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Ilya had missed the energy in the air from a win; the joy was infectious, lodging itself firmly in all of them to the point that Ilya didn’t even blink twice at the way the plane shook with sudden turbulence. He wiped at his shirt where he’d spilled some Coke, but he couldn’t keep the small smile off his face – not when they’d won, and Bood had fallen in the aisle, and the space from Shane was actually doing something to help them figure their shit out.
The energy was there and everything Ilya needed until, suddenly, it wasn’t.
It was there until it wasn’t because an earth-shattering bang cut through all of the happy sounds, the plane pitching to the side like it was a leaf being blown through the wind rather than a massive metal contraption designed to defy gravity. Every single person held their breath for a moment, terror in their eyes, before the plane started shaking violently like it was being completely ripped apart. Ilya’s Coke fell to the floor and he felt himself get pressed further and further against the wall, his eyes darting up to make eye contact with Wiebe just as he was yanked out of his seat.
The screams came next and it took Ilya far too long to realise he was screaming too – the entire fucking plane was pitching to the side and dropping, freefalling, a whirring sound dying until there was a nauseating silence in the background of their screaming. One of Ilya’s hands grabbed his arm rest, fingernails digging into the leather, and the other clutched his crucifix desperately, a prayer he’d thought he’d forgotten falling from his lips like second nature. He couldn’t breathe with how fast his heart was racing and he couldn’t hear with how loud everyone was screaming and he couldn’t think properly because nothing mattered, not when he was going to die and he was never going to see Shane again and-
Oh, God, he thought as he clenched his eyes tightly, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He was never going to see Shane again. They were supposed to have dogs and kids and they were supposed to be happy; they were supposed to fix what was going wrong and promise themselves to each other forever. Forever, because Ilya couldn’t accept anything less than the rest of his life with Shane.
Shane, who was going to spend the rest of his life without Ilya.
Ilya felt a sob bubble out of his throat, the sound drowned out in the screaming and panic still echoing around him. What would Shane do, when he found out? Would he mourn? Would he take it silently, or would he tell the world just exactly who he’d lost?
Ilya heard someone shout something about a fire. He’d felt hot, but he’d assumed it was the panic and fear. If he could already feel the heat, he didn’t want to look at what was coming. Burning is an awful way to die, he thought, and the idea of Shane finding out that he’d died in pain had him struggling for air. What would happen when all that was left of Ilya was an autopsy report? How could Shane be left with a piece of paper when all it could say was Ilya’s final moments and not the thousands of declarations he’d kept hidden in his heart? It was so very fucking unfair and Ilya’s eyes burned – tears and smoke ripping at his waterline. Shane deserved more than that, more than Ilya’s failures in their relationship and an obituary. He wished, for just a moment, that Shane was there with him so he could tell him everything, a confession and prayer for absolution all at once. Then, he felt sick at the idea of Shane feeling the slow suffocation Ilya was feeling, and he was deliriously happy Shane wouldn’t ever have to feel this.
He wished he could tell him, though. He wished he could tell him about how much he was struggling but how he’d never regretted it for a second because Shane was worth more than life itself, how Ilya would willingly shatter himself into pieces again and again a million times over if it meant he could have Shane for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second, because that might be all Ilya had left. The cabin was getting hotter with each passing moment and the announcement system blasted words like “brace” and “fire” and “impact” and “oxygen” and a jumble of words that Ilya couldn’t sort out because the only thing he could think about was Shane Hollander.
He reached for his phone instinctively to call Shane, but the lack of reception hit him harder than his impending fate did. Then, the wi-fi in the corner of his phone flickered, reminding him of its existence. With shaking hands and shuddering breath and leaking eyes, Ilya opened up Instagram and tapped on Shane’s account.
Shane, he typed, unsure of what to say next but knowing that even if the plane exploded in that very moment, he was fine with that being his final word. It was the single word Ilya had carved into his heart, and the only thing on his mind, but he didn’t have time to think, not when it was getting harder with each millisecond and Ilya was fighting to breathe properly.
You are the best thing in my life. It was the truest statement Ilya had ever said, an unwavering truth that was entirely undeniable to anyone who really knew him. A tear splashed against the screen and Ilya wiped it away, swiping at his eyes to keep more from falling on his phone and stopping his typing.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first moment I saw you. Outside a rink in Saskatchewan, Ilya had memorised freckles and blushing cheeks and nervous words and a warm hand and dark eyes and fuck, Shane had taken his heart hostage from that moment onwards. Ilya hadn’t known for sure, but he remembered the way he’d gone to visit his mother’s tombstone when he’d gotten back to Russia and whispered to her about the boy he’d met that was awkward and gorgeous and someone Ilya desperately wanted to see again. He’d run through that moment over and over in his head the same way he knew Shane would read these messages for the rest of his life. Shit, he had to make it good, make it worth Shane’s time.
I am thinking only about you right now, he typed, because there wasn’t a single thing that would be worth his final moments other than Shane.
A million memories. Yet, still not enough. He wanted more because he was greedy and selfish but the memories he had – shy smiles in low lighting, warm lips against his neck, absolutely everything they’d ever done – were worth it. Thank you for those, he said, because Ilya was so very grateful that Shane had given him those moments.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Ilya knew he would be. Even when Shane moved on, he knew there would be a sliver of Shane’s heart that always belonged to Ilya, even when Shane had been without him longer than he’d been with him. Ilya would be with Shane in each breath he took, and in each goal he scored, and in each tear he shed.
Safe in your heart. The one place Ilya had ever known the definition of safety and the only place Ilya cared about staying. I believe it, he typed through entirely blurred vision, a wet gasp rocking his body as the plane picked up speed. He believed it because Ilya had nothing else to devote himself to other than Shane, and there was no one in the entire world that he trusted in more than the man who held his heart. His mother had trusted him and Ilya felt her with him with each touch of his necklace, and each wildflower he saw, and each moment of doubt. She’d loved him and so she’d stayed with him the same way Ilya would stay with Shane. Part of him would always stay, because Ilya had promised to never leave, even though he knew this was the end.
Maybe he’d see his mother again. Maybe he could wait with her and her favourite wildflowers while he told her about the love of his life he was waiting on, who he hoped lived a long, long life and didn’t make it back to Ilya until he was old and grey and had done everything he’d wanted to in his life. He could see it already – Ilya and his mama, her soft smile and warm arms as he told her about the only person he’d ever loved, as they watched over him and cheered him on so he could feel it with him still.
The prickling heat was worsening with each second, the air stifling and impossible to breathe through. Ilya opened up his hidden folder, the one he’d never admitted to having, and sobbed the moment Shane’s face smiled up at him. He spared a glance out the window and saw green and brown terrain rapidly approaching and fuck, he was going to throw up or pass out if he looked, so he looked back at the picture, breathing through his panic until a shaky smile landed on his face, his tears drying on his cheeks from the heat. A dull sense of calm settled over him even as each breath burned his lungs and his ears had long stopped processing sound from the screeching and alarms and screaming. Shane, he thought as he stared at the picture, running his thumb over the curves of Shane’s mouth, over the freckles bridging his cheekbones, over the temples he’d pressed kisses against more times than he could count.
I love you, he thought. I love you, I love you, I love you. Ilya had heard, once, that when a person died, they had a few minutes where their most important memories flickered through their mind. He had no idea what was waiting for him when he was already running through all of his moments with Shane, everything from their first kiss to the first confession to their last hug to their last conversation. Everything he thought about was Shane, and Ilya was smiling down at the picture with joint terror and love in his heart when the plane finally collided with the ground.
–
Montreal lost their game and Shane was annoyed. His teammates were grumbling all throughout the locker room about the loss and Shane had just huffed and ignored it, already mentally preparing for the negative feedback he was going to see online and the way Ilya would give him shit about it. He could see it already – Ilya would taunt and tease but draw back before it got to be too much, because he knew Shane’s limits before Shane himself. Shane bit back a small smile, the mere idea of Ilya knowing him and loving him enough to draw it out.
“Oh my fucking God.”
The entire locker room went silent. Shane’s head snapped up to J.J., the horror in J.J.’s voice slashing through the room like a deadly blade. Hayden stepped up next to Shane, glancing at him with a concerned expression before looking at J.J. and asking, “What?”
“The Centuars plane fucking crashed.” J.J. said, an unfamiliar distress in his voice.
Shane felt his heart stop. “What?” He asked, his voice cracking around the single syllable. It wasn’t true – he refused to believe it. J.J. had to be messing with him and Shane was going to have J.J. run a fucking marathon as punishment for joking about this. He couldn’t believe it, not when it meant Ilya was in a plane crash.
J.J. turning the phone around and showing a live video of half of a plane smoldering and burning had bile rapidly rising in Shane’s throat. The words running across the bottom – NO CONFIRMATION OF SURVIVORS – had his knees giving out beneath him, only Hayden’s quick reflexes saving him from collapsing to the floor as his arm darted out to grab Shane around the waist and hold him up. Shane’s ears rang as he stared at the live feed; he’d never seen so many emergency vehicles in one place, had never seen such destruction, had never seen so many officials standing around and shaking their heads as people fought to get to the plane. It looked like the type of thing Shane saw in a documentary or in a movie, not in real life, and not when Ilya was supposed to be on it.
Ilya, who Shane had hurt and who had a negative image of him at that moment. Ilya, who was already going through so many things. Ilya, who had to have been absolutely terrified as the plane went down.
Ilya, who might not even be alive.
Ilya, who Shane loved more than anything else in the entire world and yet who he hid from the world as well.
Shane was going to throw up. He could feel it churning in his stomach and he felt dizzy, his vision blurring in front of him. Someone said something – Hayden or J.J., surely – but he couldn’t register any of it. It was like he was underwater, suffocating, disoriented, drowning. Firm hands connected with his shoulders and Shane was being shoved forward, J.J. pushing him while Hayden snapped at the team and dragged Shane out of the locker room. It was violent, not at all careful, but it served its purpose; moments later, Shane was pushed down onto a chair in the medical observation room, J.J. dimming the lights and evidently turning off his phone if the following silence was any indication. Hayden knelt in front of Shane, worry and concern on his face and in his body language.
“Hey. You need to breathe, Shane.” Hayden said firmly. He’d never been Shane’s captain, but Shane had heard him use the same authoritative voice on his kids when something was really serious. “You’re going to pass out or make yourself sick. C’mon, man. Follow my breathing.”
Hayden exaggerated his breaths and made it clear when he was taking one in and when he was exhaling, dramatic pauses that broke through Shane’s ringing ears enough for him to shakily follow. He took one and then another and then a third, his head spinning with each breath because he was really dizzy. His chest ached, his lungs burning, but he still tried to follow the breathing.
“I feel faint,” Shane confessed, sounding strangled and blinking hard to keep the spots out of his vision.
“Because you’re not breathing right, Shane. Follow me.” Hayden took another deep breath and Shane followed; the oxygen came a bit easier that time, but he still felt nauseous and dizzy and his chest ached.
“I think you should lay down,” J.J. said, uncharacteristically quiet and serious. “I will get water.”
The door opened and closed quickly and Shane listened to J.J.’s advice, sinking out of the chair and laying on the cool tile ground as he tried to steady his breathing. It still felt difficult, like he was trying to breathe through a straw or something else small instead of his very healthy lungs. Still, his hands shook and he felt immeasurably weak; he knew if he tried to stand his legs would give out beneath him again and his arms felt unnaturally heavy when he tried to lift one up to brush a piece of hair off his forehead. Hayden was there in an instant, doing it for him.
“He’ll be okay.” Hadyen said, reassuring.
“You don’t know that,” Shane argued, thinking about the burning plane and the flashing lights and the news headline and God, he could feel another wave of panic rushing over him. He forced himself into stable breathing patterns again, clenching and unclenching his hands as feeling slowly returned to them.
“I do know that, because Rozanov’s the most stubborn motherfucker I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
“Don’t,” Shane warned, strained. “I don’t like when you talk bad about him on a good day. Not now, Hayd, please.”
Hayden was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant- fuck, it doesn’t matter. He’s stubborn, Shane, so he’s not going anywhere. You think anything’s going to keep him away from you? I’ve seen him walk off so many injuries – he’s going to complain about a scratch on his arm or a twisted ankle or some shit and be perfectly fine, just wait.”
Despite the fear and the disbelief, Shane nodded. Perfectly fine, his mind echoed, because that had to be the truth. Shane blinked his eyes open, unsure of when he’d closed them, when the door opened and J.J. came back with a bottle of water. He immediately sat on the floor next to Shane, offering the water bottle and helping Shane guide it to his mouth when his arm shook too much to accept it. The water ran through him like a cool wave and Shane sighed after he’d drunk some, dropping the back of his head against the floor again and nodding in thanks to J.J. as he continued to breathe steadily.
“Sorry,” he apologised after a few moments. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Panic attack.” J.J. answered easily, staring at Shane with a complicated expression. “If I knew you would panic, I would not have shown you the video. Je suis vraiment désolé-”
Shane shook his head, cutting J.J. off. His friend had never been one to apologise like that and Shane didn’t want him to start now. It wasn’t his fault that Shane had watched the plane burning and felt his heart threaten to give out on him. His heart had seen the wreckage of the plane and had jumped to a life without Ilya before putting his body into survival mode, panicked and scared and self-isolating, shutting down to protect himself.
The calm had Shane’s chest aching again and he slowly sat up, pushing himself until he sat against the leg of the chair on the ground. “My phone.” He said, needing to look for himself what had happened. J.J. held it out instantly, a sheepish look on his face.
“I knew you would want it.” He answered with a shrug.
“Thank you,” Shane responded genuinely, taking the device. He exhaled sharply when he saw the sheer amount of missed calls from his parents, two from Rose and one from Jackie thrown in there as well. His screen was flooded with notifications from the league updating on the situation and Shane had absolutely no idea where to start.
Then, he saw some Instagram notifications from Ilya.
They didn’t communicate there much, too paranoid about their accounts getting hacked and their conversations being exposed; Ilya would message him there on occasion when on a flight and he had something important to say but no cell reception. Shane clicked on it instantly, his heart in his throat as he waited for the app to load and open the messages. He hadn’t looked at what it said but maybe it was Ilya messaging him from someone else’s phone, or it was him saying he was fine and telling Shane not to worry, or anything in between.
The moment Shane saw that the messages were sent in the middle of the game – before the Centaurs’ plane crashed – he doubted himself. The second he started to read them, Shane knew he was completely wrong.
Shane.
You are the best thing in my life.
I love you. Always. Maybe from the first moment I saw you.
I am thinking only about you right now.
A million memories. Thank you for those.
Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.
“Fuck,” Shane exhaled, a wet sob catching the word as he held his hand against his mouth to keep it in. His vision blurred again, this time because of tears rather than oxygen deprivation. He swiped at them as he looked at the messages again, his heart ripping apart inside of him. When Ilya sent these, something must have already been going wrong. Despite his terror and what must have been chaos, Ilya had taken the time to message Shane, to share what was meant to be his last fucking words.
Shane fumbled to the calling button, pressing on it firmly and holding his phone against his ear as it rang. It rang continuously without connecting and Shane called again, and again, and again. He left the app and clicked on his normal phone, quickly calling Lily. Again, he was met with a voicemail – I will never listen to this message, Ilya taunted in his voicemail, and Shane desperately wished it was a lie – and he called again and again until Hayden took the phone from his hand slowly.
“Don’t-”
“Shane.” Hayden said carefully. “It’s not helping you. How about you talk to your mom while J.J. and I see what we can find out?”
Shane glanced at his phone and the endless notifications from his parents, but also at the time. “The team bus leaves soon,” he noted, his voice still shaky and not at all what his teammates should hear from their captain.
“You shouldn’t even be thinking about it. Fuck the bus,” J.J. countered. “They cannot leave without us – without you, Capitaine. The others will tell Coach where we are if he needs us. I don’t-”
J.J. paused, looking at Hayden with a strange, almost envious look in his eyes before glancing at Shane and sighing. J.J. said, “I don’t know what’s happening or why you are so attached to the Centaurs. But I will not go without you, and I don’t think you will be getting on that bus, so fuck it.”
A swell of affection for his friend rose in Shane’s chest and the thought that J.J. needed to know – deserved to know – why he was so very stressed sprung into his head. He glanced at Hayden and Hayden shrugged, looking at him with an expression that told Shane it was his choice. Shane wanted to talk to Ilya before telling anyone else because Shane really did have so many more people in his corner than Ilya and it felt unfair to add another person to his side before Ilya could, but the situation was delicate and unpredictable. There was every possibility that J.J. would soon be helping Shane through the loss of his partner rather than just a panic attack.
“You have to promise not to hate me,” Shane said after a moment, his mind made up.
“Hate you?” J.J. echoed, confused. “I would not hate you.”
Shane scoffed, disbelieving but hopeful still. “You might, in a minute. Please, J.J., promets-moi.”
“Yes, okay.” J.J. replied instantly.
Shane took a deep breath. “Ilya and I are together. And we have been for a while.”
“Ilya.” J.J. repeated. “Rozanov. Ilya Rozanov?”
Shane nodded.
“You and Rozanov are together. And you have been for a while.”
“Yes.” Shane exhaled.
J.J. closed his eyes and took a measured breath. He opened his eyes and looked at Hayden, a questioning look on his face. Hayden nodded and J.J. closed his eyes again, the silence almost suffocating.
“Okay,” J.J. said, shooting his eyes open and picking up his phone quickly.
“What are you doing?” Shane asked, entirely panicked. He’d expected disapproval, and fighting, and hurt, and anger. He hadn’t expected J.J. to take to the internet and expose him immediately, and the fear that ran down Shane’s spine was sickening.
“Looking up flights so you can get to your boyfriend.” J.J. answered. He paused and looked at Shane. “Boyfriend? I assumed.”
“Yes. I mean, yeah. You assumed right.” Shane was dizzy again, not from oxygen deprivation this time but from how quickly things were moving around him. “You’re alright with it?”
“No, absolutely not.” J.J. said instantly. “But right now it does not matter, because your boyfriend is hurt and this is fucking serious. Call your mother.”
Shane accepted his phone back from Hayden and nodded, his two friends turning to each other and talking quickly while Shane pressed his mother’s contact. He held the phone to his ear and breathed along to each ring – only two made it before it was connecting.
“Shane, honey, oh my God.” His mom said, her voice tinny on the line. “Have you seen the news?”
“Yeah,” Shane exhaled, looking up at the ceiling to keep tears from falling. “Mom, what if he’s-”
“We can’t know that,” Yuna answered, though Shane was able to read through the lines. If his mother was confident Ilya was fine, she would say that. She would say he was alright, that the news was just waiting until they had a solid confirmation of everything before reporting it, that Ilya was just sitting at a hospital and getting treatment. Instead, she was just as lost as Shane was, and the tethering he’d hoped Yuna would provide never came.
“I need to be there, Mom.” Shane said quietly, hoping she would understand what he was saying without it being explicitly said. It didn’t matter whether Ilya was safe or hurt or something much worse – Shane needed to be there, to be the one to provide him with whatever support the situation determined.
“J.J.’s looking at flights,” Shane continued, glancing at his friend and feeling a spike of anger in his chest when J.J. just shook his head. “Alright, never mind. No flights apparently. Even if there were, I doubt any are direct. Fuck.”
“Your dad and I can be there first thing tomorrow, if that would help. He says there’s a late night flight tonight and we could call you from there, let you know what it’s looking like.”
Shane shook his head, forgetting she couldn’t see. “That’s not good enough.”
“Shane.”
“Sorry,” he apologised instantly. “That’s not what I meant. Thank you, for being willing, but I need to be there. I’ll – I’ll rent a car or something. I wish I could rent a plane-”
He cut himself off, looking up at J.J. and Hayden quickly. The three of them seemed to realise what he was getting at simultaneously and both of his friends immediately flew to look up more things.
“I’ll fly private. There’s got to be someone here with a jet who can make this happen – we’re in fucking Washington.” Shane explained.
“Smart. It’s going to be expensive.”
“I don’t care, Mom. You know I can afford it.”
“True.” His mom exhaled, long and winded. “Okay. Your dad and I are still going to book this flight and we’ll meet you there, alright?”
The irony of all of them getting on planes to go visit a plane crash wasn’t lost on him. It felt a bit like tempting fate – for all they knew, another plane would go down. Maybe it was something bigger than what it seemed, some conspiracy that would lead to the airports getting shut down.
“Mom,” Shane said miserably, fresh tears springing up in his eyes. “What if they shut down the airspace? They do that, right? What if we can’t even get there, or what if-”
“What if I suddenly turned purple?”
Shane blinked. “What?”
“We could play the what-if game forever, Shane, but that’s just going to freak you out. Take a deep breath and look at what we do know: as of right now, nothing about that has been communicated. If you fly private, they’ll find a work-around anyway. Worse case scenario, you make it there and we’re rerouted. It’s going to be alright, honey.”
Shane nodded again and took a shaky breath. “Okay.”
“Talk with Hayden and J.J. and figure out what’s possible.”
“Okay.”
“Let us know what happens, and we’ll meet you there.”
“Okay.”
Yuna hummed. “Did I break my son? Do you only say ‘okay’ now?”
A weak, wet laugh clawed its way out of his throat. “I love you.”
“That’s better. We love you too, Shane. Take a breath and keep us updated, alright? If we see anything, we’ll let you know.”
When the phone beeped in his ear, Shane turned it off and put his face in his hands, pressing firmly against his face; the pressure seemed to help, like a wall was being put up between him and everything else. For a few seconds, he just breathed. He had a plan, and a plan was structure, and structure meant he had something he could actually do rather than just cry and panic and think about the worst. A plan was something he came up with for the team, so he just had to treat this the same. Nothing else mattered when he was acting as the captain – he had to push aside any issues or personal things and get shit done, so it would be the same now.
Shane pulled his hands off his face and nodded, standing quickly. His legs tingled beneath him and still didn’t feel strong enough, but the rush of blood going through them again would get him closer to okay again. “Alright. Did you find anything?”
“There’s, like, six different companies.” Hayden answered, eyeing Shane carefully as he and J.J. stood, like they were ready to catch him if he went down again. Shane wouldn’t; he refused to.
“Text their numbers to me?” Shane asked, and Hayden nodded.
“The airspace is not shut down.” J.J. continued. “In case you were still worried.”
“Thank you.” Shane said genuinely before looking at the companies Hayden sent him. “Okay. Hayd, can you find Coach and bring him here? He’ll want to talk to me. J.J., can you check on the others and see how they’re doing? I’ll be there as soon as I figure this out.”
Like a well-oiled machine, the two left the room just as Shane clicked call on the first number. He explained that he needed to get to Tampa as soon as possible, and they told him they couldn’t make it happen until the next day. The same happened with the second number, and the third. Shane refused to lose hope, staring angrily at the floor as he clicked on the fourth.
“Hi.” Shane exhaled when it connected and the company introduced themselves. “I need to get to Tampa as soon as possible. Just one individual, and no return trip set.”
“What’s your budget?”
Shane felt his heart skip. Every other company had started with a time, or a polite explanation that ASAP wasn’t really a thing, or said they didn’t have the availability. “No budget,” Shane said simply, because he didn’t have one. Whatever it cost would be fine – he had more than enough.
There was some typing on the other side of the line. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Shane Hollander.”
“Mr. Hollander,” the person on the line said, sounding like he recognised Shane’s name. There was more typing. Then, like music to Shane’s ears, “We can get you in the air in an hour.”
Shane almost started crying again. “Yes,” he breathed, “perfect.”
He pushed himself through the rest of the conversation and set up what he needed to, easily giving over his bank information without thinking twice about the twenty thousand dollar invoice he was about to get. When the call ended, Shane messaged Yuna – Charter plane, in the air in an hour. – and had just a few seconds to mentally prepare himself before Hayden was opening the door for their coach.
“I’ll go with J.J. and the others.” Hayden said, giving Shane an encouraging smile before closing the door and leaving him and the coach alone.
“Hollander. You wanna tell me why everyone’s acting like this?” He asked, crossing his arms and looking at Shane with a tight expression. “We’re supposed to be on the bus in half an hour.”
“I can’t go with you. The Centuars’ plane went down in Tampa, and I have a flight there in an hour.”
“Tampa.” Coach said flatly. “We have another game across the country in two days, and you want to go to Florida?”
“I don’t want to go, I am going.” Shane clarified firmly. “I’m not asking for permission, Coach. I’m telling you.”
Shane had seen his coach angry before, but he’d never seen it aimed at him. “You may be the captain, Hollander, but that doesn’t mean you can just decide shit like this.”
Shane stood his ground, even as his stomach twisted in anxiety. “I can. I have never asked for a day off, not in the years I’ve played for this team. I’ve missed a total of two games since my rookie season, and this is going to be the third. I’m going to Tampa. Someone important to me is on that plane and I need to know if they’re even alive.”
His coach was quiet for a moment and Shane couldn’t parse whether it was anger or contemplation. “And you expect me to be fine with this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve brought you two fucking cups, and I’m the captain, and you would rather let me miss a game for a family emergency then have me talk with other coaches about a trade.”
The air went still. For a brief, terrible moment, Shane was worried that calling on his influence and power within the Voyagers was the wrong move, that it had backfired on him. Then, Coach nodded. “About time you stood up for yourself.”
Shane felt all of his air leave him as his shoulders dropped and his fists unclenched from where they were at his sides.
Coach continued. “Not the biggest fan of it being me you’re up against, but we’ll work on that. This time, I’ll allow it. Don’t think this would work every time, Hollander, because it won’t. But, you’re serious about this, and I wouldn’t deny anyone who needs to get to an emergency. You’ll be back for our home game next week, though.”
“Deal.” Shane said quickly. “I’ll call you when I know when I’m on my way to Montreal.”
The coach nodded and hummed in agreement, waving dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. You have a flight to catch, so go get your stuff and get out of here.”
Shane practically bolted from the room, racing to the locker room to grab his things. As soon as he made it, all of the team looked up from where they were huddled around a collection of phones. Shane paused, gathering his thoughts and breath, and cleared his throat.
“Listen up,” Shane said, all phones instantly being discarded. “You all are going to get on the bus, and you’re going to try not to think too hard about the Centaurs. Don’t believe everything you see – only pay attention to verified sources, alright? Not some random person on Twitter, or TMZ, or whatever the hell else. Wait for something official from the league, or something from me. Because I’m going down there.”
Instantly, protests echoed through the room. With one look, Shane had them falling silent again. “Coach already knows and cleared it. I have someone important somewhere in that crash, and I’m not finding out online whether they’re alive or not. I’ll be back for the game next week, so listen to Pike for the next one – I’ll tell him what I want you to do. Understand?”
Slowly, everyone nodded. “Alright. Shower and get out of here.”
Everyone kicked up into movement, taking care of everything they needed to as Shane stuffed all of his stuff in his duffel bag, prepared to change either at the hangar or on the flight. The moment everything was in his bag, he marched over to where J.J. and Hayden were still waiting.
“Thank you,” he said, “for earlier. And for picking up where I’m abandoning them.”
Hayden shook his head and squeezed Shane’s shoulder. “No worries. Go check on them and update us, okay?”
Shane nodded and looked at J.J. “We’ll talk more when I’m back. And I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
J.J. nodded. “Be safe.”
“Carrément,” Shane replied, giving J.J. a small smile.
And then, he was gone. Shane barely registered the Uber ride to the hangar or changing into his spare clothes, too busy clinging to his phone for either a call from Ilya or for more news. He texted his parents and then Hayden and J.J. as he stepped onto the plane, and he sank against the seat as they took off. He stared down at Ilya’s DMs, reading them again. Then, slowly and carefully pressing each letter on his keyboard, he responded.
I don’t know if you’re reading this. But if you are, I’m on my way. Wait for me, baby. I love you. If you can, call me.
He stared out the window for the rest of the flight. This compartmentalisation and disassociation wasn’t foreign to him, and it was the same as it had been in the past; Shane blinked and they were landing. He looked at his phone and didn’t see anything other than a few casual messages from his teammates and one from his dad asking him to message when he landed, which he answered immediately. Shane profusely thanked the pilot and attendant and managed to get directions to a car rental place. From there, it was shockingly easy to rent a vehicle and drive to the crash site, the radio blasting updates as he drove.
The hard part came when he made it to the site and parked just outside the yellow tape. Emergency personnel stood around everywhere, and Shane made it barely two steps beyond the tape before a group of cops and people in suits were stepping in front of him.
“This is a closed site,” one said quickly, holding an arm out to block Shane. “Only family allowed.”
“I am family.” Shane argued, because he was. Ilya was his family, a crucial part of it, and that made Shane Ilya’s family as well.
One of the guys in suits pulled out a small notepad. “What’s your name and who are you looking for? We will confirm it and get back to you afte-”
“Fuck that,” Shane practically shouted. “Ilya Rozanov. Tell me where he is.”
“We can’t disclose-”
Shane scoffed and stepped past the arm, stopping again when people eclipsed his vision. A suit said, “Sir, you can’t go down there.”
“Are you going to tell me where Ilya Rozanov is? Fuck, can you even tell me if he’s alive?”
The cops and suits were quiet.
“Then I’m going down there.”
“Stop.” One of the men in a suit said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Wait for a minute and we’ll figure out what we can tell you, alright?”
Shane nodded. Apparently, being demanding and insisting actually got results – it’d worked with his coach and with these people, at least. He waited where he was while they all walked off. Shane’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he glanced at it; a message from Hayden sat at the top of his notifications.
Careful, there’s press.
A link was after it and Shane clicked on it. Instantly, he was staring at a video of himself from a weird sideways angle. He recognised his side profile and haircut, even with him entirely facing away. Shane turned slightly one way and stared at the screen, watching as a few seconds later the video-Shane turned the wrong direction. Now, Shane knew where the camera was; he turned quickly, squinting and making out the small huddle of people standing behind some wooden barriers, cameras amongst them. Shane’s stomach flipped at the idea of them catching him being rude on camera or him having a breakdown when the people came back to tell him an update on Ilya. Rumours were going to fly and a part of Shane realised he should panic about that, about everything unravelling around him, but he couldn’t when he still didn’t know where Ilya was. He looked back down at his phone – SHANE HOLLANDER SPOTTED AT CENTAURS CRASH, the title of the live feed read.
Spotted, Shane thought deliriously, like I’m a fucking Pokémon. Like I’m not in distress like everyone else.
It was only because he was already staring at his phone that he saw the Instagram DM notification pop up.
Message Request: Svetlana Vetrova [@svetaofficial]
Shane felt his heart stop for a second before it kicked into overdrive, racing as Shane clicked on the message.
hello, hollander. this is ilyusha’s friend. he is alive and awake.
Beneath it was an address. Shane put it in his maps and it popped up with the nearest hospital and fuck, Shane felt his entire world spin as he turned on his heel and raced back to his car, his fingers fumbling and shaking as he put the key in the ignition and started the car. His heart raced in his ears as he drove, just shy of speeding, and he stared at the little blue line on the map as the time counted down to him getting to the hospital.
When he made it to the parking lot, he practically fell out of the car in his rush and slammed the door closed a bit too harshly behind him, frantically messaging Svetlana back.
I’m here. Just tell me where to go.
Shane stared down at the message as he walked into the lobby, his heart in his throat. The three little dots showing Svetlana typing felt like they were made to taunt him – Shane needed to get his eyes on Ilya. She’d said he was alive and awake, but Shane couldn’t reconcile it with the image of the burning plane in his mind until he saw it for himself.
tell receptionist. you are now authorised visitor. 6th floor.
Shane pocketed his phone and made it to the desk, biting at his lip in anxiety as he stood in a fucking line for almost ten minutes. Finally, finally, he made it to the front. “Hi,” he exhaled. “I’m here to see Ilya Rozanov.”
The woman raised an eyebrow. “Name and ID?”
“Shane Hollander. I should be on the list.” Shane said as he dug in his pocket for his wallet, quickly pulling out his ID and sliding it through the small crack in a plastic barrier to her. He whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “Please.”
A few moments of typing, a few moments of waiting. Then, “Alright, Mr. Hollander.”
She slid his ID and a name tag back. “Put that on somewhere visible and don’t take it off. Mr. Rozanov is on the sixth floor, room 607. Take the elevators to your left.”
“Thank you,” he said as he snatched everything up and strode to the elevator, jamming the 6 button hard enough to hurt his finger. He bounced on his feet as the lift rose and was already moving forward before the doors opened. He scanned every door as he walked down the hallway – 601, 602, 603, 604, 605, 606 – and then stopped.
For just a moment, he paused. He had no idea what he was about to walk into. What if Ilya was severely hurt? What if he’d lost a limb or had a massive injury to his face? What if he didn’t remember who Shane was?
Shane took a steadying breath and remembered what his mother had said about the what-if game. He steeled his nerves and stepped forward, pushing open the door to Ilya. The second he was inside, he absolutely lost it.
–
Ilya was half-certain he might be dead. There was no other explanation for Shane walking into his room and whispering his name like it was something reverent.
“Ilya,” Shane exhaled, his big, brown eyes instantly filling with tears.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Ilya greeted, a smile creeping onto his face despite how it pulled at the bandage on his jawline. Like the nickname was a release command, Shane launched forward, tears racing down his cheeks as he delicately – so very delicately – held Ilya’s face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.
“I thought you were dead,” Shane sobbed, wet and distraught and in so much pain that it made Ilya’s heart ache something miserable. “I thought I lost you. Ilya.”
“You did not lose me.” Ilya reassured, carefully lifting the hand Svetlana wasn’t holding to bring it to Shane’s arm, loosely encircling Shane’s wrist and running his thumb over Shane’s pulse point, feeling it jackrabbiting beneath his finger. “I am here, I am okay.”
Shane nodded against Ilya’s forehead and shit, it strained Ilya’s neck a bit but he leaned up the last few millimetres to press his lips against Shane’s. Instantly, Shane was collapsing against him, salty tears making their way into the kiss as Shane cried and kissed Ilya like he could singlehandedly fix the smoke inhalation Ilya had gone through if he breathed enough air into his mouth.
“I will leave,” Svetlana announced, squeezing Ilya’s hand. Ilya pulled back from Shane, memorising the teary, relieved, loving look on Shane’s face before turning to Svetlana.
“Just a few minutes,” he said in Russian, glancing at Shane as he spoke. “I think he needs a moment. Could you try to find him some water? He’ll say he won’t need it, but he does.”
Sveta nodded and squeezed Ilya’s hand again before standing, giving Shane a small smile before quietly leaving the room. Shane reached backwards and pulled a chair closer to the edge of Ilya’s bed, sinking into it and carefully bringing Ilya’s hand down until he was intertwining their fingers and pressing kisses against the back of his hand. Ilya blamed it on the drugs and the near-death experience, but it took him a few seconds to recognise that Shane was purposefully avoiding eye contact.
“Hey.” Ilya said, moving his hand so that he could push Shane’s chin up so they could make eye contact again. “Talk to me.”
“These have been the worst four hours of my life,” Shane admitted with a weak laugh. “I thought you were dead, Ilya. I was preparing myself to get here and have to help with funeral arrangements because I was so scared. I saw your messages and all I could think about was how much I love you and about our stupid fight and-”
“Shane.”
“-and I felt like I was dying, Ilya, fuck. I couldn’t breathe because I didn’t know what was wrong, and I didn’t know what happened, and all I had were your final fucking words and-”
“Shane.”
Ilya felt a tear slip out of his own eye and Shane quickly moved to wipe it off of Ilya’s cheek before it could make contact with the bandage on his face. “I am alright. Some issues from breathing in smoke and I will have a scar on my face from hitting the sharp metal, but I am okay. Not even a concussion, just some muscle pain. Your boyfriend is alive and will have new, sexy scar. This is a good deal, yes?”
Shane laughed, dipping his head to sniffle and wipe away some tears. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good deal.”
Ilya hummed. “Then everything is good. My team is okay, and I am okay, and you are okay. I love you.”
“I love you,” Shane echoed, looking up at Ilya and letting go of Ilya’s hand as he brought it to his own cheek, Ilya’s hand cupping the side of Shane’s face and running his thumb over the edge of Shane’s freckles.
“I love you so much,” Shane continued. He laughed, almost disbelieving. “I had to charter a private plane to get here. I snapped at my coach. Fuck, Ilya, you wouldn’t believe the day I had.”
“I think I might win the bad day competition.”
“It’s not a competition, Ilya, Jesus.”
“No, is always a competition between us. I score a goal, you score two. You take private plane, I get in plane crash. It is how we keep it interesting.”
Shane laughed, shaking his head against Ilya’s hand. “You’re crazy.”
“Oh, yes. I win that competition too.”
“Ilya.”
“What?” Ilya protested, a smile creeping onto his face and definitely pulling at his stitches but fuck, it was impossible not to smile when the love of his life was next to him, despite all odds. “I said it, this is how we keep it interesting.”
“I don’t want interesting, at least not for a little bit, okay? I want us to get some rest and recuperate.”
“Re-what?”
“Heal. Recover.”
Ilya nodded in understanding and finally let his hand drop, the muscle straining from exertion and how weak he was. Shane guided it back down to the hospital bed and intertwined their fingers again. “I want that. My team will not be playing for a while, I think. So we will have time. Do you?”
“I have until next Tuesday.” Shane answered, his ears turning a bit red. Ilya latched onto it immediately.
“Oh? Is this to do with your snapping at coach?”
“I, uh, told him he could either let me come here or he could deal with me talking to other coaches.”
Ilya gasped dramatically, going for comedic effect – gasp, Hollander, you would leave Montreal for me? – but it immediately backfired when he choked, coughing and gasping for real. His stupid lungs; he had smoked many cigarettes in his life and he was fine, but a small plane fire had fucked them up completely. Ilya waved off Shane’s panicked questions as he felt the coughing begin to subside, sinking against his pillows as soon as he got whatever was in his lungs out.
“Piece of advice for you: do not inhale smoke.” Ilya said, his voice scratchy from coughing.
“Noted,” Shane said, answering the joke but clearly still too worried for his response to land the way he intended it to. “Are you alright? Really. No jokes.”
Ilya exhaled. “Yes. Not great, obviously, but it could be worse. I am lucky and grateful to be alive – that all of us are alive.”
“How is everyone else?” Shane asked, placated by Ilya’s answer but clearly still wanting more.
“Alright. Luca – Haas – is in best condition. I blame his youth. Only a few scratches and minor…whiplash? Yes, whiplash. Bood is bad; a few broken bones that needed emergency surgery. He will be out the rest of the season, I’m sure.” Ilya explained. He hated thinking about his team being hurt, and he hated thinking about the fact that the Ottawa Centaurs as a whole were likely going to be out for the rest of the season. They didn’t have enough people on reserve to cover the entire team, and there weren’t enough people on the team who would be able to play in a timely manner. All of them had months of PT and mental recovery in their future.
The door opened, revealing Svetlana. She held a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of water in her other, quickly offering the water to Shane. Shane turned to hold it out to Ilya, who laughed and pushed it back towards him.
“For you, Shane. You look like you need it.” Ilya explained, because he did. He loved Shane, always, and thought he was beautiful, always, but Shane looked utterly exhausted and was far too pale. His eyes seemed permanently red-rimmed and Ilya knew he had to be dehydrated from how much he’d cried. He looked like a mess, but Ilya was helplessly in love with him regardless.
Shane dutifully drank the water, downing half the cup at once. “Thank you,” he said to Sveta, always polite.
“It is just water. Ilya told me to get it for you.” Svetlana answered, shrugging as she sat down in her own chair on the other side of Ilya.
Shane shook his head, though. “Not just for the water. For messaging me.”
Ilya was confused. He looked between the two of them, trying to connect the dots. “I am his emergency contact, so they called me. I was already in Tampa for the game, so it did not take long to get here. I saw the video of you here and I knew you would be looking for him. It would not have been fair for me to keep that information to myself.”
“How did you know to tell me?” Shane asked quickly, glancing at Ilya quickly. “I mean, did he tell you about us? Before?”
Sveta laughed. “No, but he did not need to. He was always texting Jane, and he had an obsession with you. It was not hard to put it together. But then, the hot nurse brought him to me and do you know what he said?”
Ilya knew this part. “Sveta,” he warned, embarrassment flicking across him.
Svetlana steamrolled ahead. “He asked me where his sunshine was. His sunshine. I have never heard him call someone his sunshine, so I look at him like he is idiot, because he is. He looked at me like I am idiot, which I am not, and says, so sweet, ‘My Shane.’ After that, I had no doubts.”
Shane turned and looked at Ilya with the largest grin Ilya had ever seen on his face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright and looking like everything Ilya had ever wanted in his life. “Really? Sunshine?”
“Look at you,” Ilya countered petulantly. “It can not be argued.”
“Your sunshine. You’re such a sap.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ilya said, earning laughter from Svetlana. She’d just taught him that phrase a few weeks ago.
Shane stood quickly just so he could lean over and kiss Ilya again, bringing Ilya a bit closer to alive with each press of his lips. “The sun always comes back,” Shane said against Ilya’s mouth. He pulled back just enough to look Ilya in the eyes. “I’ll always come back to you too. Doesn’t matter if it’s Ottawa, or Boston, or Tampa, or wherever the fuck else you might go. I’ll never leave you alone, Ilya.”
“I want to marry you,” Ilya whispered in Russian in response.
“Oh my God. You two are so sweet this is going to make me vomit.” Svetlana cut in, having understood both of them. “I will go flirt with the pretty nurse now.”
Ilya didn’t even spare his best friend another look, sure that she would return in a bit. Instead, he stayed focused on Shane. “I will not leave either, Shane. Stupid plane cannot take me away.”
Shane couldn’t hold back a smile. “Y’know, Hayden said the same thing.”
Ilya huffed and leaned away, dropping against the pillow with a dramatic pout. “You come all the way here to talk about Pike. This is twisted, Shane.”
“Twisted?” Shane echoed, jaw dropped in amused disbelief.
“Yes, twisted. Bad. Fucked up.”
“I know what ‘twisted’ means, I just don’t think it applies here. You know what’s twisted?”
“Hmm?”
“That you apparently call me your sunshine and you weren’t going to tell me.”
“Shane,” Ilya whined. “I am hurt. I survived plane crash. I have had a very bad day and you are teasing me?”
“Of course,” Shane answered, truly smiling. “I don’t know how fitting the nickname is, though.”
Ilya frowned. Shane visibly brightened every room he walked into and Ilya depended on him the same way the earth depended on the sun to exist. He thought the nickname was very fitting. Still, he asked, “Why not?”
Shane moved carefully, bringing his fingers up to Ilya’s golden curls. “Because you’re the one who looks like the sun, baby. Glowing and golden.”
Maybe I really did die, Ilya thought for a moment as his heart raced in his chest. Shane’s words ran on repeat in his head – glowing and sun and golden and baby – and Ilya was certain that he had to be dead, that this had to be some divine afterlife that he was being rewarded with. His boyfriend was calling him pretty things and pet names and running his hands through Ilya’s hair with the most lethally beautiful smile on his face and Ilya was a weak, helpless man.
“The moment we get out of here,” Ilya said through a carefully steadied breath, “I am going to give you the best sex of your life.”
“Moment’s ruined,” Shane sighed, faux exasperation on his face.
“You can not call me these things and expect me to not want to fuck you.”
“Are you that easy? All it takes are some nice words?”
“Yes.” Ilya agreed easily.
“Alright, sunshine.”
Ilya lifted his hand to weakly smack at Shane’s arm and earned a boisterous laugh in response, the freest Shane had sounded since he’d walked into the room. He seemed relaxed now that he knew Ilya really was alright. Ilya got lost in watching Shane, addicted to his happiness, and only looked away when Shane’s phone buzzed insistently. Shane looked down at it quickly, picking it up just as fast.
“My dad,” he explained. “I said I’d update them.”
Ilya shifted in his hospital bed, pushing his sore muscles so that he could sit up a bit better. “Call them. I want to talk to them.”
“Are you up for that?” Shane asked, just to confirm.
“Yes.” Ilya insisted. “Let me see Yuna and David.”
Shane nodded and messaged on his phone and Ilya continued to watch him. Ilya fought with himself, half of him absolutely terrified and the other so relieved it felt like a drug.
People had seen Shane get there, and conclusions were sure to be drawn; everyone would connect it to Ilya, easily. There was no other reason Shane would drop everything and fly to Florida – Ilya was the only person on the team that he knew well enough for that, and the world knew it. Maybe they could spin it as Shane’s concern about his partner in running the foundation, or Ilya could take the blame and say he’d contacted Shane because he had no one else. It wasn’t entirely a lie – Ilya didn’t really have anyone else, only Svetlana – and Ilya could take the hit to his pride about how sad it made him seem. He was scared about what the press would say, about how Shane would react; his boyfriend was easily scared off, and Ilya was terrified that Shane would freak out once the adrenaline wore off.
On the other hand, Ilya was over the moon. He may have almost died, and he may have almost lost his entire team, but it had brought Shane back to him. When they’d fought and he’d pushed Shane away, he’d almost been worried he’d ruined something between them completely. Instead, Shane had fought to cross multiple states to get to him and was now setting up a call with his parents and Ilya. Despite the literal plane crash and the way it would irrevocably change Ilya as a person, he was still almost grateful. He already had scars and trauma – one more version of each was nothing if it meant seeing Shane for however long they had before he inevitably had to go back to his team. Everything was worth it. Ilya owed Svetlana a very nice bottle of vodka and a sincere thank you for her intuitiveness in contacting Shane and for always coming to Ilya’s aid, time and time again. She’d refuse it, of course, but Ilya would insist, and Sveta would accept because she knew how much this meant to him.
For now, though, Ilya just watched Shane. He’d spent what he’d thought were his final moments looking at a picture of him, but nothing compared to seeing Shane Hollander in the flesh. Shane was gorgeous, and addictive, and everything Ilya needed in his life. My sunshine, he thought again, leaning into the nickname with the knowledge that Sveta had already exposed him. It suited him so much – Shane’s defense about Ilya being physically more in line with the sun didn’t mean anything to him, not when Shane was this force that Ilya and Shane’s team and the entire fucking hockey league seemed to revolve around. Even now, watching Shane talk to his parents, Ilya couldn’t escape his orbiting path, stuck staring at Shane like it was the only thing keeping him breathing.
In a way, it was.
The sun had risen again, always coming back, and Ilya relished in it.