Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

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

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, David Hollander, Rose Landry

Additional Tags:

Missing Scene, Canon Compliant, a bit book, a bit show, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Post-Episode: s01e06 The Cottage (Heated Rivalry), Pre-Book 6: The Long Game (Game Changers), POV Shane Hollander, POV Ilya Rozanov

Language:

English

Series:

Part 5 of Hollanov Extended Universe

Stats:

Published: 2026-01-25 Completed: 2026-03-23 Words: 83,538 Chapters: 12/12

Countdown

Summary

“You’ll text when you land, right?” Shane asks as he takes an exit ramp labeled Airport Departures.

“Yes. Promise.”

“And you’ll call tonight?” Shane’s throat works over the words, like he still doesn’t trust this new thing between them. Ilya thinks he understands. He also doesn’t know how to trust this love. How can he when it has been trapped in his own heart so long. Neither of them know what the next year will bring. There is so much time before Ilya can have his agent, or his future agent, he will need a new one with no connections to Russia, reach out to Ottawa and hope that they’ll be interested in a future Hall of Fame center. The one thing Ilya is certain of is that he will do everything in his power to make their plan work. He spent his entire adult life lusting after, and then pining for Shane with his whole heart.

“I will call.” Ilya reaches for the hand Shane has left on the gearshift and threads his fingers through his. He wants to say so much, but he has always been better with touch than words, especially when the only shared language was English. “We will talk every day.”

Or, There is a year before Ilya can sign with Ottawa, Shane counts down the days until their forever.

Chapter 1: August

They had both hoped for more traffic. Shane was the first to mention that sometimes the summer construction made traffic near the airport slow. Ilya didn’t have the heart to remind him that when Shane picked him up close to three weeks ago he didn’t see any orange barrels.

Still, Ilya hoped for traffic. Maybe a fender bender that moved everyone into one lane that moved at a snail's pace. These past weeks with Shane had been the best of his life. He didn’t want them to ever end. Except training camp starts in two days. They both have obligations, and Ilya has already extended his stay at Shane’s cottage longer than either of them had ever thought to dream.

“You’ll text when you land, right?” Shane asks as he takes an exit ramp labeled Airport Departures.

“Yes. Promise.”

“And you’ll call tonight?” Shane’s throat works over the words, like he still doesn’t trust this new thing between them. Ilya thinks he understands. He also doesn’t know how to trust this love. How can he when it has been trapped in his own heart so long. Neither of them know what the next year will bring. There is so much time before Ilya can have his agent, or his future agent, he will need a new one with no connections to Russia, reach out to Ottawa and hope that they’ll be interested in a future Hall of Fame center. The one thing Ilya is certain of is that he will do everything in his power to make their plan work. He spent his entire adult life lusting after, and then pining for Shane with his whole heart.

“I will call.” Ilya reaches for the hand Shane has left on the gearshift and threads his fingers through his. He wants to say so much, but he has always been better with touch than words, especially when the only shared language was English. “We will talk every day.”

“Just once a day?” Shane’s lip quirks up in that sexy smirk that Ilya thinks he saves just for him.

“Hollander I will be blowing up your phone so much you will be sick of me.”

“Not possible, Rozanov.” Shane drives with the confidence of someone who has spent his whole life navigating these roads. Ilya isn’t sure why he pulled up the map on his phone. He clearly doesn’t need it. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. We’re going to make this work.”

“I love you more.” Ilya hopes their love will be a competition like their on ice rivalry. After days of seeing who could unravel the other the most, cook the better breakfast, prepare the best coffee, he thinks that there will always be something there pushing them to try just a bit harder. Only now that effort won’t just be in cross checks and faceoffs, but in the little signs of love that make up a life. “I will see you next month. Pre-season game. We can start countdown.”

A month will be hard after so much uninterrupted time together. Ilya has never allowed himself to have so much comfort at once. He has never been able to touch Shane so recklessly in the daylight. They’ve never been out to a restaurant together, or been anywhere publicly that had nothing to do with hockey. Ilya has never had a moment where he could just stare lovingly at Shane because he wanted to without worrying about his public image or contractual commitments unless they were in a dark hotel room.

At least now he doesn’t also have to worry about what news is also being filtered back to his father. He knows he should feel bad about his death, but Ilya knows if he were still alive it would not have mattered if Scott Hunter had married his boyfriend at center ice and used the Stanley Cup as a cake stand, he would have never agreed to this magical summer with Shane if his father was still back in Russia, demanding, deteriorating, and resentfully needing his help. Ilya may as well have been an orphan since he was twelve with all the care his father gave him. It’s just true on paper now.

He is now free to chase his heart in a way he never thought possible. Just like he never thought these last few weeks could ever be possible. Waking up this morning felt like being pulled out of a dream, because how could it be anything else when all he has ever wanted was to fall asleep next to Shane and lazily wake up with him the next morning. Now the real world was knocking at their door and the idea of spending another season living for a handful of games between Boston and Montreal, the All Star Game, and Christmas was going to be the hardest thing he has ever done.

Shane takes a turn that causes his phone to project a new route, and then makes another turn into an empty parking lot of some non descript business that must not be open on Sundays.

“This is not airport, Hollander.”

“Shut up. I wanted a chance to give you a proper goodbye.”

“We said goodbye at Cottage, yes?” He can’t help the taunt. If he doesn’t get to kiss Shane again before getting on a plane back to his lonely Boston townhouse he might combust. He just didn’t know how to ask for it.

For the millionth time since he arrived in Canada Ilya is amazed at how well Shane knows him.

“That was two hours ago.” Shane turns in his seat and leans over the center console. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Ilya’s hair before pulling him in for a painfully slow, tender kiss.

“Countdown starts now. We talk every day. Multiple times a day. No more hiding from each other,” Shane says as his lips trail against Ilya’s cheek. “Cottage rules still apply. We’re honest with each other about how we feel, even when it’s shitty. Especially when it’s shitty.”

“It will still be better than how it was.” Ilya wants to savor every press of Shane’s lips, memorize how his hands feel cradling his head like he’s precious.

“We are never going back to that. I love you.” It’s a promise and a challenge all at once. No, they are not going back. There is no chance of there being quick fucks while pretending there are no feelings involved. They are lovers in every sense of the word, even if Ilya still doesn’t understand why Shane finds that particular combination of letters so gross.

“Ya tebya lyublyu,” Ilya has never been happier to not hide behind his mother tongue. Shane flushes, and then runs the back of his hand over Ilya’s cheek before righting himself in front of the steering wheel.

“Okay. Fuck. I don’t want you to miss your flight.”

Shane pulls back out onto the road and seamlessly finds his way into the correct lane to take them to the departure gate. He pulls up to the curb and keeps his hands locked against the steering wheel. Ilya can see his knuckles turn white as Shane fights the urge to get out of his boring car and grab Ilya’s bags from the trunk.

Ilya drinks in one last look. It’s not that this is the moment he wants to commit to memory. No, he’d rather remember the way Shane looked when he made that stupid wolf bird noise, or the way his eyes glazed over when he told him they would figure something out and not to marry Svetlana.

He absolutely never wants to forget how Shane looked when he said I love you for the first time.

But all of those moments are in the past and this will be the one that is the start of their future.

“I will text when I land.”

“Don’t forget about the call when you get settled.” Shane watches him. His hands grip harder against the wheel.

Ilya doesn’t need the reminder. Right now the only thing keeping him from crawling right back into the stupid, sensible SUV is the promise of Shane’s voice filling his townhouse later.

“Relax, Hollander.” Ilya makes sure his cap is pulled down low and his sunglasses are firmly in place. He needs to turn back into the Ilya Rozanov that left Boston earlier this summer. If someone recognizes him waiting at his gate he needs to be cocky and fun, not heartsick at the thought of another twelve months living a five hour drive from his boyfriend. “I will see you next month.”

He turns. It’s somehow harder than playing in the playoffs with bruised ribs. Everything in him is screaming to not let this perfect summer end, but that’s not possible. They both want to play this season. They both want to hoist the cup. This is the other part of their relationship, the part they know like the maps of each other's skin. It will be exciting to see how finally being honest about their feelings will affect their respective games. Ilya is sure it will be for the better. Shane has only ever made him better. So he takes one step, and then another. He’s several yards away when he hears Shane’s voice cut through the hustle of airport traffic.

“29 days. I am counting, Rozanov.”

Chapter 2: September

Chapter Notes

Shane has been a Metro for eight seasons but this has been the worst training camp of his professional career. Not skill wise, he is still so fast his teammates woop and hollar the first time he takes a full, unbridled lap around the ice. His accuracy wasn’t impacted by his injury, nor his stick handling. Everyone in the Montreal facilities thinks that this is their golden son returned in all his glory.

Last March Shane could only wish for these moments. He craved being back on the ice with his team in a bone deep way. But then he didn’t have the hope of Ilya. He didn’t have a boyfriend who held him when his father caught them in a passionate kiss, who stood by him as he came out fully to his parents and brought him back from a world of panic when the reality of their situation hit him harder than Cliff Marleau could dream of.

When he drove Ilya to the airport he didn’t let himself believe his promises to text, to call, the honesty.

The cottage had been a break from reality for both of them and Shane had 8 years of experience with Ilya’s hot and cold moods. There were months and months where they didn’t talk when they were younger, entire seasons he remembers just as much for their amazing but heartbreaking hook ups more than his record. Driving away from the airport 28 days ago he thought it was reasonable to be worried.
Shane had never been happier to be wrong.

That day Ilya’s flight had gotten in early and within seconds of landing Shane’s phone was bright with message after message.

Ilya
Landed.

Ilya
At the gate. No one on plane knows how to act. Everyone standing in aisle like they will magically teleport to front of line if they stand up. Stupid Americans.

Ilya
Remind me to never use long term parking. My car is dusty.

Ilya
Am home. Will call soon.

And he did call. They talked all night. If Shane hadn’t experienced the previous three weeks with Ilya he would have thought he had been replaced with a body double. Sure, he has always been cocky. Shane would evaporate if he ever stopped with his teasing jokes, but he was also open about his feelings for Shane. It was like Ilya saw no point in being anything but honest about this love now that they had it, and Shane met him word for word.

“I think I would like a house with a yard in Ottawa, somewhere for dogs to play,” Ilya said over a facetime call the second week they were apart. Shane beamed back at him, unable to believe this man was real, breathing, and all his.

“I’ll find you the best realtor in the province.”

“Us. You find for us, right? I am not moving to boring Canada just for dogs, no? There are dogs in Boston. Stanley cups, as well.”

Shane’s heart fluttered. All of his anxiety about spending another season so far apart that they’d only see each other a handful of times seems manageable when Ilya stared back at him through the screen. Ilya, who he thought he would have to coax into sharing even the smallest feelings but instead beat Shane to saying I love you in not one but two languages. His boyfriend, who has agreed to uproot his entire life when his contract ends so they can have something like a real future together. But still the mention of shopping for a house together did something to Shane’s insides that turned them into goo. When Ilya told him to take off his clothes five minutes later Shane complied without question.

The next morning he brought himself a tripod for his phone and shipped a second to Ilya with expedited delivery. That was 14 days ago.

Now Shane doesn’t worry about the next time he’ll talk to Ilya. He knows it will be after this practice.

Sure, this update to his personal life has meant this entire training camp feels like it is a meeting that could have been an email. He may have needed some extra conditioning after his time off the ice, but all of it feels hollow when he knows the only person that can truly push him to be better is at his own team meeting in Boston. Still Shane skates and skates, runs drills, and heads scrimmages until his body is so tired he can barely think.

He needs to find a way to balance how his heart now beats for two things; hockey and Ilya.

Maybe his heart has always belonged to both, but now that he can acknowledge that truth Shane, who has never done anything by halves, doesn’t know how to relish the bone deep exhaustion that comes from his seismic career while wanting to be curled up at his cottage with the love of his life.

Ilya, like always, has an answer for that. After practice Shane calls him while making dinner. Salmon, brown rice, and some brussel sprouts for variety cook away while they discuss their teams. There are no trade secrets. Shane would never let it slip that he isn’t as sure of their goaltending this year. Ilya doesn’t even hint at a Raiders weakness. Their only complaints are about their own performance and the distance being two of the best players in a single generation has caused them. They make bets on who will score the most goals, and then who will rack up the most points. The season hasn’t even started and Ilya is bragging that he will be a shoe in for another MVP award.

“We beat you this year,” Ilya says, his accent strong as he clanks about in his own kitchen.

“You wish.”

“No, is true. I hear Metros captain can’t stop thinking about big strong boyfriend when he is supposed to be running drills.“

The taunts don’t make Shane see red. They used to. When they were both new to the league he couldn’t stand to hear Rozanov question his skill. Now they motivate him. He will win this first pre-season game, and then he will sweep the series when the season starts. He will take the Metros back to the championship and Ilya will eat his words about being a captain that can’t stop thinking about his boyfriend’s dick long enough to train. Even if it is kind of true right now. If anyone is going to be league MVP it will be Shane Hollander.

“Asshole.” Shane can’t remember the last time he said the word with malice. “When does your flight get in?”

“Early, then straight to practice before hotel,” Ilya says, like he has his schedule already memorized. Shane is sure he does. He mentally does the math on his own obligations with the Metros and concludes that even a quick lunch together won’t work. It isn’t ideal but they have done more with less before. They’ll both be exhausted. It’s hard to get back into the swing of games and travel, but they will have each other. Shane can’t wait. His first countdown is almost over.

With only a day before Ilya arrives Shane panics. At the cottage he had mentioned he had always wanted to have Shane in his real bed. Sure, they had more sex during that time than he could have dreamed, but now Ilya will be in Montreal and they won’t go to the condos Shane bought after his first big contract to hide them away from prying eyes.

Hayden regularly stops by unannounced. JJ lives three blocks away. Ilya will be here at his apartment, his two worlds officially colliding in such a predictable way that Shane can only brace for impact. He can also get a key made for his front door and text Ilya the code to the building. He goes to the store and buys more cans of Coke than Ilya will be able to drink in a night and stops by the bakery near his house to buy fancy cookies, ones that have not fit into Shane’s diet in half a decade but will make Ilya smile. He can almost convince himself he doesn’t care about the risks. Everything they have ever done has been risky, stupid, except this. Everything before the cottage was a calculated play to see how far they could go before self-destructing, now they’re playing a long game to a happily ever after and Shane refuses to lose.

The Raiders come into Montreal with piss, fury, and the unsteady legs of a team playing their first pre-season game. Everyone except Ilya is sloppy. Shane relishes this. His boyfriend cannot be everywhere at once, and even before the season officially starts the Metros arena is so loud and supportive that there is no way Shane will let them down.

He hasn’t been allowed to compete like this since March and Ilya’s taunts from a few nights ago ring in his head. Shane can be obsessed with his boyfriend and also want to send him back to the locker room crying. His two goals state that pretty clearly. When Montreal wins 4 to 1, with the Boston goal coming from Ilya, Shane almost loses his voice celebrating. On paper it’s a meaningless win. In reality it is proof of concept that he can do this, be in love, and be the best player in the league.

Shane leaves quickly after the game. He rushes home through typical Montreal traffic and then waits near the door for 15 minutes. It’s the fastest Ilya has ever made it to one of their hook ups. It is also the start of something new. This won’t be just sex, Shane will get to fall asleep next to Ilya and wake up in his arms in the morning. He will make him breakfast before his flight at too-early o’clock and drop him off a block from the team hotel so no one is the wiser about how the two captains spent their night. Now every second together counts.

When Ilya steps in the door Shane watches as he mentally catalogs the space. Even Shane can admit it is boring. The cottage gets all of his love. Every new piece of furniture or art he comes across seems to fit there, not in this apartment where he spends most of his time crashing or watching game tape. Still, Ilya notices the blanket made by his grandmother and the pictures of his parents. Ilya wanders into Shane’s spare bedroom, the one he uses as a trophy room because he hasn’t found a good reason to actually buy a home with a dedicated space yet. He watches as his boyfriend studies the different awards, a slow smile creeping up his lips.

“Like what you see?”

Ilya turns around and Shane feels his eyes rack over his body.

“Now I do.” Ilya approaches him, his steps a sexy swagger that Shane would recognize in his sleep. Ilya presses his mouth to his in a deep, exploring kiss. The kind that could last a moment or a decade and Shane would be none the wiser. When they finally pull apart, both panting, Shane is so horny he might explode. “You won. Are you going to collect your prize?”

“You’re a prize now, Rozanov?”

“For you, yes, I think. Biggest prize.”

He is not wrong. Shane pulls against the fabric of Ilya’s sweatshirt and leads him to his bedroom. It’s equally boring with navy blue sheets and a nightstand full of hockey books that Shane can’t hope to finish in this lifetime.

Shane doesn’t give Ilya the chance to study this space. He’s had endless video calls over the last month to know what the lamps look like. Instead, he pushes him back against the bed and makes quick work of removing his clothes. When he finally uncovers the hard lines of muscle carved into Ilya’s stomach he lets out a hungry whimper. 29 days. He is like this after less than a month. How will he survive the next drought?

He can’t think of that more. Shane crashes his lips against Ilya’s and then he takes his prize. After all, he won tonight. He earned every second of pleasure he’s about to experience.

This was not a night like at the cottage. There was no slow exploration, no time to relax. It also wasn’t like their former hook ups. Ilya chants praise in Russian, and Shane, only weeks into studying the language, tries to make note of every sound, wanting one day to be able to echo these words back to Ilya and then some.

The next morning the golden September sun shines through the bedroom curtains. It’s a gentle wake up after an evening that was anything but gentle. Shane won’t feel the effects of yesterday’s game, but he will feel Ilya all over his body for days. He runs his fingers through Ilya’s mess of curls. He’s so peaceful when he sleeps. He wants to take a picture, but that would require moving, and then the panic later of having this evidence on his phone. No, better just to be present in this moment with his boyfriend and commit every inch of his skin, every strand of hair, every eyelash, to memory.

“Hey, it’s getting late. I’m going to make breakfast,” Shane whispers while he presses a kiss to Ilya’s cheek. Ilya stirs in his arms, unwilling to fully wake up this early in the morning. Shane will not let him leave without food, even if now his options are at best a quick breakfast burrito for the road.

“Five more minutes together, moya lyubov,” Ilya’s accent is so strong in the morning it makes Shane’s toes curl. “Five more minutes and then you can start next countdown, yes?”

Shane relents. In the end there is no breakfast, just more sleepy kisses. The ride to Ilya’s hotel is quiet, sedated in a way Shane hates. Tomorrow there will be more training and no Ilya in his bed. He will have a meeting with his agent and then a photo shoot with the team’s social media manager. In two weeks the season will start and everything will get busy.

“47 days.” Shane says as he brings the car to a stop a block and a half from the entrance to the hotel. Maybe he should buy an Uber sign. That would make this look more legit. He could have an extra few minutes with his boyfriend if the outside world thought he was just an independent taxi driver.

“Da. 47 days. You will text when you get home.” Ilya’s words are not a question. “I like to know you get home safe. You did not sleep much last night and now you operate heavy machinery.”

“It’s a Jeep,” Shane protests before reaching over the counsel and giving Ilya one last kiss. “I’ll text. Call me when you get home. I’ll see you in 47 days.

If watching Ilya leave his car at the airport over the summer was hard watching him walk the the block and a half to the hotel is torture. He thought he knew what the distance would feel like. It’s been eight years of nothing but stolen moments, but now his stomach feels like it’s full of rocks and he can’t stop his brain from chanting 47 days on repeat.

In 47 days he’ll be in Boston. By then the leaves will be gorgeous reds and oranges. The last of the summer heat will be gone. In 47 days he’ll be in Ilya’s bed. He better up his training now. It was nice to be the one collecting his prize.

Chapter End Notes

Ignore the mix of show and book canon. The buying an entire building as a love palace will never not be a GOAT move, but also they're Metros and Raiders. It's just science that those are better team names.

It also appears I am incapable of not writing an angsty Shane. I'm not even sorry.

Chapter 3: October

Ilya has never had a problem with Ryan Price. He shared a locker room with him for a season several years ago when the Raiders won the Cup. He was a quiet man who was good with his fists, which Ilya had deeply appreciated when they played together. You don’t make a career out of chirping without taking the occasional punch to the face.

Today, Ilya is particularly glad he never joined his teammates in making fun of Price’s flight anxiety or his quiet nature. It probably saved him a tooth. Marleau was not so lucky. But that’s the only small mercy of this hellish game in Toronto. Dallas Kent is an asshole, and Ilya doesn’t suffer assholes. His close personal friend, Troy Barrett doesn’t seem much better. They also both evidently watched his pre game interview where he said that he never thought much about the Toronto Guardians, were they a new team? And who was their captain, Daniel Klam?

Kent took particular offense to Ilya’s refusal to remember his name. Within five minutes of the puck drop He had rammed him into the boards so hard Ilya saw stars. He had braced for impact with his right arm and felt the shock radiate all the way from his fingers to his shoulder. The hit wasn’t enough to take Ilya out of the game, but it was enough to make sure he would be sore for several days.

Admittedly, it didn’t feel great while he played, and the Raiders did suffer for it. Ilya makes a point of never being the weak link, but sometimes that line is hard to toe when he can outskate half of his own team and most of the other. Even a bad showing by Rozanov adds a goal and an assist to his yearly stats, but little else. By the end of the game he was tired, sore, and disappointed in his own leadership. Losses always sting.

At least when he got back to the locker room he had a missed text from Shane.

Shane
14 days and counting.

Ilya smiled down at his phone. The Metroes were off today. If all he is getting is a countdown then he can be sure that the hit didn’t look that bad on the TV broadcast. He doesn’t want Shane to worry. More importantly, he doesn’t want Shane to avoid their regular sexy video calls because he’s worried about Ilya’s arm.

“Rough game, Cap,” Marleau slurs at him while they wait for the team bus. If nothing else, losing to Toronto during an afternoon game means Ilya can go back to his townhouse and ice his arm in peace.

“We give them, how do you say, wrong sense of security? Next game we beat them into the ground.” Ilya gingerly moves his duffle to his non-injured arm and hopes his teammate doesn’t notice the way his breath catches. Maybe he should have stopped by the medical staff after his shower?

“False sense of security. Hmm, I guess that’s one way to think about it.”

“Da.”

Ilya spends the bus ride to the airport in silence. Every bump on the road sends a dull throb up his arm. It will be fine. He knows it’s fine. He’s had enough injuries to know it’s nothing serious and no one would have let him continue to play in such an unimportant game if their star center was seriously hurt.

That doesn’t mean it has to feel good. Instead of feeling sorry for himself he thinks of Shane. He isn’t the only one counting down. He will see him again in two weeks, in Boston this time. Sure, they will spend the precious few hours they get together locked safely away in Ilya’s townhouse but he still likes the idea of him here. It’ll be the first time Shane’s visited since they became something more than secret hook ups, text messages, and hope.

By the time he is on the plane all he can think about is getting out of his stiff game day suit and talking to his boyfriend. He lets a small smirk play across his lips. How domestic he’s become in such a short time. This time last season he’d have gone home and pined for Shane. He would probably have taken a solid two days to come up with a cocky quip to text him and then left his phone at home to go to a club just so he didn’t have to acknowledge the possibility that the message could go from delivered to read without any chance of a response.

By that point it didn’t matter that Ilya was the absolute definition of bisexual. His years of picking up women to pass the time already felt hollow. It didn’t help that he had already started to see Shane every time he closed his eyes. He could have been with the most beautiful woman on the planet and still in his mind he would picture Shane Hollander.

So it feels natural, if still a bit new, that Ilya speeds away from the airport in his favorite Porsche with his only plans for the night FaceTime and delivery from the vaguely Eastern European restaurant across town.

He puts his evening plans into motion with record speed. His suit comes off in pieces as he makes his way to the bathroom, and then a quick, slightly painful shower to remove the grime of the airport. By the time he’s done his food is on his doorstep and he’s comfortable in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie he stole from Shane before he left the cottage. Still, he doesn’t fully relax until his phone is pressed to his ear.

“Hello, this is your very sexy and important boyfriend.” Ilya sinks to the couch as soon as Shane answers.

“Hello, Ilya,” Shane says. He can hear the smile in his voice. “Sorry about your game.”

“Is fine. We lull them into false sense of security. Will be easier to murder them next time.”

It’s hard to unpack blinis and borscht with one good arm and he has to stifle a groan while getting his dinner sorted on the coffee table.

“Sure,” Shane lets out a little laugh, then clears his throat, “Want to talk about that hit now?”

“Was fine. Kent is a small goblin man. You think he can hurt me?”

“I think that would have taken anyone else out of the game.” Shane sighs over the line. Ilya doesn’t want to acknowledge this. Shane’s worry sometimes makes him itchy, not because he finds it smothering, but because he has never had someone to care about him like this. No one outside of Raiders management has ever had reason to care about his health. He doesn’t know how to navigate Shane’s concern. Shane can’t be here and he’s not hurt, not really. He’ll be fine with a couple of days rest. Tomorrow is an optional practice. He’ll rest up, maybe avoid jerking off and be as good as new for their game against New York in three days.

“Other players are not Russian. We do not feel pain same way.” It would be more accurate to say they don’t talk about their pain, and right now it is the last thing he wants to discuss. He wants to eat his dinner and hear about his boyfriend's day, and then later maybe get out his tripod and help take Shane apart on camera, arm be damned.

Shane breathes heavily on the other side of the line and then says “Ilya. Cottage rules. Fess up.”

“Is stupid rule.” He’s honest ninety five percent of the time. That’s a big step. A year ago if Shane asked him a question that he found uncomfortable he would stay silent until the conversation changed. He would leave Shane on read when he asked about how he felt after his father’s death and then only call him days later when the feelings were too much, even after he returned from Russia. It was a pattern, one Shane knows well. Now he tries, he tries so fucking hard to not fall into old habits where he hides the softest parts of himself, at least not from Shane.

“Expecting honesty from my partner is the bare minimum, not a stupid rule. I’m going to hang up and you can call me back when you feel like being an adult.” Shane’s words hit like a knife. They shouldn’t. Shane is never cruel. He doesn’t suffer fools, except when Ilya is feeling particularly boisterous. He thrives on clear communication. Ilya knows this. It’s all he’s asking for.

He takes a deep breath, and then another. It doesn’t matter. His hands shake. Ilya’s ice pack clatters to the floor. The sound causes him to jerk, and a bolt shoots up his arm. The quick sear of pain is nothing compared to the way his heart races. They aren’t even two months into the season and he’s fucking this up.

“No. Do not do that. Shane, do not hang up.” Ilya doesn’t even recognize his own voice. It’s frantic and high, his accent is more pronounced than it has been in years. Shane’s words feel like a shock collar malfunctioning around his neck.

Ilya is never purposefully dishonest. Sure, he hides the truth when he thinks it will worry Shane. He doesn’t want to cause him any concern when he is basically fine and Shane is too far away to fret over him. He’s trying. He’s trying so hard that sometimes he thinks the little admissions he does make are carving out a hole in his chest. Every time he tells Shane that he wishes he were with him, that he misses him like a missing limb, it’s a fucking piece of dynomite right against the armour he spent his life building.

He’s achy and tired, but not nearly injured enough to make a big deal about it, and still Shane has a right to know. If Shane was hurt he would want to know. He would get every medicine and cream under the sun delivered straight to his door and force him to FaceTime him to be sure he was following doctor’s orders.

He tries to compose himself. Shane is going to hang up on him if he doesn’t get shit shit together and then Ilya will have to call him back and apologize. He doesn’t want to have to apologize when he is trying so hard. He doesn’t need to give Shane another reason to think that he is too much work.

“I am not being dishonest. Was a hard hit. Arm hurts, but I am fine. Coach did not pull me from the game. I am icing now. Please do not hang up.” The last words are a plea. Do not hang up. Do not give up on him when he is trying so hard. Ilya doesn't know how to be a person that is honest about his needs in Russian, the thought of translating them to English is borderline unfathomable. Every part of this is foreign to him on two levels, two languages. But he will try for Shane. He will be a better person for Shane.

On the line Shane is silent for a moment. Maybe he did hang up. His heart drops, then Ilya’s phone vibrates and a request for a FaceTime covers his screen. He clicks into the video call immediately and is met with Shane’s beautiful freckles and perplexed eyes.

“Shit, Ilya.”

He can see himself in the little box in the corner of the screen, eyes bugging half out of his head as he tries to calm his racing heart.

“I am not good at this.” He isn't sure why he thought he could have this perfect love with someone like Shane. He was made for handing over money and disappointing people. He’s lazy and a jerk more often than not. His father always said he was not the type of person someone could love. “I am maybe not good for you.”

“No, I wasn’t being fair. I think sometimes it’s easier to talk when we can see each other. I should have asked for a video call before hassling you.”

“Yes. Is nice to see your beautiful face.”

They stare at each other in silence. Shane’s eyes dart over the screen. Ilya feels raw, but better now that he can see the pinched way his boyfriend’s nose wrinkles. He’s so familiar with this face, Shane’s quiet but annoyed determination when he’s trying to solve a problem. It’s one of Ilya’s favorite things about him, even now when the problem he is surely trying to solve is him.

“Please never say you’re not good for me. The only thing keeping me going right now is seeing you in two weeks. I’m not known for making rash decisions. I wouldn’t do this with someone I didn’t believe in wholeheartedly. So I need to know if you’re hurting. Doesn’t matter if it’s something minor. I want to know you, Ilya. Please don’t make me fight for pieces of you again.” Somehow even through the small screen of the phone it’s like Shane is staring directly at him. Ilya swallows once, and then twice. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve Shane and his certainty that he is worth all this trouble.

“Okay,” Ilya relents, “I would have told you if it was serious.”

“It doesn’t have to be serious for me to care. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, even when you’re driving me crazy.”

“You are not mad?” He asks, poking at a blini. He was so hungry when he sat down and now his stomach is in knots.

“I was worried, not angry. I need you in perfect health for the things I want to do when I’m in Boston at the end of the month.”

“Ah, so selfish reasons?” The corner of Ilya’s mouth rises. He finally makes himself take a bite of dinner and is pleasantly surprised when it doesn’t immediately sour in his stomach.

“Shut up, Asshole,” Shane says while pulling a plate of chicken and rice into the frame. “Now go get comfortable. There’s a new episode of Survivor. You promised me dinner and a show.”

- - -

A week later Ilya’s arm is mostly fine. He has a green and yellow bruise that is tender to the touch but it didn’t keep him from beating dinosaur Scott Hunter. That doesn’t mean he’s being reckless. Shane won’t let him. Every night he checks in. He created a pain chart with pictures taken from Ilya’s career to get an accurate reading of the situation. The absurdity of it all makes it easier for Ilya to be transparent about his injury.

Still, things like laundry can be a pain. The repetitive motion leaves him sore. He has a road trip coming up in a couple of days and more clothes that need to be sorted, folded, and packed away than he would usually let linger. He’s halfway through sorting out the things he’ll absolutely need for four days of travel from the things that can wait until he’s back from this trip to Florida when his doorbell rings.

He pads to the door expecting a delivery or maybe some sort of door to door sales person, but instead is greeted by Shane’s mother in an elegant coat and sunglasses.

“Mrs. Hollander. Come in.” He leads her through the door into his living room. It’s not a great impression with his abandoned laundry, but it’s better than the kitchen with a sink full of dishes.

”Sorry for the mess. I was not expecting company.”

“Yuna. Ilya you know you can call me Yuna.” She pulls off her sunglasses and her gaze traces over the space. Ilya watches as her focus settles on Shane’s favorite protein powder just visible from where she stands in the living room on his kitchen counter, and then flicks back to the couch where Ilya’s favorite sweatshirt, the one he pinched from Shane, lays in the heap of unfolded laundry.

Her presence makes him feel exposed. Outside of a few days together at the cottage Ilya hasn’t spent any time with Shane’s parents. He is still hell bent on making a good impression. He won’t forget when David asked his son if there weren’t any nice men in Montreal. Ilya might not be nice, but he thinks he’s kind, and he loves the Hollander’s son more than they could ever know.

“What brings you to Boston?” He asks, the words thick in his mouth.

“I have a meeting in New York with Rolex for Shane’s next campaign.”

“You landed at wrong airport. Is long Uber ride to New York from here.”

“I thought I’d make a little pit stop.”

Ilya’s heart sinks. The only reason Yuna Hollander would have to take extra time and money to visit Boston is to prove to her son that he is fine.

“Shane sent you,” He whispers. The idea makes him feel more shame than love. They spoke last night and he even showed him the stupid bruise before they made a game out of making each other undress.

“Not quite.”

“I promise I am fine. Doctor cleared me to play. I promise I do not lie, not to Shane. I do not want to end my career early. I need visa to stay here.”

Even without his new relationship he wouldn’t put himself in unnecessary danger. He wants a long career. This all feels so silly, but then Yuna puts a gentle hand on his good shoulder and shakes her head.

“Shane was concerned, but he’s gotten knocked around his fair share. He trusts you. We trust you.”

“Then why do you make pit stop in Boston? The leaves? They are pretty this time of year. Tourists everywhere stare at the trees. If you gave me notice I could have put together list of tourist areas” He can’t fathom why she is here, or why Shane didn’t tell him. Is this a test?

“I’d rather catch a hockey game. I hear the Raiders are good this year.” She smiles over at Ilya and his eyes immediately burn with the threat of tears. His father didn’t even come to his MHL debut. “I also thought it would be nice to get lunch, that is if you don’t have plans.”

Ilya doesn’t have plans outside of getting his house in order so he takes Yuna Hollander to his favorite greasy diner for sandwiches and a shared plate of fries. He’s surprised by how easy it is to laugh with her. They barely even talk about Shane, though every time Yuna reveals a small fact about his childhood Ilya files it away in the corner of his brain that has been storing information about the love of his life since before he played his first pro game.

Before they pay the bill Ilya takes a picture of the two of them together and sends it to Shane.

He gets an immediate response.

Shane
My favorite people <3

Shane
7 days.

After lunch they take the long way back to Ilya’s townhouse. Despite her earlier protests Yuna does stop to look at the trees. She even laughs every time Ilya goes out of his way to step on a crunchy leaf.

He is sure she will have better things to do once they reach his front door, but instead she ushers him back into his own home and heads over to the couch.

“You do not have to,” Ilya says as she picks up one of his black t-shirts and begins to fold.

“I know I don’t have to, Ilya, but we’ve all been worried about you, and I would really like to see what it feels like to root for Boston tonight. You owe me a win.”

“You are sure?”

Yuna sets down another shirt and crosses back to Ilya. He doesn’t know what to make of any of this. He’s been responsible for everything from meals to mending his own socks since he was 12.

“I think I have two sons now. It’s only fair that I take care of you both.”

He pulls Yuna into a tight, all engulfing hug so she doesn’t see the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

That night Ilya scores twice, Boston beats Columbus, and he can almost tell himself he hears Yuna Hollander cheering just for him.

- - -

Shane’s flight landed ninety minutes ago. It takes all of Ilya’s resolve to not to demand he come over immediately. He knows the Metros have a team meeting and then Shane will have media. The only perk from this whole situation is that his flight out isn’t until tomorrow at noon. They’ll have all night together and then a lazy morning.

They’ve spent the last week betting on the outcome of tonight's game. It started innocently enough. Ilya wanted Shane’s pretty mouth on his cock, and then Shane wanted to be fucked into oblivion. It escalated quickly from there. Edging. Toys. The most decadent, gratuitous pleasure either of them could imagine was listed in a text threat that still had Jane and Lily as the contacts.

They’d never been so explicit about how their games against each other are both foreplay and a prize to be one. Sure, for years whoever managed to beat the other got to dictate how things went down in the bedroom that night, but this is new. It’s lovingly planned and so competitive it makes Ilya wonder if he would be more excited to beat his boyfriend in a meaningless early season game or hoist the Stanley Cup.

When Shane calls from the hotel Ilya rushes to answer it. He’s a bull in a china shop shooting through his house to find his phone and bangs his shoulder against a doorframe in the process. He’s happy when it stings only the normal amount and answers the video call.

“I wanted to make sure you were at full strength for our game tonight.” Shane, in a Metros hat and zip up, smiles back at him from some nondescript hotel across the city.

“So you would have gone easy on me if I was injured?” He asks in disgust as he flops on the bed shoulder first just to prove a point.

“I don’t know. Probably not. Maybe. No. Not actually. I don’t know.” It’s cute watching Shane try to figure out the right answer. Ilya knows he isn’t sure. Their relationship has always, at its core, been about pushing each other to be the very best.

Is hockey, Hollander.“ But Ilya knew if Shane was coming off an injury he’d ease off his checks just a little. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was the reason Shane had to leave a game, not after watching him fade in and out of consciousness on the ice last season. There would be no point to winning if he had to spend the night with ice packs and pain killers. They can both play competitive hockey without knocking each other out.

“It is hockey, but I’ve never been one to target an opponent if I knew they were hurt. I certainly won’t be starting with you.”

“No, you just make sure you are aware of weaknesses for better access to puck.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t doing the same thing.” Shane rolls his eyes and then runs a hand through his hair.

“I am fine, Shane. Promise. Was two weeks ago. Bruise is completely gone. You won’t even be able to see it tonight.”

“I’ll be checking.”

“I am not lying.” He teases. After seeing Yuna he felt a little lighter. It was easier to tell Shane when he was still hurting. Maybe the cottage rules weren’t so stupid after all.

“I know, mon coeur. I’ll see you during warm ups, okay? Four hours.”

---

The arena is electric. The rivalry between Shane and Ilya is one thing, but Boston and Montreal have hated each other since the beginning of the league nearly 100 years ago. Ilya is hell bent on giving the fans a show. It’s not like he knows another way to play against Shane. What’s better is that the rest of the Raiders take his lead. By the end of the night they’re up 5-2 and Ilya is already imagining the strip tease he wanted as his prize.

Last season it would take Shane forever to get from the arena to Ilya’s place. Maybe at the time it was punishment, or Shane’s pragmatic way of establishing control before completely surrendering to Ilya for the few hours they had together. It certainly had something to do with his fear of getting caught.

Now his Uber pulls up only moments after Ilya has parked his car. There are a million things he wants to do tonight. He has food that follows Shane’s diet already prepared and ready to reheat and a small box with a key to the front door he needs to give him before his flight tomorrow.

And then there is of course just being with him, touching him.

Even when they didn’t know how to talk to each other they could communicate with their bodies. It’s something that Ilya needs, that they both need, on a cellular level.

Ilya doesn’t let Shane’s fist hit the door in a knock before swinging it wide and pulling him inside. Shane pounces on him. Lips crash onto lips, hands grab and caress, clothes rumple. They’ve waited 47 days and now every place they touch is like a lightning strike.

“You owe me show.” Ilya manages to mumble against Shane’s neck. If they don’t stop now he’ll end up fucking him here three feet from the front door. He’s so hard he can barely think, and then Shane presses against him, his own bulge warm and solid against his leg.

“You want a show?” Shane sucks on a particularly sensitive spot at the base of Ilya’s neck. He moans against the sensation, but then takes a step back. He slouches out of his jacket until he is holding the garment with one hand and then runs his fingers through his hair before letting the piece fall to the ground. He makes a show of kicking off his shiny brown oxfords without breaking eye contact.

His post game sweater is next. He walks backwards towards the bedroom and pulls the expensive fabric over his head torturously slow. Every inch of skin makes Ilya salivate. All of the hard lines of Shane’s defined muscles drive him wild. Shane tosses the sweater onto the couch. The man who once folded his clothes before joining Ilya in bed now leaves a trail of crumbled fabric in his wake.

When Shane reaches for his belt Ilya’s breath hitches. Shane cocks an eye and all Ilya can do is swallow and choke out “I did not say stop.”

He follows Shane to the bedroom, always three paces behind him. The belt hits the floor, and then his pants are undone.

“Get on the bed.” Shane says, voice somehow completely level despite the way his cock strains against his loosened pants.

Shane is not bossy in the bedroom, not like this. He likes Ilya to use simple commands and take control. Tonight being on the receiving end makes Ilya fucking melt. He moves mindless to the bed and plots down. Shane shimmies out of his pants, and then hooks two thumbs into his briefs and pulls them down inch by inch. It’s torture and pleasure all at once watching him spring free. Ilya lets out a low moan from the sigh alone.

And then Shane is back on top of him, pulling at his pants and ripping his shirt off his head. His hands are everywhere, and his mouth, god his mouth. Ilya will win a million games just to keep his mouth on him. He stops to examine Ilya’s fully healed arm and places a special swatch of kisses along his shoulder.

When he kisses a trail down his stomach to his dick he is sure he will die, and then Shane swallows him whole and he thinks that this is already heaven. Shane’s spent 8 years learning exactly how he likes to be sucked and if they aren’t careful the night will end prematurely, so gathering the shreds of his resolve Ilya reaches down and hooks a finger in Shane’s mouth, he slackens, for a moment and the change in sensation is almost painful when Ilya is so close.

“My turn.”

He somehow maneuvers Shane onto his back and mindlessly grabs the lube from the nightstand. He opens Shane in record time. He’s leaking and panting on the bed and all Ilya can do is take a steadying breath and admire the man in front of him. Perfect, composed Shane Hollander is only ever undone like this for him.

“You gonna fuck me, Rozanov?”

He doesn’t dignify the question with a response, at least not a verbal one. Instead he pushes into Shane with steady determination and tries not to come apart before he’s fully seated. His hips snap, almost like he’s feral. There will be time for gentleness some other day. Today he needs to claim Shane, make him mindless and calm, and then fall asleep in his arms.

“Like this, Hollander?”

“More.”

Ilya is so far past a world where he can say no to him, so he goes harder, faster, until they are both a sticky, sweaty mess panting on the top of the comforter. Ilya curls onto Shane’s chest. He should get up and grab a washcloth but he needs this moment, this comfort. Shane traces his fingers down his back so gently it almost feels ghost-like.

“I love you,” Shane whispers against his hair. “Fuck you for beating me tonight. I love you so much.”

Ilya should make some comment about how the Metros are never any good. It always gets a rise out of Shane, or how he was distracted watching his very sexy boyfriend but he doesn’t feel like riling him up when all he really wants is to fall asleep in his arms. Instead he murmurs out a sleepy “Ya tebya lyublyu”

The next morning Ilya keeps Shane in bed. He knows they should get up, maybe have breakfast together, at least a shared shower. Instead he holds on to Shane like a koala, clinging to him with all of his limbs. Shane tangles himself with Ilya, eventually contorting them both until they are nose to nose.

“I can’t believe my mom got to see you before I did,” Shane says, his voice still soft with the remnants of sleep.

“It was nice, having someone in the stands for me,” Ilya admits. Shane yawns across from him and Ilya wills himself to remember this moment and all the quiet comfort it brings him.

“That’ll happen a lot more next year. My parents will be at so many Centaurs games you’ll be sick of them.“

Shane’s nose crinkles, and his lips press into a firm line. Ilya has spent his entire adult life learning every one of this man’s tells. He’s so determined to make this their future. Ilya doesn’t care that he’ll have to move or join a shitty team. He can’t wait.

“I don’t need more convincing. Ottawa will be nice. My new agent will be, how to say, more helpful, in the summer.”

“That’s so far away.” Shane says while he runs his fingers over Ilya’s back.

It is, but the promise of living within two hours of each other all year round is so much more than either of them could ever have hoped for. It doesn’t matter that Shane’s countdown for Ilya’s transfer will be in months, not days. It will happen.

Ilya rubs his nose against Shane's in a gentle bunny kiss. It’s something his mother used to do and the gesture makes his insides feel soft and warm.

“Da. But you will see me again in 18 days.”

Suddenly the tender fingers on his back stop, and he feels a soft thunk on his shoulder.

“That’s my job, asshole.”

They stay in bed until Ilya has no choice but to drive Shane back to the team hotel. He doesn’t say anything when he notices that one of his Raiders shirts has found its way into the crook of his arm. One day, when they retire, they will share a closet. Then they won’t have to steal little pieces of each other as comfort. Even then he will proudly wear Shane's sweatshirts to bed.

“18 days.” Shane says defiantly with a deep kiss before he gets out of the car. Ilya watches him walk down the already busy Boston street. He has so much more now than he could ever hope, he has to let that be enough for now.

Chapter 4: November

Chapter Notes

“Earth to Shane.”

Shane looks up from his phone to see Hayden staring at him from across the locker room. He schools his face back into the masks he now wears every day, the one that he thinks of as his ‘captain’ face, and allows himself a few blinks to reset. He is at work. He has a game against the Admirals in a few hours. There is a locker room speech he needs to rehearse in his head and two rookies that he really should make a point to spend time with. Making sure they’re comfortable and confident in the league is basically in his job description.

“JJ and I are getting drinks after the game. Want to join?” Hayden says from his own stall. He’s half dressed for warm up’s.

“I’m sure Jackie is going to love that.” He itches to look back down at his phone. Even with it set to silent he is sure there is a new message waiting.

“She suggested it. Come on man, you never come out with us anymore.”

Shane has never been good at showing up for nights at bars. He has assistant captains that handle the team bonding, but he tries to make a point to socialize once a month. Usually. Most seasons. Sometimes more if they’re on road trips. He racks his brain as Hayden whines at him to come up with the last time he did anything with the team and comes up short. He’s barely even seen Hayden and Jackie since the season started. Fuck. He’s really dropping the ball, but still he can’t tear his attention from the device in his hand and looks back down as just his screen lights up.

Ilya
You still have not guessed correct, moy svekla.

“You can still text Lily from the bar. She won’t care that you’re out with friends.”

No, he wouldn’t care. He’d encourage it. He’d roll his eyes at being called Lily by Hayden, but he would want Shane to go out and have fun for once. He can practically hear Ilya in the back of his mind sneering “Live a little, Hollander.”

Truthfully he’s been avoiding going out with Hayden and JJ specifically since the summer. It was one thing to lie to his best friends when he was still discovering himself. It’s another thing to now be so sure of who he is, who he loves, and to keep that hidden from them.

“Fine. One drink,” He agrees while his fingers fly over the keyboard.

Shane
You do not have to call me a beet.

It’ll probably be water. The bars in Montreal never have his preferred ginger ale and if he’s going to break his diet he may as well wait two weeks until Ilya is here. An ice cold beer would taste better curled up on the couch with his boyfriend than in some dingy dive, which is exactly where Hayden will suggest.

“Finally. Cap’s in, Boiziau. Let’s get fucked up!”

Shane rolls his eyes. He really needs to find a way to treat his friends better, but that’s a problem for later. Right now he has 3 guesses before he loses another game of 20 questions to Ilya. Not that they’re keeping score, no. That would be stupid.

Ilya
I do not have to play stupid Canadian game, but yet I do. Guess.

“Fucking finally. The crews back together. We’re going to get so wasted,” J.J. shouts from the other side of the room.

He already regrets agreeing to this.

Shane
I think I liked it more when you were too stoic for games.

Ilya
Liar.

“We have another game tomorrow. One drink.” One drink also means Shane can be home at a reasonable hour. Ilya has a game in LA. If he stays out for a bit he might actually stay up late enough to watch some of it before he passes out. It would be nice to see his face, even if it would be game coverage.

JJ and Hayden continue talking over him, negotiating rides and debating their favorite bars. He is no longer needed in this conversation. Finally, he can focus. He looks back down at his phone, his leg absentmindedly kicking against the bench by his locker and sends his next guess.

Shane
Is it a seal?

Ilya
No. That’s 18.

Fuck. He racks his brain as he scrolls back through their thread. An animal, mammal, big. That’s all he knows and it took him forever to get there. Last game Ilya got Shane’s selection of steamboat in 12 guesses, which was impressive when he’s pretty sure Ilya had to learn the word exclusively for this game.

Shane
It really wasn’t an elephant?

Ilya
19

He sees red, but it’s not out of pure anger. Most days he’s so happy he could burst that they found another way to channel their competitive energy while they’re apart. It makes him feel electric.

Most days. The days when he isn’t about to lose a second game to his boyfriend who didn’t speak English until he was a teenager.

Shane
Asshole. I’m going to remember that next game.

Ilya
Next game I win in 10 guesses. Won’t have time to confirm things I already know.

Shane looks up at the clock. He’s barely put on any of his gear and he needs to be ready in 15 minutes.

Shane
Kangaroo?

Shane never thought he’d wish away an entire season. Sure, the Metros are doing well. With him healthy he thinks they really stand a chance at the Cup this year, even though it’s too early to get cocky. All of that excites him, motivates him in the ways hockey always does.

But then there are the 13 days until he sees Ilya again. Almost two weeks before he can press his lips against Ilya’s forehead and finally breathe. He’s wishing away full days, games, practices, especially now with Boston on a west coast road trip. Living in different countries is one headache. Adding different timezones is another.
The minutes tick by. He really needs to put down his phone and get his head in the game. He’s Shane fucking Hollander. He has to give a speech in 45 minutes and then skate until he’s ready to collapse. But then his phone lights up again and he can’t resist seeing if he won their little game.

Ilya
Was humpback whale

Ilya
Sexy Russian 32, Boring Canadian 30.

Shane blinks once, then twice. There is no way those numbers are correct. Also they totally aren’t keeping score, that would be insane. Ilya has absolutely only won 31 games. That’s not a fight he can win before he has to get his head in the game so instead he tables it and lets his fingers fly.

Shane
I guessed whale 9 questions ago.

Ilya
But not correct whale. I do not make the rules.

Shane
I will remember this.

Ilya
Oh yes. I am so scared of second best hockey player. Only thing you beat me in is concussions.

Shane has to stifle a laugh. Nine months ago he didn’t think he’d ever be able to joke about his injury but now he feels whole in a way that he has never experienced before. He could have done without the months of headaches and physical therapy but he also isn’t sure that getting knocked out during that game didn’t add to the chain of events that brought Ilya fully home to him.

Shane
You’re really living up to your reputation today.

Ilya
You love it. Play nice against Scott Hunter. Is not his fault he is so old his knees make sounds.

---

The Metros demolish Scott Hunter and his Admirals. Shane almost feels bad when he scores his second goal against Eric Bennet, but not enough to not celebrate with his line. By the time the game finishes Ilya is already warming up on the locker room TV. There goes starting another game of 20 questions before he hits the ice.

The bar JJ picked is packed, but it’s a least a favorite of several Metros players so they’re only stopped twice for photos before settling down with their drinks. Shane is thankful. He feels like a powderkeg and this place could act like a spark given the right combination of alcohol and people.

“but Vaughn isn't even any good this season. Did you see his stats?” Hayden whines as he takes a drink.

J.J. makes a sound in agreement and Shane rolls his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter. We still let him score twice,” Shane says. He caved and ordered a beer, which he’s been nursing for half an hour. It’s probably right that he went out tonight. Hayden and JJ are happy he’s here and he can keep tabs of the start of Ilya’s game on one of the small TV’s across the bar.

They’re a couple of months into the season now and have both traveled a bit, but Shane hadn’t realized what the effect of time zones would mean for the precious thing he and Ilya are building brick by brick, or maybe more accurately call by call. It took them years to become casual texters, and then even more time before calls were something Shane could even acknowledge he wanted. Now that they’re together the floodgates are open. Shane never wants to check his phone and not see a notification from “Lily” waiting for him, and that isn’t something that is always guaranteed when they’re operating on time zones three hours apart.

It’s harder on days like today where Shane had meetings and media and Ilya was flying across the continent before his own practice and game. 20 questions is now always there in the background, something one of them can start when they need to reach out and say I miss you without being sappy, but it doesn’t replace calls, and it certainly doesn’t make up for missed FaceTimes.

“Hollander, you spaced out again,” This time it’s J.J. pulling back his attention. He shakes his head and smiles back at his friends.

“Sorry. Lot on my mind.” He takes another drink. Ilya always says he’s a lightweight but tonight he can’t seem to feel anything. Figures. Tonight he would actually welcome a buzz.

“Lily on your mind,” Hayden fires back, “She’s really got you wrapped around her finger.”

“It’s not like that. We’re not like that.”

Because he can’t even pretend to have something with Lily, not even as a cover. The second he admits he is in a relationship Hayden will demand to meet the person who finally locked down Shane Hollander. He will be like a dog with a bone. J.J. will jump in, and when he doesn’t give in the team will follow.

And just like that there’s a spark against all the parts of his insides that have been simmering under the surface. Anger suggest hot and uncomfortable under his skin as he he takes a deep breath.

“Come on man, join the coupled up club. It’s great.”

Shane stares back at J.J. He almost short circuits. Ilya might have a reputation as one of the league's most infamous womanizers but he has never seen J.J. with the same woman for more than a week.

It’s also a red flag that he’s learning this tonight. J.J. is beaming, and Hayden clearly knows by the way he bumps his shoulders against his friend with a laugh. He should direct the anger back at himself for being such a shitty friend, but as the conversation continues around him he knows that tonight that won’t be possible.

J.J. talks about his new girlfriend, Shannon, like she’s hung the moon. It’s ridiculous to hear Boiziau speaking with so much respect and affection, and it makes it particularly irritating every time he directs a pointed statement about being happily committed to Shane.

It’s not like they know that he’s wildly, consumingly in love. They don’t know he has a plan with a partner that includes relocation, starting a charity, and far off in the future marriage and kids. They do not get to see the soft parts of his heart and he has no idea how to bridge the gap without losing everything.

“Jackie has been dying to get you and Shan on a double date. Shane, you could bring Lily. It’d be a party.“

“I told you it’s not like that. You two have fun,” He takes another drink. It still doesn’t help. It does at least give him a second to stare back at the small tv and see Ilya’s angry face as he argues with a ref.

“Shannon has a sister. I’m happy to set you up, Cap.”

Shane thinks about the mask he has to wear at the arena and then forces himself inch by inch to school his expression into something neutral and not at all homicidal. They don’t know. They are his friends and they aren’t trying to be hurtful. How many times does he have to turn down a blind date before they get the point? How long is he going to have to say that Lily isn’t anything until they believe him.

Shane stares over his beer at his two best friends and knows the answer to both those questions is never. They want to see him happy, and in their minds that means paired up with some blonde stick of a woman, not Ilya fucking Rozanov.

“I’m good. I’ve got a lot going on right now. I don’t need to add another person to the mix.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever. It wouldn’t kill you to get laid.” J.J. gently smacks his shoulder and Shane glares down at the table.

“Yeah, I’m good there.” He wants to punch a wall. “Anything else you two idiots want to talk about or should I leave you to gossip about your old ladies?”

He only stays for another 15 minutes. It turns out J.J. and Hayden, now that they are both happily in love, cannot stop talking about their partners. Shane knows that if he were able he’d love to share little parts of his life with Ilya. When Hayden talks about Jackie’s new love of puzzles he wants to shout that his boyfriend has started sending him pictures of crosswords he does on his endless flights. Or when J.J. doesn’t know what to make of all the shoes now littering his apartment he wants to commiserate because Ilya has so many clothes and somehow even though they currently live in other countries half his suitcase ends up emptied at Shane’s every time he visits.

He wants to tell his friends that he has never felt this level of compatibility with another person. It’s like somehow the universe created them both from the same stardust and dropped them on opposite sides of the globe less than a month apart knowing that space, politics, hell the weight of the universe could not keep them apart.

But he can’t say any of those things so he excuses himself, politely, he hopes, and drives home with a satellite station blasting the Raiders game.

When he gets home there’s only a few minutes left on the clock. He collapses on the couch as he watches Ilya skate for damn life. It used to annoy Shane how fast he is. Now he can’t stop a smile, his first real one of the night, from forming as Ilya takes the puck and sinks it deep in LA’s net. He falls asleep on the couch with the TV hoping that he’ll get to see Ilya give a post game interview.

---
The next day the anger is still there. Shane is about to fly to Chicago for the day and he can’t figure out what suit to pack for the trip. It’s a stupid problem to have, he always wears one of three pre game outfits. He suddenly hates them all. He will have to call his stylist and set up another dreadful day of trying on clothes to make sure they don’t just look good, but that the seams and fabric don’t irritate him.

His phone sits propped up on his dresser as he stares down at his suit options. Ilya is on the screen sleepily staring back at him from his hotel bed in California.

“Shane the suits can not hurt you. Pick one and pay attention to me.”

“None of them are right.” He should pick the blue. It’s his favorite. He’s comfortable in it, but it’s the middle of November and the color seems wrong.

“You play Chicago. No one on that team is right in the head. I promise no one will care about what you wore to walk into the arena when you beat them. I did not wake up early to watch you pack. Stop looking at clothes.”

Shane’s pretty sure he did wake up early to watch him pack, but he lets that go. He throws the blue suit in a garment bag and then places it neatly next to his regular t-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans before grabbing his phone and collapsing onto his own bed.

“Happy?” He asks. From the way Ilya is holding his phone he can see a hint of his bare chest. That paired with the way his face looks when he’s freshly awake, half confused, half happy makes Shane’s heart swell.

Evidently those feelings don’t come across over the small screen. Ilya studies him. Shane watches as he ruffles his already messy hair, his arm resting lazily over his head.

“You have murder eyes,” Ilya declares, sitting up. The sheet that was half covering his chest falls completely away and it’s absolutely unfair that Shane is on the other side of the continent when his boyfriend looks like that.

“I’m just tired. I don’t usually go out during such a busy stretch of games.” It’s true, mostly. He is tired because he woke up at 3 still on the couch with the TV playing some ping pong tournament. He tried to move back to bed and grab a few more hours of sleep, but instead he replayed the conversation at the bar and felt the simmering rage build under his skin all over again.

“Shane, cottage rules. You tell me.” It’s not a question. Not when Ilya is staring sternly on his screen.

He debates brushing it off. He really is tired. He has no interest in leaving in the next 45 minutes to fly to Chicago, play a game, and then fly home tonight. It’s a stupid schedule. But that’s not why he’s upset and Ilya will know that.

“I’m just exhausted. JJ started seeing this woman, and he and Hayden spent half of last night talking about how great it was to be paired off,” He starts, “They kept making comments about how they need to find me someone and that I need to put myself out there. I wanted to scream.”

It was getting harder and harder for Shane to pretend he wanted to stay closeted. Not that he was ready to share his relationship with Ilya with the world. Fuck. That would be instant career death. It could have real implications for Ilya’s safety, hell, even his safety. Their relationship was at once ancient and yet still new enough to not survive the strain of the world’s judgement. But Ilya was right when he said he could come out to people without listing all of the men he is fucking and that fact sits on his chest like a boulder every day in the locker room.

He doesn’t want to hear slurs thrown around like filler words. He wants people to know that when they chirp about sucking dick they are actively insulting him. Shane Hollander. The man who has led the Metros to their first Stanley Cup in decades, two time MVP winner, and their captain.

“I’m tired of hiding essential parts of myself. Everyone thinks I’m a robot,” He continues, running a hand through his hair as he struggles to find a way to explain everything he’s been feeling.

“Sometimes you are robot. Sexy robot. Like when you do nighttime routine. Very machine like.”

“That’s not what I mean. Maybe this didn’t matter as much before last year. Hell, I couldn’t even admit to myself that I was gay before then. Now that I can, I am tired of pretending.” Ilya leans over, his face gets bigger on the screen and his kind eyes make Shane feel safe. “It’s not like I want my friends trying to set me up with men, either. But it would be nice if we could have a conversation and not have everyone assume I’m straight by default.”

Shane throws his head back. It shouldn’t be like this. For once he shouldn’t have to be the poster child for diversity in this league.

“I know I’m not ready. Not really. I still panic every time Hayden sees my phone light up. I won’t risk us right now. You’re the only thing I’m sure in all of this. Plus, I think I need to wait for Goodwell to retire. He would make the locker room a living hell for the rest of the season. But even knowing that doesn’t make this easier. We have two years before we can pretend to like each other, now I’m sure I have at least a year before I can even tell my friends about something that is ingrained in my DNA. I hate it.”

Ilya listens thoughtfully and for once doesn’t have an immediate come back. Silence fills the room. Shane sighs. He could handle all of this better if he wasn’t 12 days from seeing his boyfriend in person.

“Plus, you’re ridiculously far away right now and this is the first time I’ve heard your voice in 48 hours.”

“I am sorry,” Ilya says, his voice gentle in a way it only gets with Shane.

“None of this is your fault.”

“No. And I do not have good answer, not for any part of it. So I am sorry it hurts you because I love you. Even when you can’t guess correct whale. Or moose. Moose should have been easy. Is big Canadian mascot, yes?”

Shane barks out a laugh. God, he really loves this man. And he needs to get better at 20 questions.

“This is supposed to be making me feel better, how?”

“Next year I will be in Ottawa. Every day our plan gets closer. And I will see you in 12 days. Is not so far. I miss you every day. We survived longer last month.”

Shane doesn’t want to examine how absolutely fucked it is that these small pockets of happiness are so much more than they’ve ever dreamed of having before. Because it is criminal that just because he fell in love with someone complicated, not just a man, but the person the hockey world had predetermined would be his bitter enemy at the age of 17, he now has to be satisfied with stolen hours every few weeks.

“You were so brave last year. Is reason we are together now. Before I didn’t let myself hope for this happiness. Is terrible that we have to hide, it is not fair, but I will love you every day until we both feel safe telling the world about us.” Tears well in Shane’s eyes. Ilya is always so sure about them. It still surprises him sometimes that the man who once would ignore him for months on end, tease him relentlessly in the bedroom and barely say goodbye, is the same one now waxing poetically about how much he loves him.

“Or someone outs us.”

“And then the world will still know and I will still love you. But we are very sneaky. We are not worrying about this now.”

“Ilya?”

He looks back at him with a gentle smile.

“I hope you know that I am the lucky one. I love you so much.” So much that some days, like today, it’s the only thing that keeps him going.

---

The Metros beat Chicago, and then Detroit. They lose a game to Minnesota that made Shane so irritated he beat everyone to the rink the next morning by two hours just to get in extra practice.Things weren’t magically better but Ilya was right in a lot of ways. They were brave, they could do this. They were playing a long game right now and just because they couldn’t rush up their personal timeline didn’t mean Shane had to lose his love of hockey.

Which is, admittedly, easier when they win. Lately they’ve been winning a lot. The Raiders too. He wishes he wasn’t so proud to see them tied in the standings, at least, tied until tonight.

Shane scored the game winner in overtime after a hard fought game to put the Metros back on top of the division. Ilya is somewhere in the building breathing the same air and he’ll see him back at his home soon. He just needs to finish packing up and he’s home free.

“Could you believe Rozanov tonight? I thought he was going to take your head off,” Hayden says as he throws his gear into a duffle bag with too much force.

“He’s not a dirty player, Hayd.”

“Please. He gave me a black eye last year.”

Shane stares back at him. Ilya has a temper on the ice, and a very rigid moral compass. He might spend an entire game chirping to get under players skin, and his checks are hard, but always clean. He doesn’t target to injury and only throws hands first if it is deserved.

“You slashed Brady. He didn’t play again for a week.” Hayden had even felt bad about it at the time. Apparently he doesn’t remember that. Or how he called Brady the next day to apologize. “If someone did that to you you’d want one of us dropping gloves.”

“Why the hell are you defending him?”

Because Shane is tired and the sooner he gets out of this god forsaken arena the sooner he can see his boyfriend. It’s been 18 days.

“I don’t think about him at all. It isn’t that serious. Gotta go.”

If it wouldn’t attract the attention of his team, their social media staff, and the journalists still chatting in the hallway Shane would run the underground tunnels to the parking lot and then speed through the streets until he was home in bed with Ilya.

Instead he takes measured steps and nods at the arena staff with a tight smile. Drapeau stops him in the hall to ask about Friday’s flight time and he somehow answers without coming out of his skin.

By the time he makes it to his home he feels like a bundle of live wires. The lights are already on, seeping through the cracks in his curtains. Ilya beat him home. Now he doesn’t worry about anyone seeing as he runs from his car through the door. He doesn’t care that it slams a little harder than he likes against the wall and he doesn’t wait before running straight into Ilya’s arms and wrapping his legs around his waist.

“Good game tonight, moy lyubov,” Ilya breathes the words against his lips before capturing him in a kiss.

“Should be saying the same to you.”

Ilya places open mouthed kisses over his jaw then down his neck.

“Ah, but you and your freckles scored the game winner.” Ilya finds the spot right behind Shane’s ear that drives him crazy and gives it another long, delicate kiss. “It is frustrating to be proud of you when I am also so irritated. Very confusing. Makes me horny.”

“Everything makes you horny,” Shane can barely choke out the words. He is lost in the sensation of being held and wanted. It’s the first time he’s felt whole since the night he went out with Hayden and J.J. and he wants time to stop now so he can bask in this feeling forever.

“Not everything. Just you.” Ilya adjusts his arms, making sure Shane is supported as he carries him to the bedroom. “You won bet. What are we doing tonight? You’ve had long time to decide.”

Shane had a lot of grandiose ideas about what tonight might entail. There are a few new toys he’s invested in that he’d like to try out with Ilya, and then there is the blindfold they’ve used exactly once and made Shane come so hard he thought he lost his eyesight. None of that feels right now. He’s bitter and angry at everything that isn’t Ilya and all he wants is to be safe and whole in his arms.

“Can we just be gentle, maybe. I know that’s probably not what you want after a game like that. Actually, maybe-” He buries his head in Ilya’s chest. He will want more. It will be disappointing that all Shane really wants is to feel Ilya inside him carefully taking him apart with loving touches.

Ilya’s lips press against the top of Shane’s head and then he maneuvers Shane from his arms to sit safely on the bed before kneeling at his feet.

“I will treat you like precious treasure you are, and then we will have dinner and fall asleep watching that show where they make cakes in tent.”

Ilya helps him out of his clothes with care, and then lets his own suit fall in a pile on Shane’s floor.

He is deliberate with his touches. Every caress lowers Shane’s anxiety until he is putty in Ilya’s expert hands. His brain empties until all he can think is more and don’t stop. There is no one else that can take him out of his body like this, no one else who he would trust to see him so far gone that all he can do is whimper the first time Ilya thrusts into him with such tenderness he thinks he might die.

Ilya never stops covering him in kisses and mumbling messages of love in Russian. It’s like a prayer covering his entire body in love, so much that by the time he finally comes he thinks that this moment is exactly what heaven must be like, sweaty, exhausted Ilya collapsed on top of him and all.

“I don’t know how long until I see you next,” Shane says after they’ve both caught their breath. It will be during the holidays. They’ll spend Christmas with his parents, but he doesn’t know how many days that is from now and his phone is in the other room. Suddenly doesn’he t know how he can function without being able to brace for what is surely going to be an unfathomable amount of time without this.

“I am here now. We do not have to panic.” Ilya cradles his face, his thumb rubs soft circles against his cheek. “We will have four whole days at Christmas. You will have to show me all Canadian traditions. It will be nice to learn how Hollander’s celebrate.”

“I got your gift two weeks ago,” Shane murmurs against his hand and places a kiss against his palm.

“Oh, so gift giving is a competition now?” Ilya smirks down at him and Shane’s heart cracks wide open. No matter how hard this year is it will be worth it to have more perfect unguarded moments like this. “Come, get cleaned up. I will heat up dinner. You said next episode they make funny candies. I want to see candies in tent.”

“If you keep making fun of Bake Off I’m going to leak to the press that you cry when Paul gives handshakes.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He wouldn’t. But he does wish he could take a picture every time Ilya smiles at the TV.

---

“I was a lot last night.” He still feels drained, but the rawness that chaffed at him in the dark hours is mostly gone. If anything Shane feels bad for taking one of their precious evenings together and making it heavy.

“You are my person. Was nothing. You would do same for me.” There was that sureness again, like taking care of Shane wasn’t a burden, but something to be grateful for. If he was in a kinder mood he would acknowledge that every time Ilya was upset, or god forbid injured, he felt the same word. Caring for Ilya isn’t hard work. It’s as natural as breathing.

He knows without a doubt that Ilya feels the same.

“It’s 26 days, by the way,” Shane says before he can get too emotional. He saw the countdown when his alarm went off this morning.

Ilya winces and Shane reaches out to caress his cheek.

“Maybe we call your parents this morning. See if they can visit you while I am gone. Or Rose. Someone who knows you.”

Someone who knows Shane. That list feels so small right now. Ilya’s right, he needs to make sure he’s spending time with the people who have seen and accepted all of him. He doesn’t always have to rage at the world alone.

But Ilya, god, Ilya does.

“And what will you do?”

Ilya looks away with a sniffle. Shane watches him blink rapidly, and his breath catches. Shane crawls over him, settling himself on his hips and forcing Ilya to look at him.

“It’s not always going to be this hard,” Shane promises. He will move heaven and earth to make sure it is true.

“Being with you is not the hard part.”

“Maybe we look at our schedules and see if there is a day we can meet somewhere in between? Maybe New York? No one would think it was weird if we were both in the city. We wouldn’t even need to be seen together.”

They spent the rest of the morning lazy in bed. Shane’s given up the thought that he can make sure Ilya is well fed before his flight home. He can eat at the airport. What they both need is to soak up these last few moments together like a plant searching for the last rays of fall sun.

Shane watches Ilya walk out his front door. He leans just far enough to watch him through the window as he makes his way down the street to his Uber with his hat down low and collar up so high no one would be able to see his face.

He doesn’t fight the way tears well in his eyes as he mentally goes through his schedule. There’s no way he’s making it to New York for a night between now and Christmas. It really will be almost a full month before he sees Ilya again.

In his heart he knows it will be fine. Ilya was right. He can see Rose, even if it’s just for lunch when he has his own California trip next week. His parents have been busy lately but will be thrilled to come down for a long weekend. It will be good to be surrounded by people he doesn’t have to hide around.

He just wished Ilya had someone, anyone, he could trust to do the same.

Ilya’s car is barely out of sight when Shane picks up his phone. He can’t spend the next month moping around. He’s done wishing time away. He needs to learn how to enjoy the little moments while still wishing for more time.

Shane
Alright Roz, ready to start guessing?

Ilya wins before he gets to the airport and then gloats the rest of the day. Shane really needs to come up with a new game.

Chapter End Notes

Every chapter I swear it's going to be cute and fluffy and then I write several thousand words that are just angst.

Chapter 5: December

Chapter Notes

On the first of December Ilya got a notification. He’d been added to a new group chat simply titled “Family.” Bile rose in his throat as he forced himself to remember that he blocked Andrei’s number in the spring and that there was no one left in Russia that would ever think of him as a relative, at least not unless they wanted money. None of them should have his number.

As the panic eased it became easy to notice this could never have been a threat from back home. The thread was named in English and he could see three small icons near the top. Seconds later a message appeared.

Yuna
We wanted to start planning for the holidays and thought it would be easier if we were all in one thread. Shane said the name wouldn’t be too suspicious.

Yuna
Ilya, I already have your flight details for the 23rd, Shane is driving over after practice the same day. We’ll have lunch ready when you arrive.

David
We also wanted to ask if there were any traditions from back home you’d like us to include. We’d love to know about how you celebrated in Russia.

The last time Ilya had heard from Yuna was after she left Boston in the fall, and then it was just to check in that his arm was continuing to heal. David was kind at the cottage, but a bit stand offish, and he’s had no reason to contact him since he flew back home. He still doesn’t know what to make of his relationship with the Hollanders, and that makes him uneasy.

It’s been so long since Ilya could expect love from a parental figure, and if he’s honest with himself the last few years of his mother’s life were completely colored by her depression. His father was at best disinterested in him most days, his brother grew to hate him as they aged. Somehow Ilya, the first round pick of the 08 draft, perennial all star and future hall of famer, was the disappointment of his family. Nothing he said or did over the last eight summers changed that. After twenty six years of trying and failing Ilya doesn’t know how to slot himself into a family that is so open about their love for each other.

Disinterest is what he is used to, but that doesn’t stop him from craving the Hollander’s approval. More messages come in and his stomach flutters.

Yuna
And we wanted to know if you have any allergies. Shane said he didn’t think so but that we should ask to be sure.

Shane
Shane is right here and you two need to calm down. Ilya’s going to block you both.

He would never. A laugh bubbles out of his mouth as he stares at his phone. He just needs a moment to get his bearings. He still isn’t sure he understands what’s happening. Of course he has been planning to be in Ottawa for Christmas but he figured he would just be a plus one to their regular activities. The Hollander’s are kind people. He is happy they have accepted him as Shane’s boyfriend. He wants to use this time to fully cement himself as someone Shane’s parents want in their lives, not just Shane’s. He never expected this.

Ilya
No allergies. Russia celebrates the New Year like Western world does Christmas. I would not want to make things confusing. Please do not go to any trouble for me.

Both of Shane’s parents begin typing at once. Then, his phone rings and the picture of a loon he uses for Shane’s contact photo fills his screen.

“Sorry. I meant to warn you. My mom can be a little intense about Christmas,” Shane can’t get the words out fast enough. Another laugh bubbles to the surface as he pictures Shane pacing his apartment as if his will alone could control the situation.

“No worries. Is fine.” It’s wonderful. Overwhelming, a little terrifying, but wonderful. “You called thread family?”

“Yeah. It’s basically the same as the one I had with my parents and thought it would be easier if we could all talk in one space. We can change the name if you don’t like it. My mom said she already was thinking of you like a bonus son. If you don’t like it, I was also workshopping something about the foundation. Especially if you’re worried about someone seeing your phone.”

Like always Shane has thought five steps ahead. He’s glad he didn’t ask to FaceTime so he can get his feelings in order.

“Family is fine,” Ilya says and hopes his voice doesn’t sound like a puddle of goo.

“You sure?”

He isn’t. Not entirely. He wants to be a part of Shane’s family so bad it scares him. Once he thought he would be okay if his parents rejected him as long as they accepted their son. Ilya did not need his their approval to love Shane unconditionally, but now he knows that it would be a bone deep hurt for the people who made Shane Shane to decide he didn’t fit in their neat, perfect lives.

“Yes,” The word is hard in his mouth, “I have to make sure I am Yuna’s favorite son, no?”

“Good luck with that,” Shane laughs like they aren’t having a conversation with his family that is rewriting his DNA. “I hope you know they’re really excited to see you. Like really excited. I think they’ve been waiting for me to bring a person home for a decade. My dad keeps saying it’ll be like our family is complete.”

Ilya, who never was able to get the approval of his own father, wants nothing more than for Shane’s words to be true.

David, who had wondered out loud if Shane could have found a nicer man in Montreal was the Hollander who Ilya secretly wants to impress the most. Yuna has already seen him injured in a messy apartment and her only response was to fold his laundry and cheer at his next game. David was still a mystery to Ilya. He was nice at the cottage, and protective of Shane in a quiet, steady way that was so out of alignment with how Ilya was raised it left him rattled.

“Sorry, that was probably too much,” Shane says, a little quieter than before. Ilya blinks. His mind is racing a mile a minute. He needs to say something, anything, but it feels like his mouth is full of cotton balls.

“Not at all. I will be on my best behavior.”

His phone buzzes again. More texts pop up and Shane curses on the other end of the line.

Yuna
Do you like cookies? We usually bake cookies on Christmas Eve.

Yuna
There is also a nice neighborhood a few kilometers away that has lovely lights. We could take a drive as a family, maybe with thermoses of hot cocoa.

“Do not worry, moy severnyy olen, I am happy to talk to your parents.” Ilya wonders if the lights are like in Boston. His first year in the league they reminded him of home so much he spent all of New Year’s Day tearful and missing his mother. He was just 18 and so alone.

“Do I even want to know what you just called me?”

If Shane had asked for their cottage rules now he would have had to confess and say he only threw out some nonsense in Russian to change the conversation. He feels raw and overwhelmed by the idea of Shane’s parents caring for him, even though the thought of them disliking him makes him want to disappear. It’s possible he’ll tear himself in two before he even makes it to Ottawa at this point.

So instead he issued a small challenge and waited for Shane to take the bait.

“Guess. Question 1. Go.”

“Fuck you. Fine. Is it a vegetable again?”

“No.”

“This isn’t over, but I have to go to practice.” Shane sighs. Ilya can’t wait to extend his win streak. He was up six games to Shane now and each time Shane lost the next time Ilya saw him his nose would be scratched up in a way that made him want to do filthy things to him. “If my parents drive you crazy it’s okay to not respond. I’ll deal with them later. Love you.”

Ilya stares at his phone. Without Shane’s voice in his ear the room feels empty. But notifications continue to fill his screen. Reminders that Ottawa is colder than Boston and thoughts about holiday flight traffic are now top of mind. He doesn’t know how to respond to any of it. Shane, who loves him and has planned out the next several years of their life, has nothing on his mother and her project management skills.

Shane
Mom, we have a month to plan and I’m leaving for the arena. Calm down.

Ilya takes a deep breath. He wants Shane’s parents to like him. It’s okay for him to want things.

Ilya
Is okay. I am free to plan now. We can make all decisions without Shane.

David
How do you feel about puzzles?

Shane
I already regret making this thread.

He talks with Shane’s parents for a half hour. The minutes fly by with him confirming little things and insisting they don’t have to do anything special just because he’s around. He promises to do a 1000 piece puzzle with David, even though he hasn’t sat down with a jigsaw puzzle since he was a child. Yuna has enough food planned to feed them for a week, though they’ll only be there for a little under four days.

By the time Ilya gets to his own arena to prepare for a game he is giddy. He woke up this morning weary to be so far away from seeing Shane. He has 22 more days before they’re together and that seemed like a punishment sent directly from the universe.

Instead he got to hear Shane’s voice and talk to his parents who by all accounts are excited to see him for Christmas. Ilya still doesn’t know what to do with that information as he gets on his gear. When his phone lights up again he’s glad to see it’s just Shane and not another round of holiday planning.

Shane
Is it an animal?

Ilya
Yes. That’s 2.

Shane
I’m not going to be happy when I figure this one out, am I?

Ilya
Is not bad. 3

Shane.
Asshole. That’s not a question. Have a good game tonight.

He does. The Raiders win 2 to nothing against Vancouver. It doesn’t stop Ilya from returning to an empty home and 15 missed texts from his new favorite thread.

---

Ilya is grateful for the chaos of holiday travel. Outside of games he never flies this close to Christmas. It’s not like he’s had anyone to celebrate with.

Today the airport is so busy he doesn’t worry about being spotted. Who is going to care that Ilya Rozanov is in Ottawa when half of the flights on the big screen outside his arrival gate are flashing delayed. He could be looking for a connecting flight. Who in their right mind would think he was going to spend the next three days with his boyfriend at his parents house?

Shane is also surprisingly chill about the prospect of getting caught, at least for today. Sure, he is wearing sunglasses and a toque but it is broad daylight and there are rows and rows of cars waiting for their family to arrive home for Christmas.

“I still can’t believe you called me a reindeer. How was your flight?” He asks as Ilya gets into the car.

“I was being festive. Moy severnyy olen.”

Shane pulls out into traffic with a laugh while Ilya buckles his seatbelt. Their braveness only goes so far. Ilya can be in his car but they can only hold hands until they’re safe behind a locked door. It’s somehow worse to be this close to Shane in such a private space and still not feel safe to do more than intertwine his fingers with his. But it’s more than he’s been able to do for close to a month so he holds on to Shane’s hand for dear life.

“I’m so glad you’re going to make this a thing. I won that game, by the way.” Shane glances over at him, his eyes bright, before looking back at the road.

“Yes. 18 questions later.”

“That was 9 games ago. You’re only up by 2 now.” Ilya watches Shane’s lips twitch up into a confident smirk. He will never admit to Shane how much he has come to love his stupid guessing game. It feels like it’s built only for children and then them, specifically. Who else would have the time to sit down and try and figure out the one random thing being highlighted in another person's mind? Who else would care that he is briefly thinking about humpback whales and snowflakes, and then get irritated when it took them too long to figure it out.

The drive to Shane’s parent’s house is shorter than the one they took to the cottage. They barely have time to debrief on Ilya’s uneventful flight and Shane’s equally boring drive from Montreal before pulling into his parents driveway.

Ilya’s nerves spike at the perfect boring two story house with white siding and a wreath on the front door. It’s everything he would have pictured for Shane’s childhood home. Before he can get too in his head Shane takes a deep breath and throws half his body over the center counsel, capturing Ilya’s mouth in a kiss.

Ilya pulls him closer. If he wasn’t afraid Shane’s parents would look out the window he’d haul him onto his lap and take him completely apart right here in the car. It would certainly help with his nerves. He spent half the flight wondering how he would be able to spend 3 nights under the Hollander’s roof without touching their son. He has had 23 days to make a plan for making a good impression and a large part of that includes not defiling Shane while they’re within earshot. So instead he pulls at Shane’s hair and tries to put every impure thought he’s had in the last month into this kiss so he can make it through the next few days without imploding.

He’ll have this moment, maybe one like it on the way back to the airport, and that will have to be enough. It will be enough, because Shane will be here with him the entire time and they won’t have to hide. It won’t be like before when the most they could hope for were sneaky glances across a crowded room. They can hold hands and kiss. Shane promised they could cuddle on the couch, and they’ll be sharing a bed. He just won’t be able to lose himself in Shane or take him completely apart. It will be absolutely fine.

They’ve never managed to be in the same room for more than a few hours without undressing each other, but it will be fine.

“My parents are going to wonder what’s taking us so long,” Shane says, breath hot against Ilya’s neck.

“We have not seen each other in weeks. They will not wonder.”

Shane laughs. It’s light and so pure. Ilya doesn’t know how he lived without that laugh for so many years, how now after knowing Shane for his entire adult life he is still learning new things to love about him.

“Ready to go in?”

Shane watches him as he nods, a small crease on his forehead the only sign that he understands how nervous Ilya is for this moment.

Shane guides him through the garage. He never drops his hand even though it’s awkward to maneuver though the space with their respective bags. As soon as Shane opens the door he yells a greeting.

Yuna rushes from some hallway and welcomes him with a bear hug that makes him ache for his own mother and then frets about his comfort on the flight from Boston. If she hadn’t visited him in the fall he would have been overwhelmed by her direct concern for his well being.

“I am so glad you could make it,” She says as she engulfs him in a second hug. Ilya tries to blink away the emotions rising in his chest. He can see Shane, smiling just over his mother’s shoulder.

“Yuna, you’re going to crush him,” David says as he pads into view.

“Hardly. He dwarfs our son.” She gives him another squeeze before stepping back

“Hey!” Shane shouts, but there’s no real bite to it. He’s too busy beaming at the three of them and then accepting his own big hug from his mother.

“Welcome, Ilya,” David focuses on his name, like he’s heard Shane lecture him about how it doesn’t always come out right out of English mouths. Then he wraps his arms around him in a hug.

But if Yuna’s hug reminded him of his mother, David’s looked to make up for the years of neglect from his father. It’s a tight hug. One that Ilya is sure he hung on to for a second too long, but then David pats his back and says “I’m so excited you're here” before ushering him the rest of the way into the house.

He tries to stop Shane from taking his bag but he disappears while David and Yuna show him around the kitchen. Everything is bright. There are red and green towels near the sink and greenery on the table.

They take him to the living room where everywhere Ilya looks there are small monuments to Shane’s life. School pictures and stills from his hockey career on the wall. Photos from awards shows and days at the cottage framed on an end table. The entire house is comfortable in a way that Ilya isn’t used to. His own family home always felt cold, sterile with hard sofas and no pictures of a happy family anywhere on the walls. He’s glad to know Shane has always had this type of love even if it is foreign to Ilya. It makes him want to try even harder to get these days with his parents right.

“Do you need any help?” He asks as Yuna practically pushes him down onto the sofa before disappearing back into the kitchen to finish lunch.

---

“They want me here,” Ilya says from the en suite attached to Shane’s childhood bedroom. It’s a thought he’s had repeatedly since Shane ushered him through the door. One that even now as he brushes his teeth he has a hard time believing.

Yuna and David haven’t let him lift a finger. They promise tomorrow he and Shane are on lunch duty, but otherwise they just want them both to relax. After soup and sandwiches they decorated cookies. Shane had specific opinions about sprinkle placement, Ilya joked with David the whole time, only twice accidentally smudging Shane’s work when he got overexcited with his own icing. Yuna took pictures and David judged their results. For once neither of them panicked at being caught on camera together.

It was nice.

Now he’s sleepy from a night of pizza and Yahtzee. Getting to sit close to Shane and touch him through the night was his own personal heaven. All of the laughter even made losing to Yuna at a dice game fun. His chest aches with happiness by the time Shane led him up the stairs to the bedroom.

It has been a perfect day and still he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this warm welcome. Sure, he’s been on his best behavior, but he’s also the most complicated person Shane could love.

And then there was the fact he kept undressing Shane in his mind. He really needed to get that under control.

“Of course they do. I love you. Now come to bed.”

Shane lays on top of a dark green comforter with red checks. It’s festive, something Yuna must have put out just for the week. His sleepy eyes track him from across the room.

“I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean your parents have to want me at family holidays,” Ilya says as he climbs into bed. He collapses next to Shane on top of a mountain of pillows all decorated with snowmen and santa’s. He picks up one and throws it toward Shane. He wants to see him smile. He's so carefree here. It’s just like at the cottage. He loves this version of Shane so much he could burst. But instead of a smile he gets that tell tale crease in his forehead.

“Okay. We’re going to do this tonight and not again okay. I don’t want to spend every private moment having this talk.” Shane forces him onto his back with a gentle push and then straddles his thighs before putting a hand under his chin, forcing Ilya to look him in the eye.

“I want you around all the time. You know that. I know that. You’re it for me,” Shane continues, placing a chaste kip at the corner of his lips.

“Yes, you love me very much. You are mushy about it. Would be annoying if you were not so perfect.” It takes all of Ilya’s resolve to not flip Shane over and devour him just to avoid the rest of this conversation. He doesn’t need to hear how his parents are only nice because they’re humoring their son. That has to be it. It doesn’t matter how many times they texted, or how often Shane assured him he was wanted here, it still doesn’t quite feel real. The whole day is like a fever dream and he’s afraid that tomorrow he’ll wake up to the type of family he grew up with.

If the roles were reversed Shane would not feel so welcome in his father’s home. Hell, if he brought Shane home to meet his family he may as well also plan their funerals.

He moves his hands to bracket Shane’s hips. Maybe they could at least make out without making too much noise? He’s always better after he’s had his hands on him. It’s like getting to touch Shane clears his head.

Shane’s hands dart out and pin Ilya’s wrists down to the bed. He squirms, but Shane uses his strength to hold him there.

“My parents care about you too. Deeply,” Shane says. His face is so earnest it makes Ilya want to vomit.

“Shane, they do not know me. They are kind,” he argues. They’ve had a handful of meals together, all while Ilya was careful not to make too many jokes or say anything absurd. It took Shane 7 years to admit to liking him. There are plenty of mornings he still wakes up and thinks his relationship with Shane is a dream. How could perfect, beautiful Shane Hollander actually love him through all his walls and imperfections. But it isn’t a dream, and now Shane is staring down at him with a bossy expression that he wants to kiss off his face.

“No. Shut up. I am talking.” Shane carefully lifts one hand off of Ilya’s wrist and runs his fingers along Ilya’s cheek. It’s a gentle gesture, but it also forces Ilya to meet his gaze. “I’ve loved you for my entire adult life. That means something to them. It helps that apparently your Russian bravado is like cat nip to all of us Hollander’s. My parents record your games now when they can’t watch them live. My dad bought one of your Raiders jerseys because he said one day we won’t have to hide anymore and then he’ll need to hand it next to my Metro’s one in his office.”

Ilya turns. Somehow every time he sees Shane lately he ends up near tears. He doesn’t want to cry here in his childhood room. Not when he has never been this happy before. He never thought he had the right to be. It’s scary now to know he has something he could lose.

“I have never in my life brought someone home like this. They know you are it for me. You are now a part of this family. My parents want you here because they want to be your family too. If that’s too much right now that’s fine. I’ll tell them to back off. But they’re not doing this to humor me. They want you here. I want you here.”

“I want to be here too.”

Ilya doesn’t know how to make Shane’s words enough in his head. He knows deep down on some level he is safe here, wanted in a way that no one has felt for him in Russia in over a decade. He doesn’t know how to tell Shane that he already knows he would never recover if he were to lose him, adding his family to the mix would kill him on the spot.

---

The next afternoon after a large breakfast and several hours decorating a huge tree Yuna shoos everyone over to the couch and insists they watch A Christmas Story. Shane says it’s tradition. David brings in mugs of hot cocoa and a large bowl of popcorn. Ilya feels as if he is watching his life through a window. Last December he ached for Shane in a way he thought could kill him if he let it. He spent hours searching for updates on him and Rose Landrey, and then more hours coordinating his father’s care. He wants to go back in time and tell himself all of the heartache was worth it because next Christmas Yuna Hollander would be covering him with a blanket before welcoming him into yet another family tradition.

Halfway through the movie Ilya has relaxed until his head is resting on Shane’s lap. Shane’s hands play with Ilya’s hair as his eyes grow heavy. He’s safe here, just like at the cottage. His eyelids feel heavy, and he’s so warm. From here he can feel Shane breathing gently against him. Ilya wants to close his eyes, just a moment. He isn’t actually tired, only comfortable. It will only be a second.

Soft familiar voices cut through a fog in Ilya’s mind.

“Have you two talked much about the summer, we were thinking of just camping out at our cottage once your season is done,” Yuna asks from the other side of the couch. Ilya’s eyes flutter open. The TV is off and Shane’s hands continue to play absentmindedly with his hair. A blanket covers his legs. He has no idea how long he’s been asleep but he doesn’t actually want to move and break this perfect moment. Instead he lets his eyes close again with a soft exhale.

“Not a ton, no. Everything's kind of up in the air until Ilya gets signed with Ottawa. I still need to find a good realtor for him in the area without it seeming suspicious. Then I think I’m going to drive down to Boston to help him pack, and I want to make sure he has time to get settled before next season. It’s a lot of moving pieces, plus Ilya’s playing out of his mind right now so I’m thinking we probably won’t be up to the lake until after the MHL awards.”

Ilya’s heart races. He’s never heard Shane talk about him with another person, not like this. Usually it’s just soundbites from the media about how he’ll make all statements about their rivalry on the ice, not in a press conference.

“You’ll both be nominated,” Yuna sounds so sure. He wonders how she was able to switch from hating the risk he posed to Shane’s legacy to this type of steady support for them both.

“Hopefully.”

The room falls silent. It would be so easy to fall back to sleep. He could have a million dreams about Shane packing boxes. He would yell at him about stacking things and then label each box with his crisp handwriting. It would be perfect and domestic, a memory Ilya could fall back on whenever Shane is too far away. Shane helping him move would be one of the few ordinary moments they could have as a couple, and even though he has more money than he knows what to do with, Ilya wants Shane there with the boxes, not some strangers he’s paid.

“It’s really nice to have you both here. I’m sorry we weren’t able to do this sooner,” David says. Ilya’s eyes flicker open again, but only for a second, just enough to know that he’s alone on this side of the sofa with Shane.

“Me too.” Shane’s thumb strokes his cheek. He should really let everyone know he’s awake now. He just doesn’t want this moment to end. “But we’re here now.

There are footsteps and muffled words that Ilya doesn’t fully understand. Shane shifts, and Ilya snuggles further against his leg. He waits for some acknowledgement that they know he’s conscious, but instead all Shane does is pull the blanket over Ilya’s shoulders and goes back to absentmindedly playing with his hair.

“Do you think you’ll move in together during the summers?” Yuna asks.

He waits for Shane to deflect. They can barely talk past the end of this season and getting Ilya signed with Ottawa. Just hearing that he had planned on helping him move was overwhelming. Sure, he always figured he would bring a few extra suitcases to the cottage this summer and leave things there just like he has at Shane’s apartment, but that’s not the same as purposefully integrating their lives.

“If he wants to. I think we’ll mostly be at the cottage, but I’m ready to give him half the closet there until we find a more permanent year round solution. That’s probably going to take some time.”

Ilya shuffles against Shane’s leg. A home together, at the cottage. A little snippet of forever. It’s too much. He opens his eyes and stretches. Yuna beaming down at the two of them. Shane’s hand lazily glides over his shoulder as he looks up at him.

“Will need more than half,” Ilya says, his voice gravely with sleep, at least he hopes that it’s sleep. It could be all of the emotions he’s trying to keep from bursting out.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Shane says with a laugh.

He beams down at Ilya, smooths his now wild hair, and bends down to kiss his forehead.

“Hi,” Ilya says to his boyfriend, and then shifts to sit upright to address Yuna, “I am sorry for falling asleep. Movie was good.”

”It’s fine. Shane dozed for a bit too. We only care that you’re both comfortable.”

Maybe he can really start to believe that he is safe here. His father would have lost his mind if he had dared be so lazy as to fall asleep in front of other people. But Yuna is just smiling at him and Shane like them existing here together is enough.

“How much of that did you hear?” Shane asks as he rests his head on Ilya’s shoulder.

“That you are helping me move.” Ilya kisses him, “And that you want to move in together.”

“Just in the summers, asshole.”

Summers. He used to dread the entire season when it meant going back to Russia and making himself small and palatable to people who could never love him. But last year was the first time he felt like he could just be him.

“Summers for now. When we retire it can be all year. Probably at my house, because of the yard and many dogs.”

Shane pulls him back until he is resting comfortably in the crook of his arm.

“Dog. We are getting one dog, Ilya.”

He’ll have to wait to change his mind on that front.

---

For once Ilya wakes up before Shane. Light filters in through the curtains just enough so he can see perfect freckles and messy bedhead on the pillow next to him. He runs a finger down Shane’s exposed arm, wishing that every morning could be just like this.

He heads down to the kitchen before he can do something stupid, like wake up Shane with a blow job. The last thing he needs is to spend Christmas Day with Yuna and David knowing that he defiled their son in their home.

It would be ridiculously hot, but probably wouldn’t help his campaign for favorite son.

Instead, he messes with the complicated coffee maker. There are too many buttons and none of them make sense. He just needs caffeine and to sit quietly and process the last two days.

Before he can accomplish either David yawns his way into the kitchen, still pajama clad and also in search of coffee. He takes one look at the machine, and then at Ilya before shaking his head and pressing a combination of buttons more suited for a video game controller than a machine meant to be used early in the morning.

They wait in comfortable silence. Ilya waits to feel self-conscious sitting in his pajamas with Shane’s father, but it doesn’t come. Instead David pours him a large cup of coffee and doesn’t blink an eye when he adds several spoonfuls of sugar to it.

“I hope you didn’t miss much in Boston to be here with us,” David says when his own cup is half empty.

“Not at all. Sometimes a teammate will invite me over for a party, but I have no family in America.” He leaves out the part where he would like to forget he has family living anywhere, and that he doesn’t know how to talk to Svetlana without worrying that she’ll accidentally out him, so instead he has avoided his one true friend. “It is nice to be here. Thank you again for including me.”

“We both know Shane wouldn’t have it any other way. We wouldn’t either,” David pauses, his lips pressed together in a firm line so reminiscent of Shane when he’s thinking that Ilya has to hide a smile in his own cup, and then he continues, “There were so many years we thought he was unhappy, lonely. Yuna and I would have invited you sooner if we'd known.”

“Is fine. We were not very good at talking until this year,” Ilya says as he takes a sip of his own coffee, “We all have a lot of time to make up for.”

The silence engulfs them again. Ilya wishes he had something more he can say or share that could fill the space. He’s spent so much time complimenting the Hollander’s home he’s beginning to feel like a recording. Then there are the little things about Shane that are imprinted on his heart, those don’t feel like things he can share either, not yet. Maybe one day when they have spent more than a handful of days together he can try and open himself up to David and Yuna like he does for Shane.

David gets up and places the two empty mugs in the sink. Ilya can’t help but feel like this is still some kind of test and he’s failing. He’s never been in a real relationship before. Every instinct in his body is to make a crass joke, but he doesn’t want that to be the person Shane’s dad sees every time he looks at him. He already knows that look, it’s the one he got when he went with Shane to come out to his parents.

Before he can fully spiral David clears his throat. Ilya watches him take a washcloth and wipe out their mugs and set them on a drying rack before turning back to him.

“Uh, Shane said I should just leave it alone, but I was doing some reading and, um, we bought some tangerines to have with breakfast today. I know it’s not the right day for you but it seemed like-”

Ilya makes a noise he isn’t sure sounds human. The things he misses from Russia are much more ephemeral than physical holiday traditions, but the memory of eating a bright, citrusy tangerine on New Years Day while sitting on his mother's lap floods his mind. He swallows. He’s had years of masking his emotions from everyone, this shouldn’t be so hard.

“If it’s not the right thing we’ll just make juice. It’s really not that big of a -”

“It is perfect. Thank you for thinking of me.” He wants to say more but his brain isn’t able to translate everything he’s feeling from Russian into English.

“Kid, you never have to thank me for that,” David says, and then waves him over to the counter. “Now, how about we get started on breakfast. I like to sneak a couple of extra pieces of bacon before Yuna wakes up on Christmas morning.”

By the time Shane wakes up Ilya is flipping a second batch of pancakes while David tackles scrambled eggs. There is a platter of breakfast meats already warm on the counter, and another pot of coffee is brewed and hot waiting for him and Yuna to join them.

After breakfast they gather by the tree. Shane and Ilya both receive warm sweaters, Shane’s a deep navy and Ilya’s a stoney gray, and a pair of matching pajamas. The pajamas, a plaid red and blue pattern, are apparently, tradition. Shane has gotten a new pair for every Christmas he can remember. They are easily Ilya’s favorite gift.

Later David and Yuna leave to look at Christmas lights across town. As soon as the door closes Shane pulls him upstairs. They have each other undressed in record time. It would be embarrassing how fast Ilya comes with Shane’s mouth on his cock if he hadn’t spent the last three days touching him, loving him in every way but this one. It helps that Ilya barely touches Shane before he’s cursing and coming as well. .

After, when they’ve caught their breath, changed into their new matching pajamas and are cuddled up on the bed Shane tosses Ilya a small box.

“Open it,” He says, sitting up just enough so he can watch Ilya tear through the neat wrapping paper. Inside is a braided leather bracelet with a smooth speckled grey stone. It’s somehow so different from the cross he wears daily but he knows if given the chance he would have picked it out himself.

“The stone is from the lake at the cottage.” Shane’s voice hitches. His eyes stay fixed on Ilya

“I love it.” He really does. He pulls Shane in for a deep kiss before holding out his wrist. Shane takes the bracelet and ties it in place with just enough give to not fall off but also not cause him pain.

Ilya takes a moment to stare and the way Shane holds his hand, and the way the polished stone shimmers, not like a gem, but like something strong and lasting, before pulling his hand away and leaning over the edge of the bed. He finds his carry on and digs through it. He comes up with a poorly wrapped rectangle that he places on Shane’s lap.

Shane laughs as he picks at the messy corner. Ilya used too much tape and now his cheeks burn as he watches Shane carefully unwind the wrapping paper to reveal a thick book .

He waits for a reaction, something to tell him he hasn’t screwed this up.

“Is supposed to be good for learning Russian. One of my former teammates bought a copy for his wife. There is also a note in the back. From me. I thought maybe it would be nice to have kind words to translate as you learn,” Ilya says. His heart races. He has never had someone to buy presents before. He didn’t know the process would leave him feeling like an exposed nerve. “I thought, maybe, I would leave you with one each time I see you until I move closer.“

Shane studies the book. It’s a combination of a dictionary and workbook. Ilya had spent so much time with it to make sure it would make learning fun for Shane. Maybe he had gotten this wrong. It was incredibly selfish to assign his boyfriend homework as a Christmas present, even worse to write him a love note in a language he has only started to show interest in learning.

A language Shane wouldn’t have thought twice about if it hadn’t been for him.

Shane flips to the back of the book and unfolds a sheet of paper. He runs his fingers over Ilya’s messy ink like he’ll be able to understand it by touch alone.

“If it is not good I can return it, find something else.” Ilya reaches out for the book and Shane grabs at his hand, pushing it away while he still studies the letter.

“Don’t you dare. I want to know what you’re always mumbling in Russian.”

“I do not mumble.”

“You mumble all the time. I’ve only found a few apps that seem to click with me so far. Pretty much everything I know to say I’ve learned from you. This is great.” Shane holds up the book with a huge smile.

“It is okay if you struggle. Russian is hard.” Not as hard as English, he thinks. At least he hopes it’s not as hard. It wouldn’t be worth Shane’s time if it was. It’s not like Ilya hasn’t communicated with him exclusively in English for almost a decade.

“It’ll be worth it. You’ll just have to practice with me.”

Shane leans back against Ilya’s chest and thumbs through the workbook. Ilya watches as he stops every few pages comparing lessons and words, then flipping back to the dictionary before going back to the folded paper like he’s about to try and translate it right now.

Ilya hopes he can’t feel how hard his heart still beats. It’s like he’s just played a full game. Shane hums as he looks back at the dictionary portion of the work book. He keeps the letter flat against his leg.

Maybe his gift wasn’t so terrible after all. Ilya places soft kisses against Shane’s neck. They’re soft, gentle, but if he could get Shane’s attention he would be happy with them turning into something more. He reaches again for the book and is immediately blocked by Shane’s hand. He tries again, this time picking up the letter and trying to fold it back into a neat square.

Shane whirls around, plucking the letter back out of Ilya’s hand like it’s precious and unfolds it again. He stares down at it like the combination of Cyrillic script could mean something to him right this second if he just tried hard enough. He wishes he could take a picture and save this moment forever, but all he has is his memory so instead he wills himself to remember the way Shane’s face stares at his unknowable words like they’re the secret to the universe and sends a prayer up to his mother that his heart will only know love like this from now on.

“I want to know what it says. Please?” Shane says, "I’m not going to see you for 52 days.”

That was never the plan. No. Ilya could not read those words out loud translated into English. It doesn’t matter that he tells Shane he loves him every day or that he’s trying to be more open about his feelings. The letter was supposed to act like a release valve to alleviate the pressure on his own heart when it is so full and Shane is so far away. It’s a new puzzle for Shane to solve that could take him years, if at all. He could decide that learning Russian isn’t worth the effort. And then Ilya’s thoughts will be immortalized on pages no one would have to read. The letter is a calculated risk, and now Shane is staring at him with his beautiful brown eyes practically begging him to expose the softest parts of himself.

“More incentive for you to learn faster.” He takes the letter back and stares at the words. He meant every single one. It’s sappy, painfully so. He could have barely let himself think these things a year ago. It’s taken them years to admit that this love is something real.

“Ilya,” Shane says his name like a prayer and what little resolve he has remaining cracks. “Please.”

Ilya nods. Shane adjusts so he’s sitting on his lap, arms wrapped low around his back.

He takes a deep breath and then another. He will be brave for Shane. He will do anything for him.

“Shane, My love.

I am sure you will be able to read this in two weeks. You are very smart and competitive and will not be able to stand not being perfect at everything, even a new language. I love this about you, just like I love everything about you,”

He pauses for a breath. This was such a bad idea. The letter was supposed to allow him a way to say all these things without seeing how the words hit on Shane’s face. It was supposed to be like when he called from Moscow, cowardly but honest.

“I love your freckles and the way you look after waking up in the morning. I love the sound of your voice on the phone after a long day, though it is better in person. I love how you trust me with your heart, I promise to never drop it.

I am so grateful for your love and faith in me. There were days last year where I didn’t know where to turn, and then there was always you, picking up the phone. Even when I was across the world you took care of me. I do not know what I did to be worthy of your love but I will try to be a person deserving of it every day.“

Ilya stops. This was already too much. It was stupid and now Shane was sniffling on his lap. If he looks up he’s afraid he’ll see tears streaming down his freckled stained cheeks and then he’ll be crying too.

He doesn’t want to cry, not here in Shane’s childhood bedroom when they are celebrating their first Christmas together, so he leaves out the next line.

One day I wish to be your husband. I would marry you today if I could.

It’s not a lie if it’s on the page for Shane to find. Just a small omission. One Ilya promises he will make known completely when they are living in the same country. Now it feels like tempting fate to openly, vocally want something so badly when every part of their future depends on the universe allowing a calculated set of circumstances fall into place.

“I no longer know who I am without you. I hope I never find out.
My heart is forever in your hands. “

He picks Shane’s hand up and runs his fingers over his signature; an IR inside of a misshapen heart.

When he finally looks up Shane’s eyes are puffy. His face is soaked in tears. The sight is like being hit by a train. He never wants to be the reason Shane cries, and now he’s not even sure these are happy tears.

“What the fuck?” Shane chokes out, taking the paper back from Ilya.

It’s not the reaction he was hoping for. He flashes back to the summer at the Cottage, the night he told Shane he loved him, and the moment he was sure he ruined everything. His feelings have always been too much, too big, they scare other people. This was so stupid. Maybe it wouldn’t have upset Shane so much if he’d read it on his own in six months, maybe a year. Maybe by then Ilya would have written a dozen letters and Shane would come to love the puzzle and the tradition of understanding his mind.

But he can never say no to Shane and now he’s crying in his lap.

“I am sorry. It was too-” He starts, ready to take back everything if Shane just stops crying, but then he throws a hand over Ilya’s mouth and lets out a wet laugh.

“My heart is in your hands, too. I trust you never to drop it. Fuck. I love you so much.”
Shane holds him until there is the sound of wheels on snow outside, and then the light thunk of the door. His parent’s’ voices drift through the house and at some point they’ll have to go back downstairs, have dinner. But they stay warped up in each other, pressed so tight that Ilya can hear the beating of Shane’s heart when he says “you owe me a letter every month we’re apart. Every one. I’ll learn to read them. I promise. When I see you in 52 days you better not come empty handed.”

Chapter End Notes

I had a million little ideas about what a first christmas with Ilya and the Hollanders would look like. This is a little softer than I had initially imagined, but hopefully it still rings true to character.

Chapter 6: January

Chapter Notes

2018 kicks off like a shit show. Shane fell asleep before the clock hit midnight on New Years Eve and missed a face time from Ilya who played a late game in Denver. Then, Shane had an early game on New Year's Day, and that paired with Ilya’s flight home meant that they went two whole days without being able to connect with anything more than text messages. They were like ships in the night, and it wasn’t so much that this was a new sensation, but that after their quiet Christmas the unfairness of their distance felt heavier.

They played 4 games of 20 questions. Shane lost 3 of them. Ilya didn’t even gloat.

At least the Metros are playing well. It helps. When Shane is on the ice the part of his brain that is dedicated to Ilya is on the back burner. He’s never far from the forefront, but it’s not the same. During practice he pushes himself to go just a bit faster, make his shots that much neater. Hockey is a part of him on a fundamental level. He doesn’t remember a time when he wasn’t on skates chasing after pucks. Sometimes when he’s in the right flow of practices and games he can almost pretend nothing else matters. If he’s too exhausted, too focused on game tape, he can almost forget there is anything else in his life.

Almost. Because he hasn’t known hockey without Ilya Rozanov since before he was drafted. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that a part of every practice drill, every goal, every moment on MHL ice was motivated by wanting to be just as good as, no better, than him.

Shane has never been good at flirting, but impressing Ilya at center ice always seems to do the trick.

It’s ridiculous, and years ago he would never admit to himself that any part of his motivation came from his media manufactured rivalry. Now it’s a part of his life. He loves hockey, he loves Ilya, he loves playing hockey against Ilya. Unfortunately, that won’t happen again until February, so right now he puts all of his focus on the hockey portion and waits for the little moments where he and Ilya can connect.

He has to keep the focus there or he’ll come completely undone. There isn’t time during the height of the season for him to spiral about the implications of wanting to come out to his team, or let slip to Hayden that Lily is maybe a man, and maybe his arch rival.

There isn’t space in his head to dream of what playing hockey and loving Ilya out in the open could look like.

It helps that the hockey portion of his life does include watching game after game. Sure, that means Shane is happy to put on the Raiders whenever they play. Seeing Ilya on his screen is always a bonus. If Hayden and JJ are over he can pretend he’s just taking mental notes for future match ups. It used to be that it was hard for Shane to hide his excitement when Ilya played well. There was no reason for him to have any allegiance to another team, let alone a division rival.

But that hasn’t been a problem this month. Boston is playing terribly.

By the second week in January they are back to surviving on nightly FaceTimes. Ilya’s relaxed on his bed, hair still damp from a post game shower as he stares at Shane through the screen he has propped up on his bathroom mirror.

“What the hell happened tonight?” Shane asks as he dries his face. The Metros won a particularly easy game, and the Raiders played Buffalo. They couldn’t beat fucking Buffalo. The clips Shane saw while he waited for Ilya to call looked atrocious.

“I do not want to talk about it.”

But Shane couldn’t understand Boston’s losing streak, not when Ilya was putting up career high numbers every night. He wouldn’t allow that in Montreal. Sure, not everything depended exclusively on him but he couldn’t imagine his team letting him down like that. Instead for Ilya It was like 2018 hit and the rest of Boston turned into a pumpkin.

“Is something going on in the locker room? Come on, you have to be upset.” Shane would be furious. He picks up the last of the small glass bottles and puts a dollop of moisturizer on his hand and then spreads it evenly over his cheeks.

“I am more than upset. This is my last chance at the cup and these fuckers are throwing it away,” Ilya adjusts one of the pillows surrounding him, squeezing it until it’s practically flat and then stuffing it behind him.

“It’s not your last chance. Come on.”

“Really, Hollander? Next year you want me to play for a team that has not made playoffs since we’ve been in the league.”

Shane pauses. He knows Ilya cares about winning, it’s basically the base of his public persona, but he’s never seemed concerned about signing with an Ottawa before. Hell, he considered Vancouver for a minute. It’s not Shane’s fault that the only good Canadian teams are already close to their salary cap.

Fine, it might be his fault that Ottawa's proximity to Montreal has made this decision for both of them, but Ilya is talented and this time next year they won’t be counting down whole months until they can see each other. They both want that.

“I’m sure you’ll turn them around in like ten games. Tops.” It’s all he can say. It’s not like he’s going to lie and pretend Ottawa is any good.

He replaces the cap on the moisturizer and then puts the bottle back on its designated shelf in the cabinet. On the screen Ilya’s lips are pressed into a thin line.

“Like I am doing right now in Boston with my many penalties and no goals?” Ilya asks as Shane pads to bed. This conversation would be a million times easier in person. Everything about Ilya right now feels combative and it’s not like Shane can blame him. If Montreal had decided to tank for no reason whatsoever he would be apoplectic. There would be no reasoning with him, no rest.

And Ilya looks exhausted through the screen, even with his sexy, damp slicked back curls.

“I didn’t say the losing streak was your fault. Your team is just a mess. Yeah, you took a few unnecessary penalties but you can’t be everywhere at once.” He settles into bed and throws on his reading glasses. They bring out the sharpness in Ilya’s features and usually have the added benefit of making him smile. Except now he just looks pissed off in the way Shane remembers from league events in their early years back when his father was always in his ear telling him he wasn’t enough. “Maybe they need a new pep talk or something? I don’t know what your locker room is like.”

“So I do not motivate enough? Does that make me bad captain? Not everyone can be perfect Shane Hollander.”

“Hey.” That isn’t fair, he absolutely was not calling Ilya a bad captain. He is regularly jealous of the way he effortlessly motivates his team. He remembers birthdays and anniversaries and always sends gifts for special occasions. None of those things come easy to Shane. He doesn’t build a community, Ilya does. He’s more confused right now because that tight knit community seems to still be mentally on a holiday break and Ilya looks like he’s going to set fire to his pillows. “It’s just a few games. I’m sure the next game will be better. It’s not like you’re out of the playoff race. I’m sure if you put in a little extra effort next game you’ll all get a win.”

“I am not putting in enough effort?” Ilya’s attention is back on Shane through the small phone screen, his face blank. “And what is the longest losing streak you have had this season? We both know it is 2 games.”

Shane tries to mask a smile. He’s worked hard for their record, but Ilya doesn’t need to hear that right now.

“And the standings are still close. This isn’t the end of the world.”

“No it is not, but you would probably tie me to train tracks if it meant Metros never lose,” Ilya spits out and Shane can’t help but flinch. “Maybe we should talk about something else. I am not very fun right now.”

“That is ridiculous.” He wouldn’t sacrifice Ilya for his team. He’d probably sacrifice a lot of other things, but not him. “What’s gotten into you tonight.”

“It is not so ridiculous. It is why I am coming to Ottawa and never winning again, yes?” Ilya looks down as he toys with the strings of his joggers.

“I thought you wanted a Canadian passport?” Shane thought Ilya wanted him, too. Now he won’t even look up at the fucking screen. He doesn’t understand how what was supposed to be a before bed video call has turned into Ilya spiraling about the future of his career.

Ilya grumbles something in Russian and takes another pillow and gives it an aggressive fluff before tossing it into the chaotic pile behind him.

“Do we need to make a new plan? Because this is the first time you’ve mentioned having cold feet. I don’t know if I can go another year like this.” This was always the part Shane hated most before they got together. Ilya is a master at twisting words and half answering questions. His ability to avoid a serious conversation is gold metal worthy.

“I do not know what this means, cold feet? Is always cold here. Is Boston.”

“Second thoughts,” Shane grits out. Again, this would be easier in person. Hell, it would be easier if Ilya would look at him for more than two seconds.

“I did not say I had second thoughts, I said I wanted to win the cup. How is this the same thing? Did you hit your head?”

At this moment Shane cannot understand how those two things are different. Ottawa will not be a championship contender next year no matter what Ilya does. Maybe in a couple years, surely before the end of his career, but they need more talent, more discipline. They’ll need him to work hard and put up with a few really shitty years before they look anything like Boston.

They’ve talked about this plan weekly since they were at the cottage over the summer and not once has Ilya mentioned any concerns about being on a losing team. Somehow that upsets Shane more than anything. Sure, he would have a difficult time being asked to move teams for Ilya. He’d struggle immensely with the idea of having to rebuild another team from scratch, but he thinks he’d do it, if their situations were reversed. He loves Ilya, and he loves hockey. If he wasn’t sure he would have at least brought these concerns up before they were six months into planning their future.

“Well over here it sounds like you are regretting even thinking about Ottawa because the Raiders decided not to win a single game this month. It’s not my fault none of you decided to show up.” Shane regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. The Raiders have only lost five games and surely Ilya actually isn’t reconsidering their plan, right? It was only a few weeks ago that he was fast asleep on his lap watching Christmas movies with Shane’s parents.

Ilya leans away from the call like he’s been struck.

Before Shane can even think of forming an apology Ilya claims he is tired and needs to sleep. The words hit Shane in a way he doesn’t expect. Visions of countless dark hotel rooms and Ilya pushing him away immediately fill his head as the call ends.

The next morning Shane stares at his phone for five minutes, willing a good morning text to appear.

It doesn’t come before he has to leave for practice, and then his phone is painfully silent the rest of the afternoon.

By dinner he feels sick. This is the longest he’s gone without any contact from Ilya since they became official and it causes anxiety to ripple through his body in waves.

Shane
I miss you. I’ll be up after my game if you want to talk.

The Metros win. Shane barely remembers his one goal and sneaks out before he can be asked to do any media. Instead he rushes home only to pace around his apartment staring at his phone. By 1 am he has to admit to himself that Ilya is not going to call.

He doesn’t sleep. The next day he barely eats. He spends all of his free time at the rink skating, training, and pushing his team to do the same. If he’s on the ice everything has to be okay. The ice is safe. He can forget his phone is in his locker when he’s on the ice. He doesn’t need to check every 90 seconds if he has a message from his boyfriend, only to be disappointed yet again.

But he can’t be on the ice forever. There are three days before Shane has to board a flight for his next game, and there is only one mandatory practice before then. Sure, he can swipe into the practice facility whenever, but even he knows that this much time skating won’t fix the thing that is actually wrong.

That night he calls his mom while he watches the Raiders secure a messy overtime win.
He can see how hard Ilya is trying. He’s always been the only player he’s ever encountered that can match him play to play.

She listens quietly while he recounts their entire conversation in between curses and cheers. He tries to not take offense when she sighs dramatically through the entire summary and Shane is once again left wondering exactly where he went wrong and why everyone else can see it but him.

“Is this your first fight?”

 

He wanted to say no because they spent years arguing over everything. Every time they were together they made battles out of nothing. Honestly, Shane loves it. He wants to always be in competition with Ilya. He pushes him in all the best ways. But this is different. They’ve said a lot of competitive crap when talking hockey in the past but he’s never seen Ilya look so hurt.

“I think so. It could be nothing. I just won’t see him until the end of February and fixing this over a video call feels shitty.” Actually, it feels impossible. “That is if he wants to fix it. Maybe this was too much, too soon.”

“Shane, it has been eight years. He was at our house two weeks ago. I do not think he wants to break up with you.”

“He won’t talk to me. He hasn’t done this in forever,” It’s nice to actually be able to talk to his mom about Ilya. He spent so long hiding such an essential piece of himself from her, hiding how big his heart actually is. Last summer he couldn’t let himself hope he would have this kind of support and now he’s pacing his living room about to hyperventilate while his mother calms him down. “I’m scared.”

“Do you think he might be scared too?”

“Ilya?” He asks with a laugh that dies in his throat. His Ilya, the man who said I love you first and then looked like he might die when it took Shane seconds to say it back is absolutely spiraling. “He’s probably terrified.”

“I wish you could see the way he looks at you.”

Shane does see it. It’s the way Ilya’s eyes crinkle during every FaceTime like he’s trying to see him as clearly as possible, or the way when they’re together he no longer guards his expressions. He smiles so freely now when they are in their own private bubble. His eyes are always bright and so full of love Shane has no idea how he didn’t notice it before last year.
He hopes Ilya sees the same thing when Shane looks at him. He has never felt this way about anyone else. He wouldn’t want to. These six months have been the best agony, knowing his feelings are reciprocated but being so far from him.

“I need to see him.”

After he hangs up with his mom he texts his coach that he won’t be at their next scheduled practice. It’s the first time he’s missed a mandatory team event for anything other than an injury in his entire career. When he types out the words family emergency he realizes he has always judged his teammates too harshly when they took time away for their personal lives.

Shane spends the next hour looking at flights before chickening out. He doesn’t want to accidentally get caught flying into Boston and have to explain away what he was doing there. Instead he packs an overnight bag and counts down the hours until he can make the five hour drive to Ilya’s townhouse.

The morning is torture. Shane doesn’t want t6+o distract Ilya before a game. It would fly in the face of everything he wanted to say if he showed up only to throw Ilya out of his routine. So Shane cleans his kitchen, and then the bathroom. He takes a second shower and organizes his sock drawer until it is finally noon and then starts the slow, traffic-filled drive across the border and through New England.

The entire experience is terrible. He’s sure this is why neither of them have bothered the seemingly manageable drive before. It’s stop and go and with the heaps of snow piled on the side of the road. It’s depressing and infuriating to know that so little distance but so many people who clearly do not know how to drive separate him from Ilya.

It turns out that with traffic Shane shouldn’t have worried about arriving too early to interfere with Ilya’s pre game routine. It’s well past six when he uses his key, the one he keeps on the ring next to his own apartment key, to let himself into Ilya’s townhouse. He’s never had much reason to be in the space alone before and it strikes him that it’s all hard edges and a little cold.

In Shane’s mind Ilya’s the comfort of the cottage, large fluffy blankets, and overstuffed furniture. He’s not just a cocksure showboat, and not nearly as stoic as he wants the world to believe. Now after years of orbiting each other Shane recognizes the townhouse for what it is, a mask. The couch that is terrible for napping, the sleek lamps, the black and white kitchen, all of it represent the person Ilya likes to show the rest of the world. None of it is who he allows himself to be in front of Shane.

He appreciates the tiny touches of his Ilya that he sees as he walks through the living room and into the bedroom. Shane’s sweatshirt is folded haphazardly on the bed and the bracelet he gave him for Christmas is on his nightstand on top of a copy of the latest New Yorker. He knows he picks up each issue to have an excuse to text his dad.

He sets his bag down at the foot of the bed and then wanders over to the kitchen. He didn’t stop for food and was too anxious to eat much before he left Montreal. Before he can get to the fridge he stops. There’s a piece of paper on the kitchen island. Upon examination it’s covered in line after line of Ilya’s signature Russian script. Shane would know that writing anywhere, even if he can only make out his name and the word love scattered across the page.

Maybe he didn’t need to worry. Hell, maybe he shouldn’t be here. Over the last six months there have been plenty of times Ilya has needed some coaxing to actually talk about his feelings. But then again in all that time they have never gone more than 12 hours without checking in. Now it’s been two days and that’s unacceptable.

Shane refuses to normalize avoidance over openness. Not anymore. He lived off of pieces of Ilya for years, always ready to accept scraps to get him through until the next time they would see each other. That isn’t the future he wants. He hopes it isn’t the one Ilya wants either.

He makes himself a smoothie out of the scraggly produce abandoned in the fridge and a heaping scoop of his favorite protein powder that has a permanent home on Ilya’s counter and then forces himself back into the living room. If he stays in the kitchen much longer he’ll just stare at the letter and it’s not like his new dictionary made it into his overnight bag. Plus, the Raiders game is about to start.

Boston wins 3 to 1 in a decisive victory. Like always, Ilya is everywhere, only tonight the rest of his team shows up. He should be happy, but in the post game media Ilya is subdued. Not so much that the reporter seems to notice, but Shane does. There’s no cocky smirk, no winking. It’s almost like he’s bracing for something and it breaks Shane’s heart the entire time he is on the screen.

That is not his boyfriend. Winning the last two games didn’t fix whatever was wrong.

Shane’s phone is in his hands before he can think. He doesn’t have a plan for how to greet Ilya when he gets home, at least not outside of apologizing and demanding they have a real conversation. Hopefully a conversation that ends in some much needed sex, because really it’s been far too long, but the conversation is the important part.

Shane
Can we talk tonight?

So what if he doesn’t say that their talk could be in person. There’s no way Ilya can keep ignoring him. He is clearly still upset. But then Shane’s phone lights up and his world tilts.

Ilya
I promised Marleau and some of the guys drinks if they actually played tonight. Maybe tomorrow if I am awake before you have practice.

He hasn’t heard from him in two days. Shane had worried the silence was intentional before, but the confirmation that Ilya was putting off talking to him is a punch to the gut. He just drove hours through Boston traffic for a chance to be in the same room and figure things out.

He thought once he got here that those little signs, the bracelet lovingly left on the nightstand, his hoodie left out as a sleep shirt, and that stupid letter meant that they would be fine. Maybe uncomfortable for a little bit as they sorted out their shit, but fine.

But there is a reality where that letter isn’t a love note and that the little signs of Shane in this place are just left over from last month. There’s a chance that he drove all day just to hear Ilya say “No Hollander, I do not want to see you anymore. This is too much.” After six months of finally getting to love him, spending fucking Christmas with him, Shane knows this will kill him.

He has no words, but he can’t wait for Ilya to get home from the bar. He can’t. So he takes a picture of his duffle at the foot of Ilya’s bed and hits send. It’s less incriminating than a selfie if someone is looking over his shoulder. Plus then Ilya can’t see how his eyes are already brimming with tears.

He doesn’t respond. 20 minutes later Shane is sure he won’t come home tonight at all. He really must be done with Shane. He sinks to the floor next to Ilya’s bed and tries to breathe. In for 4. Hold. Out for 4. It doesn’t help. Every impulsive thing he has done in his life has been for Ilya, and this might be the worst.

He should have known better. Of course he wouldn’t be enough, not for someone like Ilya. He’s boring Shane Hollander. He talked his boyfriend into moving to equally boring Ottawa. For someone like Ilya this must be torture. No clubs, no crazy parties, just FaceTime calls, a dumb guessing game, and seeing each other maybe once a month.

Finally his heart stops racing just enough for Shane to decide he can’t do this, it was stupid to think being here in Ilya’s townhouse would be a good idea. Maybe they can talk in a few days when they’ve both calmed down. Then everything might make sense and Shane won’t feel like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He picks up his bag and turns off the bedroom light, then the kitchen. He’s halfway through the living room, tidying up the little pieces of evidence of his presence when the front door slams open and rushed footsteps sound on the hardwood.

Ilya appears before him half out of breath, his Raiders sweatshirt rumpled and post game hair an absolute mess of curls. He looks crazed as his gaze travels over Shane.

“You will have a long commute to practice tomorrow,” Ilya says, his accent heavy around the words.

“I told coach I had a family emergency.” The admission makes his cheeks heat and Shane adjusts the strap of his overnight bag, letting it cut into his shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re a liar now?”

“It wasn’t a lie.”

Maybe this isn’t an emergency to Ilya but at no point did Shane think he was lying to his coach. He’s had teammates take personal time for so much less than this. And honestly, this conversation right now would have taken them three calls and at least one mental breakdown.

Ilya looks at him like he’s some sort of ghost. Shane takes a step towards him and waits for him to react. In the past he would look away or leave the room entirely, but all he does is cross his arms over his chest.

“You did not have to come all this way. I am sure you had better things to do,” Ilya sniffles, It’s like Shane’s presence has finally hit him and his eyes glaze with moisture. Shane inches towards him and he flinches like a cornered animal.

“Do you not want me here?” He could reach out and touch him from here, but Ilya looks so scared, like one wrong move and he’ll bolt right back out the door. Hell, he left his shoes on. Shane isn’t sure he’s seen that happen in either of their homes in months.

“I want you here all the time. I think that’s the problem, no?” Ilya shrugs, it’s so earnest. A gesture he saves just for Shane.

He drops his bag and closes the small distance between them. Ilya engulfs him in an all encompassing hug, his breath uneven as he squeezes him tight.

“Talk to me,” Shane murmurs against his ear. His hands rub at the hard muscles of his back. Ilya rocks them both in the middle of the living room as Shane continues, “I’m sorry for acting like you’re not giving up something major by moving to Ottawa but I thought we were on the same page. If that’s not true anymore I need to know. We can come up with something else, something completely different if we need to. I mean, that’s if you still want to do this with me.”

“What do you mean this, do what with you, Hollander.” Ilya pulls back and studies him. His hazel eyes are huge as they rack over him and Shane feels his skin prickle and how exposed he is in this moment. He looks away, squeezing his eyes shut.

He means life. Forever. The big yard for the dogs. Having kids and growing old together. All the things Shane never let himself believe he could have, not with anyone, but especially not with Ilya. Not until recently.

It’s cruel to have let himself want that picture perfect life. He should have known better and protected his heart. Ilya puts his hand under his chin and turns him to face him.

“I am moving to Ottawa in July, yes? I have my agent listening for all trade rumors that could stand in my way. It would be nice if they were a good team, but you are right, I can make them good with time. I can be a better captain there than I am now, a better player. I will try harder.”

Relief washes over Shane hot and quick. He pulls Ilya back to him, and then maneuvers them both to the couch, forcing Ilya down and then crawling onto his lap. It’s his favorite place to have conversations. Ilya needs touch, Shane needs eye contact. When things get to be too much for either of them they can collapse into each other and just be.

“You’re not a bad captain.” Shane says as he brushes his fingers through Ilya’s hair. Up close it’s messier than he realized and he gently detangles pieces by piece from his perch on his lap.

“You thought so three nights ago. Was what you were saying, right? That we are losing because I don’t motivate my team? My father used to say something about fish rotting from head. I am the fish head.” Ilya Rozanov would tell the world Russians do not pout, but his lips push forward just enough to qualify as one.

“Fuck no, that’s not what I meant. Is that why you were so mad the other night?” Shane keeps his hands in Ilya’s hair. He visibly relaxes under his touch and all Shane wants is for all of Ilya’s hard edges to soften into his cocky but sweet man he fell in love with.

“I was not sure you would still want me without the rivalry, if I am not as good as you and my team can’t compete,” Ilya says.

“Ilya.” Shane feels the air has been knocked from his lungs. How could he think that? “You’re beating me in the scoring race. You’re having a great season. It’s been a few games.”

“But next season it won’t be a few games, and maybe then I am the boring one.” It’s the first time Ilya has said the word boring without it sounding loving. Shane grabs one of his hands and brings it to his mouth, placing a soft kiss against it.

“That will never happen, and I will always love facing off against you, even when we’re both eighty and need walkers on the ice.”

“You really told your coach this was a family emergency?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve sort of been my person for my entire adult life. You ignoring me for two days felt like an emergency.” Shane waits for the admission to feel embarrassing. This time last year he would have rather died than admit Ilya had that much power over him. Instead it’s freeing to be so honest

“We have gone more than two days without talking, Hollander.” Ilya bumps his nose against Shane before nipping at his bottom lip. “I was always going to call you tonight. I wasn’t going to stay at the bar. We would have talked even if you weren’t here..”

“We haven’t gone more than two days without talking since July,” Shane says, giving into a kiss. “And I hope never again. I think we need a new rule.”

“I do not need a rule to talk to you, Shane.” Ilya’s hands snake up his back, pulling him closer. “I will be better. I also cannot do this for another season. I miss you every single day. I did not like that you thought I was not sure. Do you really think you are the only one with a countdown?”

Ilya reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone and taps to an app that displays a list of countdowns, the last one months out that just reads home in all capital letters.

If Shane didn’t know any better he would say he was looking at his own countdowns. He always knew Ilya was aware of how much time there was between when they’d be able to see each other but he didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one counting each absence down to the minute.

“So we don’t need a new plan?”

Ilya shakes his head. He throws his phone on the couch, the countdown to Home still displaying in months on the screen.

“I would very much like to do all of this,” Ilya waves hands around like he’s signaling everything, all the things Shane wants, “with you, even if that means I do not win another Stanley Cup until I am old like Hunter.”

“But it would be nice if you could win with Boston this year.” Shane can’t believe the words as they come out of his mouth. He’s trying to bring another championship to the Metros, but if he can’t do that the only other person he wants to see at the top is Ilya.

“Would be nice, but this annoying team in Montreal will not stop winning and I had to bribe my defense to play well tonight. Is probably not sustainable strategy. I am not that rich.” Ilya laughs, it’s soft and still a bit unsure. It breaks something wide open in Shane’s chest.

“Well, the Raiders do have a pretty great captain. I think they’re turning things around.”

“You were here early enough to watch my game? We looked okay tonight?” Ilya asks, the last of the tension leaving his body as Shane nods.

Shane will never get over the fact that this man, number one public menace and absolute sweetheart Ilya Rozanov, is his.

They stay on the couch talking about Ilya’s game in more detail than they usually allow themselves. They’re competitors. There is an unspoken rule between them about trade secrets, but it’s thrown to the side tonight while Shane walks through every good thing he noticed, and then some of the bad that he would normally keep stored away for the next time the Metros play the Raiders next month.

---

The next morning Shane wakes up in a mess of rumbled sheets. Ilya’s arm is slung firmly over his waist. They’d moved seamlessly from the couch to the bedroom when wandering hands were not enough. Ilya praised him, worshiped him, and took him apart with expert touches. Then in the middle of the night they found their way to each other again. There was so much time to make up for, plus the fact that they had a real honest to god serious conversation before having sex last night was a minor miracle.

Shane stretches and Ilya groans from next to him. His arm flexes, and then he grabs at Shane’s chest, pulling him closer.

“Go back to sleep,” Shane whispers, leaning over to kiss Ilya’s forehead.

“No. I will not waste this time with you,” Ilya mumbles, then maneuvers himself onto his back and Shane onto his chest. “When I got your text I thought I was dreaming. We had so many days. I didn’t even buy your stupid rabbit food.”

“I’ll survive with your peanut butter and bagels for a morning.” He’s not even sure he’ll regret it, not when he has an entire unplanned day with his Ilya. “We can get carry out later.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” Ilya tickles at his side. Shane squirms, smacking at his chest to get away from the attack. He never thought he’d have days where he woke up giggling and so incandescently happy.

Later, after they rumble the sheets a third time and spend enough time in the shower together that the water runs cold, Ilya makes coffee and Shane toasts up 2 everything bagels. He loves these domestic moments. It doesn’t matter that they’re few and far between.

Everything feels easier in the light of morning. The heaviness Shane felt for the last several days fell away the second he was back in Ilya’s arms. As nice as it was to spend Christmas with his parents, what they had both really needed was this. Instead of beating himself up at practice Shane plays video games with Ilya until he is pleasantly tired, and then takes a nap curled up with him on the couch. There is never a moment where they are not touching, talking, or competing over something minor.

It’s their normal, and Shane soaks it all up like a sponge so he can survive the next month until they can be together again.

The next morning Ilya sends him off with a Raiders thermos full of hot coffee and another one of his sweatshirts. At some point he'll have more of Ilya’s clothes than his own.

At the door Ilya stops him with a deep kiss, the kind they can never have at airports or getting dropped off by team hotels.

“We are okay?” Ilya asks. Shane can hear the anxiety creep back into his voice. He feels it too. Walking away from each other every month is getting harder and harder.

“Of course. I’m glad we talked.”

“Just talked?”

“The other stuff has never been a problem for us.”

Ilya smirks but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s unfair that he’s still in a pair of low slung sweatpants and nothing else. Shane doesn’t want to leave. Once he steps out the door he has a long drive, and then a flight in the morning. The real world hits as soon as he takes the first step off Ilya’s porch.

“But it is okay that you missed practice? You are not upset?” Ilya asks for the fifth time. It’s out of character, but then again, so is Shane Hollander skipping practice and eating bagels for breakfast.

“The only thing I’m upset about now is the 35 days until All Star weekend.” It’s the truth. They’ve spent a lot of time talking since the night Shane showed up. Everything he was worried about faded away with every small confession Ilya made. His fears about not being enough for Shane if he was no longer on a winning team were small compared to the anxiety he had about fitting in with a new locker room. The Raiders have been a surrogate family for him since he was 18 and Shane could see the idea of leaving everything he’s ever known here in America isn’t something he’s taking lightly.

It also isn’t something he’s resisting. They looked at house listing near the Centaurs practice facility for hours last night. Shane wanted to tease him for how excited he was by a simple craftsman with enough room for them and maybe some kids down the line, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when all he could see when he looked at pictures of the house was the two of them ten years down the line with dogs and babies filling up the surprisingly reasonable number of rooms.

“We will get to play on same team again I promise to be good at hockey by then.”

“Stop. You’re good now and you know it,” Shane leans in for another kiss. 35 days. This has to last him 35 days. “I am sorry if you ever thought I felt different.”

“Can you say we are okay one more time before you leave. I think I need, what’s the word, comfort repeat?”

Shane stares back at Ilya, blinking. He’s so used to being the one who needs comfort. But Ilya also thinks he is brave. He asked him to the cottage, he was honest about his feelings last year in Tampa, and two days ago he drove from Montreal to Boston to make sure they were okay.

“Reassurance?”

“Da. I think I would like that.”

“We’re okay. We’re more than okay. I love you so fucking much.” He will be brave for Ilya until he believes it himself. Hell, he’ll reassure him forever if he needs to. “I’ll see you at All Star weekend. 35 days.”

Shane’s drive home is dreary and full of traffic. The roads in New England in January are not always the best and by the time he’s back at his apartment he’s ready to collapse with a headache. The first thing he does after walking in the door is shoot off a text to Ilya before making himself a smoothie and crawling into bed.

Shane
I’m home.
We’re okay.
I love you.

Ilya
Ya tebya lyublyu

---

“Where the hell were you yesterday?” Hayden asks from the window seat next to Shane on the team plane. He knows he looks like shit. After having two nights where he rested comfortably in Ilya’s arm last night he tossed and turned, alone in his bed. Around 2am he gave up trying to sleep and went to unpack his overnight bag.

Shane thought it would give him a head start in the morning when he needed to be at the arena for the team bus at 8 am. Instead he found a neatly folded piece of paper with his name written in Ilya’s messy handwriting across the front. It was the letter he found on the counter his first night in Boston. He spent the next two hours trying to understand any part of it before falling asleep with the piece of paper on the pillow next to him.

“Family emergency.” He should be kinder to Hayden. He’s his best friend. Shane hadn’t even bothered to text him before he missed practice. He didn’t think about him at all.

“Oh shit. Your parents okay?” JJ asks from across the aisle.

He is so tired of lying. The only thing this past week has done is make him even more sure that he needs his friends to know the truth about him. Hayden wouldn’t have thought twice before taking a day off practice if things were rocky with Jackie. But he’s Shane Hollander, hockey’s golden robot, and he is so fucking tired of lying about everything.

“Yeah. It…It wasn’t them,” He says before he can think better of it.

Hayden and JJ share a look over him like he isn’t there. His life would be easier if they would just sit together. Then he could take out the workbook Ilya gave him for Christmas and his most recent letter and spend the next 4 hours practicing Russian so that one day when they get married he can surprise Ilya by saying his vows in his native tongue.

“ Lily?” Hayden asks. JJ stares at them both, his eyes wide.

Yeah. He’s absolutely over this. Shane nods, then ducks down and takes out his phone while the flight crew does their required safety demonstration.

Shane
About to take off. We’re still okay.

Ilya
Have a safe flight moy malina

Shane
You’re going to make me guess that one, aren’t you

Ilya
Yes but you have whole flight to think of questions.

“You sure you’re not joining us in the coupled up club?” JJ asks, trying to see his screen from across the aisle.

Shane shakes his head. He isn’t sure of much anymore. He loves Ilya, and he loves hockey. Those things are often in conflict. He pockets his phone as he relaxes back into his seat.

“How was practice? Tell me you ran zone entry drills. Phoenix is going to kill us if we’re as sloppy as we were last week,” He says, then listens as Hayden and JJ fall into an easily lull of game talk that lasts most of the flight.

Later at the hotel Hayden relaxes on his bed while Shane unpacks. It’s not much, he hangs up his game day suit and pulls out his toiletries and sets them in the bathroom.

“You can tell me more about her if you want. Like, whatever is happening with you and this girl I’ll listen. No judgement. You’re my best friend, man. You were there the night I met my wife,” Hayden says as Shane sorts through his favorite game day socks, “I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing to tell. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s not fine. He won’t see Ilya for another 34 days. He has five more months of countdowns on his phone. On top of everything he’s lost another game of twenty questions. Ilya’s now up five whole games. He collapses onto his own bed and busies himself with his phone to avoid looking over at Hayden.

Shane
You have to stop calling me produce.

Ilya
Raspberries are very good. Cute fruit. Nice in pie.
Shane
But they are not a term of endearment.

“You don’t skip practice, Shane. I’m serious. Whenever you’re ready to talk about Lily I’m here. ”

Ilya
Maybe one more reassurance, so I play well tonight?

Shane
I love you.
You’re good at hockey.
We are good.

Shane stares down at his phone, waiting for Ilya to respond by calling him some other ridiculous thing. He almost wants to cry.

“One day I’ll tell you everything. I promise, Hayd.” He just hopes that when that day comes he doesn’t lose his best friend.

Chapter End Notes

A few things:

One of my goals is to make this as canon compliant as possible. With that being said here are some things that I think work with this chapter that may feel out of context/premature.

1.There is no way I believe the first fight these two loveable idiots have about their relationship to hockey and each other is during TLG. I do believe they would have had a conversation similar to this and Shane would have considered the matter settled.

2. HR the show and HR the book disagree about when Shane's "performance diet" starts. I have used the book's timeline, and thus a single bagel, while not a normal breakfast choice, would not cause a full on breakdown.

Lastly, I appreciate all of your comments and kudus. It has been a long time since I have written something and gotten regular feedback. It has helped me fall back in love with a craft that has always been a part of my heart.

Chapter 7: February

Chapter Notes

Ilya knows that not everyone gets excited for All Stars weekend. Half of his team, mainly the married, happily coupled half would rather have the week off to go to Cabo or St Lucia. Most of those teammates couldn’t dream of being important enough to be selected for the All Stars Team anyway. The ones who could, Marleau in particular, have no idea why Ilya is so damn excited about four days in Dallas.

The weekend comes with extra meetings and so much media it would make the average players head spin. Ilya thrives at the idea of more publicity, more hockey, and of course, more Shane.

“Hollander is going to lose his mind when the league makes their team announcements tomorrow,” Cliff says from his locker next to Ilya.

He isn’t wrong, not entirely. Shane is going to absolutely flip out when Ilya calls him in approximately twenty minutes.

“What, you do not think he will be excited to be alternate captain this year?”

He’ll be excited, eventually, at first he’ll be furious. Ilya can’t wait to watch Shane turn beat red and then short circuit over how he, the Captain of the Boston Raiders, a team that famously flopped for half of January, will now be the one in charge of the locker room next weekend.

“When somehow you snagged the C for all of the Eastern Conference? No. I think he and Scott Hunter are going to put out a hit on you.” Marleau throws the last of his gear in his duffle and looks back at Ilya with a shake of his head.

“I thought you said All Stars was stupid, no?” Ilya teases, bunching up an undershirt and throwing it in his own bag.

“God, you’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

“Please, I am most gracious player. Very respectful,” Ilya says as he zips up his own bag and grabs his phone. Marleau blinks back at him, his eyebrows raise, and then he lets out a bark of a laugh. Ilya winks before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

“You just called Dallas Kent a lazy chicken and then clucked at him for an entire game!” Marleau calls after him just before the door to the locker room shuts in his face.

He can’t hide his smile the whole way home. Sure, captaining a team of the best players for what is essentially a sponsored beer league game isn’t exactly a real challenge, but it does mean that the coaching staff and the league have looked at his performance this year and have been impressed with him.

It’s something he’s had a hard time recognizing in himself of late. If his father were still alive he might even have called him and not insulted his work ethic for once. He would never offer congratulations. No honor in the MHL was ever enough to make up for the fact that he didn’t want to use his talents to play for Russia.

But Shane doesn’t let him listen to the voice inside his head that says he is not doing enough. Neither does Yuna, who has taken to texting him after every game with notes. Ilya hadn’t known what to make of the messages at first. The first time she called his slapshot weak he thought he was going to evaporate on spot. But Yuna Hollander is not his father, and she has far more good to say about his game than bad. After tonight’s game he only had a single message telling him he played well and then questions about a sponsorship deal he needs to pitch to his agent.

When he gets home he throws his bag on the couch and calls Shane immediately. It’s all he’s wanted to do since he got off the phone with Coach Tomlin earlier. Usually he’d wait until he’d changed and climbed into bed, that way they could seamlessly talk until one of them, usually Shane, fell asleep. Today he paces the kitchen listening to the FaceTime ring.

When Shane’s glasses-covered face fills the screen he can barely contain himself. He’s never had a person to share good news with before, not like he has now.

“You’re home early,” Shane says, already tucked into bed. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for another half hour.”

“Traffic was good. I missed you.”

Shane lights up. Ilya doesn’t think there will ever come a day where he doesn’t love his freckles and the huge smile he saves just for him. It’s impossible. His heart is still learning not to jump every time he sees Shane like this.

Ilya forces himself to ask Shane about his day even though the only thing he wants is to blurt out his good news. His foot taps against the tile as Shane recounts a story from practice, and then a conversation he had with his father about updates they should consider for the Cottage in the near future.

Updates that they should both think about, because in David Hollander's mind Ilya deserves a say in what the cottage should be. Shane seems to agree. He talks for minutes about wood type and paint samples and promises to email everything over to Ilya in the morning so he can offer an opinion. The thought is almost enough to make him forget why he was so excited to talk to Shane in the first place, almost, but not quite.

No, Ilya, who has never had someone to share good news with cannot contain the way he smiles when their conversation lulls just enough for him to change the subject.

“They’re announcing the roasters for the All Star Game tomorrow,“ Ilya says, leaning against the kitchen island. His fingers drum against the countertop in excitement.

“I know. Tomlin called earlier and asked me to be an Alternate Captain,” Shane says, like it was a foregone conclusion that he’d have an extra letter on his jersey. And Sure, Ilya thought he would too, just not a full captainship. Not this year. Maybe when he was older, less of a menace on the ice. He’s a lot of things, but league poster child is not one of them.

“And how do you feel about that?” Ilya asks. It feels like his skin is vibrating.

“Fine, I mean it should be Hunter, right? It was weird it went to me last year.”

Ilya watches Shane's nose scrunch on the screen. He’s always admired his level headedness. He doubts anyone else would notice that this is a sign that Shane is actually, even just a little, disappointed.

“Is not Hunter.”

“Then who else?” Shane asks. Ilya raises an eyebrow and waits for the realization to hit. “You’re shitting me. Really?”

On the screen Shane covers his mouth, eyes blinking rapidly.

“What? I am not good enough to lead best players in pretend game?” Ilya asks. It takes everything in him to hold back a huge shiteating grin.

“No, shut up. I’m so excited for you.” Shane’s eyes dart across the screen, growing wider every second.

“And annoyed.”

“I contain multitudes, asshole,” Shane says. Ilya knows it’s true. He settles on a shocked open mouthed smile before shifting on the bed and throwing his glasses on the bedside table so he can more easily run his hands through his hair. “Fuck, Hunter is going to be so pissed. Losing out to us two years in a row is going to do him in.”

“He won the cup last year and has his smoothie boyfriend. He will be fine.” The idea of Scott bringing Kip, who Ilya had met briefly after the MHL awards last year, to Dallas and being able to openly love him makes Ilya’s chest hurt. But then Shane stares back at him with wide eyes and a smile so big that Ilya wants to throw himself through his phone screen and appear next to him in Montreal.

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You were surprised,” Ilya says. He tries to make the words sound neutral. He wanted to shock Shane, it was why he was so excited to call. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a small pang somewhere deep under his sternum when he thinks back to Shane’s unbelieving face.

“Only because Hunter has three years on us and just won. Every other stat points directly to you.” Shane pulls the camera closer. His teeth press against his bottom lip while he stares back at Ilya. “You’re blushing. I want it on the record you are blushing right now.”

Ilya’s eyes flick to his own video in the corner of the screen. His cheeks do feel hot. They always do when Shane is proud of him. It’s probably a good thing that Shane spent the first several years of his career becoming the poster boy for MHL media training and barely says a word about Ilya whenever he’s asked.

“You know I don’t blush, Shane,” Ilya teases, but the words don’t hold much bite. His boyfriend is proud of him. He’s smiling and so happy that Ilya doesn’t know how to make his heart process all of the things he is feeling. He knows what it’s like to be proud of Shane. He knows how bittersweet it feels when he comes in second to Hollander's first, but this is the first time since they’ve been together that there has been anything at stake other than a regular season game and Shane is absolutely beaming with pride.

“Fuck, it isn’t fair we won’t see each other for two weeks. I need to be touching you right now.”

“Don’t say things like that. I am already half hard just looking at you and you’re freckles.” And Shane is in Montreal and already comfortable in bed.

“Go get your tripod. Now,” Shane says, his tone more bratty than demanding. Ilya feels whatever blood that was flushing his cheeks rush straight to his dick at the intense look on Shane’s face.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes the stairs up to his bedroom two at a time.

---

The full All Stars roster goes out the next morning with Ilya’s face plastered all over the coverage about the Eastern Division team. His phone lights up the entire morning, mostly with messages from other players, but also coaches, his agent, a few friends he has in Boston that are somehow not hockey players but also know Svetlana. The only messages he cares about show up bright and early in the thread Ilya shares with the Hollanders.

David
Congratulations, boys!

Yuna
Good luck keeping Shane in line, Ilya. We’re proud of you both!

Shane
Mom I am RIGHT HERE. And also a professional. wtf?

Ilya
I will make sure Shane impresses you. I am a good captain.

Shane
Suck up.

He doesn’t need the praise. Not really. He’s won the Stanley cup, multiple league awards, and his stats will compete with Shane’s for historic records by the end of their careers. He has played for eight seasons in the MHL and each year there are higher expectations for Ilya Rozanov. He has always met them with a cocksure grin and a wink.

But he has never had family to tell him they are proud. Before practice he stares at his phone and wonders what his life would have been like if he had this kind of support when he was younger. If he spends too much time thinking about it the back of his throat begins to taste like acid. So instead he reads the Hollanders messages for the 20th time and tightens the laces on his skates before leading the Raiders in a grueling practice.

Two weeks later Boston is tied with Montreal at the top of the conference standings and Ilya is in a Dallas hotel waiting to check in for his 8th All Star weekend. It’s another record he has beaten Shane in. There was one year, just one, where Shane dropped out last minute after tweaking his ankle. Ilya has no real memories of that weekend that aren’t colored by boredom and alcohol.

Each year the weekend starts the same. Drinks, and mingling are basically their own event. Last year he watched from the sidelines as Shane wove his way around their team. He was polished and professional in his new clothes, one’s that Ilya wanted to strip off of him immediately. Ilya knew he wanted to look effortless. This year, it’s his turn to walk the hotel bar, clasping shoulders and laughing with players who usually hate his guts on the ice. It’s not that Ilya needs to be liked. He could charm this entire room in 15 minutes if he needed to, but he wants to be accepted.

He knows this isn’t a high honor, but he also wants to be someone worthy of Shane in every way, so he spends too long talking to Eric Bennet about his ongoing divorce and somehow doesn’t punch Troy Barrett straight in the teeth.

Still, even with the schmoozing and the stilted conversations Ilya is happier than he’s ever been. Shane arrived twenty minutes after him and they spent the entire afternoon orbiting each other. It’s a bit cruel, they haven’t seen each other in over a month, but it’s also a teasing reminder of all the times they have snuck away from events just like these. It’s sad that this has become some vital part of their foreplay.

At dinner the rest of the team insists that all of the captains sit together. They stick Ilya between Shane and Scott Hunter. It’s some new form a torture to sit so close to Shane without being able to touch him, but every time he thinks he will go out of his mind having to be so careful next to the only person he has ever loved Shane taps his foot against Ilya’s and his heartrate settles.It’s the closest they’ve ever come to enjoying a meal in public together.

By the time the table of 22 rowdy hockey players have gorged themselves on barbeque and beer no one notices when he and Shane sneak out one right after the other.

Ilya feels like they’re getting away with something when they ride the elevator up together, standing a few inches too close, hands brushing the entire time. Shane makes a show of stopping at his own room. Ilya walks to his own, only 3 doors down. It’s like the universe is yet again throwing them against each other. He wants to reach out and say, yes, I understand. That man is mine. I will protect him. Please never take him from life. He doesn’t know if he still believes in God, but he likes to think that somewhere, something looked down at him and Shane and tied them together.

Ilya barely has time to check the mini bar before there’s a soft but purposeful knock on the door. There were years he would let Shane wait in the hall, entire seasons where he prided himself on being able to resist running to the door and wrenching it open as fast as possible. Now he feels no need to show any type of restraint. Shane knocks, Ilya throws his entire body towards the door. For the rest of his life Ilya will never hesitate to let Shane into whatever room he is waiting in.

“Finally,” Shane hisses as he rushes into the room, straight into Ilya’s arms. Ilya meets him in a desperate kiss. “That was torture.”

“Yes. I have missed you very much and then had to spend all night talking to Hunter and his goalie.“ Ilya runs the back of his hand down Shane’s cheek. They’re here. Another All Stars weekend. It’s almost like a vacation. Or at least sneaking around in a new location, even if it’s just Dallas.

“Better than Kent. He was a real piece of work,” Shane mumbles against Ilya’s neck. He grabs at the hem of Ilya’s shirt, tugging it up and over his head before placing open mouthed kisses against his collarbone.

“But now we have all night, and is basically our anniversary, so…” Ilya walks backwards, pulling Shane with him until the backs of his legs hit the bed. His own hands wander down Shane’s still fully clothed torso, desperate to feel him naked against him.

“How is it our anniversary?” Shane steps back, twisting to get out of Ilya’s grasp.

“Last year All Stars Weekend you came back to my room, were very serious, felt the need to tell me you were gay even though we had been fucking for years. Was sweet.” Ilya pulls him back, trailing kisses down his neck. The memories of last year are almost too much. Too hot, too intimate. It was the first time Ilya had purposefully allowed himself to feel everything he wanted. It has been the best sex of his life, until the next time he saw Shane.

“You made fun of me, and then you cried,” Shane hisses out the last word as Ilya finds a particularly sensitive spot along his jaw and peppers it with more kisses.

“Yes, I am very mushy, only for you though.”

“I still don’t see how that’s our anniversary. What, just because I told you I actually liked you? You didn’t even say it back. I thought you were going to end things every time I saw you for the next three months,” Shane pushes against Ilya’s chest forcing him back on the bed, and then helps him out of his pants.

“It’s the first time you chose me. You didn’t run away.”

“Ilya,” Shane warns as he shrugs out of his shirt and then purposefully steps out of his own chinos. He crosses his arms over his chest. Ilya knows he wants to look stern but all he’s succeeded in doing is making Ilya impossibly hard.

“It’s when I stopped seeing other people,” He admits, “There was no one but you after that weekend. There hadn’t been many people since you ran away, but no one at all after Tampa. I was completely gone for you.”

Shane stands in front of him in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs. His mouth hangs slightly open and he runs a hand through his hair. This time last year Ilya would have wanted to hide from this expression of utter love and confusion but now he just wants Shane to climb onto the bed so he can properly touch him.

“You’re joking. When you told me you stopped seeing other people I thought you meant right before your dad died, not, shit-”

Shane takes a step back with a deep shuddering breath. His shoulders raise as he stares back at Ilya.

Ilya shakes his head. He isn’t lying. He just was never explicit about when things became serious in his heart. No, last winter he could barely admit to himself that his lack of hook ups were tied to his feelings for Shane. Now, in hindsight he can see how they were always running in a crash course straight at each other and this was the collision that turned his world upside down.

“You are mad?”

“I am processing,” Shane says, tension leaving his body in slow waves as he approaches the bed and kneels at Ilya’s feet. “So you think our anniversary should be this weekend?”

“Yes. I will buy you flowers, after I keep you in this very stiff bed all night.” Ilya sits up and pulls Shane into his lap. Finally. Ilya has to fight back a groan as Shane sinks down over his thighs. He craves this feeling more than anything, just the two of them skin to skin.

“Don’t. They die so fast. I never got the appeal. A cactus would be so much more practical.” Shane kisses him. He’s desperate, wild in how his lips crash against Ilya’s.Either thirty seconds or five minutes later, Ilya isn’t sure which, Shane pauses. “I think our anniversary is in the summer. Probably the day we came out to my parents.”

“No, if it’s summer it’s the day I came to cottage,” Ilya says, tugging Shane back to him and then grabbing his jaw.

“You were not all in then.”

“Fine, when Hunter won the cup? That changed something, yes?”

He needs this conversation to be over. There are so many better uses for Shane’s mouth than debating their anniversary, which can honestly be whenever for all he cares as long as he can shower him in love and gifts. Okay, it would be nice if they could also spend the entire day naked together too.

“Ilya, it only counts if I also knew we were together. You were not always the most clear,” Shane says as he squirms in his arms. “How about this? The skills competition is tomorrow. We both are doing stick handling, whoever wins gets to pick our anniversary.”

Only Shane Hollander could turn deciding their anniversary into a competition. Ilya’s eyes widen as the full force of Shane’s words hit him. It’s impossibly sexy and so them. In a breath he has Shane on his back as he kisses a trail down his stomach. He’s done talking.

---

Ilya loves the skills competition for exactly one reason. He gets to compete directly against Shane. Sure, he should probably like it because it’s a test of his talents against the rest of the league, but to this day the only person Ilya has ever lost to is his boyfriend. It doesn’t feel like such a hardship when the only other person standing with him at the top is Shane Hollander.

Unfortunately, it is also a league known fact that Shane is a superior stick handler. A fact that makes Ilya suppress a giggle every time he thinks about it. Yes, Shane is very good at handling his stick.

He watches as Shane runs the obstacle course with ease. He looks effortless and so focused. He’s beautiful. When he reaches the end and makes a hard slapshot to send the puck into the net to stop the timer even Ilya wants to cheer.

Instead he nods at Shane as he skates past where Ilya waits on the bench and mentally pictures all the filthy things he will do after they are done with this televised hockey field day and media obligations.

Ilya’s own attempt is nearly flawless. Nearly. It’s better than Dallas Kent’s, or the Vancouver center who Ilya regularly forgets exists until events like today. It’s almost perfect. But Shane Hollander is the best stick handler in the league and Ilya’s best efforts still leave him in second place.

A proud second place, though he’d never admit it.

That night there is another bar. Ilya can feel Shane’s eyes on him the whole night. It makes him louder, more brazen. He finds it easy to be the life of the party on a normal day, when Shane is across the room pretending not to undress him with his eyes he absolutely preens. He wants Shane to watch him all the time. He wants to impress him and then take him home and completely unravel him so that he’s hoarse and sore for their game tomorrow. When Marleau elbows him and nods at some woman across the bar he shakes his head and schools his expression into something flat, professional.

“No. Game tomorrow. Have to work hard or Hollander will be out of control, yes?”

“Sure thing, Cap,” Marleau laughs as he grabs the shoulder of one of the New Jersey players and drags him across the bar. Ilya watches until his friend is completely focused on the woman in front of him and then finds Shane in the crowd. He’s by the door, arms crossed with a nearly empty glass of something that obviously isn’t beer.

He knows Shane doesn’t thrive in environments like this. He tries, sometimes he goes out with his team, and at most league events he makes appearances at dinners and bar nights, but he doesn’t thrive. Tonight he’s here, but his eyes are always carefully watching Ilya. If he doesn’t get them both out of here soon he’s going to come out of his own skin with need. He nods toward the door behind Shane and waits for him to get the hint.

In seconds Shane excuses himself from a conversation and walks casually out the door, leaving his empty glass on an abandoned table. Ilya downs his drink and waits until he can no longer see Shane through the floor to ceiling windows and then makes his excuses to Zane Boodram, who he has barely shared three words with the entire weekend before he disappears into the Dallas night.

He texts Shane during the short walk to the hotel. Maybe one day they could leave a bar together and no one will care. It would be nice to have his arm around him now instead of giving him block by block updates on how soon he’ll be back to his room.

The perk is that by the time Ilya makes it to his room he doesn’t have to wait before Shane’s signature knock sounds against the door.

“July 18th,” Shane says as he steps into the room with a cocky smirk and a raised eyebrow. “July 18th is our anniversary. You better write that down somewhere. You don’t want to forget.”

Ilya laughs as he pulls Shane further into the room, grabbing his face and giving him a deep exploratory kiss.

July 18th. They were definitely at the cottage, but it wasn’t one of the first days.

Ilya racks his brain. So many of the days with Shane at the cottage over the summer run together in his head. His entire time there sometimes feels like a dream, long days that blended seamlessly into endless nights. The only thing he’s sure of is it isn’t the day Shane came out to his parents.

“July 18th is when I interrupted your call with Hayden?” Ilya mumbles the question against Shane’s skin, planting a delicate kiss just below his ear. “I understand. I am very good at blow jobs.”

“It’s when we agreed on the plan, asshole. You moving to Ottawa, the foundation-” Shane pushes him back, his expression one of scrunched up freckles and irritation as he catalogs the single most important day of Ilya’s life back to him like a laundry list.

“It is when I told you I loved you for the first time,” Ilya interrupts. Shane immediately looks down, his cheeks a perfect shade of pink, and clears his throat.

“I said it back!”

“Eventually. Took so long I thought I would die!” Ilya grabs Shane's hands and walks him across the room to the still rumpled bed from yesterday. “It is a good anniversary. Probably close to when we did the CRM shoot before our rookie season.”

“That would have worked too, but I don’t have the date memorized.” Shane pulls one of Ilya’s hands up to his lips and peppers kisses against his knuckles. With everyone one Ilya melts. “Weekends like this will always be special to me. They’re a huge part of our story and I never want to lose sight of that, but you’re insane if you thought I was going to let you pick an anniversary for us in the middle of the season. Now, I believe I obliterated you in the stick handlers competition, I think I deserve another prize.”

“Maybe prize is handling bigger stick?”

“You’re lucky I love you Rozanov,” Shane says with a shake of his head, then strips off his shirt, throwing it at Ilya before plopping himself down on the bed.

“Yes. Very lucky.” Probably the luckiest man in the world, really, if Ilya lets himself think about it.

---

The All Star game is predictable chaos. It’s supposed to be fun, and for the fans it is. Even Ilya enjoys being on a line with Hunter and Shane. It makes for good TV, the three of them skating laps around some of their fiercest competitors in the western conference. It is also a spectacle, and after David made several comments about Ilya’s kiss to Shane’s helmet at last year’s game he is on his best behavior. At least with Shane.

He still finds time to chirp Hunter. It’s basically a requirement.

That night Ilya follows Shane back to his room. It’s risky, but the hallway is deserted and everyone is down at the hotel bar getting trashed before flying out in the morning. He knows he should be back downstairs putting in face time with the rest of the league but he doesn’t care. This is his last night alone with Shane for two weeks. After the last month this countdown shouldn’t feel so oppressive, but still Ilya clings to his hand as Shane fumbles with his keycard.

Shane’s room is almost sterile for how little he’s used it. There’s his suitcase in the corner, but half of his toiletries found their way to Ilya’s room two days ago. Several of his shirts and a rouge blazer as well. They’re going to have a mess figuring out what goes where in the morning. It’ll probably make Shane so anxious he’ll wake up in the middle of the night and demand they sort it out while everyone else is dead asleep.

Now he refuses to worry about it. Not when Shane is happy to go to his knees for him. They have less than twelve hours left together and they have to make the most of it.

Sometimes he wonders if the rest of their lives will be like this. He doesn’t know what they are when there are more than stolen minutes. Even at the cottage they couldn’t go more than hours without touching each other, loving each other like this. They’ve had three nights this trip and each time they’ve been together it still hasn’t felt like enough.

Ilya doesn’t think it ever will. There will never be a version of himself that doesn’t crave Shane Hollander to the point of caution.

And it is caution. Everything he does with Shane now is purposeful and full of love. He thinks it always has been. He’s had meaningless hookups and been reckless with his own reputation and safety countless times. Now everything he does is measured in how much the shrapnel could harm Shane.

And Shane, he meets Ilya’s secret, purposeful caution with such a sureness that Ilya doesn’t know how they went so many years without having each other completely. He trusts Ilya, and he loves him so confidently. It’s grounding in a way he didn’t even think to want.

In the middle of the night Ilya watches the ugly hotel alarm clock turn to 2:07, and then 2:08. Shane has been asleep for hours. He rests comfortably on Ilya’s arm, which has been numb now for longer than he’d like to acknowledge. He doesn’t want to move. Not when he can look at Shane in the dim red glow. He needs to soak up all of these moments.

By 3 he has to admit sleep isn’t going to come and the longer he lays here sighing and trying to get comfortable the more likely he is to wake up Shane, so instead Ilya gets up and moves to the standard flimsy desk and searches for a piece of hotel paper and a pen. He meant to write something before this weekend but every time he sat down to try, all he could think to say was I miss you. If Ottawa doesn’t sign me I don’t know what I will do. I never want to be this far from you again. None of those thoughts were particularly productive and honestly, not that helpful in Shane’s attempt to learn Russian. So now with nothing but the dim city light bleeding through the curtains he writes.

Shane,
You are still asleep. I am writing this down so you will believe that for once I am up before you. It happens more than you think. I might sleep better with you in my bed but sometimes I wake up and just stare at you in wonder. I never thought I could have something like this, someone like you.

I told you that I stopped sleeping with other people this time last year and I think it made you angry. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner. I was already so in love with you I thought it might kill me and so scared that you would leave.

I know we have talked about it but when you left my house in Boston and started seeing Rose it was the closest I have come to wanting to disappear. No one has ever known me like you and it felt like you saw all of me and decided I wasn’t enough. Now I know that is stupid. I will forever be grateful that Rose told you that you are gay. Is very you that you needed hot movie star to tell you this. I could have told you draft day. You were not subtle

I tease you but you were so brave that day. Sometimes I think back and still cannot believe you came back to me. You were so sure. You never let me hide again. Even when I was terrified of how much I loved you you would not leave me alone.

One day I will be able to love you in the daylight but for now I will take every message, call, and night together and keep them locked tight in my memory.

Your Ilya

Just like Ilya predicted, the morning arrives early with a steady dose of chaos. It’s easy to slip his latest letter in Shane’s bag while they both attempt to pack up two hotel rooms worth of belongings without their league mates noticing. He hopes that someday soon Shane will be able to read it. He wants him to know his whole heart.

---

Ilya’s flight is early. Ungodly so. When he lands he’s reminded that Boston at the end of February is miserable. The dingy snow that refuses to melt is offensive and so reminiscent of his years growing up in Moscow he feels slightly sick. Or maybe it’s the lack of sleep and the amount of alcohol he consumed over the course of the weekend?

The season starts back tomorrow. He’ll be flying across the country to Seattle while Shane is in Nashville. They’ll have to navigate another time difference and another couple of weeks before they see each other again. The countdown feels worse after the long weekend together.

Shane should still be in the air. His flight was two hours later. They couldn’t even grab a friendly coffee at the airport together. It wouldn’t have made sense. All he wants is to hear he’s home safe, and then maybe this will start to feel normal again, doable.

Ilya busies himself with laundry, and then making a grocery run. It’s not like he needs much before he’ll be gone for two days, but his fridge right now is empty of everything except a bottle of ketchup and a brick of cheddar that has a fuzzy patch of mold taking over a whole corner.

While he waits to check out his phone vibrates in his pocket. Ilya juggles his grocery basket to grab it out of his back pocket and is immediately greeted with a message from Shane.

Shane
You actually bought me a cactus.

Attached is a picture of a small prickly cactus in a navy pot sitting in the middle of Shane’s coffee table.

Ilya
You said you did not want flowers.

Shane
It’s not our anniversary.

Ilya shifts forward in line, unable to hide the smile on his face. He can picture Shane now reading the small piece of paper talking about proper plant care before spending the next half an hour searching online for more cactus tips. Ilya hopes he spends the afternoon finding the window with the best light and texting him all the options.

Ilya
I agreed July 18 is our anniversary, not that I was going to forget all the other important days.

The cashier calls him forward. Ilya smiles and nods through the translation. As soon as he gets back in his car his phone rings. He answers it through the car’s speaker system and Shane’s voice fills his vehicle as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“I am the luckiest man alive to be the only person to know what it’s like to be loved by you.”

“You will not be saying that when I beat you in two weeks,” Ilya says, because otherwise he’d program Shane’s address into his GPS and head straight to Montreal, the rest of the season be damned.

“Game fucking on, Rozanov.”

When he gets home there is an insulated package on his porch. He almost drops his grocery bag when he sees it. Inside there is a bouquet of yellow and red roses with a note.

We can celebrate every single day that brought us together. We’ve earned it. I love you. I will cherish each time I get to tell you that. - Jane

Ilya snaps a picture and sends it to Shane. He has no words. All he can do is stare at the flowers and the typed note.

Shane
Just because I don’t want flowers doesn’t mean I can’t buy them for you.

Shane
We’re still beating you in two weeks.

Ilya feels a laugh bubble up his throat and then tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He can barely get his meager groceries put away without stopping to look back at the flowers he placed with pride in the center of the kitchen island.

Two weeks is still too far away, but maybe it will be okay.

Chapter End Notes

All Stars was something that originally felt very intimidating to tackle, but also so essential to Shane and Ilya's story so I hope this finds a good balance of hockey, socializing, and Shane and Ilya time. I appreciate all of your kind words and interest in this story so much! It has been the highlight of my year.

Chapter 8: March

Chapter Notes

“Shane, he bought you a cactus!” Rose screams through the phone. They’ve been talking for the last hour. Sometimes he barely remembers that once they tried to date. It’s so clear that they were always meant to be friends. It’s easy talking with her. He’s free to be himself in a way that he can’t with his team. The only person he feels more comfortable with is Ilya. The idea of having them both in the same room is his current favorite daydream.

“I don’t like flowers, I’m not home long enough to enjoy them. They’re pretty ephemeral,” Shane says as he relaxes back into the couch and watches as Ilya takes a check from a brut of a Washington player on his tv. “A cactus is much more practical.”

“But your mystery man likes flowers?”

His mystery man is currently cursing out a ref. Shane braces his arms against his legs as he leans forward, trying to read his lips. He really shouldn’t find this so hot. If he were playing him right now he’d be furious, but he’s at home and he’s impossibly sexy and too fucking far away.

“He does.” Shane thinks he might have to send him another bouquet just for looking sexy in the penalty box. It’s an absolutely ridiculous idea. If he gets too comfortable using the same florist in Boston it will be easy for them to get caught, especially if someone starts to care that Jane doesn’t exactly sound like a woman over the phone.

“Bestie, you have to tell me who he is,” Rose pleads. He doesn’t blame her. If he’d spent the last year hearing about someone she was dating without ever seeing so much as a picture of the person he would lose his mind.

“I really don’t,” Shane says into the phone. It’s easier to relax when he knows Ilya will be off the ice for a full two minutes. “I told you I can’t. Neither of us want to risk anything getting out. It’d tank both of our careers.”

“I tell you everything. I even told you about that mole I had removed last month!”

She did. In full detail. There were pictures. Pictures that Ilya saw and immediately gagged at. Shane thinks it helped a little with his jealous streak whenever Rose comes up.

“It’s not my fault your most important relationship is with your dermatologist.” Shane has to stop himself from cursing as he watches Washington score. Ilya comes soaring out of the penalty box with a string of curses Shane is sure would make his grandmother blush. It’s a tough break for Boston, one he should be happy about if he wants to make sure Montreal ends up with home ice advantage for the entirety of the playoffs.

“Shane. I saw you when you were trying to hide your true self behind me. You were so sad.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going.” He rolls his eyes even though he is alone in his living room.

“We talk once a week. You never go out. When you’re not chatting with me you’re talking to this mystery guy. I get that things are serious and kind of scary. I know he’s another player. You can trust me, okay. You must want to actually talk about him.”

Rose’s words are an arrow aimed straight at the most tender parts of himself. Shane thrives on routine. These scheduled calls with his best friend, the way he and Ilya have manipulated their schedules to talk before bed, they’re some of the most honest moments of his week. The only other time he feels whole is on the ice. The locker room isn’t the haven it used to be. He only goes out with Hayden and JJ now on the road. That way there is at least a pocket of time he can just be him, no hiding required.

“I do. All the time,” Shane admits. On the TV Ilya gets the puck on a breakaway, dangles, and then hits with a hard slapshot. It’s a beautiful goal. Highlight reel worthy. He has to stop a cheer from bobbling up his throat. Yeah. He would really like to be able to talk to Rose about Ilya.

Just like he should really be more upset that the game is now tied.

“I’m not going to push, but I would like to meet him. Give him the BFF once over, shovel talk and all,” Rose laughs through the phone. He really is lucky that the one woman he tried to date ended up being the absolute best. “I’m on your side, Shane. All of your secrets will be safe with me.

He just isn’t sure if he’s ready to share the secret about the guy on his TV screen with anyone.

---

A week later Shane forced himself to go to the Pike’s for dinner. He suffered through an entire evening of pointed comments about his love life. Jackie even directly called out how distant he’s become this season.

Yeah. No shit.

He wanted to scream. Sure, he thought Hayden and Jackie would be the most likely to accept his gayness with open arms, but that opens the question of Lily and the way he is never more than an armsreach from his phone unless he is on the ice. It wouldn’t be a huge jump to link Lily, who he mainly sees when they play in Boston, with Ilya. And that assumes that Hayden is too distracted to notice how he’s different, lighter, when Boston plays in Montreal.

If his parents are any indicator Hayden’s first reaction isn’t going to be to invite them over for a double date. And Ilya had never punched his father in the face. Yeah, there is no version of Hayden finding out about his relationship and it not irrevocably changing their friendship.

The whole dinner he couldn’t get his last phone call with Rose out of his head. She had been right. He did want to have someone other than his parents who he felt safe sharing his relationship with. He wanted to gush about Ilya, and then complain about how he can’t seem to get a grasp on enough Russian to translate the letters he keeps finding in his travel bag and the way he seems to always leave a single sock at his apartment every time he’s in Montreal.

It doesn’t feel fair to want that, not when it feels like he’s just figuring out how to make his relationship work in its own messy but safe bubble.

Later on the drive home he still can’t shake Rose telling him that his secrets are safe with her. He knows that’s true. Over the last year he’s learned enough about Rose Landry to have her publicist regularly request she get him to sign an NDA. Rose always tells him about this with a laugh. At one point when he was in LA for a game earlier in the season they got wine drunk and she called their shared knowledge of each other mutually assured career suicide, then told him there was no one else she would rather protect the parts of her she doesn’t want seen by the world.

Shane thought the same, mostly. He trusted Rose implicitly at this point, but there was no one he would give his deepest, darkest secrets to other than Ilya Rozanov.

Which is why when Shane answers a FaceTime call minutes after getting home from one of the most irritating dinners he’s had in recent memory all he can do is collapse on the couch and stare at Ilya’s tired face.

“I missed you tonight, I couldn’t even watch your game,”

“I am sure your coach will make you watch it tomorrow, at least my highlights,” Ilya says as he moves through his home, “dinner with Pikes was not good?”

“I’m really struggling.” Shane shakes his head. It feels dumb to admit, even if Ilya is the one person in the world who will be able to understand. On the surface nothing has really changed between him and Hayden. Really, he knew he wasn’t straight for his entire adult life. Probably longer. But there was something about the full realization that no, he will never like anything other than men and also never love someone that isn’t Ilya that makes the last eight years of his life feel a little hollow.

How could Hayden be one of his best friends if he never noticed? How could JJ?

“Sweetheart,” Ilya’s say gently, “It is not so many days until we see each other. Tell me what you need and I will make it better..”

Shane watches as Ilya makes his way to his own bedroom and plops himself down on his bed. He notices that he leaves the left side, the one Shane likes to sleep on empty. The sight of his boyfriend leaving space for him even though they are currently in different countries breaks something fundamental open inside of him.

“We have two nights together when you’re in Montreal next week,” He starts. He isn’t sure how to say what he needs. It’s impossibly selfish, but he feels like he’s suffocating. He’s worried that soon the only time he’ll be able to breathe is when he’s on the ice or with Ilya and the first inevitable break he has without either of those things will kill him.

“You don’t have to remind me. I am very excited. I am the idiot in the locker room looking forward to the middle of our road trip. Makes giving pre-game speeches very difficult.” Ilya laughs and then pauses, his face transformed from the soft expression Shane knows he saves just for him to one of confusion, “You are thinking very loud.”

Shane shakes his head. He doesn’t know how he does it. Even when they are hundreds of miles apart Ilya can read him like a book.

“Shane. Cottage rules. You make me use them all the time,” Ilya says, tone stern. It’s the same way he bosses him around the bedroom and dammit, it works. He doesn’t know how to say no when his accent is full of hard edges and he stares at Shane like there is nothing else in the world.

“What if one of those nights we had dinner with Rose? At my apartment. Totally chill.”

He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Ilya’s face falls, and then he turns so that he’s barely on camera.

“Shane.” He hates the way his name sounds, like he’s causing his boyfriend physical pain.

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, and obviously you can say no,” Shane, who prides himself on thinking through everything before speaking begins to babble, “actually, forget I asked. Can we just rewind everything by like two minutes? Tell me about your day.”

“Does she know about me? Did you tell her something new?” Ilya asks, completely ignoring his plea.

He can practically hear the acquisition did you really tell her without talking to me first?

“She knows I’m with someone and that it’s serious,” He says, guilt pounding through his veins. “She also knows you’re a player. That’s all.”

Over the summer they had talked about how much Shane could tell Rose. Outside of his parents she was the only person who knew he was gay. She was also the first person he confided in about Ilya, and even then he avoided using his name. Before he went to Tampa he had texted her for days trying to formulate a plan to win his mystery man back. Hell, she is the one who recommended his stylist.

Ilya knows this now, but Shane also knows that up until this summer Ilya didn’t have anyone he trusted implicitly. The night he learned that, curled up in bed with Ilya tucked safe against his chest, Shane’s heart broke in half. He knew that for years he only added to the list of people Ilya wanted to be real with, soft bits and all, but he didn’t think Shane would accept him.

“Everything she knows is from before the summer. I’ve never given her anything more specific. I know this isn’t just my secret. She’s my best friend and she wants to know you. I want her to know you.” Shane wants everyone to know Ilya like he knows him. It’s unfair that the rest of the world thinks of him as some womanizing asshole when he is so kind, so full of love for the people he cares about. “I trust her. I get that you don’t have to feel the same. We have time. Really, forget I asked.”

“I am not sure,” Ilya says. Shane watches as his eyes flicker across the room. It’s been so long since he’s had an ‘English is hard’ moment but it’s like he can see him trying to translate his thoughts in real time and failing, “I am sorry, I want you to have friends, it would be nice not to hide all the time but…”

“But it’s dangerous for you, I know. I promise I would not put you in any danger. I’d get Rose to sign an NDA if I thought that was more secure, but the idea of getting lawyers involved feels gross,” Shane says so fast he isn’t sure Ilya can even understand him. This isn’t how he wanted their call to go. He runs a hang through his hair, tugging at the strands.

 

“I think I need to go. Maybe think,” Ilya says, his gaze fixed back at Shane through the screen. Every night he thinks the lot they’ve been handed is unfair, but none more than right now when all he wants is to crawl into Ilya’s arms and make him forget this conversation ever happened.

“Ilya,” Shane chokes out. Is he actually begging? He just wanted a chance to feel less alone and he dropped this request like a bomb. Now Ilya’s going to hang up. Fuck, is he going to ghost him again? He doesn’t have another break in his schedule. There’s no way for Shane to get to him before they play each other next week.

“You said I could do that. Take time, yes? Before, you said if I need time I tell you. Not forever,” Ilya’s voice is gentle, like he’s talking to a scared animal. It strikes Shane that that is exactly what he is in this moment. “Never forever. Just tonight. I do not want to say wrong thing when this is important to you.”.

“Just forget it. This is still too new. Rose can wait. Don’t hang up.” He remembers Ilya back at the start of the season, bruised arm, begging him not to end their call when Shane called him on his bullshit and a damn bursts. His eyes fill with tears. He will not cry on this call. He will not. They will be fine. Everything is fine.

“Moy krolik, Is just for rest of night,” Ilya’s gentle voice carries over the call. He’s blurry through the screen now. He is absolutely not being fair. It’s big of Ilya to ask for time to make a decision like this. And fuck, he doesn’t know that word.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Shane jokes. There’s no bite to his taunt, but Ilya smiles back at him just the same.

“Is it working?” Ilya looks so tired through Shane’s screen. There’s still Shane’s space empty next to him on the bed.

“Maybe. I’m going to hang up now.” Shane takes a deep breath. It’s not exactly Ilya’s fault his body can’t tell the difference between an emotionally vulnerable conversation and being hunted for sport. “Goodnight, mon coeur.”

“I will not disappear. We will talk so soon you will not have time to miss me and then I can beat you in stupid question game.” Ilya blows him a kiss through the call and then Shane’s screen goes dark.

It’s late, he has a game tomorrow and a mandatory practice, but he can’t stop the way his heart races. He should get up from the couch and get ready for bed. He has his routine, after all. But Ilya won’t be on the call making fun of him for his bottles of serum and expensive moisturizer and the idea of getting into his own empty bed makes his skin crawl.

Instead, he goes to his office. It’s small, neat. The only things on his desk are a small pile of Ilya’s letters, the workbook he got for Christmas, and a new, larger Russian to English dictionary. He sits in the ergonomic desk chair and looks over the most recent letter, the one he found in his bag after All Star weekend.

Just like all the others the only words he is able to make out are love and his name. There are a few articles here and there that are starting to make sense. He’s scared, or was scared, about something? Shane isn’t sure what. He wishes he could come up with a reasonable excuse to get a tutor. Learning to speak Russian is difficult, but reading? Shane is finding it next to impossible to learn on his own.

After a half hour of minimal progress and maximum frustration he gives up. Shane stacks the letters back in a neat pile in date order and leaves a bookmark where he left off in the workbook. He forces himself through a shower and his skin care ritual without checking his phone. Ilya asked for time and it’s been little more than an hour. Sleep hygiene is a thing. He should really get better about how he regularly falls asleep with his phone near Ilya’s favorite pillow.

Except he can’t. Not when the only pieces he has of Ilya are usually the messages on his phone. So even though he knows Ilya asked for some time and that he shouldn’t expect to hear anything from him until after practice tomorrow he can’t resist checking his phone. It’s been years since he’s been this happy, and frankly, surprised, to see a new message.

Ilya
If you need distraction you can start guessing.

He can’t help but smile. He’d thought of trying to look up the word Ilya had used in their call earlier when he had out the dictionary but that felt cheap. Instead he thought of all the strange things Ilya has already called him: reindeer, raspberry, tugboat, file cabinet. The list is too long for him to remember everything, but each is a new word he can add to his vocabulary.

Shane
I thought you needed time to think?

Ilya
I can think and not disappear. I know it makes you anxious, moy krolik.

Shane stares at his phone. He’s almost at a loss for words. A year ago the idea that Ilya would be considerate of one of Shane’s anxiety spirals like this was laughable. They both ghosted each other with reckless painful avoidance for years, and then would come crashing back together. Now even asking for some space to think Ilya is still reaching out in the most him way possible to make sure Shane isn’t lost in his own head.

Shane
I’m really not going to like this one, am I?

Ilya
Is that question 1?

Shane
Fuck you. Is it an animal?

He’s glad for the meaningless competition. It doesn’t matter that Shane really does need to get some sleep. Playing games with Ilya soothes him in ways that would be concerning to most other people. It’s their own love language, one he knows he will never be able to speak with another person. And tonight he let his feelings bubble up until he was throwing a grenade into their safe, small bubble.

Shane
Please forget what I asked tonight. It’s not a big deal. Rose can wait. The only thing that matters is that I get to see you in seven days.

Shane watches his phone, waiting as Ilya types. It’s stupid how soothing it is just seeing that all the way in Boston he’s thinking about him.

Ilya
No. That’s two.

Oh. He wants to be an asshole tonight. Shane’s about to respond with a string of emojis when another text pops up.

Ilya
You think she will like me?

Shane
Rose?
Absolutely.
Probably more than she likes me.

He can see it now. Ilya and Rose laughing over some reality show Shane’s never heard of. The thought doesn’t even make him jealous. Instead it fills him with hope. A future where Ilya and Rose can be friends feels like something he shouldn’t even wish for. It’s far too reasonable to want. It shouldn’t be in the cards.

Ilya
I think I would like to meet her.

Shane blinks down at his phone. At this point his best case scenario was that sometime tomorrow morning Ilya called and asked that they revisit this conversation after he’s settled in Ottawa. At worst the entire conversation earlier could make him cagey for the next week and Shane would have spent their rare time together walking on eggshells. In no point did he think this would be resolved positively tonight.

Shane
You’re sure? You can change your mind at any time. I promise I won’t be mad.

Ilya
I am sure. You said her brothers play hockey? I must impress her. She will be so starstruck after only knowing you.

Shane
Asshole. See you in 6 days.

There’s no way Shane will be able to sleep now, not when he feels like the luckiest man in the world. Ilya doesn’t seem to be particularly worried about his early game tomorrow either. Instead they play 3 games of twenty questions until Shane falls asleep with his phone in his hand and a smile on his lips, even though his boyfriend called him a rabbit.

---

Ilya doesn’t change his mind. For the next six days Shane alternates between planning and freaking out. Spending two nights with Ilya is easy. Having dinner with Rose doesn’t make him think twice. Bringing the two of them together for a few hours might actually kill him.

He has to remind himself he wanted this. He suggested it to Ilya. He negotiated scheduling with Rose. He desperately, at a cellular level, wanted his best friend to meet his boyfriend. He needed them to get along, maybe even one day have a group chat.

But getting to a place where Ilya and Rose know each other enough to roast Shane together over text feels impossibly far away, if not just impossible.

So impossible that the night before the Raiders plane lands in Montreal Shane finds himself pacing his kitchen. It’s spotless. The fridge is full. There is nothing more he can do. It’s like the day before Ilya came to the cottage times a thousand. He can feel the way his shirt rubs against his skin\ and hear the sound of his socked feet against the tile. It all grates against him, pinpricks settling along the base of his neck like a warning.

When Ilya calls from his hotel room it should help. Really, Ilya is one of the only things that calms him anymore, but even that isn’t cutting it tonight.

“Hollander, is not that serious. I can pick up carry out on my way over. We do not have to cook,” Ilya says.

It’s ridiculous. Of course they’re going to cook. It’s one of his favorite things to do with Ilya, and he’s taking away some of their one on one time for this dinner with Rose. It’s part of his plan. It has to happen.

“No. I already bought groceries. They just don’t feel right.” He opens the fridge filled with free range chicken and seasonal produce. It’s…normal. Too normal.

“They don’t feel right for you, for Rose, or for me?” Ilya asks. It isn’t a helpful question. Not at all.

“I don’t know. All three. It’s too plain.” He should have gone for something more elaborate. This dinner is important. If he has the right menu, the right wine, then everyone will get along. Ilya won’t regret opening up their safe little bubble, Rose won’t pull away from their friendship. He won’t lose the most important people in his world.

“Shane. You are over thinking this. Rose is going to freak out when she sees sexy Russian man in your apartment and then we are going to drink lots of wine. Whatever you want to make will be fine. I will come straight from practice and help,” Ilya’s no nonsense tone cuts through the noise rattling around in Shane’s head just enough for him to take a deep breath, “it is not worth having panic attack before I get there.”

He isn’t going to have a panic attack. Not really. He might reorganize his fridge and reread the recipe he found another dozen times, but that’s completely reasonable. Then Ilya murmurs something in Russian over the phone and maybe he has a few extra moments to let Ilya take him out of his head.

“Fine. How long is your roommate going to be gone? I would really like to see you naked right now.”

The next day Shane is a wall of nerves. Ilya arrives by noon and spends the first hour taking him apart inch by inch. He doesn’t stop until Shane is completely boneless in his bed, and then refuses to let him get up for another hour. Every time Shane tries to get up Ilya covers his face in kisses and then pulls him back to the bed. It only occurs to him after his third attempt to get up that Ilya is nervous, too. Their bed is a safe space, someplace only they are allowed. It’s not surprising when the next time Shane tries to clean up that Ilya pulls him down onto his chest and wraps his body around him like a koala.

Eventually Shane forces them both into the shower and then into the kitchen, where Ilya takes charge of everything. Watching Ilya in his kitchen leaves him feeling settled. It’s the first true sense of calm he’s had in days. Even Ilya seems able to hide his nerves behind his cocksure smile and the ease of sharing a counter and stove. By the time Rose buzzes to be let up he’s actually excited for the night.

Shane leads Ilya to the door and doesn’t wait for a knock before opening it wide. It’s the most reckless thing he thinks he’s ever done, well, apart from that whole fucking and falling in love with his rival thing. The second she sees the two of them standing there her mouth drops. Her eyes grow wide and Shane has to pull her into the apartment to keep her from screeching in the hallway.

“Holy shit,” Rose stammers once she’s inside. Shane groans and watches as Ilya stills next to him. He watches as his boyfriend’s eyes flick over his best friend. He waits for something, anything to happen. Rose could turn around and walk out. Ilya could lock himself in the bedroom. But instead Rose makes an excited noise and opens up her arms wide, engulffing Shane, and then Ilya in a familiar hug.

“Hello,” Ilya says. His smile reaches all the way to his eyes as he lifts his own arms around Rose. It’s a cautious move, one only Shane would recognize as unsure, and in that moment he knows everything will be fine. He never had to worry. These are his people.

“You’re Ilya Rozanov,” She says, taking a step back with a deep breath, then shakes her head like she’s trying to make puzzle pieces fit together in her mind.

Ilya glances back at Shane, that same smile now met with his signature eyebrow raise. Oh. He is loving this.

“It is nice to meet you Rose, Shane says such nice things about you,” Ilya offers. Rose still stands feet inside the doorway, coat on, bag on her shoulder and a bottle of expensive wine under her arm.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I am not being cool about this, like at all. Shit.” Rose looks over at Shane, her entire face contorted in some type of confused embarrassment that he has never seen. He can’t help but smile back as Ilya puts an arm over his shoulder and pulls him closer, giving him a soft peck on the check.

“You are the movie star, right?” Ilya asks. Shane has heard that teasing tone a million times, “I will go get drinks. Shane says you like white wine?”

“Please,” Rose chokes out before Ilya struts into the kitchen. “Wow, that was the worst first impression ever.”

She covers her face with her hands and Shane knows there is no point in trying to hide his smile. Eventually he coaxes her out of her coat and leads her into the living room without teasing her too much.

“I think he found it funny.” He’s sure Ilya did. There is no way Shane won’t be hearing about this for the next six months. Probably longer. Rose Landry losing her shit over meeting Ilya Rozanov could very well end up in their marriage vows.

Rose smacks his shoulder before collapsing onto the coach with a groan. Shane perches on the arm of the plush chair across the room and gestures for her to say something, anything before Ilya gets back.

“Why did you try to date me?” She says with a laugh. “I am clearly not your type. I mean, damn. I totally get it, but what the hell Shane?!”

“What?”

“Ilya. Rozanov. He looks like a Greek god. You are insane for this. You know that right?”

Shane nods. He still isn’t sure what he’s done to deserve Ilya, but even in the days before he could admit that the things he felt were more than a passing attraction he knew Ilya was hot. Like, really hot.

“What, loving him?” Shane asks. Rose throws a pillow at him with a squeak. He is sure her agent will be thrilled tomorrow when she comes to work with a scratchy throat from all the small shrieks she’s making now.

“No, hiding this from me for a year. It’s wild. I’ve seen you play against Boston and thought you must hate him, and I guess I assumed Rozanov-”

Shane shakes his head. He places the pillow on the chair behind him and clears his throat.

“Ilya, in my house he’s Ilya, please.” He can’t offer him much right now, but insisting the people that Shane brings into their lives refer to his boyfriend by his name and not like he’s some enemy combatant is bare minimum.

“Ilya,” She repeats back, her expression softening as she studies Shane’s protective stare. “I mean I’ve seen his name under mine in the headlines. Everyone thinks he’s straight.”

“Ah, yes, Bisexual erasure is big both here and in Russia,” Ilya’s voice sounds from the doorway to the kitchen. He juggles three stemless wine glasses.

Rose stares at him over her shoulder like she’s really seeing him for the first time. Whatever traces of nerves that were still buried deep within Shane’s chest evaporate. Maybe no one else will understand them. He’s still certain that Hayden will try to have him committed if he ever finds out about Ilya, but Rose doesn’t seem to care. She knows about their rivalry and enough about hockey to see just what a shit show loving each other is for their careers, and instead of lecturing Shane on his life choices is nothing but a ball of joy.

“Can I start over? I was sure Shane was going to have some mid level hockey robot from like, New Jersey here and I was going to have to pretend to know who he was. I really am so excited to meet you.”

Ilya barks out a laugh as he hands over a glass overfilled with Rose’s favorite sweet white wine, and then passes another less full glass to Shane before settling back into the chair behind him with one of his strong hands resting steadily against Shane’s hip.

Conversation flows easy from there. Shane’s never had a problem talking to Rose and Ilya thrives with an audience to watch as he gently teases him about everything under the sun. Shane relaxes back into Ilya and just listens as two of the most important people in his life take turns sharing embarrassing stories about him.

Later, after dinner is finished and the bottle of wine Rose brought sits empty on the counter next to the bottle Ilya opened early, they relax around the table with a box of desserts Ilya picked up from a bakery near the arena.

“Ugh. I can’t believe I have to root for Boston now too. It’s already bad enough that I have to be sad when Shane loses,” Rose says with a mouth half full of cupcake and frosting.

“Rose’s family is from Detroit,” Shane offers as he steals a piece off of Ilya’s brownie. Ilya bats his hand away, but there’s no real effort there to keep him away from the dessert. Shane’s own plate sits empty, like always.

“Ah, So she is used to watching team lose.” Ilya nudges his elbow against Shane’s side and then nudges his plate closer to him. Shane steals another bite. Tonight is worth celebrating.

“Forever in a rebuild, as my dad likes to say.” Rose rolls her eyes and wipes her finger through some of the rouge frosting on her plate before sticking it in mouth.

“I think I am about to know the feeling,” Ilya says, his voice half amused as he shakes his head and looks over at Shane.

Rose stares back at him, frosting coating the corner of her mouth. Shane reaches over and grabs for Ilya’s hand, intertwinging their fingers with a firm squeeze.

“Remember how I said we had a plan? That plan sort of involves Ilya signing somewhere closer when his contract is up,” Shane offers, glancing at Ilya to be sure this is okay.

“You’re leaving Boston?”

“Yes. I will hopefully be in Ottawa next season,” Ilya says. Shane will never get over the way he has accepted this major life change with such sureness. From the moment at the cottage he woke him up to propose this crazy plan Ilya has only been all in.

“Oh. wow.” Rose stares at the both of them from across the table. She blinks rapidly and then visibly softens as the seriousness of Ilya’s words hit home. “You really love him.”

“Yes. How could I not?” Ilya squeezes Shane’s hand in three quick pulses.

“I think you and I are going to be great friends. Next time you play in LA we have to get dinner,” Rose says, taking a macaroon from the plate of desserts. “Shane doesn’t have to come.”

“Hey!” He tries to sound indignant, really, he does, but Shane’s sure it doesn’t hit. No. Not when he’s actually thrilled.

---

That night after Shane did dishes and Ilya wiped down the table they collapsed into bed together. Shane is tired in a way that only comes after comfortable socializing. It’s rare, something he hasn’t really experienced since he came to terms with his sexuality. Ilya seems appropriately sleepy as well. He pulls at Shane until he rests his head against Ilya’s chest.

“Thank you for showing up tonight,” He mutters against Ilya’s skin before wrapping an arm protectively over him.

“Thank you for introducing me to Rose. You were right. She is great.” Ilya runs his fingers through Shane’s hair. It’s so relaxing he might just pass out.

“And she won’t say anything to anyone,” Shane promises with a yawn. His eyes flutter closed with the sound of Ilya’s heart beating.

“I know. She promised like six times. I think she thought I’d set the bratva on her if she even thought about it.” A soft laugh rattles against Shane. He squeezes Ilya tighter.

“Little does she know you’re only dangerous on the ice. And maybe in fast cars,” Shane says. He secretly can’t wait for Rose to learn just how soft Ilya can be. He wants her to know all his best parts.

“No, I am always safe in fast cars. Have to make it back to you in one piece.” Ilya places a kiss against the crown of Shane’s head. He thinks this is it. This is everything he could ever dream of. All the years he spent wanting Ilya to notice him, to text him, and now they’re here in his bed in his quiet Montreal apartment after having dinner with a friend.

“I feel lighter now that someone else knows. Like this is really real.” And now he’s free to talk about Ilya openly with Rose. God, he can finally talk to someone outside of his parents about his boyfriend

“Was it not real enough when I was sucking your dick earlier?” The taunt lands right between his ribs. If he wasn’t so tired he’d do something about it. Even now he lets his hand snake down to the elastic of Ilya’s boxers and toy with the material.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. I don’t need everyone to know but letting Rose in is nice.”

“You do not want to be Hunter,” Ilya says. It’s a statement. They both respect what he did. It made them both think they could have something more than stolen nights. But Shane never wants to be the poster boy for gay hockey players. It’s already enough that still, eight years into his career, he gets asked about how it feels to be Asian and also good at hockey.

“I just want the people I love to know you like I know you.”

They lay there. Ilya’s hand tangled in Shane’s hair. Shane half asleep with the lull of Ilya’s heart and the rise and fall of his chest. They get two nights like this. They just had the four whole days together for the All Star break. He can almost believe that they can relax like this and not regret it.

“Maybe I make better friends in Ottawa. It would be nice to have someone I trust like you trust Rose,” Ilya says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shane had noticed how the names Ilya used to throw around, his teammates, some of the friends he made through Svetlana, hell, even Svetlana, slowly disappeared from his vocabulary. When Shane asked him about it on a Facetime call earlier in the season he said that they were from another part of his life and that now he’d rather spend his nights talking with Shane than at a club with people who never noticed when he disappeared.

The idea that Ilya surrounded himself with people who never saw him as more than a good time made Shane physically ill. As alone as he’s felt during his time in the MHL he knows Ilya’s experience has been that tenfold.

“I want that for you. You just can’t like them more than me.” He climbs up Ilya’s chest and places a chaste kiss against his lips.

“No, I don’t think I have room for a second boring Canadian in my phone,” Ilya says before deepening their kiss. “I love you. I can’t wait to beat you tomorrow.”

“Dream on Rozanov.”

---

The Raiders win. It isn’t even close. JJ and Hayden spend their post game time in the locker room shit talking Boston, but specifically Ilya. Shane had come into the building feeling light, calm, but that feeling disappeared sometime after their back up goalie let in a third goal in the first period.

Shane Hollander is good. He can’t make up for a blind rookie that needs to be sent back to the minor leagues. He also has made a career of not bashing other players. Sure, there’s some trash talk before games, but now? They should have played better. Everyone knows Rozanov is his equal. It’s not up to Shane to be everywhere at once.

Even his friends are surprised when he slams his duffle onto the bench and packs up without a word. What is he going to say? Keep my boyfriends name out of your mouth or Maybe try actually showing up neither are particularly captain worthy.

By the time he gets back to his apartment he’s completely furious. But the lights are already on. Ilya has beaten him back and is already in his bed and completely naked.

“I win, I get prize?“ He asks as he sits up, pulling at Shane until he falls on top of him.

“Pretty sure your prize is just me,” Shane mumbles against his neck. They only have hours left together, then another 3 weeks before one last scheduled match up in Boston.

“I was going to put you in my jersey, I will take you as you are tonight. You are prize enough.”

The next morning Ilya sleeps through his alarm while Shane is sneaking in a workout. There is no time for breakfast, or lazy morning sex. There’s barely time for coffee and making sure Ilya has his essentials packed before Shane shoves him into his car and fights Montreal rush hour to get him back to the team hotel before someone notices.

“One more games, Then playoffs,” Shane says as they sit in traffic.

“And then I win the cup and sign with bad Canadian team.” Ilya says, holding a coffee mug steady as he studies the map on Shane’s phone. They’ll make it, but only just. He’ll have to run the couple of blocks to make sure no one notices he’s been gone with his travel bag.

“In four months we won’t have to go through customs to see each other.” It’s the only thing Shane can think to say as they inch closer and closer to another goodbye.

“In four months you will help me pack up my stupid, cold townhouse. I cannot wait.”

“And I’ll see you again in 22 days.” The hotel is in sight now. Shane pulls past the building and idles the car far enough away that no one will be suspicious when he leans over and kisses Ilya on the cheek.

He watches Ilya jog the two blocks back to the hotel through the rearview mirror. Another three weeks of this sounds like hell. Playoffs after? He doesn’t know how he’ll survive it. Just as he goes to put the car back in gear to head back to his now empty apartment he sees a folded piece of paper on Ilya’s seat.

Another letter. Another challenge. For the next four months that will have to be enough.

Chapter End Notes

As always, I have a few notes:

In earlier chapters I've said that I do not think the arguments and communication issues in TLG are the first time any of these issues are addressed, but maybe the first time they're breaking points.

I see a lot of the year of Countdown as a negotiation of what being in a relationship means to two people who functionally never thought this would be in the cards for them. Hence, Shane asking and Ilya meeting Rose. The only thing I feel sure of in my soul is that this first meeting goes significantly better than the dinner with Hayden.

My other note is that I don't take much from the show unless there isn't good supporting book text, but as a Red Wings fan I will own Rose Landry repping Detroit hockey. In cannon time they are very much still in a rebuild at this time and I will not jinx them now.

Lastly, This chapter took slightly longer than I had hoped, mostly because I got a bite for a one shot that I expect will be posted sometime this weekend. I've decided that everything I am writing for HR is part of my own Letter4No1 universe, so if you're interested in seeing how I think how the second dinner with Ilya, Shane, and his parents went keep an eye out.

Chapter 9: April

Chapter Notes

Content warning: Chapter 9 includes descriptions of grief and a depressive episode. Please take care when reading

Spring arrives in Boston. Ilya waits for the clench of sadness to grip him. It doesn’t happen when the snow thaws or when the birds reappear in his yard. A winning streak distracts him from the parks going from a sad brown to lush green. It isn’t until the flowers start to bloom in his neighbor’s window box that something claws its way into his brain and hooks in so deep there are moments where he isn’t sure he remembers how to breathe.

This will be his last spring in Boston and he knows he should be sad about this. On a call last week Shane taught him the word nostalgia. He’d been tiptoeing around his mood for days at that point. Ilya doesn’t know how to make it better. Every call with him he gets shorter, his answers more clipped, but still his heart only beats for Shane. These three weeks will be the hardest of their entire relationship.

Ilya doesn’t know how to tell Shane he isn’t sad, no, nostalgic, about this being his last season in Boston. Sure, this place has been as much of a home as he could hope. There are plenty of things that remind him of Moscow if he looks hard enough and there are people here he trusts enough to jump his car or pick him up from the airport. But leaving Boston doesn’t feel like losing something. Not when the idea of Ottawa gives Ilya so much hope he could burst.

The thing that’s really wrong is that to Ilya spring has always meant loss. Ever since he was 12 new flowers meant bouquets on a fresh grave. Once Shane mentioned that around the end of March their contact would slow down until it was just a minor trickle. After they got together he said something about how this year it would be different. They could both be locked in for the playoff race and still be boyfriends who talk every night.

At the time he didn’t have the heart to tell him that sure, winning the cup was always the goal, but that had never been the reason Ilya left Shane on read for weeks at a time come the start of spring.

This year he won’t be able to avoid it. He’s trying so hard but all he wants to do is curl in on himself until the playoffs start and he can get past a date on the calendar: April 4th.

Shane won’t let him do that, at least not without telling him why.

On the first day of April Ilya sits at his couch with a FaceTime call pulled up on his ipad and an episode of survivor playing quietly on the TV. It’s date night, or as close to a date night as the two of them can manage this late into the season. It’s been on his calendar since he left Montreal, an odd night where they’re both off at home, but of course didn’t have enough time to make the trek to each other.

Ilya has no idea what’s going on in the episode. Honestly, the only thing he’s thought about for the last few days is his mother and Shane and how he’ll never be able to see the two of them meet.

This year was supposed to be easier. They had been getting easier.

He isn’t supposed to feel like this again.

“Did I do something?” Shane asks. Ilya realizes he doesn’t know how long he has been staring mindlessly at his TV.

Shit.

They’re supposed to make fun of the contestants and eat dinner together. He’s failing even at that. He should really pick up the sandwich he made and take a bite but the idea curdles in his stomach.

“I am just tired,” He says, faking an exaggerated yawn, “Is not you. I don’t want you to think that”

“You’re making the playoffs. Right now you might make the one seed. It’s pissing me off,” Shane says, his face scrunches up in the way it always does when he’s annoyed by something he can’t fix immediately. Ilya wishes he could crawl into his lap right now. He doesn’t even care that Shane’s currently balancing a huge bowl of ramen on his leg “I know we usually lock in around now, this is kind of new.”

Ilya nods. It’s hard for him to even look at the screen of his iPad. Shane is sitting there so earnest and lovely in his glasses. He loves nights like this. They’re the best thing they can do without being together.

“It is not about hockey.” He tries so hard to look at Shane as he forces the words out of his mouth. They feel clunkier than they should. His English is good now, more than passable. It’s only when he gets upset or tired that the words don’t flow, and right now he’s both.

On the screen Shane is frozen, spoon halfway to his mouth. It’s like by admitting there is something that could be wrong that isn’t hockey related he has pulled a circuit directly from his brain.

“Shane, I-” He wishes he could say it in Russian. Despite the apps and the workbook Shane has a full life that doesn’t revolve around needing to speak his first language fluently. The effort is appreciated, and he’ll never complain that he isn’t learning fast enough, but on days like today all Ilya wants is to not have to translate his every thought. “The spring is hard for me,”

“You’re worrying me,” Shane says, moving his dinner somewhere off camera and bending closer to his own tablet.

“Nothing to worry about. I am strong. You know this.”

“Is this about moving? I am not trying to be pushy. You’re giving up a lot.”

Ilya has spent his entire adult life studying Shane Hollander, and right now he can practically feel the anxiety radiating off him all the way from Montreal. There’s no annoyed scrunched nose, no raised eyebrows, just wide eyes and lips pressed firm together like he’s working to hold everything together.

“I am gaining more. Please. Has nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with hockey,” Ilya says. He knows it isn’t enough. What he needs to do is tell Shane about his mom. He already knows so much, this one last thing shouldn’t be his tipping point.

But he’s never shared this part of his life with anyone. He doesn’t know how.

“You’ve been acting off for a week, Cottage rule, now,” Shane says. His tone isn’t even demanding. Ilya can hear that it’s full of worry. He still bristles at the command.

“No,” he says before he can think better of it. “I am sorry. No.”

Shane looks like he’s been struck. Ilya has played him in countless games, rammed him into the boards, checked him hard enough for both of them to see stars, and still he has never seen him look so hurt.

“Okay. If you ever want to tell me about it, I’m here. I guess I’ll just go give you space or whatever. Not like we’re not already in different countries or anything.” Shane backs away from his own camera and fumbles with something off screen. Ilya’s sure it’s his favorite blanket, the one he likes to curl up with after a hard game.

“Shane, please, let’s just watch show.” Later they were supposed to move their call to the bedroom and make tonight a full virtual date experience but Shane is glaring at him and Ilya isn’t sure how he can turn this around. “Is no big deal, I promise.”

“I don’t know that. Not when half the time you want to reschedule our calls and take forever to answer my texts. Something is wrong, Ilya, and you’re not telling me what it is. It’s pretty clear to me that it’s something to do with us,” Shane says, and it is impossible not to notice how he stiffens, like he’s ready for some sort of battle. “I’m going to go. I want us to talk about whatever this is but it’s clearly not going to happen tonight and I don’t feel like sitting here pretending that everything is normal. I love you. This isn’t us.”

“Sweetheart, no, please. We watch the stupid people in the jungle try to backstab each other. I will be better. I do not see you still for another week.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t right now. That’s me being honest with you. Feel free to tell me what’s going on whenever, but I’m done with this tonight.”

Ilya watches as Shane’s arm extends just within frame and then the entire screen goes back. He actually hung up. For a moment he can’t move. In a way nothing is different than it was ten minutes ago. The TV is still on, there’s still a club sandwich piled high and untouched on the coffee table, his tablet is still propped carefully on said table on top of a pile of coffee table books he bought just for Shane to thumb through when he’s bored. The only change is that now his screen is blank and Shane is gone.

What he should do is call him back and come clean. It will be hard, but he knows Shane will listen. Except this virtual date was the only thing he had to distract him from his overwhelming grief and the loss of this alone time with Shane and a renewed neverending ache over his mother makes that impossible.

He switches off the TV. He knows he can’t finish an episode of Survivor without Shane. He already blew up the cottage rule. He can’t also get ahead on one of their favorite tandem watches. Then his uneaten sandwich ends up on the kitchen counter. He knows it should be wrapped and put in the fridge but he can’t fathom doing that much work now.

It’s like he’s watching his body from outer space as he moves through the townhouse. He tidies the living room, or at least moves around some blankets and pillows while ignoring a pile of mail, and then wanders to the bedroom where he collapses into a deep, dream filled sleep.

When Ilya wakes up the next morning it takes him a minute to remember that he ended last night alone in his bed, his iPad discarded in the living room because Shane had actually hung up on him.

The memory pins him to the bed. He needs to fix this, but he also needs to not talk to anyone for the next three days. That’s impossible. Shane will break up with him if he takes that kind of time without being able to articulate why. His team also isn’t going to let him just sink into oblivion this late in the season without a medical reason.

When he finally finds the energy to check his phone it only makes things worse. Usually Shane is the first one awake and Ilya can expect to find a good morning text. Even when Montreal plays on the west coast he finds a way to beat him in the morning. Today, there is a text, but it’s not the one he is hoping for.

Shane
My parents had planned to come when we play you in a few days. Should I tell them to cancel their flight?

There’s no good morning or apology for ending their date early. Admittedly, hoping for the latter was a bit of a stretch, but this? The timestamp says he sent it at five thirty in the morning. One of Shane’s first thoughts upon waking up was if he needs to separate his family from Ilya?

Ilya
Why?
You do not want them here?

He wouldn’t blame Shane for wanting to protect his parents from him, but he had been looking forward to getting lunch with them before the game. Honestly he would do anything to see all of the Hollanders. Maybe it would make him feel better to be surrounded by people who want to be his family, but that is again something he doesn’t have words to ask, let alone the courage.

Shane
You don’t even seem to want me there. Why should I drag my parents to Boston if you don’t want to see any of us?

His stomach dropped. He really shouldn’t have been so blunt when he told Shane he wouldn’t be following the cottage rule. Yes, it had made his boyfriend upset, but he figured that come morning they could move past it and then maybe, next week when they saw each other in person Ilya could find a way to come clean about everything that has been weighing heavy on his mind.

There are few things he’s sure of right now. One is his love of Shane, the other is that he cannot have a conversation like the one he knows he needs to have over the phone.

Ilya
I always want you here. You know this.

Shane
Knowing and feeling it are different things.

It always comes back to this. He shouldn’t be surprised. They spent years lying to themselves and each other about their feelings. It’s too easy when Ilya can barely see past the blinders of his sadness to fall back into patterns that made both of their lives miserable.

He hovers his fingers over the keyboard. He starts to type out something about his mother, and then deletes it. He tries again, from a different angel, and then a third time in Russian with the full intent of asking Shane to immediately run it through a translator because sometimes Ilya doesn't have to win at everything if it means his boyfriend understands him, but he can’t make himself hit send on any of them.

All of the attempts feel hollow, the entire situation is ridiculous. He’s a grown man. His mother has been dead since he was a child and there is no reason why this year her loss has hit him like it’s completely new. So instead he takes a steadying breath and pours all of the love in his heart into his phone before abandoning it on his nightstand.

 

Ilya
I love you. Please feel it too. Nothing is different.

That afternoon he sits down and writes. The words don’t come easy. These letters have been a small lifeline when Shane is far away. Now they feel like a confessional with no chance of absolution. It doesn’t stop him though. He may be writing to Shane, but the words are for him. It’s everything he has a hard time admitting to himself. His sadness is now ink on a page. He thought it would help, but instead he’s just an hour closer to April 4th.

When he finally goes to check his phone Shane hasn’t responded. Now he knows he won’t, not before he takes the ice tonight. Montreal is playing New Jersey. Ilya takes a second to wonder when he started to know his schedule better than his own, before shaking the thought out of his head. It wasn’t this season. Probably not even last. He has always cared about when the Metros play almost as much as the Raiders.

Shane has always been the one who is good with words, who can plan and be brave with his feelings, even if it takes him a minute to put a name to them. He needs to trust that this is just a blip and he’ll be back annoying and boring, demanding Ilya let him into the dark places of his mind again.

It’s all he has to hold on to as he sends one more text. Hopefully this one won’t go unanswered by the end of the night.

Ilya
Good luck with your game.

---

Ilya watched the Metros, mostly Shane, slaughter the Guardians. Every time he saw his face on the screen something deep in his chest ached. He sent him another string of texts full of ‘I love yous’ and his signature chirps about Shane's game. He wanted things to go back to normal but the only response he got, far past Shane’s bedtime, broke his heart in a way he no longer thought possible.

Shane
I think I need you to be the one telling me we’re okay right now.

Ilya
We are the most okay. I promise I will tell you everything when I see you next week.

He will. He needs Shane to know, even if right now it’s hard to imagine being able to talk about his mother’s death and his ongoing grief in any way without dissolving into a puddle of tears. Next week will be the start of another year and he won’t feel weighted down by the weight of his own sadness.

The next day The Raiders took on Detroit and Ilya tried to only think about how Rose would look at the highlight reel later and text Shane. He wanted to play well and impress someone, anyone. Everything outside of hockey was crumbling. It always did in April.

Boston loses to Detroit 3-1. Ilya knows his record eight minutes in the penalty box are both unimpressive and the direct cause of their disastrous game. He isn’t surprised when he gets back to his locker that he has ten messages from Yuna and a single text from Shane.

Shane
You looked like shit out there. I think we really should talk now.

He just needs to make it another twenty four hours. Tomorrow will be terrible. He’ll have to force himself to text Shane at least once. He already knows this about himself. There hasn’t been a year since he lost his mother that he’s willingly been social on the anniversary of her death. Usually that means he gets into a fight on the ice. But after that things will get easier. They have to get easier.

In two days things will be fine. Mostly. He’ll have to pick up the pieces of Shane he broke and find a way to make sure next April this doesn't happen again. It’s the only thing he lets himself think about on the drive home. Next year he will still have Shane, because there isn’t a world where he lets his inability to communicate like an adult ruin them, and next year this cannot happen. It has to stop.

He sits in his garage for a full ten minutes after he parks with his car off. He doesn’t want to go into his empty house, but he equally doesn’t want to stare at the messages that came in during his short drive home.

Shane
Or I can just keep talking into the void. That worked really well for us for seven years, right? It didn’t suck at all.

Shane
That wasn’t fair.
Can you just let me know you got home?
I miss you so much.

Ilya would scream but he doesn’t have the energy. He misses Shane so much it hurts. He can’t let himself think what it would be like if he were able to be here tomorrow. He’s sure it would help. He wouldn’t even know how to ask for something like that, not this late in the season when they barely have two days off in a row. It would be ridiculous and really, Ilya is a fully grown man. He should be able to take care of himself.

He doesn’t know how to tell him that sometimes sadness grips his heart like a vice and wouldn’t let go. Those episodes are fewer now than when he was young. Having Shane grounds him, having a plan to make their relationship easier gives him a purpose.

Shane has never run, not when their conversations get hard. He drove hours to see him after a fight and insisted on every update on every minor injury. He invited Ilya to Christmas and to meet his best friend. He knew Shane was all in and that all he was doing now was hurting him.

But none of that changes the fact that on April 4th his mother died and that every year the start of spring threatens to send him into a grief spiral so deep he sometimes wonders if he’ll ever be able to claw his way out.

He crashes through his kitchen like a bull in a china shop. He should really start laundry or have a snack before getting ready to wind down but that’s not possible. He’s so keyed up the only thing he can think of is water. He needs to be under a steady stream of water where he can just breathe and pretend everything is fine.

Not like he’ll ever be able to clear his mind, not when every time he closes his eyes he sees Shane right before he hung up, or worse, his mother in the days before she died.

Few people know about Irina Rozanova. Even fewer are aware of the circumstances of her death. No one outside of Russia knows when it happened. He never wanted to share, not when he was a rookie and didn’t want his teammates treating him like the kid with the dead mom. He didn’t want their sympathy and he wouldn’t have been able to stand their pity. Everything still felt so fresh, even though it had been six years. Then, as he grew older he found there wasn’t a point. He could be Ilya Rozanov at work without telling them a single thing about the inner workings of his heart and that served him well up until now.

It used to work so perfectly because he had no one to tell.

It’s the only thought flowing through his mind as he stands under his state of the art showerhead. It doesn’t matter that he rinsed off after the game at the arena, he needed the feel of scalding water on his skin and the quiet of his own home. Here he could stay until the water burned and then turned cold. Everything was fine, his life was in neat boxes: hockey, his family, sex, but then Shane Hollander pulled him out of his comfort zone kicking and screaming and Ilya knows he is not getting through the next few days without telling him about his mother and the way her loss still feels so raw he sometimes worries it might kill him too.

Because the only options are to tell Shane or lose him. Another man wouldn’t bat an eye at sharing something as trivial as a date with their partner. Shane deserves someone stronger, braver, definitely someone with a less fucked up childhood.

He tries to focus on the positive memories, but they have grown more faded with time. The water pounds into his skin as he tries to remember making blinis with his mother when he was barely tall enough to see over the kitchen counter. Or there was that time when he was so nervous to try out for his first ‘big kid’ team that she took him to their local ice rink and helped him run drills. He was nine and already knew the only places he would ever feel safe were on the ice and with her.

He grabs at the cross dangling from his neck. In every one of Ilya’s memories his mother wears it. Feeling it against his skin is sometimes the only thing that grounds him. He holds the charm tight, letting the edges dig into his palms.

Only one more night. Tomorrow is the day. After that he will pull himself together and grovel at Shane’s feet. He will be honest and tell him everything and hope that he understands that he can be sad sometimes and still love him with everything in his soul. He will tell him that next year being in Ottawa will make this all easier. He is still all in even if once a year grief is a freight train running straight through his heart.

He tugs at the cross again. He needs to feel its weight against his palm. He lets the corners cut into his skin while the hot water reddens his back. He squeezes again, and lets his hand fall heavy, tugging at the chain.

Then, something comes loose. He doesn’t understand what’s happening until the cross, his mother’s cross, is clattering towards the drain. Ilya falls to his knees, grasping for it in the water, that is suddenly too much as it drips in his eyes. The gold is slippery and it feels like all he can do is watch as the gold slides closer and closer to the shower drain.

Finally, his fingers find a grip on the delicate cross and he manages to heave his body out of the shower, barely remembering to turn off the water as he lumbers, dripping into the bedroom and collapses to his knees next to his bed.

Ilya fumbles with the chains still around his neck. It’s been ages since he’s taken it off and it’s hard to remember how to use the clasp. His phone rings from the nightstand next to him and he can’t take the sound. He reaches blindly to decline the call and goes back to trying to remove the chain from his neck.

His phone rings again with the tell-tale FaceTime tone that usually brings him so much joy but right now he can barely process the noise through the panic. He reaches to decline the call again and finally gets the chain off his neck.

Now he can examine what went wrong. The bail is completely wrecked, but the chain seems fine. The gold isn’t warped in any visible way, at least not that Ilya can see with water dripping in his eyes. His phone rings again and he swats at it. When he expects to be calming silence instead there’s a whoosh as the call connects and Shane’s voice fills his room.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? I thought we were done with these games. Ilya? Ilya.” Through the fog he can understand Shane. The harsh bite of his words turns to something different, but that’s not something he can process right now.

The only thing he has of his mother is broken. He almost lost it entirely. Somehow Shane is on the phone confused and angry. That has to be it. He was always destined to lose everything in April. It’s something he knows deep in his soul.

A sob racks through his body. Water puddles around him on the hardwood of his bedroom floor. He didn’t even grab a towel. He shivers, cold and wet, wishing he could disappear.

He has never felt this out of control. Hysterical, he thinks. That’s the word. He used to tease Shane with it when they were younger. Now he can’t force his breathing into a normal pattern. This might be his worst nightmare, losing the last piece of his mother while Shane watches, angry on a grainy call from Montreal.

“Ilya, are you okay?” Shane’s voice grows louder. Ilya isn’t sure why. He should really just hang up, but he can't seem to make his arms move. “Rozanov? Ilya? Talk to me.”

He can’t stop the tears from coming, but now he can feel his cheeks heat. He doesn’t do this. Ilya Rozanov doesn’t come apart on his bedroom floor over jewelry. This is the type of behavior that was beaten out of him in Russia. If he could right now he would vanish on the spot. Maybe then Shane would stop shouting. He wouldn’t need to worry.

“Mon Couer. Dusha moya, I need you to talk to me.”

A fresh sob escapes his lips. The French, Shane’s favorite term of endearment, cuts through the fog, then the Russian, so clunky but still perfect, grounds him enough to take a ragged breath.

He’s not going to hang up. Ilya shouldn’t have answered, but Shane isn’t going to hang up.

“I am fine.” Each word is a battle. English is next to impossible. “Is nothing.”

“Like fuck it is. Are you hurt? Can I see you?”

He can’t move. No, all he can do is stare at the charm in his hand and try to will it back onto it’s chain. Most days this would be distressing. He actually can’t remember the last time he took off the cross for anything. He hasn’t needed an MRI in several seasons and that would have been the only reason to remove it. So it breaking today, the day before the anniversary of the one that cleaved his entire life into a before and after, is too much to bear.

“I’m not mad but you’re really scaring me right now. I love you. Please, can I see you?” Shane’s voice wobbles from the nightstand.

“I do not want to upset you,” Ilya says, the words still difficult in his mouth, but at least now he feels like he might have some control over his own limbs.

“It’s a little late for that. We’ll work through this together, okay?”

Ilya picks up the phone, still kneeling on the ground with the chain in one hand and his mother’s cross in the other. He looks terrible. His hair is still wet and water drips down his forehead, mixing with his tears. Immediately he wipes the back of his hand across his face to try and look somewhat presentable.

Shane stares back at him, a hand comes up to cover his mouth. This is the absolute worst way this could happen. There’s no way he can hide now.

“Is really nothing. Cross broke. Is stupid. I, how you say, react big?” He can’t keep his eyes on the screen, not when Shane looks like he’s on the verge of tears just at the sight of him, the color completely drained from his face.

“Overreact, no.” Shane shakes his head, “That’s your mom’s cross.”

“Yes. She has been gone fifteen years tomorrow.”

Shane blinks. Ilya watches as understanding washes over him. He waits for Shane to yell. He knows he has not handled this well at all. His mother has been dead for more years than half his life. It shouldn’t still hurt like this. He’d love for someone to hand him a manual for a lifetime of grief and how to share those parts of himself without scaring the person he loves. Instead he spent the last week pushing Shane away and then ignoring call after call tonight, over what? A memory and a piece of jewelry?

“I can be there in five hours. Maybe six. I’ll go pack a bag.” Shane is half off the bed before Ilya can process what he said.

“You will not. It is eleven o’clock. You have a game in two days. Be reasonable.” He doesn’t need to come here. That would be ridiculous. He didn’t want Shane to inconvenience himself for this. Maybe. Probably. Really he looks worse than he is.

“Yeah, I am really not worried about that right now,” Shane says, already up and throwing clothes into what Ilya assumes to be his overnight bag.

“I am okay. Please don’t come.” Please , he thinks, I don’t want you to see me like this.

If Shane takes himself out of his perfect routine again because Ilya is bad at communicating he is sure this will be the beginning of the end. Shane Hollander doesn’t make last minute trips. He isn’t spontaneous. He’s steady and boring, dependable to a fault. It’s what Ilya loves about him and he never wants to force him out of the comfort of his routine just because he’s having a bad day.

“I love you,” Shane says directly into the camera. He’s holding one of Ilya’s sweatshirts, clenching the fabric tight in his hands before setting it down and sitting back on his own bed. “I really need you to be honest and tell me if you’re okay.”

Ilya sits there on the ground. His tears slow enough for him to take in several deep breaths. It’s helpful to see Shane. Having him present, even if just on the phone, is the most grounding thing. Finally, he shakes his head.

There’s no way he’s okay right now.

“I wish she could have met you,” he says as he wipes at his face. Now that he’s not fully in crisis he can admit that he’s cold, and there’s now a small cut in his hand from how he was gripping at the cross.

“I wish I could have met her, too.” Shane looks like he wants to crawl through the phone. His eyes dart all over the screen. Ilya is sure he’s mentally cataloging every piece of this moment to unpack later. “Talk me through what you’re doing tomorrow. Go minute by minute. What do you usually do?”

“Often there is a game. Sometimes practice. Tomorrow I am off.” That scares him the most. The end of the regular season is a busy time, but his coach wants to prioritize rest days to make sure everyone is healthy for the playoffs. He knows he will be an absolute bear to anyone he comes into contact with tomorrow, he always is, but that is nothing compared to the idea of being left alone with his thoughts. “I will just stay home. I am not, how you say, good company.”

“And if I tell you I don’t need you to be good company, I just need you to be you, what would you say?” Shane's haphazardly packed bag still sits next to him on the bed.

“I will be fine, Shane. I am sorry. I will make this all up to you. I promise. I did not mean to make you worry,” Ilya says. His voice sounds more like his own. He hopes that’s a good thing. “I know I am supposed to tell you that I need time and I did not do that. I ignored cottage rule.”

“Stop.”

“No, I promis-”

“We can talk about how shitty the last week has been when you’re not in the middle of a full on crisis,” Shane says in what Ilya is sure is his Captain voice. There’s no debating him, no arguing.

He sinks further to the floor, exhausted and embarrassed. He wishes he could go back and do every part of today different. Hell, he could go back a full week and save himself a world of hurt by just telling Shane all of this before the flowers bloomed. But he didn’t and now there’s a puddle on his bedroom floor and his mother’s cross is broken.

“I am tired of English,” he admits quietly.

“I know, Moya lyubov,” Shane says. His accent really is atrocious, but it soothes something deep inside Ilya. “Do you think you’re ready to get ready for bed? I can stay on the call and then we can watch something until you fall asleep.”

He nods, staring at the chain and cross that are still in his hands. Finally he sets them down one on top of the other one his nightstand and goes to stand up.

 

“I just want to hear your voice. Can you read me your boring hockey book?” He asks as he pulls on a pair of loose joggers and one of Shane’s t-shirts before crawling into bed. He’s still a mess. The fabric clings to his still damp skin but he doesn’t care. Through the screen he watches as Shane fumbles around his own nightstand for his latest hockey tome.

Ilya doesn’t bother to try and comprehend what Shane’s saying when he starts to read. He just listens to the cadence of his voice and falls into a deep sleep.

---

When Ilya wakes up the next morning his first thought isn’t about his mother. That in itself is a small miracle. The fact that it’s because he has an industrial sized headache is less ideal. The sound of his front door crashing open is also not a great sign.

The cursing that follows isn’t promising, either.

He groans. He hopes whoever is robbing him at least has the decency to ignore the mess he left last night. Maybe they’ll just take the tv? That’s replaceable and he can always get a new one before he moves to Canada in a few months.

The clanking in the kitchen is the final straw. Ilya forces himself out of bed. He should probably be more worried that he is, but something about the situation doesn’t feel threatening. The noises are familiar, almost comforting. When he rounds the corner to the kitchen he spots Shane unloading his dishwasher.

He’d almost think he was hallucinating if he hadn’t spent all of last night hysterical on a video call with him. He told him not to come. Montreal and Boston are not that close and Shane would not risk any type of paparazzi shot at the airport.

It is absolutely ridiculous he found a way to be here and Ilya has never felt more relieved.

“You are very bad burglar,” He says, voice still heavy with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” Shane stands in front of the counter, frozen with a pile of clean dishes to his side and his signature smile.

It cracks something wide open in Ilya and he rushes across the room and straight into Shane’s arms. They collide with a woosh, Shane, squeezing him tight.

“I told you that you did not have to come,” Ilya mumbles against Shane’s shirt. His hands rub firm circles against his back.

 

“And I’m an adult who can make his own decisions,” Shane says before placing a delicate kiss to the crown of Ilya’s head. “I took a brand meeting downtown this morning and now I’m here, deal with it.”

“You do not have brands based in Boston.” Yuna would never allow it. There are not many luxury brands based out of the area that align with Shane’s image and all of the smaller deals he has are exclusively Canadian.

“Yeah, well some weird sock company has been blowing up my inbox for a year and I really didn’t feel like driving 12 hours in one day. I emailed them after you fell asleep and they answered immediately. Now I’m an ambassador for Stick it To ‘Em Socks for the next year.“ Shane laughs as he sways with Ilya. It feels so good to be in his arms, so safe.

“Stick it to ‘Em?” Ilya asks as he pulls back just far enough to look Shane in the eye. This is ridiculous. It’s actually crazy. Shane is here. He doesn’t have to do today alone.

“They’re supposed to be good for skates but have all these tacky pun designs on them.. Somehow the fabric is both too soft and scratchy. They’re made out of recycled plastic and kelp, maybe? The whole business model didn’t make a lot of sense.” Shane runs his hands up Ilya’s arms and then brushes a piece of hair out of his eyes before engulfing him in another hug.

“And you are now their brand ambassador?” He laughs. The sound is foreign to him after the last week. He isn’t sure he has ever laughed on April 4th. He’s almost certain he hasn’t in the last fifteen years. He’d never allow himself too, not without Shane and his new obligation to wear terrible socks.

“I needed a reason to take the first flight into Boston this morning, so yeah, I’ll have to deal with shitty socks for a bit I guess.”

“You really didn’t-” He starts, letting his chin rest against Shane’s shoulder.

“Ilya, I had the day off and I didn’t want you to be alone right now. You’re the most important thing in my life. I wish you had told me what today was sooner so I could have found a way to be here without signing a contract at eight in the morning, but I get that this is hard for you. Now if you need space that’s fine. I can help clean up the kitchen or get started on laundry. You can ignore me if that’s what you need, but I will still be here making sure you’re taken care of.”

If Shane had asked him yesterday he would have said yes, he would need space. Having Shane around would be nice. Having his person there to care for him from the periphery would have been the only thing that could help. Now he is actually here and the idea of sulking around the house while Shane cleans up after him is laughable. He wants to always be touching him, always have him in sight.

Ilya perches on the counter while Shane starts coffee. He stays there while Shane digs through his fridge and comes up with milk, eggs and butter and a look of determination. It’s not until there is a lumpy pancake batter and a pan heating on the stove that Shane shoos him to one of the barstools at the island.

“It’s been fifteen years. It isn’t supposed to still be like this. It is never good, but it has not been this bad in a long time,” Ilya admits while Shane directs all of his attention to the stove.

“Your grief can look however it needs to,” Shane says as he serves up a plate of undercooked pancakes. “If you're up for it, I found a jeweler that should be able to do same day repairs. We can go. I’ll wait in the car. I thought that might make you feel better.”

---

Later, Ilya across Shane’s chest, the TV in the living room plays the start of a Red Sox game. Neither of them care about baseball, but the low hum of the announcers helps lull both of them into the perfect level of sleepy post coital stillness.

Every so often Shane comments on the game and Ilya hums in response. He doesn’t have to think in English right now to know in this moment he is loved. Shane’s hands wander over his back, and then through his hair. He straightens his now fixed necklace every time he moves.

The only time they aren’t touching is when Shane goes to get a glass of ginger ale. When he comes back it’s with drinks for the both of them and a familiar ink filled piece of paper. The sight of it immediately makes Ilya taste bile.

“I think it would be good for both of us if you read this to me,” Shane says, holding it out to him and then setting a can of Coke in front of Ilya.

“Ah, but you’re supposed to be studying,” He can’t. Reading his first letter at Christmas had nearly broken him. Today has been good. The sadness is still there, but so is Shane, always there, always with him. He’s barely talked about his mother at all but he knows she is there. She will always be with him in his memories.

“I grabbed a 5am flight and talked about socks to a man named Todd that smelled like fish this morning as an excuse to see you,” Shane says, there’s no real bite to his tone. His free hand combs through Ilya’s hair as he pushes the letter onto his lap. “I’d do it a thousand times over, but I think hearing what you were thinking the last few days would go a long way for both of us right now. Here, I know that’s my name. That’s the word for hockey, right?”

He points down at the Cyrillic with confidence. Ilya’s heart blooms. He is actually learning.

“You are learning fast.” Ilya swallows. He knows if he outright refuses Shane won’t push him. He’ll fold up the letter and take it back with him to Montreal. One day he will be able to read it on his own. Then everything from the past week will just be a memory. They’ll have worked through it. But it wouldn’t be fair.

He turns from Shane and forces himself to take a deep breath. He can do this. He can be brave for Shane.

“Believe me I’m not,” Shane says, “”Please. I can go sit outside the door if it’s easier but you already wrote this down. You want me to know, right? That’s what the letters are for?”

It is. Every single letter is a window into his head. They’re confessions of love and apologies. They’re the little parts of his life that he doesn’t know how to share when their time together is already so limited.

“I do not want you to listen from other room.” Ilya picks up the paper and makes a show of smoothing it out even though there is only a single crease. Shane scoots closer.

“Shane,” He says, pointedly looking at him with an expression that is far more sure than he currently feels, “I know you are frustrated with me. I am frustrated with myself. You think that every spring we dropped contact to focus on playoffs. I did not have the heart to tell you that it was never about hockey.

I still do not know how to tell you about my mother. This summer was the first time I had really talked to anyone about her since I left Russia. You are always so patient when I am brave enough to tell you stories about her, but I am not brave often. I worry that one day my memory will fail me. Already so much of my time with her has faded.

But not the worst day. I will always remember that. My mother has been gone for fifteen years. Once I thought nothing would be worse than the first year, and then the tenth. Then the thirteenth year, when I realized I had lived longer without her than with her, had to be the most terrible. I don’t know how this day, April 4th, could keep getting worse.”

Ilya stops. His eyes water. He knows what’s next. If he was honest with himself it’s the reason this year has been one of the hardest yet.

Shane reaches out and sets his hand on Ilya’s knee. The contact helps. He reaches out and places his hand on top of Shane’s and continues

“And then this year I realized she will never know you. When it was just my career, my life in Boston, it did not seem as big of a loss. She would have been proud of me, but would not be surprised. She put her everything into giving me a shot at the MHL. It would have been nice for her to see me win the Cup, but sometimes I can’t breath when I think about how she will never know you.

I wish I could tell her about your heart and your freckles. I want her to know that you ground me in a way I no longer thought was possible. Sometimes I wish I could call her just to tell her about one of your games. She would have loved you and I know she would have loved to see us happy together. “

He pauses. He was not built for this much English at once, and certainly not for this much feeling. It doesn’t matter that they’ve jokes about marriage, or that he’s never been more sure that the next line will be true. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He swallows hard, and then clears his throat.

“Most days…’”Ilya starts, Shane shifts next to him. He grips hard against his knee and shakes his head.

“That’s not the next line. I can see my name. And that, right there,” Shane snakes his arm around Ilya’s chest, pointing directly at a word in the middle of the page, “says husband.”

For a moment Ilya can’t breathe. He’s sure he’s never used that word in front of Shane before. It’s in exactly one other letter, one he already read to Shane, even if he omitted the part about wanting to marry him.

“You’re not going to scare me away. Don’t make me get out a dictionary right now.”

When he looks up at him Shane’s own eyes are brimming with tears. It is all Ilya can do to choke back a sob before he continues with an unsteady voice.

“Shane, she will not be at our wedding, and she will never meet our children. She will never know you as my husband. This year every time I thought about how much I missed her I thought about how she will not ever get to know who I am with you. I think that is why this anniversary is so hard. It is the first time I have had someone I wish she could know.

Most days I do not let myself dwell on any of this. It would be nice if she were still here, but also maybe she sent me you. She certainly believed in me enough to make sure I made it to North America to find you.

July cannot come soon enough”

Ilya stops fighting the tears. They drip onto the paper. Shane reaches out and runs his finger over his signature and then gently takes the paper out of Ilya’s hands and sets it on the coffee table.

Shane adjusts himself on the couch and then guides Ilya so that he’s laying on top of him. He doesn’t mind when Ilya buries his head in his chest, tears soaking into Shane’s shirt.

They stay like that for what feels like forever. Shane rubs at Ilya’s back, muttering soft, soothing words in English and his very broken Russian until the tears stop and his breathing evens.

“How many kids do you want?” Shane asks eventually. The only other noise in the room is the announcers talking about base hits and errors.

“Two. Maybe three,” Ilya says, adjusting so he can look up at his boyfriend.

Shane hums in agreement. The sound is so perfect, so domestic. He can’t believe this is his life.

“That sounds perfect. We’ll make sure they know about their grandma, okay? She might not get to meet me or our future kids but we can know about her. I want to know about her,” He says before wiping a tear from under Ilya’s eye. “You’re not going to scare me away by telling me what you want for our future. I love knowing you want us to get married and start a family. For a while I felt like I was the only one who was all in. Knowing you want those things too makes all the nights apart easier.”

“II will not hide them from you anymore,” He promises. It will be easier than sharing the darker parts of him. The things he wants with Shane feel as natural as breathing.

“Don’t hide your pain either. Okay? I hate that you go through this every year. You could have told me last April,” Shane sits up, forcing Ilya into his lap. “I thought we had turned a corner then. I think that is what bothers me most about this. We didn’t know how to talk about something that wasn’t hockey or sex for like half a decade, but the last few years were different, I’d already been there for you when your dad died. I thought that meant something.”

“It was not about trust. Shane, I never talk about her. Is too hard. This time last year you were injured. Had limited screen time. I only got to talk to you for maybe five minutes a day and didn’t want to make those minutes sad. I did not think I could. We were not this yet. I did not think we could be.”

This was the conversation they needed to have last week. It was one that Ilya was incapable of having over the phone. He needed this, touch, being able to gauge Shane’s reaction in real time, to say any of it.

“Do you want to talk about her now? Or we can take a nap. Whatever you need to make it through today is fine.”

“A nap would be nice.” He might actually get some decent rest if he can fall asleep next to Shane. “ When is your flight?”

“Tonight, nine. But we have time right now.”

Ilya grabs a throw blanket from behind the couch and pushes Shane back down before covering them both.

“I do not deserve you. Now you are weird sock ambassador because I scared you.”

“You can take up my new shitty brand deal with my mother, but never say I don’t deserve you. You show up for me in so many ways. I know if this day was reversed you would be with me. You wouldn’t let me hide,” Shane says as he adjusts himself on the couch until he’s practically using Ilya as a weighted blanket. “Now get some rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

---.

The four days between Ilya’s least favorite day of the year and his last game against the Metros for the season flew by. Shane had started to help clean up the mess he’d left while he was too sad to start a load of laundry, let alone clean a bathroom but the Hollanders were still coming and there was no way Ilya was letting Yuna into his house without everything being spotless.

By the time his doorbell rings on game day he has spent more time cleaning than doing anything else that doesn’t involve his skates.

“Thank you for coming,” He says as Yuna and David huddle in his entry way, both carrying large bags of carry out.

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it. This rivalry has been so big for you both,” Yuna says, shooting a glance at David.

“Shane told you about last week?” Ilya asks as he takes the bags of food from David and busies himself setting everything out at his rarely used dining table.

“A little. Mostly about the socks. None of us are too thrilled about that.” Yuna laughs, but Ilya knows her well enough now to hear the hollowness in it. “And that you were having a rough week.”

Rough is one way to put it. He gets out the nice napkins, not just the crudely ripped paper towel that he favors when he’s the only one eating and makes sure the silverware is aligned in the way Shane likes. He can feel the Hollander’s watching him as he busies himself. They have a right to know. They’ve been so good to him. His throat feels like it’s coated in sandpaper but he promised himself he would be brave for this.

“My mother died when I was twelve. Last week was fifteen years since I lost her. Some years I am fine, just a little sad. This year I did not handle it well,” He tries to make the words clear and sure but he can hear how his accent takes over. The English words are hard in his mouth and he refuses to look up from the table.

Then Yuna crashes into him with a gentle hug and David moves closer, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“It would have been nice if she could have met you all. I think she would be happy to know you are here with me.

“I wish we could tell her how wonderful her son is,” David says, finally pulling him away from Yuna for a hug of his own.

Then the front door opens, the sound of a coat being discarded and shoes being moved breaks through the moment and Shane appears in the kitchen

“Oh good. I’m starving,” He says as he comes over to give Ilya a quick kiss and then hugs his parents before taking a step back and studying them all.

Ilya knows he’s on the verge of tears again. He hates it. It feels so weak. Yuna’s mascara has run just a little and David looks slightly soft instead of the polished way he likes to hold himself.

“You talked to them?” Shane asks directly to Ilya.

All he can do is nod and then stare at the floor.

“I’m glad. This won’t be happening next year. I put it in the family calendar. Ilya’s not allowed to be alone on April 4th,” Shane says like this is all a foregone plan.

Ilya doesn’t know what to make of it. A week ago he would have bristled at the idea of being forced to spend April 4th with anyone, and then Shane showed up and somehow the day wasn’t horrible. He felt safe, loved, and got to think about his mom without the crushing sense that he would never have anything as good as those 12 years with her.

“I do not need babysitter,” Ilya says, though there is no real bite to his words.

“No, you need family. One of us might have a game. This way we can plan. Either we find a way to be together or my parents spend the day with you. We’ll make it work. Hell, I’ll fly everyone out to one of your games if you’re on the road.” Shane pulls out a chair and motions for his mom to sit before plopping down in front of his own plate.

“Shane-”

“Ilya,” He emphasises his name and Ilya knows immediately that this is no longer up for discussion. “You would do the same for me. Now can we eat. I just spent the last three hours watching game tape and being told I need to be extra careful around a certain angry Russian man tonight. I happen to know he gets when he's hungry.”

---

After the game, Montreal wins in a shoot out in what was their most evenly matched meet up of the season, Shane sneaks back to Ilya’s townhouse. His parents are tucked safely away at a luxury hotel near the arena. It takes less than five minutes for the both of them to be naked and panting.

Later, when they’re disheveled and cuddled together on Ilya’s rumpled sheets, Shane drapes his hand over Ilya’s thigh.

“Ready to talk about it?” Shane asks as he runs a line between a small scar and one of his moles before clearing his throat.

“What, how fast you came? You only saw me last week,” Ilya turns just enough to plant a line of kisses along Shane’s jaw.

Out of nowhere a pillow smashes into his shoulder and Ilya jerks back with a laugh.

“Not what I meant, asshole,” Shane puts a hand under his chin and forces Ilya to look at him. “You’re in a better mood now.”

“Da.”

“I told you when this started that I needed you to be honest with me, especially when things get hard. When things got hard this month you tried to ignore me,” Shane says. If it weren’t for the gentle pressure of his fingers under Ilya’s chin he would look away, maybe move to his own side of the bed to give them space to have this conversation, but Shane knows him well enough to keep him here and present in this moment.

“We were not hard. Being with you was the most easy thing. You know this. It was other stuff,” Ilya says. He needs Shane to understand that being with him is never a difficult choice. Their situation may be hard, but not their love.

Shane drops his hand and shakes his head. Ilya always thinks that it’s amazing how loud Shane can think. Every single thing flickering through his head reads on his scrunched up expression.

“Yeah, other stuff that I didn’t know about. I know that we didn’t exactly take a traditional path to get here but that doesn’t mean every part of our relationship has to be some dictionary definition of fucked up. I trust you to know everything about me. Do you feel the same way? That’s what the cottage rule is for. You ignored it.” Shane blinks rapidly. Ilya is sure that if they’d had this conversation while he was here last week they would both be in tears. “It hurts me when you do that. Do you understand? This isn’t like last year, it’s not like when we were young and figuring shit out. We decided we wanted a future together. You want to get married and have kids? That means we have to be uncomfortable sometimes to get there.”

He understands. Really he does, more than Shane knows. Letting himself be known has been a lesson in being uncomfortable for the very worthy price of getting that life with Shane.

“I want that future.” He was ready to give up everything he had for it. He reaches out and pulls Shane closer to him. “I made you upset. I am mad at myself for not being better. ”

“I’m not upset anymore. That stopped the second I understood what was going on,” Shane admits, “I am concerned though. Really fucking worried if I’m honest. You don’t get to hide from me like that. It was days of walking on eggshells and I never knew what was going to set you off. I don’t know how to process it.”

Shane buries his head against Ilya’s chest. Ilya wraps his arms around him and places a chaste kiss against his head.

“I am not always good at telling you big things on the phone. I like it when you are here, when I can touch you and know that we are okay, in person. Next year will be easier. If one of us has big feelings we will only be two hours apart. I am very sorry.” He hopes Shane understands this for what it is; Ilya’s one shining moment of clarity over this entire mess. He can’t force himself to tell him the worst parts of his mind over the phone. Often he won’t be able to do it on a video call. He can work to be better at it, find smaller things he can share to desensitize himself from feeling like he’s being electrocuted whenever he tells Shane something traumatic about his life over an internet connection, but until then some of these talks will need to happen like they are now. He needs to feel Shane’s heart beat and be able to track the microexpressions that flutter across his face without delay and pixels. “It might not always seem like it but I am trying. I tell you so much that it makes me feel raw inside. I am not good at this but I will keep working to be better.”

“I know you are. Thanks for talking this through with me. Hopefully it didn’t feel like beating a dead horse,” Shane mumbles against his chest.

“Why would there be a dead horse?” Ilya startles, jostling Shane.

“It’s just a phrase. Nevermind,” He says as he pins Ilya back to the bed. “We might have just played our last game against each other with you on the Raiders.”

“Is it bad I want our teams to meet in playoffs?” Ilya loves playing Shane, loves beating him. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve played each other in the playoffs. They’ve always used the ice like foreplay, and sometimes as a way to hash out problems they didn’t know how to communicate.

It’s selfish, really. No other player, hell, no other full team roster, challenges him like being on the Ice with Shane.

“I do too, but Coach is really big on a sex hiatus during playoff runs. I wouldn’t trust myself to see you this year.”

Shane runs his hands down Ilya’s sides and then rolls his hips against him, a hardness already obvious.

“Good. I will be distraction,” Ilya says as he places a sloppy kiss down Shane’s neck.

“I still want to win.”

Shane’s lips meet his. Even kissing like this can be a battle.

“So do I. More than almost anything,” Ilya says, mouth inches from Shane’s.

“Almost?” Shane pulls back. Ilya immediately misses his warmth. He wants him so close that their heartbeats sync. It’ll be a miracle if he isn’t back inside him in the next five minutes.

“I want to get signed with Ottawa more. Is ridiculous. Their management is going to shit bricks when my agent calls on July first. But maybe they don’t want me? Then we do this for another ten years?”

“They’ll want you.” Shane doesn’t give him the chance to spiral, not right now, not with his hand sneaking down his chest. “Shit. I don’t even know how to countdown from here?”

“In 83 days I will be able to apply for a Canadian visa.”

They both shudder. That sounds impossibly far away.

“Nope. I cannot accept that number. The season will be over by June. We’re both going to have to be at the MHL awards.”

“Still two months away,” Ilya reminds him. “And who says I do not beat you in scoring and points. Maybe Shane Hollander doesn’t have to be in Vegas this year”

“Fuck right off.” Shane reaches over him and smacks Ilya with another pillow before sitting up to straddle his hips. “Playoffs start in 10 days. How about this, whoever goes furthest gets to decide what we do on our anniversary, fuck the countdown. You’re always mine.”

Chapter End Notes

Hello lovely readers, as always I am here with some notes about my interpretation:

1. Somehow it is never mentioned in the GC universe when Irina died. I've taken some liberties to interpret how Shane has always seen their "lock in" time in the spring as something different for Ilya

2. We all know that Ilya suffers from depression as readers, but I do not think that is something he recognizes in himself until TLG.

In my mind before this season he self medicated with casual sex, alcohol, and surrounding himself with strangers and he is only now realizing how hollow those experiences were. Having stability in his life makes his depression more glaring.

3 Greif is not linear and everyone has different experiences. Sometimes anniversaries hit harder than other ones, and i do think that Ilya, now settled and wanting to have love and stability as his foundation, would find this first year with Shane to be particularly hard without his mother.

4. I read and adore all of your comments. Some of the ones that resound most with me are about how closely I have been able to emulate cannon Hollanov. I hope that continues in this chapter.

Thank you all for your kudos, kind words, and comments. This chapter was a long labor or love, and before you all tell me about the angst - things are absolutely looking up from here. They only have 3 months to go.

Chapter 10: May

Chapter Notes

Shane should really be watching game tape right now. Despite sweeping Carolina in the first round of the playoffs, Toronto is a completely different beast. Last night Dallas Kent skated circles around the Metros and made sure to give Shane a few extra hard hits for good measure. They lost 5 to 1 and he still isn’t sure how they were so out matched.

So he should really be reviewing game tape, preferably with his coach, and then calling a team meeting. Instead, he’s on a scheduled video call with his mom and Ilya to talk about the soon to be real Irina Foundation.

“Shane, are you even listening?” Yuna asks, tapping a pen against a full notebook page. He immediately feels like he’s 12 and not finished his homework before practice.

“Of course I am,” He says, not able to hide the irritation in his voice. Ilya is the one that looks like he’s ready to fall asleep. At least he won his game against the Admirals last night. “If we want to unveil the foundation in November we have to start filing paperwork in August.”

“And-”

And he took a cheap shot from Kent last night and his elbow fucking hurts. He should be icing and preparing for tomorrow. Paperwork will still be here in a month. The foundation isn’t going anywhere. He’s committed to starting a charity with Ilya. He’s all in on their plan. He just also happens to be all in at chasing the Stanley Cup.

“And something about funding. We both know. We’re kind of busy right now.” Busy playing playoff hockey. It’s kind of a big deal. Shane thinks the woman that took him to 5am practices and paid for his youth gear would remember that.

“I know, but you both wanted this. Ilya’s half asleep. You’re annoyed. This is pointless today.” Yuna slams her notebook shut and Shane groans.

Ilya shoots up. Shane had legitimately thought he was dozing off, but the angle of the camera had blocked his own notebook filled with his frantic scribbling. Shane can just note the combination of English and Russian scattering the page.

“Am not asleep, just confused. I am not sure I understand the part about donations and taxes.”

“I don’t know how to be much more clear,” His mom says, clearly frustrated on the screen. Shane watches as Ilya flinches at her words. This call has been a lot, even for him, and he has decades of listening to Yuna Hollander project manage the hell out of everything.

Shane isn’t even sure if Ilya understood half the words in the last five minutes. She was throwing around acronyms and legal terms like they should be common knowledge. At least he’s lived in Canada and gone to enough events for his teammates charities to piece together what she’s talking about. Maybe. Probably.

Ilya hasn’t. Every time they talk about the foundation it’s clear to Shane that he wants this to succeed. They’re naming the entire thing after his mother. He always understood that was important to Ilya. When he first suggested it he thought he might break, but now? Now he knows that his commitment runs deeper than anyone else will ever know.

“Mom. English isn’t his first language,” Shane says. It’s necessary but not the right thing. He watches as Ilya turns away from the camera. His mom flushes a deep crimson. Yeah. They’re done with foundation talk for the day.

“Oh. Oh I’m sorry.“ His mom fumbles with her notebook, eyes darting between the paper and the screen.

“Can you just send us both whatever notes you have and we’ll review them before the weekend?”

Not that Shane wants to think of much besides hockey right now. He can feel a phantom itch creep under his skin. He needs to figure out what went wrong last game so he can fix it. Yes, the Irina Foundation is a big deal. He’s wanted to start a charity for a while, give back some of the insane amounts of money he’s earned from playing a literal game and the sponsorships that came with it. Except he has at least another 3 games in the next week. Hopefully more. Definitely more. He refuses to believe Dallas Kent’s team of absolute idiots can sweep his Metros.

No one loves hockey like Shane does. He isn’t sure there is a person alive right now that cares about the playoffs in the same way. Maybe Ilya, but even when they talk Shane can see that while Ilya wants to win, the thing that motivates him is something different. Shane never feels more like part of a team then during the four series he needs to play through to win the Stanley Cup. He’s never more grounded than when the thing he is playing for is 16 wins within reach.

So far he can only mark four off his tally and that is unacceptable. Tomorrow night is a must win. It doesn’t matter that it’s only game two of the series. He refuses to suffer the indignation of losing to a team as chaotic as Toronto twice in a row.

It doesn’t help that it’s been exactly a month since the last time he saw Ilya. Shane is grateful that last time was after a game in Boston and not his spur of the moment trip to make sure Ilya didn’t collapse on himself.

There are still times now when he isn’t fully engulfed in hockey that he can’t help but picture Ilya on a FaceTime call soaked to the bone and sobbing from his floor. Something broke in Shane that day. He has always known there was a deep well to Ilya Rozanov, that was obvious from some of their first meetings. It took him years to fully understand the complicated relationship Ilya had with his homeland and he is still picking up pieces of his frankly awful childhood. Shane holds each memory shared like it’s precious. Every story of Irina Rozanov goes in a box in his mind. He never knows when Ilya will feel like sharing this part of himself so he treats every new story like the gift he knows it is.

Because knowing Ilya with his soft heart and rough edges will be the most important thing he ever does.

April put that in clear perspective. Chasing Stanley Cups has always been his dream, but he would move heaven and earth for Ilya.

That’s the only reason he agreed to today’s call. He never lets anything distract him during the playoffs but the Irina Foundation needs to be up and running to host hockey camps by next summer. They need to announce it in the fall. They have a timeline. He wants to be handing out checks to mental health organizations within the next year.

More than anything Shane needs a legitimate reason to sometimes be in Ilya’s orbit in public or they’re both going to explode.

Now that call has ended without any real progress.

Shane holds his head in his hands, fingers drumming against his temples. Game tape. He needs to review game tape and call his coach. Then he needs to think about his pre game speech for tomorrow. He has a whole checklist of things he has to complete before he next steps into the arena. All of it is more time sensitive than the 4 attachments his mom just sent to his email.

---

Eight hours later Shane’s eyes burn from watching the same sections of yesterday's game on repeat. The itchy feeling that lives just underneath his skin has subsided just enough for him to get in a light workout and a punishingly hot shower. The call about the foundation this morning cut into his playoff routine, but he can be flexible. It’s not like he’s a robot. Sometimes things happen.

They shouldn’t, but they do. He doesn’t have to freak out just because he deviated from his rigorous playoff routine.

Even if he loves his routine, like his nightly calls with Ilya. There were times they didn’t acknowledge each other outside of games during playoffs, then only occasional teasing texts. Last year there was more to their communication, but also Shane was injured. It felt different because he was on the sidelines watching the Metroes, and then eventually the Raiders, fail.

God, once they get through and beat Toronto it’s going to be hell being in the same city as Ilya and not sleeping next to him. There isn’t another answer. They both have to move on to the conference final. Then one of them will go on to play for the cup. It’s the only future Shane allows himself to believe in. He is the best. The only person anywhere near his skill is Ilya. They’ve both played out of their minds this season.

So they will be meeting in the conference final and one of them will win the Cup.

Bam.

Easy.

It’s all Shane can think as he settles into bed and dials Ilya. He’s started to have a Pavlovian response to the sound of the FaceTime ring. It makes him smile and settles his heart rate knowing he is seconds from seeing his boyfriend, even if he’s far away.

“Missed you,” Shane says as soon as the call connects, letting out a long breath as he studies Ilya’s tired face.

“We talked earlier today.” Ilya says, lounging on his bed in Boston.

“Yeah, with my mom. It’s not the same.”

Ilya agrees. These calls are a lifeline. Shane isn’t sure how they survived so many years pretending they didn’t care like this. They could have had so many more nights of check ins instead of wondering what the other was doing.

Shane finally understands why Hayden has always been in a rush to call Jackie after every game. He loves game days and looks forward to practices but the best part of his days now are these calls. The nights they can’t happen because of their busy schedules are hellish. Unfortunately they are also more frequent with both of them in the playoffs.

Last night they couldn’t connect, so today Shane listens with razor focus as Ilya recounts everything from his breakfast to a trip to the drug store to buy Band-Aids. He could listen to him forever. He wishes he could. He doesn’t have anything to report that they haven’t already covered.

“Kent has been physical this series,” Ilya says after a lull.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Shane says, adjusting himself in his own bed in Montreal. When they had decided their nightly calls could continue through the playoffs he had insisted on guardrails. Neither of them wanted to lose contact, but also a huge part of their lives suddenly felt like state secrets. Their teammates don’t limit contact with their wives and girlfriends just because the games have gotten more important so they wouldn’t either. They could be professional hockey players and boyfriends at the same time, with rules. “We agreed on no work talk until one of us is out for the season.”

He refuses to talk about this. It can’t end well. During the season they’re always both at risk of injury. It’s something they have learned to accept, particularly after Ilya’s minor scare earlier in the season with his shoulder. But the playoffs are rough. It’s not like they both haven’t played through pain before, and any conversation about it will just leave the both of them feeling like shit.

“Should we talk about the foundation? That meeting was terrible, right?” Shane asks, trying to change the subject.

“Yes,” Ilya agrees, “I am smarter in Russian.”

Shane recognizes the tone. Joking, a defense mechanism that he knows so well now.

“That is absolutely not what I meant…”

“Not smart smart. Not like Yuna and David, but smarter than I sound in English.”

Each word hits like a punch to his gut. Up until last year everything that kept the two of them together was Ilya, his planning is what made texting safe. Then there is his Boston townhouse that Shane always suspected was bought not in a small part for its place on a secluded Back Bay street next to an elderly woman who was functionally blind, a place that Shane has always felt safe despite being in a crowded city. He would always find a way for them to get together even when it felt impossible. He always made it safe for them to do so.

And that doesn’t include all of the things he’s learned from Ilya playing their question game.

“Are you forgetting I’ve known you for almost a decade? You’re really smart, Ilya,” Shane says. On the screen Ilya shifts, his focus goes off screen. He shouldn’t have called out his mom earlier. The entire conversation this morning could have waited a few more weeks and then they could have been in the same room.

“About hockey. I know all the words for that. I guess I did not think starting a charity would be like learning another new language.”

Shane’s heart aches. He’s immediately thrown back a year to Ilya calling himself lazy like it was a foregone truth, and then to all the little pieces he has learned about his childhood. He is a generational talent on the ice, a compassionate captain, and has the biggest heart Shane has ever known, but none of that mattered to the family that raised him after his mother died.

Not for the first time Shane wishes he could catch a flight just to spit on Grigori Rozanov’s grave.

“It’s a lot of lawyer and business speak right now. I’m not following it well either.” It’s true. A decent amount of what his mother said earlier went in one ear and out the other. He’ll have to read over the documents she sent a couple of times before he finds his footing in this new world.

Ilya will do the same. He’s sure of it. Maybe they’ll have to talk through things more until he gets there, but Shane has no doubt he will. Hell, there are players on his team that have been in the league more than a decade and still only have a handful of useful English phrases. Ilya was flirting with him in English within a year of being drafted. He has never had a goal he hasn’t met, this will be no different.

“But you will, once your brain isn’t filled with hockey.” Ilya looks away from the camera and Shane waits a beat, and then two for him to gather his thoughts. “I think I have upset your mother. Even her email confused me. I have already asked her many questions.”

He can’t help but laugh. His mother doesn’t get upset. She gets focused. Occasionally he is sure she’s annoyed, but Shane isn’t sure he has seen her upset since he was injured, and before that it had been years and years.

“She’s not upset, just on a mission. She would have everything sorted for the Irina Foundation already if it were up to her,” He says.

Ilya smiles on his tablet screen, his attention comes back from wherever he was staring off in the distance.

“Maybe it should be. I can donate more to the foundation to pay her a salary. We agreed we would need small staff eventually, yes?”

It’s such a good idea Shane’s irritated he didn’t think of it first. Maybe he would have if he hadn’t been so hyper focused on hockey.

“We can donate more. You are not covering staff salaries on your own, Rozanov.” Like hell is he letting Ilya cover his mom’s paycheck. “We can ask her. I think she’d like the opportunity.”

Ilya hums in agreement. It’s a thoughtful sound, one Shane has come to love so much over the time he’s known him. For a moment he wishes the season was over, just briefly, so they could be together in the same space. Then he could feel that hum while resting against Ilya’s chest, they could have conversations like this in person, maybe with Shane straddling his boyfriend’s lap. He wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally giving away details of game plans. But if the season was over now that would mean Shane has lost, and that is unacceptable.

“This will help people?” Ilya asks. It’s not a new question. He’s brought it up every time they’ve talked about the foundation in a hundred different ways.

Can we really connect people with resources?
Will people trust us to teach their kids?
How do we make sure the places we support are good?
Will any of this actually mean anything at all?

Shane, who’s brain has never been quiet a day in his life, is regularly surprised that Ilya Rozanov matches him even in this. The depth of his thoughts are endless, and now Shane has a front row seat to them. He wouldn’t trade it for the world, even when they’re heavy, especially when they’re heavy.

It’s insane that the league still thinks he’s a playboy asshole.

“Yeah. I think we can help people. Everyone is going to want to sign their kids up for our camps. We’re both kind of a big deal.”

That’s the understatement of the century. Getting additional funding from the hockey camps is going to be the easiest part. The MHL has not seen two players of their caliber come out of the same draft class in its entire history. There hasn’t been a year where one of them has not been at the MHL Awards at the end of the season, and often they’re both there picking up accolades for their records or being voted into MVP status by their peers.

“Yes, we are impressive, but what if some of the other coaches were like us?” Ilya asks, stretching out further in bed and waving his hands around like that should mean something to Shane.

“They’ll be hockey players. I am sure Hayden will be there. JJ for sure. You can ask Cliff.” It’s not like the two of them haven’t spent nearly a decade in the league. Sure they’ve each only played for one team but that didn’t mean they didn’t know other players. They’ll have a whole season to network.

“No, Shane. Like us . What if we ask Scott Hunter?”

Hunter? Shit. It’s a great idea. It would be a statement. Not that it should be one, but now in a post Stanley Cup kiss world he is everywhere giving interviews and championing causes.

“You hate him,” Shane says, still trying to wrap his head around asking Scott Hunter, a player he has always admired, to donate his time and energy to a couple of youth hockey camps.

“He is old, not dead. And we are not out.” He fills in the parts Ilya doesn’t say, the ones about how there probably isn’t a point in their careers where they can be their true selves and be taken seriously, that it wouldn’t be safe for Ilya to come out before he has Canadian citizenship, and that is years away, that they have a decade more of clandestine meetings in hotel rooms and quiet nights at one of their homes because they can never go out to dinner just the two of them. They will not know a normal date until they are almost in their 40’s, and that’s a best case scenario “We want to show kids hockey is for everyone, right? Think of what Hunter did for us. Imagine seeing that when you were younger.”

Shane nods and tries to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. He’s already been the poster boy for diversity in Montreal, and often the league. He hates it. He’s good at hockey and it has nothing to do with his heritage or who he loves. A part of him knows Ilya is right. Scott Hunter gave them, two grown men at the height of their careers, hope. He can’t imagine what he’s done for the kids coming up through juniors, or the ones watching games on the couch with their parents.

He knows he should want to be that. He’s built his entire reputation on being the Golden Boy of Hockey, it’s a miracle his mother hasn’t trademarked it, but right now all he really wants to do is be Shane Hollander and score goals. Those things shouldn’t require him to martyr himself on the altar of sports media.

“We’ll talk to my mom. She will probably be happy to take charge of all of this, and we’ll be good to go for November. It will be worth it to be able to sometimes see you in public without feeling like our entire lives will implode,” Shane says. He knows it doesn’t address the Hunter of it all, but they have time. It’s not like he has a full list of coaches ready to go a full year ahead of their first camps. Maybe someone else will feel brave this season and there will be more than just Scott to reach out to.

“And you still like it supporting mental health? It can be something different if you and Yuna think there is a better cause,” Ilya asks with such sincerity that Shane almost drops his tablet.

He can’t think of a better cause for the two of them. When he suggested it last summer it was days after learning about Ilya’s mom. Even then he could see how important funding mental health organizations would be for him. Pair that with the general unease Shane feels maneuvering through the world when he is off the ice and he can’t think of anything more fitting for the two of them.

“Of course we’re doing this for mental health. I’m anxious as hell half the time. Your mom fought depression.” He has to stop himself from mentioning last month and the way he watched Ilya come apart a thousand times in two days. Ilya makes it a point to start fights during games and gets punched in the face three times a month, but Shane has still never been more worried about him than in April. He almost missed his flight back to Montreal that night, and even considered flying his parents down early just so Ilya wasn’t alone. ” We can help other people. We’re doing this.”

---

Four games.

That’s as far as Montreal was able to push into the second round. Four. Fucking. Games.

The Metros were swept out of the playoff by Dallas Fucking Kent and his band of idiot Guardians. Shane spent two hundred and forty minutes of hockey playing to his absolute limit while hearing slurs masquerading as chirps from half of Toronto’s roster.

He had listened to his team respond in kind. It didn’t matter what he said in the locker room about not stooping to their level. He’d tried all season, more than usual, to put a stop to the seemingly endless well of homophobia masquerading as chirps. By the end of the last game of their playoff run even Hayden threw out a few choice words that made him clench his fists. They fucking lost and his own locker room felt like it was covered in land mines.

Shane wants to scream, or punch something. His season has been done for all of twelve hours and he’s already gone on a five mile run. It doesn’t matter that he skated until his legs burned yesterday.. The running calms him in a way nothing else does.

His summer wasn’t supposed to start until June. A whole month away. Not before his birthday.

Part of him knows he should be excited. Being done with hockey for a few months means more time with Ilya. Only, Ilya’s series is still going. Boston is tied with New York, and if Shane doesn’t have a chance at hoisting the cup this year he wants it for Ilya.

Ilya, who called him last night and left a short but heartfelt voicemail about how proud he was of him. His Ilya, who called again this morning, and then again at lunch before resorting to texts.

Ilya
You played well.
I love you.
I will give you the rest of the day to sulk and then you will talk to me. Cottage rules.

He would rather take another day to lick his wounds. His birthday is in a week and he had really hoped to be celebrating it by starting another series of games. He just needs a little time to come to terms with the disappointment. He’ll be fine. There is always next season. Montreal basically has all the pieces they need, they just didn’t head into the playoffs with enough momentum. They got complacent. He can make a whole training plan for next year and make sure Montreal goes home with the cup.

In the meantime he can work on the Irina Foundation. His inbox is full of emails from his mother with pedantic but important questions. He can contact his realtor to sell his investment property to kick start their funding. There is a mission statement to write, and they still need a name for the hockey camps they want to run.

The camps are low hanging fruit. Plus it’s hockey. It should be easy to research.

It’s not until his phone rings that Shane realizes that his eyes hurt from the 30 tab he has open on his laptop. He’s been researching hockey camps for five hours. There is now a spreadsheet filled with ideas, and a notebook littered with his scribbled thoughts.

“Are you ready to talk now?” Ilya asks as Shane shuts his laptop and stretches his legs long under the kitchen table.

He’s glad he opted out of a video call. He doesn’t want Ilya to see him like this. He probably shouldn’t even take the call, but he ignored his texts last night and has barely responded to anything this morning. He knows he looks like shit. He barely slept last night and didn’t think twice about letting his hair air dry into a shaggy mess after his shower.

“Why, cause you're so sad to see the Metros out of the playoffs.” He knows he sounds like a brat. They’ve just never had to navigate this situation before, and honestly it sucks. He can turn on the TV tomorrow and watch Ilya skate, but his season is over.

“Sweetheart,” Ilya says with a sigh.

Shane waits for him to say it’s just a game and that he needs to get over it. It’s why he’s avoided his parents so far. They’re supportive, but they hate it when he sulks at the end of a losing season. He only needs a day, maybe two, and then he’ll be fine and motivated for next year.

“You are right. I do not care about Metros. I care about you. Shane, you are like sun in my universe, yes? I can care about hockey, and cars, good vodka. I care about the Raiders. But at the end of the day it is you that is most important. Metros are a part of your solar system, so I care, because you care. They are part of your universe. Just like I know when you watched my last game you were unhappy with Townsend, because I am irritated at him.“

Ilya’s words wash over him like crashing waves. Each sentence is a direct hit that completely takes his breath away. He never thought when he went out of his way to introduce himself to Ilya at a World Juniors tournament that he was meeting the man who would put his entire life in perspective.

Because he’s right. Shane feels it too. If the Metros can’t win, he wants it for Ilya. He is the center of Shane’s universe. No matter how bad he hates losing, he will survive because at the end of everything there is Ilya. One day they’ll both be old, tired, achy, and he will still be there. He will love Ilya through everything, and he knows that feeling is reciprocated.

“That was really fucking beautiful, you know that right?” Shane chokes out, he can feel the tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. He doesn’t cry over losses, not anymore.

“Yes, well. Marleau’s niece was around last week and had lots of those cardboard books about space. Got me thinking.” Ilya pauses. Shane can picture him now, smiling at the idea of Cliff’s niece. Kids always make him so happy. “You played well. There was nothing you could have done different. You can’t win with a weak goalie, right?”

“I know. It’s just, I think they all blame me. It’s like everything rides or dies with me, and then there’s Kent and Barrett tossing out slurs like they’re fucking candy, and Goodwell on my side throwing them right back. Even Hayden, god. My best friend is out there saying the exact same shit. I can’t even keep my own team from being homophobic assholes.”

He knows this is a league problem. It always has been, but he has always had the feeling that Ilya doesn’t tolerate it in his locker room. Shane doesn’t know how to stand up against it

“You can’t change hockey culture overnight. Remember over the summer when you told me hockey is a team sport and I should not be hard on myself?”

Shane barks out a laugh. Yep. He really said that during the two hour drive from the airport to the cottage when Ilya started whining about how poorly Boston had played against the Admirals.

“Not fair.” It’s not. He really shouldn’t be using his own words against him. Still, Shane smiles for the first time since his season ended. “Townsend did play like shit.”

“See. Team sport. Now, you are off for your birthdays. What are your plans?”

---

The Raiders are eliminated four days later. Shane watches alone in his apartment. He’s in shock. It doesn’t matter that in their eight years in the league they have only won the cup a combined three times, he still believed with his entire heart that this was Ilya’s year.

It seems particularly shitty to watch the Admirals celebrating the night before his birthday.

He stays up late for post game coverage and catalogs every micro expression that flashes across his boyfriend's face as he tries to be diplomatic about the loss. When his free agency comes up at the end of the interview Ilya deflects the question. They’d agreed he wouldn’t make any comments about where he was signing, or why he hadn’t already resigned with Boston. He’s already chaotic and mysterious so leaving everyone in the dark for a few more weeks is pretty on brand.

Shane wishes that just for tonight they didn’t have all of these rules. Ilya deserves a chance to say goodbye to Boston properly, not clean out his locker in the morning and disappear.

Before he goes to bed he shoots off a trio of texts.

Shane
I don’t care what voting says next month. You’re playoff MVP.
We’ll talk in the morning.
I love you.

When he sent those texts he expected that their conversation would happen over a FaceTime call sometime after Ilya dragged himself out of bed. Instead, his apartment door swung open at 11 o’clock. Shane had been in the kitchen doing dishes and had almost jumped out of his skin at the sound.

It took no time for Ilya to round the kitchen island and pull Shane into his arms, showering him in frantic kisses.

“You’re here,” Shane says between kisses. This must be a dream. Last night Ilya played in Boston. He should still be at home licking his wounds and packing up his locker. He should be saying goodbye to that drafted him.

“Is your birthday, yes? You said you had no plans. Yuna and David thought you were sulking at home. I thought maybe we could sulk about not winning together?” He asks as he hoists Shane up onto the counter and then slots himself snug between his legs.

It’s been over a month and Shane hasn’t even had the steady presence of a countdown to ground him. He pulls Ilya closer and engulfs him in a deep but hurried kiss.

“You’re here,” He mumbles with his hands threaded through Ilya’s hair.

“Of course I am here, Shane. You came to me so often this season. Is only fair I make the stupid drive for your birthday.”

He has never had someone love him so completely. Never even hoped to find a person that could anticipate his needs before he even knew about them. But Ilya is here when even his parents decided it was best to leave him alone until the weekend.

He’s here for his birthday, because he knew he didn’t have plans. Ilya is here because he loves him and that’s what you do when you love someone.

“You did not drive here,” Shane says as tears well in his eyes. He must have gotten up before the sun to be here this early. He probably didn’t even sleep. “Oh my god. I can’t believe…, fuck I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Was safer than getting spotted at the Montreal airport. I thought we agreed to spend summer together. Just hadn’t figured out dates yet. I do not know why you are so surprised.”

Ilya wraps Shane's arms around his shoulders, and then prompts him to secure his legs around his back before lifting him and carrying him toward the bedroom.

“It’s the beginning of May, asshole,” Shane says with his chin against Ilya’s shoulder.

“It is your birthday, Hollander. Where else would I be?”

Ilya tosses him onto the bed, and then it’s easy for Shane to forget about hockey and foundations.

Later, when Shane’s bed is a mess and they’ve used all the hot water in his shower, Ilya hands him a messily wrapped box. They’re cuddled up on the couch and Ilya nudges at him to open his gift.

Beneath the mound of wrapping paper is a box holding a mounted map of North America. Little push pins are pressed into cities in what initially seems like a random pattern. Shane looks closer.

Montreal.

Boston.

Toronto.

Tampa.

Nashville.

Ottawa.

Vegas.

His eyes fly over the map. There are dozens of pins and each one is a memory of them together. The awards show the MHL hosted in LA that one year, the media day their third season in the league where they were at each other's throats the entire day and actually broke a hotel bed in New York. Dallas.

Then Shane’s eyes land on a pushpin just outside of Ottawa, the map isn’t big enough to name the small town nearest the cottage, but still Ilya has placed a single heart shaped pin right over the place where they were both brave enough to admit to loving each other.

He can’t take his eyes off the map, let alone process it. He’s used to practical gifts. He is already sure his mom has bought him more socks and a new hat to keep the sun off his face when he runs. But this, this is something else.

When he’s finally done examining each push pin he notices another detail. The border of the map is strange, plastic and familiar in a way that is absolutely impossible…

“Are these hotel keycards?” Shane asks through the lump in his throat.

“Da.”

For the first time since unwrapping his gift Shane looks up. Ilya is the picture of nervous excitement. Shane sets the map gently against his lap and grabs Ilya’s hands with a tight squeeze.

“Ilya-”

“They are not only from places we have been together. I am bad at returning them. Had a pile in my end table drawer. Some might be.“ Ilya wiggles a single hand free and then points down at the middle of Florida. “This was Tampa, I remember the pattern, and here is Nashville, Dallas. The others I can’t be sure.”

He tries to picture Ilya in Boston rummaging through a pile of keycards to see if any of them sparked a memory. It’s insane. They practically live on the road for half the year.

“This is amazing. I can’t wait for us to add to it,” Shane says before reaching over and kissing Ilya.

“I did not want to give you homework again, and,“ Ilya mutters against his lips, “You are very hard to shop for. I saw the idea on Pinterest."

“How do you know about Pinterest?”

Shane must have fallen through some sort of portal when Montreal lost last week. There is no way Ilya is here in his apartment with a homemade gift. One of those things alone seemed improbable, together, his heart might burst.

“Is supposed to be good for home decorating. I wanted ideas for my new house, and maybe gifts for my boyfriend.” Ilya shrugs like he didn’t just admit something so endearing Shane doesn’t know how to process it.

“You made this. You. Made. This.” Shane gestures at the map, and then at Ilya. “You were playing a playoff hockey game last night.”

“What, you think I can’t multi-task? Or that I don’t know how to love you?” Ilya takes the map from him and places it on the coffee table before pulling Shane into his lap. “I will have to work extra hard these next few months to make sure you know.”

“It’s the only thing I’m sure of in this world. I hope you know how much I love you, too,” Shane says. He hopes the words are enough as he collapses against Ilya. “How long can you stay?”

“Depends on your schedule, but I have some time. Eventually I will need to go and say goodbye to some friends and to start cleaning out the townhouse. But I do not have any official obligations until MHL Awards next month.”

“I told you I’ll help with packing.“

Ilya gives a throaty laugh before placing a kiss against the top of his head.

Shane is serious. He will help pack. He’s actually looking forward to it. The idea of labeling boxes and making sure Ilya’s things are neatly arranged before shipping them over the border makes him feel so proud. There are so many ways he wants to take care of Ilya, and this small thing can be one of them.

“Has Farah contacted the Centaurs yet? I know it’s technically too early,” Shane asks. They share an agent now, which is something he’s still getting used to. Farah is great but Shane has never navigated signing with a new team, just the contracts he’s negotiated with the Metros.

“She mentioned to their General Manager that she had a client eager to have a conversation. They are very interested. I should have contract ready on July 1st.”

For a second Shane forgets to breathe. They did it. Well, Ilya did. He’s all but guaranteed a spot on Ottawa’s roster. He’s moving to Canada. Hell, he’s moving to Shane’s hometown. They’ll be two hours apart during the season and together during the summer break. They can have dinners with his parents and long weekends at the cottage.

All of their planning worked.

“And then you’re basically Canadian,” Shane says, looking up from his place in Ilya’s lap.

“You will have to teach me about maple syrup and those funny coins.”

---

If someone had asked Shane this morning what he wanted for his 27th birthday he could have never come up with a day as perfect as this. The only thing that could make it better would be lounging the evening away at the cottage, but he will take curling up with Ilya on the couch after a bad movie marathon and an evening in making an indulgent pasta and scallops dish Ilya found on Pinterest.

Because his boyfriend is now obsessed with Pinterest.

He can’t remember the last time he let himself be so lazy. It was probably last summer when they were at the cottage. After dinner they cuddle together on the couch while some old sitcom plays. Neither of them are paying attention. Whatever is happening on the screen could never be more important than letting his hands wander over Ilya’s body.

“Can we look at houses this summer? I know you probably cannot come on tours with me, but Ottawa is your home. Is closer to cottage. I want you to like this home more than my place in Boston. Maybe it can be one of our bases when we retire.” Ilya says, his accent thick as he rubs circles on Shane's thigh. “And until then maybe you have a closet and a set of those expensive oils you use every night in my bathroom.”

“Serums,” Shane says automatically, “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I am asking if you are also tired of always packing a bag to go someplace where you feel at home,” Ilya says.

He puts words to a feeling Shane has never been able to describe. Part of him has always known wherever Ilya is would be safe. As he got older it was like his internal compass was always nudging him wherever Boston was playing. Ilya became his true north, the place his heart always wanted to be. For years he thought it was because playing against Ilya was the most he ever enjoyed hockey, he refused to believe it had anything to do with guaranteed sex or feelings. Now, he knows Ilya right. It sucks packing a bag to go to a place where he has a side of the bed and can operate the coffee maker.

 

“You’re my home Ilya. You’re the only person I feel like I can be completely myself with. Even when we were young and absolute idiots you made me feel safe. That is not something I have ever taken lightly. Your love is not something I take lightly. But yes, save me a closet and room in your medicine cabinet.“

Shane reaches out and caresses Ilya’s cheek and their legs bump together in a lazy way that is only compatible with complete relaxation.

“I’m going to sell my apartment. I’ve been thinking about it for months. I hate you coming up the back stairs and us trying to be quiet and failing.” He hates that Ilya didn’t see it until after they were officially together, that the space will always be marred by his fear and determination to keep Ilya a secret. “It’ll be easier for us if I also have a place without a ton of neighbors that can watch our every move now that you’re closer. “

He watches Ilya’s unguarded expression morph in a million little ways, confusion, joy, contentment. It’s all there. Shane knows he’s giving up a lot for him. It’s about time he makes some big changes too. Then Ilya sits up, it’s abrupt. Shane’s whole equilibrium is thrown off balance now that he doesn’t have touch to anchor him.

“I have one more gift for you,” Ilya says as he plants a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“No. Save it for Christmas. You’ve spoiled me rotten today.” Shane isn’t sure he can take anything else. He’s so happy he feels like he might actually explode. Surely his heart can’t take another thing.

He watches as Ilya reaches for the backpack he’d discarded this morning and rummages through it one handed. After what feels like forever he comes up with 2 envelopes, and then drops one of them into Shane’s hand.

“You said you didn’t want to give me homework,” Shane says, but he can’t hide his smile.

“There are two this month. One for you to practice, and one for me practice. You were right before. I want you to know all the parts of me, but it is hard. So one I read today and one you will figure out one your own. Okay?”

All Shane can do is nod as Ilya takes the second letter and unfolds it against his lap with steady, determined hands. He rights himself slowly and scoots across the couch so he can comfortably slot his body against Ilya’s as he reads.

“You’re really going to read me a letter without me begging?” Shane asks. It’s ridiculous. The only two times Ilya has done this he’s had to practically get on his knees for him to open up.

“Yes. Now be quiet. You are ruining mood,” Ilya says, reaching out and patting Shane roughly on the knee, and then pulling him in even closer.

Shane can’t help but grin as Ilya adjusts the paper again, and then himself like he’s getting ready for a performance before finally clearing his throat and starts.

“My love,

I have known you for nine years and somehow this is the first time I will be here to celebrate your birthday. It is strange to think you have had almost a decade of celebrations and I have been in Boston, thinking about you.

It is amazing that we have had so many firsts this year. I can’t wait for thousands more. Even if one of those firsts is licking our wounds over playoff losses together. We are still great even if this season did not end the way we wanted. I think you need this reminder now more than me.”

It’s the understatement of the century. Shane isn’t sure how they’ve spent so much of their lives orbiting each other to only now really know how the other takes their coffee, let alone fully understand how they each respond to a loss of this magnitude. He squeezes Ilya’s hand and he continues.

“Last night when we lost I was devastated. I wanted so bad to win in my last year with Boston, but what you said in the winter was right. I can help to make Ottawa good. Even if it takes the rest of my career. I do not care. I will have you, and that is a prize I never knew I could win. I am lucky to call you my boyfriend.

This summer I get to sign a contract with your hometown team. We get to spend days and days together without sneaking around, and then when the season starts we will be close enough to be together more than twelve times a year. We will not have to spend days planning holidays together. We will never have a countdown that lasts more than a month. I will always be close enough to be there for your birthday. I now have many missed ones to make up for. “

The thought of never having a long countdown again makes Shane breathless. They’ve spent so much time watching days tick by until they could see each other. It won’t matter if they don’t play each other for months at a time soon, they will still be able to see each other more regularly than they’ve ever been able to manage before.

“I cannot wait to start my boring life in Ottawa. I will forever be grateful for all the time I have had with you in Boston, even the years when we were very stupid. Boston was my escape, but you showed me that I can have a future, and with you it will be bright and full of love.

I am ready to step into that future with you, second best hockey player. Happy Birthday.“

Shane reaches out and runs his finger over Ilya’s signature. The first time he did it was because it was the only thing he recognized and he wanted to feel the imprint of Ilya’s writing on his skin. Now it’s something he does without thinking. Every time he tries to translate one of Ilya’s letters he ends by tracing his scratchy handwriting. It’s proof that this is all real.

The man that was always set to be his asshole rival, to make his life a living hell, is actually the only person he wants to spend the rest of his life with. The player the league totes around as chaos incarnate with warp speed and delicate hands is actually so soft and full of love. Ilya Rozanov is all his, and he will need to make sure he knows it is the honor of Shane’s life that he gets to say that.

He has to blink back a few stray tears as he stares down at the letter, trying to pick out words written in characters he still struggles with. He wants to commit everything Ilya said to memory and then use this letter as a key to translate the others.

“I am going to miss your Boston era too. I don’t think we ever get to be this without you being on the Raiders, but I cannot wait to make a home with you in Ottawa. Truly cannot wait. I’m only counting down to July now.” He doesn’t want to cry again, not today, so Shane shakes his head and then takes the paper from Ilya’s hands, gently folding it and putting it with his untranslated one on the table before scooting to straddle Ilya’s lap. “You said something about house hunting. Show me what you’ve found. I already know they all have a huge yard for our future dog, right?”

Somewhere in the bedroom he knows his phone still has a countdown running. When Shane woke up this morning there were 51 more days until Ilya could sign with a new team. The thought of those days, the uncertainty of it all, had made him nervous. Now, he thinks each day will be a mini celebration. And what’s more, he’s going to be able to spend most of those days with Ilya. No hiding, no elaborate plans just to have a few hours together, just peace and each other.

Chapter End Notes

The response to April's chapter was so unexpected. Thank you all so much for your kind comments and I am sorry I made you cry.

As expected, my notes:

This is not supposed to be an angst chapter, but canonically neither Boston or Montreal win this season. Seeing the loss from Shane's POV seemed to be the least traumatizing option, and also Hockey Robot 3000 deserves a crash out every so often. Hopefully it doesn't feel nearly as intense as the previous chapter, and I hope the absolute fluff after is worth the cost of having to read about Dallas Kent at all.

Realizing these two have known each other for nearly a decade and have probably never acknowledged each other's birthdays was insane. Lucky for us they're a month apart. So get ready for some MHL Awards, more birthday fun, and the Irina Foundation, and thank you all for reading.

Chapter 11: June

Chapter Notes

Ilya knows he should still be upset about his losing season with Boston. He does. For everything the Raiders gave him he should have been able to do this one thing for them. He just can’t bring himself to feel that bad now that he’s had three weeks of nearly uninterrupted time with Shane. They’ve never had the luxury of time before. Even last summer at the cottage they were more limited.

Near the end of May Ilya had to travel back to clean out his locker and tell his closest teammates that the rumors were true; he would not be re-signing with the Raiders. They had deserved to hear it from him, and at this point his agent is sure there is a new contract with a historic signing bonus waiting for him on July first.

Shane had given him a couple days to manage his last Raiders related obligations and then drove down to see him. They spent a week lounging around his place, reminiscing about all of the different memories they created during his Boston years.

There were a lot. Hotel hook ups, then nights at the townhouse. Ilya could recall each one. That was the blessing and curse of his early relationship with Shane. Every encounter, every touch, meant something to him, but he could only see him maybe six times in a good year.

This is the nostalgia Shane had asked him about in April when he was too deep in his grief to know up from down. Nothing about him wants to go back in time and relive those years where they refused to acknowledge their feelings, but it does feel strange, exciting, and a little sad to be leaving the place that welcomed him when he left Russia.

On the last afternoon of their first scheduled trip to Boston for the summer, because there would be many for Ilya to pack up all of his belongings and to continue his goodbye parade through his acquaintances, Shane works his way through Ilya’s kitchen cabinet by cabinet. Ilya watches from the island as his boyfriend places plates and glasses into boxes with some sort of packing material, and then writes a detailed list of its contents on the cardboard with permanent marker.

“That is where you made me undercooked pancakes for breakfast,” Ilya says. He doesn’t care that it only comes out half teasing.

“Yeah, I was a little distracted that day. Something about signing a really shitty brand deal just so I could check on my boyfriend. Does that ring a bell?” Shane asks and then grabs another box.

“I still feel bad you did that.”

He watches as Shane opens a drawer and examines its contents. Ilya should really be helping. Probably. When he tried half an hour ago Shane told him he was putting his pans in wrong and then took the box from him.

“Don’t. I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” Shane says as he starts to meticulously empty Ilya’s silverware and large utensils into the box. “We have other good memories in this kitchen too. I’ve definitely blown you in here more than once.”

“Don’t forget the night we only made it to the island. I think I've had to hide lude in every room.”

“I don’t think we need to recount every surface we’ve had sex in this house, Ilya. That probably isn’t the best use of our time.”

“We leave in the morning,” Ilya says. He comes up behind Shane and places a string of teasing kisses against his neck.

“Yeah. Not enough time.” Shane swats at his hands gripping at his hips before relenting and sinking back into Ilya. “There are other memories here though, right?”

Ilya nods against Shane’s head. They’ve done more than just have sex here at his house, but not by much. The thought makes his stomach flip. They’ve been fighting for something real and normal for a year now and still most of his memories of Shane in Boston are of all the ways they’ve touched each other.

They’re good memories. Most nights he lets them play in a loop in his mind until he can fall asleep. He just wishes there were others too, small things like how they played video games and pool at the cottage. Shane has spent such little time at the townhouse that they’ve rarely cooked together here. They never had the privilege of relaxing like they do in Canada.

“We’ve watched a few bad movies over the years. Remember when you showed me the one with the sparkly vampire?” Ilya asks after a moment. It’s the only thing he can come up with that wasn’t just them cuddling up watching sports before they took each other apart.

“It was a cultural moment. You couldn’t keep living here and not see Twilight,” Shane says while placing the last of the silverware into a box.

He stares through the doorway at the living room. It always felt too big for just him. The only times he really appreciates the space is when people are here, or more recently, Shane. Sure, he’d used to have teammates over sometimes, but over the last year his desire to have other people in his home shrunk in direct proportion to how much he trusted any of them to accept this side of him, the coupled up bisexual side.

He obviously wasn’t going to tell his teammates about Shane, but now that he is leaving he can acknowledge something he’s known for most of his career; most of them were not safe people for him, not really. Not in a way he trusted with the most important secret of his life. So hosting team parties fell to the wayside, and his evenings watching games with Svetlana faded until they were nothing but a memory.

He wants to be sad about leaving Boston, but he actually cannot wait. He won’t just be close to Shane, but he will hopefully be somewhere where he doesn’t always have to be on his guard. Even if his new team is shit he’ll have the privacy of a smaller, quieter place to spend his time and a locker room that has not made any gossip sites in years.

He lets his eyes catch on the edge of the couch. There was a time last year where he thought about getting a new one only because he couldn’t look at it and not picture Shane flinging himself off his lap. It was a waking nightmare for six weeks.

He decides his house in Ottawa will have a smaller living room, and the couch will stay here in America. Hell, maybe he’ll even abandon the TV and get something new. Something for the two of them.

“What? Another dirty memory?” Shane asks as he bumps his shoulder against Ilya’s and then twists in his arms to see where he’s looking.

It would be so easy to say yes. They’ve fucked on practically every surface of his townhouse. The living room is no exception. It also just holds his most charged memories. This is where he found Shane when he came to talk in January after a single misunderstanding. It’s where he sat and read him a letter two months ago about his mother and grief. They’ve fallen asleep together on the couch after rough games and laughed so hard at bad tv that they couldn’t breath.

“That’s where you got scared and ran out on me after I made you lunch,” He says, because at the end of the day that will always be the one true thing about this space. He could paint the walls and carpet the floor, change the furniture and hire an interior decorator to make the living room completely new, and he would still know that a year and a half ago Shane ran after the first time he tried everything he could think of to make him stay.

It’s stupid. They’re fine now. Better than fine, and this is childish. He doesn’t need to rehash the past. He never wants to be cruel, not to Shane, not ever.

“Ilya,” Shane says with a warning tone. They’ve talked about this before. Ilya wanted to know what had gone through Shane’s mind that had him running out of his house and into the arms of a Hollywood starlet.

Fine, he had needed to know if he had come on too strong or if Shane had had feelings for him then, too. It wouldn’t change anything now, but he wanted that closure for his past self. It shouldn’t make him feel better to know that they were both scared by how real things felt between them, how much they both wanted it.

“You asked. It is a memory. Not all of them are good, but it is okay.” He wraps an arm around Shane and pulls him close before placing a kiss against the crown of his head. “I should not have said anything.”

It’s an understatement. He has taken countless calls from his father here, even more from his brother, all of them left him feeling absolutely hollow. Even those calls don’t begin to touch how he felt when Shane walked out the door, and at the time Ilya thought, out of his life.

“It’s not a good one for me either. I regret a lot about that day. You know that.”

“Yes.” He wants to tell Shane that he was devastated. He didn’t get up for half an hour. He cried. Something he never allowed himself to do. It was like the second the door closed it threw shrapnel around his messy insides and he didn’t know what to do with it. That Ilya Rozanov did not often let himself hope for things, but he did for Shane, and it broke his heart.

“I was an absolute mess. I need you to know that. Even when I tried being with Rose I could never get you out of my head. You and I, we didn’t talk for six weeks and I spent two of them planning how I could get you back.” Shane wraps an arm around Ilya’s waist and then guides them from their spot in the kitchen over to the doorway. “I’ll never get that time back with you.”

“I did not like seeing you with her then,” Ilya admits. It’s an understatement, but he knows Rose now, likes her even. Shane trusts her, and she protects their secret. Shane continues to maneuver them through his house into the living room all the way to the couch. “Now I am glad she is our friend.”

“Yeah, but it would be nice if I could have gone straight to friendship without all the other stuff. Without hurting you. It’s stupid that I had to go and date a movie star to admit to myself that actually, I only like men.”

Shane presses gently against Ilya’s shoulders until he’s forced to sit on the couch, and then straddles him just like he did all those months ago. Ilya waits for it to feel like a flashback, but this Shane is not the one who walked out on him.

No. The man on his lap has spent the last week helping him pack up his home so they can be together more often. He created a multi step plan to make it safe for the two of them to be in a real, honest to god relationship. He’s so sure of himself now. He’s sure of Ilya.

“It did hurt, but we don’t need to talk about it again. I do not have to be a broken record. I do not want to upset you.”

He reaches up, letting his hands trace against Shane’s muscles under his shirt. He could stop this conversation now. It would be so easy to reach up and kiss him. It takes almost nothing to make Shane putty in his hands, this would be no different.

“Broken record? How do you know that phrase?” Shane asks with a small shake of his head. “Never mind. That’s unimportant right now. It’s okay if that memory still hurts. It does for me, too. We can talk about it without hurting each other more, and then maybe then it can just be part of our story and not something that’s raw when we think back on it.”

Shane swats at his hands, grabbing at them until he has them intertwined with his own. Ilya pouts up at him and is met with one of his favorite scrunched annoyed expressions.

“I was not okay after you left. You know this. It was maybe like when you found me in April, but different,” Ilya starts. It’s hard to look at Shane, but he squeezes his hands and settles his full weight against his thighs. “Not as explosive. Just sad. Fine, maybe a few tears. But I kept telling myself I should not be surprised. It was stupid for me to want more with you. I knew where we stood and what you wanted and I scared you away.”

He had always been good for one thing. People wanted to sleep with him. They didn’t want to stay. Shane was the first person he hoped would break that pattern.

“Thank you for telling me that. I can’t promise to always get this, us, right, but I do promise that I will never leave you like that again. We can talk through hard things, even if I have to bribe you into doing it.”

“I think it needed to happen for us to be this now. You were not ready yet. I wasn’t either, even if I wanted you with my whole heart. I wouldn’t have known how to say it and believe it could mean anything,” Ilya says, pulling at their joint hands and letting Shane collapse against his chest. “Sometimes I still have a hard time believing this is real.”

“It’s the most real thing in my life,” Shane says, his breath warm against his neck. “If I could go back and change one thing it would be that. I wouldn’t have left. I would have been brave for you, for us. We could have avoided a lot of extra heartache.”

“Maybe I would have been the one who got scared then. Everything about us is like dominos, every meeting was a piece falling until now.”

Everything they did was just a step leading them right here, with his kitchen packed up in boxes labeled with Shane’s handwriting, a countdown to a new contract in Ottawa, and a promise that they’re in this for the long run.

“Until forever. You’re it for me. Okay? We can talk about it all you want, whatever you need to make sure you’re ready for this next step.”

He can practically feel Shane’s anxiety radiating off him in waves. They’re so close to having something almost normal. Well, closer to normal. The ability to see each other multiple times a month instead of occasionally going more than 50 days between breathing the same air will be life changing.

“Shane, I am sure.” It’s an understatement. Moving to Ottawa has been a certainty in his mind since Shane brought it up last summer. He’s never waivered, never wanted a different plan. “But maybe it would be good that we take all of this, our life before we were something, and make sure there are no, how you say, scary things, that might still hurt?”

He has no problem picking up the life he built in America and leaving for a new, quieter one with Shane in Canada. He just doesn’t know what he’ll do if after all the dust settles Shane decides it is all too much. He’d be stuck on a losing team in a city where he knows no one, heartbroken and unable to tell anyone why.

Shane threw a bomb at him once and left him licking his wounds for a few weeks. Ilya knows he’s done worse, and as they pack up his Boston townhouse the only thing he’s actually worried about is one day Shane will remember and then he will be done.

“Skeletons,” Shane says, “Yeah, we might have a few of those. I’m willing to put in the work. I’m not sure if you noticed, but when I want something I’ll find a way to make it happen. I want this life with you.”

“You do not think you will get tired of me when I am on your doorstep every few days?” Ilya asks. He knows if given the chance now he won’t willingly spend a single night away from Shane. It’s needy in a way he’s never allowed himself to be before. This entire year has been a lesson in accepting that his heart, the thing he has tried so hard to protect since he was 12, now beats outside his chest at an ice rink in Montreal and that there are days where he feels like if he isn’t reunited with it he might die.

“What makes you think I won’t be the one sneaking into your new Ottawa house at one in the morning just so I can wake up next to you? We have eight years of distance to make up for before I can even consider getting tired of seeing you.”

---

A week later they’re back in Montreal. Shane was serious about finding a new place for them to be together here as well, and they’ve spent hours online looking at houses, even if Ilya hopes that this one will just be temporary.

It’s selfish and he knows it. He wants his future Ottawa house to be the place they call home. Sure, he wants to have room in Shane’s closet and his snacks in the pantry, but at the end of the day he will never be truly welcome in Montreal. Ottawa is the plan for him, and when they retire he needs his house to be something that they can share.

“I like this one. It’s by the practice arena. The area looks private. It’ll be good for the next ten years.”

“Only ten?” Ilya asks. He hopes it comes out a little teasing. These are Shane’s plans, and he knows better than to actually question them at this point.

“Yeah. Probably, right? I want to play as long as possible. I know you do too, but my parents are in Ottawa, the cottage is closer. You’ll be there. And you already asked me to move in with you, so I think that’s going to be our official home base.”

He doesn’t bother reminding him that Shane was the first one to mention moving in together over Christmas when he offered up the cottage as their first shared space.

Ilya loves this version of Shane. He is almost never without a plan. By the time he’s brought Ilya into his thoughts he’s already eliminated the options that don’t make sense. It’s almost pathological in the way he has gone about scheduling the next decade of their lives. From anyone else Ilya would find it suffocating, but from Shane it’s his love language.

Ilya agrees with the house and the plan, because all of it means that next season their sneaking around doesn't make either of them feel like secret agents in a bad movie.

Everything is falling into place and he has the rest of the summer practically uninterrupted with his boyfriend. He has never felt this settled.

So when on his birthday Shane spends a solid five minutes pacing the bedroom he doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he wants to laugh. His face is scrunched up in the way Ilya loves, and his hair is already rumpled from Ilya’s hands in his hair during what he now hopes is an annual happy birthday good morning blow job.

“Are you sure this is what you want? We can do something else,” Shane says as he stops near the foot of the bed.

Ilya wants to laugh. Actually laugh. Last year Shane wouldn’t let him see inside this apartment. Now he’s in his bed on his birthday while his boyfriend stresses out about their plans for the day.

“Shane, is fine.”

“But you surprised me for my birthday.”

He left Boston at 5 in the morning because he couldn’t sleep and drove straight to Montreal because the idea of spending another day apart for any reason at all after they were both knocked out of the playoffs made him feel physically ill. It’s not exactly the same thing.

“Being with you on your birthday should not have been a surprise. Please stop worrying like little bird and come back to bed,” Ilya says, running a hand through his hair. This conversation is a lot post orgasm and pre coffee and what he would really like is Shane slotted comfortably next to him in bed for at least another fifteen minutes. Maybe an hour, as a treat.

“I am not acting like a bird.” Shane dramatically shrugs. Ilya is pretty sure that’s not helping prove his point, but it is cute. Everything about this is adorable. God. He barely recognizes himself anymore. He never thought there would be a version of the world where he could admit to himself that he wanted moments just like this and now he is about to have an entire summer of them.

“Fluttering about picking up things and putting them back down. Like a bird. Stop moving laundry around and come back to bed. I am sure about dinner.”

“We don’t have to accept every one of my parents' invitations, especially not on your birthday.”

Ilya isn’t sure how to convince Shane that he isn’t just being polite. He hasn’t celebrated a birthday with family since he was 12. His father was not particularly interested in spoiling him with gifts and his brother wasn’t exactly keen on spending time with him. By the time his step mother arrived she was more a peer than a maternal figure and certainly wasn’t going to bring back the small but love filled celebrations he remembered from his childhood.

When Yuna and David had texted the family chat to ask if they had plans for June 15 he thought they just wanted a chance to see Shane before they left for the MLH Awards. They had been living in their own little bubble since the season ended and had only made it to Ottawa once to have a celebratory dinner for Shane’s birthday. It wasn’t until the texts continued that he realized exactly what was happening.

Yuna
Ilya what would you like for dinner next week?

David
And I need to know your favorite cake. It’s very important.

Shane had caught him staring wide eyed at his phone. This wasn’t like when they planned for Christmas. He couldn’t hide the swirl of complicated feelings churning inside him with distance. Instead he let Shane pluck his phone out of his hands and pull him into a tight hug.

“They can be a bit overbearing but they mean well. We don’t have to go, or we can go for dinner another day and tell them to chill out, it’s fine. I promise whatever you want is fine.”

He did want this. So much it scared him. In a month he’ll officially move to Canada. One of the non-negotiables in his house hunt is that his new place is within a half an hour of the Hollander’s. It’s ridiculous, and something he hasn’t said out loud to anyone, but the idea of having people that consider him family, or at least family adjacent, close by would mean the world to him.

“I think it would be nice. We haven’t seen your parents much and I know they miss you.”

“It’s your birthday,” Shane said, emphasizing every word like that would change something in Ilya’s mind.

“Is just a day, Hollander. “

He’d considered the matter settled. He’d told David he would eat anything with chocolate but to not go out of his way, and asked Yuna if she could make the pot roast they had over the holidays again, if it wasn’t too much trouble.

“They’ll make you something from back home if you want, you know that right?”

He did. The Hollanders actually want him around. They want him to be comfortable and happy. It’s something he has learned to trust, even if he still feels like a small child learning to walk every time they’re together.

“I think I want new traditions, and then maybe you can help me find good Russian bakery near the arena?”

That conversation was days ago but nothing he said or did seemed to convince Shane that a quiet meal in Ottawa with his parents was a perfect birthday.

“Shane, come back to bed. Is my birthday, right? You want me to be happy, come back to bed,” He whines as he throws a pillow at Shane.

“There is no way you’re already ready for another round,” Shane says like a challenge as he bats the pillow away, but he’s already at the foot of the bed, knees bumping against the low bedframe.

“Maybe I just want to hold you and call you pretty things in Russian. It would be a treat for us both.”

He doesn’t know how to say that today will already be perfect because he is with people who love him.

They stay in bed far longer than Shane would normally allow and then have a breakfast of waffles with fruit and whipped cream piled high before loading into Shane’s car to make the trek to his parents house. They play 20 questions the entire two hour drive with Ilya’s favorite playlist playing softly in the background.

He doesn’t even care when Shane wins 4 of their 7 games before pulling into the Hollander’s driveway. Today is already more than he would have ever dared hope for.

At the Hollander’s he’s greeted with hugs. He tries not to think about the last time he had people who cared about him like this on his birthday. Sure, he had teammates back in Boston that would party with him if they were all still around during the off season. In particularly bad years he would already be back in Russia, and more recently that meant reminding his father who he was instead of expecting a warm hug. Not that the hugs were ever common before his memory failed.

They spend an afternoon playing card games and talking over beer and wine while dinner simmers away in the kitchen. Since Christmas he doesn’t worry so much about how he belongs here. Yuna and David welcome him with open arms. They laugh at his jokes and pile on when he lightheartedly teases Shane.

Dinner is perfect too. Since he and Shane have started officially dating, the number of home cooked meals he’s had someone else make for him has increased ten fold. It’s something he never wants to take for granted. Every meal they make together is special, but days like today, where Yuna and David have gone out of their way to make him something for his birthday, are on a whole different level.

And maybe everything tastes better with Shane next to him, his hand settled firmly on his leg.

This is his life now. Birthday dinners with his boyfriend’s parents are normal. Watching Shane narrowly avoid a spit take at one of his mom's jokes is now something that can just happen, just like David pulling him aside to talk to him very seriously about the puzzles he would like to complete for the rest of the year.

By the time they’re back in Shane’s car making the two hour trek back to the apartment, Ilya is so full of love and good food he thinks he might burst.

“Today has been nice. Dinner was very good, your dad made me cake,“ He says when they get back to Shane’s place. It’s just starting to get dark and the Montreal skyline practically glows with the sunset.

“And no one has done that for you in a long time.” Shane says. It’s a statement, nothing for him to refute. The box of leftovers they brought back is proof that today has been real.

Shane comes up behind Ilya and wraps his arms around his chest. He’s usually the one reaching out, the one doing the holding, but right now it feels so good to have Shane’s equally impressive frame encompassing him. It’s safe. Comforting. It’s absolutely perfect.

“No one has done that for me since I was a child. And their gift was very sweet.” It was a basket of fancy coffee and syrups for his new house. They said something about Shane talking them out of a full espresso maker but still wanting him to have something nice and sweet to start his mornings. He’s already looking forward to bringing them to the cottage

“You still need to open my gift.” Shane bumps his nose against Ilya’s neck before nipping at his earlobe.

“I thought my gift was this morning.” Ilya laughs as Shane moves them both from the window into the living room.

“Blowjobs are not birthday gifts.” Shane rummages through the drawer inside the coffee table and pulls out a meticulously wrapped package and then hands it to Ilya. “You know this.”

He sits down on the couch and attacks the corner of the package with his nail, prying up the neatly laid tape and crisply folded paper to reveal a thick book with a Canadian flag on the cover and an impressive looking government building.

“It turns out I am not very good at crafts,” Shane says as he sinks down next to him.

“Gift giving doesn’t have to be a competition.” When Ilya looks up from his present Shane is giving him a blank stare and all he can do is laugh. “Fine. It is competition for us, but there is no loser. “

He draws his attention back to the book. Welcome to Ottawa: An Official Travel Guide to Canada's Capital.

“It’s a guidebook.” Shane says as Ilya begins to flip through the pages. “I’ve gone through and starred the places you absolutely need to see, like completely non negotiable now that you’re going to be living here, and then put crosses on other places that I think you’d enjoy. The restaurant section is a little out of date but I highlighted some classics in yellow, and then there is an international food section at the end so I used red to highlight all of the Russian and Eastern European places I could find.”

On almost every page there is something, a star, a cross, a mark of a color highlighter. On the back of the title page there’s a key to all the things Shane mentioned, and when he gets to the blank pages near the end of the book there are lines and lines of Shane’s neat, perfect handwriting. He’s created an entire section of the best ice rinks and the parks for long walks that aren’t going to be overrun with people.

“Things that weren’t listed that I thought you might like,” Shane offers, unsure, from his seat next to Ilya.

“There are a lot of things for me to do.” More than he had even thought to hope for. Every time he’d accepted that Ottawa was his best chance at Canadian citizenship while maintaining a real relationship with Shane. He wasn’t moving for the nightlife or food scene. But Shane had gone through and marked things that would make him happy. There were even hiking trails, something he hadn’t even thought about before last summer, labeled with how popular they are on nice summer days.

“Yeah, and maybe once we announce the foundation and our…friendship…I could join you for some of them. Strategically, of course.”

Ilya nods. In a perfect world he would check off every one of these things with Shane by his side. In reality, maybe there are a handful they can do in the next ten years that won’t raise too many eyebrows. It’s still more than they thought they could have before.

He flips through the pages one more time, just studying the amount of work Shane has put into this gift when he notices a small envelope tucked near the back of the book.

“What is this?”

“You’ve given me six letters. I figured I owed you at least one. You can thank me later. At least you already can read English.”

Ilya carefully opens the envelope and then unfolds the piece of paper. He’s gotten used to the feeling of flattening a creased letter against his lap.

“I should still make you read it to me,” He says before he lets his eyes dance over the page. He’s done this for Shane three times now. Each time was difficult in its own way, but so worthwhile. The thought of being on the other end with Shane’s sure voice reading out his most inner thoughts is something he can’t pass up.

“I will if you want,” Shane says without argument, and then plucks the letter off his lap and clears his throat.

“My Ilya,

I wish I could go back in time and tell younger me that it’s all worth it. Every night I had to leave your hotel room, every rushed kiss, all of the sneaking around and lying. I would tell him that it might take a while, but good things are worth the wait. You, Ilya, have been worth waiting for. I am forever grateful that there is not a moment in my adult life that hasn’t been colored by you. I know it hasn’t always been easy, but I would walk through hell for you again and again if it meant we got to be together like we are now.

We make each other better in every way. One day I hope the world can see that. I never thought I could be this happy, or that I could love someone so completely. You make me think I can hope for a future where everything is bright and full of love. Up until last summer I would have never let myself dream about marriage or kids. Now I fall asleep thinking about the life we’ll live when we both retire. You’ve given me something to believe in, and I will never take that for granted.

Thank you for taking a chance on us, for always pushing me to be the person you know I can be. More than anything thank you for loving me on days when it’s hard to love myself.

I can’t wait to have you closer. 15 days until I can say my boyfriend plays for a Canadian team.

Happy Birthday, my love. Here’s to celebrating at least fifty more together.

Forever yours,
Shane ”

Ilya closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. He always wants to be this person for Shane. He doesn’t know how he’s gotten so lucky, but he doesn’t want to question it. He wills back the sting of tears. He doesn’t know how he is the one who got lucky enough to be loved by this perfect man.

“Fifty is conservative, no? I think we have at least sixty, maybe seventy more in us. After all, we have a lot of time to make up for.”

---

The rest of June flies by. The playoffs take an unusually long time. Ilya almost feels bad for being happy he didn’t have to play through a slog fest of conference and championship games. It means he gets more time with Shane wandering between Montreal, Boston, and Ottawa. He feels equally bad that he is a little happy to see Scott Hunter and his Admirals make it to the finals only to be taken out in six games by Denver.

The man did give him the courage to be with the love of his life, but he also has also kept him from the cup two years in a row.

It’s not until after Ilya’s birthday that he and Shane receive notice of the official date of the MLH awards. There is hardly time to confirm attendance and for Ilya to travel back to Boston to sort out a wardrobe before flying into Vegas on separate flights.

The entire weekend is jam packed with events, but even still Ilya refuses to let time with Shane be taken from him. If they’re going to be in the same city they will be seeing each other. There is no longer a version of his reality where he won’t make that happen.

So they make sure to steal a few minutes alone before their attendance is required at the award show later in the evening.

“There are memories in Vegas too,” Ilya says as they look out over the skyline from his hotel room. It’s not as nice as the penthouse he booked the year he won MVP, but it’s still large and high enough to give an impressive view.

Shane’s room is down the hall. For once they agreed that there wasn’t really a need to put floors between them. They’re here for a couple of days and most of the time they’re booked into season ending interviews and media slots. No one will notice if one of them heads to the wrong room.

It helps that they both know where they stand tonight. Neither of them made it far enough into the playoffs to be much of a contender for any of the player voted awards, but Shane has the most goals for the 2017-2018 season, and Ilya has the most points. They’ll each get a moment in the spotlight with a trophy and then be able to fade into the background in peace.

Or at least as peaceful as the MLH will let them. Their rivalry makes them an ungodly amount of money.

But Ilya doesn’t want to think about that now, not when he has Shane in his hotel room in a suit staring off into the sunset. He peppers kisses behind his ears before pulling him close. In a perfect world they’d be on the rooftop terrace, but this is already so much better than he could have hoped.

“Yeah. Good and bad,” Shane says after a moment, pressing himself back against Ilya with a purposeful grind of his hips.

“What, you are still mad about that year I won MVP?”

Ilya pulls him closer. He can smell his cologne, Shane’s signature scent of sandalwood and leather. He’s always found it intoxicating. Tonight it makes him want to mark Shane. Leaving him with a few marks on his neck for pictures would be cruel. Shane would be irritated about it for days. Ilya still thinks it might be worth it.

“I’m not mad about anything, but that night isn’t my favorite memory,” Shane says as he twists out of Ilya’s hold just enough to keep him from doing something reckless. He looks back at Ilya with a tight expression that he can’t decode.

“It was hot. We had fun.” He had been a dick, but back then he was always kind of a dick. He was confused by his feelings and depressed about spending another two months in Russia being berated by his father. He was rough with Shane that night, but nothing crazy, nothing they hadn’t really done before or since. It had been one of the sexiest experiences of his life at the time, and a part of him always thought Shane agreed. Only now the way Shane is looking at him makes him think his experience wasn’t shared. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not like that. We weren’t very good to each other back then.” Shane lets himself settle back against Ilya, half pressed against his side, and runs his fingers through Ilya’s styled curls.

It takes everything in Ilya not to pull away. He did something. He was a mess of emotions that night. He was headed back to Russian in a matter of days and no matter how many championships and accolades he won it wouldn’t be enough for his family. Seeing Shane was a blessing and a curse. He couldn’t stay away from him but also knew that being near him would only make his upcoming time at home worse. It always did.

“No. That’s a lie. I wasn’t very good to you that year. I wanted you too much and was very scared about what that meant.”

Just like Shane did almost two years ago when he ran away after tuna melts and a brief glimpse of feelings.

“I know that now. We’ve both gotten better at communicating,” Shane says before he turns to completely face Ilya. He loops his arms around his shoulders, pressing their bodies close. Months ago Ilya told him he preferred to have hard conversations in person. He said he liked for them to be touching, that it was grounding for him, and this small realignment knocks something loose in him as Shane continues, “You said you wanted us to deal with all of our skeletons before you move? This is one of mine.”

He hasn’t always been good to Shane. There have been inappropriate texts, chirping that was more flirting than hockey. For years he only spoke in innuendo and insults. Only, he always thought he had been a safe person for him when they were locked away in hotel rooms. The one place he never wanted Shane to be uncomfortable was with him in bed.

It’s somehow worse that Shane has never mentioned this. They’ve been together for almost a year. They talk every day. He can feel panic and bile rising up his throat as he runs through a mental catalog of that night.

“Okay. I remember you showing off for me…” He starts. Shane presses himself closer. There is no place where they aren’t touching.

“After you told me to, after you ignored me for half a year, told me to suck you off in a bathroom, and made me feel like an idiot. Over the course of our entire relationship that night when I got back to my room was the only time I wished I never met you.”

The admission is so quiet Ilya almost doesn’t believe it’s real, but the way he feels like his world is about to split it two assures him that, yes, a younger version of him devastated Shane Hollander. He had done more than his regular nonchalance and for one night moved into a territory of cruelty.

He had hurt Shane and for that he doesn’t know if he can forgive himself. He had tried to distance himself from him that day.. He wanted to be such an asshole that there was no doubt in either of their minds that the only thing they were to each other was a good fuck. It didn’t help. All he had wanted was to hold him, love him, and he couldn’t. Not when he was about to board a ridiculously long flight and see his father.

And then Shane asked about his family. Like it was normal, easy, and Ilya had completely shut down. He had hurt Shane because he couldn’t imagine a future where they could be something more.

For a moment he can’t breathe. He knows this isn’t fair. He needs to apologize. Hell, he should get on his knees and beg.

He made Shane, his Shane, his person, wish they had never met. It doesn’t matter if it was just for an evening. He doesn’t care that Shane texted him a week later when he was back in Russia. He still hurt him and that deserves a thoughtful apology and probably some light groveling if he can just make his limbs work again.

“Ilya, hey.” A hand comes up to cup his cheek. He shakes it off. He should not be the one comforted in this moment.

“I am very sorry, moya lyubov. I was wrong, and very cruel. If I am being honest that is what I wanted you to do that night. I wanted you so badly, and then I needed you to know you deserved better. Then I would not have to tear myself open every time I saw you during the season. I didn’t want it to hurt you but I did not want you to like me. I thought it would be easier if you did not want me too,” He tries to explain. He’s not sure he makes sense. He can feel his accent thicken around his words, and how English gets harder the longer he goes on. He’s so fucking sorry and all he can do is watch Shane’s face crumple into some picture of uncertainty as he babbles on and on about all the terrible reasons he treated him poorly.

He moves out of Shane’s arm step by unsteady step until he hits the bed and then crumples back onto the mattress. Shane doesn’t give him space. Instead he follows him and kneels so he’s level with him, balancing his arms against his thighs.

If he’d had his way Ilya would prefer to have a solid five hours to process this information before talking about it. He’d be able to come up with a thoughtful apology and maybe a small gift. He isn’t good with surprise emotions, or really large emotions in general. His father always said he felt too much, that it made him weak.

He had finally stopped believing that this year. Well, he had, up until now, when Shane was perched in front of him trying to force him to make eye contact while he desperately tried to come up for the right combination of words to apologize for breaking his one early rule with Shane.

He would never make him feel unsafe when they were together. That was it.

They could argue on the ice and bicker over text. The league could believe they hated each other, but the second they were behind closed doors he never wanted that dynamic to be there. Not really. They could be competitive without it feeling like he was lording his experience over Shane. He never wanted Shane to think he didn’t at least appreciate those moments together, even when they were both pretending they were just convenient hook ups.

“Hey Rozanov?” Shane drums his fingers against Ilya’s legs. It tickles, and the sensation with all of the emotions swirling in him forces Ilya to look up.

“It didn’t work. You didn’t scare me away,” Shane says with a small smile.

“No, but I made you so upset that you are here telling me about it four years later. I think that is still pretty bad.” So what that it still took Ilya a year to fully deal with the day Shane walked out on him. He wants to be better for Shane. Shane deserves for him to be better.

“We talked about me running out on you earlier in the month. You didn’t make me feel bad about it, you didn’t hold it over my head, you just told me how it made you feel so we could both move past it. You didn’t get mad. So I’m telling you four years ago in Vegas we had some pretty amazing sex and then you made me feel shitty when I left. That’s it.” Shane rises from his place in front of Ilya and comes to sit at his side on the bed. “I’m not mad at you, I’m not even upset at past you anymore. It is a shitty memory because I wanted you to want me so much, and now you’re here angry at yourself because you did want me and were too scared to face it. I didn’t know that before. I am very familiar with that feeling.”

“Shane, I should be the one apologizing.” He wants to crawl out of his skin hearing Shane say all these things. He wants him to be mad. If he’s kept these feelings hidden for so long he deserves to have a moment where he is angry, but instead all he offers are perfectly reasonable, perfectly comforting words.

“You already did, Ilya,” Shane says, bumping his leg against his. “What were you thinking that night?”

Every part of him wants to shut down. That’s what he would have done in the past. Hell, that’s what he did back then. He locked down his emotions and forced himself to be the asshole he thought the world expected. That was always safe.

But safe now looks like nights in Shane’s bed and days at the cottage. Safe is having a person who loves him enough to ask hard questions instead of running away.

“I kept asking myself why it had to be you. Why were you the only one I ever wanted like that? I thought about you every day of the season and then you were there. Even after I ignored you, you came back to me. I didn’t deserve it and I didn’t want you to leave but I couldn’t ask you to stay. ”

Shane grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers before bringing it up to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“So ask me tonight. Let’s have a do over. It’s not like your couch hasn’t had a handful of new memories added to it every time I visit. Help me rewrite the one from that night.”

Ilya waits for it to feel like a trap. He shouldn’t be rewarded for his past bad behavior with good sex. But there’s something in the back of his brain that knows Shane is right. Yes, selling his place will be the only thing that fully banishes Shane running away from his mind, but every time they’ve been together, every laugh, nap, and fuck on his couch has morphed things until they don’t hurt, not most of the time.

“You would want that?”

“You said yourself that it was hot. I think if it had ended differently it would have been a top five moment for me. So, we can do that again and this time you can fuck me as hard as you want but you hold me after. We wake up together tomorrow. You kiss me. You kiss me a lot.” “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

It also doesn’t sound that different from a normal night, minus the promise of Shane showing off for him.

“It sounds perfect. Like how I should have treated you all along.”

“You have. We’re going to rewrite the one instance where you didn’t.”

“There was probably more than one,” Ilya says as he racks his brain over the last eight years.

“On the ice, absolutely. Texting. Definitely. In bed, no. Never. This was the only time you weren’t one hundred percent in tune with what I needed. I wanted a little aftercare. Now I know I don’t even have to think about it. It’s usually your super power. “ Shane stands and tugs at Ilya's hands, forcing him up. “You’re good to me. Let’s go win a couple of awards and then put this last skeleton to bed.”

---

It’s almost the end of the month by the time Shane picks Ilya up from the Ottawa airport. It’s been nearly a year since the last time he did this. There’s no Christmas traffic to hide behind, and right now he doesn’t even care. Ilya has gotten good at blending in with the crowds, but today he doesn’t think twice before heading straight for the Jeep waiting for him.

This time last year he was a ball of nerves when he got into Shane’s car for the first time. Every move felt like it could topple them. Now he grabs for his boyfriend’s hand the moment he’s settled in the passenger seat and knows that Shane will pull off into some abandoned parking lot within the next ten minutes just so they can kiss.

They’ve done what feels like countless long drives since the end of the season. They’ve gone back and forth from Montreal to Ottawa and taken meandering trips to places outside the city with the best hikes that were also likely to avoid other people. Ilya has come to love this safe, practical car just as much as he loves its driver, but nothing beats this; sitting next to Shane as he drives them back to the Cottage for their summer stay.

“Home,” Ilya says two hours later as he pulls up the gravel driveway.

“Home,” Shane agrees. He may have built this place but now it is something more. It’s their safe haven, the one place on earth where neither of them have to worry about being judged for loving each other too loudly.

“I don’t want us to have skeletons here. No bad memories,” Ilya says as he grabs several bags from the trunk. “I don’t want them in our new house, either.”

He waits for Shane to correct him. Ilya’s name will be on the title. It’s not like they can share property right now, but he doesn’t, just like he didn’t correct him when he called the cottage home.

“They only become skeletons if we don’t talk about them, right?” Shane says from the other side of vehicle as he collects loose bags and a cooler from the back seat.

And that’s what scares Ilya, because this year he has flayed himself open over and over to give this love he is building with Shane an honest chance. He’s raw and so fucking tired. He’s told Shane more in the last ten months than he’s ever told another living soul. He wants to keep doing it, but it is so hard. All he can do is nod and stare out at the cottage.

“I did not react well last weekend,” Ilya admits as they unload everything into the living room. Everything smells faintly of dust from disuse, and he already knows that Shane has a full check list of things to do to set the cottage right for the rest of the summer.

“You were mad at yourself for hurting me. Not a lot of men would admit that.” Shane barely looks up from the cooler he’s unpacking into the fridge. Ilya can see a tub of his favorite ice cream made the cut on the drive down, complete with its own ice pack.

“But you shouldn’t have had to manage my feelings.” He feels pretty useless, not knowing exactly what to do now that they’re here surrounded by bags.

“Why? You weren’t trying to make me feel bad. You didn’t pretend nothing was wrong, and now I have a pretty fantastic new memory of a night in Vegas with my very hot, very attentive boyfriend, and I can’t think of a single other skeleton we need to talk about before you move next month.” Shane puts the last of the produce away and then crosses into the living room before pulling Ilya in for a tight hug.

“Hey, in a week you get to sign a new contract. You’ll officially be the highest paid player in the league,” He whispers against his ear.

Ilya can’t help but smile. It’s going to suck having to turn around a historically bad team, but he’s done it before. He took Boston from being terrible enough to get the first overall draft pick to winning the cup in only a few seasons. He can absolutely turn Ottawa around with his skill and the added bonus of seeing Shane regularly.

“Yes, until you’re a free agent in two years.” Ilya says, because there’s no way their relationship would allow for Shane to not try to beat him in every single way. By then he’ll have probably won the Metros another cup, maybe two. They would be insane to not pay him more.

“Well for this season you’re our breadwinner. I figured you’d want to come back here and gloat, maybe with some fancy steaks and a really expensive bottle of wine?“

They don’t just have his upcoming new contract to celebrate. Shane has put so much effort into this plan. The Irina Foundation is coming along, and soon they’ll announce the charity and their friendship to the league. That’s worth more than a couple of pricy steaks and a bottle of wine, but it’s a place to start.

“Ah, after my money now, Hollander?”

“Nope even a little bit,” Shane laughs in his arms. “But maybe I secretly like it when you’re a little cocky when you win. This one’s a pretty big win.”

Chapter End Notes

As always, welcome to my end notes:

Despite my best efforts, we have angst mixed with summer fluff. I couldn't imagine a world where Ilya doesn't need some reassurance or that Shane isn't actively working to make sure they are on a solid footing before Ilya signs with Ottawa.

As I'm working on the last planned chapter of Countdown I did want to see what you all preferred. I would like to continue with the second year that is missing between HR and TLG in a similar format, but without as much of a focus on the actual countdowns that thematically tied this work together. My working title is Welcome to Boring Ottawa. Originally I had planned to have this be it's own standalone sequel work, but I am happy to continue updating Countdown instead if that is what all of you lovely readers prefer.

Thank you all for your lovely comments.

Chapter 12: July

Chapter Notes

Shane is a planner. That isn’t exactly news. His mom says he manages his anxiety by creating detailed itineraries, meal plans, and work out regimens.

She’s not wrong.

None of those things have helped over the last four days. Ilya left for Boston at the end of June. They’d only been at the cottage a few days and had barely had a chance to relax and enjoy the effects of having no one but Shane’s family around for miles.

He knew this first stint at the cottage together would be short. He’d mentally cursed the MLH playoffs for taking so long. If games had finished sooner the awards would have been earlier in the month and they could have actually had a proper vacation before Ilya made the show of sneaking back to Boston only to very publicly fly back to Ottawa days later to sign a contract.

At least the contract is real now. Shane still has a hard time believing it. Sure, he came up with this plan a year ago. He still remembers that night. He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes that night he saw Ilya casually throwing out the idea that he could marry Svetlana for American citizenship.

Svetlana, a name he has heard countless times over their time together. One that always made him irrationally jealous. He knows now that it was foolish. Getting Ilya to be direct about his feelings is like pulling teeth. When they aren’t in the same room it’s too easy for him to defect and joke about what is going on inside his head. So Svetlana remains a boogeyman to Shane and probably would until it is safe for him to meet her.

He tries to put that out of his head. Meeting each other’s friends still feels like something impossibly far away and he refuses to let something like a long timeline bring him down. Not today. Not when Ilya has already checked into a hotel near the Ottawa practice facility and is about to alter the course of his career on a plan Shane crafted.

Lately whenever he thinks about their plan he can’t breathe. It’s so close. When Ilya texted him from the Boston airport he almost burst into tears. He’s cried more this year than he has in his entire adult life, but this morning getting the final confirmation that Ilya was leaving Boston for the last time broke something loose in him. He cried when he landed, and again when he checked into the hotel.

They have spent an entire year counting down to this moment and now that it’s here Shane doesn’t know how to believe it’s real.

Usually at the cottage he is happy to leave his phone in a nightstand drawer and only check it before dinner. This week he’s been glued to it. He needs the connection to Ilya like an honest to god lifeline. He can’t stop reaching out, and every time he’s met with an almost instantaneous response.

Shane
Are you ready for tomorrow?

He sends when everything feels too quiet. He’s asked Ilya a thousand versions of this in the last week, and to his boyfriend’s credit he has never gotten annoyed.

Ilya
Yes.
Just reviewing contract one more time. Farah wants to meet for dinner to celebrate.

Shane
You are about to make our agent a lot of money. You earned it.

He never doubted Ilya’s resolve but he also never trusted that the universe would let him have this. Ilya is his one perfect, precious thing. Their relationship is the only thing that is completely his. He loves his career. Hockey is his world, but the love he feels for Ilya powers something deep inside him. That thing makes him want to be better at everything, hockey included.

To stop himself from going crazy Shane invites his dad over for dinner and to watch some baseball. It’s normal. Typical. It almost settles his nerves. So what if he still gets tearful during a home insurance commercial. It’s fine.

“This is nice. We don’t get to do this much anymore,” His dad says as they both settle onto the couch with plates piled high with hot dogs and potato salad.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” In any other year they would have done this half a dozen times already, but this year he’s soaking up every minute he can with Ilya. They’ve wasted so much time, and had even more taken from them by circumstance.

“Don’t be. You’re an adult with your own life. I’m just glad there was some time today.” His dad tackles his plate like he’s starving, and Shane takes a minute to pick at his own.

Shane has never had to balance this time with his family in the off season with anything else before. It feels like there used to be more time before Ilya. He waits to feel bad about it but the sneaking disappointment never seeps in. He doesn't think that’s what his dad would want, either.

“Yeah, It’s nice,” he says. It is nice. Maybe next year he can find a better way to juggle things. This year he’s okay with being so clingy that his parents and Ilya make fun of him for acting like a koala.

They watch the game with the type of comfortable chatter that grounds Shane. Comments on Toronto’s first basemen and their pitching fill up innings. People like to assume that Shane gets his sports smarts from his mom, and while Yuna Hollander is a powerhouse of hockey knowledge, he has spent his summers with his father watching tennis and baseball. They’ve always been bridges in their relationship when the world was too tense or Shane was too in his own head.

Like today.

He can’t seem to escape thoughts of Ilya in a hotel room in Ottawa reviewing his contract. Or Ilya out to dinner with their now shared agent, the one he had to get because he didn’t think he could make this move work with his Russian one. It’s not that thinking about Ilya isn’t a part of Shane’s baseline existence, it’s that today every thought is a small needle poking into the softest places in his heart reminding him how close they are to their planned future.

So it’s easy to talk about baseball, just like it was easy to grill with his dad. It’s the kind of distraction he needs. Just as easy as them both checking their phones when they vibrate against the coffee table at the same time. Lately that has only meant one thing. Shane can feel his heart rate increase as he sees Ilya’s pseudonym under their family chat.

Ilya
Family! What do we think of this house?

They’ve done this every night since Ilya left. Somewhere in the last few weeks his house hunt in Ottawa went from a fun theoretical activity to something they both wanted to complete immediately.

For Shane, who actually enjoys thinking about the architecture and design of a space, the sudden ramp up has been daunting. This is a decision that would ideally take time. But like most things in their relationship, time is not something they have the luxury of. Not if they both want Ilya to have his own place and not just another temporary apartment before the season starts.

Yuna
Nice neighborhood. Huge yard. Kitchen needs some work.

Shane opens the link. His mom is right, but he sees where Ilya is coming from. The yard is amazing, and it’s a perfect distance from his parents house and the arena. It’d be one thing if he thought either of them would be comfortable using the kitchen in its current state but even the professional photos leave Shane wanting to put on a hazmat suit to blend up a smoothie there. It’s not like Ilya has time for a major renovation right now, or that Shane wouldn’t want to be so involved in it that he’d struggle to manage his captain duties on top of it.

Shane
Sorry. I agree with mom.

Ilya
Fine. I will trust Mr. Real Estate.

He can’t hide his smile. The taunt is one thing, but Shane knows he has a certain amount of veto power here. He doesn’t want to wield it carelessly. No, nothing about how he feels about Ilya can be considered careless. However, they’re also talking about his future home. Sure, it won’t be his permanent residence as immediately as it is Ilya’s, but he wants some say in the place they plan on spending their retirement years.

Shane settles back against the couch, turning his attention back to the game and his dad. They fall into an easy conversation about David investing in a meat smoker, something that Shane knows little about but finds interesting from a procedural standpoint. Maybe that’s another thing they can take on next summer to go with their regularly scheduled grilling.

It’s not long before Ilya sends another link with a house that is beautiful but in the wrong neighborhood. He barely seems excited about it once he realizes his commute to the practice arena will be close to an hour. That house is followed by one that is in the right location but is visibly in need of dozens of repairs.

“I am personally going to find him a new real estate agent,” Shane says with a shake of his head as he moves to put his phone down. It vibrates before it’s completely out of his hand and his father barks out a laugh as they both open yet another link.

Oh.

He could live here. The kitchen is the perfect blend of modern and rustic. The living room is practically the same layout of the one they’re currently in at the cottage. He scrolls through photo after photo. The bedrooms come with beautiful walk in closets, and most of the bathrooms seem to have been updated in the last five years.

At some point Shane is sure he stopped breathing. This place is move in ready for Ilya today.

"That’s a lot of rooms,” his dad says from the other side of the couch.

“Not really,” Shane studies the listing again. 5 bedrooms, a substantial living room, a basement gym. It’s everything they’ve talked about. Room for them, a shared office, a guest room or two, and a kids room down the line. It fits Ilya’s needs now while providing room for them to grow the closer they get to retirement. It’s twenty minutes from his parents house, a half hour to the practice arena.

It’s perfect.

“It is, even your mom agrees,” His dad says while he scrolls through the same page on his phone.

Shane swipes out of the real estate listing back to the family thread. He watches in real time as his parents offer judgement on a place that he knows Ilya must adore. Hell, he loves it.

Yuna
That’s a lot of house. Are you sure about this one?

David
It looks like a lot of upkeep, but I don’t have your salary, kid.
Maybe check out something a little smaller?

He can picture Ilya in his hotel room scrolling through the listings his real estate agent has sent and seeing these messages from his parents. He wants their approval so bad. He talks about how excited he is to live near David and Yuna regularly. On some of their more quiet nights he admits it’s nice to have a family who likes him.

Those nights make Shane see red. If he could he would go back in time and make Ilya’s father’s life a living hell.

“Don’t,” Shane says as he types into his own phone. “Please don’t.”

Shane
Yes. This is the one.

“Shane, he just started looking. He doesn’t have to be impulsive, and you don’t have to encourage it just because Ilya wants to rush into home ownership.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind Shane knows his father is right. They’re speed running some major milestones this summer. That doesn’t make them wrong.

“Dad, we’re both moving this year. It’s a lot of work. The house Ilya buys is going to become our home. It might take some time before I live there full time but it’s going to be my place too. Neither of us want to do this again in ten years.” There’s something about talking to his dad like this in particular that sometimes makes him feel like a child. This is the man who taught him how to skate and how to change a tire. He learned how to grill during the summers with him and how to make a bonfire when he was still too young to strike a match.

“And in ten years that is still at least two bedrooms too many, kid,” His dad says. Shane knows he means well. He can see it all over his face. His expression is the same one he saw his entire childhood, always cautioning him to be careful and work hard.

It’s the look that inspired him to play just a little harder, give a bit more of himself to his team until he could confidently say he was the best. Now it hurts to see his dad look at him like he’s trying to parent Shane out of a rash decision.

“It’s not. It’s perfect for us to be able to host friends when they’re in town, it’s not gratuitous. It’s perfect.” Because there will be a day when there will be friends that know about them. One day he will not have to keep Ilya’s place in his life like a dirty secret. This house could be a promise of that for the both of them.

“Shane-” His dad starts, but Shane shakes his head and drops his phone on the coffee table with an audible clang.

“No. If you want to comment on something, pick the kitchen or the bathrooms. The one in the basement needs to be updated. Do not talk about the size,” Shane needs his parents on their side. Ilya needs them more. There is another year of their long game plan to a future where they can be together in a normal, semi-public way. He doesn’t want them to go back to having to do everything on their own without any support. “We can grow into the house. We’ll have dogs, kids. We can fill those rooms. It just might take us a while.”

He stares ahead at the TV. Toronto is pitching and usually he’d find the slow predictability of baseball comforting, just enough of a distraction when all he wants to do is pull up the real estate listing again and study every image. This is something he is good at. He should be able to help. He can write a bathroom remodel into the plan in a couple of years and help Ilya find a yard service.

A creeping unease climbs up his spine. He wants this just as much as Ilya. A house with room for them to grow as a family is a dream. No, it’s the dream. The one he never let himself have when he was younger and still confused about his sexuality. The house is the dream that he can have his hockey career and the love of his life, that one day they can have a family without people making hateful comments to them, and that the people in his life would accept without question that he and Ilya deserving of something as normal as parent teacher conferences followed by a morning skate.

Shane notices his breath become unsteady, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He gulps for air, and then his eyes betray him again and begin to water.

“Please don’t make Ilya second guess something he’s excited about.” It’s stupid. He knows his parents love him. They accepted Ilya so quickly and love him like he’s already part of their family. He just can’t stand to see him questioned in this, not when he has so little control over how the next decade of their relationship will look.

He turns away. He needs to get himself together. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening with his dad.

“Shane. I get it. It’s okay.” His dad reaches across the couch and lays a gentle hand against his shoulder. “We’re here.

The gesture doesn’t settle him like it used to. Now his go to person when he’s about to panic is in a hotel room 3 hours away.

“I wish Ilya were here. We’re supposed to have the summers. It’s stupid. I’m an adult and it’s not like we’re not used to being apart. I just…” He just wishes that his parents and his boyfriend could be in the same room right now looking at all of these houses on a tablet. He wants him here so that when Shane starts to feel overwhelmed it isn’t his dad’s hand reaching out to comfort him, but Ilya’s. Then maybe his parents could see that they know what they’re talking about. No one is being reckless with their money or status. This isn’t about owning a mansion or some statement property.

Everything they do together is purposeful. Even now, with Ilya two hours away at a hotel close to his parents house.

“This is your time together and this year it’s being interrupted. That’s not fair. I hope you know that your mom and I see that, we’re proud of you, of both of you. It’s been so nice to see you completely this year. Your mom and I can see you’re happy, Shane. All we want is for you to be happy.” His dad’s hand never leaves his shoulder. He lets the words wash over him and then files them away so that the next time he freaks out he can pull them out and try to remember this moment.

Shane nods, and when his breathing evens and the flush that has crept up his neck begins to fade both he and his father turn back to the tv and their forgotten food. He has no idea what to say. His phone is vibrating against the counter at a regular pace. He knows that means his mom and Ilya are debating the finer points of the house. His mom who is not here watching her son have a small breakdown. The conversation is probably a well intentioned blood bath.

Shane picks up his plate and takes a small bite of potato salad, and then another. On the screen Toronto gives up a run and his dad tuts at the TV. He tries to make a halfhearted comment about the score, anything to distract from the minor breakdown he had because he can’t process all the things he’s feeling this week.

His dad goes along with it. And just like that they’re back in their usual grove. They talk about Shane’s favorite hiking trail and how it’s been flooded for a few weeks, and how the lake level is high for July. Each topic is a small thing Shane can process, that he has opinions about but nothing with a strong emotional attachment.

He loves his dad for that.

When he finally gets the nerve to look at his phone he isn’t surprised to find twenty missed texts. They’re just as he expected. His mom has opinions, but at least she has moved on from her main complaint being square footage and number of rooms. Then he hits the end of the thread and his heart jumps all the way into his throat.

Ilya
It is my favorite but if you and David are unsure I will keep looking.

Shane takes a deep breath as he tries to formulate any sort of response but before he can his phone vibrates again.

David
I think this one’s a keeper. Can you see it while you’re in town meeting with the Centaurs?

Shane exhales so loudly his dad laughs before relaxing back against the couch.

“Kids, huh?”

“Hopefully. Someday.” Add them to the list of things they’re waiting on until retirement. They’re pretty high on the list, but still. That list is quickly becoming a mile long.

It’s a good thing they both love their careers. Without that this plan would be a disaster.

“I didn’t know you’d talked about that.”

“We’ve talked about everything.” Shane can’t stop the smile that spreads over his lips. There were so many years where he could not honestly say that. Now they talk all the time. They want the same future. They’re actively working towards it. “I’m going to marry him. I don’t know when, but he’s it for me. I really want this move to go well.”

“I know son. You’re mom and I know.” His dad smiles back at him. “Thank you for being clear.”

Clear. Ha. That’s still one thing he has a hard time with. His parents knowing about his relationship and being accepting of Ilya is one thing. Learning that it’s okay to tell them these things about his life is another. It’s like he’s having to deprogram a part of himself built exclusively to keep the most precious thing in his life safe to share these tiny details that make up his relationship.

“I want him to know that he has you and mom, and one day when we do have kids he doesn’t have to think twice if he needs your help, he can just call you. I want him to have that now.“

“You both have that. Your mom and I are excited to have Ilya close“ His dad says. It’s more than Shane could ever have hoped for a year ago when he walked into his parents cottage like he was going to his own execution. “You know we’ll be happy to have grandkids one day, right?”

Later, after Toronto has lost and his dad has made the drive back to his parents cottage, Shane curls up in bed with Ilya on a FaceTime call. It almost feels wrong to resort back to calls because they are in different cities. They haven’t had to do this since May.

“My dad came over this afternoon. I told him we wanted the extra rooms for our future kids. He was pretty surprised,” Shane says as he watches Ilya adjust the pillows on the hotel bed.

“What? He did not think we would be good parents?” Ilya asks. Under his teasing tone Shane notes the hint of concern. He is overwhelmed with the love he has for Ilya.

“No. That’s not it at all. We were just supposed to watch baseball and chill.” He isn’t really sure anything about tonight could be considered chill. He cried over a real estate listing while trying to eat a hotdog. “Before you I couldn’t picture a future where I shared my life with someone. Not really. This was the first time I told either of my parents that a big part of me wants a family. I want that family only with you. ”

“It is one of my favorite dreams,” Ilya says with that faraway look he gets when he’s picturing something soft. Shane knows that look now. It took him years to understand it. It’s another one of his hard won battles for Ilya’s heart. “They are okay with the house? I can ask the agent if I can see it before I drive to the cottage tomorrow evening. It is okay if this is not the one.”

It would be okay if this isn’t the one. They’ve survived worse. But Shane really hopes it could be the place where they spend the rest of their lives.

“And it’s okay if it is. I’m ready to start my forever with you.”

---

Shane wakes up the next day to a single text from Ilya and five news alerts.

Ilya
Headed to the arena. I hope you are ready to celebrate tonight.

The alerts are all MLH updates. Free agency started two days ago but so far there haven’t been any explosive shake ups. That changes today. The first article Shane sees has a picture of Ilya at the Ottawa airport but completely misses the mark, calling it an obvious layover to a more desired destination. Another speculates about his intentions for the upcoming season.

Predictably, Ottawa is on no one's list of landing spots for Ilya Rozanov. Most still can’t believe he’ll sign somewhere other than Boston. Shane has spent his entire life following MLH news but he isn’t sure he has ever been so glued to the major sports sites. He has refreshed ESPN a half dozen times just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

His boyfriend is going to break the internet today. At least the sports media side of it. It takes almost no time for the Centaurs social media to share a branded photo with Ilya in a red and black hat and his signature cocksure grin.

It didn’t matter that Shane knew Ilya was flying in specifically to sign this contract. Ilya’s place on the Centaurs roster was a certainty. Really, they would have been foolish to think otherwise from the moment he conceptualized the plan.

Knowing all of that pales to the relief he feels seeing Ilya in that stupid hat. The logo is absolutely hideous and it will take some time to get used to seeing him in colors other than black and gold. He looks good in Ottawa colors, though, and a new pride blooms in Shane as he lets the reality of all of this fully hit.

Ilya Rozanov has left the Boston Raiders.

His boyfriend, his Ilya, has upended his life, his career, and left the team that drafted him to sign a contract with the Ottawa Centaurs to be closer to Shane.

Ilya Rozanov, Stanley Cup winner, league and playoff MVP, winner of countless awards and accolades, and the love of Shane Hollander’s life, will be playing for his hometown team.

He’s glued to his phone as it pings with more news alerts. All of them are about Ilya. Think pieces come almost instantly. Boston fans freak out. Hayden texts him ten minutes after the Centaurs Press release drops, then JJ five minutes later. Within a half hour the Metros group chat is in a full fit.

Shane knows half of his team would never admit to admiring Ilya, but he also knows that he’s been in the league nearly a decade and has only seen this level of energy over a signing maybe twice. It’s rare that everyone responds to a text during the off season.

He has always known Ilya was good, hell, he is the only person in the league who competes on Shane’s level. Most days he knows deep in his soul that Ilya is the best on the ice right now. He usually uses that knowledge to fuel himself to be better.

But right now? Fuck. He is so in love with Ilya he could burst. Every new text, every article is the same. Confusion mixed with admiration and a healthy dose of “that man must be crazy.”

But the only thing Ilya is crazy about is him. He just threw a grenade into his MLH legacy for Shane.

He has no idea how long Ilya will be at the arena. It’s clear papers have already been signed, but he expects there will be some additional media component to today. Maybe a tour? Training camp is still a month away but it wouldn’t be unreasonable for the Centaurs staff to roll out the red carpet for their best shot at breaking their historic playoff drought.

He doesn’t know when he should expect Ilya back at the cottage and the more time he spends on his phone the more anxious he gets. His team will not shut up. They all have opinions about Rozanov going to fucking Ottawa and Shane can’t read them anymore without feeling like he’s going to throw up.

So he shoots Ilya a slew of texts and then mutes his team thread, his thread with Hayden, and the one with JJ and then tackles cleaning the kitchen.

Shane
I am so proud of you.
So fucking proud.
I need to see you.

It only takes 45 minutes before his phone is buzzing from the living room and Shane dives over the couch to answer it before the second ring ends.

Ilya’s face fills Shane’s screen. He’s sitting in a fancy car, some rental that he treated himself to until he can get his own cars shipped from Boston. He’s decked out in Ottawa Red and Black and still wears that ridiculous, perfect hat.

“You did it,” Shane says, unable to hide his huge smile.

“We did it,” Ilya insists while he adjusts the settings on the rental car. “This was your plan.”

It was Shane’s plan, but Ilya put in the work. There were so many places where things could have fallen apart. Hell, the last year could have been too much for them both, but it wasn’t. Now Ilya will have a Canadian visa. The rest is in their control, or at least within Shane’s realm to plan them into a public friendship and a charitable foundation.

The relief that has been smacking at Shane in tiny waves all day crashes over him. There is nothing left to go wrong. With that final realization a sob escapes his lips and tears fill his eyes.

“Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

“We don’t have to go through another year with us living in separate countries.” He won’t need his passport every time he wants to go to Ilya. “You’re going to be two hours away all year.”

“Yes. Was your plan. Why are you surprised?”

He is Yuna Hollander’s son. He never had a doubt that he would be drafted into the MLH. Everything he has ever wanted he has gone after with a single determined focus that has never betrayed him, and yet today he is practically speechless with relief. This wasn’t just his life he was planning. It was theirs. Ilya’s. And somehow that meant more to him than all of the effort it took to be regularly considered the top player in a professional sports league.

“It worked.” It’s all he can say while happy tears trail down his cheeks.

“Of course it did. You are very smart and I am the best at hockey. Ottawa was never going to say no.”

But that didn’t mean they would pay him what he was worth or welcome him with open arms. There are plenty of ways this could have gone that could have had Ilya longing to be back in Boston and not signing a 15 million dollar contract for Shane’s hometown team.

“How long before you get here?” Shane says through sniffles. He needs Ilya here now. He’s not sure this place is home anymore without him.

“Maybe three hours,” Ilya says while poking at what is probably the GPS system. “But I do not have all good news. The house is no longer for sale.”

Three hours ago this would have felt like the worst blow. He’d just talked to his father about how perfect that house would be for Ilya, for them. He practically had a panic attack about it. But that was before Ilya called him wearing that stupid, sexy hat and a Centaurs hoodie.

That is the important part. Ilya playing for Ottawa. No matter what, Ilya will be a two hour drive from him most of the year.

He takes a steading breath.

They have time to look for a house.

Time.

They’ve never really had that together before. Stolen moments and highly strategized plans to see each other for more than a couple days at a time, sure, but never just time.

He refuses to be disappointed about a house that’s basement bathroom needed to be completely gutted. Not today. They have too much to celebrate.

“So we keep looking. We have all summer," he says. Ilya beams back at him.

Ilya overestimated his driving ability, or the impact of Canadian summer construction, because three hours becomes nearly four by the time he’s pulling up the gravel driveway.

In that time Shane has cleaned the entire cottage. It wasn’t even that dirty. He just needed to do something with his hands.

He’s out the door the second he hears the tires on gravel, and practically levitating by the time Ilya unfolds himself from the fancy sports car he rented. The Centaurs hoodie is more striking in person. If Shane thought his boyfriend looked good in black and gold it was only because he so rarely saw him in red. Damn.

“You’re home,” Shane says as he throws his entire body at Ilya in a tight embrace.

“Yes. Home. Finally,” Ilya says, punctuating each word with a kiss.

They stand there outside the cottage holding each other. It’s the only place on earth Shane feels comfortable to be this open with his love outside the protection of walls and locked doors.

“You did this for me.”

“I did this for us,” Ilya mumbles against his neck, pressing his body flush against Shanes. “Someone is needy.”

“You were gone.” A year ago Shane wouldn’t have said this under torture. He can’t believe there was a time when he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge how much he missed Ilya. That era is firmly in the past. He will never let a day go by without telling Ilya exactly how much he means to him.

“Was four days,” Ilya says, but Shane can feel the way his hands linger over his back and the way his kisses turn messy. Neither of them want to miss even a day together over their shared summers.

“Fuck off, don’t act like you didn’t sext me two nights ago.”

And again around 2 am last night when he couldn’t sleep.

Shane loosens his grip around Ilya and moves to grab his bag from the car. Ilya doesn’t let him get far, encircling his waist with his arms and pulling flush against him.

“Do you want to know a secret? There isn’t a single moment in any day where I do not want you.”

Fuck it. The bag can wait.

“Bedroom now. Leave the hat on.”

---

Days at the cottage turn to weeks. Life slows down. It’s easy to sleep in or take afternoon naps. Most days it’s common for Ilya to fall asleep half on top of Shane around 3 pm and wake up ravenous an hour later. They spend nights at the grill or in the kitchen making simple meals and then cuddling by a fire most nights.

It’s perfect, except for one minor hiccup.

Their anniversary is quickly approaching and they had agreed that whoever made it further in the playoffs could decide how they celebrated.

They both went out in the same series, so the only logical solution is to make everything a competition. Who can swim the furthest, run the fastest, do the most dishes. Everything is a game and predictably after each event they end up naked and panting with no better idea who is making the final decision on what they’ll actually do for their anniversary.

On July 17th Shane knows something has to give. Today they’ve already tried extreme pancake making (point Ilya), fridge tetris (point Shane, obviously), and a race to the lake that left them both so breathless that it was functionally a tie, even if Ilya did throw an elbow as they neared the waters edge.

“Okay. One more competition. Final one. For real this time,” Shane said. They have less than 24 hours to declare an official winner. At this point the most interesting thing either of them were going to come up with would be some particularly bendy positions in bed. Which isn’t a problem but also isn’t something that they need a competition to decide. At the cottage they barely go five minutes without touching. It doesn’t even have to be sexual, a brush of the hand here, an arm around a shoulder there, legs bouncing against each other on the couch. And that, Shane thinks, would be the actual challenge.

“Or we could just spend our anniversary in bed. Would be perfect, no? You, me, maybe I eat breakfast off your chest?”

“One: Gross. Two: one of us has to win. You know it and I know it. So, one final competition and whoever wins gets to decide on an activity for tomorrow.”

Ilya raises his eyebrows at him. Shane sighs into a laugh with the shake of his head.

“And then we spend most of the day in bed. Yes. We agree on that part.”

“Fine. Tell me what I am beating you in this time?”

“I was thinking we see who can go the longest without touching the other,” Shane can’t hide his grin. It’s a brilliant idea. They might be magnets at the cottage but they also have years of experience being separated by an entire country.

Ilya agrees in record time, claiming it will be “not even hard.”

He loses in 35 minutes. Shane only gloats the appropriate amount.

On their anniversary Shane wakes up wrapped in Ilya’s arms. They’ve had a full year of this being something normal. Even when their relationship hasn’t been easy it’s been worth it.

He loves Ilya more than he thought his heart could bear. There have been so many moments where he thought this is it, this is when I die because there is no way I can love someone this much, and then Ilya would do something stupid and small like send him flowers or order him carry out from his favorite ramen place while being six hours away and he wouldn’t die, but his heart would beat even stronger.

He loves Ilya enough to plan out their future in days, months, and years. He can clearly see them a decade into the future. Even when they can’t be in the same city they will have each other.

“Happy anniversary, Rozanov,” Shane says, placing a kiss against his temple. The taunting use of Ilya’s last name earns Shane a pillow to the face. “You know how I won yesterday? You have to be nice to me.”

“Am always nice to you. Like last night when I had you purring like small kitten.”

He’s pretty sure that’s an exaggeration, though there was a moment last night where Ilya had him so on edge he felt like he was floating outside of his body.

“Asshole,” Shane says. The word has no bite to it anymore. It’s basically a pet name. Ilya rolls over until he’s laying half on top of him and peppers Shane’s chest with kisses. “I know what I want for my victory.”

He reaches, with some effort, into the nightstand and pulls out a small pile of paper. Ilya tracks the movement with his eyes, while his lips continue to dart over his skin. On any other day Shane might feel a little silly showing Ilya how much these letters meant to him, how often he studied them hoping to get a glimpse into his mind.

But it’s hard to be self conscious with Ilya’s weight keeping him grounded. He holds the letters like they’re precious as he tries to think of a way of articulating what he wants.

For Shane trying to read Ilya’s Russia letters was like trying to squeeze water from a stone. No matter how hard he tries the language short circuits his brain until he’s frustrated with the beginnings of a headache forming behind his eyes.

He’s not good at being bad at things. Learning Russian was proving to be a humbling experience. One day he will be able to read Ilya’s letters. He is hell bent on making that happen. He just doesn’t want to have to wait until he’s fluent. No, he wants to know now so they can put this last rivalry year to bed and start their future on a fresh slate.

“They don’t all make sense to me yet. I’m starting to understand you better when you speak to me but the reading is tough.”

“Learning new alphabet is hard.” Ilya agrees. Shane knows he delayed his signing a couple of days just to try to read over the complicated legalese of his contract.

“What if I want to know what they say, what if that’s what I want for winning?”

“You could have anything.You should dream bigger.” Ilya buries his head against Shane’s chest. If he wanted anything else it would be enough to get him to drop the topic, at least for the morning.

“Please. I want to close this chapter where we’ve been counting down the days until we see each other. We’ve had a full year where we could only see each other for hours at a time. These are from that year. Can we say goodbye to it together?”

Ilya rolls off him with a groan and takes the letters gingerly from Shane’s hand.

“We are still not in same city.”

“Stop deflecting. I’m going to see you multiple times a month. I will make that happen. You live in Canada now. You’re going to apply for citizenship and one day when the league doesn’t care about us any more I am going to marry you.”

“Shane,” Ilya says his name like a plea.

He cups his face in his hands and places a gentle kiss against Ilya’s lips before letting his thumbs rub soft circles on his skin.

“I know how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings. I can see how much it still scares you. I’m still trying, one day I’ll be able to read these, but I want to know what’s in your heart now, before another season starts and we have to find a way to navigate what changing our rivalry looks like.”

Ilya tries to pull away, to look anywhere other than directly at Shane, but it’s just the two of them in this room. Shane doesn’t want him to hide. There’s no reason for him to be scared. They’ve done this a handful of times already and it’s always emotional but good. Really great, actually. Ilya always seems relieved when he’s done reading one of the letters and Shane takes every single word to heart like the gift he knows it is.

“There’s nothing you could have written that I won’t love. I just want to know you. I trust you with my entire heart. Please trust me with yours” Shane hands him the pile of letters and waits a moment, and then two. Finally Ilya reaches over and gently takes the papers, studying them briefly before unfolding the first letter.

Shane watches Ilya read over January’s letter. His face flickers with hurt as his eyes travel over the lines. Now more than ever Shane needs to know what he wrote.

“We were not in the best place here,” Ilya admits. He adjusts himself so he is sitting straight up in bed and flattens the letter against his lap. “But you came to me and then everything was better.”

January was the fight that confused Shane so much that he took a day off from practice and drove to Boston. He was a mess, and looking back he knows Ilya was too. But he only knows that from seeing him, and this was the letter he found completely finished on Ilya’s kitchen island before he arrived.

“That’s okay. I still want to know what it says.”

Shane reaches out and rests his hand on Ilya’s leg and rubs small, gentle circles against his skin. He feels the moment when Ilya relaxes into his touch, and then notices the hitch in his breath that always comes before he starts to translate.

“My Love,
I hope I can still call you that. I am not being very brave right now. Last night was confusing. I can’t tell if you’re mad. Of course I am moving to boring Ottawa. I do not actually care that they are bad. Sure, it would be nice if they were good, but I would do anything to be closer to you. This is the first time I have been scared that you will not think I am worth the wait and the work.

I know I will never be your first true love. That will always be the ice, and it is scary to think what might happen if one day I am not with you at the top. Somedays the only reason I keep playing is to compete with you. I don’t know how to say this outloud. You would look at me with that scrunched up nose and call me crazy. But I will try. Right now we haven’t spoken in two days and my heart is in pieces.”

Shane has to work hard to not make that face, the one Ilya knows so well, because he was being crazy. There will never be a version of Ilya that isn’t equally matched to him. It doesn’t matter the team he plays on. Ilya will always be the person he measures his own skill, his own heart, against.

“Shane, I love you. I am trying. Please have patience with me. Your dad said we are both works in progress over Christmas. I am working to be good for you. I promise I can do it if you give me a chance.

I hope you are not able to read this for many months. Maybe years. Hopefully by then we will be on the other side and we can laugh. Right now I am counting down the days until I see you in Dallas. Maybe the All Star Game is like our anniversary. Or would it be the summer at the cottage? I want those normal things with you. Anniversaries and traditions that are just ours. Not just fucking in hotel rooms.

Praying I am still yours,
IR”

Shane reaches out and traces Ilya’s initials against the paper. This letter in particular he had a hard time translating and now he knows that if he had he would have called out of practice, maybe even out of a game, just to be near Ilya again.

“I suppose I was wrong about All Stars being our anniversary. You won that challenge too,” Ilya mumbles, folding the paper neatly against its creases and setting it on the nightstand.

“We’re building those traditions now. Look at us, officially together one year.” Sometimes he still can’t believe it. “You are still the only person I have ever and will ever love like this. You’re my whole heart.”

“But I am not hockey,” Ilya reminds him like it’s something bad.

“Yeah, you’re better.

Ilya starts the next letter, the one he wrote during the All Star weekend. Shane will never get over how deeply Ilya feels. Halfway through he scoots closer to Ilya and wraps himself around his side. At any other time he’d be called clingy, but right now it’s the only way he can handle hearing the words that have been in Ilya’s heart without becoming a puddle. Even his jokes about Rose make Shane feel like something wet is about to bubble out of him.

“I know I’m always the one obsessed with protecting our privacy, but I want you to know that I also can’t wait for the days when I can love you in the daylight, too.”

Ilya nods as he shuffles to the next letter. Shane’s sure that it won’t matter how long they’re together or when they finally come out. He will never be able to tell a soul that Ilya Rozanov wrote him heartfelt love letters for half a year and have a single person believe him.

“This is March, feels so long ago now.” Ilya unfolds another letter and studies his writing.

“Keep reading, Rozanov,” Shane says as he throws a decorative pillow at Ilya’s head. He ducks just in time and sticks his tongue out at Shane before beginning.

“Dear Second Best Hockey Player,

Thank you for giving me time to make decision on meeting Rose. It was never that I did not trust you or your judgement, but that it was scary to open our safe bubble to someone new. I know how badly you want to have friends who know all of you. Maybe she can be someone who knows me, too?

I do not have anyone I trust in this way. It is hard to talk to Svetlana now. I would trust her to protect me, but I do not know that I have confidence that she would accept us. If nothing else she will hate that I am going to uproot my career for you. One day she will know, and so will Cliff, Hayden and JJ. The thought of it makes me sick. I want the world to know you are mine. At the same time I want to keep us safe in this bubble where no one can hurt us.

I do not want to be forced back to Russia, I do not want this to affect your career. It is unfair that we have to hide our love in shadows, but I wouldn’t trade this time with you for all of the Stanley Cups, gold medals or awards. I would not trade you for the entire world.

Yours in every life
IR”

Again Shane traces the initials. It doesn’t matter that Ilya is here, breathing and reading next to him. Seeing his scribbled letters on the page make Shane feel connected to the version of his boyfriend who wrote those words.

“I’m sorry it’s hard to talk to Svetlana now.”

“She texted me after Ottawa announced my signing. She is unhappy with me. She wants me to give her a reason, and I don’t have anything I can tell her.” Ilya shifts, studying the letter in his hands like it could contain some answers. “Rose messaged to say she would send celebratory gift basket to the cottage. They are very different, I think.”

“Ilya…” He hopes they are worth it, that he is worth it. But before he can voice it he is met with a gentle kiss.

“I am glad we have Rose and your parents. They will protect us until we are ready to be out. If I had people who I thought were safe it would be different. I have people I care about, but none of them am I sure like you were with Rose.”

“I hate that for you. For us.” More than anything Shane hates that he is glad Ilya recognizes this about the people he has left behind in Boston.

“I don’t. I get you.” Ilya pulls him across the bed so that Shane can rest his head on his lap. “For so long we did not even think we could have this. It is enough for now. It won’t be forever.”

It can’t be forever. Shane knows that. Right now he can’t see a future where they’re out and still playing in the MLH. But a long time still isn’t forever. Maybe over the next few years they will find a few more friends who are safe.

“I already read your May letter,” Ilya says, moving the next letter from the dwindling pile needing translation to the nightstand.

“That one was for my birthday. This one was homework.” Homework he has barely made a dent in. The newer letters he’s had less time with, and he’s been eager to soak up every moment he has with Ilya.

“This feels like cheating.”

“But you love me.” Shane smiles up at Ilya, who glares down with such annoyed fondness that Shane knows he’s already won.

“I am reading under protest,” Ilya says as he unfolds the sheet of paper, shaking his head. .

Shane doesn’t know how he got so lucky. In December he had to beg Ilya to read a letter to him, now he just grumbles and goes about it like it’s only a minor inconvenience even though Shane is sure his insides are in shreds about it.

“My love,

I thought I knew what it was like to get knocked out of the playoffs. When I watched your last game I could feel your heart breaking through the screen. And then it was my turn, and in that moment I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.”

Shane remembers watching his last game with Boston. He wanted to be there to comfort him. This year for Ilya it was more than just getting knocked out of the playoffs. It was his last game with the team that drafted him. It was the end of an era.

“You have more championship rings than I do. Is fact. You have already done this twice, but I was first. I was so young, Shane, with so much to prove. I still have much to prove. I have made it so close so many times. It hurts. Like a constant ache. How can I be your equal if I will never have as many championships as you?

But after we lost I found I did not care. Not as much as I should. I was angry, yes, but this year has been the best and hardest of my life. No more games means I can surprise you for your birthday. We can look at houses and sleep in together. It will be perfect even if it means neither of us take home the cup this season.

You are the best thing I have ever won
IR “

Again, Shane maneuvers himself so he can run his finger over Ilya’s initials. He wants to remember all of his words, how hearing Ilya read to him feels, for the rest of his life.

“I’m not going to lie. It would have been good to win this year.” Shane takes the paper from Ilya and folds it back into thirds before setting it with the others.

“Da.” Ilya stares down at him and runs his fingers through Shane’s messy bedhead.

The loss still stings, but less than Shane thought it would. But for Ilya his last season in Boston will always be the one he couldn’t quite make count.

“You’ll be the one who single handedly turned around two franchises. There will be more cups for you. That’s only going to be one of the metrics measuring our careers.” He believes that with his whole heart. There isn’t a world where Ilya is playing hockey where he isn’t trying his hardest on the ice. Shane wouldn’t be with him if he thought that was a possibility.

“Last one,” Ilya says, unfolding the letter he left on the cottage’s kitchen counter the morning he left for Boston.

Shane adjusts himself so he is lying against Ilya’s propped up chest. This is how it is always supposed to be, the two of them touching, connected in so many ways that their heartbeats synchronize.

“My Shane, my heart,

I do not think you need a letter this month, not when we have spent so many days together. Still, I cannot help myself. We have been so many places in the last few weeks, and we have done them all side by side. I never thought we would get something like this. Montreal, Boston, Vegas, the Cottage. I know we are lucky men in so many ways, I just never expected to include this type of travel.

Yes, I know we can not fly anywhere together and we did not even risk driving in the same car from Montreal to Boston, but we wound up in the same places and that is worth more to me than any luxury resort.“

Shane’s glad he wasn’t the only one thinking the last two months have been a dream come true. It’s not just spending time together, but doing it in so many places. Even though they avoid public places like the plague it makes him feel like their relationship is almost normal.

“In the morning I leave for Boston. It will be the last time I step into the city and think of it as a place I live. It will not be so many days before I fly back to Ottawa, back to you, my home.

I know there will still be hard days ahead, but our monthly countdowns are now in the past.
I can’t wait to start my future with you,
IR”

Shane reaches out and traces Ilya’s initials for the last time. He knows that in a few minutes he’ll collect all the delicate paper and put them back in the nightstand so he can study them later. He will never have this moment with Ilya reading them to him again. This will always be his favorite memory of their first anniversary.

“I think I’m going to miss your letters.” He admits, coming to fully straddle Ilya’s thighs.

“No. You will miss me reading them to you. You look at them and see scribbles.”

“Not entirely. I don’t think you know how many nights I’ve spent staring at them and that workbook you gave me. I want to be able to make talking to you easier when you’re tired or had a hard day. One day I’ll be able to read these without any trouble. Expecting to be able to do so in six months was probably ambitious on both of our parts.” He’ll make sure he can do it in a year. Ilya deserves that much.

“Maybe you get new letters for special occasions.” Ilya wraps his arms around Shane’s torso, pulling him in for a deep kiss. “I am very lucky to have sexy boyfriend who learns Russian for me.”

“Nope. Pretty sure having a boyfriend who moved to a completely new country for us to live near each other makes me the lucky one. I love you.” Shane places open mouthed kisses along Ilya’s collarbone. It’s a miracle they’ve made it this far into the day without touching each other like this. “Now what were you going to have us do if you won?”

Shane pulls back just enough to see Ilya’s incredulous expression, complete with raised eyebrows. It’s one of Shane's favorite looks. One that says ‘are you kidding me’ in a way that makes everything they do feel fun and weightless.

“Besides that. We have all day.” They have the rest of the summer. There is no way either of them are leaving this cottage in August without making up for all the days they couldn’t touch each other during the season.

“I wanted to look at houses again. You are very sexy when you talk real estate.” Ilya sighs out the words as Shane hits a particularly sensitive spot against his jaw. “No more countdowns.”

“No more.” Shane agrees, pushing him back onto the bed. “Our next chapter starts now.”

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this story. It has meant the world to me to be able to sit down at a keyboard again and enjoy writing.

This weekend I'll have the first chapter of Welcome to Boring Ottawa uploaded. I have a rough outline and I'm very excited to start year two. It will be linked in the Hollanov Extended Universe series in my profile for those of you looking to continue this adventure with Ilya and Shane.

I also have a couple of one shots on the back burner. Hopefully there is some appetite for both sickening fluff, and a very me coded 5 + 1.

I don't actually have many canon notes for this chapter:

The major thing I wanted to address was Shane's relationship with uncertainty versus control, and the way he interacts with his parents now that he and Ilya are so sure of their relationship.

Timeline wise I believe both of them would be house hunting aggressively because they don't want to waste any time that they're together in temporary spaces anymore.

Lastly, I believe by March Ilya would have expected to have to read his letters to Shane out loud at some point. He's done so three times by this point and doesn't put up a huge fight. In my head this makes sense and is something he has come to terms with versus TLG Ilya hiding his darker feelings from Shane because, in my head, they both got as comfortable as they could with their little life and didn't know how to be loud about feelings when things got rocky.

Works inspired by this one

cover for Countdown by gravollet