Ilya tried again. 

“Yes, Ilya?”

“Did they let you keep fake ball?” He asked, somehow even more sincerely. 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I don’t know… I haven’t asked. Why?” 

Ilya smiled against their hands. “Christmas is coming… and your mother is very obsessed with your balls… thought it might be nice Christmas gift for her.” 

Shane laughed, and winced, and laughed again, and winced again. “Fuck, Ilya. You can’t make me laugh right now. Shut the fuck up.” 

Ilya looked up at Shane with sad, soft puppy dog eyes. “Can’t make you smile. Can’t make you laugh. Can’t make you cum…” He frowned. “What am I supposed to do with you?” 

Shane tried to smile again. “How about you take me home and cuddle and hold me until you’re dumbass is allowed back in the arena again?” 

Ilya smiled. “I will hold you until I die, Shane Hollander.” He kissed the top of his hand. “Which I get to do first, you know.” He gave him a devilish grin. “First draft pick in MLH, and in heaven.” He got serious again. “Because I love you, and I don’t think I can see you in any more hospital beds… okay?” 

“Okay.”

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

This is admittedly kind of a nothing chapter... planting seeds for the last chapters. Still hope you enjoy! <3

Ilya watched as Shane gave the act of pacing a hole through the fucking floor his all. “Shane…” He tried, but Shane didn’t respond. Did this mother fucker white noise me out. He tried his best to casually catch a glimpse of his ears. No, he is actually just ignoring me. Little fucker. “Shane…” He tried again, and now he couldn’t help but smile at the overthinking-frantic-sexy-beast before him. You are so hot when you panic, Hollander. “HOLLANDER!” He yelled, coming around the island to get his hands on him, trying to ground him. He had never seen him like this at the cottage—this was the place where Shane’s brain turned off for the summer. His brain was clearly far from turned off—but he also had Ilya turned on. 

The camera crews had only pulled out of the driveway five minutes earlier, and already Shane was in a downward spiral. Ilya really couldn’t figure out why. 

“Why do you even like me?” Shane finally said, as he stopped his quest to pace through the floor only briefly—and then he was back at it again. 

You are like sexy fucking lawnmower going back and forth like this. Ilya didn’t answer the question, instead he quietly filled a glass with water, and grabbed Shane’s arm to direct him towards the patio doors like he was assisting a blind man across the street. Somehow Shane went without a fuss, which felt like a fucking miracle at that point. Ilya pulled out a chair on the deck and not so gently forced Shane to sit down in it. “What are you talking about Shane?” He tried as he settled in the chair next to him. Shane shot him a death glare. I mean, angry kitty face is one reason to like you. 

“Did you fucking hear us in there?” Shane said, staring out to the lake. "We are living on two different fucking planets, Ilya." 

Ilya smiled at the simple beauty of the boy that he loved. His freckles were already more prominent after only a week of sun at the cottage and his skin was sun-kissed and warm. He was fucking perfect. Ilya couldn’t help but reach up and brush his thumb along the freckles, and then lower along the long scar on his chin and his jaw. He was happy to see that it had healed so nicely, knowing that it was a sad reminder of their unfortunate coming out journey that year. He hoped that it wasn’t something Shane focused on too much every time he looked in the mirror. He found some peace in the fact that Shane somehow seemed to have embraced his single-testicle-life, and he hoped that this scar would be no different. “I did… but I have feeling we heard different things.” He leaned in to rest his hand on Shane’s thigh, but he was too late. Shane was already standing and back to his old tricks, now pacing across the deck instead of in the kitchen. “Shane, what did you hear?” He tried. 

“Ilya… they asked about the draft. And I went on and on about preparation, and the hard work that went into getting there…” Shane said, still stomping around like a one-man-military-march. 

“Yes… is true.” Ilya said. 

You’re an idiot. “Yeah… and you talked about what it was like being drafted next to me. About meeting in the gym later that night. About how you were excited to be alone at the top with me…” 

“Yes… is also true.” Ilya said. 

“They asked me about my cancer and I told them about treatment and how fucking hard it all was.” Shane said, staring down at the wood that might actually give him a fucking splinter if he kept up his pace. 

“Okay…” Ilya said, forever confused, and honestly a little dizzy from watching this bat-shit crazy fool polishing the deck planks with his socks. 

“And you talked about how it was a fucking blessing, because it was what brought us together and gave you the confidence to just say how you feel…” 

Ilya was so confused. “We are out… yes? I did not dream that?” 

Another death glare and brief pause to the stomping. “Of course you didn’t fucking dream it.” Shane continued. 

“Are you mad I said you being sick was blessing?” He asked. Ah, yes. I cracked the code. Maybe not good thing to say cancer was good thing.

“No!” 

Shit. So close. Ilya stared at him, waiting for more. 

“Ilya, you fucking poured your heart out in there about how hard it was to see the man you loved going through the hardest thing in the world, and how easy it was to love me him through it… while I talked about fucking Cisplatin, my shit hearing, and scans.” 

Ilya stood up again, grabbing Shane’s arm and aiming for the yard. This bitch needs to touch grass. I could give him real lawnmower...check a chore off list while he is going nuts. “That is your story Shane… I was telling mine.” 

Shane continued to rant. “For fuck’s sake, Ilya… when they asked about the Cup you said that the one you care about the most is the one we will win together someday…” 

“What are you asking, Shane? Am I supposed to be sorry?”

Ilya was clearly not as versed in the world of Shane as he thought he was. He didn’t have a fucking clue where this was going. He thought they had both answered the questions well. He had grown used to Shane answering first, and he was always so charmed by it, knowing that it was Shane’s way of helping to guide Ilya’s answers when he knew he might not fully understand the question in English. So, he had patiently waited for Shane to answer, and when Shane had the facts and the hockey of it all covered, he jumped in with a more personal answer to balance out the interview—he knew Shane’s mind didn’t operate in that way. When someone asked for facts, Shane was going to give facts, not feelings. Ilya was happy to be the feelings guy. They made their way down to the dock. You are going to pace your way into a fucking lake bath. 

“Is that really how you feel about signing this summer?” Shane asked, with a little more bite than Ilya was expecting. “It isn’t what we talked about…” 

Ah, is about hockey. Of course. “I am okay with what we talked about, Hollander. I just said that if we had offer sheets and it worked out with our teams we would love to play together. That is what we talked about.” 

“That isn’t what you said in there.” Shane argued. 

Ilya was confused again. I think is exactly what I said in there.

“I talked about getting paid what we are worth, and how we could eventually play together when the time was right… and you’re in there telling the world that it’s not about the money and that you will always choose me first.” 

“I would…” Ilya tried again, smiling this time. “I think you would too, yes?” 

“Of course I would!” Shane said, exasperatedly. “I am just wondering why the fuck you would want that too after hearing my answers. The world is going to see how much you fucking love me, and how much I love playing hockey!”

“You love me, yes?” Shane rolled his eyes. “I know you love me, Shane. Your brain is just different… they were asking hockey questions. You gave hockey answers. They asked you cancer questions. You gave cancer answers. I am not offended by your answers…” 

“Jesus, Ilya…” Shane continued. “They asked about fucking family and I talked about how my mom is my Manager, and you went on a five minute passionate rant about your found family and how wonderful life has been since you learned that family isn’t defined by blood, and how you can’t wait to have a family of your own…”

That was good rant, yes. Ilya smiled, and he knew that would piss Shane off, but he was just so fucking cute. He was stressing out about something that the world wouldn’t even notice—to them, he was just being Shane Hollander. “Mmm… yes, I want kids one day. You know best advice I have gotten about kids and babies?” 

Shane looked at him, perplexed. “What?” 

“Ah… teammate once said, when baby won’t settle you just need to take them outside, or put them in water…” 

“And?” 

Ilya took a step closer to Shane. “And… outside did not work.” 

“Don’t…” Shane said, realizing he was backed into the corner of the dock. 

Ilya felt the splash before he could even stop himself. “We will try water…” He said, standing on the dock as he looked down at a now very wet Shane, flailing about in the lake below. He is going to kill me. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” Shane said, spitting water out of his mouth. Then he looked up at Ilya and grinned. “Get the hell in here, asshole.” 

Ilya double checked his pockets and jumped in next to him. He surfaced and reached out for Shane, encouraging him to wrap his legs around his waist. He did so with no hesitation, wrapping his arms around Ilya’s neck before pulling him into a hug. He rested his head on his shoulder and breathed Ilya in as the cold water enveloped them. “I’m sorry.” Shane whispered. “I’m just freaking out… about free agency. About this fucking interview.” 

“I know, Hollander. Will be okay…” He pulled back to meet Shane’s gaze. “You don’t need to prove to me how much you love me, Shane. You have never done it with words before.” 

“No?” 

“No… you show me all the time. You think I was listening to bad answers… but I was noticing how you still answer first, so I don’t have to try to translate English so fast. And you reach to hold my hand when they ask about family, and Russia. You have been through a lot since we have met… I have only been through watching you live it. Is okay if you have different story than I do. I think they will both have same ending.” 

Shane shook his head and held Ilya’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him tenderly. He spoke against his lips. “You have given up so much, Ilya.” He pulled back to meet his gaze again. “I think I just realized that today. We are so young… and I think people are going to see this and think you are fucking crazy. You gave up Russia for me. You were exhausted going back and forth from Boston to Montreal to be with me through treatment… You said you don’t give a shit about the money, if we could play together. I don’t think our stories are that different… you’ve been going through it too, but I didn’t know to pay attention until today. I’m sorry…” 

Ilya shook his head. “Is not sacrifice to love you, Hollander.” 

“Do you think we are fucking crazy? We are putting our lives out there for everyone to see, but we are twenty-one years old, Ilya. What if they watch it all crumble too?” 

Ilya pulled him in by his ass, holding him as tight as he could under the water. “You are leaving me, Hollander?” 

“Well no. But…” 

Ilya smiled. “First of all… am not twenty-one yet. You are old man. You are cradle robber.” 

Shane huffed a laugh. “I’m a month older than you…and how the hell do you know that term?” 

Ilya ignored the question. “Shane, my parents met when my dad was old man. Look how that worked out. Your parents met in college. Age does not mean anything… it just means that I get to love you longer.” He gave him a quick kiss on the tip of his nose. “How lucky am I?” 

“Lucky enough to win the fucking Cup first.” Shane said, a little disgruntled.

Ilya smiled. “Ah, yes. My reward for such hard year, Hollander. I had to watch my boyfriend lose ball, beat cancer, be assaulted… it was very hard year for me.”

“Shut up.” Shane said, but he was plastering kisses on Ilya’s neck and face. 

“Maybe you have not earned it… not enough hard things.” Ilya joked. “Maybe we cut off other ball… see if is enough to trade for Cup.” 

“You haven’t lost any balls, and the hockey God’s seem to still like you enough…” 

“Ah, yes. But I am Hockey God myself. Nepo-baby of Stanley Cup’s. And my balls belong to Shane Hollander now anyway. I have no balls either.” 

“How do you know what a nepo-baby is? When did your English get so fucking good?” Shane asked quietly, still breathing Ilya in. 

“I read a lot of bad magazines in hospital with you. In waiting rooms. I have learned so much. I have even learned some tricks in…” He thought of the name. “The girl sex magazine…” 

“Cosmo?”

“Yes! Cosmo… Maybe I can get you dried off and show you.” He started moving them towards the dock to get out of the water. 

“My parents will be here in like twenty minutes for supper.” Shane whined. 

Ilya grinned and lifted Shane up onto the dock, pulling himself out afterwards, his wet clothes trying to weigh him down. “Hollander, it only takes you three minutes to cum. We have time.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Or we can watch Stanley Cup highlights again… you can watch me lift Cup. That will make you hard, yes?” 

Shane felt the splash as he walked away. “Shut up.” He said, as Ilya floundered in the water below, splashing dramatically as if he was drowning. 

I deserved that. 

“You okay?” Ilya said as they stepped into the Boston’s Children’s Hospital a week later. 

Shane just nodded. Hospitals still weren’t easy, but they were there to spread love and cheer. He never thought that his first children’s hospital visit with the Stanley Cup would be with one that he didn’t earn himself—but he was happy to show his support with Ilya and the boys. At the end of the day, he was incredibly proud of Ilya and the Boston boys. They had been nothing but kind and accepting of Shane and Ilya, and it really felt like the Cup was won by a group of men who were doing their best to rally around Ilya after everything that he had been through that year. 

The Metros had done the same, but they just didn’t have the depth or the goaltending to get past the Raiders in the second round. He knew he would get his shot, and honestly, he was almost grateful that his first Cup winning season didn’t come with the memory of poor-health, and a blatant, very public assault. He still came out of the season with a handful of victories too. He made it back on the ice for a full season, he had helped several MLH players come out proudly, and most importantly—he sewered Dallas Kent’s fucking career. That man would never play another game in the MLH, and it didn’t come at the cost of a lawsuit. The court of public opinion was enough to end his career overnight. If Shane couldn’t find joy in a Cup losing season, he could find some joy in that. 

“I’m good.” Shane said, following behind Ilya. “Happy to be here.” He said honestly. 

“Out of the way, Hollander. I have some important goods here.” Marleau barked from behind him, giving a little hip check as he passed him carrying the Cup. 

Shane smiled as they turned the corner to a large group of kiddos and their parents, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Raiders squad—he hung back as the kids cheered and the men made their way around the room. 

“Come. I have friends to introduce you to.” Ilya said, coming back to grab Shane’s hand. He followed reluctantly, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes or steal any of the spotlight. Ilya walked in the direction of a little boy in a wheelchair first, he looked to be around seven or eight years old, his Raiders toque covering what Shane already knew to be a chemo-born bald head. He recognized the IV pole hung with the chemicals that he and this young boy unfortunately had in common, and the way the lines snaked into his hoodie, attaching to his port. Ilya reached him and extended his hand for a fist bump. “Jackson! Is good to see you!” He said, crouching down in front of the boy, taking his hand in his. “I love your toque.” He said quietly. 

“Thank you.” Jackson said quietly, and Shane could tell that he was exhausted just from the strain of those two simple words. Ilya and Jackson carried on their conversation, and Shane gravitated towards the people who stood nearby, who he assumed were his parents. He extended a hand to shake theirs. “Shane Hollander.” He said, as if most of the people in the room didn’t already know that. 

“Thanks for coming.” His parents said, smiling down at the now happier conversation taking place in front of them. Ilya was fully engaged, hanging on Jackson’s every word as he told him about his recent birthday party— a party inside the walls of the hospital, with only two friends and a cake he couldn’t fully enjoy. As he listened, Shane wished he could fight cancer for him and every other kid in the room. He wished he could take on their suffering. “I know we are supposed to be excited to see the Cup and all his favorite Raiders…” Jackson’s dad began. “...But I think a lot of the kids on this floor will be most excited to see you.” He said earnestly. 

“Oh, maybe I should have invited some of my Metros buddies to crash the party too then.” Shane said, the truth going right over his head. 

His dad laughed. “They don’t care about the Metros. They care about the kid who beat cancer and still got to get back out there to do what he loves. You’ve inspired a lot of these kids.” 

“Oh.” Shane said softly. He knew that, on some level—but it still surprised him. In the same way that Shane hadn’t spent any time with other people in the queer community, he also hadn’t spent any time with the cancer community. Even being out of the closet, he found the whole sexuality thing to be a little bit…embarrassing. He wasn’t necessarily embarrassed about loving another man—that made him feel lucky in a lot of ways. He was still embarrassed to be so different. He was embarrassed by his own lack of connection to the queer community. He felt the same way about surviving cancer. 

Shane struggled to look back at photos from the months when he was battling cancer, and the months that followed. When other people looked at him then, and looked back on photos now, they saw a kid who was brave and strong. When Shane looked back on them he saw a terrified and weak version of himself. He couldn’t seem to find a way to be proud of himself for what he had overcome. Instead, he was often left feeling like he had failed in some way. He failed to take care of the body he took so much pride in. He failed to recognize the changes. Then he was in the thick of it and he learned that his mind was also its own little prison that he couldn’t seem to find the key to unlock. He was supposed to be an athlete who knew his mind and body better than anybody, and still he was making discoveries through others peoples observations of his weaknesses. It was hard, and he would rather just forget that time in his life altogether—but instead he was standing in front of an eight year old who was going through the same thing, and he was ashamed of the way he perceived himself, because that would mean he perceived this boy the same way. He didn’t. He had far more love and grace for these kids than he did for himself, and he knew that that realization would be a fucking treat for his therapist to feast on. 

The parents saved him from himself, continuing the conversation. “How have you been feeling?” 

“Good.” Shane said quickly, with a flash of a smile. Then he took a breath and decided to be more honest. “Okay, actually…” The parents smiled at him expectantly, clearly willing participants in the Shane-Hollander-cancer-confessions game. “It’s hard to, uh…” 

“Survive?” His mom offered.

Shane swallowed hard. Fuck, maybe? He nodded gently. “Yeah, maybe.” He huffed a small laugh. “Beats the alternative… obviously.” 

The mom rested a hand on his arm gently, very maternal. “It’s allowed to be hard, even on the other side. A tornado hits and passes, but it doesn’t mean there isn’t damage to clean up.” She continued to prod, though not unkindly. “We are coming to the end of his treatment. It’s scary that even though it’s over, he has a lifetime of scans and waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

Shane nodded, and he felt the burn behind his eyes. Why the fuck are you so emotional. He wiped a sneaky tear from the corner of his eye, turning away for a moment. “Sorry.” He said quietly. She moved her hand to rub his back. “I don’t think I’ve really thought about that.” He admitted. “I, uh… I just tried to survive the season.” 

“Can I ask you something personal?” Shane nodded. “Do you do any kind of therapy now? After? I don’t know how to help him when we leave here. The chemo killed the cancer, but we don’t know how to help him with everything that comes after.” 

Shane huffed another laugh. “Yeah… I do. I do a lot of it actually.” He finally looked at them, and it seemed like their red-rimmed eyes matched his now. “I was, uh…” He didn’t know if he wanted to say it, but he felt like he owed it to them to be honest. “...depressed. So I started therapy… but I am realizing right now that I still have a long way to go.” He looked around the room at the kids and their families, all interacting and smiling with their favorite Stanley Cup Champions. He looked at Ilya, who was smiling ear to ear as he signed Raiders gear for Jackson. They were all sharing laughter and smiles, and it hit Shane that he had not laughed or smiled like that in a very long time—not since before his diagnosis. Cancer was still the cloud that hung over his head, even if it was no longer in his body. He understood that these kids were smiling and laughing because they were in the presence of people who made them laugh and smile. Ilya was that person for him, but during the season they were separated by borders and time. He had to live for summer, and his summer’s had been spent worrying about the season ahead, and how to not let cancer keep winning when he got back on the ice. I don’t think I am happy. He had people in his corner, but they were all worried about him too—it was hard to live freely when everyone in his orbit was waiting for him to fall apart. 

“This is my boyfriend, Shane. Shane, this is my best friend, Jackson.” Ilya said, snapping him out of it. “Jackson is very good at MLH video game… because he plays as Raiders. I always choose Metros, so I always lose.” 

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.” Shane mocked. He offered Jackson a fist bump just as Ilya had. “It’s nice to meet you Jackson.” 

And then Jackson did what all cancer patients did. “Acute lymphoblastic leukemia.” He said with a confidence that should not belong to an eight year old. It was fucking gutting to hear. Shane wasn't sure he would ever get used to hearing a diagnosis in place of a name. 

Shane nodded. “Oh boy, you’ll like mine… it’s a long one. Ready?” Jackson nodded and smiled. “Stage three nonseminomatous germ cell tumor of the testicle.” Shane smiled. “But I'm in remission.” He said, and he tried not to be too proud about it. 

“I should be soon.” Jackson said, and it brought the burn back to Shane’s eyes. 

He nodded slowly and took a breath. “I’m really happy to hear that. What are you most excited about when you’re all done here?” 

Jackson lit up. “I can’t wait to go back to school, to be around my friends. They aren’t allowed to visit, because… germs.” 

Shane nodded again, understanding. “It’s the worst, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah… and I'll get to play hockey next season, maybe. Mom and dad said we have to make sure I am strong and healthy enough first.” 

Shane smiled. “I’ll tell you what… when you’re ready to get back out there, you give us a call.” He clapped Ilya on the back. “And we can get out on the ice with you and help be the judge of that.” 

Jackson’s smile stretched across his face. “Really?”

“Really.” Shane said, nodding. “I think maybe I need to spend more time with my friends too… maybe hanging out with Rozanov’s best friend would be a good start.” 

“You sure you want to hang out with boring Metro, Jackson?” Ilya asked, raising his brows. 

Jackson grinned. “Maybe we’ll start a chemo-cancer-club, and you’ll be the one left out.” 

Shane smiled at Ilya. “Yeah dude, get back to us when you beat cancer… alright?” 

“I won Stanley Cup!” Ilya whined, pointing at the Cup across the room. 

“Yeah… and I get to ring the cancer bell. Maybe we're the real winners.” Jackson said, and Shane was so fucking happy that he rang that fucking bell now. The bell he was so reluctant to ring. This was a reminder of just what that moment meant to so many people. 

“You want to go touch it?” Ilya asked with a smile. Jackson nodded, and Ilya moved behind his wheelchair to make their way over to the Cup, stopping to give Shane a quick kiss along the way. “Thank you for coming, Shane.” 

“Thank you for letting me be here. I think I needed this too.” 

Shane spent the next two hours moving from parent to parent, hearing the stories of the kids who were having one of the best days that their year would have to offer. He learned about the kids and their journey’s, all while keeping an eye on Ilya. He was fucking electric in this environment, his smile radiating the space. He was so damn contagious. Shane wondered how often he visited this place, because he seemed to have a genuine connection with more than a few of the kids, like he had taken the time to get to know them and their families intimately. While other guys were making their rounds, signing autographs and taking photos, Ilya was having conversations. He was bantering. He was laughing. Shane was so fucking in love with the man it hurt. When he finally took a break from being the kindest man on planet earth, he came to find Shane, offering him another quick kiss. 

“You good?” He asked again. 

“How often do you come here?” Shane asked without hesitation. 

Ilya smiled and wrapped an arm around Shane’s waist as they leaned against the wall, looking out over the kids who were beginning to funnel out. “All the time.” He said simply. 

“Yeah?” Shane asked. 

Ilya nodded. “I came a lot when you were in treatment too. I thought if I couldn’t be with you in hospital, I could be with them. Some are new… some are still here from back then.” He took a breath. “Some are gone.” 

Shane’s breath hitched. He knew that that fucking meant. The world doesn’t fucking deserve you. His chin quivered as he worked to hold it together in front of the families. 

Ilya noticed, and pushed himself between Shane and the wall, turning him around to hide his face. He pulled Shane’s face into his neck. “Hey…” Ilya said, rubbing soothing circles on Shane’s back. He kissed the side of his neck. “Talk to me.”

“You never told me that.” Shane whispered, voice thick. 

“Is not big deal, Shane.” 

Shane let a tear fall, and then another. “It’s a huge deal, Ilya.” 

“Is selfish.” Ilya said, and that sentence made Shane want to die right there in the hospital. “I felt bad not being with you… made me feel better.” 

“You are the least selfish person I have ever met, Ilya.”

“Then you need to meet more people, Hollander.” Ilya said, the soothing circles continuing as he held Shane. 

“Don’t do that.” Shane said pulling back. “I am the guy who had cancer… who can relate to these kids. And you don’t see me coming into hospitals when I have free time. It’s completely fucking selfless, Ilya.” He rested his forehead on Ilya’s after brushing away a tear from his own cheek. 

“Hospitals are not as easy for you, Shane. Is okay.” He said softly. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. Maybe we could up with other way to help these kids. A way that works better for you.” 

Shane nodded gently, before hugging Ilya again. “I really love you.” 

“Mmmm… I really love you too. But you are not best friend, okay? That is Jackson’s job.”

“Oh yeah? And Lainey’s? And Maddy’s? And Ty’s?” Shane said thinking about some of the other best friends he met today. 

Ilya shrugged. “I have lots of best friends here. You will need to get in line Hollander. Plus they are much nicer to me.” 

Shane smiled. “Yeah well I have a feeling they don’t know the menace that I do… they get to have Patch Adams, while I get the fucking Russian dickhead.”

“Hollander… you are in hospital. You need to watch your language.” He leaned in then, brushing his mouth against his ear. “You can show me what else that dirty mouth can do when we get back to my place.” 

“Boys, get a room, would yah?” Connors barked from behind them. The room had cleared out. “It’s time to get out of here and get ready to party tonight. You coming Hollsy?” He shouted as he made his way towards the exit, Cup in hand. 

Shane nodded. After I take this fucking guy apart. 

Ilya had barely pulled away from the hospital before his hand landed on Shane's thigh, moving higher and higher unintentionally, like a magnet to his dick. They made it through the lobby of Ilya’s less than stunning rookie condo with something that resembled composure, until they reached the elevator. Then the elevator doors closed, and Shane’s patience and dignity had done its job and clocked the fuck out, because Shane had Ilya's face in his hands and he was kissing him like he was trying to be swallowed by him entirely.

Ilya whimpered, and he couldn’t even be embarrassed about it. "Button." He managed, against Shane's mouth. Shane stopped to hit the button. Ilya smiled into another kiss. I can’t believe he is kissing me with hospital germs. He must be really fucking horny. 

They spilled through the apartment door in a tangle of arms and mouths and Ilya's keys hitting the floor somewhere behind them. The apartment was cool and clean—only because Shane had been there that morning taking it from bachelor-pad-chic to something he could live with. Where he lost me with the clutter, he made up for with the fucking cancer-kid besties. He hadn’t had time to fix it entirely. Ilya's jackets hung on every surface. There were dishes in the sink. There was a collection of half read books on the coffee table, like he gave up as soon as the climax came and went. Somehow, this felt like home too. Since they made it official, most of their time together was spent in Montreal or the cottage—it was nice to see the place that Ilya called his. He didn’t want to fix everything, but the take out containers and overflowing recycling had to go before they even left for the hospital. 

SHane walked Ilya backward through the hallway, kissing him in steady intervals, one hand flat against Ilya's chest and the other curved around his jaw. He was taking control, and Ilya was fucking living for it. “Jesus, Hollander.” He moaned into his mouth. Ilya pulled back as they moved into the kitchen. Shane was fucking gorgeous—his cheeks were flushed and his hair was a disaster and his eyes were doing that thing they did sometimes, seemingly coming in and out of focus like he was so lost in his own desires that his eyes didn’t know where to land. Is like sex googly eyes. Shane's hands dropped to Ilya's waist, and Ilya registered that something was happening, something different, something that wasn't the usual choreography of them—and then Shane lifted him. Ilya’s ass landed on the counter and he was sure that he had never been harder than he was in that moment. “Fuck.” He moaned into another kiss. 

Shane huffed a laugh against his lips and pressed himself between Ilya's knees, and Ilya wrapped his legs around him and pulled him in. Ilya got his hands under Shane's jaw and tipped his face up and just looked at him for a moment, cataloguing everything. The flush across his cheekbones beneath his freckles. His stunning chocolate colored eyes, hungry with lust. The jaw that Ilya had once watched get split open in a fit of rage against moments just like this one, now healed so clean that it was almost beautiful—no, it was undeniably beautiful. 

"You are getting very strong, Hollander." Ilya said, cheekily.

"I was always strong." Shane said, leaning in for another kiss. 

"Mmm." Ilya agreed, into his mouth. "Yes. I remember. I was just… reminding myself again."

Shane pulled back and looked at him, understanding what he meant. Sometimes he forgot that Ilya had to bear witness to a version of Shane that was much weaker. No, strong in a different way, Shane thought, trying to stop the negative thought. He was reminding himself that he would never describe those kids as being weak. He shouldn’t do that to the version of himself that had been fighting hard to survive. 

"Come here." Shane said quietly, and kissed him again, slower this time, his hands sliding under Ilya's shirt. Shane's palms were warm and familiar, and they moved across Ilya's ribcage grazing over the peaks and valleys with gentle grazes. Ilya pushed his fingers into Shane's hair and let him.

Ilya maneuvered his feet around Shane’s waist to pop his shoes off, while Shane did the same for himself. Their lips continued to move together while their hands explored their bodies. When Shane’s hand grazed over Ilya’s hard crotch, Ilya shuddered. “Shit, Shane.” Shane took that as his sign to move the party to somewhere they could get naked, without the fear of ass germs hitting the countertop. There is not enough bleach in the world. He pulled Ilya off the counter, with the simple mission of moving him from kitchen to couch. He only made it eight feet before ramming him into a door frame, depth perception failing him. 

"Very graceful, Hollander.” Ilya joked against his mouth. 

"Shut up and walk yourself there." Shane said, dropping him to the ground and massaging the knuckles that took most of the impact. How does he do that so easily?

"Maybe this is why you did not win Cup…"

"Fuck you."

"...your footwork is very bad. And bad defensive read…"

Shane kissed him quiet—it worked, and they made it to the couch. Shane sat down and pulled Ilya in by the front of his shirt, and Ilya straddled him as they attacked each other’s mouths once more. Shane’s hands slid under Ilya’s shirt, and Ilya did the same until both of their shirts hit the floor. Shane's chest appeared in the afternoon light and Ilya's hands moved over it reverently—the slope of his collarbones, the once-again-strong muscles of his shoulders, the small pale port scar. Ilya grazed his fingers over it tenderly. He kissed it softly and felt Shane's breath shift.

"You're going to give me a complex with these fucking scars." Shane said, though his voice had gone low and unsteady. It felt fucking good. 

"Mmmm, no." Ilya said, against his skin. "They are good reminder of what you have accomplished." He moved along his chest, down his sternum, his mouth tracing the only body he knew better than his own. He pressed his lips to the ridge of Shane's abdomen, the lean, hot muscle of him, down to where the waistband of his pants sat, and then lower, to where the scar lived—the long, faded line that tracked along his lower abdomen, the scar left by the hands of surgeons who had been doing their very important job of keeping Shane Hollander alive so that he could suck his dick for years to come. Ilya pressed his mouth to it the way he always did, slow, almost worshipping, his hands flat on Shane's hips.

"Ilya…"

"Mmm." Ilya said, not stopping.

"We need…we don't have…" Shane's hand found his hair. "Lube…" Shane finished, with some effort. "We don't have any down here."

Ilya lifted his head. "I will go.” Ilya said, before he stood and bolted like a fucking pirate who just remembered where the treasure was buried. Shane couldn’t help but laugh at the man who had gone from reverently worshiping his body, to bolting up the stairs like he couldn’t handle another millisecond of his dick being outside of Shane’s beautiful asshole. He appeared in the living room doorway, chest heaving less than thirty seconds later.

Shane was lying back against the couch cushions, shirtless, watching him with an expression of such pure, private amusement that Ilya almost dropped the lube. 

"Nailed it, Rozanov." Shane asked.

"Shut up." Ilya said, very out of breath.

Shane smiled. "Get over here."

Ilya got over there. They finished undressing each other on the couch. Shane lay back and Ilya moved over him, unhurried now that the lube issue had been resolved, taking his time. He ran his hands down Shane's sides, his hips, the strong length of his thighs. Ilya curled around him and pressed his mouth to his inner thigh and continued his earlier survey of Shane's body. He found the back of his beautifully healed sack, eventually, and the small raised scar there—neat, almost unnoticeable, the only remaining evidence of a prosthetic that Shane had ultimately decided he didn't need. It was a decision that Ilya loved, because Shane had already been whole without it. He would take the half-empty, healthy sack, over the once tumor-filled version that had allowed them to fall this deeply in the first place. The empty left side was now just a beautiful reminder of what they had beaten together, and how far they had come. Ilya kissed it. He loved it. He loved Shane. 

Ilya worked him open slowly. "Ilya…" Shane said, for the fourth or fifth time in the last few minutes, each time slightly less intelligible than the last.

Ilya settled back against the couch and brought Shane over him, straddling him in a way that allowed Ilya to really take him in the way he wanted to. He loved watching Shane’s face when he rode him. He loved the way he leaned into moan against his neck and his throat. Shane sank down onto him slowly and the noise he made was music to Ilya’s ears. Ilya's hands found his hips and held him still for a moment, just to feel him there, just to breathe together.

"Okay?" Ilya asked.

Shane nodded, and then he moved. Shane rode him slowly. His hands were braced on Ilya's chest, his head tipped back, and his body rolled and found the angle it wanted. Ilya watched him. He had never figured out how to not watch him in these moments. He didn’t know how he was supposed to close his eyes and just feel it—he always needed to see Shane too. There was something almost painfully intimate about it. Shane was still so guarded, and he had good reason to be—but here with Ilya, he was always loose, unselfconscious, and entirely himself. Ilya ran his palms up Shane's thighs, his stomach, his chest, his nipples, and Shane's rhythm stuttered and his breath went sharp.

"God…” Shane said quietly.

"So good, Hollander.” Ilya said.

Then his hands found their way back down his body, grazing down his abs until he wrapped one hand firmly around his hard cock, his other hand gently cradling his lonely ball. He moved his thumb down the seam as he tugged delicately. He loved touching him like that, reminding him that he didn’t see that part of him as flawed. Reminding him that this body, with its scars and its asymmetries and everything it had been through to stay alive, was the body that Ilya intended to spend the rest of his foreseeable future mapping, learning, pressing his mouth to. He wasn't going to stop loving it. He wasn't going to stop being grateful for it.

Shane looked down at him with his jaw tight and his eyes dark and lusty. He leaned down and kissed him hard, and Ilya kissed him back with equal conviction as his hands went to Shane's ass. Shane made a noise into his mouth. They stayed like that for a while, finding the rhythm of it, and it was good, but there was something building in Ilya that was less patient.

"Shane…" He said.

Shane caught the tone immediately. "What do you need?"

"I want to…" Ilya moved beneath him, a deliberate shift that communicated the intention more efficiently than words could. "Turn over." Shane raised an eyebrow. "Couch arm…" Ilya said. "On your knees."

Shane climbed off him with a grace that Ilya watched with the appreciation it deserved and repositioned himself at the arm of the couch, forearms braced on it, which put him at an angle that Ilya's brain assessed in approximately zero seconds as exactly fucking right. He came behind him and ran his palms up Shane's back, the long slope of his spine, taking a moment to admire the beauty of his perfect sweat-damp skin. Shane was fucking spectacular—but it would seem that Shane still seemed genuinely surprised sometimes when Ilya couldn't keep his hands off him. It was a problem that Ilya would continue to solve with great enthusiasm.

He lined himself up and pressed in slow, one hand on Shane's hip, one at the base of his spine, feeling him take a breath. "Still okay?" Ilya asked.

"Ilya…" Shane said, annoyed.

He took the fucking hint. He always started slow, out of habit, listening to what Shane's body told him. He had gone from virgin Shane, to sick Shane, to healing Shane—he hadn’t quite adjusted to healthy, horny, and entirely-fuckable-at-any-velocity Shane. He shifted and angled his hips and said "more", and Ilya fucking gave him more. Ilya's hands were on Shane's hips and the sounds Shane was making had gone wonderfully past the point of language and Ilya was making some sounds of his own that he had never made before. He drove into him, harder and harder. 

Shane had his head dropped forward, his dark hair thick and sweaty in a way that Ilya no longer took for granted. He had reached back at some point just searching for contact. Ilya turned his hand over and threaded their fingers together and Shane squeezed. They stayed connected like that as Ilya fucked him properly, thoroughly.

When Ilya heard the familiar sounds of Shane’s I’m-about-to-fucking-burst moans, he reached around and got his hand on Shane’s cock. Shane's whole body went rigid and taut, and then he came in a long shuddering exhale. The clench of Shane’s asshole triggered Ilya’s own orgasm as he pressed in deep and held there as the wave of it rolled through him. His forehead dropped to the back of Shane's shoulder, breathing hard, and he let go. He finished inside of him and the intimacy of that was still fucking staggering. He pressed his mouth to the back of Shane's neck.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing. Ilya eased them apart gently and pulled Shane back against the couch, Ilya's arms around him from behind and his chin on Shane's shoulder. Shane folded his hand over Ilya's and was quiet for a moment. "Thank you." He said.

"Is not sacrifice to fuck you, Hollander." Ilya said. “Plus I learned it all from Cosmo, remember?” 

Shane turned his head just enough to look at him. His face was soft in the low light—flushed, undone, and happy. He turned around and wrapped his arms around Ilya’s neck, burrowing his face in his salty neck. "No. Thank you for all of it, Ilya.” He pulled back, tears filling his eyes. “Thank you for loving me through hell. I don’t think I have told you that enough.” 

Fuck, Shane. “I love you so much, Shane.” 

Chapter 21

The lights flashed in his eyes and he worked hard to put on a smile and keep his face right while they did. The pen was shaking in his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was lingering neuropathy or just his fucking nerves—he was sure it was the latter. He regretted not popping in his hearing aids as the room filled with noise and the sound of people talking over each other, and he was forced to fill in the consonants that he couldn’t quite make out. He was overwhelmed. Am I fucking crazy? What the fuck am I doing?

He looked around the room, trying to find something to ground him—he landed on his parents' faces in the crowd, their smiles warm and sincere. He took a deep breath just as the GM began to speak. 

“We are here today to announce…” 

In Shane’s twenty-one years of life, he was sure that beating testicular cancer had been the hardest thing he ever had to deal with—that was until he was sat in a room of insufferable Boston Raiders as they celebrated their Cup victory, surrounded by their friends and families…and their giant fucking egos that managed to fill the space. Suddenly, he had never been more grateful for Cisplatin and the damage it had done to his hearing. He sat quietly in a corner booth of the upscale lounge they had rented out, and wondered where the kind, quiet, and morally-grounded flock of assholes had disappeared to since leaving the children’s hospital that afternoon. 

“Hollander! You good?” Marley asked, plopping down next to him. Shane saw Ilya clock it from across the room and begged him to save him with his eyes—apparently he needed to work on his eye-emotions, because Ilya smiled and went right back to his conversation with someone’s hot wife. Oh fuck you. 

“I’m good. Just letting that guy do his thing.” He pointed to Ilya. 

“You sure?” He asked again. 

This was just Shane’s life now—a series of you good’s and how are you feeling’s instead of a real conversation. He was sure nobody believed him when he said he was fine, and maybe her wasn’t—but he was never going to be if people kept fucking asking him that. In a lot of ways, he was good. In others, he was trying to be. Tonight, he was fine for real, aside from the fact that he was drowning in a pool of envy and self-loathing as he watched a herd of his enemies celebrating the thing he wanted more than anything. 

“Yeah… I mean, she’s married. Right?” RIGHT?! 

Marley laughed it off, not realizing that Shane was about as good at catching social cues as he was at checking his nuts for a disease that could kill him. “I’m glad you were able to come tonight.” Marley said, looking over at his best friend. “He misses you when you’re not around.” Well, that’s pretty fucking cute… but I’m gonna need you to answer my married question. “Like, maybe concerningly so…” He added. Well, that’s not very fucking cute…and I wouldn’t have pegged Cliff Marleau as a guy who would use the word concerningly in a sentence. This might be bad. 

‘What do you mean?” Shane asked earnestly. Marley looked at him a little dumbfounded—but Shane also had a hard time knowing if that was a look that told Shane that he was the idiot, or if it was just Marley's stupid himbo face. Am I about to have an intelligent conversation with Cliff Marleau?

Marley huffed a laugh. “My guy, that dude went from plowing his way through Boston…” 

Ope…there goes that idea... Shane smiled. 

“...To visiting kids at the hospital multiple times a week, reading books about supporting someone with cancer, and spending every night home alone because he felt like if he wasn’t with you he should be dedicating his life to getting better for you.” Marley smiled. “The kid is twenty-one years old… he is supposed to be out bar hopping and banging broads. But instead he is cross referencing medical books with a Russian-English dictionary, and going to therapy, and…” 

“Wait. What?” Shane said, brows furrowed.

Marley smiled again. “You know he’s been going to the hospital… the kids all knew him for a reason…” 

Shane shook his head. “No… not that. The therapy part.” 

Marley crooked his mouth and gritted his teeth. “Fuck…” He muttered under his breath. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to…”

“Since when?” Shane demanded. 

“Dude… I shouldn’t be…” 

“Marley…” Shane tried again. 

Marley shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel like he started this winter some time. He hasn’t told me a lot about it… just that he’s been going to work on his shit. We’ve all noticed a difference in him.” He admitted. 

A difference? What the hell was wrong with him before? Shane stared over at Ilya who was leaning against the bar with some teammates now, holding court. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to ask, but if Ilya was brave enough to go to therapy, Shane could be brave enough to ask a simple question. “What was he like before?” He asked quietly, taking a sip from Marley’s drink not even realizing he was doing it. Fuck… I need to get my own fucking drink. 

Marley laughed and just pushed the drink back in his direction. “Take it… your face looks like you could use it.” His face softened. “Shane… that kid has never been a fucking kid. He came in hot, trying to be the class clown… but he has always had a cloud hanging over him. And that cloud started to thin out as soon as he told me about you. It was like a weight was lifted. But I kind of wonder if maybe the cancer went away, and some of the darkness stayed…so he went to figure it out.” 

“And now?”

Marley glanced at his buddy and back to Shane. “I think he’s still trying to figure it out… but he seems a bit more…” He paused to think of the right word. “Stable? Maybe?” He decided. 

Was he fucking unstable before? He seemed pretty fucking mature and stable when he was snapping a photo of my fucked up nutsack last year. He was pretty fucking stable earlier when he was moaning my name with his dick inside me. Fuck! 

“You sure you’re good, Hollander? You look a little pale.” Marley asked.

Shane shook his head and snapped out of it. “Has he said anything about next season?”

Marley looked at him confused. “I mean, I assume he’s signing an extension with us.” He got a little worried then. “You don’t know something I don’t know…do you?” Then his eyes got wider, like a nervous, handsome, stupid, fucking deer. “Hollander, I swear to God if you have that guy going to the Metros…” 

“That’s never going to happen, Marley.” Shane said with a laugh. “There is no way they could afford us both. I just mean…” He thought about it. “I don’t know what I mean.” 

“HOLLANDERRRRR!” Connors and a group of Raiders suddenly crashed the party. 

Oh fuck me. 

Ilya leaned on the bar as he laughed with his teammates, but he kept an eye on Shane in the corner for the better part of an hour, trying to gauge whether or not he wanted to be saved—he was nailing it, and it looked like Shane was doing just fine as he bonded with Marley and the boys. God, I cannot believe I get to be here with you in public, you sexy one-balled beauty. His coach joined them and Ilya noticed how all the older guys in the group straightened up and went into work-mode. He reluctantly matched their energy. 

“So, Roz… you think we can get that guy to cross over to the dark side?” He asked, nodding in Shane’s direction. 

Ilya smiled. “Ah, no…You would have to give him half my paycheck and I do not want to share with Shane Hollander.” He joked. It was partially true—they would have to probably split a hefty sum of money in order to both land a spot on the team, but Ilya would resign for pennies if it meant having Shane around. 

After a year of hell, he knew how important it was to Shane to get back to playing at the level he knew he was capable. He knew Shane loved to compete against him. He also knew that Shane was far more mentally stable than he was, and the distance probably wouldn’t be as big of an issue for him—he was working on it. His therapist talked a lot about “attachment” and other buzzwords that he usually ignored on the way to being cured of his mommy-issues and sad brain days. It was fine. 

“I figured you might say that.” Coach said. “But I’m not above bribing him tonight.” 

Ilya’s tongue tasted like a liquor smoothie after somebody accidentally dropped their cigarette into the blender, and Shane had some PTSD-level feelings about fucking smoothies. He couldn’t be sure if it was that that was killing the vibe, or the fact that Marley had also stuck Shane’s brain into a fucking blender that night—but either way, the vibes were off. 

Shane looked around the living room while they stumbled into it. This time he looked at the curtains that were just a little too short. At the picture frames hung almost straight on the wall that were donning the stock images that came in them, as if Ilya’s intentions had been to put a piece of his life on the wall and decided that the smiling black family laying in a field was a better alternative. He looked the TV on the wall, that definitely had a layer of dust on it like he had spent no real time using it at all—or he just didn’t have the motivation to dust it. Is he depressed? Or just a fucking twenty-one year old bachelor?

He pulled away from the sloppy, drunken kiss—well, one of them was drunk. Shane was pretty sure that there was some wild chemical reaction when the liquor met his raging anxiety and it turned it into a need to rethink his entire existence to that point. It sobered him up real quick. “Hey…are you going to therapy?” He blurted out. 

Ilya looked at him with his sultry, intoxicated eyes and leaned back in to kiss him. Shane turned his head. “Hollander, I am trying to kiss you.” 

No shit, Malboro Mouth. “Answer me.” He said again, a little bossy—but not the kind that Ilya liked. Ilya kept pulling at the hem of Shane’s shirt, trying to lose the barrier between them, but for maybe the first time ever, Shane was more concerned about the fucking emotional barrier that had clearly presented itself after the film crew left a week ago. He wasn’t sure now if the massive difference in their interview answers showed up because he was answering them through an autistic lens, or if they really were on two different pages altogether. Ilya leaned in and sucked on Shane’s neck. He moaned, but he still meant business. “Ilya…” He said, and it wasn’t in the sexy way that the neck-suckage would normally create. 

Ilya pulled back, annoyed. “Yes, Shane… I go to therapy. Can we fuck now please?” 

“Do you talk about me?” Shane asked, Ilya right back to his neck. Fuck you’re like a hot, horny, god damn moth to an anxiety-fueled flame. 

“No. I talk about the weather, and hockey, and what I like to do for fun.” He tried to dive back in, but Shane pushed him away gently. 

Shane looked confused. “Really? I thought maybe you would talk about your mom. And the stuff with your dad. And the last year…” He said seriously, and Ilya wore a similar face to Marley’s dumbfounded mug from earlier that night. Oh shit… it’s definitely me. I am the dumb one. 

“Why are we talking about this?” Ilya said exasperatedly. 

Shane shrugged. “I dunno. I guess you know all my stuff… you inspected my balls for fuck’s sake, Ilya. I think you might know a little more about what I’m dealing with than I know about you.” 

“Yes. That is how I like it…” He said, trying to be sexy, but staggering as he moved closer again. His hand reached out and grabbed Shane’s ball. 

Shane looked around the room again. “Why are you still in your rookie condo? I mean, I know money has been a thing… but even still, you would have the funds to put a down payment on a house here in Boston.” 

Ilya sighed loudly and turned to head towards the kitchen to grab water. “I didn’t know I was dating Mr. Real Estate.” He joked, but he sounded a little bitter. 

“Are you not planning on staying here long term?” Shane asked quietly, not wanting to spook a drunk Ilya. 

Not if you ask me not to. “That is plan, yes?” Ilya shot back, chugging his glass of water. 

“I mean, yeah…” Shane muttered under his breath. “I think so? Right?” 

“What difference does it make?” Ilya asked, and Shane was once again confused. 

Did I get dumber? Or are people just suddenly not speaking my language? “I don’t know…There isn’t another way. And I thought we liked playing against each other. For a few more years…” 

Ilya shrugged and Shane could just tell that the next time he kissed him there would be more than just a sprinkle of annoyance added to the cigarette-liquor-smoothie. He exhaled loudly again, but said nothing. 

“Am I just fucking stupid? Can someone just tell me… because I have no idea what the hell is happening right now. Why are you so annoyed by me?” Shane asked earnestly. Maybe I should have drank more. 

Ilya smiled softly and slowly shook his head. “You are not stupid, Hollander.” 

“Then why do I feel like we are on two different fucking planets right now?” He continued. 

“Because we are going to be in two different fucking countries, Hollander!” He snapped. “For years!” 

Shane’s brows drew inward as he tried to process what that meant. I am not a fucking scholar, but I know my geography… we already knew that. “I know…” He said simply. Because he did know. That was the plan. It was the plan when they sat down with his parents. It was plan when they talked to the interviewers. It was the fucking plan as they sat around a booth and bullshitted with his fucking team. It was the only plan that Shane had been able to wrap his mind around since his diagnosis—the only sure thing on a list of very unstable, very unpredictable things. “Wait…” He said, having a clear thought for a change. “When we sat with my parents, my dad brought up us racing to the Cup. And we both said that we would have time to win one together later.” He looked at Ilya. I fucking figured it out. “You fucking won it. You already beat me. Did that make your end of the deal go away? You beat me to it… so now you are okay to change the plan so maybe we can…” 

Ilya was already leaving the room, and Shane trailed off. 

“Where are you going?” He huffed a little laugh, as he followed him. “Wow…I was happy to celebrate with you. This was such a huge accomplishment… but is this some kind of victory lap? Are you not going to sign here? I kind of need to know the plan…” Ilya stopped in the bedroom doorway and Shane bumped into him, not paying attention. When he raised his eyes and met Ilya’s there was something new in them—the drunken, sultry eyes just a distant memory. Fuck. Is he pissed, or sad?

“Are you done?” He asked simply. 

“I don’t know.” Shane said honestly, throwing his arms up in the air dramatically. “Are you done?! Here?! Because I spent all night with your teammates learning about the work you’ve been putting in here…for me. For yourself…and then your coach is making jokes about bribing me to come sign here. Do you have some big master plan I don’t know about?” He took a breath. “You’re a Stanley Cup Champion and all of a sudden the rules are changing for us? You know my brain can’t figure this shit out… and you don’t seem to want to clarify any of it.” 

You are killing me, Hollander. Ilya let out a humorless laugh and looked at Shane. “Shane… I am just doing what you asked. What you planned. Nothing has changed.” 

“Then why does it feel like everything has changed?” 

Ilya was annoyed—and drunk. He plopped down on the bed dramatically. “What has changed, Shane? Talk to me.” He said calmly. 

Shane shot him a quick glare. “Are you therapizing me? I pay someone to do that… and apparently you do too.” 

“Is therapy thing really that big of deal to you?” 

Shane threw his arms in the air again. “Kinda! Yeah!”

“Why?”

I don’t fucking know why. “I don’t know… because I fucking went to a children’s hospital with you and learned that you spend your time hanging out with cancer kids because you couldn’t be there to hang out with me.” He took a breath. “And then I found out tonight that you have been reading books about cancer, and going to fucking therapy, and that you fucking miss me when I’m not here.” 

Ilya looked at him like he was stupid again, and it was wearing on him. “Of course I miss you.” Ilya looked at Shane as he bowed his head and stared at the ground. “Do you not miss me?” 

Shane closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths before moving to sit next to Ilya. “Do you remember when I found out in therapy that my lack of communication with my parents might have been perceived as being standoffish… how I set alarms to remember to call them now?” 

“Yes.” Ilya said. 

“Fuck…” Shane muttered under his breath, before working up the courage to look at Ilya. “Ilya, I think I am realizing this week that I don’t think about you as much as you think about me…but I don’t even mean to. Not in a bad way. Or an intentional way. When we're on the phone, or you’re in front of me, I am overwhelmed with love and the need to be beside you… but when you aren’t there in front of me…” He took another breath and corrected. “Not you… when anyone I care about is not right in front of me, my brain doesn’t process that the same way that other people do.” 

You are going to make me one hell of a patient man, Hollander. Ilya smiled softly. “So you don’t miss me...” 

Shane could feel his eyes welling. “No…I think it’s more than that.” He finally looked at Ilya with tears in his eyes. “I think the way you experience missing me is maybe a feeling of longing, or misplaced love?” He looked at Ilya for an answer without asking a question. Ilya shrugged and then nodded. “I think mine maybe shows up like anxiety. Like I’m not consciously missing you… but my heart and my mind know that something is wrong.” 

Well, that’s kind of fucking beautiful. “Okay…” Ilya said, not sure where this was going. Shane didn’t help to fill the silence, and Ilya assumed that Shane didn’t know where this was going either. “Hollander, are you better when I am with you?” 

“Yes.” He said quickly, without a second thought. 

“Okay.” Ilya said again. “Then just be with me tonight, yes? You are spinning out…and nobody is trying to change the plan.” He gave him a little nudge in the arm. “And Shane, this is not about the Cup… I would be happy to win a million more without you.”

Thank God. “Okay.” Shane said. 

“Let’s go have shower.” Ilya offered. “No shower blow jobs…” He added. 

“Why?” Shane asked with a laugh. 

“Because your fucking anxiety sobered me up and I want to go the fuck to sleep.” 

Shane didn’t fucking sleep. He couldn’t fucking sleep. The plan was the plan. The plan was going to be out there for the world to see soon. The plan would be signed in pen on a dotted line any day, as soon as the final negotiations were made. There would be no offer sheets to consider—only a shorter-than-their-teams-would-like contract with a lot of zeros on the end. Yet suddenly, the plan didn’t feel like the plan at all. Because Ilya was beside him. Breathing on him. Loving him. And the plan would create a world where he would be across a border. Alone in a bed. Missing him. 

He pulled out his phone and it illuminated the room. He was going to scroll social media, but instead his eyes landed on the unread texts from that night. He opened one from his mom. 

MOM: You look so happy. We are so happy for you both. 

Attached was a screenshot from one of Ilya’s teammates Instagram stories, Shane and Ilya cuddled together in the corner booth with Ilya had come to join him at the end of the night. Jesus, does my mom follow every player in the fucking league, was his first thought. Then he smiled. Fuck, we really are out there for everyone to see. He glanced at the clock and realized it was the middle of the damn night, but for some reason his fingers were moving before his brain could stop him. 

SHANE: I need you to set up another meeting with my agent as soon as we get back.

He was shocked to see the bubbles appear so quickly at that hour. 

MOM: Oh good, you’re safe.  You didn’t text me and let me know.

Jesus Christ. Shane had no idea if this was a cancer-induced, my-baby-could-die, kind of mothering—or if it had always been this way. 

SHANE: Mom I am twenty-one years old. 

He hit send. 

MOM: Oh sue me. I didn’t know if they would be nice to you. What am I telling your agent?

Shane smiled at that—he could only imagine what his first day of fucking kindergarten had been like. She probably lurked and watched from the bloody window. 

SHANE: I need to talk contracts. Alone. 

“What are you doing, Hollander?” Ilya said groggily as he rolled over. Shane hid his phone. 

“Sorry.” He said, rolling over to face him. 

Ilya leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You need hearing aids in your brain that you can turn down… like you do with ears when you want to ignore me.” 

“Shut up.” He said, but he turned his phone back on to illuminate Ilya’s face. The hearing aids were in his bag but he’d learned to fill in blanks by watching his lips—something made challenging by the dark. Ilya flinched at the light but settled back in. 

“Tell that to your brain.” Ilya said, eyes closed and smiling. 

“I’m sorry about before…I think I was just overwhelmed to begin with and then therapy was being thrown around, your coach was in my ear…I just freaked out.” He admitted. “And I’m sorry for making the therapy thing sound like some kind of weird accusation.” He smiled. “I’m proud of you for doing that.” He said quietly. 

“Shane, you know that our contracts aren’t about missing each other, yes?” He took a slow, sleepy breath. “It does not matter what offer sheets come… I know Raiders will just match it. We have guys retiring, and will have enough cap space to pay me anything another team might offer…I will not have choice either way.” 

“I know.” Shane said softly. “I just don’t want you to struggle here without me. And I think maybe I’ve been struggling without you too… but it may have been masked by my recovery, and being back on the ice, and everything else. Missing you is somehow better than cancer… so maybe it didn’t hit me as hard this year.” 

“Is okay.” Ilya said, pulling Shane in closer to bring their foreheads together. “We will figure it out, Hollander.”

“Does this mean you’re actually just choosing to live here?” Shane teased. 

Ilya shrugged. “I thought about moving… but this is just a place to sleep. Cottage with you feels like my home.” He smiled and opened his eyes a crack. “I don't need another one until we can be together in it.” 

This mother fucker. “Jesus. Can I blow you right now?” 

Ilya huffed a laugh. “I would never say no.” 

The SUV pulled up to the cottage at the crack of dawn, and Shane was just hoping it wouldn’t become his fucking hearse by lunch time. He watched out the window as he stepped out, swallowing hard—Coach Theriault. This was a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to, but it was shockingly encouraged by his agent. I guess I get to do their fucking job for them. 

He was in a unique spot as an RFA. The Metros owned his rights just as the Raiders owned Ilya’s, and for any other first round draft picks it would be as simple as agreeing on a price and signing on the dotted line. It had been that simple only a week earlier—it had been the fucking plan. Now things were suddenly complicated in a way that his agent decided was better discussed on a personal level before a professional one. Shane couldn’t negotiate his own contract, just as Coach Theriault couldn’t shake hands on it—he wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t just an exercise in making him deeply uncomfortable in front of his boss. 

They settled on the deck outside, after Shane awkwardly offered Coach a beer—at nine in the morning. “No thank you.” Coach said, not able to hide his smile. He looked at Shane and got right to business. “How are you feeling, kid? It’s not back is it?…”

Shane looked confused. “No… of course not.” He watched Coach take a relieved breath. Fuck is the actual conversation going to somehow be worse than if I had to fucking tell him I had cancer again?! He was super anxious again. “I feel good.” He said quickly. 

Coach smiled, looking out at the lake. “You want to leave, don’t you?” 

Shane was shocked. Was he that fucking transparent? Had the rest of the world seen something in him that he had missed himself? Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. No chemo for missing your boyfriend. Shane stared at his interlocked hands. “Uh…”

“It’s okay, Shane.” He said quickly. Then he reconsidered. “I mean… it’s not. You’re a fucking future Hall of Famer for God’s sake…”

“I don’t even think I can…”

Theriault was leaning forward, elbows digging into his thighs as he brushed his hands over his face. “It’s not impossible.” He admitted. He looked at him. “Do you know why your agent made you take this meeting?” 

“No.”

He smiled. “I asked your people to talk to my people if this was the direction they saw it going…”

Shane smiled. “Does ownership even know?” 

Another smile. “Kind of.” He said, shrugging. He got serious again. “Shane, we drafted one of the best players to ever play this game… and then he got cancer…”

“I’m sorry.” Shane said honestly. He knew he had been a fucking disappointing pick only a year into his career—despite what his therapist had to say about it. 

Theriault's face dropped. “For getting sick?” He asked simply. 

“I mean… yeah. I haven’t exactly been what you signed up for. I get it if they don’t want me…”

“Fuck, Hollander.” Theriault leaned back in his chair and laughed before looking his way again. “I was going to say…he got cancer, battled it, won, and came out publicly with his rival in the same year. We’ve watched you choose the path of bravery, and we’ve watched you fucking suffer too.” He looked out at the lake. “I know this is a business… and maybe under any other circumstances we wouldn’t even look at trade offers, but we aren’t in the fucking business of making a great kid suffer anymore than he already has, Hollander.” He looked at him again. “If you want to leave, we can talk trades. I already talked to our GM… and we wouldn’t even let this go to offer sheets. If the Raiders want you, they are going to have to come to the fucking table with something substantial.” 

“You’d trade away my rights?” Shane asked, shocked. That was unheard of for a player of his caliber coming off an entry level contract. 

“There is not a chance in hell that after they sign Rozanov this week that they would be able to give you an offer sheet with a price big enough that we wouldn’t match it. A trade would be the only option, kid. And then they would own your contract rights to sign you for whatever they want.” He took a deep breath. “You know it won’t be what you're worth, right? And they would be giving up first round picks for years. They’d be giving up some young guns. We can’t let you go quietly, for nothing…they would be gambling the entire foundation of their Cup winning squad to have you there.” Shane immediately felt guilty, but Theriault smiled. “We’d be rebuilding… and it would give us a strong shot at fucking beating you boys.” He stared at Shane. “It's your turn to talk, buddy…”

Shane huffed a laugh. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say what you want…you’re not hurting my feelings. This is a business, remember?” 

He took a breath. “I went and celebrated his Cup win with him, Coach… and I realized pretty quickly that he was more excited that I was there than he was about the reason for celebrating.” He looked at his Coach and blinked hard, trying to hide his emotions. “He helped me get through the last couple years and he asked for nothing in return. He showed up when it meant he wouldn’t be able to go back to Russia again. He held my hand through the worst moments of my life… and I’m learning now that he might be going through some things himself.” He stared back at his hands. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t at least try to be there for him now?” 

Coach smiled. “You know that guys take trades all the time in this league to go be with their wives, or to be closer to family all the time, right? Or they sign no-trade clauses to protect their partner's career, or their kids' social lives.” He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It takes one hell of a man to be brave enough to do that at twenty-one, knowing the world is going to shit on any decision you make, just because of you you’re doing it for. You do know that right?” 

“I’m scared.” Shane admitted. 

“Of moving in with your boyfriend?” He joked. 

“Well, that too…I’ve seen his shitty condo.” He said seriously. “But no… I’m scared of the fucking media. The judgement. Going through that shit was hard.” 

“Harder than cancer?” Theriault asked seriously. 

Shane frowned. “No.” He said quietly. 

“Shane, you’ve done the hardest thing already…you’ve earned the good part now if that’s what you want. I’ll work with the GM and the owners, and with the Raiders if that’s what you want. I can’t guarantee anything, but I will try. You just have to ask.” 

Shane looked at him one more time. “Why are you giving me up so easily? They can’t be happy about this…” He asked instead. 

Theriault leaned forward enough to reach into his back pocket where a small notebook had been rolled up. 

How the fuck were you not dying sitting in that? Shane watched as he unrolled it and opened it. 

“When I was pissy about the Ilya stuff, my wife made me check my draft notes. I shared them with Ilya…” He flipped through the pages. “Then when your agent called I went back and looked at yours too, knowing this talk was coming…” He handed the book to Shane on an open page. “Go ahead…” 

Shane opened the book to find his Coach’s very identifiable chicken scratch. This guy needs to learn how to write properly. He began to read. 

• Well mannered Canadian boy
• Rearranged the table immediately… might be a perfectionist. 

Shane huffed a small laugh at that knowing the thoughts had just crossed his mind. Some things never change. 

• More confident talking hockey than about himself
• Seems confident about what he can do on the ice… less confident about what he might become off of it
• Coachable
• Competitive as hell
• Natural leader… future captain
• Seems to have a tender heart, but laser focus on ice
• Maybe takes this a little too seriously… work-life balance will need to be figured out
• Sensitive, not soft
• Great kid
• Maybe the only hockey guy I would let date my daughter

He laughed for real at the last one before handing it back. Coach Theriault grinned. “That last one makes a lot more sense given what I know now…”

“Why are you showing me this?” He asked, a little confused. 

Coach took a breath. “I'm not sure I have ever flagged such a lack of confidence in a draft interview in terms of how you seemed to approach life outside of the arena. Something about that stuck with me enough to note it more than once…” Shane stared at him, still confused. “Hockey has been and will always be where you belong Shane… but my job as a Coach is to win fucking hockey games, and help you guys grow to your full potential.” He took a breath. “It took cancer for you to want a life outside of the arena, and to figure out who you are…and I love that. But I have another three years on my contract, kid… and I have Cup’s to win here.” He smiled. “But I don’t think I can help you grow to your full potential here either. I think even if we sign you, your mind and your heart will be elsewhere…and when I see things like sensitive, not soft, and seems to have a tender heart in draft notes that I think I have mastered at this point in my career… I know that you are in for an uphill battle.” 

Shane nodded. “Okay…” 

“Ask me, Shane. Be as confident off the ice as you are on it…” He led. 

Shane took a deep breath. “Make it happen, Coach.” He said, not quite as confidently as he’d like. “Please.” He added softly—because he was a well mannered Canadian kid, after all. He smiled then. “Can I read what you wrote about Ilya?” 

Theriault smiled. “Not a fucking chance.” 

Shane cocked his head with a crooked grin. “Would you let him date your daughter?” 

An even bigger smile. “Not a fucking chance.” 

ILYA ROZANOV SIGNS SEVEN-YEAR, SEVEN MILLION DOLLAR/YEAR CONTRACT

It was all over every TV in the Boston airport. Of course, Shane already knew it was coming. The contract was signed behind closed doors days before it was made public. He was so fucking proud of Ilya—but more than anything, he was excited to hug him and to hold him after a couple of weeks apart while they worked on their own contract negotiations. 

He did something he never thought he would do before exiting the airport—he stopped at a shop and grabbed a fucking Raiders t-shirt, with his man’s number on the back. He was about to be making seven million a year and Shane somehow felt like he was contributing to his newfound wealth by purchasing a damn shirt. He picked up the keys to his rental car, a boring sedan that Ilya would surely make fun of him for, and he punched in the address to the navigation. 

Ilya thought that signing a seven million dollar a year contract would have had him feeling a lot more joyful than it did—but instead he felt fucking depressed. Seven years. That was not the fucking plan. Seven years without Shane was not the fucking plan. His only hope was that Shane would be able to negotiate less years on his in Montreal, or that one or both of them would fucking suck badly enough to warrant a trade somewhere in the next few years. It was a fucking business, and he knew that, but it didn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. Fuck, I didn’t take my pill. He went to the cupboard and popped the antidepressant that he might not even fucking need if he could just have the sertraline that was Shane Hollander’s dick being in or around his mouth everyday. FUCK. 

He glanced at the clock and realized he was running late—Yuna would kill him if he was late. After he let the Hollander’s know about the signing, they did what the Hollander’s did—they eased his mind, gave him love, and went on a quest for fucking real estate. Yuna had sent him a few listings in the area, and he couldn’t say that he cared about any of them—because this was not the fucking plan. His next home was supposed to be with Shane. Yuna still loved him enough to arrange a few viewings and fly down there to walk through them with him, so he would go. He might even fake a smile while he was there—maybe. 

What in the suburban bullshit is this? He thought as he drove through the lavish area that seemed to have a park on every corner and more fucking lakes than necessary for a neighborhood. What is with white, rich Americans and their man-made lakes. Is just dirty water. He was already annoyed and he knew that he was just going to buy the first house that Yuna showed him, because he was already over this—besides, he assumed that Shane was sitting next to his mommy as she combed through them. This kind shit made Hollander horny. Fuck, I am so horny for Hollander. 

He neared the address flagged in the navigation and he could admit it was nice. It was a large house on a huge lot, surrounded by trees, and blocked off from the neighbors. It also looked like way too much fucking house for one person. I will get dog. Or eight dogs. He parked behind the ugly sedan that Yuna probably picked based off the stupid safety rating. I will get fifteen fucking dogs and fill the rest with not ugly cars. He got out and made his way towards the door, where Yuna was probably waiting with some overenthusiastic realtor with a heavy Boston accent and no morals. 

He rang the doorbell, and no one came. He rang it again, and no one came. He pounded on the door, already annoyed that he wouldn’t be having daily sex with his hunky Hollander for the next seven years, and now this. He reached for his phone to call Yuna, but Shane’s name popped up before he could. 

JANE: 8124

What the fuck is this guy talking about?

ILYA: Is that how many times you have cum thinking about me this week?

The bubbles appeared. 

JANE: Fuck you.

They appeared once more. 

JANE: It’s the code to the door. 

What the fuck. He is supposed to be signing contract today in Montreal. Ilya punched the code into the door, and naturally it didn’t fucking work—of course it fucking didn’t. That was just his forty-nine-fucking-million-dollar luck. 

ILYA: It did not work. Where the fuck are you? 

He heard someone coming down the stairs inside and he waited patiently. I need a fucking cigarette. Finally, the door handle moved and Shane appeared. Ilya was in a fucking mood, and even Shane’s face couldn’t fix it, apparently. “Why are you not in Montreal signing contract? Where is your mom?” He asked, pushing past him in the doorway. 

“Nice to see you too…” Shane teased. 

“Yuna?! Why is your son here to piss me off? Did he sign for fifty million just to rub it in?” He yelled through the empty, echoing house. 

Shane smiled and tucked his hands in his pockets, watching Ilya as he marched around like an angry little Russian elf. “She’s not here…” 

Ilya rolled his eyes and glanced Shane’s way for only a second. “She booked viewings at stupid houses and then she sent you instead? Is like knife in kidney, Hollander.” 

“That’s a little dramatic.” Shane said, and he noticed that Ilya still didn’t look his way. Aw, Ilya… you are breaking my heart. This signing has fucked you up so bad you can’t even look at me.

“You know next home is supposed to be with you…” He said, just above a whisper. He really was hurt by the way this had all played out. 

Shane didn’t move, he just watched as Ilya wandered around the space. “Twenty-four.” He said quietly. 

“You are telling me your number now? Like I do not know? I suck your dick for fun, Hollander… I know your fucking number.” He said, annoyed. Fuck, you are asshole today. You have not even kissed him. 

Shane laughed. “No… twenty-four million.” 

Ilya scrunched his face in disgust and finally looked at Shane. “Better be for three fucking years, Shane. Is not enough if it is for more…” 

Shane smiled again, taking a few steps closer to Ilya. “Seven years…” He said softly. 

WHAT THE FUCK?! Ilya’s face changed and Shane couldn’t tell if it was rage or something worse—heartbreak maybe. He wasn’t sure if it was for himself or for Shane. “You signed a fucking seven-year contract for only three fucking million dollars a year, Shane? Are you fucking insane?! What the hell was your agent doing?!” His arms were flying around dramatically now as he paced. “What the fuck are we even doing, Hollander?! You could have sold cottage for million and taken fucking year long holiday with me instead… we could have fucking quit. Now you are just underpaid and we are not fucking together for seven fucking years…” His volume was increasing. 

Shane approached him slowly, finally able to reach for his hand. He took it in his, and pulled him into a gentle hug. He rested his head on Ilya’s shoulder and turned his head to lay a kiss on his neck, breathing him in. He whispered against his skin. “It’s all they could afford…” 

He could feel the air leave Ilya’s body in an exasperated sigh. “Shane…is bullshit.” He tried again. 

Shane pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and he could already feel the tears building in them. He placed a hand on his cheek. “My boyfriend signed a record-breaking contract, and it didn’t leave them with a whole lot of wiggle room to add another star center… but I figured, if he paid the fucking mortgage on this place, we should be alright.” 

Ilya looked at him confused. “Hollander, did you…” 

Shane stepped back and reached for the hem of his hoodie. He smiled at Ilya one more time, the tears ready to escape his eyes at any moment. He pulled up the hoodie, revealing the Boston Raiders shirt he never thought he’d see himself wearing. “These last two weeks without you felt like torture, Ilya." He paused and grinned. "You know...after I figured out my stupid fucking brain and what this pit in my stomach has always meant when you're not around...I couldn’t do that for a few more years.” 

It finally hit Ilya and his face dropped. “Shane…” He was in shock. “No…” He tried. 

Shane was already nodding. “Ilya, you got me through the hardest year of my life…and now all I want is to live that life beside you. I know we didn’t talk about it, but they signed the trade offer last night with a no-media-release clause until my contract was signed, and I’m expected to do that today… If you don’t want…” 

“Shut up, Hollander.” Ilya said, pulling him for a long, passion-filled, I-get-to-fuck-you-on-the-daily kiss. Shane made a broken sound against his lips, and then they were both crying—tears hot on their cheeks, mixing between them as Ilya kissed him like he was trying to make up for every night they had slept alone, every hotel goodbye, and every appointment Shane had to do alone. Shane’s hands found Ilya’s face and held him there, thumbs brushing uselessly through the tears that just kept coming, while Ilya’s arms wrapped around his waist and dragged him in as tight as he could. The kiss turned messy and desperate, mouths slipping apart only long enough to breathe before finding each other again. 

“God, I love you.” Shane said between kisses. 

Ilya shook his head, forehead knocking against Shane’s as another tear rolled down his face. “You are fucking crazy, Hollander” He whispered, and Shane kissed him again before he could say anything else, smiling through his own tears because after four long years, there was finally no border, no plan, no countdown until one of them had to leave—just Ilya in his arms, and seven fucking glorious years ahead of them. He pulled back again, brushing the tears from Shane’s face. “Do I even have team left? Or did everyone get traded just to get you…Is just me and you? Two-man team?” 

Shane huffed a wet laugh. “I tried to keep it team friendly… and I tried to make them trade Marley, but we’re stuck with him.” He joked. 

“Hollander, this is crazy.” 

“Tell me about it… I never thought I’d see the day where you are more financially stable than me.” Shane looked around the house. “I was serious about the mortgage by the way… it’s the least you can do.” 

Ilya smiled, moving his hands down to hold Shane’s. “Ah, well Yuna set up many viewings…I will pick cheapest one.” 

Shane laughed. “Actually, that was a lie…I picked this one. And we have a meeting to make an offer tomorrow after this becomes official.” 

Ilya got serious. “Metros were not nice? Are they mad?...” 

Shane was already shaking his head. “No. They got what they needed and then some out of the trade… and I think they figured losing a ball and my hearing was enough for one year.” He smiled. “They were okay with my not having to lose you too…” 

“God, Shane…I love you so fucking much.” He looked towards the stairs. “Is there bed up there?” 

Shane gave him a cheeky grin. “No… but I stopped to grab some pillows and blankets.” He leaned in and whispered in his ear one more time. “I wouldn’t want to be uncomfortable while you fuck me through the floorboards of our new home…” 

“Fuck, Hollander.” Shane turned to make his way up the stairs, and Ilya saw his name and number on the back of the shirt for the first time. He reached for his arm, pulling him back. “Oh fuck it, Shane…we can do it right here.” 

RAIDERS SNAG HOLLANDER FOR AN ABSOLUTE BARGAIN

SHANE HOLLANDER’S HEALTH COMES INTO QUESTION WITH UNDERWHELMING SEVEN-YEAR DEAL

WHO REALLY WON THE HOLLANDER TRADE—HOLLANDER WORTH THE RAIDERS FOUNDATION AND FUTURE?

“We are here today to announce…” The GM began. “The signing of Shane Hollander, to a seven-year, twenty-four million dollar contract.”

Shane went through the motions of the fake signing, putting pen to paper for the sake of a photo. He scanned the crowd again as the GM fielded questions about the trade and just what it took to get Shane there. He was ready to get out of there—but then he saw the door crack open, and the one person he wanted to see stepped through it with a brilliant smiled and an I just fucked the man that I love in an empty mansion face. He was stunning as he stood patiently at the back of the room. 

Shane knew that the headlines would all be asking the same question by morning—was Shane worth it? Did the Raiders give up too much to bring in a man who was recovering from cancer that had yet to fully prove himself in the league? 

Shane didn’t know the answer to those questions yet—but he did know the answers to the questions that had been sitting on his heart since he was seventeen years old. Ilya was worth it. He was worth everything, and Shane would give up just about anything to be by his side. He was worth every bit of hate that would be thrown their way. He was worth the pay cut. He was worth crossing borders for. He was worth every bit of bullshit gossip, and every bit of noise—because at the end of the day, Shane couldn’t fucking hear it anyway. 

He walked past the reporters, and past the cameras, reaching for his hand. “Ready to go buy a house?” 

Ilya leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Mmmm…I think we need to test out the floors one more time. Like inspection. Yes?” 

Yes, the fuck we do. 

Chapter 22

Chapter Notes

Warning... they are going to make fun of our man Jesus, and religion a fair amount here. If that is going to offend you, you might wanna scroll away! But also, let it be known that the irony of reading about two men banging, but being offended for my take on Jesus, would not be lost on me haha! This is all in good fun.

“Do you have your speech ready?” Yuna asked as she folded one of the three unfolded laundry baskets sitting in the middle of their living room. Christ, boys. Just hire a fucking laundry service. There was no way to know what was Shane’s and what was Ilya’s, and she wondered if they even knew, or if they had just settled on a life of throwing on a wrinkly t-shirt from a laundry hamper and calling it a day. She was happy that Ilya had a much better sense of style than her son, and he had all but forced the field trip to a tailor to get a few new game day suits altered. Those better not end up in one of these damn hampers. 

The way Shane was looking back at Yuna was one that may have suggested that she just told him he had cancer or something. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s a ribbon cutting Shane…for your initiatives. They are going to want a speech.” She looked over his shoulder where Ilya was laying out two outfits—one for each of them. You may not have a laundry service, but at least you have a built-in stylist. She glanced over at the outfits—a nice cable-knit, chic tan-colored polo, and sharp looking black pants. She watched Ilya decide between a couple pairs of shoes, opting for the nice brown dress shoes for Shane, leaving the black ones presumably for himself to match the all black outfit next to them. Nice. 

“What am I supposed to say?” Shane asked like a damn child. 

She stopped folding and looked at him, one hand on her hip, returning every bit of attitude he was giving her. “Shane Hollander, I didn’t negotiate to get you two luxury boxes for the entire season for you to get up there and say absolutely nothing. You’re about to unveil two million dollars worth of private suites that your ownership group was kind enough to give you as part of your contract. Figure it out. Relate to the friggin kids that will be there for the event. Or at least pander to the press, for heaven’s sake. If they don’t let you keep them next year, you're going to need some awesome sponsors in place. Or a foundation.” 

Ilya came over and kissed Shane on the cheek. “We can write something on the way. We have time. You are excited?” 

“No.” Shane admitted.

“Shane!...” Yuna barked. 

He rolled his eyes. “I mean, I am. This is important to me…I just don’t want to get up there and talk in front of strangers.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You literally talk to the press almost everyday. You’ve done interviews since you were a teenager.” 

“Yeah…but those were all about hockey. Not about having one fucking ball and a sprinkle of autism…” He said, moving to the kitchen and opening an almost empty fridge. 

“When’s the last time you boys grocery shopped?” Yuna asked as he closed it. Shane and Ilya exchanged a look. Ilya shrugged. “Oh my gosh, boys. You’re twenty-one years old, living in a million dollar home…there are two of you. Can one of you not figure out how to adult?”

“We just grab what we need coming home everyday.” Shane said softly, peeling an orange. 

“Just have them delivered! You can do it all from your phone. And book a cleaning service and laundry service while you’re at it.” She added. 

Shane looked around the house. It was clean. They were always fed. He wasn’t sure what she was on about—it looked like the home of two twenty-one year old dudes. Clean enough for company. He could also acknowledge that they had been too busy playing New-House-Sex-Bingo to worry much about decorating or making the place a real home. They had fucked on nearly every surface of the place in the month since they took possession, but the goal was a blackout before the start of the season in a week. He was ready for his mom to leave so they could knock it out in her spare bed and the guest shower—that would only leave the walk-in pantry, and the tool shed in the backyard. We are fucking crushing this living together thing. 

“I need to go get dressed.” Princess Shane remarked as he picked up the outfit that was gently laid out for him by his hot Russian butler. He smiled in his direction. 

“Ah, maybe you need to get dressed outside in tool shed?” He asked cheekily. 

“Ilya…” Shane said, begging him to shut the fuck up with his eyes. He stepped into the half bath in the entry and slipped on the clothes. When he stepped out, he looked at his mom. “So are we just like, pretending? Today? There is no game…but they are bringing in families?” 

Yuna stopped what she was doing altogether and looked at him, realizing that this was one of her sons wonderful little brain things—he would think they were all fucking stupid for doing this. “You’re not pretending, Shane. We can’t create the marketing content we need on a real game day. There would be too many people, and media releases, and all sorts of other problems. So we invited some families to come be the first people to see and enjoy the boxes, and they will stay to watch the morning skate and be invited back to the home opener. Understand?” 

“Okay.” He said, a little annoyed. “I get it, Mom…”

Ilya approached Shane and helped him do up his still wide-open belt. “What is your problem, Hollander? Is supposed to be fun. Your mom worked hard on this.” He said, trying his best to plant himself in the good graces of Yuna Hollander. “You worked hard on this…”

Shane sighed and leaned in, resting his forehead on Ilya’s. “I’m just nervous. About this. And our first game next week. I just want to feel fucking normal this season.” 

Ilya pulled him in for a tight hug, rubbing up and down his back in deep, soothing strokes. “Ah, too bad you are not normal. You are so strong, and so compassionate, and so fucking talented…those kids are going to love you today. And you are doing good work for these families, Shane. You are not normal…you are incredible.” He pulled back. “And today will be incredible too. Yes?” 

“Okay.” Shane said reluctantly, before turning to his mom. “Mom, did you happen to find any socks in there?” 

She rolled her eyes and threw a balled up pair of dress socks at him. “You know, I might need to start taking a cut kid…” 

“Thank you everyone for coming. It is a great honor to be here today to support Shane as we introduce the Hollander’s Heroes boxes for the upcoming Boston Raiders season. I know that this initiative has meant a lot to Shane and Ilya, and they have been pouring their hearts and souls into the preparations to get us here today. I just wanted to thank everyone for coming, once again, and turn it over to Shane who would like to say a few words.” Yuna said with a smile as she stood next to David, looking in Shane's direction. 

I didn’t want to say anything. He smiled anyway, looking out over the crowd. Speak from the heart. He reminded himself, Ilya’s words echoing in his mind from the drive over. He looked at the crowd again, this time looking for a familiar face to grasp onto—and he found many. His eyes landed on Jackson first, standing proudly next to his family with a Rozanov jersey and a smile that was so much wider, a face that looked so much healthier, than the one he was introduced to only a couple of months earlier at the children’s hospital. Beside him, Maddy, Lainey, and Ty—Ilya’s other cancer besties that Shane had the honor of meeting that day. He cleared his throat and spoke. 

“I, uh…” He started, before cracking a smile. “I do this all the time, talking about hockey…but I’m not great about talking about this stuff.” He admitted, and a small hushed laugh filled the space where they stood outside of the luxury box. He looked at the kids again, the ones he recognized and the ones he didn’t. “But there are a lot of brave kids here, so I will try to be brave too…” He looked at his mom who gave him a casual thumbs up with shiny eyes. “I get smashed into boards for a living, and yet, cancer was the single hardest thing I have ever had to face.” Some of the kids laughed at that. “It takes a tremendous amount of courage, and a tremendous amount of grit to battle something as hard as cancer. It can be grueling, and painful…” He looked at some of the parents this time. “...and it can also be incredibly lonely.” He took a deep breath and glanced at the boxes door behind him—the Hollander’s Heroes colorful logo slapped across it. He smiled. “It was important to me to create a space where families could come and enjoy a night that wasn’t about the illness they were all fighting together, so we created Hollander’s Heroes… a program that will allow for them to come here. Where they can enjoy a night of hockey, away from infusion chairs, and hospital rooms. Where they can be together, with people who are going through the same thing, to build a community and maybe share a little hope.” He looked down and smiled before looking up at the kids. “You guys want to see it?” He asked, and the kids all shouted out their desires. 

Shane turned and opened the door, as cameras flashed and kids made their way forward to crash through the door. When he pushed the door open, he was overcome with joy seeing the kids' faces. The room was colorful, but warm. Though the organization would be covering the cost of the booth as if it were full—the goal here was not to fill it. It was spacious, but the regular stadium-seating had been removed on one side to create a mix of bleacher-seating and more comfortable recliners and a couch. They had taken into account the kids' need for equipment, and made space for it. The cupboards were filled with Boston Raider blankets and pillows, understanding that many of them would find comfort in the space and spend more time resting than watching—and that was the goal. He wanted it to feel like home, and not the clinical spaces they were used to. This room was not about hockey—it was about having one night to just feel fucking normal, and to have a little fun. There was access to gloves, masks, and sanitizer—things needed to keep the kids safe. It was made entirely accessible for kids who may need wheelchairs or other mobility aids. It was one small, safe slice of the arena where they could come and just be with their families. It was beautiful. 

“Great job.” Ilya said, coming over to kiss Shane on the cheek and hold his hand. He looked over then and saw his buddy. “Jackson! You are here! In my house!” He exclaimed. It is so nice to see you walking!

Jackson laughed, coming over to give him a hug. “This isn’t your house.” He said simply. 

“Ah, no…is nicer. I should move here. There is no Shane Hollander here to tell me to clean up dishes and steal blankets.” He joked, looking at Shane. 

“I think I’m on his side now…this box comes with Hollander jerseys. I’m going to trade this old one in.” He said, pointing the the ROZANOV on the back. 

Ilya gasped loudly. “Jackson! You are supposed to be my friend, not this guys…” He jabbed Shane playfully in the ribs. 

“Beat cancer and get back to me, buddy.” Jackson said playfully. 

“I like this kid…he’s like American you.” Shane said, smiling at Ilya. He looked back at Jackson. “You back on the ice yet?” 

Jackson looked a little annoyed at the question. “No…I went to tryouts but mom said I looked tired fifteen minutes in and I had to stop.”

“And were you? Tired?” Shane asked, raising his brows, already knowing the truth. 

“No…” Jackson lied. 

Shane clapped him on the shoulder and looked in Jackson’s mom’s direction. “You still have your stuff in the car?” She nodded at him with a smile. “Well…you know what? I still get tired too…but you do what you can, and soon fifteen minutes turns to twenty, and then to thirty, and before you know it you’re back out there feeling a lot better…” He looked back at mom. “What do you say, mom? I think he’s ready for his MLH fifteen minute tryout? A little morning skate with the boys when we’re done here?” 

She looked a little teary as her husband joined her. “That would be amazing, Shane…” 

He gave Jackson’s shoulder a squeeze. “You can enjoy the room a little longer…I have to go to the other side of the arena to do a little work, but I’ll send this non-cancer-beating shlub over to get you when it’s time to go down there. How does that sound?” 

“Awesome!” Jackson said, giving Shane a high-five. 

“You ready for the next one?” Shane whispered in Ilya’s ear. Ilya nodded, and they grabbed Yuna and David and made their way out of the room quietly, leaving it for the families to enjoy. 

“That was perfect, Shane…” David said, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Fuck…here we go again, Shane thought as he watched his mom turn it over to him once again on the other side of the arena, where another Hollander’s Heroes box door was clearly marked with it’s bright, inviting logo. 

“I, uh…” He started, before cracking a smile. “I do this all the time, talking about hockey…but I’m not great about talking about this stuff.” He said—again. Don’t fix what isn’t broken. There was no laughter this time, and he couldn’t help but smile at that. This group was a little more unfamiliar to him, but he took a second to take them in. Another group of kids, this one with fulls heads of hair, but small differences nonetheless. Some were more visibly unique than others, while others looked a lot like he did at that age. He recognized some familiar stims, and the headphones that more than one kid was rocking—it was a mixed bag of wonderful little humans, and this space would be for them. 

“I look back at a lot of my life now and realize that I thought I was always a little different…but I didn’t know what that actually meant until I had to face it in a hospital room, when any control I had over my life kind of faded to the background.” He looked over the kids again, and this time someone special caught his eye—Mel.

Her hands were on a little boys shoulders—her son. He had never met him, but here he was. He looked just like her. He was handsome and well-dressed, like Mel was forcing him to make a good impression today. Ha, I can relate kid. He had headphones on too, and he was rocking back and forth, shifting his weight from side to side as he played with a squishy in his hands. The thing that Shane noticed most of all though, was their smiles—matching and wide. They were beaming, and Shane felt a little choked up at the sight of it. Mel meant so much to him, and she was the person that forced him to come into a new awareness about his own brain and its inner workings. 

There was a level of grieving that came with learning something about yourself at nineteen that you wished you could have known at nine. He wondered how much more grace he would have given himself. How much more understanding. Over the last two years, he slowly let the mask come down enough to live more authentically, and he learned in that process that people still liked him for who he was now, post cancer, and post autism—more importantly, he still liked himself. He wasn’t even formally diagnosed—he wasn’t sure he wanted to be. But the word had been thrown around enough times for him to understand that it was one that he could own. Mel helped him do that. 

He took a shaky breath. “I came into a new awareness about my brain and body, what it liked and what it didn’t like, because a good friend of mine helped me to understand…” He glanced at Mel, who looked a little choked up herself. “I found that I had to look back and almost mourn the things I didn’t know in order to fully step into the things I do now…and because of that, I wanted to create a space where kids could come and live freely as they are, and enjoy a hockey game at the same time.” He looked up at the parents and huffed a laugh. “I know the sounds of hockey are something that soothe me…and losing some of those sounds through cancer treatment has been…” He took a breath. “...a little devastating, honestly. But I also know that the sounds of hockey are a nightmare to many others…so, we’ve made a little sensory haven so it can be more accessible to more people.” He looked at the kids again. “Would you like to see?” The reaction was mixed, but a few kids made their way forward and Shane opened the door. 

This suite was different from any other luxury box in the league—and he was incredibly proud of that. He was also grateful for the Boston Raiders organization and owners who didn’t seem to bat an eye at the idea of making it what it is. Maybe it was the least they could do after signing him for about half of what he was worth. 

The spacious box was divided in two, one side being completely enclosed and nearly-sound proof to the crowd noise and game itself. On that side, a TV hung on the wall with access to wireless headphones for the parents who might want to spend time there with their sound-sensitive kids, but still want to listen to the game themselves. The other half was open to the sounds like any other box. The walls were lined with tactile games and things that would engage a sensory-seeking kiddo. The cupboards were filled with a variety of games and toys. The lights were fully dimmable, and color changing. There were a couple of sensory swings that hung from the ceiling. The box location was chosen specifically for the small room next door that had once been a janitorial storage space—now converted to an entirely sound proofed, small sensory room that kids could escape to if they became overwhelmed. Where the first box offered masks and gloves, this one offered ear plugs, fidgets, and other helpful sensory tools. 

Shane had actively been part of the consultation process of bringing this room to life, and in the process he had learned so much about his brain and the wide spectrum of brains that exist in the world. He found it fascinating. He found it healing. He found it incredibly important to now share that knowledge within this organization and beyond—because he knew first hand that autism had not stopped him from living a very successful life. He was living his dream, and he wanted to show as many kids as he could that they deserved the space and the freedom to dream as big as they wanted. 

He leaned against the wall, just taking it all in—Ilya forever by his side. He watched as the many amazing minds in the room all gravitated towards different spaces, playing with different things. Ilya leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You know they will too busy to even watch game, yes?” 

Shane smiled. “That’s kind of the point…it’s not just about the kids…or the game.” He gestured to a group of dads who were standing on the other side of the glass where the sounds of the game lived. They were talking, and laughing, looking out over the ice where they would stand to watch them play next week. “They all deserve to exist in the same world…but the world isn’t build the same for everyone.” Shane knew and understood that he was very fortunate to have blended in for so long, but he didn’t want anyone to have to blend here. This was a place for everyone to exist together, and he felt like it was his responsibility to help them have a place to belong. 

“I love you.” Ilya whispered again, leaning in for another quick kiss on the cheek. 

It was interrupted when Mel stepped forward, arms outstretched. “Come here, big guy.” She said, pulling him and squeezing him tight. She pulled back with teary eyes. “I hope it’s okay that we’re here…” 

Shane looked at her confused. “How are you here? Did you fly in just for this?” 

She nodded and looked towards Yuna who was already smiling in their direction. “She came to bring treats for the nurses and asked if she could fly us out.” 

“Wow. I’m really glad you’re here…” He looked around the room. “You’re actually the reason for all of this, you know…” He smiled, wrapping an arm around her. 

“Would you like to meet my inspiration?” She asked, a little choked up. 

“Of course I do.” Shane said earnestly. 

Mel flagged down her husband who brought their son over. “This is Oliver.” She said, bending down to his level. “Oliver, this is my friend Shane. You’re going to watch him skate soon.” 

Oliver smiled and waved. “Hi.” He said simply. 

Shane got down to his level. “It’s nice to meet you Oliver. Do you like the room?” 

Oliver looked around and smiled. “It’s cool.” He said quietly. 

Shane stood back up, reaching out a hand to Mel’s husband. “I’m Shane. Thanks for coming. Thank you all for coming…” He added, looking to Mel and Oliver. 

“Nate.” He said, handshake firm. “We really appreciate this. It would be great if every team had something like this.” 

“I’m working on it.” Shane admitted with a smile. 

“Really?” Ilya asked, more confused than anyone. 

Shane laughed. “Well, Yuna Hollander and I are working on it…and she’s terrifying, so I could see it happening. They won’t plaster my name on it, but we are working on creating a foundation that would fund initiatives like this league-wide. Hopefully some other players will come out of the woodwork to help us grow it.” 

Mel nodded and wiped a sneaky tear from her cheek. “You should be very proud, Shane.” 

Shane huffed a laugh and leaned in closer so the kids couldn’t hear. “Hey… I thought I was just being an asshole to people until I met you. So this is your doing, Nurse Mel.” 

She smiled softly. “Did you ever get your light buzzing back?” 

He shook his head. “No…but I’ve lost worse things…” He glanced at his pants. 

Mel gave him a shot in the arm. “Oh my God, Shane.” She smiled at him again. “You feel good?” 

He nodded. “I’m good. I’m back to my new hundred percent. My lungs still fight me sometimes, but my new baseline is close to what it was before. The hearing aids have helped with the sense part of the game. I feel alright.” He smiled then. “And I’m happy…” 

“Good.” She said simply. "Jaw?" She added.

"Healed. Still yapping..." He joked. "I hope he didn't see that..." Shane said, gesturing to Oliver.

She shook her head. "Not a big hockey guy." She smiled. "I'm glad you're healthy, Shane."

He smiled and looked at his watch and at Ilya. “You should go grab Jackson.” He turned to Mel. “You sticking around to watch morning skate?” 

She nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it. And we’ll be flying back for the game next week.” 

He leaned in and hugged her one more time. “Thanks…for everything, Mel.” 

“No. Thank you. For this.” She said, gesturing to her smiling kid who was mid-spin on the sensory swing. “You’re going to do amazing things here, Hollander. Montreal is going to miss the hell out of you.” 

When the boys left to prepare for morning skate, Yuna stepped over to talk to Mel. “Thanks for coming, Mel. I know it means a lot to him that you were able to make it.” 

“That boy has grown up a lot this year, hasn’t he?” She asked. 

Yuna laughed. “Ask me another day. I spent my morning folding twenty pounds of laundry, paying bills, and meal prepping…The guy didn’t know how to get a phone with a Boston phone number.” She smiled then. “But he has grown up in a million other ways. We’re proud of him.” She admitted. 

“As you should be.” 

“Why are we doing this again?” Shane asked, a little breathless. 

“You made card, Hollander. Not me.” Ilya said, his knees digging into the hard ground, grass clippings and chunks of dried mud clinging to them. He took Shane back into his mouth and let the head of his cock bump against the back of his throat. 

“Jesus, Ilya.” Shane said, leaning back and reaching for something to hold onto. “Fuck…gross!” He barked, waving his arm around wildly. 

Ilya paused again, letting his dick pop out of his mouth. “What is problem, Hollander?” 

“Fucking cob web.” Shane said. He pointed to his hard cock. “Just keep going… please.” He reached again, now that the cobweb had been taken care of, and his hand landed on the whipper snipper hanging on a hook. It obviously swayed from the force of his lean and Shane almost fell over—if not for Ilya’s strong hands digging firmly into the muscles of his ass, he would have. He staggered and stopped himself from falling. 

“Stay still, Shane!” Ilya barked, taking him in his throat once again. He bobbed a few more times before he reached one hand down to cradle his favorite lonely nut in his hand. I love this precious, healthy fucking ball. He took it in his hand to roll around, but it felt—strange? He let Shane’s dick fall out of his mouth again and Shane groaned with annoyance. Ilya dipped his head down to inspect the ball situation and Shane clocked it, panicking almost immediately. 

“Fuck… is there a…” Ilya started to laugh. “Are you laughing at my fucking junk right now?! What is going on down there?” Shane reached down to feel for his own sack, swatting Ilya’s hand out of the way dramatically with a slap.

Ilya laughed a little harder. “Where is ball, Hollander? Is it inside of you? You absorbed ball?” He teased. “I need to suck it back out like cow udder?” 

Shane pushed him back, causing Ilya to lose his balance and fall to the dirty, grass clipping covered floor. He landed next to the lawnmower and a shovel—which looked tempting as a fucking weapon about now. I can fucking bury you. “Fuck you. It’s fucking freezing out here…” 

Ilya tucked a thumb into his waistband and admired his own hard cock and balls. “Ah, mine seem just fine.” 

“You have fucking boxers on, you fucking Russian prick…” Shane barked, reaching for his hand to pull him up. “It smells like fucking gasoline in here. Can you just turn me around and fuck me already so we can mark this one off the damn card?” 

Ilya laughed again, grabbing Shane by the waist. “Mmm… we could finish here and then go to spare bathroom shower. Two for one fucking on the bingo card.” He joked. 

“Oh…that’s a good idea, actually.” Shane said thoughtfully. “That would just leave the spare bed and the pantry, and we still have a few days left to…”

“Shut up, Shane.” He looked around. “Where you want to be bent over, Hollander? Over lawn mower? Over compost bin?”  

Shane looked around seriously. Why the fuck are we even doing this. He looked at the push lawn mower. Probably not safe…wheels and what not. He looked at the compost bin. That thing probably fucking stinks. He looked to the back corner of the large shed and smiled. “Riding mower.” He pulled Ilya that direction. “You have the lube?” 

Ilya laughed. “Hollander, if we are fucking on fucking riding mower…you need to take ride.” He winked and looked down at his dick, trying to burst the seams of his boxers—actually, of Shane’s boxers. 

Those are definitely my fucking boxers. “Fine.” He said, reaching for his hoodie that was hung from a rake in the corner. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s fucking October, Ilya! In Boston! And we are in an uninsulated shed in the backyard! I’m putting on my fucking hoodie!”

Ilya groaned. “Is like fucking Winnie the Pooh. No pants, shirt only. What am I supposed to play with when lonely ball is sucked into your body and no nipples out?”

“I don’t know…maybe my fucking dick?” He pointed to it, hard and leaking—below his annoying fucking hoodie. 

At least it is ugly Metros hoodie. I will make him cum all over it. Ilya moved to the hoe that held his own pants and hoodie. Not the only hoe in here, he thought, glancing at Shane over his shoulder and chuckling at his own dumb, internal joke. He grabbed the lube packet from the pocket and flashed a condom. Shane shook his head. “Oh, messy Hollander. I like.” Ilya teased. 

Shane gestured to the power washer beside him. “I think we can handle a mess…” 

Ilya laughed and peeled off his boxers before plopping down on the seat of the riding tractor lawn mower. He immediately stood with a yelp. “FUCK! Is freezing.” He stood straddling the seat as Shane came over to clap a hand under his balls. 

“Hmmm. Now who has tiny shriveled balls?” He teased, giving them a gently tug as Ilya leaned in to moan into his mouth. 

Ilya threw him the lube. “Get yourself ready for my, Hollander.” He said, moving to grab a thin cushion from the outdoor furniture they had just stored away, and his hoodie. He grinned as he watched desperate Shane leaned over the seat of the tractor already, knuckle deep in his own ass. Ilya didn’t move him to place the cushion and the hoodie down. He just leaned against the wall, into another fucking cobweb, and watched. 

Shane looked over his shoulder. “Seriously?” He asked. 

Ilya laughed and offered a jazz hand, spreading his fingers playfully. “You have best tools in shed, Hollander.” 

“Fuck off and come help me.” 

Ilya walked over and pushed a firm hand to back of Shane’s neck, bending him over even further on the hood of the small tractor. “Lube…” He said, holding out two fingers. Shane sat up enough to squirt some on his fingers before leaning back down. Ilya braced Shane hip and slipped two fingers inside of him, immediately curling them to rub along that sweet spot. Shane moaned immediately, and Ilya smiled. He pulled them out and quickly removed his own boxers so he could rub his own cock up the side of Shane’s thigh and hip as he pushed into him with his fingers again. He stretched him slowly, adding a third. “You want to ride my cock, Hollander?” He asked breathlessly. 

“No. I want you to fuck me from right there so we can get the hell of out here.” Shane said, but Ilya brushed hard over his prostate to make him shudder, not appreciating his I don’t want to fuck in a dirt and fuel-filled tool shed attitude. 

Ilya smiled and reached for the lube, slicking up his rock hard dick, before lining himself up. He positioned Shane, and smiled at the hint of a freezing cold ball peaking out below his ass. He ran his hand up his back under his hoodie as he pushed into him. The first thrust was slow—but then he was all business. Until he fucking wasn’t. 

“JESUS!” He yelled as he allowed his eyes to drift mid-thrust.

“WHAT?!” Shane yelled just as loud, scrambling to stand upright to get the hell out of there. He learned in that moment that if a bear happened to walk through the yard, he would without a doubt be throwing Ilya in front of it as a fucking sacrifice. His fight or flight had kicked in and he might as well have grown fucking wings right then and there—because that boy was ready to fucking bail anyway he could. 

Ilya laughed and pointed. “Jesus.” He said again.

Shane looked up, and sure enough there was just another shed-worthy relic left by the previous owners of the house. A life-size, fucking Jesus—his blue eyes and judgmental, probably-a-little-gay, face staring right down the barrel of their souls. “Oh God...” 

“No… that is his daddy. I don't think he is here.” Ilya joked. “He fucking scared me. Did not see him there.” 

Shane looked a little annoyed that his fun, gay-ass-sex-having self was now looking at fake Jesus, and the backend of a camel, instead of getting fucking railed by his boyfriend in a tool shed like a normal fucking person. I think we can throw out the fucking nativity scene as a whole. Mary is probably in here judging too. He took a quick glance but couldn’t see her. Not everyone can be a fucking virgin, Mary. “Can you just sit so I can ride you?” Shane asked, not a hint of sexiness in it. 

“Should I turn Jesus around?” Ilya asked seriously. 

“No, Rozanov! I don’t give a shit about Jesus! You won’t have to look at him if I’m on top of you.” 

“Is always watching…” Ilya joked, pointing to the sky.

“Right. I forgot you’re sneaking into heaven with your little gold cross.” Shane said seriously. 

“Is not bad plan, Hollander. Just in case.” 

Shane clapped the tractor seat and spoke through gritted teeth. “Get up here!” 

Ilya put the cushion and the hoodie down and climbed on the tractor, pushing him as far back as he could. 

“Reverse or normal?” Shane asked, again without a single sprinkle of sexiness. 

“Normal. I need your eyes to replace memories of his.” He said, pointing to nativity scene Jesus. 

“Fine.” 

Shane climbed up, realizing that not only could Ilya stretch out, but there was not enough room to fit between the steering wheel and his fucking dick. He groaned with annoyance and dismounted. “Move. Get off.” He said, gesturing him off the tractor. 

“What now?” Ilya complained. 

Shane bent over the seat again, more comfortable now with the cushion and hoodie. “Get behind me and fuck me…we can’t fit on there so we either need a bigger fucking riding mower, or you’re going to have to deal with Jesus…”

“Ugh.” Ilya groaned again. “Give me hoodie.” Shane handed him his hoodie from the seat, and Ilya made his way around to cover Jesus with is. “No free shows…” He joked. 

He returned, and in one swift motion he entered Shane. He wasn’t fucking around anymore. He pumped into him again, and again, hands grazing up his back under his hoodie. “Come here.” He said, wrapping a hand around his stomach and pulling him back against him, changing the angle. 

“Fuck, Ilya.” Shane groaned. 

Ilya looked around him for something he could easily reach to stand on to give himself some leverage and improve the angle. He scanned over the fertilizer dispenser next to him. Too plastic and weak. He thrust deeper, as best he could, and Shane cried out. There was a sandbag nearby. Too heavy to kick over. He made his trusts more shallow, quicker, still holding Shane’s abs in his hands, enjoying the heat of them under the hoodie. Is cold in here. He noticed a skateboard behind him leaning against the wall. Did he bring that when we moved?! “You skateboard, Hollander?” 

“No I don’t fucking skateboard. Are you serious right now? Am I fucking boring you?” He said, being pulled out of the moment altogether. 

“Would be hot if you did…” Ilya said into Shane’s hair. 

“You are literally balls deep in me right now…is that not hot enough?” Shane said, forcing himself back down onto the tractor seat. “Just fuck me already. Hard.” 

“Fine.” Ilya said, and he did. He hammered into Shane over and over, forcing his back down deeper and deeper into the patio cushion. Shane's moans got louder, less human and more guttural. You are fucking sexy like this. Ilya could feel his orgasm building inside his gut and he picked up the pace. I am like jackhammer. He pounded into him harder and harder, faster and faster. I wonder if there is jackhammer in here…

“Fuck, Ilya…I’m coming.” Shane moaned, and Ilya pulled him up off the tractor seat, bringing his arm around to stroke him hard. “Ah, Jesus…” Shane said, just above a whisper. He glanced up at the covered Jesus. “Sorry…” He whispered, even quieter—just in case. “Oh fuck…” He wailed, as Ilya matched the quick thrusts to the stroking of his dick, and all of a sudden he was coming. He came all over the patio cushion, and down the side of the tractor seat. 

He felt Ilya tense behind him then, and he thought he was about to cum inside him until he pulled out. Ilya pulled out and gave his cock a few strong strokes before he came all over the back of Shane’s stupid Metros hoodie. He had a smug grin on as he did it. 

“Oh, come on…” Shane whined. 

Ilya was still in a state of bliss, but managed to speak anyway. “Now you can throw out stupid Metros hoodie.” He joked. 

“I’m not throwing it out…” Shane whined again, already moving to find his clothes. 

“Oh, so you will let new laundry service wash your cum off it?” 

“It's your cum...and I can just wash it myself…” Ilya raised his brows at him. “Fine…I’ll probably throw it out…” Shane said, pulling on his boxers, followed by his pants. He stood up straight and gave Ilya a less than satisfied face. “So that was…” 

Ilya laughed as he stood still fully naked, still breathing hard. “Bad…that was very bad.” He said simply. 

“Not our best.” Shane said with a laugh. He looked around the shed. “I think we can probably agree we never need to do that in here again, right?” 

Ilya looked around too. “Should we take Jesus to shower with us?” 

“Fuck off, Ilya. You’re actually the worst.” 

“He can help us wash away our sins, Hollander…” Shane was already turning to leave, but before he did he turned back around. “What?” Ilya asked. 

Shane moved quickly, snatching the hoodie from Jesus and turning to grab the rest of Ilya’s clothes from the ground before running out the door, booking it towards the house. “Hope the neighbors don’t see you, asshole!” He yelled as he ran away with a shit eating grin. 

Well, shit. 

Five minutes later, after Shane threw away the cum-stained-shame-hoodie, he stood and looked out the patio door, wondering how long it would take Ilya to work up the courage to run back into the house naked—he was surprised he didn’t just run in behind him proudly. Maybe the cold made his junk shrink…Shane poured water from the kettle into his mug to make hot chocolate, and took a sip, almost immediately spitting it out when he looked back out the window to see Ilya’s solution. 

Hollander, you are fucking asshole. It took Ilya five minutes to maneuver Jesus, finding Mary and some other pals in the process. Why they have adult Jesus? Where is baby Jesus? Did adult Jesus watch his own birth? These old owners were very weird. He finally made enough space to remove one of the camels from the back wall, which was the perfect height to cover his body. He carried it out of the shed, keeping the giant fucking camel in place to cover all the secret places—he was okay with the world seeing his ass. It was a spectacular ass. He peeked his face through the gap between it’s neck and the hump and glared at Shane where he could see him laughing through the patio glass. You think is real funny, Hollander. He reached the sliding doors and dropped the camel on the ground before leaping inside. He stood and stared angrily at Shane. 

“There is a humping joke here somewhere…” Shane said with a laugh. 

Ilya took off running and Shane had to quickly put down the hot chocolate to run away. Ilya chased him around the living room, Shane stopping behind the couch, trying to fake him out. He succeeded and ran back towards the island, where they proceeded to run in circles like children, screaming and laughing, until Shane’s stamina ran out and Ilya was able to capture him. He wrapped his arms around Shane’s waist and pulled him in close. “You are so bad, Hollander.” He whispered in his ear, before kissing along the back of it and down to his neck. “And so beautiful…” He added. 

Shane turned around slowly, slinging his arms around Ilya’s neck. “You know…it’s pretty deadly being in love with your roommate.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah…I get to hang out with my best friend all day, then go out to a shed and have terrible sex with him. What’s not to love?” 

“Nothing.” Ilya said earnestly. He leaned in and kissed Shane, tender and reverent, bringing his hands up to the back of his head. He let his fingers play in his hair as they kissed, reminding himself to never take those luscious locks for granted. He pulled back then and scowled. “Did we even kiss out there?” He asked honestly. 

Shane laughed and shook his head. “I’m telling you…I have never had bad sex with you. And that was bad…” He leaned in and kissed Ilya’s forehead. 

“Mmm. Why don’t we go to our bed and spend rest of day making out with clothes on?” 

“Mmm clothes on? You sure?” 

Ilya smiled against his mouth. “Yes…my balls are inside my body, Hollander. Is fucking cold out there.” 

Chapter 23

Chapter Notes

The clock was winding down. Three fucking minutes, Shane thought as he looked up at it. Then his eyes landed on the score. Six to two. Fuck. This was not how it was supposed to be. His first season with Ilya in Boston was supposed to end with them holding the Cup over their heads together, the Hollander’s at their side celebrating with them. Instead, it was about to end in game six of the first fucking round, and worse yet— 

“Hollander! I guess the trade was worth it, eh?” JJ barked as he skated past the bench having just buried that sixth goal. 

Shane bowed his head. It sucked, but he was right. The Metros rebuild year had turned into a wildly successful season with a lineup of young guys they had brought in—but Shane wasn’t sure it was sustainable. The Metros were now a team of young guns who had worked their asses off to earn their keep. The difference was, and he knew it as well as anyone, being that good at nineteen or twenty doesn’t always translate into a long and healthy career. They might make it out of round one. They might even go all the way. But the further they go, the larger the egos grow, and Shane knew that. He knew if the Raiders stayed the course, they would be right back there the next year—and their season wouldn’t end in round fucking one. 

“Fuck you, JJ.” Ilya shouted back as he hopped the boards and sat down. Good one, Ilya. He looked up at the clock too. This fucking sucks. He looked over at Shane, who would be taking his last shift any minute. “Don’t listen to him.” He smiled. “Just means more time at the cottage.” He winked and gave him a nudge. Shane didn’t smile back. “We have shed there too…” Ilya added, and the corner of Shane’s mouth lifted ever so slightly at that.

Shane took the ice with a minute left, and the Metros iced the puck. Ilya hopped on the ice to join him as the sixth man, as Coach pulled the goalie. Shane grinned over at him at the faceoff dot, still grateful to be on the same side of it. They were never going to score the four goals they needed to force overtime, but Shane was going to enjoy this last shift—one last shot to put one more goal on the board together. 

Shane won the draw back to Connors who bombed it across the line where Marleau was waiting to start the cycle. Shane moved behind the net as he watched Connors and Marleau move it around quickly, too quickly for the short handed Metros. Marley cycled deeper and fired the puck across to Ilya above the circle on the far side, and as soon as it landed on his blade, he banked it off the far boards behind the net where Shane was waiting. Ilya cut in front between the hash marks just as Shane fed the puck to Connors along the boards, who gave it right back as Shane moved above the circles and turned and fired a no-look pass over to the far post where he knew Ilya would be waiting. He looked up just in time to see Ilya take the one-timer, burying the puck, low glove side—point two seconds after the buzzer. Game over. Six to two loss in game six for the Raiders. Fuck. 

Shane didn’t even get a chance to get to Ilya before he felt arms wrapped around him from behind, and a chin on his shoulder. “You should be proud, buddy.” Hayden said quietly, not even moving to celebrate with the boys before comforting Shane. He didn’t linger. He turned and clapped Ilya on the shoulder too before joining his team. 

“Was a good season, Hollander.” Ilya tried, but Shane was already making his way past the celebration to the bench to see his own team. 

They lined up for the handshake, and Shane was slowly pushed to the back of the line by his teammates. He wasn’t sure why, but he quickly began to understand. Every Metro that shook his hand had a kind word to say, and it seemed like the Raider’s crowd was even moved by it, not moving from their seats as they watched. Shane made it through most of them without crying, but as he reached the back of the line, he started to crack. 

“Come here, my guy.” JJ said, shaking his hand and pulling him into a tight squeeze. He rested his head on Shane’s shoulder and spoke just loud enough for him to hear it. “You’ll get that Cup buddy. You should be so proud of the last couple of years.” He pulled back to meet Shane’s tear-filled eyes. “We miss you, brother.” And then he was moving on. 

Hayden skipped the handshake altogether, enveloping Shane in a hug. “Party at the cottage this summer, yeah? The girls miss their Uncles.” He said, looking at Shane before pulling him back in. Uncles. Cute. “We love you so much, buddy. It’s been so great watching you back out here all season.” He pulled back again. “Are you happy?” 

Shane sniffed, trying to hold back his tears long enough to smile. “I’m so happy.” He admitted, then he laughed. “I mean, not right now…” 

Hayden laughed and hugged him one more time, whispering in his ear. “We will all show up to bury his body if he starts to make you anything but happy…” He joked. 

“Thanks, Hayd.” He laughed. 

The love continued down the line until he reached Theriault. He kept his handshake firm, and disguised his I’m fucking overjoyed that we all get to keep our jobs after winning the Hollander trade this season face as best he could. “Hell of a season, Hollander.” He said, leaning in. “You healthy, kid?” 

Shane nodded. “Yeah, Coach. I’m good.” He said simply. 

“That’s what matters at the end of the day. You happy here?” 

Why does everyone keep fucking asking me that? He nodded, and Theriault finally smiled. 

“We will see you back here next year, Hollander. You should be so proud of yourself.” 

Shane tried his best to smile, quickly wiping away his tears knowing that every camera in the place would be pointing in his direction, broadcasting every feeling he had to the world—he failed quickly when he looked over at the bench and saw the sweet, happy faces of his Hollander’s Heroes from that night, lining the boards, waiting for him. It was a tradition they tried to make happen every night if time allowed—the chance for the kids to come down and high-five the boys as they made their way down the tunnel. Tonight they were all there, having waited forever for him to get through the handshake line. His face cracked again—and it wasn’t because this was the first time he saw them there. It was because he needed it tonight. He needed the reminder that this season was about so much more than winning a Cup. It was about getting back to what he loved for a full season, with no illness clinging to him, in the place where he was ready to build a life. It was about those families he was able to help. The kids he was able to make space for in a place that wasn’t typically built for them. It was about the two million dollars a year that the Raiders organization put forth to make it happen—because they couldn’t find it in the cap space to pay Shane, but they could put their money where their mouth was on making the things that meant the most to him come to life. It was about Ilya, and just how far they had come since they were seventeen-year-olds in an arena parking lot. 

He didn’t have a Cup—but someday he would. He had at least six years to make that dream come true next to Ilya. Right now he had his health, and a group of kids who were looking at him like he had hung the fucking moon, a supportive and loving family, and his boyfriend waiting inside a dressing room to take him home. 

Shane took off his helmet and set it down, taking the time to greet every one of those kids, thanking them for coming and signing autographs as he went. About halfway through, he turned to find Ilya there doing the same. He couldn’t help but wonder how many Boston Raiders jerseys would exist in the world carrying both of their signatures right next to each other by the end of their careers. The thought made him happy. He smiled and continued down the line until every kid had had time with them both. 

“You good?” Ilya asked before heading back to the dressing room to debrief. 

Shane leaned in to rest his forehead on Ilya’s. “I’m good.” He pulled back. “I love you, Rozanov.” 

Ilya smiled. “I love you too, Hollander. Let’s get out of here.” 

“What is this?” Yuna yelled up the stairs, picking up the sheet of paper from the table at the cottage. 

Shane turned to Ilya who was finishing getting dressed and proceeded to whisper yell at him across the room. “Rozanov! Did you put away cottage bingo when we were finished with it last night?!” The look on Ilya’s face told him that he did not in fact put away the summer-sexcapades-bingo-game and his mother was currently reading it in front of his father. Shane started moving swiftly down the stairs to snatch it from her hands. “Uh…it’s just a, uh…” He grabbed it. “A cleaning bingo…no cleaning service out here.” He tried with an uncomfortable smile. 

“You need to clean the hammock?”

Shane thought about it. “Uh…yeah. They are machine washable.” 

David looked over his shoulder at the list. “Oh your mom and I cleaned the boat and power washed the dock last week before you boys got here. You can check those off.” 

Fucking disgusting. “Uh, awesome…thanks Dad.” Shane slipped the list into the junk drawer. 

Yuna stopped him. “Don’t put it in there. If you don’t see it, you won’t do it.” She pulled it out and put it on the fridge with a magnet before grabbing a pen and crossing off the dock and the boat. “Look at that! If you bang out the laundry room and the deck today you could already have a line!” She said excitedly. “Bingo!” 

Bang it out. Are you fucking kidding me?! “I don’t think we need to get those done before everyone gets here.” Shane said. 

“How was your appointment this week, Shane?” David asked as he looked over their sex bingo, probably wondering why they needed to clean that random little island about seven kilometers away in the middle of the lake. 

Do not bring that up. Do not bring that up. Shane watched as David casually removed the “cleaning” bingo from the fridge when Yuna wasn’t looking, offering Shane a wink as he put it back in the junk drawer. Oh he definitely knows we are going to try to fuck on that island. “Good. Scans all came back clear.” Shane said, sharing an embarrassed smile with his dad. 

“And the audiologist?” He continued, as he sat at the table with his coffee. 

“Still doesn’t fucking listen…” Ilya said with a shit eating grin as he made his way down the stairs with his perfect shower-damp curls and a face designed to be on the cover of fucking GQ. He was beautiful. Shane couldn’t wait for him to fuck him from behind on an island—and in the hammock, which was probably about four minutes away from being thrown in a washing machine by his mom. “Good morning.” He whispered in Shane’s ear, as if he hadn’t already said that with his mouth around his cock about twenty minutes earlier in the shower. He kissed him on the cheek this time instead. 

Shane smiled and looked back to David and now his mom who had joined them at the table. “Uh, no change. I think this is just life now…” He said, and it was less sad than it would have been a year earlier. He had come to grips with his new hearing reality. 

“Pulmonary tests?” Yuna added. 

“Yep. All good, Mom. Met my baseline from the start of the year, and it’s close to what it used to be.” 

“And they checked your…” She began. 

“Don’t worry, Yuna. Ball is safe…” Ilya said with a wink. 

What the fuck. Shane rolled his eyes. “Yeah…all good.” He smiled more thoughtfully at his mom. “I’m good Mom, really. I have a clean bill of health.” 

She looked at Ilya. “How about you? How are those ribs?” 

“Ah…good as new.” Ilya lied. 

“So still displaced and painful?” Yuna asked, giving him the look. 

Ilya nodded. “Yes…but is okay. Rest and recovery. That is what this summer is for…” 

“And cleaning, I see!” She said excitedly, gesturing towards the fridge a little confused as to where the list had gone. 

“Mmm yes. All of the cleaning. I bought all kinds of new cleaning tools for this summer. Cottage will never look better…” Ilya continued. 

“Ilya…” Shane groaned, shooting him a look. 

“How’s your father?” Yuna continued. 

God, I forgot how fucking involved these people are. I might need to tell them we are doing a fucking silent retreat for the next two weeks or something. “Mom…” He shot her the same look he just gave Ilya—the can we just make it three fucking seconds without dipping into a health crisis or mentioning the sex toys you bought to fuck their son with look. 

“He is okay.” Ilya said softly, pouring himself a coffee. “I don’t talk to him often, but the facility calls me every week to update me and he is same as he was. Good and bad days. But he is safe.” 

“Good.” Yuna said earnestly. She grabbed her trusty notebook then and slapped it on the table. “Alright! We have an hour until everyone gets here. Let’s figure out the plan!” Shane rolled his eyes. 

As Shane sat in his chair on the dock watching a bunch of fools swimming in the cold lake, he couldn’t help but wonder how the fuck he got here—it took a single graze over his port scar, and the scar along his jaw for him to remember. What a fucking ride. He thought as he watched Troy Barrett and his boyfriend, Harris, bobbing in the water on a floatie together. He glanced over to Scott Hunter next to him a chair, who raised his beer in cheers as they watched Ilya and Kip play a game of chicken with JJ and Hayden. 

“Those Metros don’t stand a fucking chance against those two.” Scott leaned in to say. 

Shane smiled. “I’m so glad they lost that fucking Cup too.” He said even quieter. “I’m not sure I could have handled missing it by a year on both sides…” He admitted. 

Behind them on the grass, Mitty and David were playing soccer with the Pike twins as Jacky and Yuna watched them, indulging in not their first glass of wine, Arthur passed out on Yuna’s chest. Marleau was out captaining the boat, Raiders rotating through to waterski and wakeboard. It was a beautiful day, but more than that, it was a productive day. 

Yuna Hollander thought there was no better way to grow the Hollander’s Heroes initiatives than bringing in the Raiders as a whole, along with the queer community that was slowly building across the MLH because of Shane and Ilya’s bravery—though they struggled to own that part of their own story. They saw it as a basic right now, and not something that should have been viewed as brave or special. Still, it was nice to have everyone rally around them. As Shane looked over the collective group of MLH assholes, he knew one thing to be true—rivalry didn’t exist out there. On the ice, they were working against each other—but at the cottage, for one day, they were joining forces to create something that meant more than the number in the W column. 

“You’re doing great work, Hollander.” Hunter said, glancing over at Ilya. “Both of you are.” 

“I think we are doing the bare minimum.” Shane admitted. 

Hunter shook his head. “I’ve been in this league a long time already, Hollander. Cancer would have been enough to go through…everything after that has been an active choice that you didn’t have to make.” 

“Thanks for being a part of it.” Shane said earnestly. 

Together, they had created The Extra Shift Foundation. It would continue the efforts of Hollander’s Heroes across the league, starting with the Metros, Centaurs, and Admirals, with their representatives pushing the same narrative—when life gets hard, we take the extra shift. Each team would choose their own initiative for the dedicated boxes, but the idea was the same—no family should face it alone, and everyone should have a place to belong. 

It was a conscious decision to keep their queerness out of it to start—but it was certainly part of the grander picture that many of the faces of the foundation would be out and proud. It was hard to work against the queer MLH community when they were doing nothing but putting good into the world and into the sport. Slowly but surely, they hoped that their efforts would be recognized and accepted, creating space for other minorities in the world of hockey. 

Hunter looked at him thoughtfully. “How have you been doing, Hollander?” 

Shane smiled and took a long pull from his beer. “When do you think people are going to stop asking me that?” 

“Do you want us to?” He asked seriously. 

“Kind of.” Shane admitted. 

Hunter huffed a laugh. “I can do that…but if you want to know what I think…” He paused, waiting for an objection before continuing. “I think the asking is good…because you might be cancer-free and good today, but you’re also twenty-one years old…” 

“Twenty-two…” Shane corrected. 

Hunter nodded. “Right…a real veteran in the league. Sorry.” He teased. “You’re young, and you’re healthy. But you’re also going to have bad days ahead. I have had people ask me how I’m doing since the day I lost my parents almost two decades ago, and usually the answer is fine…but sometimes someone asks on the right day when life isn’t always feeling like sunshine and rainbows, and it keeps the line open to talk about it.” He looked at Shane. “Just keep talking about it… it keeps you from being bitter.” 

“Okay.” Shane said softly. “Well, today I’m good.” He said honestly. “Really good.” 

“Hey Hunter!” Ilya called from the water. “Do dinosaurs know how to swim?” 

“Fuck you, Rozanov.” Hunter barked back. 

“Is that yes? Prove it.” Ilya looked at Shane. “Shane, can you help the kind geriatric man get in water?” He continued. 

“I’m going to fucking kill your boyfriend.” Hunter said quietly. 

Shane laughed. “He always likes to stay a few words away from being in a crime documentary.” Shane joked. “It’s part of his appeal.” Shane said with a wink before standing up. He reached out a hand to pull Hunter out of the chair. “Come on.” He said, and as Scott Hunter stood, Shane felt the splash. He looked down in the water where Shane had just pushed him. “Ooops.” 

Hunter shot him a look. “You’ve got some fucking balls, kid.” 

Shane laughed and raised his brows, looking down at his shorts. “Uh…” 

“Oh fuck.” Hunter said with a smile. “You’ve got a lot of nerve…” He corrected. 

Shane looked at his hands and feet. “Actually, those are still pretty fucked up too.” He said with a laugh. 

“Just get in the fucking water, Hollander.” 

Shane jumped in next to him and swam over to where Ilya was waiting with outstretched arms. Shane wrapped his arms around his neck and Ilya grabbed him by the ass, pulling his legs around his waist. He leaned in and kissed Shane, quick and easy before turning to Kip and Scott who were cuddled up the same way beneath the cold water. “You are all staying for supper, yes?” Ilya started. “If we order in, could you get us senior discount, Hunter?” 

“Enough, Rozanov.” Hunter looked at Kip. “We will cover takeout tonight…I think it’s the least we can do for you boys.” 

“Ah, yes. We can order two pizzas, yes? One slice each, with Kip’s barista salary?” Ilya joked. 

“Wow, no one is off limits for you…are they?” Kip teased.

Ilya laughed. “Mmm maybe Hollander.” He said, kissing him on the cheek. “Have to be careful…all teasing is discrimination when you are bi-racial, gay, have one ball, autistic…” He teased. “Anything else, Hollander?” 

“I fucking hate you.” 

Ilya leaned in to kiss him again. “No you don’t.” He whispered against his skin. He moved closer to his ear, trailing kisses towards it as h1e went before whispering right into his better ear. “I can’t wait for these assholes to leave so I can fuck you the way you deserve.” 

The cottage was finally quiet aside from the sound of their breathing and the distant call of the loons and the crickets through the open bedroom window. Shane stood near the foot of the bed, his shirt already discarded somewhere in the room. The sun was setting over the cottage, bringing in the warm light of early summer, and it caught all of the right edges in the room—the curve of Ilya’s broad shoulders, the line of Shane’s collarbones and the faint scar that lived there, his now fully returned first-class ass. They were both beautiful. 

Ilya crossed the room slowly. He stopped in front of Shane and lifted one hand, brushing his thumb softly along the scar on Shane’s jaw with a holy kind of reverence. Stunning. Shane’s breath hitched at the light touch, and Ilya smiled. It was a soft smile filled with so much tenderness and love. “You have never looked more beautiful, Shane.” He said honestly, before leaning in to kiss him.

It was a kiss that said more than words ever could. It was soft, and slow in a language that Shane could understand completely—Ilya was so grateful that he was still there. They had been through so much in such a short time, but he was still there in front of him. He could still hold him, and breathe him in, and love him. His hands came up to Shane’s face, tracing his cheekbones slowly. Shane’s hands drifted to Ilya’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on tight. They had kissed a thousand times, but this felt different. It was like all the fear and anxiety that they had carried since they had met had melted away entirely, leaving room for only love, and joy, and everything else wonderful in the world. They had beat cancer together. They had found a way to be together in Boston. They had a real and true home at the cottage every summer. They had a family, both blood and found. They had a group of men around them who supported them through every step of it. They were making a difference in the world—and at the same time when it was just the two of them at the end of the night, their world shrunk down to a single touch, a single kiss. They had a life they could have only dreamt off—and they were only twenty-two fucking years old with a lifetime of this ahead. They were blessed beyond belief. 

Ilya’s mouth moved against Shane’s with a patience that was making Shane weak at the knees. Shane could taste the mint toothpaste as his tongue grazed over every inch of Ilya’s mouth, and he thought about how big of a deal even that one small thing was—no more metal mouth, only the sweet sting of mint as he kissed the man that he loved. He opened his mouth to let Ilya explore deeper and he felt the hum of pleasure in his chest as he held him closer.  

Time slipped away as they stood in the light of golden hour, kissing like they were making up for every moment they’d been too afraid to want this. Ilya’s hands slid into Shane’s hair, full and thick, and something Ilya would never take for granted. Shane made a quiet sound in the back of his throat that made Ilya smile against his mouth. “Okay?” Ilya asked, forever checking in. He pulled back enough to meet Shane’s eyes.

“More than okay.” Shane nodded breathlessly. 

Ilya kissed him again, even slower now, like that was even fucking possible. His hands drifted down the back of Shane’s neck, over his shoulders, tracing every line of muscle an dbone with a focused attention that made Shane feel so appreciated and cared for. When his fingers brushed over his port scar, he stopped there to plant soft kisses on it only briefly before coming back to his lips. Ilya really loved every part of Shane, every beautiful part that made up his complicated truth, every part that made him whole, even when pieces were missing. 

Shane’s hands found the hem of Ilya’s shirt and tugged it up as Ilya pulled back long enough to yank it over his head and toss it aside. They were skin to skin, chest to chest, and the warmth of it felt amazing. They moved to the bed, a tangle of limbs and quiet laughter as Ilya almost tripped over himself trying to take off his pants. Shane caught him and steadied him with a grin. “Graceful.” He teased, and Ilya kissed him again to shut him up. 

They fell onto the bed together and for awhile they just stayed there pressed together, kissing slowly, hands wandering with no urgency or pressure. Ilya’s palm slid down Shane’s back, tracing the curve of him, the dip of his waist, and the rise of hip. Shane shivered beneath him, his own hands mapping Ilya’s familiar body—unlike his own, it had never changed. Just another blessing for a man who hated change—only the thought of Ilya’s one day changing and aging body was something he could embrace and look forward to. The prospect of learning those changes for decades to come was something that could move him to tears if he lingered in the thought of it for too long. Ilya kissed his way down Shane’s jaw, as his hand slid lower, palming Shane through his boxers. Shane gasped into Ilya’s hair as he clung to it, planting kisses on the top of his head. 

They took their time getting the rest of their clothes off, pausing over and over to just touch, and kiss, and breathe. By the time they were both fully naked, Shane was trembling from want and the overwhelming relief of being here with Ilya, alive, happy, and completely fucking adored. This was his heaven—though he was glad Jesus hadn’t made the trip to the cottage to join them in it. 

Ilya stretched out beside him, one hand sliding gentlyup Shane’s thigh as he turned to face him, kissing him again. Ilya’s hand wrapped around him, stroking him slowly and Shane groaned into his mouth. “Tell me what you want, Hollander.” Ilya said softly, lips brushing against Shane’s. 

“A snack would be nice…” Shane joked breathlessly. “We’ve been making out for hours…” 

Ilya pulled back and rolled his eyes. “Very sexy, Hollander. You are the snack.” 

He kissed him again, long and lingering, before reaching for the nightstand. Shane watched him through half-lidded eyes, his heart pounding despite the slow pace Ilya was setting for them. His body was humming with anticipation. When Ilya settled between his legs, Shane watched as he covered his fingers in lube, before taking Shane in his mouth, warm and slow. He took his time preparing him, his touch slow and patient, his eyes never leaving Shane’s as he took his cock deep and pressed his fingers even deeper. Ilya watched Shane’s gorgeous face for every reaction, every hitch of his breath, every quiet moan. I fucking love you like this, Hollander.  

Finally, Ilya released his cock and met his mouth for another deep and passionate kiss at the same time he pressed into him slowly. Shane’s hands came up to grab Ilya’s hair with one hand, locked there with a firm grip, as he gently dug into his shoulder with the other. Ilya moved achingly slow, every thrust strong and deep, designed to make sure Shane felt every inch of him. He cupped Shane’s face, before he moved down, gripping his hips and his ass. Shane wrapped his legs around his waist, his mouth finding Ilya’s again and again through every wave of pleasure that Ilya was shooting through him. He could do this all fucking night—maybe they would. 

Ilya shifted the angle slightly and Shane gasped, his back arching off the bed. Ilya made a low sound of delighted satisfaction, doing it again and again, until Shane was shaking underneath him, his hands scrambling to find something to hold onto on Ilya’s back. “Ilya, I’m…” He muttered. Ilya reached down between them, wrapping his hand around Shane’s hard cock, and that was all it took. Shane came with a broken sound, his whole body shuddering against Ilya’s. Ilya followed a moment later, burying his face into Shane’s neck as he spilled inside of him. 

He fell against Shane’s body, leaving no space between them as they breathed into each other's sweat-slicked, goosebump-filled skin. They stayed tangled together, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync. Ilya lifted himself to press kisses to Shane’s shoulders, neck, and jaw, open mouthed and so so sweet. “I love you, Shane.” He muttered against his skin. 

Shane’s fingers grazed against Ilya’s scalp. “I love you too, Rozanov.” 

Ilya sat up on his heels, looking down at his gorgeous, amazing Shane—he took a second to just admire him. “How did I get this lucky?” He asked earnestly, his face serious and serene. 

“I think I’m the lucky one, Ilya.” Shane said with an equal amount of love and tenderness. “You’ve signed up for a lot…” 

“Ah, yes…almost forgot.” He leaned back down, placing kisses on each of Shane’s inner thighs as Shane propped himself up to look at him curiously. Ilya looked thoughtfully at Shane’s junk before reaching for his lonely ball. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Shane asked with a smile. 

“We were making love, Hollander…I didn’t take time to check on my friend.” He said with a smile, before actually fully inspecting Shane’s remaining ball. 

“Oh my God.” Shane said, laying back against the pillows with a laugh. What was once embarrassing and life threatening, was now just fun. Just another strange love language between two men who had been forced to deal with something terrifying so early in life. 

Ilya looked at Shane’s ball after checking it seriously with his hand. He spoke to it. “You are not allowed to leave me! I need one to play with, yes?” 

Shane looked down at him with a cheesy smile. “What did it say?” 

Ilya smiled and moved up to kiss Shane again. “It said it will behave…” He kissed him again. “Because she would like to keep doing this forever…”

“She? You made my ball a girl?” Shane teased. 

“Ah, yes…I am bisexual. They cut out the boy one…so is good thing you still have dick.” Ilya joked.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” 

Ilya crawled up the bed, placing soft kisses up the length of Shane’s body until he was resting fully on top of him. “Then I hope someday you are willing to marry an asshole.” 

“Mmm.” Shane moaned as Ilya kissed all over his face and neck for the thousandth time that evening. “Is that a proposal?” 

Ilya pushed himself off of Shane quickly, leaving the bed towards the bathroom to clean himself up. He looked over his shoulder with a shit eating grin as he went. “Fuck no…first we have to survive six more years of career together.”

Shane smiled and shouted back at him. “Good…because I am going to need a couple of Cup rings before we talk engagement rings.” Ilya peeked his head out of the bathroom. 

“Good thing we can have it all now, Hollander.” 

Chapter End Notes

Thanks for coming on this journey with me!

It has truly been a delight to mix everything I love into a single fic... medical shit, a whole lot of love and tenderness between men (platonic and otherwise), and humor. It has been a fun few months getting this out into the world. I have also never written them so young, so it was a hard one to wrap up...they usually just propose and call it a day (or die. IYKYK haha!). This was a unique fic to have to bring to a close, so I hope I did it justice. I love that we can have these guys making love one minute, tender, and warm, and so obviously obsessed with each other...right back to jokes and fucking with each other. That's all we could ask for from the 22 year old versions of them that found a way to figure it all out so young.

Anyway, leave some love in the comments, and I will see yah in the next one! <3