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Shane Hollander was no stranger to the sensation of static filling his brain. It usually happened in high stress situations, and on the ice it often had the side benefit of sharpening his instincts, making his play more fluid and spontaneous.
That was not the case right now.
“Shane?”
He pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the contact name. Lily. He swallowed hard and managed to choke out "Give me a second.” before muting the call. He was in his parents’ cottage, with zero expectation of privacy for what might become the most significant conversation of his life.
“Shane? Is everything okay?” HIs mother’s voice, coming closer to where he stood in the hallway. He glanced around the space in a panic before bolting for the back door, out of the house, and around the building to where his car was parked. He prayed that it would start even with the key inside the house, and sighed in relief when it did and his phone connected. The call went off of mute and he could hear frustrated breathing.
“I’m back,” he said softly.
“What the fuck was that, Hollander?” Ilya Rozanov’s accent was thicker than normal, probably a combination of anger and concern. “Shane? Answer me!”
“I. . . uh. . . umm. . . My parents were right there, in the next room, when I answered,” Shane was finally able to get out. “You really caught me off guard.”
“Off guard? What is that?”
“Ummm, by surprise,” Shane clarified. “When you - “ He stopped speaking, unsure how to explain further.
“When I what?”
Shane huffed out a laugh before repeating “I’m coming to the cottage.” in a near-perfect imitation of both Ilya’s deeper, gravelly voice and accent.
“That was surprise?” Ilya asked. “You asked me, da?”
Shane, who had closed his eyes to enjoy the sound of Ilya’s voice filling the car, snapped almost to attention in the seat. “I. . . Wait. . . WHAT?!”
There was a moment of silence from the other end of the line, and then laughter. Wholehearted, unguarded laughter that went on for far longer than was probably necessary. Shane grew more confused with each moment that passed.
“Ilya, what. . .?
“Bozhe moy! You don’t remember!” More laughter, although the hiccuping noises suggested Ilya was at least attempting to stifle it. “I knew they had you on painkillers, but I did not think it was that much.”
Painkillers? Shane thinks to himself. The last time he was on any serious painkillers was. . .
“Are you talking about when I was in the hospital? After Marleau hit me?”
“Yes, Shane.” Another stifled laugh. “Is your memory giving out? Was not that long ago.”
“Fuck you, Rozanov.” Shane started searching his memory. He knew Ilya had been at the hospital to check on him and apologize, full of assurances that Marleau didn’t mean to hurt him and felt terrible. But his memory was foggy, at best, for any other details. His memory for a lot of things connected to that hit was pretty foggy. But he could clearly remember thinking about asking Ilya to spend some time at the cottage with him before taking the ice for pre-game warm-ups.
“Okay,” he finally responded. “So I asked you -”
“To go to your cottage, yes.” A strange huffing noise came over the phone, filling the car, suggesting more attempts to keep from laughing. Then Ilya turned oddly serious, and almost introspective. “I would have said no; intended to say no, but then. . .”
“Yeah,” Shane whispered. “I can barely believe that happened.”
“Hunter looked like - What is term? When dating someone younger than you? Noticeably younger?”
Shane couldn’t help his snort of laughter. “A cradle robber?”
“Da! Cradle robber!” Ilya’s laughter started again
“Ilya,” Shane admonished, hoping he sounded stern instead of hopelessly besotted. “You do know that Hunter isn’t that much older than us, right? Only about two years. Maybe three”
“So is his boyfriend’s fault for having baby face.”
“You always say that I have a baby face.”
“No, you have face of youthful, half-Japanese god.”
Shane tried to keep it together but the mental image he got of himself morphed into a tengu mask made a quick chuckle escape him, and then he was fully laughing at the absurdity. Laughing until his sides hurt and his still healing collarbone ached. Maybe caused a bit of leftover concussion headache.
“How. . .” He had to breathe for a minute. “How is that better?” he finally managed to get out.
Ilya gasped in mock offense. “Youthful, half-Japanese god makes you beautiful. Baby face makes me a cradle robber.”
“I’m older than you, asshole,” Shane huffed out, still laughing.
“Oh, yes, so very. One whole month.”
Shane couldn’t prevent the embarrassing giggle that escaped him. “One month and five days,” he corrected. “I’m claiming every advantage I can get.”
“Fair enough,” Ilya agreed, sounding a bit more serious. He cleared his throat once, and Shane waited, not wanting to push. “So you really don’t remember asking me to come to your cottage?”
“I really don’t,” Shane replied. “But there are a lot of things I don’t remember.” He huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t even remember the hit.”
“Probably for the best.”
“But I do remember thinking, before we were on the ice for warm-ups, that I wanted to ask you about the cottage. I was planning to do it after the game, back at my place.”
“Ahhh,” Ilya sighed out. “Now it makes sense; you said you were pissed at Marleau for ‘fucking that up’.”
“That sounds about right. I. . .” Shane took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I don’t remember, but I’m glad I was able to ask you. Even if it was while under the influence.”
Ilya chuckled. “What is that saying, I think it’s Latin?”
Shane snorted. “In vino veritas,” he added. “Translation: in wine there is truth.”
“In painkillers veritas?”
They both laughed at that, and it felt wonderful to joke, and laugh, and be on the same page about a new step in their growing relationship. Feeling the friendship growing beneath the sexual tension that had characterized their interactions for years.
“So, Ilya, will you come to my cottage this summer?” Shane softly asked when the laughter faded.
“Yes, Shane, I’m coming to the cottage.”