Fareya



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    “Ilya?” Shane said in that same dreamy, loopy voice as that morning. Ilya exhaled in a rush.

    “Shane,” he said, and wanted to sag against the glass with relief. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

    “Not! Any moooooooore.”

    Ilya swallowed. Shane hadn’t gotten any quieter in the past seven hours.

    “Why are you calling me? You need to be resting,” he said, and it sounded softer than he’d meant it to.

    “I forgot to tell you something. Important.

    “You should not be telling me anything, you should be—”

    “My cottage has really good water pressure,” Shane announced.

    Ilya stared out the window while a small plane taxied past.

    “What?”

    ——————

    Shane's cottage has a lot of amenities, and he needs to tell Ilya about all of them.

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    06 Feb 2026

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    To be clear, Ilya is grateful the rookies aren’t growing up the way he did in the NHL. Ilya took the hazing to the chin – humiliation rituals, beat downs, grueling practices to prove he could “hang” with the big guns on the team.

    That being said, there’s still some part of Ilya that balks at the request by the gaggle of rookies to watch The Iron Giant, a veritable children’s movie at the team’s latest movie night.

    OR: Five times Shane and Ilya were the support system for the Centaur rookies they dreamed of having when they were younger.

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    06 Feb 2026

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    Wyatt was not, like, nosy. For sure, he was interested. He was curious. He engaged with people, obviously, because most people were interesting and engaging and had cool thoughts and said neat stuff if you asked.

    So, no. Wyatt wasn’t nosy, but he wasn’t stupid, either.

    Or: A Bromance Blooms In Ottawa
    Or: The Ballad of Wyatt and Ilya

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    06 Feb 2026

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    In the days leading up to the first time Shane Hollander faces his old Montreal team with the Ottawa Centaurs, he kinda goes through it. Maybe a lot of bullshit built up over the years. Maybe now that he's finally in a place to deal with it, he starts to.

    Featuring my beloved Centaurs taking care of their own, a couple of very early mornings, a minor meltdown at practice, a slightly bigger meltdown at a barbecue, and one Shane Hollander finally coming home.

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    05 Feb 2026

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    “Game is over,” he says. “You won. I lost. I was annoying. Normal.”

    “That’s not—” Shane starts, then stops, because he actually doesn't know how to finish that thought without sounding like an idiot. His jaw works, teeth grinding together.

    That's not what I meant. That's not the point. You said I was boring and you were right and I need you to say it again so I know where I stand, so I know what you think of me, so I can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

    He settles for: “You were kind of an asshole.”

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    05 Feb 2026