Archive of Our Own

The bus had been quiet for most of the ride, the kind of bone-deep silence that settled over a team after a loss against Washington. Hayden sat near the middle, legs stretched into the aisle, his head tipped back against the seat, running through the game in his head the way he always did, where the play had broken down, where he could've been faster, where he'd let Shane down on that last power play. His eyes were half-closed, the rhythm of the highway a low thrum beneath his fatigue.

Then, JJ's voice cut through the hush, sharp and strange in a way that made Hayden's stomach clench before he even processed the words.

"Whoa! The Centaur's plane had to make an emergency landing."

Hayden's eyes snapped open. He sat forward, his hand instinctively bracing against the seatback in front of him. Around him, the rest of the team was stirring, heads lifting, murmurs starting, but all Hayden could hear was the sudden roar of his own pulse.

Emergency landing. Plane. Centaurs.

Ilya.

His first thought was Shane. His second was Ilya. They tangled together in his chest like a knot he couldn't untie. He turned his head, craning to see where Shane was sitting on the other side, and what he saw made his throat tighten. Shane had gone pale, the blood draining from his face so fast it looked like he might be sick as he asked JJ questions. His hands were gripping the edge of his seat, knuckles white, his whole body locked up like he was bracing for impact even though they were safely on the ground. His eyes were fixed on JJ, wide and unblinking, and Hayden knew that look. It was the look of a man whose entire world had just been tipped on its axis.

Hayden's own hands clenched into fists on his thighs. Ilya. The name echoed in his head, and with it came a cascade of images he didn't want: a crumpled fuselage, fire, the kind of news that came in a phone call you never forgot. He thought of Jackie. He thought of his kids, of the way Arthur's face lit up when Uncle Ilya walked through the door, of how Jade loves to put cute hair pins on Ilya's hair, how Amber likes to play tag with Ilya, of the way Ruby had drawn a picture last month of the whole family plus Shane and Ilya, labeling them as Uncle Shane and Uncle Ilya in wobbly letters. If something happened to him, if Ilya Rozanov, of all people, the man who got under Hayden's skin like a splinter he could never quite dig out, if he was gone, Hayden didn't know how he would explain it to them. He didn't know how to explain it to himself.

The bus felt suddenly airless. He pulled out his phone, fingers moving before he could think, pulling up his messages. Bood. Zane Boodram. The guy was cool and always greeted him warmly. His wife is also pregnant and will give birth soon. He needed to check on Bood. The message went out fast.

Hayden: Hey, man. I heard the news. You guys okay? What's happening? How's everyone?

And then he was waiting, staring at the screen, willing it to light up. Around him, the team was a low rumble of voices, but Hayden barely heard them. He was too busy counting the seconds, imagining all the ways a plane could go down, all the ways Ilya Rozanov could vanish from the world and leave behind a hole shaped like himself.

The rest of the bus ride passed in a blur of murmured updates and strained silences. Hayden kept glancing at Shane, watching the way he sat rigid in his seat, staring at his phone, his jaw tight. He was looking at something, Hayden realized. Or reading. He watched Shane's shoulders slump when he put down his phone and looked outside the window. Hayden wanted to go to him, but then his phone buzzed. He nearly dropped it.

Bood: Hey, Pike. We're all safe. Shaken but okay. We just finished a quick medical check-up. We're heading to our hotel to rest. We might hit a bar later to relax.

Hayden sighed in relief. He looked back at Shane. He wanted to go to him and tell him that the Centaurs are okay, but there were too many people around, too many eyes, and Shane had never been the kind of person who let anyone see him break in public. Not even Hayden. Especially not Hayden, maybe, because Hayden knew him too well, knew what the cracks looked like before they even formed.

So he waited. He sat on his hands and waited, and he thought about Ilya Rozanov probably wanting to smoke, even though Shane hated it, probably cursing in Russian, probably already thinking about how to spin it into a joke, because that was what Ilya did; he made everything a joke, everything except Shane. Hayden thought about how much he and Ilya pissed each other off, the constant chirping at each other, the way they could barely be in the same room without some kind of verbal sparring match. And yet. And yet Ilya was at his dinner table whenever he's in Montreal. And yet his kids called him Uncle. The way Jackie treats him like a brother. And yet when Hayden thought about a world without Ilya in it, his stomach dropped like he'd missed a step on a staircase in the dark.

He didn't know what to do with that.

When the bus finally pulled up to the hotel, Hayden was one of the first off, not because he was in a hurry to get to his room but because he needed to move, needed to do something. The night air was cold, sharp against his face, and he stood outside the bus for a moment, breathing it in, letting it clear the fog of adrenaline from his head. The team filtered out around him, voices low, footsteps echoing on the pavement, talking about eating dinner and going to a bar nearby. He saw Shane among them, still pale, still holding his phone like a lifeline, his eyes hollow in a way that made Hayden's chest ache.

They filed into the lobby, a cluster of exhausted hockey players waiting for key cards. Hayden hung back, letting the others go ahead, his eyes on Shane. Shane was standing slightly apart from the group, scrolling through something on his phone. 

Hayden looked at their teammates. They are busy planning their night ahead. He waited until Shane slipped the phone back into his pocket and stood there for a moment, just breathing, before Hayden finally moved.

He walked over slowly, not wanting to startle him, and stopped at his side. "Hey, Buddy."

Shane turned, and for a second, Hayden saw the raw edge of fear still lingering in his eyes before Shane smoothed it over, the mask sliding back into place. "Hey."

"How are you doing?" Hayden asked, keeping his voice low, casual, like it was any other night after any other game.

Shane's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."

Hayden knew that tone. It was the same tone Shane used with reporters, with fans, with anyone who asked a question he didn't want to answer. But Hayden wasn't anyone, and he wasn't about to let Shane shut him out, not tonight. He leaned in slightly, dropping his voice so only Shane could hear. "So, I checked on Bood. They're fine. Said they had a quick medical check-up and went to their hotel after it. He said they might hit a bar tonight."

Shane's composure cracked, just for a moment. His eyes closed, a shudder running through him, and when he opened them again, there was something like relief in them, fragile but real. "They're okay?"

"Yeah." Hayden nodded. "Everyone's okay. Just shook up, but okay."

Shane exhaled, long and unsteady, and Hayden saw the tension in his shoulders ease by a fraction. "Thank you," Shane said quietly. "For checking. For telling me."

Hayden shrugged, though his chest was still tight. "I was worried, too." He let that sit for a second, let Shane hear the truth in it. "Rozanov and I, we piss each other off on the regular, but..." He paused, searching for the words. "He's someone special to you. And Jackie and the kids, they love him. So yeah. I was worried."

Shane looked at him then, really looked, and for a moment Hayden thought he might say something more, but the front desk called out for the next set of key cards, and the moment passed. Shane's gaze flickered toward the desk, then back to Hayden. "I'll be okay," he said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Hayden.

Hayden didn't push. He knew when to push and when to let Shane come to him. "You need anything, you let me know," he said. Then, they went to get their key cards, but he kept Shane in his peripheral vision, watching the way he moved stiffly toward the elevator, the way his hand trembled slightly as he slid his card into his pocket.

They took the elevator with their other teammates. Hayden and Shane stay in the rooms next to each other. He slid his key card into the lock, waited for the green light, and pushed the door open into the darkness.

He didn't bother turning on the overhead light. The lamp by the bed was enough, casting a warm amber glow across the rumpled sheets he hadn't had time to touch before everything had gone sideways. He dropped his key card on the dresser, took off his shoes, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his phone already in his hand.

He needed to hear Jackie's voice.

The phone rang twice before she picked up, and even that brief pause was enough for his mind to conjure a dozen anxious scenarios; her asleep, her worried, her watching the news with her hand pressed to her mouth the way she did when something bad happened. But then her voice came through, and the sound of it was like a hand wrapped around his ribs, squeezing.

"Baby! Did you hear? About the Centaur's plane?"

She sounded worried. Not panicked. Jackie didn't panic; it was one of the things he loved most about her, that steady calm she carried like an anchor, but there was an edge to her voice, a tightness that told him she'd been holding this tension for hours, waiting for him to call.

"Yeah," he said, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "I heard. I got in touch with Bood. They're all okay. They had a quick medical checkup on the ground, just to be safe, but everyone's fine."

He heard her exhale, long and slow, the kind of breath that carried relief like a physical weight being set down. "Ohh, thank God. I've been... I saw it on the news, and I just kept thinking..." She stopped, and Hayden heard her swallow. "I sent Ilya a message. He hasn't replied yet."

"He will," Hayden said, and he meant it. "He's probably now at the bar with the guys, trying to shake it off. You know how he is. He'll answer when he gets a minute."

"I know." Jackie's voice was softer now, the tension easing out of it. "I just... when I saw the news, my heart stopped. I kept thinking about Shane, about how he must be feeling, being so far away when it happened."

Hayden closed his eyes, tipping his head back. "We found out about it when we were heading back to the hotel. Shane's shaken, but he tried to look calm so no one would notice his reaction. His room is next to mine. I might as well bring him food."

"Yeah, do that. And stay with him and make sure he eats." Jackie said.

"I will," Hayden assured her. "He looked like hell, baby. Like he'd aged ten years when JJ told us the news."

Jackie made a small, pained sound. "I can't imagine. Being that far away, not being able to do anything, just waiting for news." She paused. "Bring him ginger ale, as well. He might find comfort in having it."

Hayden's mouth quirked, a ghost of a smile. "I will."

"Good." Jackie's approval was warm, and Hayden felt something in his chest loosen at the sound of it. "He needs to eat. He'll make himself sick otherwise. Ilya wouldn't like that."

There was a pause, the kind that happened when both of them were thinking about the same thing but didn't quite know how to say it. Hayden stared at the pattern on the hotel carpet, a swirl of blues and grays that blurred when he looked at it too long. The knot in his chest was still there, tight and persistent, and now that he was alone with it, now that he didn't have to be steady for Shane, he felt it pressing against his ribs like something alive.

"Jackie," he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. "When I heard about the plane... I thought about Shane first. I saw his face, and I knew he was so worried and scared. But then I thought about you. About the kids." He stopped, swallowing hard. "I thought about what I would say to them if... if something happened to Rozanov. How would I explain to Amber and Arthur that Uncle Ilya wasn't coming back? How I would tell Ruby and Jade that the man who was always ready to become their make-up practice dummy was just... gone."

The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, charged with everything they weren't saying. Hayden heard Jackie's breath catch, a small, unsteady sound that made his chest ache.

"I was so scared," Jackie admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I saw the news, I just... I couldn't move. I used my phone to check for updates, waiting for something that tells me everyone was okay. And then they said no casualties, and I just sat there in the kitchen and cried." She let out a shaky laugh. "The kids were watching Moana in the other room. They didn't even notice. They were singing along to 'You're Welcome' and I was sitting in the kitchen, crying in relief."

Hayden closed his eyes, picturing it. His kitchen, the warm light over the sink, Jackie at the table, tears running down her face while their children sang about demigods and coconuts in the next room. The image was so ordinary and so devastating all at once that he felt his throat tighten.

"They love Ilya so much, Hayden," Jackie continued, and now her voice was thick, the tears she'd been holding back finally leaking through. "Arthur asks about him every day. When is Uncle Ilya coming over? And Ruby. She drew him a picture last week, Hayden. A whole family portrait with everyone in it, and she put Ilya and Shane in it, Ilya standing next to her. She said they need to be in there because they are part of our family now."

Hayden pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, hard. "I know," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "I know they are."

"I don't know what I would have told them," Jackie said quietly. "If something had happened. I don't know how I would have explained it."

"You wouldn't have had to," Hayden said, and he didn't know if he was saying it for her or for himself. "Because nothing happened. He's safe. He's on the ground, he's with his team, and in a few days he's going to be back in Ottawa, and Shane will hold onto him for days, and everything is going to be fine."

Jackie let out a breath, long and slow. "You're right. You're right. I know you're right. It's just..."

"It's just the thought of it," Hayden finished for her. "Yeah. I know."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the almost-disaster settling between them like something that needed to be acknowledged before it could be set aside. Hayden thought about Ilya at his dinner table, arguing with him about some meaningless thing while Arthur climbed all over him, Ruby and Jade sang and danced with him, and Amber demanded he watch her do another spin. He thought about Ilya's laugh, loud and obnoxious and impossible to ignore. He thought about how, for all the ways they got under each other's skin, Ilya Rozanov had become as much a part of his family as anyone could be without sharing blood.

"Hey," Hayden said finally, his voice steadier now. "How are the kids?"

Jackie let out a soft laugh. "They're fine. They don't know anything happened. I kept the news off while they were awake. They're watching Frozen 2 now. Jade's been trying to convince Arthur that he's Olaf, and he's very upset about it because he wants to be Sven."

Hayden smiled despite himself, the tightness in his chest easing just a fraction. "Tell him Olaf's cooler anyway."

"I tried. He's not convinced." Jackie's voice was lighter now, the warmth returning. "They're so lucky, Hayden. That's what I kept thinking. They're so lucky they don't know. That they get to go to sleep tonight thinking the world is the same as it was this morning."

"Yeah," Hayden said quietly. "They are."

There was another pause, softer this time, the silence of two people who had been together long enough to know when words weren't necessary. Hayden let it sit for a moment, letting the quiet comfort of her presence, even through a phone line, even hundreds of miles away, settle into his bones.

"Listen," he said finally. "I need to go. I need to find some bird food and ginger ale for Shane, and I want to make sure he actually eats before I turn in."

"Okay." Jackie's voice was warm, steady again. "You take care of him. And take care of yourself, too. Don't stay up too late worrying."

"I won't." He paused, the words rising in his chest like they always did, simple and true. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too." He could hear the smile in her voice, the one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Call me when you get a chance tomorrow. And hug Shane for me."

"I will. Go get some rest."

"I will as soon as Frozen 2 is over. I promised them I'd watch the whole thing with them."

Hayden laughed softly, the sound surprising him. "Good luck with that."

"Good night, baby."

"Good night."

He ended the call and sat there for a moment, the phone warm in his hand, the room quiet around him. The knot in his chest had loosened, not gone but smaller, manageable. He thought about Ilya again, but this time the image was different. Ilya at his kitchen table, Ilya laughing at something Ruby said, Ilya rolling his eyes at Amber's endless questions, Ilya being, impossibly, irrevocably, part of their lives. Part of his family.

He thought about how he would send Ilya a text that was just a string of random emojis, and Ilya was going to reply with something sarcastic, and everything was going to be exactly as it should be.

But first, he had to find macrobiotic food and make sure Shane would eat it. He stood up, stretched the tension out of his shoulders, and headed for the door.

Hayden stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the lobby, and let the doors close behind him. 

An hour later, Shane sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the phone screen dark in his hands, the ghost of Ilya's face still burned into his retinas. The call had ended five minutes ago. He knew because he'd been staring at the time, watching the minute change after Ilya's face had flickered and disappeared, replaced by his contact photo, that stupid selfie Shane had taken of him a year ago, Ilya mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, looking nothing like the fierce, untouchable player the rest of the world saw.

The call was over. Ilya was safe. Shane had seen him, had watched him, looked at him with a worried expression, assuring him he was okay. Shane knew him too well to be fooled. He saw how exhausted he looked during the call, the way his voice had gone rough around the edges when he'd said I'm here, I'm fine. 

And Shane had smiled, had nodded, tried his best to look okay for Ilya, and Ilya was still hundreds of miles away, and the silence in the hotel room was deafening.

The tears came without warning.

Shane pressed his free hand against his mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it didn't matter. There was no one to hear him. The room was empty, the walls were thick, and he was alone in a way he hadn't felt since the last time Ilya had been on a road trip, and all Shane wanted was to see Ilya in person. Because this wasn't just missing him. This was the cold, sharp memory of sitting on the bus, JJ's voice echoing in his ears, the words emergency landing hitting him like a check he hadn't seen coming, the world tilting sideways while he tried to remember how to breathe.

He let the tears fall. His shoulders shook with the force of it, the release of every hour of tension he'd been holding in his chest since that moment on the bus. He'd seen Ilya. He'd talked to him. He'd watched him joke with him, calling him his tomato in Russian, and say I love you like it was the most ordinary thing in the world, like they hadn't spent years pretending they weren't in love, like the words didn't still make Shane's heart clench every single time.

But it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough to see his face on a screen, pixelated and slightly delayed, the image flickering whenever Ilya moved too fast. It wasn't enough to hear his voice, crackling through speakers, tinny and distant. Shane wanted, needed, to touch him. Needed to press his palm against Ilya's chest and feel the steady, reliable thrum of his heartbeat, that proof of life that no video call could replicate. Needed to wrap his arms around him and hold on so tight that Ilya would laugh and tell him he was being ridiculous, that he was fine, that he was right here, wasn't he? Needed to bury his face in the curve of Ilya's neck and breathe him in, to replace the memory of that moment of terror with something solid and real and alive.

The thought of it made his chest ache with a physical pain that stole his breath. He thought about the airplane, the messages he sent, about the emergency landing, about all the things that could have gone wrong, and the terror that had gripped him on the bus surged back, cold and sharp. He thought about what would have happened if that plane had gone down. If Ilya had been on a flight that never made it to its destination. If the last time he saw him in person was when he told him that he had already chosen him over hockey and everything.

He couldn't see himself without Ilya.

It wasn't a dramatic realization, the kind that came with thunderclaps and sudden clarity. It was something he'd known for years, quietly, the way he knew his own name or the rhythm of his own heartbeat. But tonight, with the echo of JJ's announcement still ringing in his ears, it felt sharper, more urgent. Ilya Rozanov was the center of his world. Had been for longer than Shane liked to admit, longer than he'd even understood it himself. And the thought of that center disappearing, of waking up one day to a world that didn't have Ilya in it, was so unbearable that Shane's mind recoiled from it, refusing to let him dwell there for more than a second.

He wanted to grow old with him. He wanted the arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes and the quiet mornings with coffee and the slow, comfortable silence of two people who had known each other for decades. He wanted Ilya's hair to go gray and his hands to get arthritis, and his laugh to stay just as loud and obnoxious as it was now. He wanted Ilya's hand to be holding his hand in some hospital room fifty years from now. He wanted Ilya's face to be the last face he would see before he closed his eyes for good.

The thought should have been morbid. Instead, it was the only thing that steadied him, the only anchor in the storm of fear that had been churning inside him since the bus.

But tonight, Ilya was hundreds of miles away, and Shane was here, alone in a hotel room, crying into his hands like he hadn't let himself cry for a long while. He felt helpless. That was the worst of it: the helplessness. He was the captain of the Montreal Voyageurs. He was the player his teammates looked to when the game was on the line, the one who steadied the ship when everything was falling apart. But none of that mattered tonight. Tonight, he was just a man whose boyfriend had almost died, and there was nothing he could do except sit in a hotel room and wait for morning.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, took a shuddering breath, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't fall apart. Not yet. Ilya was safe. Ilya was safe, and in a few days, he would be home, and Shane would hold him and feel his heartbeat, and everything would be okay. He just had to get through these next few days. He had to be strong. He had to be the captain, the leader, the one who didn't break.

He could do that. He had to do that.

He was just starting to get his breathing under control, just starting to piece himself back together, when the knock came.

Three sharp raps against the door, quick and firm, the kind of knock that meant business. Shane's heart lurched, his head snapping toward the door, and for one wild, irrational second, he thought. Ilya. But that was impossible. Ilya was in Florida, hundreds of miles away, and even if he'd chartered a private plane, he couldn't have gotten here this fast.

Shane wiped his face quickly, roughly, dragging the heels of his hands across his cheeks, his eyes. He stood up, his legs unsteady beneath him, and crossed to the mirror near the bathroom. God. He looked like hell. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his face blotchy, his hair a mess from the way he'd been running his hands through it during the call. He looked lost. Drained. Like someone had taken everything he had and left him hollowed out.

He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and tried to summon the mask. The captain's mask. The one that said I've got this, I'm fine, don't worry about me. He smoothed his hair down, wiped the last traces of moisture from his cheeks, and forced his face into something approaching normal. It wasn't good enough; he could see that, could see the cracks in the facade, the fear still lingering in the depths of his eyes, but it would have to do.

He was the captain. He needed to tough up.

Another knock, softer this time, and Shane called out, "Coming," his voice rough but steady enough. He crossed to the door, his bare feet silent on the carpet, and pulled it open.

Hayden stood in the hallway, a paper bag in his hands, the warm light from the corridor casting half his face in shadow. His expression was neutral, carefully blank, but his eyes. Shane had known Hayden long enough to read his eyes. They were soft, watchful, the way they got when Hayden was looking at something that mattered. There was no judgment in them, no expectation. Just the steady, unblinking presence of a man who had shown up, again and again, for nearly two decades.

Hayden held up the takeout bag. "Brought you food. It's your usual bird food, don't worry. And I got ginger ale, just in case."

Shane's smile flickered, something real passing over his face before it faded again. "You didn't have to—"

"I know." Hayden stepped forward, not waiting for an invitation, because he knew Shane would try to turn him away, would try to be fine on his own. He nudged the door wider with his shoulder and walked in. He closes the door. He walked inside the room and set the bag down on the small table by the window. When he turned back, Shane was standing a few steps away from him, his face crumpling in a way Hayden had only seen a handful of times in all the years they'd known each other.

Hayden didn't say anything. He just crossed the room and pulled Shane into his arms.

Shane went stiff for a second, the way he always did when someone caught him off guard, and then he broke. His shoulders shook, his hands gripping the back of Hayden's jacket, and he pressed his face into Hayden's shoulder and let out a sob that was raw and ugly and so full of fear it made Hayden's own eyes burn. Hayden held on, one hand braced against the back of Shane's head, the other firm between his shoulder blades, and he let Shane cry.

"It's okay, Shane. He's fine." Hayden said quietly/ Shane's breathing had evened out before Hayden told him, "Talk to me, buddy."

Shane pulled back just enough to wipe his face with the heel of his hand, his cheeks blotchy, his eyes swollen. Hayden kept his hands on Shane's arms for support.

"I just got off a video call with him. He's... he's at the bar with the guys. He went out to smoke." Shane let out a wet, half-hysterical laugh. "I hate it. I hate that he smokes, I hate thinking about him getting lung cancer and... and dying, but just now, all I could think was, he's smoking, he's alive, he's alive, one cigarette is fine as long as he's alive." His voice cracked on the last word.

Hayden rubbed his hands on Shane's arm and shoulder for comfort, "He's okay," he said, as firmly as he could. "He's safe. I checked on Bood again while I was waiting for your food. Ilya went out for a smoke, went back in. He's with the guys. He's okay."

Shane closed his eyes, a shudder running through him. "I need to see him," he whispered. "I need to... I need to hold him. I need to feel his heartbeat, I need..." He stopped, swallowing hard.

"I know." Hayden's voice was rough. "Just a few more days. He'll be home in a few days."

Shane nodded, but his face was still crumpled, still raw, and Hayden knew that a few days might as well have been a lifetime right now. He guided Shane to the chair by the table, gently pushing him down into it, and then he started unpacking the takeout containers. Shane watched him with a faint crease between his brows. "I'm not hungry."

"You didn't eat dinner." Hayden didn't look up from the container he was opening. "I know you won't because of what happened, but you have to, Shane."

Shane opened his mouth to argue, but Hayden cut him off with a look.

"Five spoonfuls," Hayden said. "Just five. Then, I'll leave you alone."

Shane stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in his expression: surprise, maybe, or gratitude, or both. Then he let out a breath and reached for the container. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Nope. Jackie told me to make sure you eat."

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Shane's mouth, there and gone, but it was something. He picked up the fork and took a bite, chewing slowly, mechanically, like he was forcing himself to go through the motions. Hayden watched him for a second, then moved to sit on the edge of Shane's bed, pulling out his phone.

He typed out a quick text to Ilya.

Hayden: Hey. Saw the news. I heard from Bood that you guys are okay. Just want to let you know that I'm with Shane. He's fine. Brought him food. Waiting for him to eat a few bites, then I'll leave him be.

The reply came almost instantly.

Ilya: Thank you. He was not good after the video call. I'm worried.

Hayden's thumb hovered over the screen. He thought about Ilya on the other end of that video call, watching Shane fall apart from hundreds of miles away, helpless in a way Hayden knew all too well.

Hayden: He's really worried about you, too. You okay?

Ilya: I will be.

Hayden: Jackie is worried as well. The kids didn't know, but if you have free time, send her a message.

Ilya: Okay.

Hayden: Get some rest. Don't think about it too much. Just think about coming home to Shane.

Another pause, longer this time. Hayden could almost hear Ilya's snort, the way he'd roll his eyes and make some sarcastic comment to deflect from the fact that he actually, genuinely appreciated it. When the reply came, it was exactly what Hayden expected.

Ilya: You're being weird, Pike.

Hayden: Fuck off, Rozanov.

A devil emoji appeared, and Hayden felt something loosen in his chest. He stared at the screen for a moment, then typed one more message, his fingers moving before he could talk himself out of it. 

Hayden: Glad you're safe.

He waited. Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Ilya: Thank you. For checking in and for feeding Shane.

Hayden put the phone down and looked up. Shane had managed about four bites, his fork hovering over the container, his gaze distant. He looked exhausted, wrung out, the kind of tired that went beyond sleep. Hayden stood up, crossing to the table to close the container.

"Good?" Hayden asked.

"Yes," Shane said while staring at his food. He looked up at him, and for a moment, he looked younger, more vulnerable, like the kid Hayden had met years ago who was too serious for his own good and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Hayden."

"Yeah."

"Thank you." Shane's voice was quiet, thick with emotion. "For all of it."

Hayden nodded once, not trusting his own voice. He clapped Shane on the shoulder, a brief, firm pressure, and then he stepped back. "Get some rest after your meal," he said. "You will see him soon."

Shane nodded, his eyes drifting to the window, to the dark city beyond. Hayden let himself out, pulling the door closed softly behind him, and stood in the hallway for a moment with his back against the wall. He pulled out his phone again, scrolled to Jackie's contact, and sent a quick message

Hayden: Shane is okay. Rozanov is okay. I'll see you soon. I love you.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and walked toward his own room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. The knot in his chest was still there, tight and persistent, but it had loosened, just enough. He thought about Ilya Rozanov, safe on the ground somewhere, probably still smoking, probably still joking, probably already counting the hours until he could get home to Shane. He thought about his kids, safe in their home, not knowing how close they'd come to losing someone they loved. He thought about the plane, the emergency landing, all the things that could have gone wrong but didn't.

And he thought about how, when Ilya got back, he was going to give him hell for every single gray hair this had given him. Because that was what they did. That was what they'd always done.

But for now, Hayden tapped his keycard and entered his room to rest.

The first thing Hayden registered was the sound. A knocking. Steady and insistent, cutting through the heavy silence of his hotel room. He surfaced from sleep slowly, his mind a thick, groggy tangle. For a long, hazy moment, he was certain he had imagined it. His room was steeped in a soft, comfortable dimness; the heavy curtains were still drawn tightly across the window, blocking out the morning light. He could feel the warm pull of his pillow, the weight of the blankets. It would be so easy, he thought, to simply roll over, pull the duvet up to his chin, and surrender again to sleep.

Then the knocking returned. Three sharp, deliberate raps against the wood of the door. There was no mistaking it this time.

A quiet groan escaped him as he pushed himself upright, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps along his arms. He rubbed a weary hand over his face, his fingers scraping through the stubble on his jaw. On the bedside table, the red digits of the clock glowed with an unwelcome truth: it's 9:10 in the morning. Still far earlier than any reasonable person would choose to be awake, especially on a day off.

"Coming," he muttered, his voice rough and thick with sleep. The single word fell flat into the quiet room.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the carpet soft and plush beneath his bare feet. After a moment of fumbling, he pulled a well-worn hoodie over his head, the familiar fabric smelling faintly of his own laundry detergent, a small comfort from home. He tugged on a pair of grey sweatpants and shuffled toward the door, his hair a chaotic mess from sleep. He didn't bother trying to tame it; he simply ran a hand through it once, to little effect, before turning the lock and pulling the door open.

Shane was standing there.

He was fully dressed in neat, casual clothes. He was alert, his eyes bright and clear. There was an almost jarring sense of energy about him, a quiet restlessness that seemed to hum in the air around him. Hayden simply blinked, his sleep-addled brain struggling to catch up.

"Good morning," Shane said. His voice was even, but there was a lilt to it that suggested he had been awake for some time.

"We don't have a practice today, Shane" Hayden mumbled, leaning against the doorframe. It came out less like a question and more like a plea for an explanation.

Shane offered a small smile. It was a polite curve of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes the way a true smile would. Instead, it was tinged with a restless, almost nervous energy. "I know. But come out and eat with me," he said, getting straight to the point. "We could grab early lunch somewhere. Maybe look around for something for Jackie and the kids."

Hayden studied him carefully, his gaze lingering on Shane's face. The offer felt a little random, a little too deliberate. But then he remembered the weight of the previous night, the things that had been said and left unsaid. He assumed Shane simply did not want to sit alone in his own quiet room, trapped with his own thoughts.

Fair enough.

"Give me fifteen minutes," Hayden conceded with a small nod. "I need a shower."

Shane's smile softened into something more genuine for a fraction of a second. He nodded. "I'll wait in the lobby."

Exactly fifteen minutes later, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Hayden stepped out into the polished expanse of the hotel lobby. The air smelled of fresh flowers and expensive coffee. Shane was exactly where he said he would be, leaning casually against a pillar near the entrance. He was scrolling through his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked up the moment Hayden approached, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

"There's a shopping center nearby," Shane said immediately, dispensing with any greeting. "I checked earlier. There's a restaurant there we could try."

Hayden simply nodded, falling into step beside him. "Sounds good."

Shane turned toward the large glass doors, ready to head out into the bright morning, but Hayden reached out and lightly caught his arm. The touch was brief but firm. "Hey."

Shane paused, turning back. A flicker of surprise crossed his features before his expression smoothed out again.

Hayden studied his friend's face for a long moment, searching for something, though he wasn't entirely sure what. "You okay?"

Shane hesitated. It was only a second, a tiny crack in his composed exterior, before he nodded. "Yeah."

Hayden did not look convinced. The worry must have shown plainly on his face because Shane's expression softened. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so it was just for Hayden. "Ilya called me earlier," he said quietly.

Hayden raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "And?"

"He's totally fine, and I'm totally fine as well," Shane said softly. The words were simple, but the relief behind them was immense.

The tension that Hayden did not even realize he had been carrying, a tight coil of worry somewhere in his chest, loosened its grip. He let out a small breath. "Okay," he said, and the single syllable felt lighter than it had moments before.

They walked out of the hotel together, side by side, into the fresh morning air.

The shopping center was already a hive of activity. People moved through the wide, sunlit halls in a steady stream, their arms laden with colorful shopping bags. The air was a rich tapestry of competing smells: fresh-baked pretzels, brewing coffee, and the warm, savory scent of food drifting from the nearby restaurants that lined the main concourse. They found a quiet spot tucked away from the busiest thoroughfares, a small restaurant with dark wood tables and soft lighting.

They settled into a booth by the window. Shane ordered grilled salmon with a side of steamed vegetables. Hayden ordered a thick-cut steak, cooked rare, with a baked potato. For a while, they talked about small, inconsequential things. Hockey drills. The next game and their chances against the opposing team. A funny story about a rookie goalie who had accidentally skated to the wrong bench during practice, an incident that had the entire locker room howling with laughter.

Shane seemed relaxed. More relaxed than Hayden had expected him to be, given the events of the previous night. He laughed at the rookie story, a real laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

After they finished eating, they wandered through the mall together, letting the current of people guide them. Shane stopped occasionally to glance into store windows, his gaze distant and thoughtful. Hayden popped into a couple of toy stores, searching for inspiration for his kids. It was easy. Comfortable. The kind of aimless, unpressured time that true friends could share.

Then, Shane suddenly slowed to a halt near the entrance of a jewelry store. The windows glittered with diamonds and gold, a silent symphony of wealth and light. "I need to check something," he said, his voice carefully casual.

Hayden looked at the store and raised an eyebrow. "You buying jewelry now?" he asked, a note of playful teasing in his voice.

"For my mom," Shane replied, a little too quickly. The reply was smooth, practiced.

Hayden shrugged, deciding not to press. "All right."

They stepped inside. The store was a sanctuary of quiet and brightness. Glass display cases stretched along the walls, each one a treasure chest of sparkling gems under soft, focused lighting. Shane walked directly toward the ring section, his steps purposeful. Hayden, sensing an unspoken boundary, drifted toward another display on the opposite side of the store.

He leaned over a case filled with delicate earrings, his eyes scanning a pair of small, elegant diamonds that he thought Jackie might like. He was turning the price tag over in his fingers when he glanced up.

Across the store, Shane was standing with a sales associate near the ring display. He was pointing at something inside the glass case, his gesture precise. The employee, a woman with a kind smile, carefully lifted a ring from its velvet bed and placed it on a small black tray.

Hayden watched as Shane picked it up.

It was a gold band, but not a simple one. Intricate black details, perhaps carbon fiber or a dark enamel, ran through the metal, creating a striking, modern pattern. It was simple. Strong. Undeniably masculine.

Not exactly something someone would buy for their mother.

Shane slid it onto the ring finger of his right hand. He held his hand out, turning it this way and that, watching how the light caught the two-toned metal. He studied it for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

And then he smiled.

It was not the polite, media-trained smile he used in post-game interviews. It was not the small, amused quirk of his lips he gave when a teammate told a dirty joke. This was different. It was a genuine smile, warm and bright, that seemed to light up his entire face. It was a completely unguarded expression of pure, private joy.

And suddenly, like a key turning in a lock, it clicked in Hayden's mind.

He slowly looked back down at the earrings in front of him, his fingers suddenly still. He pretended to be deeply interested in a pair of sapphire studs. Shane was not buying a ring for his mom. Not for his mom at all.

He was buying it for Ilya.

He was planning to propose.

Hayden quietly stepped a little farther away, putting another display case between them. He gave Shane more space, more privacy for this small, monumental act. A small smile spread across his own face, a warm feeling blooming in his chest. He was happy for him. Truly, deeply happy for both of them.

If Shane and Ilya got engaged, Hayden already knew exactly what he would do. He would act completely, utterly surprised. There was no way he was going to ruin Shane's moment by letting him know he had figured it out. Not unless Shane decided to tell him first.

His thoughts drifted briefly back to another conversation, the night Shane had told him about the small, private ceremony with Ruby and Jade. Hayden had laughed and offered his congratulations, but a quiet part of him had secretly wished he could have been there to see it. To stand witness.

Still, he thought, watching his friend from across the glittering store, maybe there would be another wedding someday. A bigger one. A louder one. One with all of them there.

And if that happened…

Hayden hoped he would be standing right beside Shane when it did. Not as a guest, not as a teammate, but exactly where he belonged. His best man. His best friend.

After all, he thought, his smile growing a little wider, that was what best friends were for.