Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationships:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov, Shane Hollander & Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, various team members, Boston Bears | Boston Raiders Team Ensemble (Game Changers)

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Shane Hollander Is Not A Hockey Player, Blind Character, Shane Hollander is blind, Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe, Author knows nothing about anything, what are facts? realism? I don't know her, Ilya Rozanov Needs A Hug

Language:

English

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-15 Completed: 2026-03-17 Words: 29,104 Chapters: 20/20

hold you by the heart

Summary

Ilya is immediately intrigued by his team's hot new massage therapist. He thinks he probably just wants to sleep with him, but the more he gets to know him, the more he fears he may actually want something real.

Meanwhile, Shane has just landed his dream job and has no interest in crossing any professional boundaries, no matter how much their star player might make him want to.

Featuring famous!Ilya who's at the height of his career and is tired of the playboy lifestyle, and professional!Shane who's far too busy achieving his goals to worry about his heart.

Chapter 1

"Where is Mike?" Ilya trudged into the training room, coming over to Mike's usual table.

"Vacation. He's gone to see his new grandkid."

Ilya watched as Greg, another of their massage therapists came over, drying his hands on a towel as he approached.

"Is it your shoulder again? Lay down and I'll work on it."

He turned to lay face-down on the table, face fitting neatly into the hole near at the top. "Mike does it best," he grumbled.

"Yeah well, you know he's retiring soon, right?"

Ilya grunted as Greg began to apply pressure around his shoulder blade. "Yes, of course I know. He always talks about his boring RV he's going to use to see boring trees."

He heard Greg chuckle. "He's sent Roger a list of recommendations for his replacement already. I think they're interviewing next week."

This was news to Ilya. Then again, he didn't exactly keep up with medical team news. "Hopefully they pick someone like Mike. Boring, with good hands."

"Flip over, I'll work on the front."

Ilya turned, closing his eyes as Greg restarted. 

"I heard the top pick is a kid from the junior league in Canada. Someone all the teams in Ontario are always calling up."

He frowned. "A kid?" Greg was in his 50's, Ilya was pretty sure. He referred to all of the players as kids — Ilya included. "A kid like I am kid, or a kid like… can't drive yet?"

Greg chuckled. "A mid-twenties kid like you. From what I understand, he's spent all his time since finishing school impressing people in the juniors. A couple players who've turned pro have asked for him, apparently."

Ilya hummed in acknowledgment. They were still in preseason, but after losing the cup last season to the fucking Admirals, the plan was to play hard and win big right from the start. With the regular season games starting soon, he couldn't imagine anyone would have time to train a new guy.

But if this guy was the best — if he was so good that people were requesting him — it was good that Boston was looking to get him. They were the best team; they needed the best people on support.

"How soon is this happening? If they get guy from Canada, he needs visa, yes?"

"I think two of the three Mike is recommending are Canadians — they have an amazing Registered Massage Therapist program there. They do way more hours of training than Americans. But if the Raiders choose one of them, I'm sure they'll be able to fast track a visa. They'd just have to pass the cert test here in Massachusetts. Should be a piece of cake for them."

Ilya pretended to yawn suddenly. "Paperwork talk. So boring. Let me know when new guy gets here, yes? I'll be napping."

Shane waited to tell his parents until he was having dinner at their house at the end of the week.

"So… I've got a conditional offer."

His mom gasped, and he heard her fork clink down onto her plate. "With Boston?"

"Yeah — the Raiders."

"Oh Shane, that's wonderful! They're a great team! So you'd start when? Next season?"

"Actually, they want me this season. Someone's retiring. They've already filed the visa paperwork, and someone's gonna help me register for Massachusetts's licensing exam in a couple days. Once I'm registered I should be able to test over in Toronto, and then the offer's official as soon as they get word that I've passed and the visa's approved."

"Wow," his dad said. "Wow. That's… how long do they expect the visa to take?"

"They said they think they could get it done in five or six weeks."

"Six weeks!?" his mom exclaimed. "They'd expect you to be in Boston in six weeks?!" 

"Whenever the visa's approved, yeah. It might take a little longer to get the state license, depending on how fast they process the paperwork, but I could go start getting settled while that's still in process. Once I pass the exam it's pretty much a done deal, we just have to wait for them to review my application and issue the license number."

He heard a chair scrape and knew his mom had got up to pace like she did whenever she was processing information.

"Okay so… you'd move to Boston. It's a great opportunity, it really is. They'd support you there? Did they say anything in the interview about making sure things are accessible? How are you gonna get around? What about an apartment?"

"Mom, relax. It's not like they don't know I'm blind — they knew before they even interviewed me. I know it's a new place, but none of the rest of it is new to me, okay? I know how to find my way around a training room. And I can uber to and from work like I do here. I'll be fine."

Probably. He'd probably be fine. It wasn't like he was going to share his anxieties with is parents and make them even more anxious. 

Shane didn't particularly love change — and as far as changes went, this was a big one. But, he'd literally been working towards this his whole career. Working for an NHL team had always been the goal. Sure, it would've been nice if it'd been with one of the Canadian teams, but Boston was a top team — he'd be an idiot to turn them down.

After requesting accommodations, and confirming twice that they'd provide them, he flew down to Toronto to test. He'd decided to take his dad with him, mostly because he'd offered, but also because as much as he loved his mother, she was a little overbearing at times. He knew his dad would only get involved if Shane asked him to.

"What's this test like? Are they gonna give it to you in braille?" his dad asked once they were in the air.

"Nah, it's on a computer so I'll use a screen reader. It's multiple choice. It should be easy, compared to what I had to do here to become an RMT."

"How soon will you get your score?"

"Two or three weeks. Then Massachusetts will still need to review my complete application, the background check, references, and assign me a license number. That could take another few weeks."

As expected, the test was easy. Back in Ottawa, Shane spent another few weeks working with his usual clients and once he received an email that his visa had been approved, he started talking logistics with Roger — the head athletic trainer and his main point of contact in Boston.

"They're overnighting the packet with all your documents, so you should get it tomorrow, but let me know right away if it doesn't come. You'll show it all at pre-clearance in the airport, they'll stamp your passport, and you'll be good to go."

"Sounds good." Shane knew all this, of course. He'd done his research about how it all worked before he'd ever applied for the job.

"I'll come meet you at the airport and take you to where you'll be staying, but I'm not gonna lie, you won't have much time to settle in. We've got away games all next week. They sent you the schedule, right?"

"Yes, I have it. Two games in Florida, and one in North Carolina."

"Right. All this is assuming your license comes in time. They told you by midweek, right?"

"They said I'd be registered by Wednesday. They're going to email me my license number."

"Perfect. Forward that to HR when you get it. We'll have just enough time before we travel to get your paperwork done and get you your team credentials. Sorry, kid, you're gonna have to hit the ground running."

Shane was flying into Boston on Thursday, was going to spend Friday and the weekend hopefully getting up to speed, and then Monday he'd be heading to Florida with the team. It was going to be brutally fast, and he was equal parts terrified and excited.

"Looking forward to it," he replied.

Chapter 2

The flight from Ottawa to Boston was only about an hour and a half — less time than he'd spent in the airport hugging his mom while she cried, reminding him of everything from making sure he was eating right and getting enough sleep, to making sure the team in Boston understood that he'd need someone to show him around the arena.

He got it, she was worried. But he was 25, not 15. He'd been living on his own for years, and he'd been advocating for his own needs even longer than that. Still, he'd let her say everything she wanted to say, nodding along so she'd feel like she'd helped him somehow.

Eventually, he'd been escorted to his gate by someone on the airport staff, and then shown to his seat by a flight attendant. 

Now he was finally on his way.

He spent the flight with his laptop open, going over the information Roger had sent him earlier in the week. It was his third time going through it, but there wasn't much else to do, and he figured it was better to be over-prepared than under.

He didn't have access to any of the players' medical records yet — that would have to wait until he had a secure team laptop — but he'd already memorized the roster and their upcoming game schedule.

An airport employee escorted him from the plane to baggage claim, helping him find his two suitcases and get them onto a luggage cart. Then he was escorted straight to the gate where Roger was already waiting.

"Hey, good to meet you in person! How was the flight?"

"It was good, thanks."

"I can push the luggage cart. You want to grab my elbow and I'll take you over to the car, or do you just want to follow me?"

Shane breathed a silent sigh of relief that Roger wasn't one of those people who just assumed they knew what he wanted. He had a good feeling about working with him.

"I'll take your elbow." He kept his cane in his right hand, and reached out with his left, finding Roger's arm as he came close. "I can follow too, but this way is quicker, and probably safer in a parking lot."

"Gotcha. Well Shane, we're excited to have you here. HR has all the paperwork ready to go for you to sign tomorrow, and we'll get you set up with everything you need to get access to team areas. Hopefully that won't take too long… there's a practice tomorrow, so we'll aim to have you squared away before it ends so I can introduce you to the guys and you can get to work on a couple of them."

"Sounds good."

The apartment was a small one bedroom, which was perfect because less space meant less he had to figure out. Roger was kind enough to show him where everything was, and then he was finally alone again.

His mom had made him promise to call as soon as he arrived, so he did that first.

"Oh honey, I'm so glad you made it! How's the apartment? Do you have everything you need?"

"It's fine. It's furnished, just like they said. And they got me a welcome basket with some food, so I'm good to go."

"Do you have a washer and dryer in the apartment?"

"Yeah, a stacked set. And they left me some soap too."

"I'm glad. Have you already ordered a car for the morning?"

"Roger's going to pick me up since it's my first day. That way he can get me into the arena so I can get my credentials set up."

Eventually, after reassuring his parents that he'd survived the trip and would likely survive the next several days at least, he finally let them go.

He dragged his suitcases one at a time into the bedroom, then got started sorting through his things. He went ahead and unpacked since he still had the weekend before he'd be traveling again. The only thing he left out was the branded quarter zip Roger had given him to wear tomorrow. That, he left carefully folded on top of his dresser.

With two days before the game, the coach made sure it was a hard practice. Tomorrow they'd have an easier skate, but today was their chance to push themselves and really prep for the game.

Not that they'd necessarily need it against Tampa, but they'd resolved to bring their best to each game this year no matter who they faced. The cup would be theirs - Ilya could almost taste the victory already.

Even with a hard practice, the mood in the locker room was good. They were already leading the league in games won, and it seemed like everyone was having the same feeling — this was their year.

Ilya had just stripped off his compression shirt and was wiping his face with a towel when the head athletic trainer stepped into the room and called for everyone's attention.

"Hey guys, this is Shane, our new full-time massage therapist. He'll be working with us day-to-day and on the road. If you need any soft-tissue work, let him know."

A few of the guys called out brief greetings, and the new guy gave a little wave before they both backed out of the room again.

So Mike's replacement had finally arrived.

Shane.

He glanced around the room quickly, privately surprised to see that everyone had already gone back to what they'd been doing. This man… this new Mike… he was hot. He looked to be part asian, with broad shoulders that his boring quarter zip sweater did absolutely nothing to disguise.

Ilya was intrigued.

Maybe he'd get his shoulder looked at after he showered…

Sadly, by the time Ilya got to the training room, Shane was already busy with someone else.

"Hey, Ilya," Greg called. "Shoulder?"

Ilya nodded, making his way over to Greg's table. "Is just a little stiff. Not really a problem."

"Well let's see if we can loosen it for you."

He started face-down, but Ilya was very aware that the new guy was just the next table over. He listened intently, but didn't hear much beyond the normal hum of muted conversations and quiet grunts as guys were getting worked on.

When it was time to lie on his back, Ilya snuck another glance at the table beside them. Shane had his back to them, working on Johansson's leg. He sighed, impatient to get a better look at him.

Though from the back he could tell that he definitely had a nice ass.

Since no one else was waiting, once Greg finished he lifted the head of the table and brought a heat pack, laying it over Ilya's shoulder. "We'll leave this on for ten minutes, okay?"

Shane was finished with Johansson around the same time, but he declined a heat pack, hopping off the table with a quick thanks and heading back out.

That's when Ilya noticed it. Shane stepped over to a cabinet, grabbed a towel, gave it a couple squirts with a spray bottle, then began to wipe down his table… all without looking at what he was doing. He hadn't looked into the cabinet, he hadn't looked down at the towel to spray it, and he didn't even really seem to be looking at the table as he cleaned it.

Was he already so bored that he was daydreaming his way through his first day?

Ilya had just opened his mouth to comment on it when Shane suddenly leaned down and grabbed something from a shelf just below the table. He stood and unfolded it - it was a white cane. Sweeping the cane in front of him, he made his way to the corner of the room where he tossed the dirty towel into the bin. Then he made his way back, one hand brushing along the cabinets as if he were… counting them?… before finally coming back to his table.

He was fucking blind. Ilya was suddenly very glad he hadn't said anything.

Cliff appeared. "Rozy! Shoulder acting up?"

"Just a little stiff."

Cliff came straight up to Shane's table as he was folding his cane away again. "Hey, Shane, my glutes are feeling tight."

"Which side is worse?"

"It's mostly the left that's giving me trouble."

"All right, hop up. Lay on your right side." Shane turned back to the cabinet and retrieved a pillow.

Shane quietly instructed Cliff on how he wanted him positioned, giving him the pillow for his knee, and using his hands to gently guide him to where he wanted him.

"I'm gonna start along the top of your hip and work my way down. You should just feel some pressure."

Shane was on the opposite side of the table now, and Ilya could finally get a better look at his face.

He briefly thought that maybe he shouldn't be looking… maybe it was wrong to stare at the guy when he didn't know he was being stared at. Then again, someone seeing him staring had never stopped him before. If he were caught, he'd probably just wink at him and keep staring.

Besides, he had an adorable little dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Fuck. Why couldn't they have hired another old man?

"All right, Ilya. Ten minutes are up. How's the shoulder?"

"Better, thanks." As Greg removed the heat, Ilya hopped down and headed straight for the door, wanting to put some distance between himself and the new guy before he did something stupid.

Chapter 3

It was easy to fit everything Shane needed for the week into his travel duffle. As part of his new employee package, Shane had been given several branded polos and shirts along with a couple quarter zips. He'd been told that all of the tops were either black or white — not that it mattered. The standard uniform for travel was black athletic pants on bottom and the team polo on top, so he'd always match no matter what he put on in the morning.

So with his duffle packed with his new Boston wear, some socks and underwear, and his toiletries, he was good to go. The team was bringing everything else they needed for treating the guys, so he didn't have to carry any of it personally.

He arrived at the arena around 9am, stopping just in front of the double doors when he heard his name being called. He recognized Greg's voice and turned to wait for him.

"Hey man! Welcome to your first team trip!"

"Thanks."

"If it's all right with you, I'll be your travel buddy. Roger usually has management stuff to deal with, so he sometimes wanders off to meet with people. But if you don't mind, I'll just hang out with you today."

Shane smirked. "To make sure I don't get lost, right?"

"Yep!" Greg laughed. "We just got you — can't lose you already!"

"Fair enough." Shane was actually a little relieved that they'd thought to assign someone to him. He'd only had a few conversations with Greg so far, but he seemed like a nice enough guy. 

Shane was with Greg today. On the bus to the airport. In the terminal. On the plane. On the bus to the hotel.

Not that Ilya was watching. Not that he noticed where he was or how often he gave Greg one of his gentle little half-smiles.

He wondered what it would take to make him laugh.

He would probably never know if he hung around Greg all day. Greg was not funny.

"All right, it's grab and go. Take a box, head to your rooms, rest up. We'll head over at 4:30."

Ilya grabbed his boxed lunch from the hotel conference room table, and followed Cliff up to their room.

"So what do you think about the new guy?" Cliff asked as they dug into their lunches.

"Massage guy? No idea. Haven't really met him yet."

"Well he was fucking amazing for my glutes, that's for damn sure. I wonder if being blind gives him like… super massage powers or something."

Ilya rolled his eyes. "Probably. I'm sure he also puts on body suit at night and stops crime, yes?"

"Oh fuck off!"

He snickered and ducked the dinner roll Cliff threw at him.

They warmed up before the game, some of the guys getting brief massages to loosen up, and then they kicked Tampa's ass, as planned.

There were no injuries, so they all loaded up and headed straight back to the hotel to sleep. It was only 10:30 by the time they got back. If he'd been a few years younger he might've tried to head down to the hotel bar to see if there was anything interesting happening.

But even though he was only 25, he'd been at this for seven years now. Going out to party the night of a game — especially one where they had to travel the next morning — had lost some of it's appeal.

Miami passed much the same as Tampa had — arrive, rest at hotel, win the game, sleep, back to the airport in the morning. 

Finally, they arrived in Raleigh Wednesday afternoon.

"Listen up," the coach started once everyone was inside the hotel. "We've got the whole 8th floor. Room 811 will be our training room, and it'll be open from 3:30 to 6:30. If you're feeling stiff or need any work done, go see the guys. I'll see you back down here for the team dinner at 7."

Ilya went to his room to change out of his travel clothes and into his workout clothes, deciding that he was going to head over to 811 right at 3:30 to beat the rush.

It turned out that Cliff had the same idea, so the two of them went over together. 

"I'll see someone else this time so you can check out the new guy," Cliff said as they walked through the door.

The room had obviously been a deluxe suite, but most of the normal furniture had been removed and it'd been set up with several travel massage tables instead. 

As he approached Shane, he noticed that he was using a laptop set up on a side table, one earbud in his ear.

"Uh, hello," Ilya started. "Buses suck and my back hurts."

Shane cracked a tiny smile. "Hop up. What's your name? I'll pull up your chart."

"Ilya. Rosanov. Do you need me to spell it?"

"No, I'm good. I have the roster memorized, I'm just working on connecting voices to names. Nice to meet you, Ilya."

Shane paused. "Your chart says you've been dealing with shoulder tightness. How's that today?"

"Okay, probably. I think back is worse from travel."

Shane tucked the earbud into a pocket. "Okay, let's see what we can do about your back."

"Should I take shirt off or leave on?"

"However you're comfortable is fine. We can do this over the shirt or on bare skin, as long as you're not wearing something thick like a hoodie or a sweater. If you prefer bare skin, I can also use lotion or oil — I know some guys don't like the greasy feeling, but since it's not a game day you can always wash it off after."

"Yes, I think oil is probably better. Mike used to do it that way." Though Shane was right about not doing oil on a game day. Nobody liked to feel like a greased pig going into a game.

"All right then. Shirt off, lay on your stomach, and I'll grab some oil."

The oil was warm as Shane spread it on his back.

"I'm gonna get a feel for your back muscles first, from the top of your hips up to your neck. I'll let you know if I feel anything that I think needs particular attention."

"Okay."

Shane did exactly what he said, methodically exploring Ilya's back from top to bottom. His touch was confident, but gentle. Light enough not to hurt, but firm enough that Ilya knew he was actually feeling the muscles.

Finally, his hands returned to the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, and started massaging the area in firm, even strokes.

"Seems like you're carrying some tension here in your upper back. Probably from the bus. Whether or not you're feeling it now, this tension isn't going to do your shoulder any favors."

He grunted to let Shane know he'd heard.

"I'll warm this area up a bit, and then maybe go a bit deeper to work some of this tension out, all right?"

"Okay."

For the team dinner, the hotel closed their dining room to the public and served them chicken breast and pasta - boring, but good for the night before a game.

Shane sat at the same table with the rest of the athletic staff. He seemed… quiet, reserved. Maybe he was shy? Though he hadn't seemed all that shy when he was working…

He was clearly very competent, though. So competent, in fact, that after returning to his hotel room feeling loose and warm, Ilya had abruptly decided that he'd never let Shane work on him again. At least not until he was absolutely sure that there was no chance Shane would ever see him as more than just a player he worked on. A body to be fixed.

He wouldn't make it obvious, of course. He didn't want to give anyone the impression that Shane wasn't good at his job. He'd have to be careful how he went about it — avoiding being worked on by him without looking like he was trying to avoid it.

It just wasn't the dynamic Ilya wanted with him. He'd be willing to bet that if asked, Shane probably wouldn't even remember what Ilya had felt like, beyond describing his musculature in the most clinical way.

He wanted that man to put his hands on him in a very different way.

Of course, there was a chance that it'd never happen. Ilya still knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was straight, maybe he was married, maybe he had kids and a dog.

But until he knew for sure that Shane could never be interested in him, he wasn't going to be his client anymore.

Cliff suddenly bumped his shoulder. "What's got you so quiet over there?"

"Nothing. I am just calculating how many goals I will score this season."

Johansson chuckled from across the table. "How many, Cap?"

"I'm not sure yet. Is very big number so I'm still counting."

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes

Weeks went by, and Ilya stuck to the plan. Whenever someone mentioned that the new massage therapist was good, of course Ilya would agree. But, he always made sure to arrive at the training room when Shane was already occupied. 

Besides, it's not as if the rest of the athletic staff wasn't good. Ilya wasn't losing anything by using the other staff members.

What he still hadn't quite figured out was how he was going to get Shane to notice him in a way that wasn't professional.

Younger Ilya would've been so disappointed to learn that he'd one day be pining for a man who didn't know he even existed beyond a name on a roster. Younger Ilya would've gone out and found any number of people to sleep with just to prove that he could — to prove that he was desirable, that anyone who didn't think so was probably stupid.

But older Ilya was a little tired of all that. Picking someone up in a club? Easy. Getting the sexy massage therapist to notice him in a not-so-professional way? Now that sounded interesting.

Besides, what were the chances that they'd have anything in common? Probably less than zero. It was a good recipe for mutual respect, and sex. Shane was already part of his life, already traveled with the team and was always around… it was perfect.

Now he just needed to find out if the interest could ever be mutual. It was a little harder than he'd hoped since the man had absolutely no social media presence — he'd checked.

His first opportunity came about a month after that first travel week. 

It was a rare day off. Some of the guys were taking the day with their families, some had decided to relax at home, a few were taking a day trip somewhere but Ilya… Ilya had decided to hit the gym.

It wasn't unusual for him to be the only guy in the training gym after hours and on days off. Despite what some people might think, he hadn't gotten to be the league's best player by sitting at home in front of his TV — he put in the work.

Except today, when he opened the door to the gym he was surprised to see someone was already there using one of the treadmills.

Despite having one earbud in, he must've heard the whine of the door opening because Shane immediately hit the stop button on his machine, putting his feet up on the sidebars while it slowed down, turning his torso to face the door.

"Hello?"

"Sorry! Is just me — Ilya. I come here for extra workouts."

"Oh. Hi, Ilya. I can get out of your way."

"No! No need. Is big gym and I am only one guy. I think we both fit, yes? Please continue. I am going to use bike to warm up."

Ilya went over to one of the stationary bikes, hoping Shane would decide to stay. He had no idea how long he'd already been here… he didn't imagine it'd been very long because despite clearly being dressed to work out, Shane didn't seem to have worked up much of a sweat yet.

"All right." Shane turned back to his treadmill and started it again.

He wasn't sprinting, but he was keeping a decent pace. The man was definitely in good shape.

Ilya did a 20 minute warm up on the bike, then did some leg work on a couple of the machines. He was just wiping down the leg press when Shane finally stopped his treadmill and stepped off.

"You're in good shape. You like fitness, huh? Big into exercise?"

Shane made his way carefully over to a bench where Ilya now noticed a gym bag sat next to a water bottle.

"Yeah, I guess. It just helps me focus. I like being active." He unzipped the bag and retrieved a small towel, dabbing his face.

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you here before. I come for extra workouts often. Usually I am only one here."

"Oh. Well, this is my first time. I wanted to wait until I was more familiar with the space." He paused, taking a gulp from his water bottle. "I don't want to intrude on your time. If you tell me when you normally come, I can work around it."

"What? No! No, we are workout buddies now! This is better than me being so lonely in empty gym."

Ilya tossed the towel he'd been using into a nearby bin and dug his phone out of his pocket, coming to stand beside Shane.

"Give me your phone number. We can coordinate. Make sure we are not sad and lonely in this big gym."

He saw the doubt flicker across Shane's face so he pressed. "This is allowed, yes? Making friends at work?"

Shane huffed quietly. "Yes, it's allowed."

"Perfect! So give! What is your number? We can… do you text? If not, we can call. Is fine. I am very good at both."

"I can text." Shane tapped his ear where the one earbud still sat. "My phone reads the texts to me."

"Okay then since you cannot see it, I will tell you that I am standing here with my phone out, ready to save your number."

Shane snorted quietly, and then rattled off his number.

"See? I feel less lonely already. No more sad workouts for me. I am sending you text right now so you have my number."

They'd only been working out together for about a week — or at least working out at the same time, but Ilya Rosanov seemed intent on trying to befriend him, and Shane could not for the life of him imagine why. 

He'd been careful to be professional at work. He'd even pretended that he hadn't immediately recognized Ilya's voice the first time he'd heard it. He hadn't wanted to give anyone the impression that he was a creep or something.

Though to be fair, he doubted that there was a single Canadian hockey fan who wouldn't immediately recognize the voice of the Russian hockey legend.

"Shaaane!" Ilya whined his name so Shane couldn't possibly miss the fact that he was pouting. "Why do you not let me drive you home? You always insist on Uber. Is it your wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? If they are jealous I can explain that we are friends, Shane. I can do this for you so that you do not have to keep ordering rides from strangers."

Ilya had come over to plop down beside him on the mat as soon as he'd sat up and opened his phone. He could only assume that the Uber app was visible to him from where he was sitting.

The current estimated wait for a ride was 35 minutes. Which wasn't unexpected… it was the whole reason he usually pulled out his phone to check when he was doing his cooldown.

"I'm not married… or dating anyone," he muttered, trying to decide whether he wanted to go ahead and request a ride now, or wait another ten minutes.

Ilya's hand suddenly landed on top of the hand that was holding his phone.

Shane smirked. "Are you trying to cover my screen? You know I'm not looking at it, right?"

"I am trying to talk sense to you. We are friends, Shane. Tell me why you won't take ride from me. I promise, I am very good driver. Probably best on team. No tickets!"

He sighed. "It's not personal. I just… don't need one. Why should you go out of your way when I've got this handled?"

"Out of my way? Wait, where do you live, New York? How many hours by car? Or do you fly there? I can take you to airport…"

"Oh my god, shut up!" Shane flopped back onto his back, throwing an arm over his face in an effort to hide the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. "Fine, you can take me. Just stop being ridiculous."

For someone who was widely known to be one of the fiercest, most terrifying players to face on the ice, Ilya Rosanov was shockingly kind — nothing at all like he was portrayed in the media.

He was actually kind of… sweet.

Chapter End Notes

Normally when I write stories I aim for the chapters to be around 3-4k each, but this story is kind of an experiment in chapter size. I think I'm enjoying posting shorter chapters more frequently. (But sorry if it's frustrating!)

Chapter 5

"Okay, everyone has seatbelts… give me your address and we will go so slow and so careful. Most boring ride ever — very safe."

Shane rolled his eyes, smiling one of his tiny smiles before giving Ilya the address to his place.

Ilya frowned at the map displayed on his car's GPS system. "I think I know this place…"

"Oh, maybe you do? It's one of the Raiders' corporate apartments. I've got it for a few months until I can find my own place."

"What? They make you move? Midseason? We have so many games… when will you have time to move?"

Shane shrugged as if the idea of moving all his things to a new home in the middle of a fucking season was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"My parents are gonna visit at Christmas. We'll figure it out. This was always the plan — it's not like I didn't know the apartment was temporary."

"Fuck," Ilya said softly. Logically, he knew that Shane probably hadn't come to Boston with a lot of things since he'd flown in. Still, the idea of going through that kind of upheaval in the middle of a season sounded awful.

"I've already been doing a little research. There are places in the area in my price range. It'll be fine."

Price range. Sometimes he forgot that people around him had to worry about prices — it wasn't something he'd had to think about in a long time.

"Okay, send me your list tonight. What area you want, what kind of place you like… whatever… rules you have."

"Preferences?"

"Yes, preferences. Send them to me. I know Boston very well. Maybe I can help."

"I don't have any preferences. I just need a cheap little one bedroom that isn't too far away."

Ilya immediately wanted more information, but he wasn't sure how to get it without being offensive. What was Shane's idea of cheap? Why wasn't he thinking about security — a safe neighborhood? Or was that just assumed? What about laundry? Surely he didn't want to share…

Hearing that he had no preferences was worse than receiving a long list of requirements, Ilya realized. He also couldn't help but wonder if there was another reason that Shane didn't seem to care about his accommodations in the city…

"How long is your contract with Boston?" Shane was acting like those players that didn't expect to stay long — not really minding where they stayed, not being interested in putting down roots…

"Support staff is year-to-year so right now I'm just contracted through the end of the season. If they still want me after, they'll renew me for another year."

"Ah… so do you not think you will stay?"

Shane's eyebrows lowered and he looked in Ilya's direction as if he had no idea what he'd just asked.

"Why wouldn't I stay? You think they won't renew me?"

"What? No. No, I don't mean to worry you about that. Everyone says good things about you. I'm sure they will keep you — no question. You just seem… like you feel temporary? I can't explain… like you don't want to stay?"

"Oh. No, it's not that. I just… I like it here and this is a great opportunity… but I'm not gonna retire here or anything. I actually bought some land up in Ottawa near my parents — I'm still paying it off, but one day I'd like to maybe build something there. That's kinda where all my money is going right now. So it's not that I don't like it here, or don't want to stay… it's just that I'm not gonna buy a house here or anything. I just need someplace to get me through however long I stay here."

Ilya nodded, even though Shane couldn't see it. This was the most he'd ever said about himself. He almost wished he'd been able to record it so he could play it again and again until he was sure that he fully understood everything he'd said.

From the way it sounded, Shane wasn't looking to leave Boston, but he also wasn't looking to stay. At least not in any kind of permanent way. And even though he was here now, apparently a good portion of his money was going towards land in Canada — where he really wanted to stay.

"Okay so… someday you build what? A tiny one bedroom home in Canada?"

Suddenly Shane launched into a description of a beautiful piece of land in Canada with trees and a lake… he talked about wanting his own well, and a big deck to sit outside, and windows everywhere to let in natural light…

Wait, what?

"Wait, my English isn't so good, maybe. You want big windows for light?"

"Yeah, why?"

"So… you can see better in Canada? Are you only blind in America?"

"What? No, I'm the same amount of blind everywhere. I can see lights and shadows, and when it's light enough I can see big blurs of color. Kinda of like a painting that somebody smeared so there's no more detail."

"Smeared? What is this?"

"Wiped away. Like if you took your hand and wiped all the details off a painting and just left behind blurry color. Sorry, I don't know how else to explain it."

"No, you did good. I think I get it."

"Like 93% of people who are blind can see at least something. We just can't see enough for it to be useful. It's actually not all that common for a blind person to see absolutely nothing at all."

"Ah, I did not know that. Thank you for telling me."

Shane had a good way of explaining things — giving information without making him feel like an idiot.

Later, as he made his way back to his place, Ilya went through everything he'd learned today. 

Shane could see something only if it was light, but it sucked and was useless. He really loved Canada… and nature, it seemed. He had to fucking move in the middle of the fucking season.

Oh, and big windows — lots of light. He'd have to tell his realtor that.

Shane bent his front leg and leaned into the stretch. "I can't believe Christmas is in two weeks."

Ilya's voice came from somewhere off to his left. He'd been doing push ups, but Shane was pretty sure he was doing his cooldown now.

"Yes. Coming very quickly. Soon your fat Santa will arrive, breaking into homes and stealing cookies."

"Is that not how Santa works in Russia?"

He heard Ilya huff. "We don't have Santa — we have Дед Мороз… uh… Papa Frost. He comes on New Year's Eve in a sled with beautiful white horses. He knocks on front door then children must do something to get present. Sing a song, say a poem… And he is tall and has big strong shoulders. He wears a blue robe and he is… respectable — not sneaking around with a bag."

"Wow. I had no idea it was so different. That sounds cool."

"Oh it is. Very cool."

"So you do presents on New Year's Eve every year then?"

"No, not since I was little. Is just a normal day now."

They all had league-mandated time off coming up soon. Everyone in the NHL got Christmas day, as well as the day before and the day after.

"My parents are flying in next week. They're gonna spend some time looking at apartments and then we'll spend Christmas together before they head back. What about you? Do you have family coming or anything?"

"Wait, that reminds me. Tonight I will send you the list from my realtor. All small apartments, windows, good light… maybe you can give the list to your parents so they can check it out."

Shane switched legs. "You made me a list of apartments?"

"No, realtor made list — I have no time. Maybe you don't know this, but I am big time hockey player. Very busy making other teams cry."

Shane smiled, despite himself. "Must be rough."

"Yes, very."

It wasn't until later that night when he was getting ready for bed that he realized that Ilya never answered his question about what he was doing for the holidays.

Chapter 6

"Make sure you thank Ilya for the listings, Shane. They've been great."

"Mom, I told you, I thanked him when he sent them over. I also told him that you guys said 'thank you' when you got here. He knows."

"Well that was before we knew how good the listings were. I'm just saying… it was nice of him to think of that."

Shane hummed in acknowledgement, hands in the sink as he washed the dishes while his dad dried them.

His mom had always been a big Metros fan, but they hadn't won the cup in a while, and now that Shane was in Boston — and her son was being treated so well by them — she seemed to be turning into a part-time Raiders fan.

Whenever they weren't playing the Metros, at least.

"You should invite him over for dinner tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Ilya! And actually, anyone else you've been making friends with here."

"Mom, this apartment isn't big enough for hosting dinners."

"Remember last season when his father died towards the end of it? He only missed one game? Two? Maybe he's with his mother this year. If she's visiting Boston, you could always invite her over too."

Shane shrugged. Of course he remembered Ilya's father dying — it'd been all over the hockey news. At the time all he could think was how incredibly invasive it all seemed.

"Tomorrow is Christmas, Mom. I'm sure he already has plans, wherever he is."

"You're probably right. Next time then. Maybe you could host something at your new apartment after you move in."

"Maybe." Shane held out a dish for his dad to take. Sometimes his mom acted like he was still 8 years old — like she had to arrange playdates just so her son would have other kids to hang out with.

Later that night when his parents had gone back to their hotel, Shane got out his laptop to text Ilya. He could've done it from his phone, but using the computer keyboard to type messages was more accurate than speech-to-text and less of a headache than slowly typing on his phone while it read each letter back to him.

His last messages with Ilya had been him passing along his parents' thanks for the listings, Ilya wishing him a good holiday with his family, and Shane wishing him the same. Before that, the majority of their texts were just agreeing on when they'd meet at the gym to work out.

Though to be fair, they were working most of the rest of the time.

He typed, "My mom would like to thank you again for the listings. She would also like to arrange a playdate for us…"

He backspaced the whole thing. That was stupid.

He started again. "Thanks for…"

Backspaced again.

"I hope everything's okay after what happened last year…"

He backspaced — that was terrible.

He sighed, rolling his eyes at himself. He typed, "Merry Christmas!" and then found the emoji called "face with stuck-out tongue" and added it to the end so Ilya would know he was kidding.

Then he wondered if it would come off as the joke he meant it to, or if Ilya would think he was making fun of him for having a different celebration.

Finally, he backspaced just the emoji and hit send before closing his laptop.

Ilya's phone pinged, the screen lighting briefly before going dark again. It had been pinging off and on all day, ever since he'd sent his "happy holidays" message in the team chat.

Then, with his captain duties done, he'd tossed his phone aside and refused to look at it again. He didn't have to — he already knew exactly what he'd find if he looked. He knew which of the guys would respond with heartfelt messages, which ones with jokes, and which ones would send photos of their families grinning around a tree.

He didn't really want to hear the pinging anymore, but he didn't have the energy to get up and silence it.

So he sat there in the dark, on his expensive couch, inside of his expensive apartment, drinking expensive vodka and having his first cigarette in probably 8 months.

Because he'd quit — he didn't smoke anymore.

Except on holidays, apparently.

He stared vacantly towards his big expensive TV that he'd only turned on so he could pretend he wasn't alone.

Not that it mattered. It was probably good that he was alone. This was his first holiday break since his dad had died so for once in his life he was finally free of the obligation of family. No more calls so his dad could tell him how disappointed he was in the season — even if it was actually going well. No more brother asking for money — he'd cut him off after the funeral, leaving him his big apartment in Moscow with everything in it, and a trust for his niece.

He knew he'd never speak to his brother again.

It was fine. Probably good, even. No more family, no more problems. Just Ilya parked in his fancy apartment like an expensive sports car in a garage — waiting until it was time to go out again and show off.

He was a machine that had only been built for one thing.

They had practice on the 27th, and it was immediately obvious which guys had spent their brief holiday having a little too much fun.

Ilya was exhausted, and irritated.

Exhausted, because he hadn't slept well over the break. Though a diet of vodka and protein drinks might have been at least partly to blame for that.

Irritated, because he didn't feel it was fair to feel so exhausted — even after sleeping poorly — when he'd spent his entire break on his couch doing absolutely nothing.

At least it seemed like Johansson and Hammersmith had had a good time, even if they looked like shit.

Ilya didn't look terrible, though. He knew his role. He was the captain, so he had to show up ready to work hard. He'd taken an extra cold shower this morning and had stared in the mirror and told his reflection to get it together.

Then his dad's voice had floated through his mind, telling him to stop being lazy.

And like he always did, he obeyed.

"Hammersmith, pick up the pace or next year I'm cancelling your holidays!"

The coach was watching them run drills, picking apart everything from their speed to their technique.

Not Ilya's, though. He was good. He was always good.

After practice, he sent Shane a text while he was still in the locker room.

"Not doing extra work out today, sorry. Still recovering from holiday." He added a winky face to the end, but then deleted it. He had no idea if Shane's phone would read an emoji or if it'd just say something like 'this idiot sent an emoji to a blind guy.'

After he showered and changed, he noticed that Shane had replied.

"It's okay. I'm kinda tired anyway."

Ilya nodded to himself, hitting the button to make his phone go dark. He was reaching into his locker to grab his keys and wallet when the phone lit up again.

"I'm definitely going tomorrow, though."

He smiled. "Me too," he replied.

Tomorrow they would work out together and maybe Shane would tell him all about his holiday and how the apartment hunting was going, and presents his stupid Santa had brought…

He had something to look forward to.

Chapter 7

Ilya was doing a nice easy jog. Tomorrow morning was an optional skate, and then they had a home game in the evening and a game in New York the next day. In fact, the next couple of weeks were packed with games, so he didn't want to overdo it during these extra workouts.

Plus, an easy workout left plenty of time to talk.

"Your parents go back to Canada?"

Shane seemed to be taking it easy, too. He was on the treadmill beside him, but going at a slower pace than usual. He wasn't even out of breath.

"Yeah, they left after Christmas."

"Did they stay with you? You like having them close, yes?"

"Yeah. I mean no, they didn't stay with me, they stayed in a hotel. But I like having them close just not… maybe not under the same roof for very long. I love them and they're great, but my mom can be a lot."

Ilya hummed. "Because of your…" he waved his hand near his eyes then nearly kicked himself when he remembered Shane couldn't see it. "… your blindness?"

"Oh no, she's always been a lot. Back when I played hockey she used to talk about being my manager someday. She was probably worse when I first lost my sight, but being a lot has always been her baseline."

"What?" Ilya hit the stop button on his machine and turned fully towards Shane. "You played hockey? How long? Were you any good?"

Shane hit the stop button as well, laughing lightly. "Yeah, I played when I was a kid. Up until I was about 15. And yes, I was good. Best in my age bracket. They were already talking about sending me to the International Prospect Cup in the next year or so."

Ilya was reeling, trying to process the fact that Shane had not only played hockey, but that he'd played well enough that they actually could have met at some point. "What happened? Sorry, is too personal?"

"It's fine, it hasn't been a sensitive subject in a long time. Basically, I ended up in the hospital with meningitis. It fucked up my optical nerve and ended my hockey career before it could start. But I was obsessed with hockey — always had been — so I ended up studying to become an RMT in hopes of someday working for a team. So…" he waved his hands "here I am."

There were a few things in his explanation that Ilya wasn't sure he'd really understood, but first… "Men… can you spell for me? I can look it up in Russian."

"Oh here, this will be easier." Shane got out his phone and swiped something, then pressed a few times with his thumb and said the word into the phone before tapping his screen again. "There, I texted it to you."

Ilya's phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see the word. "Wow. Long fucking word."

Shane shrugged. "Doctors like those."

He tucked the phone back into his pocket, making a note to look it up later. Right now he had more pressing matters.

"Can you still skate?" He'd said the subject wasn't sensitive, but Ilya didn't know if he'd been talking about the blindness or about hockey, or both. But once he heard the question, Shane smiled, so Ilya thought it was probably okay.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't do it very often. I definitely can't go alone — skating into a wall isn't very fun."

"Why have you not said? Shane, we are in arena! Come, let's go. I think we can find skates that will fit."

Somehow he actually managed to convince Shane to come with him to the locker room. He also managed to convince him to leave his white cane in Ilya's locker and take his hockey stick out instead.

Shane followed him out into the arena, gripping him by the elbow. Once they were actually out on the ice Ilya watched him carefully, happy to see that his balance on the skates was very good. He definitely was not new to this, even if he didn't do it often.

"All gates are closed. You can use stick to guide around wall, yes?"

It wasn't the most elegant solution, but Ilya watched, skating backwards in front of him, as Shane carefully found the wall with the stick, then glided along beside it, using the stick to feel where the wall curved.

"Good?"

"Yeah, this is nice." Shane smiled. "I haven't been on the ice in a while."

"What position did you play?"

"Center." His smile widened. "I might've had your job if I'd kept playing."

Ilya laughed, delighted. "Oh you might have tried. You would have been second best in league. Maybe drafted to a boring Canadian team like Metros."

"If that had happened, my mom definitely wouldn't like you as much."

Ilya kept skating backwards so he could watch Shane's face. "Your mom likes me? Is she a Boston fan?"

"No, she's a diehard Metros fan. She likes you because you're nice to me… and you have a good realtor."

"Does that mean you found apartment?"

"I did, actually. One of the ones you sent over. I'm signing the lease after the first of the year, and I'll probably be moving in a couple weeks after that."

They kept talking as they leisurely skated laps around the rink. Ilya heard a little more about the apartment he'd chosen and then he got Shane to tell him about the gifts he'd received at Christmas.

Eventually they came to a stop in front of the tunnel that led back to the locker room, and Ilya opened the gate for them.

At the locker room benches, Ilya swapped his hockey stick out for Shane's white cane — knowing that Shane didn't like to be without it if he could help it. Then they sat down to change out of their skates.

"I think my cheeks are frozen," Shane said, slipping his gym shoes back on and standing up to extend his cane.

His face was relaxed and happy, his cheeks and the tip of his nose were adorably pink, and Ilya couldn't remember ever wanting to kiss anyone more than he did right now.

He stepped closer. 

"Let me check," he said, cupping Shane's cheek gently.

Shane's breath hitched and his eyes fluttered shut so Ilya leaned in, lips coming as close to him as they could without actually touching.

"Can I?" he whispered.

And as soon as Shane nodded, he closed the distance, finally tasting him.

One of Shane's hands found it's way into the back of Ilya's hair as they both pressed in closer — as close as they could get while still clothed. Ilya trailed one hand down Shane's back, pushing their hips together as he squeezed Shane's ass.

Fuck, it was the hottest thing he'd ever experienced, and they hadn't even done anything yet.

And it was over much much too quickly when Shane leaned away suddenly.

"Wait… not here. I don't want to… not in a locker room."

Ilya stepped back. "Okay. My place or yours?"

Shane licked his lips and god - did he even know what he was doing to him?

"My place. It'll be easier if I know my way around."

They'd barely made it through the front and they were kissing again.

"Shoes," Shane muttered between kisses, toeing off his shoes near the front door.

Ilya did the same, leaving his shoes beside Shane's. 

Somehow Shane managed to fold his cane and leave it on a small table beside the door without breaking contact with him, then drag him backwards towards the couch all while they practically devoured each other.

On the couch, the shirts came off and then Ilya paused when Shane seemed to hesitate. "You okay?"

"I uh… I've never been with a guy before. But I really wanna taste you." Shane punctuated the statement with a gentle squeeze to his cock.

"Yes, you can taste. Let me…" He stood to push down the joggers he'd worn to the gym along with his underwear.

Still seated on the couch, Shane reached out and wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, swallowing his length. The other hand settled on his ass and Shane moaned, beginning to move Ilya's cock in and out of his mouth with firm, purposeful strokes.

Ilya threw his head back, running his fingers through Shane's soft hair. It was quickly apparent that it was going to be over much too quickly if this continued.

"Wait, stop."

He obeyed immediately. "What? Is it bad?"

"No, opposite. Too good." He took Shane's hands and tugged him upright. "Take off clothes. I want to see you."

Shane undressed and they explored each other before Ilya finally laid back on the couch and let Shane finish him off. 

Then as soon as he'd caught his breath again, he sat up and pushed Shane to lay back on the couch, settling between his legs. "My turn now."

Chapter 8

Shane sat on the couch, head spinning.

Ilya had pressed a quick kiss to his lips before leaving, muttering something about getting home to rest so the captain could make an appearance at the optional skate tomorrow.

And Shane had been sitting there ever since, trying to get his thoughts in some kind of order.

He supposed he should start with the things he knew for sure.

First, kissing Ilya… being with him… had been nothing like being with a girl. It'd been amazing and overwhelming and… pleasurable in a way that being with women had never been.

Second, he could not start a relationship with a member of the hockey team he worked for. He couldn't. Not only would he probably get his ass kicked by any number of big hockey guys, but he'd also probably lose his job, not to mention the likelihood that Ilya would get in trouble too.

Fuck. He was so fucking stupid. He finally had the job he'd been working towards for years, and he'd had to go and fuck it up almost immediately.

He needed to talk to Ilya. He needed to let him know that he couldn't do this. They couldn't do this.

Between evening games and travel, it was a few days before Shane got the chance to speak to Ilya alone. They'd agreed to meet up at the gym again, but Shane had come a little early, hoping to work some of his nerves out before Ilya arrived.

"Whoa! Starting without me?"

Shane was on the stationary bike, pedaling at a good speed with the tension cranked up. He was breathing so hard that he'd barely heard the door open.

"You didn't wait for your workout buddy?"

He gradually slowed to a stop, trying to catch is breath. "We… uh… need to talk."

"Okay."

Okay. Shane leaned over, resting his head against his arms that were braced on the bike's center console. He couldn't help but wish that Ilya had a little more than an 'okay' for him. Surely he already knew what Shane was going to say. He had to know that there was no way this — whatever this was — could work.

"I just wanted to say that… there can't be anything between us. We can't start a relationship. It's… we'd probably both get fired."

Ilya's voice came closer. "Yeah, okay." He didn't sound upset at all.

"What, just like that?"

"Yes. We can work out, we can have fun…" His voice came even closer. "We don't need to be… you know, facebook official."

"Like some kind of… fuck buddies?"

"Why not? It was good, yes? You live alone, I live alone… I will tell no one… you will tell no one… there is no problem."

Shane hesitated, trying to figure out if he was the 'fuck buddy' type of guy. Fooling around with someone wasn't something he'd ever considered. Of course, up until now his life had consisted mostly of study and work… there hadn't really been time for much else.

"Is not worth all this worry, Shane. Fucking is fun. Like working out. If you don't want to, we won't do it. But if you're curious… I can show you how good it is."

Fuck, he was more than curious. After the other night he wanted to try everything with Ilya. 

He found himself agreeing… and hoping he wouldn't regret it.

They were in Shane's bed that evening. He'd never had sex with a man — Shane had told him so. But, he'd also told him that he knew his way around a dildo, so Ilya was confident that he could make this good for him.

For both of them.

It was the perfect arrangement — exactly what he'd hoped for when he'd first thought about getting Shane's mouth on him.

And Shane was so responsive… so perfect. 

Ilya was so careful with him. Slow and gentle, making sure Shane loved every second of it so he'd want to keep doing this forever.

Afterwards, they showered together. Ilya could not get enough of the way Shane explored him with his hands… his tongue… as if all his attention was focused on memorizing every curve of Ilya's body.

Shane was more addicting than cigarettes… maybe more dangerous, too. But he didn't think he could stop if he tried.

They fell into a pattern after that — working out, kissing, fucking — it was an ideal arrangement as far as Ilya was concerned. 

There were unspoken rules that they followed, of course. No matter whose home they went to, they never spent the night together. They never went anywhere together beyond the gym when no one was around, or one of their apartments. They never met up for dinner or tried to go anywhere together on their days off.

And they never spoke to each other at work, except for the kind of professional exchanges that happened between any of the players and staff.

But they did text. Frequently.

Ilya learned that when Shane had his earbud in, his phone would automatically read incoming messages to him, so he started sending him filthy, sexy little messages whenever he was around just to watch his reaction.

The first time he'd done it, Shane had pressed him against the wall that night in his apartment.

"Why the hell were you sexting me?" he'd asked, angry like an adorable kitten.

"Did it make you hard? How long? All day?"

The sex had been really good that night.

Shane's phone chimed with a message, then said into his ear "Message from Ilya: Where are you?"

He sent back, "In my apartment. I told you I wasn't going to work out today, remember?"

Tonight was the night he was going to move apartments. He'd already packed all his things back into his suitcases — at least as much as he could fit. In the few months he'd been living in Boston, he'd slowly started to accumulate more possessions. Those, he'd packed as best he could into big reusable grocery bags. He figured that if he called an Uber he could take one suitcase at a time over to his new place and be done in just a few hours.

He was suddenly startled by a knock on his door. He hadn't even ordered a ride yet, so it couldn't be his driver.

"Who is it?"

"Your friend Ilya. Open!"

What the…

He swung the door open, automatically stepping back to let him in. "What are you doing here?"

"Is moving day, yes? I have big SUV. We will do this in one trip."

Shane wracked his brain, trying to remember when he would've told Ilya that he was moving today. He was coming up blank.

"How did you even know that? I don't remember telling you."

"Yes, you forget to tell me. Very silly. But you told me your plan a couple weeks ago. You said one night you would just hire driver to take you back and forth… back and forth… slowly all night moving one thing at a time. So boring. So when you say you can't work out, I know this must be moving day."

"So you figured you'd just show up with a big car and help?"

"With my SUV, yes. I could fit your whole apartment inside it, I think."

Shane wasn't sure if he wanted to roll his eyes or cry. He'd been stressed about the idea of moving everything himself, but he got stressed about a lot of things a lot of the time — it was kind of his default setting. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask Ilya to help him.

He couldn't think of any reason why Ilya would want to spend his night doing this with him.

As if he could read his thoughts, Ilya's hand suddenly landed on his hips and pulled him close. "This will not take long. We will still have time for… fun… after, yes? Maybe we can check out your new bed… or couch… or shower…"

Shane swallowed, closing his eyes as he felt Ilya lean closer. "Yeah, okay."

Chapter 9

Ilya was learning that the more familiar Shane became with a space, the less he used his cane. He'd never really seen him use it much inside his small apartment before, but now in this new apartment he was carefully finding his way around with it.

Thankfully, Ilya had convinced him to start unpacking his grocery items — the first bag they'd brought in — while he retrieved the rest of his things from the SUV. 

He'd planned on helping him unpack, but Shane had explained that he needed to do it himself so he'd know where everything was. After a little persuasion, he was finally allowed to make the bed from the bedding that had been packed away in one of the open bags. He seriously doubted Shane would be able to finish all the unpacking tonight, but he'd need his bed ready for sleep… and other things.

"Ilya? Ilya, where the hell did you go?"

He groaned, waking to the sound of his name. "I'm over here," he grumbled. 

Guided by his cane, Shane found the bed and sat on the edge of it, reaching out towards Ilya.

"You fell asleep?"

"Sorry. Your blanket is… heavy."

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but Shane had been busy unpacking and the blankets had smelled like him so he'd laid back to enjoy it, pulling the strangely heavy one up over himself. He'd fallen asleep before he'd even realized what was happening.

But Shane was smiling, so Ilya didn't feel too terrible about it. 

"It's a weighted blanket."

"Hmm. Okay. What time is it?"

Ilya lifted his head to look for his phone, but Shane answered before he could grab it off the nightstand.

"It's midnight."

"Ah." He sat up, grabbing his phone and patting his pocket for his keys and wallet, which he'd completely forgotten to take out before laying down.

"Are you leaving?"

"Yes." He leaned into Shane and captured his lips in a brief but thorough kiss. "I need to sleep."

Some stupid part of him wanted to pull Shane into bed with him and keep him there all night, but he knew better than to listen to it. Ilya suspected it would already be too hard to let Shane go when the time came — he couldn't make it even harder on himself. Like most good things in his life, he understood that this thing with Shane wasn't something he'd get to keep.

Shane's audiobook was interrupted suddenly with a text message.

"Message from Ilya: Stupid photoshoot. Will you come to mine after?"

It was their last day off before a series of away games that would keep them busy for a solid 10 days through the West. Ilya's manager had decided to squeeze in a photoshoot for some sports drink brand in the morning, but after that he'd have the rest of the day free.

Shane was a little surprised he didn't want to meet up at the gym… but maybe with the travel looming he wasn't in the mood to work out.

He sent back, "Sure, what time?"

The phone immediately chimed with another message. "Probably noon. I will pick you up."

He sent a thumbs up emoji which was immediately answered with, "Your phone reads those?!" followed by three shocked faces, a smirking face, and an eggplant emoji.

"Every emoji has a name. It reads the name of the emoji."

"Good," Ilya sent, and then nothing else. Shane rolled his eyes and restarted his book, assuming he'd been called back to the shoot.

Ilya's place was a lot bigger than his, so despite how many times he'd been there, he still only really felt confident navigating the bedroom and its attached bathroom without his cane. He probably could've made it around the living room easily enough, but he didn't want to assume that Ilya never moved things around or left anything on the floor. It was one thing for him to tell Ilya that he needed to keep the floors clean and everything in the same place at his own little apartment, but it was another thing entirely for him to start telling Ilya how to keep his home.

Right now, he was sitting at Ilya's counter, listening to Ilya describe what had apparently been a very boring photoshoot.

"I am hungry," he said suddenly. "Do you want tuna melt?"

"You wanna make me a tuna melt?"

"I am making one for me, I can make two."

"Oh… sure." He hadn't even thought about lunch yet, but it made sense, considering the hour.

He heard the fridge open and close again, and containers being set out on the counter.

"Don't worry," Ilya said, "I have healthy bread. Very boring. You will love it."

"Don't you eat healthy?"

"Not like you, I think. I eat normal… burgers, fries, pasta… you always like healthy food. Twigs, leaves…"

"I don't eat twigs. And leaves is just salad." He was actually surprised that Ilya had noticed his food preferences. Though he supposed it was inevitable with team dinners, travel meals, and however many times Ilya might have seen his meals at the arena. It wasn't as if he hid what he ate.

"Do you want salad? I have some…"

He heard the fridge open again. "No, a tuna melt is fine. I don't need salad."

"Okay, good. Oh, here is your drink."

A can was pressed into his hands that had been clasped on the counter. "What is it?"

"Ginger ale. Is your favorite, yes? You always ask for this."

"Yeah… thanks." It might've been bizarre that he knew his favorite drink, but then again, Shane knew that Ilya preferred coke. It was all he ever asked for on plane rides and at team meals.

He cracked the can open and took a sip. It tasted like Canadian ginger ale. "Is this Canada Dry?"

"Of course. I know your Canadian taste buds are so delicate and fragile. You must have your special drink from your homeland to keep them happy, yes?"

Shane huffed a little laugh and then Ilya came around the counter and tugged his arm gently.

"Come, while tuna melts toast we will wait on couch."

Once Shane and his drink were settled in Ilya's living room, he turned on his giant TV.

"How do you follow Hockey? You just… listen to TV?"

They'd talked about various teams and how the season was going during workouts but Shane realized he'd never explained to Ilya how he kept up with the games.

"I listen to them on the radio, actually. They describe it better where they know people can't see the game than on TV where they just say 'look at that!' and give their commentary."

"Okay." Ilya was quiet for a moment, and Shane heard the sound being turned down. "You want to watch Admirals game? I will describe like radio for you."

He'd planned to use his computer to catch a New York AM Radio station on the web to listen to the game today before Ilya had invited him over. When he'd accepted the invitation, he'd figured he'd just read the highlights later.

But this actually sounded like it might be kinda nice.

"Okay. That could be fun."

"Oh, sorry," Ilya said. "Admirals game won't be fun. Probably pathetic… sad… but we will suffer together, yes?"

The suffering part turned out to be a lie. The sandwiches were ready just as the game was about to start, so they ate them on the couch while Ilya started up his commentary.

It was probably the most fun he'd had listening to a hockey game since losing his sight.

Not only did Ilya describe every moment of the game, but he added his own commentary about Scott Hunter (elderly) and the Admirals (very sad team) and the goalies ("Oh! He finally woke up and blocked shot!")

By the end of the game they'd migrated to leaning back on the couch, and Shane's head was on Ilya's shoulder.

"Do you want to watch something else or…" Ilya's hand drifted down and Shane immediately felt his blood rush in anticipation.

"Or…?" Shane turned to straddle him on the couch. 

Ilya pulled his head close and they started kissing, grinding together, and all Shane could think was yes… this was why he came over. They were going to fuck… right now… on Ilya's couch. It was going to be hot. It was what he'd been waiting for all day…

Except alarm bells started ringing in the back of his mind because he actually hadn't been waiting for it all day. 

He started kissing Ilya's neck, now almost on auto-pilot as he tried to figure out what was wrong with him.

Suddenly Ilya muttered something in Russian… he had no idea what it meant but it sounded wrong. It hadn't had the right tone for 'I'm going to fuck you' or 'do that again' — it'd sounded almost tender, sweet.

That's when Shane realized he'd fucked up. He stopped kissing Ilya's neck and leaned back, trying to rewind the day and figure out where it'd gone so wrong.

He was so stupid, he realized. He'd been acting like they were… more. More than fuck buddies, more than they were allowed to be. And he'd just sat here in Ilya's apartment, eating his homemade sandwich and cuddling him on the couch like they were really together.

Fuck, he'd really messed up. It was never supposed to get to this.

"Shane? What's wrong?"

Ilya had immediately released him so Shane stood up then leaned down to grope around on the couch for his folded cane.

"Here." Ilya pressed it into his hands. "What—"

"I can't," Shane interrupted. "I shouldn't have… I uh… sorry, I can't."

Fuck he was so stupid. Fuck. His mind was racing, replaying all the ways he'd ruined this. He couldn't even get the words to put themselves in order well enough for him to explain it.

He was going to lose his job. He was going to get Ilya fired… or traded… or whatever management decided to do with him. Everyone would find out. Fuck, Ilya would probably lose all his fucking sponsorships. He could lose his fucking status in the US too… would returning to Russia even be safe for someone who'd been outed?

"I need… bathroom."

Shane made his way over to the bathroom and shut the door behind himself, leaning against the sink to try to slow down a second and figure out how the fuck he was supposed to fix this.

First, he needed to go home. He pulled out his phone and put in an earbud, navigating to Uber so he could order himself a ride. Thankfully, someone was just ten minutes away.

He gave up trying to make sense of anything going on in his head and just concentrated on the countdown before his driver arrived. Three minutes before he was due, Shane opened the bathroom door and stepped out… only to run right into Ilya.

"Shane…" Ilya grabbed his elbow gently, probably to steady him.

"Sorry, I need to… I have to go home. I uh… sorry, I… there's things I need to do before the trip. Before uh… sorry I… I'm going." 

Distantly, Shane was mortified to hear himself babbling, but he couldn't get his brain to connect to his mouth.

"Okay, you go home. I'll drive."

He shook his head, already navigating his way to the front door. "No, I'm fine I… I have a driver coming."

"Shane, please… let me drive okay? I won't… I just drop you off if you want."

"No, it's okay. I… he's probably already here. I'll just go. Sorry. Uh… thanks."

The driver dropped him off right beside the walkway up to his apartment, and it still took him an embarrassing amount of time to find his fucking doorknob and get his key into the lock.

Once he was finally inside he just sank to the floor.

Chapter 10

Chapter Notes

*please mind the tags. (especially the one where the author admits to knowing nothing about anything — especially hockey)

He'd allowed himself to get greedy. He'd thought that maybe if he was careful… maybe if he quietly showed Shane that they could be more — privately, at home where no one would ever see or find out — maybe it would be okay. Maybe they could be something real.

He should've known better. He had known better. He'd known from the beginning.

The night he'd helped Shane move he'd reminded himself that he couldn't have this. He'd left Shane's bed that night, just like he was supposed to.

But then they'd continued to meet up and Shane had continued to be adorable and focused and sincere and… Ilya had let himself forget.

He'd dared to want more. Stupid.

He still wasn't sure what it'd been that had sent Shane running, but whatever it was, he wished he'd never done it. He wished he could go back to right before and just show up at Shane's apartment for some fun. No meals, no hockey games, no holding him like something precious… just fun and easy.

At least if he'd done that he'd still have him.

Maybe this was good, though. Maybe he'd needed to come back to reality. Maybe Shane had been right to run away from him.

Now, halfway through their 10 day trip, it felt like the fun was probably over for good.

Shane had stopped texting him.

Even though they didn't usually interact as much while traveling — not with all the possible eyes on them — they'd been texting regularly since exchanging phone numbers. First, it'd just been to arrange to work out. Then, they'd started talking about other things… teasing each other… flirting. 

Ilya checked his phone. His last message to Shane had been "Did you get home okay?"

Shane's message back had been "Yes."

Nothing after that.

"Man, what is up with you. You get bad news or something?"

Ilya glanced over at Cliff, who was sitting in front of his locker lacing up his skates.

"What are you talking about, Marleau?"

"You're scowling at your phone, man."

He scoffed, stuffing his phone back into his locker. Then he raised his voice for the rest of the team to hear. 

"No, it is Colorado who is getting bad news tonight, right boys?"

He knew his part. He'd give his little speech, hype up his team, win the game, then get back on the bus.

Shane had the right idea — there couldn't be anything else.

They qualified for the finals, of course. Ilya didn't expect any major challenges until a little later on, so when they lost game 3 against Jersey, it was a bit of a blow for everybody.

He went back to his hotel room that night and opened his messages with Shane again. He debated sending him a text for probably an hour before finally tossing the phone aside.

They won their next two games and moved up to the next bracket, and when a few of the guys insisted on going to a bar that night since their next game was an evening one, he went to the gym instead.

Shane wasn't there, of course.

They won another set of games 4-2 and moved up to the next bracket, coming up against Montreal. He'd been trying not to think about him, but Montreal reminded him that Shane's mother was a fan which made him realize that Shane's parents would probably be watching the game, cheering for the opposing team. In fact, he imagined that it was possible that they'd even attend the away game in Canada.

Their first match, though, was a home game.

It was going really well until the end of the first period when a giant defenseman checked Ilya so hard against the board that he couldn't breathe for a second. He managed to get the puck to Marleau just before the hit landed, but fuck, it landed hard.

Marleau scored before the buzzer sounded and Ilya skated off the ice.

Everyone had seen the hit, though, so as soon as they were in intermission the trainer sent him straight to medical to get checked.

"Okay, lose the gear. Up on the table, Rosanov."

He knew he was fine — this definitely wasn't the first time in his career he'd been hit hard — but he also knew that he had to let them do their evaluation and cooperating was the best way to speed them along.

He stripped off his shoulder pads with a wince and eased back. "Is just bruise, I am sure."

The team doctor lifted his base layer and started pressing his palm against his ribs and Ilya hissed in pain.

"Nothing feels displaced." He grabbed his stethoscope, pressing it to Ilya's chest. "Deep breath."

Ilya followed his instructions, breathing when he was told, then sitting up to twist and move as he was told. Somewhere in the middle of it, he noticed that Shane was in the room, standing alongside the other massage therapists, no particular expression on his face that Ilya could decipher.

"All right, you've got some bone bruising. I'll numb the area and send you back out with some extra padding, but try to avoid another hit like that. This kind of deep bruising will make you more susceptible to fractures."

"Okay." The shot the doctor gave him wasn't pleasant, but it dulled the pain and gave him a little more range of motion, which he'd definitely need if he was going to do any puck handling.

They won — barely.

They were in Montreal the next night and the game was vicious. Ilya's ribs ached, but he refused to give the fucking Metros the satisfaction of seeing him slow down. Marleau got his wrist caught against the boards and Johansson twisted his knee when he got tangled up with one of their defensemen behind the net, but they still fucking won.

By the time they were playing the deciding game against the Metros back in Boston, it was clear to Ilya that they were trying to take the first line players out. They were playing just dirty enough to make injuries inevitable, but not so dirty that a penalty was actually called.

"They're scared," Ilya told the team in the locker room. "They can't beat us at full strength so they try to hurt us, wear us down. We will not let them!"

The game was tied when Ilya was targeted again by the same giant defenseman. Ilya saw the hit coming, got rid of the puck and braced himself, but the bastard still hit him full force, twisting just enough to drive his shoulder into the hit while making it look like a normal check.

Ilya felt a sharp electric pulse that started at his bruised ribs and echoed through his chest all the way up to his ears. 

Johansson scored, and as soon as Ilya had his breath back, he said, "Aww, too bad for you, huh?"

He went back to the bench at the reset, and immediately leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees while he breathed through the pain.

"You okay, Rosanov?" the trainer asked from behind him. "You need to go back now, or do you wanna wait til the end of the period?"

"I'm okay, I will wait." 

Marleau swapped out, taking a seat beside him. "Fucker. Smith's gonna take him out."

"Good. Tell him to keep it legal."

By the time Ilya was being evaluated at the next intermission, Smith had gotten the giant defenseman sent to the penalty box for two minutes and Marleau had managed to score during the power play, putting them up by two.

Fuck the Metros.

"All right, lie back. This hit was in the same spot?"

"Yes. Felt sharp… like knife."

This time when the doctor pressed on his ribs Ilya couldn't hold back a loud string of Russian curses.

When he got out his stethoscope and told Ilya to breathe deep, he found that it hurt too much to comply.

"You might have a break this time. Shower and get changed and then come right back. I'll give you something for the pain and then check your breathing again."

"I can play final period. I can still skate."

He could tell the doctor was about to protest, but the coach spoke up first. "We're not risking it. We're up by two and the guys are fired up and out for blood now. Let them finish this. You're done for the night."

Ilya spent the last period of the game on one of the training room tables, holding an ice pack to his ribs while watching the game on the television. He wanted to find Shane — just to see if he was around — but he knew he had to be subtle and that was difficult when it hurt too much to twist his body and look behind him.

He told himself that he had no business looking for him anyway, and he kept his eyes on the game.

Afterwards, the team doctor took him over to the hospital for imaging, then drove him home. The pain medicine they'd given him wasn't particularly strong, but Ilya was exhausted. He'd get a ride to pick up his car tomorrow.

At least they'd won. The Metros had been eliminated from the playoffs, and the Raiders would advance.

Chapter 11

Ilya doubted he'd be able to get comfortable laying down in bed, so he opted to stay out on the couch. Now that all the adrenaline had left his system, he wasn't left with much more than the dull ache in his ribs and a bone-deep exhaustion.

His phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and Ilya fished it out, curious to see who was contacting him this late.

The message was from Shane. His first message in weeks.

"Are you home yet?"

"Yes."

"Can I call you? If you're not too tired."

Ilya sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking about the mistake he was about to make. Shane could probably ask him to run naked down the street and he would do it.

He hit the call button.

"Hey." Shane's voice was quiet. Ilya imagined he was probably in bed snuggled under his heavy blanket.

"Hi."

"Uh… sorry to call so late. I just wanted to… see how you were."

"Fractured rib. Stable, they say. Doctor wants me to miss next game because there is small fracture also in second rib."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"No, is fine. Baby fracture. I will miss maybe one game and play next."

"If they're benching you for a fracture during the playoffs, it's because they're afraid another hit could displace it."

"Yes, probably."

They both fell quiet, and Ilya waited for Shane to thank him for the information and hang up. Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke again in a hesitant voice.

"I'm sorry for last time. For running away."

"Is okay. You are smart. Is good choice."

"No I… I don't think it was. I… I guess it just felt too real. Too much like a real relationship and I panicked. I kept thinking about what would happen if someone found out."

"Found out? There is nothing to find out. No relationship. We fuck, we work out. Is simple."

"But you know that's bullshit, right? Don't act like last time wasn't something different."

Of course last time had been different. Last time he'd allowed himself to want something he couldn't have. He'd been foolish. Last time, he'd looked at Shane's soft smile and beautiful freckles and he'd thought that maybe he could keep him. Maybe it wouldn't destroy them both. Maybe just this once he could choose something because he really wanted it and not because he was good at it or because it made his father look good or paid the bills. Maybe for once in his life his happiness could matter.

"It can't be what last time was." Ilya squeezed his eyes shut, not even sure how much sense that made. His thoughts were racing and his chest was aching with something that had nothing to do with the pain in his ribs. 

"Sorry, I am tired. My English is not working. We can talk in morning if you still want, yes?"

"Okay. Good night, Ilya."

"Good night, Shane."

Ilya woke sometime later to a knock at his door. He gingerly got himself upright, trying not to bend or twist too much since the pain medication had obviously worn off. 

The couch wasn't terrible to sleep on — it was a good couch. But sleeping sitting up was never as restful as laying in his bed.

When he got there, the security feed on the little panel by the door showed Shane standing outside, a large paper bag in one hand and his white cane in the other. It was 7 in the morning.

"What…" He unlocked and opened the door as quickly as he could. "Shane… how did you get here?"

"A car?" he answered as if he couldn't figure out why Ilya would be questioning it. "Can I come in?"

Ilya stepped back. "Yes, come in."

Shane moved past him, heading straight to the kitchen to set the bag down on the bar top. 

"I brought breakfast. Just some bagel sandwiches with egg and cheese. I figured you'd need to eat something before you take any pain medication so…"

A weight settled on Ilya's chest and he was suddenly very glad that Shane couldn't see him so he didn't have to figure out how to explain whatever his face was probably doing.

Instead he cleared his throat, hoping that if his voice sounded rough, Shane would just assume it was because he'd just woken up.

"Wow." He opened the bag and peaked in. "You make yourself?"

"Yeah. I mean, I bought the bagels, but I made the eggs."

They ended up sitting on the couch together eating their sandwiches, much like they'd done the last time Shane had been there. Ilya had even given him one of the ginger ales that still lurked in his fridge.

"So, you have to go to arena, right? Going with team today?" Their next game was an away game, but since Ilya wasn't allowed to play it, they'd told him to just stay home rather than make the trip with sore ribs only to sit out the whole time.

"I'm going, yeah. I don't have to be there until 10, though."

Ilya nodded, and then grunted as soon as he remembered Shane couldn't see the nod.

He braced himself, watching Shane finish his bagel and sit back, angling his body slightly to face him.

"So uh…" he started. "Like I said last night, I'm sorry for just taking off like that. It was a really nice day up until that point."

"Yes it was."

"I just… I guess I panicked because it felt like we'd somehow accidentally fallen into a relationship, and I mean… that's not something we could do by accident."

Ah, so this was today's torture — Shane sitting on his couch looking like everything he wanted but could never have, asking him to confirm that he could never have it.

"It's not something we could do at all. You know that."

"I know, I know. We could lose our jobs and… I assume you'd get in trouble with Russia, too. I know it's not… okay… to be with a man over there."

Ilya frowned. "I don't care about Russia. I will never go back. I already apply to stay here as professional athlete. Probably approved maybe one year from now."

"Oh. But what about your family? Are they moving here too then?"

"I have no family. My father died last year, mother died when I was young, brother… we don't speak anymore. No more ties to Russia."

"But what about—" Shane shook his head as if he'd changed his mind about saying whatever he'd been about to say. He leaned back and put his hands over his face.

"I think maybe I just… like you too much to keep doing this. The more I'm around you the more I want."

Of course he already knew this. He'd known all along that they couldn't do this no matter how much either of them might want it.

That didn't stop it from feeling like a kick to the chest when Shane said it, though.

"Okay, so we stop." He quickly swiped a hand under his eye, irritated with his own emotions, but also grateful that Shane couldn't see his face.

Before Shane left, they agreed on the basics: no more hookups, no more visiting each other's homes, and no more working out together — at least until they could really be friends without being tempted to fall into bed with each other.

Which would never happen. At least not for Ilya.

He'd done the sleeping around thing when he was younger and he'd never met anyone quite like Shane. He doubted he'd ever reach a point where he could be near him and not want him in all the ways he couldn't have him.

Chapter 12

"I think the season will end here."

Shane tossed his rag into a bin and looked in Greg's direction so he'd know he was listening. "This is only the first in a 7 game series, though."

"Yeah, but I can just feel it. Rosanov is out, Marleau and Johansson are both playing hurt, Hammersmith is exhausted. I know we can't count them out yet, but I don't think we'll advance this time."

It was true that the team seemed to be running a little ragged, even for it being this late in the season, but they'd only barely lost tonight. 

"I thought Rosanov was back next game. He might be able to turn this around."

"Yeah, I don't think so. At least not next game. The doc was gonna bench him, but I heard that the coach did it before he could. They're too afraid he'll take another hit and it'll end up being serious this time. They can't trust him to hold back and protect himself — especially not during playoffs. That guy doesn't know the meaning of caution on the ice."

Shane didn't know how to respond so he just hummed. He couldn't help but think that Ilya was not going to be happy to learn that he'd have to sit out another game.

At least he didn't think he would be happy. Then again, what did he know? Sometimes it felt like he was an impossible person to read. Not that Shane was good at reading people in general, but Ilya had proven especially difficult. 

He was so incredibly sweet, making food for them and learning Shane's preferences to make sure he had them in stock.

But then he'd talk about how they were just fucking and it was something simple. 

It hadn't felt simple. And it hadn't felt like 'just' anything.

And even though Shane was absolutely convinced that ending their friends-with-benefits thing was the right thing to do, he'd been a little surprised at how quickly — how easily Ilya had agreed.

Not that he'd expected him to beg Shane not to leave, or to try to convince him that they should keep meeting up or anything… it was just a little disappointing, he supposed, that he hadn't warranted more than a quick 'okay' from the guy he'd been desperately trying — and failing — not to fall for.

Because at this point Shane was pretty sure he'd fallen.

They were back in Boston a day later, but Shane didn't have much time to dwell on the new normal between him and Ilya when so many of the guys needed work done.

Which was good because every time he wasn't busy, he found that he kept automatically reaching for his phone to send Ilya a text before remembering that they didn't do that anymore.

They lost the next game — a home game — which the coach had required Ilya to sit out of, as Greg had predicted.

They taped him up for game 3, an away game. From what Shane understood, even with the extra padding and a shot for the pain, Ilya just didn't have the flexibility on the ice that he normally did.

They lost.

Game 4 was at home again, Ilya played and they won — barely. But after what Shane had heard was a fairly normal hit and a couple near misses, the coach decided to pull him again.

Tomorrow they were flying out without him, having lost 3 games of the first 4. For once, he didn't have to guess how Ilya felt — he'd made his objections known loudly enough that there was no way everyone hadn't heard.

But the coach apparently had the same thought as Greg — it didn't make sense to risk their star player on what seemed like a doomed run of games. Even if he were allowed to play, it was unlikely to make enough of a difference. Not with so many guys hurt and Ilya playing at a fraction of his usual power.

Secretly, Shane was kinda glad that Ilya wasn't going to play. As much as he loved hockey, and as bad as he wanted Boston to win, he couldn't stomach the idea of Ilya getting seriously injured out on the ice. If that rib got displaced it could puncture his lung — that thought sent chills down his spine.

The morning of their flight, Shane fixed himself a protein shake and ordered a car to take him to the arena. While he waited for his driver to arrive, he listened to the local sports podcast.

Apparently, no one really thought that Boston was going to advance to the next round. The city was proud of them, though, and so was Shane. The guys had worked their asses off and had given it their all — sometimes it just didn't work out. Besides, it wasn't as if getting this far in the playoffs was a small thing.

His car arrived, so Shane shut off the podcast. Once he was on the way to the arena, he sent a text to his parents.

"Off to the arena. Away game tonight!"

His mother responded right away. "Did they decide to bench Ilya? What about Johansson?"

He couldn't help but smile at how invested his mom had become in Boston's season — especially now that the Metros had been eliminated.

"Ilya is benched, Johansson will play. I think they'll probably give him reduced time, though."

His mom sent a sad face. "All those boys need reduced time. This season has been rough!"

They chatted another minute or so, and then Shane told her he probably wouldn't call her after the game since he was expecting it to be busy.

"Talk to you tomorrow, or later in the week, sweetheart! Love you!"

"Love you too, Mom," was the last thing he sent before everything was upended.

"Hey, Rozanov! You coming along today?"

Ilya strolled towards where everyone was gathering in the parking lot to wait for the bus to the airport.

"Coach gave me choice to stay home or come warm bench. I told him I will keep bench warm. Maybe seeing my face will make you better players."

A couple of the guys chuckled, but it was pretty clear that morale was low. He wasn't sure if one of his rousing locker room speeches would make any difference at this point, but he figured it couldn't hurt to come along and find out. There was still a small chance that they'd win tonight, and if they did, they'd still be in the playoffs and the next game would be back in Boston.

And Ilya would play in it, even if he had to let them tape him up from head to toe and cover him in bubble wrap.

Then the bus finally arrived and the guys began boarding. Ilya looked around, suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen Shane at all yet.

It wasn't like him to be late. Ever.

Ilya waited, casting his eyes around the parking lot to look for some random car driven by a random person, while the bus slowly filled.

Finally, all the guys and most of the support staff were on the bus apart from the coach and the head athletic trainer.

"You in or are you out, Rosanov?" Coach asked.

Before he could answer — and before he could decide whether or not to ask about Shane — the trainer's phone started ringing.

"Yes, this is Roger. Right, I'm his emergency contact in Boston. Okay… I see. Sorry, can I call you right back? Okay, thank you."

Then he turned towards the coach. "Shane's been in an accident on his way here. I'm his emergency contact in the city — his parents are up in Canada."

Ilya suddenly felt like the world was filled with static. He vaguely heard the coach asking how serious it was, and the trainer responding with words like 'unconscious' and 'stable', but he couldn't follow what was being said with the way his heart was actively trying to escape his chest.

"I can call in a back-up for the game so I can get down there…" the trainer was saying now.

Ilya's mouth opened and words started spilling out before he could stop them. "I can go. I am not really needed at game — you are. I can go to hospital and check on Shane, contact his parents, take him home when they release him."

Suddenly both pairs of eyes were on him.

"Do you even know him?" the coach asked.

"Yes, we are friends. I see him sometimes when he comes to use gym. He's… workout buddy."

He stood there watching them exchange glances. Not that it mattered what they thought. Whether or not they agreed, Ilya wasn't getting on that bus — he was going to the hospital.

Chapter 13

Chapter Notes

Ilya gripped the wheel so hard that his knuckles went white. The hospital was fairly close to the arena, but there was an irritating amount of traffic this early in the morning. 

When Roger had called the hospital back, he'd given them Ilya's name as the point of contact in his place. They'd said that Shane had already woken up so he'd likely be making his own medical decisions — they just wanted a familiar person there with him.

He must've convinced Roger and the coach that he was familiar enough with Shane… either that, or they'd just been thinking that any more delays would cause them to miss their flight. It didn't matter to Ilya which option had convinced them — all that mattered was that he'd be arriving at the hospital in minutes, they knew he was coming, and they'd let him see Shane.

"Right this way, Mr. Rosanov. He's getting a CT scan right now, but as soon as it's done we'll be bringing him back to a more private part of the ER. We're happy to have you stay with him, but we'd like to try to avoid too much disruption if possible."

The nurse had recognized him as soon as he'd walked into the emergency room, immediately leading him back through a set of double doors then through an open space full of equipment with curtains to either side. Finally, she led him to the far side of the area where there were two rooms with glass doors.

"Fortunately, we have a more private spot available right now. You can wait in here and they'll bring him in as soon as the scan is finished."

Honestly, maybe shockingly, Ilya had temporarily forgotten that he was famous. Getting recognized and causing a scene at the hospital hadn't even been something he'd considered in his rush to get to Shane.

"Thank you. Uh… do you know if he's okay?"

"Sorry, I don't have much information right now. Someone will be able to speak to you when they bring him back."

Ilya dropped down onto the room's only chair to wait, then promptly stood up again, pacing back and forth in the little room like a caged animal.

Eventually, someone in a white uniform entered and wheeled the bed out, and then right after that another bed was wheeled in. Shane was reclining in a semi-upright position, but his eyes were closed so Ilya had no idea if he was even awake. There was a small bandage up near his hairline, and his left arm was in a sling.

He watched as they parked the bed in the middle of the room, connecting wires and monitors, all while Shane laid back, unresponsive.

Ilya thought he might throw up.

"Is he okay? What's-"

Shane's eyes suddenly opened in a squint. "Ilya?"

He immediately turned toward the bed. "I'm here, Родной."

He glanced toward the doctor, about to ask where he could touch him without hurting him, but the doctor spoke first.

"It's okay to take his hand."

He did so immediately, carefully wrapping both his hands around Shane's hand, taking care not to jostle any other part of him.

"We just let Mr. Hollander know, but I'll say it again now that you're here because he's likely to forget. His collarbone is fractured, but the x-rays look good, the bone is lined up well, and the ligaments are intact — it should heal fine on its own. He also has a concussion. He was unconscious for about 4 minutes at the scene, so we want to have him under close observation for a bit just to make sure everything's okay. He's just had a CT scan and we expect those results within the hour. For now, he just needs to relax. He's probably going to be a little disoriented, and he may ask the same questions more than once. Someone will come in every hour or so for a neuro check, but let us know immediately if he seems to be getting worse — if he starts throwing up, or if he's suddenly much more confused or doesn't know where he is."

Ilya nodded, his brain working overtime to process everything the doctor was saying. Collarbone and head… but probably okay. Still waiting for a scan. Checking on him to make sure he didn't get any worse.

"Thank you, doctor." Fuck, he'd been so scared.

The doctor stepped out of the room, leaving Ilya alone with Shane who, unbelievably, had a little grin on his face.

"Are you really here?" he asked. "What about the game today?"

Ilya gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I didn't go with team."

"I'm so glad you're here. You're so nice. And sexy too. You're so sexy."

Ilya reached over to caress Shane's cheek lightly, watching as his smile widened. "You're so high. They give you good drugs, huh?"

"Mmm," Shane hummed, closing his eyes again.

He watched as Shane drifted to sleep, then continued to watch him as he rested. In fact, Ilya was having a hard time figuring out how he was supposed to take his eyes off him ever again.

He definitely wasn't letting him take rides from stupid fucking strangers. That wasn't happening anymore. He'd wake up earlier, he'd stay later… he'd do whatever he needed to do to make sure he could drive Shane to wherever the fuck he needed to go.

Sometime later — Ilya had no idea how long because time had stopped existing — another nurse walked in.

"Hi, I'm Marisol and I'll be checking in on Mr. Hollander this shift. Good news — his scan came back clear. Now that we're sure he won't be needing surgery, the doctor has ordered oral pain medication for him, so he won't need that IV anymore."

Ilya shifted out of her way as she came close to start removing the IV.

"Uh… sorry if this is stupid question… he had meningitis when he was young… is this… okay for his brain now with concussion?"

Fuck, he hoped he'd said the word right. Back when Shane had first given him the word he'd done his own research in Russian and learned that it was an infection that affected the lining of the brain or something… even in his native language it had been a little difficult to figure out. But he knew for sure that the infection had hurt Shane's brain badly enough that he'd lost his sight. He had no idea if that also translated to complications with further head injuries.

And he didn't fucking know how to express all that in English.

The nurse somehow understood him, though. She turned toward him when she was finished removing the IV, her voice low and reassuring. "Apart from the damage the meningitis caused, his brain is currently healthy, so a concussion wouldn't be any worse for him than for anyone else. As long as he takes time to heal completely and doesn't go out and get another concussion anytime soon, he should be completely fine."

Ilya nodded, relieved. "Thank you."

"Now it's time for a quick neuro check, and then he can rest again." She turned back toward the bed and raised her voice a little. "Mr. Hollander? I need you to wake up a second, okay?"

Shane's eyes opened and he groaned, squinting in the nurse's direction.

"Can you tell me your full name please?"

"Shane Hollander."

"Do you know what day it is?"

Ilya watched as the nurse peppered Shane with question after question, all of which he answered correctly. Then she checked his pupils by shining a light into his eyes, causing him to groan again, before finally declaring that he was doing well and offering him a couple of pills and a small cup of water.

"Your CT scan came back clear so we're going to start you on oral meds for the pain, okay? This is a strong Acetaminophen. We're starting with this because it won't make you too sleepy to wake up for neuro checks, but let us know if the pain gets too bad and we can try something a little stronger."

Shane swallowed the pills and a few sips of water, and then the nurse left.

"Ilya?"

He moved back over to the bed and dropped into the chair, taking up Shane's hand again. "I'm here."

"Are you staying?"

"Yes. As long as you want."

Chapter End Notes

Google says that Родной is a Russian term of endearment.
Literally: my own / my dear one


Chapter 14

Shane drifted for a while. For the most part, the pounding in his head and the aching in his shoulder was just background noise, only coming to the forefront when someone would rudely wake him up and make him recite a few facts like his name and where he was.

His thoughts were foggy and disjointed, but he knew the basics. He didn't remember getting into an accident at all, but he knew he'd been in one. He didn't remember the ambulance ride or anything more than a few random snatches of his initial exam, but he knew he'd had scans and that they were still checking his pupils every time they came in to make sure his head wasn't getting worse.

And he knew that Ilya was here with him — that he'd been here since… the beginning, maybe? He wasn't sure how that had happened, but he wasn't interested in questioning it at the moment.

He was just glad he was here.

He hated the hospital. Probably because the last time he'd had an extended hospital stay, he'd gone to bed with a bad headache one day thinking he had the flu, and he'd woken up in the ICU unable to see, with his head pounding and his body feeling like it'd been rung out like a sponge.

Hospitals were loud and bright and confusing and he hated waking up not knowing who was in the room or what was going on.

At least now, every time he drifted towards consciousness, he'd move slightly and immediately feel Ilya's hand either in his hand, or on his arm, moving his thumb back and forth in gentle little caresses. He felt a lot better drifting knowing Ilya was right there.

"I need you to wake up again for me, Mr. Hollander."

Shane was really starting to get annoyed. It felt like someone was coming in to check on him every five minutes and they were asking him the same questions over and over.

He cracked his eyes open because the bright overhead light was also annoying. "I'm Shane Hollander… it's uh… Saturday, I was in a car accident, and I'm in the hospital."

"Good. Now I just need to check your pupils really quick, sorry!"

She didn't sound sorry. He kept his eyes open while she shined a bright light in each one, causing spikes of pain in his head.

"All done — pupils look good."

"When can I go home?"

"Not just yet, but if you'd like, I can ask the doctor to come by and speak to you about that soon."

"Yeah, I wanna go." He recognized that he probably sounded a little petulant, but his head was pounding and his shoulder was aching and he just didn't care at the moment.

"All right, I'll let him know."

He waited but didn't hear a door or a curtain or anything. "Ilya?"

"I'm here." Ilya took his hand again, after having stepped away to let the nurse torture him.

"Did she leave? I didn't hear anything."

"Yes. Is glass door — very quiet."

"Is this still the emergency room?"

"Yes."

"What time is it?"

"Four."

He huffed. "AM or PM? I can't tell with all the bright fucking lights in here."

Ilya's voice sounded like he was smiling, and he felt fingers gently touch his cheek. "Four PM — afternoon. You want me to ask them to bring good drugs back? I think you were happier with them, yes?"

"No, because if I'm all drugged up they'll never let me leave. Is it time for the ice again yet?" At some point the nurse had entrusted Ilya with several ice packs, giving him instructions to crack them to get them cold, then lay them on Shane's collarbone for 20 minutes or so every hour. It definitely wasn't the same as the stronger pain meds, but it did dull the pain for a little while.

"Almost. You want something for eyes? Let me…" Ilya trailed off, letting go of his hand.

He heard some rustling and then something was being laid over his eyes.

"Is this okay?"

Shane sighed as the room became a little dimmer. "Yeah, that's better. What is it?"

"Small towel from cabinet."

Shane might have drifted a while because the next thing he was aware of was an ice pack being gently set on his collarbone.

"Ilya?"

"Yes, it's me. It's okay." Ilya put one hand in his, and the other was… playing with his hair?

"What's the plan," Shane muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"How long are you gonna stay here? You have to go home eventually, right?"

"Oh, you want to get rid of me already?" The hand that'd been in his hair was now slowly moving up and down his good arm.

"No I just… I don't want to wake up suddenly and find out you're just… gone. I need to know when."

"I told you I will stay as long as you want."

"You did? I don't remember that. But anyway, I need a real answer please." He wasn't even sure how long he'd been here, but he was getting increasingly afraid that one of the times he woke up he'd be calling out for Ilya in an empty room.

"Okay, listen, I tell you plan. I will sit here, I will hold your hand until doctor says you can leave. Then I will take you carefully and safely to my home where you will rest until you feel better and want to go to your home."

Shane swallowed, trying to wrap his head around the idea that Ilya wanted to… take care of him? His thoughts were too fuzzy and slow to process it.

"Did you call my parents?"

"No, you asked me not to. You said you didn't want them to worry. I will call if you want."

He didn't remember talking to Ilya about his parents, but it sounded like something he'd say. He couldn't imagine how scared they'd be to suddenly find out he was in the hospital. They'd freak out and catch the next flight to Boston and then they'd be at his place, refusing to take their eyes off him until he was better. Actually, they'd probably keep freaking out even then.

"No, don't call them. They'll freak out."

"Yes, this is what you said last time."

Shane huffed in annoyance. He hated the brain fog and the fact that he could only remember snatches of the last several hours.

"Has the doctor come by to say anything?"

"Yes. He said since scans are clear and you are passing all neuro checks, he will let you go after 12 hours if you have someone to stay with."

"That long? Fuck, what time would that be?"

"9pm tonight. Unless you want to be admitted. He said that's okay too."

"No, I wanna leave. I don't know why I have to stay so long if everything is fine."

Fingers were in his hair again. "He said because you were unconscious 4 minutes after accident, they want to be careful. It makes it more… serious. They want to be sure you're okay."

"Oh. I don't remember that." Obviously he didn't remember being unconscious, but he meant that he didn't remember the doctor saying that. Though maybe he'd told Ilya when he'd been asleep. Either way, Shane was too tired to clarify.

"I know, it's okay."

Chapter 15

Shane started feeling a little less foggy as the night wore on, and by the time he was finally being discharged from the ER around 10pm, he was coherent enough to wonder what he was going to wear, given that they'd apparently cut his clothes off.

"I have clothes in my car," Ilya told him. "I'll go get something for you."

He ended up leaving the hospital in a pair of Ilya's underwear, track pants, and a zipper jacket that Ilya had helped him put on as he'd stood, wobbly leaning against the bed.

He probably would've been embarrassed if Ilya hadn't already seen every part of him there was to see.

As it was, even with his head pounding and his shoulder aching, all he could think was how sweet it was that Ilya had stayed with him.

"Have you even eaten anything today?"

He was currently in the passenger seat of Ilya's car, leaning back with his eyes closed even though it was dark outside. He was really tired.

"Yes, they let me eat food you didn't want. Terrible boring sandwich and soup with no flavor. I think I save you from a horrible experience. You're welcome."

Shane smiled. "Thanks. I wasn't hungry anyway. I'm still not."

"So you keep saying. It's okay, I have very good protein drinks at home. They are chocolate. You will love them."

He would've protested that he didn't feel like having a protein drink, but before he'd left they'd cleared him to start alternating Ibuprofen with the Acetaminophen to help with the swelling in his shoulder, and he wasn't supposed to take it on an empty stomach.

Plus, he very much doubted he could win a single argument against Ilya right now. He wasn't sure that he even had the energy to argue.

"Do you know who won the game tonight?"

It was a beat before Ilya answered. "We lost."

"So Boston is out of the playoffs now."

"Yes. Is okay. Guys are tired — they can rest and we will be stronger next season."

Shane hummed in response, unsure what to say. He knew that Ilya was extremely serious about hockey and invested in winning… but he also understood how the game worked. Sometimes you just couldn't win.

"Also, I sent message to Roger to let him know you're okay. He is your emergency contact, yes?"

"Oh yeah, they wanted me to list someone in Boston since my parents are out of the country. He told me I could put him down. How'd you end up at the hospital instead? I meant to ask."

"I was there waiting for team bus when he got call. I told him I would go to hospital so he could go to game. He let hospital know."

"Oh, okay." Shane felt the car slowly ease to a stop and he wondered if they were at another light or if they were arriving at Ilya's place.

"Don't worry, I told him we are friends — workout buddies. I don't think he suspects anything more."

Right. Shane probably should've asked about that, but his head was hurting and Ilya being with him felt so completely right that he hadn't stopped to wonder what anyone else might think.

Getting out of the car was about the same as getting in had been — fucking terrible. 

Once Ilya helped him out, he stood beside the car resting his head on Ilya's shoulder. 

While he focused on breathing through the pain, Ilya wrapped an arm around his right side, careful not to put pressure anywhere near his injured left side.

"It's okay. We go in when you're ready," he murmured.

Eventually, Ilya led him carefully inside. He couldn't even use his cane — which thankfully, had been collected from the car wreck — because he was still a little dizzy. If his right arm was busy with his cane, and the left out of commission, he'd have no way to catch himself if he started feeling unsteady.

They'd told him to sleep at least partially sitting up, so Ilya led him over to the couch and got him settled against a mound of pillows that were strategically placed against the back to create a nice even slope.

Ilya hadn't even taken the time to fix the pillows — they'd just been like that.

When the reason why finally made it through his sluggish brain, he made the mistake of trying to sit up again, only to abort the movement with a gasp when his shoulder gave a sharp protest.

"What the fuck, Shane!" A hand planted itself on his chest, well below his collarbone. "Where the hell are you going? Just say what you want."

"No I just… I just realized… this is your spot. You must've been sleeping sitting up for your ribs."

"Oh my god, Shane. I have more pillows — I am rich. I have so many pillows. Enough for both of us."

"But where are you gonna-"

"Here! This is massive couch! We both fit. If you want, we invite your parents and they also fit on couch! Coach too!"

"Okay, okay, sorry."

"Show me you are sorry by staying still," he grumbled.

Shane couldn't help but smile, despite his throbbing head and shoulder.

"What?"

"Nothing." He didn't think Ilya would appreciate being told that his overprotectiveness was adorable, so he kept his mouth shut.

Ilya grunted and left, coming back a few minutes later with a protein drink and pain pill. While he sipped the drink, he heard Ilya moving around the living room, probably setting up his own place to sleep.

Eventually, Shane felt socked feet entwine with his own.

"If you need something, kick me. I will wake you in 3 hours for check up."

Shane groaned. He'd almost forgotten that the nurse had instructed Ilya to keep waking him up every few hours during the first night.

"Yes, cry, I don't care. You will wake up and tell me your name or you will go back to hospital."

It was dark in the room — maybe even too dark for Ilya to see his face — but Shane smiled anyway.

Ilya's phone buzzed silently against his hip where he'd left it, signaling that it was time to wake Shane again. It was already 5 in the morning, and on any other day he might've considered just staying awake at this point, but he felt like he'd hardly gotten any rest so he reset the alarm for 8, figuring that another few hours would be nice.

He sat up carefully and leaned over to peer at Shane in the near-darkness. "Okay, wake up. Time to annoy you."

Shane grumbled unhappily, but opened his eyes. "Shane Hollander, your place, car accident, is it Sunday?"

"Yes, it's Sunday now. Good. You can sleep again."

Shane grumbled something else he couldn't hear, but seemed to fall asleep again almost immediately.

It suddenly occurred to him that the grocery store was probably open now, so he swiped his phone open and went to the shopping cart he'd prepared at the hospital yesterday. While Shane had slept, he'd worked on putting together a big order that he'd planned to schedule for delivery a little later today — so long as they actually let Shane leave. Now that the store was open again, he finalized his cart, paid, and set the delivery time.

When his alarm went off again at 8, he woke Shane for his check, then got up to use the restroom and get ready for the grocery delivery.

He'd just finished putting the last of the groceries away when Shane called out, "Ilya?"

"Yes, in kitchen. One second!" He hurried back to the living room half afraid he'd find Shane trying to get up again. "Good morning."

"Ugh," Shane replied. "Can I have pain meds again or is it too soon?"

"You can have, but you need to eat. Want some eggs? Or maybe oatmeal? I have healthy kind."

"No… nothing heavy. Can I just have another protein drink for now?"

"This time, yes. But once pain is better I will make you something else."

The doctor had told them that Shane would probably feel a little worse today — not only his head and shoulder, but also the various aches and pains from the crash. Hopefully he'd sleep most of the day since he wasn't supposed to do anything that required thinking either.

He had to pee by the time he finished his drink, though, so Ilya helped him to the bathroom, then helped him get his pants down.

"Sorry about this," Shane muttered.

Ilya scoffed. "No apologies. I am good at many things, not just fucking and hockey. I am also good nurse."

"The best," Shane said with one of his little half-smiles.

When they were finished, Shane wouldn't let Ilya take him back to the couch. 

"I'm gross. I need to shower."

"Sorry, no shower. Nurse said you can't get glue wet yet."

The cut at his hairline had been glued shut, and they'd been told that it needed to stay dry for 24-48 hours. Not only that, but there was no way Ilya was going to let him shower when there was a risk he might get dizzy and fall.

"How about bath?"

"Okay."

Ilya left Shane sitting on the toilet lid, with strict instructions not to move, and started getting everything ready.

He picked out fresh underwear, soft pants, and a zippered top for Shane to wear, doing his best to swallow down the feeling that seeing Shane continually wearing his clothes gave him. It didn't matter. 

All that mattered was making sure Shane was okay. The rest he could deal with later.

Chapter 16

Shane sat with his eyes closed listening to the tub fill. He could've drifted to sleep if he'd been leaning back on some pillows instead of sitting up on the hard toilet seat.

He opened his eyes when Ilya came back into the bathroom.

"Ready?"

Ilya turned off the water then helped him stand, pulling down his pants and underwear for him. He could've done it himself, even with one hand, but bending over made him dizzy. Besides, Ilya seemed to want to help, so Shane figured it'd be stupid to fight him on it.

He carefully helped him out of the sling, then opened his shirt, gently working it off his shoulders with as little movement as possible.

Then he paused.

Shane waited, his right arm holding his left against his belly button. It was quiet, so he assumed Ilya had turned around to adjust something in the bath or move the discarded clothing.

But then he heard a noise… just a little choked sound he couldn't identify followed by a shaky exhale. 

"Ilya?"

"Sorry," he gasped.

Shane's stomach bottomed out. His voice sounded… wrecked. Like he was… was he crying?

"Hey." He raised his right hand, finding Ilya's shoulder and trailing up to reach his face. Even lifting his good arm made his shoulder twinge, but when he found moisture on Ilya's cheek everything else stopped mattering.

"Hey," he repeated softly. "What's wrong?"

Ilya's head gave the tiniest shake and then he was cupping Shane's face gently.

But he still hadn't said anything beyond one strangled 'sorry.'

"Ilya… what's going on?"

"Your… they say it will be worse today. Sorry, I was not ready."

"What? The bruising?" Shane brought their foreheads together, reaching to touch the soft curls at the back of Ilya's head.

Ilya's voice still sounded awful, coming out in a strangled whisper. "You're black and blue, Shane. Worse than before."

"Hey, I'm okay," he said quietly. "I'm fine."

"I was so scared when they-" Ilya's voice cut out suddenly.

"I'm okay, Ilya." He tipped his head and gave Ilya a soft kiss, swiping at his cheek with his thumb.

Ilya leaned back and cleared his throat. "Sorry, you are probably getting cold while I am… uh, let me help you into tub."

It seemed like Ilya didn't want to say any more about it so Shane let himself be guided into the tub — the water was perfect — but once inside he realized that it wasn't a tub at all.

"What is this thing? This isn't a bathtub."

"What? Yes, is bathtub."

"No… this is like an olympic sized swimming pool. Holy shit."

"Oh, yes, is big."

Ilya said it like the tub being big was a boring fact, and not the mind-blowing detail it actually was.

"This thing could easily fit both of us. Are you coming in too?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

Ilya was starting to sound a little more animated, but his voice still had an undertone of sadness that Shane didn't like.

"You won't hurt me. Besides, it'll probably be easier to help me if you're in here too, right?"

The logic of his statement must've won him over, because he heard Ilya's clothes hitting the floor and then Ilya warned him that he was coming in.

Ilya washed his back with what felt like a soft soapy sponge, and then hesitated when it was time for his front. "Does it hurt?"

"Where? My shoulder?"

"Your chest. Seatbelt bruises all across. From… stomach to shoulder you are big bruise."

"Oh." He didn't know why he was surprised. It made perfect sense that he'd have some bruising from the seatbelt, and maybe just from being knocked around in the car, but the only pain he really felt was a general achiness, apart from the sharper pain in his collarbone and his pounding head.

"I haven't really noticed any pain there, I guess."

Ilya muttered something in Russian then started very gently washing his chest, his touch feather-light.

Afterwards, Ilya even washed his hair, carefully avoiding his temple where a cut was glued shut.

When he was finished, Shane found one of Ilya's hands and brought it up to his lips for a quick kiss. "Thank you for doing this. I'm sorry that it's… hard to deal with."

"You are not hard to deal with," he replied firmly, caressing his cheek. "You are very easy."

Even though Ilya did all the work, the bath left him completely wiped out. He fell asleep as soon as he was back on the couch.

He woke sometime later, shoulder throbbing and head aching. It was definitely time for more pain meds. 

He listened for a second to see if he could figure out where Ilya was, only to hear the front door close, causing his adrenaline to spike.

"Ilya?" He knew he wouldn't have left him… at least not without telling him anything. Had someone come over? How would they explain him staying here?

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm, and Ilya started speaking to him softly. "Hey, what's wrong? Bad dream? It's okay, Shane, you are at my place on my big couch."

"I heard the door. Who's here?" Fuck, Roger wouldn't know to come here looking for him… it had to be a hockey player.

"No one is here. That was delivery. I order package."

He didn't even realize how much he'd been starting to panic until he heard Ilya's voice calming him down again.

"Don't worry, no one is coming. You're safe here. It's okay."

It took a second for the words to sink all the way into his brain, but when they did Shane deflated, closing his eyes as his head throbbed unhappily with all the excitement.

"What time is it?"

"One in afternoon. I have food for you, and then time for medicine, yes?"

He didn't feel like eating, but he didn't have the heart to argue with Ilya — not with everything the man was doing for him. Eventually he knew they'd have to talk about this. It felt like it'd been ages, but Shane realized that it wasn't even that long ago that they'd broken things off.

Not that there'd been anything official to break off.

Still, they needed to figure this out. Even before all this, Shane had already been finding his feelings for Ilya impossible to ignore. All this attention and care was doing nothing to reverse that.

But right now his head was throbbing, his shoulder was aching, and he was under orders not to do anything too 'mentally taxing.' Figuring out this thing with Ilya probably qualified as taxing.

So he ate the pasta Ilya had made for them and took his medicine.

Afterwards, Ilya led him back to the bedroom to show him what he'd ordered.

Somehow this ridiculous man had managed to find two big wedge cushions that he placed side-by-side on the bed so they could sleep semi-reclined together. 

"So you will stop kicking me in your sleep," was the reason Ilya gave.

But when they were finally settled in bed, Ilya on Shane's good side, he reached over and took his hand — 'in case he needed anything.'

Shane drifted to sleep feeling a gentle thumb sweeping back and forth across his knuckles.

When it was time for dinner they had leftover pasta out on the couch. Ilya found a place to stream the game they'd missed, and he provided his description and commentary for Shane.

"Boo! Boston lost. Everyone is going home sad. People in stands are crying — so disappointed."

"No they're not."

"Oh yes they are."

Before he could say anything else, Ilya leaned over and kissed his cheek, effectively ending the argument.

In that moment — even with his thoughts still a little sluggish and his head aching — he was absolutely sure that he wanted this thing with Ilya to be real. To endure beyond this protected little bubble they were currently in.

He hoped he'd be brave enough to ask for it when the time came.

Chapter 17

Technically, the hospital had only said that someone should be with Shane for about 48 hours. Those hours had come and gone, though, and Shane had yet to mention leaving.

So Ilya didn't mention it either.

It'd been 72 hours now. Shane was still a little off-balance when navigating, not being used to having one less arm to work with, but he was getting around Ilya's place on his own now.

But Ilya was never far away. Ever since Shane had determined that he felt well enough to walk around with his cane instead of being attached to Ilya's elbow, Ilya had been hyperaware of every move he made. 

When he went to the bathroom, Ilya would suddenly remember something nearby that needed straightening up so he'd be right outside in case he needed help. When Shane was in the bedroom taking a nap, Ilya would go in to read just to be beside him.

And when Shane was out on the couch, now starting to catch up on his email and messages, Ilya was there too. Reading, listening to podcasts, watching TV with the sound low so as not to disturb him… anything to keep him in view.

He assumed… he hoped… it wouldn't always be this way. He recognized that he was still a little scared to let Shane out of his sight because the accident was still so fresh in his mind. Maybe for Shane the whole thing was a big blur — he didn't even remember being in an accident. But Ilya remembered the call… not knowing if Shane was okay… the stressful drive to the hospital… the waiting, the pacing, seeing Shane lying there hurt, the terrible bruising…

It was all burned into his memory in incredible detail.

So yes, maybe he was being a little ridiculous. 

That didn't mean he knew how to stop, though.

Ilya paused the podcast he hadn't really been listening to and set his headphones aside when he saw Shane pull his earbud out of his ear and lean back on the couch, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Too much?" he asked quietly. He was allowed to do mental activities as long as they didn't make his head feel worse. If they did, he was supposed to stop and give his brain a rest.

"Kinda. I prefer doing this on my laptop… but I only have one hand now anyway, so it wouldn't matter."

"Phone isn't good for messages?"

"It's okay. It's just easier to type things out with two hands and a keyboard. Especially for long messages. Dictation is okay, but it fucks things up sometimes, and typing it out is okay — just harder on the phone."

"Maybe you could call parents? Roger too, if you want. I can be quiet."

Shane smiled one of his gentle little smiles that Ilya adored.

"I'm a terrible liar, Ilya. As soon as anyone got me on the phone and asked me where I was or who was helping me, I'd freeze up."

He knew that Shane had planned to tell Roger that he was staying with a friend for a bit, and he'd hoped to just make normal conversation with his parents so they wouldn't know anything was going on at all, but Ilya could see how an actual conversation might lead to questions that Shane wouldn't want to answer.

"You should do what I do. Easier than lying."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Someone asks something I don't want to answer I say, 'none of your fucking business,' or sometimes variations like, 'shut the fuck up,' and 'fuck off' — very effective."

Shane laughed quietly. "Yeah, I can't see that working with my parents. Or my supervisor."

It was on the tip of Ilya's tongue to ask him how he thought his parents might react to the news that he was staying with him… that they'd slept together… but Ilya didn't even know if Shane was out to his parents. It didn't seem like a topic they should get into while Shane was still dealing with headaches.

Later that week they were on the couch watching a movie. Shane had shown him that Netflix had audio descriptions available for some titles, so they'd found one to put on that they were both interested in.

Ilya had actually seen it already, but he kind of wanted to see it again with the audio description. It was interesting to see which things the narration decided to describe, and which things were left out.

Shane had worried that the constant description might annoy him, but it didn't. It was sort of like listening to an audiobook… but with pictures. Which was something Ilya would definitely not be saying out loud because he had a feeling that it wouldn't make any sense outside of his own head.

Watching a movie this way was nice. It would've been even nicer if they'd been able to cuddle, but Shane's shoulder still hurt too much for that so they sat side-by-side, feet tangled together on the ottoman.

Near the end, Shane shifted slightly. "So… I think maybe we should talk about this."

Ilya grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "This movie?"

"This situation. Us."

"Ah," he said, at a loss for how to continue. Shane had already made it pretty clear before that there was no 'us' for them. They couldn't be in a relationship, and Shane was no longer interested in hooking up, so what was left for him to say?

"Ah? That's it?"

Ilya groaned, fixing his eyes on the frozen image on the TV. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Well, why don't you start by being honest. Tell me what you want."

He scoffed. "What does it matter? We were fucking, you wanted to stop — we stopped."

"Not because I didn't want to be with you — because I didn't see how it could work."

"Okay, so it can't work. Then what is there to talk about?"

"What if it could work? What if we could figure out how to be together without losing our jobs?"

"Yes, and what if I stop playing hockey and become a painter. What else do you want to imagine?"

The truth was that it probably could work. They could probably keep doing what they'd started doing and just keep being careful. They could meet up outside of work and no one would have to fucking know. He'd been ready to do that. Shane was the one who'd run away.

He just didn't understand where this sudden desire to rehash it all was coming from. If Shane was having second thoughts about running away and wanted to resume fucking, he could just say that. 

But the idea of a relationship beyond that… why even entertain it? Ilya knew — life had already taught him— that he wasn't enough. People loved him, sure. People loved looking at him, they loved sex with him, they loved his money and his fame. But no one besides his mother had ever really loved him with no strings attached — and even she'd left him.

He just wasn't someone people wanted in a permanent way. He'd accepted that.

He'd even accepted that when it came to him and Shane, he'd most certainly be the one left still wanting more when it all ended.

That was fine.

He just didn't understand why Shane wanted to talk about it again and again. 

Shane had fallen quiet so he risked a glance over at him and wished he hadn't when he saw his brown eyes shimmering with tears.

"Fuck." He squeezed his eyes shut, running a hand down his face. "You want honest? Fine. I want you. All the fucking time. In every fucking way. I never stop. I don't know if I can."

His voice broke on the last word and he shook his head, willing his own tears to go the fuck away. He was exactly as pathetic as his family always accused him of being.

He gently untangled his legs from Shane's and stood. "I'm going to bed. Don't… will you please not leave? If you have to run away again please just… wait until morning. I will take you."

He stood there looking down at Shane, waiting for him to agree.

Shane still sat there frozen, tears clinging to his lashes but refusing to fall.

"Please, Shane. Is all I ask. Please." As desperate as he was to go lick his wounds in private, he was even more desperate to make sure Shane wouldn't call a fucking stranger to drive him into the night. The thought terrified him.

"I won't leave," he finally answered quietly.

Ilya nodded and retreated to the bedroom. 

He grabbed one of the pillows he hadn't been using lately, and pushed his wedge cushion out of his way so he could lay down on his side with the pillow clutched to his chest. Getting into the position sent sharp pain through his ribs, but once he was settled it started to calm down to a steady ache.

He pressed his face against the pillow, letting it absorb the few tears that escaped, imagining how happy his dad would be to tell him how fucking stupid he was.

Like always, he found himself unable to argue with his dad's voice. Even dead, he always had the last word.

Chapter 18

He woke to the sensation of a hand patting along his hip, then up to his shoulder.

"What?" he mumbled. It had to be Shane trying to find him. "You need help?"

"Ilya, I don't speak Russian."

He hadn't realized he'd been speaking Russian. He made his brain wake up enough to switch to English.

"What is going on?" He rolled onto his back, hissing when the pain in his ribs spiked. Shane was right there, looming over him in the dark as he knelt on the bed beside him.

"You're supposed to be sleeping sitting up."

"Okay," he agreed without moving. If he tried to sit up now it'd just hurt worse. He'd rather know what it was that Shane needed first.

When no explanation came, Ilya's eyes started getting heavy again. He set one hand on Shane's knee so he'd know if he moved and let his eyes drift closed.

"So I've been thinking about this a lot — for a while. But I've been doing a little more research tonight and I think that there are plenty of places that…"

Ilya's eyes cracked open again as soon as Shane started talking, but most of it was going over his head. He was saying a lot of words at a speed that his sleep-deprived brain could not keep up with.

"Wait… Shane. I can't… is middle of night, yes? Can you speak more… simple?"

"I'm quitting my job."

"What?" That woke him up fast. "No you're fucking not."

"Just listen, okay? I have a plan. I can-"

Ilya cut him off before he could say more. "Hold on… wait." Suddenly, he didn't feel like he could have this conversation laying down.

He hauled himself upright with a groan, cursing softly while he groped around in the dark for the damn wedge cushion. When he found it he pushed it back into its place beside Shane's then decided to stay sitting up for the time being. 

At least he was fully fucking awake now.

"Okay. Now I will listen if you want, but then I will let you know that you aren't quitting."

"Ilya," Shane sighed like he was exasperated with him.

"Shane," Ilya responded with what he thought was the appropriate amount of attitude.

Then Shane held out his hand. "Give me your hand."

"Why?"

"Because I want to hold it."

Ilya rolled his eyes. He knew Shane couldn't see it, but it made him feel better to know he'd done it. He placed his hand in Shane's and waited for whatever stupid thing he was going to say about quitting his job so he could tell him again that it wasn't going to happen.

"I fucking want this, Ilya. I want you — more than I want my job. I wouldn't even technically be quitting — the season is over. I just wouldn't let them renew me for another season. There are plenty of places I could work doing massage therapy right here in Boston — I looked."

"No." Shane started to protest so Ilya brought his other hand up and laid a finger softly against his mouth. "No, I let you say things, now you let me."

When Shane closed his mouth, he removed his finger and continued. "You worked your whole fucking life for this job. You studied, you trained, you left your family in another country to come here… and you are good at it — probably the best. You love hockey. You came here to work for hockey team. You are not giving it all away like it doesn't matter."

"I'm not saying it doesn't matter. But it matters less to me than this." He punctuated his statement with a squeeze to Ilya's hand. "And between the two of us, it has to be me. I have a license to practice in the state — I can get a job here that will sponsor my visa. It's not like you can just leave the Raiders. Especially while you're under contract. They could terminate their sponsorship and you'd have to go back to Russia."

"Back to Russia — what? Shane what are you talking about? I told you I'm not going back."

"Right, but if the team stopped sponsoring your visa you'd have to-"

"Shane," Ilya interrupted. "Boston does not sponsor my visa. I have independent visa… for being rich and famous athlete."

Shane's mouth dropped open. "What? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Also, I told you before that I already apply to stay here permanently as professional athlete. Green card will come soon, I think."

"No, you definitely did not tell me you'd applied for a green card."

"I told you I wasn't going back. I told you I applied to stay here permanently."

"I know you didn't use the word 'permanent' or I would've asked if you meant residency."

Ilya sighed. "Okay, whatever I said, that is what I meant. So can you stop quitting your job now?"

Shane squeezed his hand again. "It's still easier for me to just get another job. You said it yourself — you are a famous athlete — best in the league, right? You can't walk away from that for me."

"Oh, so now you tell me what I can't do? Okay. In that case I will also tell you what you can't do. You can't quit. There. Now it is fair."

Shane tugged on the hand he was holding, drawing Ilya closer. "Deal."

He moved his hand up to Ilya's shoulder, and then to his cheek, leaning in to brush their lips together.

Then he leaned back again, a satisfied look on his face. "I won't quit. But when I have my meeting with management next week about my contract I'm going to tell them that I'm in a relationship with one of the players on the team. Then they'll fire me."

Ilya wanted to make a joke about not knowing which of his teammates he was in a relationship with, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he laid his hands on Shane to steady him and told him to sit with his legs in front of him. Once he'd guided him into the position he wanted, he sat himself in the V of Shane's legs and carefully wrapped his arms around him.

"This is a relationship now, huh?"

Shane planted a kiss on his jawline. "I think this has been a relationship longer than either of us has wanted to admit."

"I have never… had relationship before. Only fucking. Nothing… like this."

"I've been in a couple… but nothing like this. Nothing I've really wanted."

Ilya frowned. "You were in relationships you didn't want?"

"They were with girls. I was trying to… make it work. But it never did."

"You don't like girls." Ilya made it a statement, but he was hoping for confirmation.

"No, I don't like girls," Shane replied softly. Ilya got the feeling that he'd never told anyone that before.

He would've liked to spend the rest of the night holding and kissing Shane… reveling in the fact that Shane actually wanted this — wanted him— enough to suggest doing something stupid like quitting his job just to stay with him.

But he knew that Shane was still recovering and he wasn't about to be the reason for another bad headache.

Instead, with a final kiss he told him, "Sleep now. We will figure it out tomorrow."

They went to bed side-by-side, as they had since they'd moved to the bedroom from the couch.

Shane fell asleep quickly — as he'd been doing since the accident. Ilya, meanwhile, started making plans. He had some calls to make tomorrow.

Chapter 19

"So when are you coming home? You have off until the next season starts, right? Or at least until training camp starts?"

"I'm not sure when I'm due back yet — my contract meeting is tomorrow. But I'll come visit at some point. Not for too long because I'm still paying rent here, but I'm sure I'll be able to get away for a bit."

He'd decided to call his mom today — partly to get his parents off his back about visiting, and partly to keep up the appearance that everything was normal. He didn't want to tell them anything until he actually had something to tell.

He and Ilya — with the help of Ilya's agent, Mia — had spent the last several days planning for just about every possible response to their talk with management. They had tentative plans for Shane getting fired, Ilya getting fired, and them both being fired — with various levels of publicity thrown into the mix.

Mia was fairly sure that if the reaction was negative, they'd still want to keep any details out of the media. People would question it, of course. If one of the league's best teams suddenly released their best player from his contract, there was no way the news outlets wouldn't be all over it. But, she didn't think the team would comment on the reasons, so it'd be up to them to decide what they wanted to share.

Unless they were asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement — they'd gone over that possibility too. The Raiders couldn't keep Ilya from coming out if he wanted to, but they could prevent him from saying anything about being fired because of his sexuality.

"Shane, did you even hear what I said?"

"Sorry, I was distracted. What were you saying?"

"I was just reminding you to get me the dates you can come as soon as possible. Your father and I are gonna request a few days off work so we can do something fun together."

"Yeah, I'll let you know. I'm sure I'll find out more tomorrow."

Once they hung up, Shane dropped his phone to the side and leaned his head back on the couch, closing his eyes with a sigh. He was trying not to think too much about how terrified he was for the meeting, but the closer it came, the harder the feeling was to ignore.

Suddenly, a weight slowly settled into his lap as Ilya straddled him, cupping his face and bringing him in for a kiss.

"This is a lot better on your couch," Shane told him once the kiss ended.

"Of course. I have better couch."

They'd been going to Shane's place during the day sometimes, but they still went back to sleep at Ilya's every night. 

Shane was still in a sling and still getting occasional headaches, but he didn't need constant help anymore.

But the idea of sleeping anywhere Ilya wasn't… he didn't like it.

Apparently, Ilya didn't either, because he just naturally went wherever Shane wanted to go — no questions.

"Your parents okay?"

"Yeah, they want to know when I'm going up there. I told my mom I'd know more after tomorrow."

The two of them hadn't talked about what they'd do the rest of the summer — whether they'd spend it together or whether they'd do their own things — but Shane felt like they couldn't even start making plans until they knew what was going to happen with the Raiders.

"Hey," Ilya said, interrupting his thoughts. "Stop thinking about tomorrow. Time for dinner."

They kissed again, brief but sweet

"I can make dinner, you know. Even with one hand… I could at least help."

"No, it's okay. When I hurt my arm next season it will be your turn. I will sit on couch while you work in kitchen like a good boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"I mean… yes, probably. I think so."

Shane smiled. "I like the sound of that."

"Me too."

Mia met them at the arena for the meeting. Technically, this meeting was supposed to be between Shane, his supervisor, and someone from the management team to discuss Shane's performance this season and his possible renewal for the next. 

He wasn't sure exactly what everyone had been told, but he knew that the Raiders management had been alerted that Ilya and his agent would also be at the meeting, and that they'd have something they needed to say. That alone would trigger more of the Raiders management to be there but Shane had let Ilya and Mia worry about all that. At this point, he wasn't sure his body was capable of holding any more worry before he just melted into the floor.

Last night Ilya had told him that they'd probably assume Ilya wanted to hire Shane as his personal massage therapist, poaching him from the team for himself.

If that was the case, they were going to be very, very shocked.

Shane's leg bounced, jiggling the plastic chair outside the meeting room. He would've thought they'd have better furniture out here…

A warm hand landed firmly on his knee. "It's okay. We're okay, no matter what happens, yes?"

"Yes," he agreed, feeling a little sick.

"They're ready for you," someone called from the door.

Inside, Shane sat at what he assumed was a conference table. No one had described the room to him — they'd only guided him to a seat.

Once they were all settled, someone got started by introducing everyone in the room. Roger was there, as he'd expected, along with the head of HR. In addition to that, the General Manager had also come.

Shane dropped the hand that wasn't in a sling down to his lap, wiping his sweaty palm on his pant leg. The plan was for Shane to speak first, hopefully get his part out of the way and then let things go from there. Though now that it was nearly time, he wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to find his voice.

Ilya's hand suddenly found his under the table, squeezing briefly, and then holding on.

It was… grounding.

When the meeting was called to order, Shane finally said his piece as planned.

"First, I want to thank you all for the opportunity to work with the Raiders this past season. It has been a privilege to support the players and to be part of such a wonderful organization with such a positive culture. Whether or not you choose to renew my contract for the coming season, I just want you to know that I am truly grateful for the time I've spent here."

Shane paused to take a breath, feeling Ilya squeeze his hand again.

"However, even though I can confidently say that it has never affected my job here, I do need to disclose that I have entered into a romantic relationship with a member of the team — Ilya Rosanov. I know it isn't against the rules for a staff member and a player to be involved, but with my position working closely with the players, I understand how it could send the wrong message. I'm open to discussing whatever you might think is the right way forward."

He squeezed Ilya's hand back, grateful that his part was finally over. Fuck, his heart was beating so hard that he wouldn't be at all shocked if someone around the table mentioned it.

"I would like to say," Ilya started before anyone else around the table could speak, "this season I have used other massage therapists — not Shane — since we started relationship. There is always someone to help me so this has not caused any problems for me."

They'd decided early on that they weren't going to disclose exactly how long they'd been together. One, because it was none of their business, and two because it was unlikely to make a difference to them anyway.

Silence fell around the table, and Shane wondered if they were all picking their jaws up off the floor. Or maybe they were glaring at the two of them…

Then Roger spoke up. "Shane, thank you for disclosing that. As for your work — it's been excellent. I have never noticed anything unprofessional, nor any behavior that was detrimental to the team. I didn't even realize that you weren't working with Ilya. Whatever you two have been doing, it's clearly been very discrete."

Someone else started talking, but Shane didn't recognize the voice so he wasn't sure if it was the HR person or the General Manager.

"So what do you two want? What's the ask?"

Mia answered for them. "I think ideally, everyone would like to keep their jobs if that's something you'd consider. Ilya and Shane are not looking to come out publicly at this time. If what they were doing worked last season, I'd suggest more of the same."

She paused, then added, "However, if the management team has any sort of qualms about two men being in a relationship, we are ready to discuss an early release from contract."

Ilya had been clear with Mia that he was happy to stay with Boston as long as they weren't bothered by him dating a man. At the first sign of homophobia, though, he'd told her that he wanted to start talking about a transfer.

Though if that happened, Shane sure as hell wasn't going to stay behind without him.

"Well," the same voice spoke again. "No need for that. I certainly don't care who any player dates in their free time as long as it doesn't affect their playing. However, we would need to take steps to protect the professionalism of the treatment room in the event that something did come out. We wouldn't want a disclosure, accidental or otherwise, to lead to accusations of favoritism. Bill, Roger, any thoughts?"

From the way he talked, Shane guessed that it was the GM who'd done the talking. Which meant that now he was asking the HR guy and Roger to weigh in.

A voice that wasn't Roger's said, "Perhaps we could do a slight restructuring of the support team? Make it so that Shane never worked with Ilya officially, but without calling attention to it. Maybe divide up the staff and assign them to certain members of the team? Would that be possible, Roger?"

And just like that, they started talking about changing the way the support staff worked so that the players were divided among the massage therapists to provide them with exclusive support. They planned to tell the staff and players it was for closer case management to hopefully help prevent injuries during the season.

When they finally filed out of the conference room, Ilya had his contract intact, and Shane had a new one for the coming season. As soon as the door closed behind them, Shane wrapped his good arm around Ilya and nearly wilted against him, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Fuck, I'm so glad that's over. Fuck." He'd basically just come out to the Raiders' staff. To his supervisor. To the General Fucking Manager of the Boston Raiders.

He vaguely heard Mia congratulating them and saying goodbye while Ilya wrapped both arms around him, one hand firm against his back and the other at the back of his neck.

"You did so good. Mr. Businessman. So sexy in your suit and tie telling them about being professional."

Shane snorted. Somehow Ilya made 'professional' sound like a dirty word.

"Ugh. All the stress made my head hurt. Do you still have meds at your place?"

"Yes. Let's go. I will take very good care of my sexy professional boyfriend."

Chapter 20

Chapter Notes

Shane figured that one day he'd probably tell his parents about his car accident and the way Ilya had been amazing staying beside him and taking care of him.

But that day was not today. And that day would not happen this summer.

Instead, he sat in Ilya's arms, in his bed — sling finally gone — trying to psych himself up for a different conversation with his parents.

"You don't have to," Ilya murmured.

"I do. I already gave them my travel dates. If I don't tell them that you're coming too and give them enough time to get things ready for you, my mom's gonna freak out for a whole other reason."

"Maybe they won't freak out at all."

"Maybe," Shane agreed, laying his head on Ilya's shoulder. Maybe they'd be fine with it. They'd probably be fine with it. He knew his parents weren't homophobic or anything.

But knowing that didn't take his fear away because if there was even the slightest chance… he couldn't bear the thought of losing his relationship with his parents. He didn't think he could handle it.

"It doesn't have to be this time, Shane. I can visit with you another time. It's okay."

As nice as it was to hear that Ilya wasn't worried about it, Shane wanted it to happen now — this summer. Ilya might not have another chance to get away during the season and he didn't want to be constantly censoring himself in conversation with his parents for a whole year so they didn't find out by accident.

"I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna do it right now."

Shane blew out a breath and popped an earbud in, swiping on his phone to make the call.

His mom answered right away. "Hey, kiddo! What's up?"

"Hey uh… is Dad around? Could you maybe put me on speaker?"

"Sure, just a sec." Shane heard his mom call for his dad. "Everything okay? You're not gonna tell us you aren't coming, are you?"

"No, everything's okay."

"You're on speaker now," his mom said, and he heard his dad call out a greeting from somewhere nearby.

"Hi. So uh… I have something I need to tell you. Sorry that I'm doing this over the phone… but um… I think you'll understand why…" He took a deep breath to brace himself.

"I'm gay. And uh… I'd tell you in person except I was kinda hoping to bring my boyfriend with me this summer. If that's okay." Shane squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in Ilya's shoulder.

"Oh honey, that's wonderful! Of course you can bring your boyfriend — we'd love to meet him. Is it someone on the support team? Another massage therapist?"

"Um… no. No, uh… he's a player."

"On the team?! Oh Shane, is that even allowed? Does management know? Who is it?"

"Ilya. Rosanov. And yes, they know. We're using a case management system so I won't be working with him directly anyway, but they're okay with it." 

His mom fell silent and he heard his dad say 'wow' in the background.

"I'm sorry if it's too much… "

"No, no sweetheart, of course not. We're just surprised. We'd love to meet him. Anyone who you're spending time with must be a good person… I'm sure he's very different than how he is on the ice."

"Yeah," Shane agreed quietly. 

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly small talk, apart from his mom asking for Ilya's food preferences and wanting to know if he had any allergies.

When he finally hung up, he took out his earbud and rested in Ilya's arms for a minute, relieved that the talk he'd been dreading was finally over.

"Everything okay?"

"Shit, sorry. Yeah." He'd forgotten that Ilya wouldn't have heard his parents voices so he'd just have Shane's half of the conversation to go off of. "They're fine with us. My mom was a little concerned I'd get fired… but they weren't upset that we're dating apart from that. I think they're excited to meet you."

"Me too. I am excited — also nervous."

When he'd first invited Ilya to come with him to Canada, he'd offered to come partway through the visit to give Shane time alone with his parents.

Shane had refused. He wanted him there the whole time. He wanted to show him his home, and he wanted him to get to know his parents. Which might have seemed fast to some people, but he felt like he'd been waiting his whole life for Ilya — things finally made sense. He wanted the people he loved to all know each other.

He fucking loved Ilya.

One night, two days before they were due to leave, they were lying in bed together naked. They'd just finished having sex, and Ilya was lying on top of him like the best weighted blanket ever.

"I am terrified," he murmured softly, "of meeting your parents."

"What? Why?"

"My father was police… he was traditional. Not a… nice man. My brother took after him. My mother… she died when I was young. She was great, but I didn't have her long. I never met anyone's parents before — I don't think I know how."

Shane ran a hand through Ilya's hair. "You don't have to know anything — just be yourself and they'll love you, I promise."

"I don't know about that."

"It's true. You know how I know? Because… I love you. I know they'll love you too."

"Shane," Ilya choked, bringing their foreheads together. "I love you too."

They kissed. "Good, because I love you so fucking much."

Ilya made a noise that was between a laugh and a sob. "Well… I think I love you more. Is not competition, but…. I think I win."

"No fucking way. I definitely love you more."

They kissed again, slow and deep. Shane felt like his heart was full to bursting.

In two days time they'd go up to Canada together. Ilya would finally meet his parents, and he just knew that they'd love him. After that, they'd come back to Boston and get back to work — without having to worry about what management might think if they found out.

He couldn't imagine anything more perfect.

"Shane," Ilya said softly, interrupting his thoughts. "After Canada… I think… if you want… you should move in. Stay with me. Don't pay rent for another bed when you can have this one. I promise I will follow your rules — not moving things, keeping floor clear…"

Ilya trailed off and Shane pulled him into a tight embrace. Now that he thought about it, he realized that Ilya had already been doing all of that at his place — making sure Shane could find things and that nothing moved around. In fact, he suspected he'd been doing it since the first time Shane visited his place.

Maybe things could get more perfect after all.

"Okay. I'll stay here with you." 

Maybe forever, he added silently. Nothing had ever, ever felt so right.

Chapter End Notes

That's all, folks!

While I could probably continue this forever, this story was always intended to just be a short little thing about how these two AU versions of Ilya and Shane got together. If I ever did a sequel, I'd delve into Ilya's mental health, his relationship with Yuna and David, coming out to the team, and how Shane learns to support him through it all.

However, I doubt I will ever write that because real life requires me to do other things. (Though if anyone ever wanted to snatch up these two versions of Ilya and Shane and take them for a spin, I would be thrilled, of course!)

Thanks for taking the time to read my silly little AU! Now I'm off to do things that will (hopefully) actually pay my bills! 🥲