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“Hollander,”
Ilya wasn’t sure what he had been thinking when he prepared for Boston’s home game against Montreal. When he washed his bedding twice, hid his cigarette stash, and stocked his fridge with Ginger Ale. All he knew was that the way he felt around Hollander was different than how he felt around any of his past hookups. He knew that something between them had shifted in recent months, and God, he wanted more.
Maybe it had been equal parts hopeless romanticism and absolute insanity, but Ilya was tired of their routine. Foreplay on the ice, quick and fervent hookups, and then leaving as soon as they caught their breath. He wanted Shane to stay. In his bed, in his home, in his life. And for just a moment, Ilya had gotten a taste of what that life could be like. Waking up with Shane in his arms, the smell of his expensive shampoo filling his nose. Making them lunch. Shane’s head pillowed on Ilya’s chest, watching hockey together and talking. Actually talking.
“Hollander.”
It was an olive branch. An offer to turn back time and forget that Ilya had pushed too far. Asked for too much. Ilya had reached out his hand, but Shane hadn’t taken it. He’d bolted out the front door and out of Ilya’s life.
Ilya couldn’t blame him. He’d allowed himself to live in a stupid fantasy where he might’ve actually been allowed happiness. That wasn’t his reality, though, not with Hockey and the MHL. And definitely not with the Russian passport he still held. A life with Hollander would be stupid and reckless. They would never be allowed out of the shadows, allowed to love each other publicly. No, it was better for Hollander to have left. For him, Ilya was nothing but a burden. And Ilya never wanted to be a weight that Shane had to bear.
That didn’t mean it hurt any less the day Connors and Marleau eagerly showed him the tabloid articles detailing how happy Rose Landry was with her new boyfriend, Shane Hollander. Every word felt like a punch straight to Ilya’s stomach. A pain that became even worse when he saw the pictures. Shane looked good, carefree in a way Ilya wasn’t sure he’d ever seen. In every photo, he was wearing that half grin. The one that was usually reserved for when Ilya was teasing him, the one that usually accompanied a soft “fuck off” that made Ilya’s heart stutter more than it should have. Except it wasn’t directed at Ilya, this time, it was directed at a beautiful Hollywood actress who could love Shane publicly. Who could hold his hand and be photographed together and smile bashfully when the press asked about him.
It made Ilya ache.
X-Squad Actress Rose Landry and Hockey Superstar Shane Hollander Spotted Looking Cozy During Night Out
Ilya went home that night and tortured himself as he scrolled through endless articles and tweets under #Shrose. A boring fucking ship name for a boring couple if you asked him. The general public loved their relationship and couldn’t seem to get enough.
omg the way he looks at her!!!!! hes so in love its insane, one commenter wrote, and it made Ilya want to throw his phone across the room. What the fuck did they know about Shane Hollander?
His heartache turned to anger as the weeks went on. Enthusiasm for the new couple didn’t seem to die down. It was covered on ESPN in the team’s weight room while Ilya was trying to get his cardio in. Covered on late-night news in hotel bars, where Ilya saw she had attended a Metro’s game wearing Shane’s jersey. It had even made it onto signs in the crowds of their games when Boston wasn’t even playing the fucking Metro’s. Ilya wanted to burn the entire thing to the ground.
His teammates were getting worried, too. He was distracted, and though they didn’t know why, the entire team could tell. He missed shots that he’d normally make in his sleep, he was irritable, and most noticeably, he stopped going out after games. How could he? He couldn’t go out and pick up some girl and pretend to care about her when his thoughts were plagued by a stupid Canadian boy.
Ilya had also begun thinking of himself. Through the fog of hurt and longing that had descended over him since those first articles came another painful realization. This life he had built for himself was fragile. Everything could be taken from him in an instant. He had lost Shane in a single word, a name muttered with too much sincerity. He could also lose hockey just as quickly, and with it the security he felt living in North America. He could lose his visa. He could be deported back to Russia to live under its oppressive regime.
Nothing was left for him back in his home country, not since his father had died. He had made it very clear at the funeral that he had no interest in seeing his brother ever again, so aside from his toddler niece, he had no family in Russia. He remembered the fear he felt as a teenager, accepting his identity for the first time, and also knowing what could be done to him if anyone knew. He couldn’t live like that again. He wouldn’t.
—
Marriage was something they had discussed before. It was usually in a post-sex haze or after Svetlana had gone on a particularly terrible date. It was almost always in tones that implied they were never that serious, that it was just a joke between lifelong friends. A backup plan. Except once. In 2013, after the news of Russia’s law banning gay propaganda, Ilya had quietly confessed how scared he was. He was only a few years into his career, and painfully aware that nothing was guaranteed. Svetlana had held him close that night and promised she would do whatever he needed if it meant keeping Ilya safe. They never brought it up again.
Until Ilya bought a ring.
It was expensive, because Svetlana was his dearest friend and he was asking a lot of her. Ilya also thought it was quite beautiful and matched a lot of the jewelry he had seen her wear before. The eyes of the young woman working at the jewelry store glinted with recognition, and Ilya prayed she kept what she had seen to herself.
If things had been different, maybe Ilya would have fussed over the perfect plan. Something intimate, with candles and champagne. This wasn’t real, though, not like that. So, one evening while they watched a hockey game, Ilya presented her with the velvet box.
“What’s this?” Svetlana questioned warily. She cautiously opened the box, and her breath caught.
“A ring. Will you marry me?” There was no speech, and he had not dropped to one knee. It was perhaps the least romantic proposal anyone had ever received.
“Wow, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” She joked, and then her eyes softened, “Ilyusha, what’s going on?”
“I’m so scared, Sveta. I cannot keep living with the threat of Russia looming over me. I need a guarantee that I will not be forced back there, back into a life I cannot bear. I know I am asking so much of you, but I promise I will be a good husband. I will take care of you; you will want for nothing.” And god, maybe the plan had been terrible. Ilya was being so selfish; Svetlana deserved so much more than a marriage of convenience to a man whose heart could never belong to her. He hadn’t realized how terribly his hands had been trembling until Svetlana held them in hers.
She forced him to make eye contact as she spoke carefully, “Of course, Ilyusha. Of course. Whatever you need. We take care of each other, right?”
He should have felt relief as he put the ring onto Svetlana’s finger and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. Instead, he felt a sense of total dread.
—
Shane had found a new resolve after ending things with Rose. Her gentle nudging and quiet acceptance had helped Shane more than she realized, and for the first time, he was able to think of his sexuality as something other than shameful. She had also spent the last few weeks trying to set him up with various Hollywood guys that she was certain would be obsessed with him. All that had done was reassure Shane that he only wanted one man.
He just had to figure out how to make things right with him.
His opportunity came in the form of All-Star weekend. The game had always been a welcome reprieve for Shane from the regular season. The stakes were low, and for once, the guys were mostly just having fun on the ice. This year was made even better by the announcement that he and Ilya would be playing on the same team.
totally gorgeous!!! Rose had replied to the selfie he had sent her in his white blazer. Embarrassingly, he had asked her for help in hiring a stylist for the event. He told himself it was because he wanted to keep up with the other, more fashionable guys in the league. It was absolutely not because he wanted Ilya to think he looked hot.
He made his way to the rooftop bar of the hotel, where Shane had heard most of the team was hanging out. It didn’t take him long to spot a lone figure sitting at the bar in the most obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Shane had ever seen. Steadying his nerves, he slid into the seat beside Ilya.
“I’ll have whatever my teammate is having,” Shane smiled politely at the bartender. Ilya spared him a glance before turning his gaze forward. Shane resisted the urge to turn back; he could talk to Ilya fucking Rozanov. He took a sip from his beer and tried to make small talk about the team, the game, and Florida. Ilya gave stilted single-word replies.
Ilya was good at putting up walls. That was something Shane had learned about the other man; it was a way to protect himself. Shane just hadn’t been expecting to be the reason one was built. He had been so terrified back then of what it all would mean if he allowed himself something more with Ilya. Now, though, he wished he could’ve gone back and held Ilya closer rather than pushed him away.
“You’re looking very pretty today,” Ilya said out of the blue, and Shane felt his cheeks heat. “Did somebody take you shopping?”
“If I tell you something, you have to promise not to laugh,” Shane began, and he could see Ilya’s eyes brighten with curiosity. This was Shane’s in. “I hired a stylist.”
The resulting smile that spread across Ilya’s cheeks might have been the most beautiful thing Shane had ever witnessed. He’d endure the teasing a million times over if it meant that smile would remain on Ilya’s face. “Fuck off,” Shane grinned right back.
“No, no. Is good. I love it,” Ilya tried, but he could barely speak over his laughter. The conversation seemed to flow easily after that, the ice having been melted thanks to Shane’s humiliation. It teetered on the edge of innocent friendship and flirting, and Shane wasn’t sure where the line was anymore.
“So did you bring anybody?” Shane asked, and Ilya froze.
“No,” Ilya had said very carefully, and Shane let out a breath in relief. He could do this. “Did you?”
“No,” Shane replied, “My parents wanted to come, but they’re going to Mexico in like two weeks. And I didn’t feel like being managed.” Shane punctuated his sentence with a heavy look up and down Ilya’s form. He prayed Ilya would understand.
“Ah,” Ilya said.
Shane mustered the rest of the courage he needed, “What’s your room number?” He noticed Ilya hesitate. “Just to talk?”
The bravery that had carried Shane through their earlier conversation seemed to leave him as he approached Ilya’s hotel room later that evening. His stomach was in knots, and he had almost turned around four separate times, but this conversation was long overdue.
“This looks serious?” Ilya said as he opened the door and let Shane in.
“It’s not,” Shane began as he hurriedly entered so Ilya could close the door. “I mean, I guess? Can you just sit down or something?” If Ilya kept looking at him like that, Shane wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to get his words out. He took a seat on the bed while Ilya chose to remain standing, leaning against the dresser.
Shane took a steadying breath, “It’s not just me, right?”
“Not just you, what?” Ilya questioned.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” And Shane was latently aware that he wasn’t making much sense.
“Feel what?”
“The last time we were together, it was different.” Ilya flinched at the mention of that day.
“What was different? That you run away?” His tone was harsh, and Shane tried not to take it personally. They had both been hurt by Shane’s actions that day,y and Ilya had a right to be upset.
“I’m sorry I freaked out.”
“Freaked out over nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” Shane argued, finally looking at Ilya. “Don’t act like that. This is hard enough without you being an asshole!” Shane sighed. This was not going the way he had wanted it to. “I don’t think I can keep pretending I don’t like you anymore.”
“You don’t like me.” He moved to take a seat next to Shane on the bed. Shane could feel the heat radiating off of him, and wanted to just reach out and touch. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed.
“Yeah, I do,” Shane argued. “I think I like you a little too much.”
“Don’t. Don’t fucking do this, Hollander. I can’t-” Ilya curled in on himself. Shane wanted to hold him. The pained look on Ilya’s face was Shane’s fault, and he would do anything to soothe it.
“I’m sorry about last time. I’m sorry I freaked out, but before that, it was nice,” Shane spoke, “And it felt like we were something.”
“We can’t be something Hollander.”
“Would you want to be if we could?” Shane was pushing, and part of him knew it was a bad idea. The other part, though, was so desperately in love with the man in front of him that he’d do whatever it took to have him.
“We can’t,” Ilya stated like it was a fact. Like it wasn’t him who had pushed the boundaries a few months ago with tuna melts and sleepovers.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“We can’t be something because I am getting married at the end of this season!” Ilya finally snapped.
The world stopped.
“I’m sorry, what?” Shane must have misheard. They had only been apart for a few months. There was no way.
“In summer. I am getting married to Svetlana.” Ilya was finally looking at Shane.
Shane felt dizzy. He’d heard mentions of Svetlana before. A childhood friend from Russia that Ilya sometimes hooked up with. He felt like he’d had a bucket of cold water dumped on him. “So it was all really just sex to you.”
“Yes. We meet up, we fuck, is simple.” Ilya said like he hadn’t just upturned Shane’s entire world. This whole time, Shane had been planning a life for them, ready to finally be something more, and Ilya was planning a wedding to someone else. He blinked hard. He would not cry in front of Rozanov, not over this.
“It’s simple,” Shane laughs, but there’s no humor in it. His heart was racing, and he braced his arms against the back of his neck as he ducked his head between his knees, trying to stave off the impending panic. “I’m so goddamn stupid.”
“Hollander,” Ilya says, and Shane flinches. His body is shuddering as he tries to take deep breaths. Safe, you’re safe. Except he didn’t feel safe right now. “You are not stupid, Hollander, please do not say that.”
“Clearly I am if I’m falling in lo-” Shane catches himself, “Having feelings for a man who doesn’t feel the same. You must really love her.”
“I am not marrying Svetlana because of love,” Ilya explains, and when Shane finally looks him in the eyes, he sees unshed tears.
“Then why the fuck are you doing it?” Shane asked, why are you breaking my heart?
Ilya takes a deep breath, looking away from Shane. “Sveta is my oldest friend. I love her, but not like that. Russia is dangerous for people like me. She is an American citizen, so if I marry her, I can get American passport. I can be safe.”
“That’s bullshit,” Shane bites out, “You like both? You could still find someone, a woman you want to marry for real. Then you could still get the passport?” That honestly might have been worse. Ilya marrying someone else for real.
“Sure, but I have this problem. No matter where I go, I am always surrounded by beautiful women who want me, yes?”
“Where’s the problem?” Shane scoffed.
“The problem is, I don’t want any of them. All I can think about is this slow fucking hockey player with beautiful freckles who runs away when he is scared. But I can’t be with him.”
“Yes, you can! He’s right here.” Shane pleaded, quickly wiping away the tears that had started to run down his cheeks.
“I can’t. There is too much at risk. This way, it is safer. For both of us.”
“Ilya-”
“I think you should go, Hollander.”
—
Ilya wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop a teary-eyed Shane Hollander from haunting his dreams. Shane had been right there offering Ilya everything he’d been wanting for months. He had said he loved Ilya, even if he had taken the statement back almost immediately. Ilya felt like a monster for sending him away like that.
It was for the best, though. Shane would get over him, as much as it pained Ilya to think about it. He’d find someone, a nice boy in Montreal who came with far less baggage than Ilya. Someone he could introduce to David and Yuna Hollander, and who could be a part of their little family. Shane would find happiness with someone else. Ilya could live with that.
That didn’t make meeting him on the ice any easier.
During the faceoff, Shane avoided eye contact, and Ilya couldn’t even find it in himself to chirp him or attempt to get under the other captain's skin. He had done enough already. Shane won and took off, Ilya quickly giving chase. Then, Shane had done something out of character for an elite player; he looked back.
Marleau came out of nowhere.
It was a clean hit; Ilya had to remind himself to keep from punching his own teammate, though Pike seemed to have taken care of that already.
It was a clean hit, but Marleau had been going so fast, and Shane’s focus was behind him. It was a recipe for something bad, and Shane hit the ice hard. Ilya skidded to a stop in front of Shane’s prone form, curled on the ground. He felt like the air had been punched from his lungs. Bad hits happened, but usually the player was able to get up and walk himself off the ice after a moment or two.
It had been several moments, and Shane still wasn’t moving. Get up, get up, get up, Ilya begged.
Suddenly, trainers and paramedics were flooding the ice, surrounding Shane’s body and blocking Ilya’s view. “Is he okay?” He tried to ask, but was ignored by the medical professionals.
“Back to your bench, Rozanov,” an official ordered, but Ilya skated around him with ease. The paramedics had gotten to work quickly, and Ilya could hear nothing but static in the air as they carefully slid the backboard underneath Shane’s body.
“Is he okay? Fucking tell me!” He pleaded this time, but he was being shoved back by a ref toward Montreal’s bench. Shane was hurt, and he wasn’t moving, and nobody could tell Ilya if he was okay. Why would they, though? They were nothing to each other; Ilya had made sure of that fact.
That didn’t stop his heart from breaking as they carried the love of his life off the ice on a stretcher.
He’s not sure how he managed to make it through the rest of the game without breaking into pieces. He couldn’t focus, which made his playing sloppy. His head wasn’t in the game, though. It was miles away at Montreal General with Shane. How could he care about hockey when he didn’t know if Shane was okay? And worst of all, he had no idea if that conversation in Florida would be their last. God, he had been so fucking stupid.
Ilya couldn’t sleep, so as soon as the sun rose, he dressed as inconspicuously as he could and waited in the hospital parking lot until visiting hours began. He was being reckless. Anyone could have been in Shane’s room, but he needed to see the other man. Besides, it was standard for captains to visit injured players in the hospital. Nobody would think it was that out of the ordinary. That didn’t stop the terror from creeping into Ilya’s chest as he asked about Hollander’s room number.
Ilya’s hand trembled slightly as he pulled open the door to Shane’s room. It was thankfully empty save for Shane sitting propped up in a hospital bed, his arm secured in a sling. There was bruising beginning to form under his eyes from where his visor had made impact, but Shane looked otherwise fine, and he was smiling.
“Ilyyaaa,” He grinned when he noticed the other man had entered the room. Ilya’s heart constricted.
“I came to check on you. Marleau sends his apologies. He did not mean to hurt you,” Ilya hated how shaky his voice sounded.
“It’s alright,” Shane said, like what happened was just a mild inconvenience. “Just a concussion and a fractured collarbone.”
“It could have been worse,” Ilya said, and Shane nodded in agreement.
“Could’ve been worse,” He watched Ilya for a second and then reached out his hand, “Hey. Heyyyyy”
Ilya realized that Shane wanted him to hold his hand, and he quickly stepped forward to reach for him. “Better,” Shane hummed. “I’m mostly mad I didn’t get to see you last night.”
“We did not have plans last night, Hollander.” Ilya wondered how high a dosage Shane was on, and wondered if Shane even remembered that they hadn’t been seeing each other for a while now.
“No, but I was gonna ask you to come over. I had this plan to ask you something,” His grip tightened on Ilya’s hand.
“Hollander, maybe you should just rest-”
“Don’t marry Svetlana,” Shane said it so definitely, and then he looked deeply pleased with himself.
“Hollander,” Ilya said again with more force.
“Don’t marry her. Marry me instead,” Ilya felt like the entire world stopped with Shane’s statement, but Shane continued like he was discussing the weather, “You can move to a Canadian team, maybe Ottawa. We can be together, maybe start a charity together, so people can’t question why we’re seen together. It’d be so perfect.”
“Hollander, you know we can’t do that,” Ilya ached with want. Shane was painting them a future with every word. A future they could never have.
“Why not? I’d be a good husband, I’d take care of you. You could even come to my cottage this summer, don’t have to go back to Russia.”
“Maybe,” It wasn’t technically a lie, and that seemed to satisfy Shane, whose face instantly smoothed into a giddy grin. “Maybe.”
—
Ilya ended the engagement to Svetlana the next day.
“Do you think I could collect alimony for an engagement?” Svetlana wondered over the phone, “I could maybe still take half your net worth for my troubles?”
Ilya snorted, “We both know you are just as rich as I am, Sveta.”
“Yes, but a little more money would never hurt,” She paused and then her voice turned serious, “It’s Jane, isn’t it?” Svetlana had teased him about Jane from Montreal for years. She had never pushed for more information than she was given, though, and during this whole ordeal, she never asked Ilya about them.
“Yes,” Ilya admitted, and it felt euphoric to say out loud. Even if it was still a half-truth.
“I hope whoever he is, he’s good to you.” Ilya’s breath caught.
“He is.” He said.
—
Ilya didn’t act right away. They had never told anyone other than Shane and a few of Svetlana’s friends about their impending nuptials, so there was hardly any fallout when it ended. A part of him wanted to go back to the hospital immediately and confess his love for Shane, but things were still complicated. Ilya had completely and thoroughly broken Shane’s heart, and Shane had been high out of his mind when he made that sort of proposal. There was no way Ilya could be sure that Shane had meant it.
He was also still scared. There had been safety in Svetlana, even if one day Ilya held Canadian citizenship, it would be a while before the threat of Russia was no longer looming. And then there was the hockey of it all.
Until old man Scott Hunter won the cup and kissed his boyfriend in front of everyone.
He pressed call.
“Ilya?” Shane answered on the second ring; he sounded out of breath. Ilya’s sure he had been watching it too.
“I want it, Shane,” Ilya said without preamble.
“What? Ilya, did you see-”
“Yes, I saw. And I want it. I want to come to your cottage this summer and spend weeks taking you apart in your bed. I want to move to Ottawa during my free agency and play on shitty team and be close to you. I want the charity, and I want to be a stupid, polite Canadian. I want to marry you, Shane Hollander.”
“Holy shit,” Shane breathed. “What about Svetlana?”
“I ended that plan. I am not marrying her. I don’t think I ever could have when I love you this much.” Ilya was crying.
“I love you too, Ilya, so fucking much. I can’t believe you said all that, and you’re all the way in Boston, so I can’t kiss you!” Shane was crying too.
“I can be in Ottawa in four hours.”
“I’m at my parents' house-”
“If I’m going to marry you, I should probably meet your parents, no?” Shane laughed, beautiful and bright.
—
True to his word, Ilya had caught the first flight he could. He spent the flight trying not to shake out of his skin. He rented a car, and Shane sent him the address to his parents' home. He drove a very respectable speed so Shane would not yell at him, and then finally finally he pulled into the Hollander’s driveway.
Shane was waiting on the front porch. Ilya didn’t spare a thought for his bags or the car door that was still hanging half open. He marched with a purpose straight towards Shane.
“Moya lyubov,” Ilya breathed before Shane’s lips crashed into his. Shane’s hands wrapped around Ilya’s firm back while Ilya’s cradled Shane’s jaw like it was something precious. He hadn’t kissed Shane in months, and it felt like fresh air being breathed back into his lungs.
“I love you,” Shane said as he moved to mouth at Ilya’s neck. “I love you, I love you.”
“Ya tebya lyublyu.”
Ilya’s hands had wandered very south on Shane’s body when there was a throat clearing behind them. They quickly sprang apart to see a startled-looking Yuna and David Hollander watching them with wide eyes. Shane flushed bright red and cleared his throat.
“Mom, Dad, this is my…” He trailed off, and Ilya was curious what word Shane was going to use to describe them. Lover. Boyfriend. Fiance. “This is my Ilya.” Shane decided on.
And Ilya was more than okay with being Shane’s.