Chapter Text
Shane’s POV
Shane knew his husband. He knew Ilya felt guilty about smoking and was trying to quit. He knew sometimes, when he was too happy or too sad, he bought a pack and threw it halfway into the bin. Shane knew all this, and he was pretty sure Ilya knew that he knew. Neither had said a thing because the important thing for Shane was that he tried, and succeeded most of the time.
The Ottawa Centaurs won that night against Montreal, and for him, no matter how much time passed, it was a personal victory. He had moved and thrived. Winning time after time showed his work, his dedication, and his sacrifices. So when the team had asked to go out, they both joined gladly.
Shane had no clue who chose the bar, but the place was fancy. Ilya had gone to the bar to get drinks, and ginger ale, while they sat in a booth talking. The more time passed, the more their teammates drank, and the more they got up and danced. Ilya sat next to Shane, talking and drinking, but always there, both of their thighs pressed together. At one point, Shane reached in Ilya’s pocket and pulled out his cell phone to show Haas the new gigantic bed for Anya. Ilya had gotten it online and proceeded to have taken an impossible amount of pictures.
At one point, Ilya lowered his head next to his ear and whispered, “bathroom,” before taking off. Shane only nodded, going back to his conversation. At that point, Ilya’s phone, in front of him, buzzed in quick succession with messages from Svetlana. Shane opened the chat, but his limited Russian did not help him understand. He got up to find Ilya in case this was an emergency assuming by the messages that kept coming.
Shane did not bother looking for the bathroom; he asked a personnel member where he might smoke and followed the direction they pointed. He pushed the door and checked his surroundings, only to find a woman smoking in the alley. The heavy door automatically closed behind him.
“Fuck,” he cursed, knowing he had to go back to the front of the building to enter again.
Before he even started in that direction, a Russian accent called his last name.
“Hollander,” he turned on instinct.
The woman, who he now knew was Russian, was walking towards him, cigarette still in hand.
She looked pretty, with long blonde curls, dressed in a green winter coat, and heavy combat boots, which thudded as she walked closer. It struck him dumb with the similarity; his brain reminded him of Ilya, be it her accent or her hair, Shane was not sure.
She handed him a red book, which he took without thought, and heard only three words, “For your husband.”
Only seconds later, after standing with the book alone in the alley, he followed after her, but she was nowhere to be seen.
🏒
Inside he found Ilya sitting at their booth, a smile dancing on his lips, looking at Shane. He made space, by sliding in and pulling Shane on a side hug. Shane took out the phone and handed it to him.
“Svetlana, was texting. I went to find you, in case it was an emergency,” he explained.
Ilya kissed the side of his temple, and took the phone. He scrolled a little, and then laughed loudly.
“She has been sending media comments about the game. She might be a little drunk,” he pocketed the phone without texting back.
Shane still held the red album in his hand, “Can we go?”
Ilya kissed his temple again and said, “Okay, moya lyubov.”
They waved at the couple of teammates, who were still there at the table and took their leave.
At the parking lot, as they were about to enter the car, Ilya finally noticed the album in Shane’s hand.
“Oh Hollander, you brought a book to the party,” he laughed, caging him and backing him into the car, “My boring husband.”
Ilya kissed him slowly, methodically, until Shane’s body turned soft, the album slipping from his hand.
Shane broke the kiss to pick it up, and Ilya laughed again. He always loves it when Ilya laughed.
“It might be yours actually,” he told his husband, eyes still on the cover of the book.
“When I went to look for you, I checked the back alley, and there was a girl there. She just left this in my hand and left. The only words she mentioned were ‘For your husband’.
Shane tried to do it with an accent, but also added, “The accent was Russian.”
At this point, Shane lifted his gaze to see his reaction.
Ilya was just standing still, no more laughter.
“What is it?” he pointed at the album.
“They are old pictures, of you,” Shane held it out at him.
He took it and opened the cover. Shane had already seen the first picture; there was his brother, and Ilya next to his mother smiling. He was looking at his husband’s face, as a smile formed there. He inhaled slowly and deeply, then exhaled, in the same heavy way.
It was a moment before he closed the book and turned to Shane.
“Let’s go home first.”
🏒
Shane drove, while Ilya stared silently at the road. As soon as they reached home, Ilya made for the living room and sat down on the couch, waiting for Shane to do the same next to him.
He opened the album, passing all the pages one by one. They were mostly pictures of Ilya, at different ages. Shane saw one of Ilya at ten years old, he would guess, missing a tooth. Later, the thought occurred to him,he might frame it.
The last picture was of an Ilya Shane had met. He was holding a baby in his arms.
“Is that your niece?” he asked, the continued silence now worrying him.
“Yes, Katerina,” he answered, but the tone of voice was deeper than usual.
“I don’t get it. Why give the photos to me?” Shane questioned. He reached to check if they were missing something. He went through the photos again; nothing was out of the ordinary; it was an album. This time, he turned the last page.
“Ilya, I think the girl, the one in the alley, might be your niece… trying to reconnect.”
“That’s a Canadian number,” Shane pointed out, when he did not spoke.
“I don’t understand. Why do this? I… I smoked there,” he sidestepped Shane guiltily. Shane only rolled his eyes as a response, and Ilya continued, “I was there, why leave the album, why not talk to me?”
“I don’t know,” was the only thing Shane could say.
It was late and they were tired from the game.
“I am drunk. I want sleep. Tomorrow, we deal with this,” decided with a sigh, and Shane slid an arm up his shoulder. Shane gave him a few chaste kisses on the lips, and took him by the hand towards the bedroom.
🏒
Ilya’s POV
The next morning, Ilya woke early, even before Shane. He lay in bed remembering the events of the night before, his fingers playing with his cross. The last person of his family just standing there, in that alley.
He did not consider Alexei his brother anymore; the pain in his chest did not agree with this decision, but Ilya had cut him out of his life. He was not sure what he was going to find this time.
His brother might have poisoned her towards him. For the choices in his life, it would be easy to condemn them and turn others against him, especially in Russian eyes. She might even be a ploy against him, for more money maybe… That had been the constant ask from Alexei.
Ilya does not know Katerina, but he is sure of his brother, of the type of influence he would leave even on a child.
He got up carefully, making sure Shane was not awoken, and went to see the small red album in the living room. He opened it directly on the last page with the number.
Katerina Rosanov… she could have talked to him yesterday, but she did not.
It was public knowledge they were at the club, but no one knew he was going to be in that alley, smoking. Maybe Shane would have known, but no one else.
He opened his phone and added the contact. He sent a text with the address of one of Shane’s real estate investments; he was not going to do this in his home. His private life had been leaked enough to the public.
To prove who he was, he took a picture of the album and sent it too.
Twenty minutes, while making breakfast in the kitchen, he got a notification back.
Steps came from the bedroom as Shane made his way towards the kitchen.
“Good morning,” Ilya smiled at his grouchy husband.
“Why are you up so early?” Shane commented on the unusual occurrence.
“I texted her. We,” he waved the hand between them, “are going to meet her at the rowhouse at 11.”
“Okay. Decided to do this?” his voice held a hidden ‘really?’.
“If I freak out about it, I freak out after meeting.”
“Okay,” was the reply, and Shane reached for his hand across the kitchen counter.
Ilya smiled wider at the stunning brown freckled eyes looking at him.