Chapter Text
“I don’t know what else we can do. He still doesn't pick up his phone.”
“What if we say… the video's edited? Obviously that would be a lie. But under the circumstances… anything to help him.”
“This isn’t a normal PR situation. The official statement doesn’t matter—we need the people in Russia to believe it. If we lie, it might even provoke them. Backfire.”
“What about the Raiders?”
“They’ve been… cautious so far—for lack of a better word.”
“Or the ambassador? Can we bring him back through diplomatic channels?”
“Unlikely. He doesn’t have any personal ties here—I mean, officially.”
Shane buried his face in his arms. He folded in on himself, curling into a tight ball, shaking like an abandoned newborn animal.
He could hear Yuna, David, and Ilya’s agent anxiously discussing every possible solution. He tried his best to concentrate. He couldn’t afford to miss a single word.
“I… I’m really sorry,” Hayden whispered hoarsely beside him. “I don’t know what to say… It’s all my fault. I should have been more careful. I’m really sorry, Shane.”
His voice was low, soaked in regret.
Shane forced a sound through his clenched teeth. He hoped Hayden could understand that as some sort of forgiveness. He couldn't speak properly now.
It wasn’t Hayden’s fault. Well… maybe a little. But not on purpose. Hayden never meant to out Ilya—or him. It was just a careless mistake while recording the fan mail feedback video.
And there was no way Hayden could’ve known the fan would upload the clip on social media weeks later—at the worst possible time. When Ilya had gone back to Russia to attend his father’s funeral.
And he might never come back.
The thought stabbed into Shane’s chest like a knife. He curled tighter, trying to contain the pain.
But he forced himself to push it aside.
Not now.
He had to focus.
“What are the chances Russia hasn’t seen the video yet? It’s nighttime there. If we take it down fast enough—”
“I don’t think it’ll work. The video has already gone viral online. Even in Russia. I’d be surprised if it doesn’t make the morning news headlines tomorrow.”
“What if we say it’s not him? Just someone who looks like him?”
“At Hayden Pike’s house? I doubt that will hold up.”
Silence fell over the room.
“I… can’t think of anything else,” Yuna said hoarsely.
“Me neither,” Ilya’s agent agreed quietly.
“How bad could it be?” David asked after a moment. “What would Russia actually do to him if they knew he was with a man?”
“I’m not sure,” the agent admitted. “I’d rather not find out. Worst-case scenario… we’ll still try to extract him afterward.”
The room fell silent again. Heavier this time. Suffocating.
Shane forced himself to lift his head.
“What if I say it was me?”
His voice sounded strange even to his own ears.
“What do you mean, Shane?” David asked gently—too gently, like he was afraid Shane might shatter if he spoke louder.
Shane swallowed hard, forcing his voice to separate from the rest of his shaking body.
“I can say I had a crush on him. That… that I seduced him. He’s not into men. Just… curious.”
The room seemed to freeze. No one spoke. No one commented. They just let the idea settle. Slowly. Heavily.
“You know what that sounds like, baby?” Yuna said carefully. “You could lose—”
“I don’t care!” Shane snapped. “Let everyone think I’m a slut, a whore—I don’t care!”
Some distant part of him realized that, in another time, he would’ve been horrified to say those words in front of his parents. Let alone about himself.
But right now, the part of his brain that felt shame or guilt was paralyzed.
“I don’t fucking care about my reputation—or, or endorsement money! Don’t tell me I need to represent—”
“No, baby,” Yuna interrupted softly. “I meant hockey. You could lose hockey.”
Hockey.
Shane froze.
Hockey had run in his blood since he put on his first pair of skates at four. Hockey shaped his brain. Hockey was why he ate, why he moved, why he dreamed. Hockey was how he made a living, how he found joy when he was free. Hockey connected him to everyone he loved. Hockey was what he was good for. Hockey was his name.
Hockey was the purpose of Shane Hollander’s existence.
Tears ran silently down his face. Inside, he felt strangely hollow.
“I… want him back,” he managed to choke out. “I need Ilya back here with me. I NEED him safe.”
He closed his eyes, waiting for his verdict.
“Okay, baby,” Yuna said, her voice firm with sudden determination. “Then we do this. I want my favorite son back safe too.”
…………
They all agreed this needed to be done as soon as possible, before Russia woke up.
Half an hour later, Shane was sitting in a meeting room full of press.
The lights were blinding. Too noisy.
The flashes burned behind his eyes, and the shutters scratched against his nerves. They sounded like hunting guns.
And Shane couldn’t dodge the bullet.
This was what he was here for.
He tried to steady his hands on the table. They shook. He pressed them under his thighs.
He desperately needed Ilya here—stroking his hair, telling him it was okay, that everything would be fine—
No.
Be brave. It might help Ilya. It had to.
“Thank you-”
His first words scraped out of him. He winced, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“Thank you all for coming here.”
Still strange. But that was the best he could manage. So he continued.
“I want to clarify something about what happened in Hayden’s house. The video is real.”
The flashlights spiked instantly, excited by the admission. Sound of reporters and cameras landed too sharply inside his skull. The room tilted.
Stick to the script that Yuna had helped him draft.
“I am here because I want to apologize to Ilya Rozanov. I’m not proud of what I’ve done—especially considering the consequences he might face. So I felt obligated to tell the truth.”
He forced his face into neutrality. Strangled his self-protection instinct.
“I am gay.”
The room exploded.
The noise and light crashed over him at once. Darkness crept in.
“I don’t think Ilya Rozanov is gay,” he added. “If there has been confusion, that responsibility lies with me.”
The darkness thickened. Breath.
He had to finish quickly—answer a few questions before he actually fainted.
But how?
Yuna had wanted to be in the room, but he had refused. He didn’t want his mother to go through this humiliation. So now no one was there to help him, and he couldn’t even see where the reporters were.
He forced himself to breathe again and nodded toward a random direction.
It worked. Someone began asking a question. He could only catch fragments.
“Real… kiss… how… bisexual…”
He needed to answer.
He knew he had prepared sentences. He had rehearsed them. He could sense them somewhere in his mind, but reaching for one made the others slide further away.
His heartbeat roared in his body. Surely everyone could hear it.
Focus. Say the lines.
“I had a crush on Rozanov,” he said. “I never told him, because he wouldn’t have felt the same. He’s straight. In Hayden’s house… I… I don’t know. Something got into my head. So I challenged him. I knew he would never back down from a challenge—especially from me.”
It became easier the more he talked. The words flowed out—foreign, smooth. The panic was still there, but distant now.
The next question was mostly inaudible, but he caught enough.
“Kiss… more than once…”
“No,” he said. “It was only one time.”
A lie.
He had never been a good liar, but his voice sounded strangely confident.
The third question was harder.
“…looks like… involved… looked mutual.”
This question wasn’t in the script.
Shane bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste blood. The pain sharpened him, made him focus.
Don’t panic.
“I think I’m a good kisser,” Shane said evenly. “Rozanov has had a lot of experiences with girls.” He emphasized the word girls. “It was a good kiss, but I don’t believe he’s gay. I didn’t get him to do anything beyond kissing.”
A lie.
His mind was somehow clearer now, alienated from the panic that had stepped back.
Another reporter asked, “Mr. Hollander, have you had experience with other male partners?”
The prepared answer had been no. But he needed the story to be consistent.
He hesitated. Then decided.
“Yes.”
Another lie.
“So you admit you are gay and that you seduced Rozanov. Rozanov is not gay, and he was innocent, yes?”
The voice was hostile, with a strong Russian accent.
Shane nearly burst into tears.
Gratitude flooded him so suddenly that it made him dizzy.
Yes! This is exactly the question he wanted them to ask. Yes! This is exactly the conclusion he wanted the Russians to make.
“Yes, I successfully got him into a kiss,” Shane said firmly. He didn’t bother to hide his triumphant smile. He knew they would interpret it for other reasons anyway. “I apologize to Rozanov for any trouble I caused him, and I promise it won’t happen again.”
So your Russian darling is safe in the future. Please give him back to me. Shane added that sentence in his mind.
He stood.
“That will be all the questions I answer today. Thank you for coming.”
He ignored the shouting behind him and strode out of the conference room, calm and confident.
Backstage, the small group was waiting for him.
Shane felt the adrenaline fade from his body. His thick shell of facade cracked. The quake returned.
“How was it?” Shane asked quietly, looking from one to another, terrified.
There were tears in Yuna’s eyes as she pulled Shane into an embrace.
“You did so well, baby,” she whispered into his ear. “You were so brave. We’re so, so proud of you.”
Shane managed a faint smile.
“I just hope it can help him a little,” he murmured.
David nodded and hugged him as well. “You’ve done everything you could, Shane. I’m sure he’ll return safely. He will.”