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Ilya knows that Shane hates coming back to Montreal. The fans are surprisingly supportive, but the men he’d used to play with, used to consider brothers… most of them have made no secret of what they think of Shane now.
And he knows that Shane tries not to let it get to him, to not feel like they hate him for being happy. Like they still think he fucked them over, that he would throw games against a division rival just because Ilya has a nice dick.
He knows that Shane never told them that they never knew a Shane Hollander that wasn’t in love with Ilya Rozanov, even if it took him years to realize it. It would be wasted on them.
The locker room is stiffer than usual, the way it always is when they’re at Centre Bell. Everyone is trying, Ilya can tell. But being here… frankly, it fucking sucks. And it’s never gotten easier. Not once in the year and a half since Shane left, he’s never been less of a target here. Ilya hates them all for it. Hates the way they all — save Pike, which he hates to admit, and Boiziau — turn a blind eye to the way every player targets Shane. Even Drapeau has gotten his hits in, which Ilya would be impressed by if it were anyone else.
“Are you ready?” Ilya asks softly as Shane finishes lacing up his skates. Shane nods tightly.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The game is rough, as expected. Worse than usual, Ilya thinks. They’re not just targeting Shane tonight, though he’s still taking the brunt of it.
The Centaurs are doing their best to rise above it, but even they can only take so much. And it all comes to a head in the third period.
Ilya is on the ice the second the whistle blows, flying to Shane’s side. He’d hit the boards pretty hard, couldn’t catch himself after a dirty cross check from Comeau. Behind him, Ilya can hear shouting, and what’s probably players hitting each other.
“Shane?” Ilya asks, dropping to his knees on the ice.
“Was it Comeau?” Shane asks, voice weak.
“Yeah. Uh, Boodram is taking care of it.” Pike confirms, skating up beside them.
“I should-” Ilya starts.
“Help me up.” Shane interrupts. “I’m fine, he just knocked the wind out of me.”
“You didn’t hit your head?” Pike asks.
“Promise. Landed on my shoulder and slid.” Shane says, sitting up. “Gonna be a hell of a bruise.”
“Moya lyubov'.” Ilya says helplessly.
“He’s not worth it.” Shane insists.
“Someone should tell Boodram…” Hayden says. “Ah, never mind. It’s too late.”
When Ilya finally turns around, Shane more or less steady on his skates, it’s to half the team holding Bood back as he shouts at Comeau, who’s on his hands and knees on the ice., spitting blood.
“See? You didn’t need to get involved.”
“Clearly.” Ilya is kind of impressed, actually. He’s the hottest head on the team, he knows that. That’s why he and Shane aren’t allowed on the same line when they play Montreal — Ilya won’t start the fight, because Shane had made him promise, but he’ll sure as hell finish it. And, apparently, so will Bood.
Good.
“Let them check your shoulder.” Ilya says, herding Shane back towards the bench.
“You good, Hollander?” Wiebe asks. Shane shrugs, then winces. “I see. Hit your head?”
“Just the shoulder.”
Wiebe nods, then steps aside so Shane can get past him to the medics.
“Rozanov, I need you on the ice in his spot.”
Ilya huffs, but nods.
“Are we on power play? Or did they get Bood?”
“They got Bood, but not as long as Comeau. Make them pay for it.”
Ilya plays like a man possessed. He and Troy each score another point by the time Comeau is back on the ice, putting Ottawa up 4-1 over Montreal.
They would win, of course, even though all Shane ever asked was for them to play clean against Montreal. But, since Shane had started playing with the Centaurs, they’d gotten progressively better. The same could not be said for Montreal. If anything, they’d gotten worse.
“Tell Pike he can come out with us tonight.” Ilya says later, when he and Shane are in their hotel room, changing out of their game day suits.
“I’ll ask if he wants to.” Shane says, rolling his eyes. He turns to grab his phone off the bed, his bruised shoulder facing Ilya. The medical staff at the arena had said there was no significant damage, luckily. It would be sore for a few days, and bruise spectacularly, but Shane was clear to play if he wanted to.
Luckily, they had a day to travel and a day off before their next home game, so they wouldn’t have to stress it immediately.
Ilya drifts over to him almost unconsciously, pressing a gentle kiss to the discolored skin. Shane hisses out a breath, but doesn’t move away.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt.”
“I’m sorry Comeau turned out to be such a piece of shit.” Shane scoffs.
“Yes, that too.” Ilya agrees.
“Hayden wants to know where we’re going.”
“We could go to Ultraviolet.” Ilya teases.
“I don’t know which one of us had a worse time that night.” Shane sighs.
“At least you got laid that night. I was all alone in my shower.”
“I would have rather been there with you.” Shane says, turning and leaning up on his toes to kiss Ilya.
“Sap.”
“You still married me.”
Ilya’s own phone dings from the other side of the room, pulling him reluctantly away from Shane.
“Hazy sent the name of different club.” Ilya reports, tossing his phone so Shane can see it.
“I’ll let him know. And now we have to go, by the way. If you hadn’t invited Hayden, we could have told everyone that my shoulder hurts and we’re staying in.”
“We would not have to lie about your shoulder, sweetheart. They know us.”
“But now Hayden will be disappointed if we don’t go.” Shane continues like Ilya hadn’t spoken.
“Hazy sent us dance club. You can sit with Pike at table, Troy and I will dance. Will be fun.” Ilya shrugs. Shane smiles over at him.
It probably will be fun. But honestly, Ilya is already thinking about the things he wants to do to his husband when they get back to the hotel.
That can wait for a bit, though. Ilya knows that Shane likes to watch him dance. And maybe tonight will be the night Ilya gets him on the dance floor, too.
"Ready?"
"Ready."