Chapter Text
SHANE
The Bell Centre used to be one of Shane’s favorite places. He’d probably never forget the rush of joy he felt every time he played with his decade-long teammates in their hometown, listening to the wildest cheers from their fans. It was one of his safe spaces.
Now, stepping into the arena for the first time since he left the Voyageurs felt like pouring salt on an open wound. He was making all the effort he could to fight tears that threatened to fall – his body’s way of reminding him something his mind had been trying so hard to shut down: he was still incredibly hurt about the way things ended. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the way the team turned their backs on him after everything he gave them. Years of commitment, loyalty and abdications – all of it thrown in the trash because they couldn’t accept the person he loved with his whole heart and soul.
Ilya. The person whose existence gave more meaning to Shane’s life. The person whose mere presence was able to give Shane a sense of safety, like an anchor amidst a storm. The person whose mere touch was enough to break down all the walls Shane had put up for the world around him. With Ilya, he didn’t have to play any roles or wear any mask. He didn’t have to adjust or change anything about himself to meet any expectations or fit into any label. With Ilya, he could just be.
That was something the Voyageurs seemed to be completely unable to understand, and Shane himself was unable to explain. And although he knew he didn’t owe anyone any explanations, it was still unsettling to feel so judged and misunderstood.
After getting lost in his thoughts for a couple of minutes in the corridor, Shane figured everyone was probably already getting ready for the game, so he rushed to the locker room and tried his best not to let anyone see through his fake happy demeanor. He kept repeating to himself that he only had to make it through the game and he would later be rewarded with a cozy night at home with the love of his life.
Shane was still adapting to his new team. Another reason leaving Montreal was so hard – he had lost something extremely precious: predictability. With the Voyageurs his brain didn’t have to work so much on planning his steps ahead or trying to codify the meaning behind anything. He already knew by heart how everyone and everything worked, which gave him a sense of stability that was very much needed for his peace of mind. Now, with the Centaurs, Shane was taking his time to get used to the team, the coach, the staff – basically everything.
Everyone was nice to him and Ilya’s presence made the whole process much easier, but Shane knew it would still take some time for him to feel 100% comfortable as a Centaur (if he was ever going to) and he was okay with that. Because now he got to play alongside his husband on a team that supported them and their love, and that was worth all the difficulties that came with readjustment.
As soon as he got to the locker room, he saw Ilya and Troy laughing together, which put the first genuine smile on his face since he arrived at the Bell Centre. Shane never mentioned it to any of them, but their friendship made him extremely happy. It was wonderful to see Ilya being loved and appreciated for who he was, without having to earn or give anything. He just wished more people could have access to this caring, loving and funny version of Ilya – his true version by the way, not the one the media created of him. He wished more people knew how easy Ilya was to love.
Shane quietly got closer to the boys, giving Ilya a back hug.
“Hey guys.”
“Sweetheart!” Ilya exclaimed as he turned to give Shane a proper hug. “We were just talking about you.”
“Only good things, I hope?”
Troy smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “He was just telling me about your apparently unhealthy obsession with Ginger Ale.”
Shane pulled back from Ilya and pretended to be offended. “I’m not obsessed with it, it’s just my go-to drink! And I’m not a fan of alcohol.”
“No judging, man!” Troy said as he started putting on his gear. “I know how Roz can be dramatic and exaggerated.”
It was Ilya’s turn to defend himself. “I’m not exaggerating! Trust me, Shane should be their ambassador. Would make lots of money.”
The three men kept making small talk while everyone was putting on their equipment. After putting his helmet on, Shane was feeling more lightheaded than when he arrived. He was mentally preparing to head to the rink, taking a few deep breaths, when Ilya noticed and came to check on him.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. I mean, kind of. It just feels weird being here as their opponent after everything we went through. You know, many of the guys were almost like family to me and… I miss that. I miss them.”
“Ah, moya lyubov…” Ilya rubbed Shane’s back and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “They don’t deserve you at all, but I know it is hard to let go. Maybe one day Centaurs will feel like family too, yes?”
Shane smiled faintly. “Yes, maybe.” He really wished that would happen – almost just as much as he wished he could move on once and for all from his past team.
Ilya knew Shane was hurting far more than he let it show. “Look, one day it won’t hurt so much anymore, I promise. Until then, you can count on me. And the team. They really want to know you more and be friends with you.”
“Really?” Shane was so focused on trying to process what had happened in the last few months that he hadn’t really paid much attention to what was going on around him in the present. “They really wanna be friends with me?”
“Of course they do! But they feel it is hard to approach you because you always look so… closed.” Ilya tried to put it in a way that wouldn’t hurt Shane’s feelings.
“Yeah, I know I haven’t been the most charismatic person.” Shane admitted. “I guess I wasn’t ready to let anyone get too close because I felt so betrayed by Montreal, and I needed some space. But I’ll try to be more open. I wanna be friends with them, too. They make you happy, so they must be good people.”
“They are.” Ilya smiled. “Very good people. And when you’re ready, you will see that for yourself.”
Shane nodded, feeling hopeful in a way he hadn’t felt yet since signing with Ottawa. Maybe Ilya was right and things would actually be alright. Maybe one day he would be able to call the Centaurs his new family. But right now, his focus was getting through the game, then going home and cuddling with his husband for the rest of the night. That’s what he really needed today.
They both headed to the rink and rapidly started doing the warm-ups, preparing themselves to give Montreal a lesson.
ILYA
Ilya noticed that something was off during breakfast – Shane was never very talkative early in the morning but today he was quieter than usual. Hollander had been dreading today’s match the whole week; the anticipation of playing against his former teammates (and friends) was eating him alive. Ilya wanted so badly to take that weight off of his husband’s shoulders, but he knew better than to try to push Shane into opening up when he still wasn’t ready. So instead, Ilya decided to approach everything as lightly as possible in hopes that it would take away some of Shane’s stress.
“I got a feeling I’m going to do a hat trick today.”
“You do?” Shane put some fruits in a blender to make himself a smoothie.
“Yes, and every goal is going to be dedicated to you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You should be. Not everyone has this honor!” Ilya replied louder because of the blender’s noise.
“Well, I’m not feeling as confident about today. I guess I need to come up with something to distract myself.”
“Hayes invited to have lunch together. Why don’t you come?”
“I don’t think I’m in the mood to hang out before the game.” Shane answered while pouring his smoothie into a cup, without looking at Ilya.
“Come on, Barret and Haas will be there too!” Ilya exclaimed as if this information would suddenly make Shane change his mind.
“You guys have fun. I’ll meet you at the arena, okay?” Shane looked at Ilya, his eyes delivering the message please don’t insist.
Ilya gave him a nod. He knew Shane wasn’t really close to the guys on the team yet and had a hard time being social when his mind was racing with anxiety.
“Okay, but tell me if you change your mind. We can take them to your favorite place.” He knew that wasn’t happening; he just hoped that by the time Shane arrived at the Bell Centre, he’d be feeling better.
⁕
When Hollander finally got to the arena, not long after the rest of the team but later than he normally would, Rozanov noticed the lingering tension in his demeanor – shoulders high and stiff, fingers repeatedly rubbing against each other, minimal eye contact with everyone.
Ilya hated seeing his husband so tense, especially when he was about to play hockey, which would normally lift his spirits. He wished he could take every ounce of pain from Shane and give it to the Voyageurs. They deserved it, after what they did to him. Ilya still couldn’t believe how easily they turned their backs on Shane, their captain – the man that gave his blood, sweat and tears for that team over a decade. He also couldn’t help but feel this was all his fault, cursing at himself for bringing so much trouble into Shane’s life.
Once he was done with the warm-up he went to the bench to get some water. To his right, a few meters away, he saw Shane talking to Hayden Pike. He was the only one of the Voyageurs who had Shane’s back the entire time and fiercely defended him from all the ridiculous accusations. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, Ilya was aware that after spending so much time together over the last decade, there were some parts of Shane that Hayden had access to that Ilya didn’t. They used to always be a duo at practices, on airplanes, in hotel rooms and during most of the free time they had. Now, even after Shane leaving Montreal, their friendship was as strong as ever. Ilya had always been extremely jealous but also really glad that Shane had such a true and loyal friend by his side.
He would probably never say that out loud, though. If there was anything stronger than his gratitude, it was his commitment to pissing Hayden off at any given opportunity.
Troy appeared out of nowhere, breaking Ilya’s train of thought. “Hey, how’s Hollander doing? He seems a little off today.”
Ilya gave him a little smile, appreciative of Barret’s perception and concern. “Not great. Today is first time he plays against Montreal since he left, so he is a bit tense. He didn’t leave on good terms with them.”
“Damn, that must be really shitty.”
“Yes, and they are all bunch of assholes. That’s why we need to fucking destroy them tonight.”
“Oh, you can count on me for that. I can’t wait to smash these fuckers.”
Ilya traced every single one of the Voyageurs with his eyes, his blood boiling with anger. He wanted to make them pay for what they did to Shane in the best (and probably only) way he could: humiliating them in their hometown. He was going to do everything in his power to guarantee not only that Ottawa would win, but that Montreal would go home in shambles, with their tails between their legs. He couldn’t wait to get started.
⁕
Ilya was glad to realize that once the game started, Shane’s anxiety practically disappeared. Hollander was so focused on his own movements and on winning the game that there was no room for ruminating about his anger now. Playing side by side was also therapeutic for both of them in its own way – they brought out the best in each other, always in synchrony, like they could read each other’s minds and know in advance what the next move would be. It was almost like a show apart from the match.
Ilya was playing more aggressively than usual. He was not a soft player – almost every adversary knew that all too well – but today he truly wasn’t holding against anyone. Every time he slammed a Voyageur onto the boards, he’d chuckle proudly at himself, having way more fun with it than he probably should.
He knew Shane was playing with the same fury, every movement sharp and strong, barely giving his opponents any chance to steal the puck back. Despite that, he still hadn’t scored today, only assisting Ilya on the team’s first goal.
In the last period, Ottawa and Montreal were tied 2-2. There were still seven minutes left and Shane was determined to score the winning goal; he could almost taste the victory already, and he wouldn’t let it slip for anything. After winning a face-off, he charged towards Montreal’s defensive zone, dribbling past every player who came his way.
Ilya was just a little behind, giving Shane space to finish his play. The Russian was almost ready to celebrate the goal when a defender from Montreal appeared out of nowhere and pushed Hollander onto the boards with brutal force.
The sound of Shane’s body hitting the boards was staggering, followed by a silence rarely seen at a hockey game or any sporting event at all. It was like everyone in the arena had gone mute and still for a couple of seconds. Shane was passed out in an awkward position, limbs spread out at angles they definitely weren’t supposed to be. His stick was under him but far from his hands. He looked like a puppet whose strings had been cut, sprawled on the ice.
At first, it felt like it was an out-of-body experience for Ilya – like he wasn’t actually there and instead it was his spirit watching the scene from above, unable to intervene in any way. It was only when he was kneeling right in front of Shane that he realized he was, in fact, there, and this was fucking real, not a nightmare or a hallucination.
“Shane, can you hear me?”
The complete lack of reaction or movement was unsettling.
“Shane, open your eyes for me, please!”
Initially, Ilya didn’t want to touch Shane, afraid he might hurt him even more. But when he noticed drops of blood dripping from Shane’s helmet onto the ice, his mind went into full panic mode, and he immediately started to remove the helmet to see where exactly the blood was coming from. By that point, they were surrounded by at least ten players, everyone frenetically calling for the paramedics.
When Ilya got hold of Shane’s head, he realized there was a deep laceration right above Shane’s left ear, from which blood was violently pouring out. With trembling hands, he began applying pressure on the wound, trying to ignore the nauseating smell of copper filling the air.
Through his peripheral vision, he could see Hayden also kneeling next to Shane’s legs, trying to sound reassuring, but the desperation in his voice revealed otherwise.
“Hold on, buddy, they’re coming for you. It’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay.”
Three paramedics arrived with bags full of equipment and a spinal board. A woman who looked like she was still in her mid-twenties approached Ilya with a gentle but firm tone.
“Rozanov, I’m gonna need you to give us some space so we can assist him, okay?” She took Ilya’s hands out of the way and immediately grabbed Shane’s head before it lolled to the side, applying pressure on the gash.
Ilya didn’t have the force to answer, so he just stayed there and let them do their job. His eyes were going back and forth between the paramedics’ hands and Shane’s head, observing their precise movements like it was a well-coordinated choreography. He silently watched as they immobilized Shane’s neck, checked his airway, fitted him with an oxygen mask and controlled the bleeding with a large gauze.
By the time they started moving Shane to the spinal board, Ilya finally found the strength to get up. “I’m his husband, I’m coming with him.”
The female medic gave him a nod. “Alright, follow us.” They left the rink surrounded by the loud noise of the crowd clapping and the players hitting their sticks on the ice, as a sign of respect.
When they reached the tunnel, Barret was standing there with Ilya’s phone in one hand and a pair of sneakers in the other. “I got these for you, Roz.”
Ilya mouthed a thank you, dropped the phone in his pocket, took off his skates faster than he ever had, and put on the sneakers while walking behind the paramedics. He felt such an overwhelming gratitude for Troy in that moment and made a mental note to properly thank him later. Right now, though, the only important thing was to get to the ambulance.
⁕
Sitting on the narrow bench of the vehicle, Ilya took a deep breath in and allowed himself a closer look at Shane. He was as white as the sheets beneath him, forehead soaked in sweat and lips completely drained of blood. His breath was shallow and uneven, like the air had to fight its way into his lungs.
The paramedics adjusted Shane’s oxygen, connected him to a cardiac monitor and established an IV line with fluids. They kept informing each other of numbers, abbreviations and the names of substances that Ilya had no idea what they meant and probably wouldn’t understand even if they spoke Russian.
Ilya knew that everything they were doing was with the sole purpose of keeping Shane alive, but it still made him clench his jaw to see the paramedics being so… calm. For them, it was just a matter of protocol; a patient like any other. But for Ilya, it was the love of his life, his heart and soul outside of his body, and it was killing him not to be able to do anything useful while those people treated the situation with so much normalcy.
The gauze wrapped around part of Shane’s head was completely stained red by now, the dried blood forming a trail along the left side of his face, ear, chin, and neck beneath the collar.
The reality of the situation was starting to kick in, but Ilya still couldn’t quite comprehend how it had happened. One minute he was watching his husband skating across the rink with overflowing confidence and power; the next, all he saw was Shane lying motionless on the ice. Did Hollander even see Montreal's defenseman? Could he have dodged him? Why the hell did that player come in with so much force? Was that some sort of fucked-up act of revenge for Shane’s “betrayal”?
Rozanov’s mind was buzzing with a million questions like those, and he was almost convinced that the paramedics could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was his anxiety messing with his brain or the fact that seeing Shane in such a fragile state felt like actual physical torture, but he could swear they had been in that ambulance for two hours now. It had probably been about ten minutes though.
His phone was vibrating nonstop inside his pocket, and he knew he should probably take it; it could be their coach or Yuna and David. Ilya knew everyone was probably going crazy without any news about Shane, and they deserved to know what was going on right now, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do anything besides stare at his wounded husband. He was afraid that if he took his eyes off Shane for even a minute, something catastrophic might happen.
It was only when Ilya grabbed Shane’s hand that he realized his own hands were still covered with Hollander’s blood. Ilya was suddenly aware that most of his body was stained deep crimson and he felt an urge to rip off his clothes and skin. Instead, he tightened his grip on his husband’s palm.
“I’m here, moya lyubov, you’re not alone.” He whispered softly. “I just need you to be strong, okay? I know you are, you’re the strongest person I know. So hold on for me, okay?”
Shane hadn’t even attempted to open his eyes once since the collision. He hadn’t made any sound, hadn’t moved any part of his body. He had absolutely no reaction to anything. If it weren’t for the heart monitor, Ilya would probably think he was dead.
He shut that thought down as fast as possible. “How much time until hospital?”
“We’ll be there in 5 minutes.”
Ilya really couldn’t stand being there any longer inside that small ambulance. But at the same time, he was terrified of what was going to happen at the hospital. What were they going to do to Shane? What was Ilya going to do while waiting? What if they came back hours later only to tell him his husband had died?
Ilya kissed Shane’s fingers, the smell of iron met his lips. His mind was filled with flashbacks of the many moments he and Shane had lived up until that day, the ups and downs they had faced, all the pain and fear they had to endure alone before they could finally be together and share their burdens, before they could love each other loudly and freely. They hadn’t had nearly enough time to enjoy their newly gained freedom, and now Ilya felt that everything they had fought so hard to build was crumbling right in front of his eyes.
“We still have so much to do together, sweetheart. You have to stay by my side until I’m grumpy old man with white hair and wrinkles.” Ilya’s voice came out shaking. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”
Upon arriving at the hospital’s emergency entrance, the paramedics rushed Shane to the ER, saying the doctors would provide updates as soon as possible. Left alone for the first time since the accident, Ilya felt like he was experiencing every possible human emotion while simultaneously feeling nothing at all.
The only thing he could think about was that one time Shane got knocked out in a game years ago and the bittersweetness of how so much was different this time.
The sweet part was that now Ilya didn’t have to hide his worry for Shane; he was able to be by his husband’s side the whole time without anyone wondering why he was there. The bitter – and scariest – part was that this accident was definitely much more serious than the first one, and while he hadn’t yet grasped the extent of the situation, he knew that Shane’s life was at risk and this nightmare had only just begun.