Chapter Text
April 2017 - Montreal - Right after Ilya’s father's death
Ilya sat on the plane going to Montreal. Moral was high, and his boys were celebrating another win against Raleigh. Weak team, thought the Russian man, but it was not what was occupying his thoughts. He told himself he had decided. He was sure. Or was he? The answer kept slipping from his grasp, circling through his mind: Was he really ready? Could he go through with it? Each time he tried to settle his feelings, uncertainty crept in, sharp and uneasy. Had he decided, or was he just pretending?
He needed to end things with Hollander. The only thought of letting him go, the anguish in Shane’s eyes made him feel sick. He had declared his feelings to Shane in Russian, but that counted, right? Ilya felt a strong urge to run away; he could not bear the consequences of being with him. He loved him, he was sure, but he knew that he would ultimately destroy him. He would destroy them both as he did with his own mother. Shane had a future in hockey. He was brilliant; he deserved a long, exhausting career; he deserved a loving person at his side, not a complicated bisexual Russian who was bad at feeling.
Ilya turned his gaze toward the window. The sky was clear but pitch dark. He knew he was not responsible for what had happened to his mum, but he also knew that he had done nothing to protect her. He remembered that winter night when he could hear his mother's sobs through the thin apartment walls while he lay frozen in bed, afraid to go to her or say anything. The guilt had grown roots in him since then, cold and unshakable. Beneath his flashy and self-assured exterior, Ilya was always weak, running away, hiding, and concealing his identity, but with Shane, he never had to hide. For ten years, this man had been Ilya oxygene, and tonight, he was about to become the saddest part of him. The part of him that would never have been his.
He cursed in Russian with the only thought in his mind: “I hate myself.”
When the plane touched ground, the familiar chime erupted from his phone.
Written with tiny letters on his virtual screen: Jane: “Looking forward to seeing you.”
Ilya's stomach pitted deeper than it already was, as if it were possible.
____________________
Lili: Meet before the match, 5min, corridor in front of the showers
Shane was unpacking his gear in the locker room when he received Ilya’s text. Re-reading the text that had popped up a couple of minutes ago on his screen, he was debating what to do. They usually never met before a match, something was off, and Shane did not like it. He felt his breathing accelerate, but tried to keep it in control. He had to focus; he had a team to lead and a match to win.
Jane: K, only 5min
For once in his life, Shane did not overthink his message. With half of his gear put on, he went to the corridor as Ilya had ordered him. Rozanov was casually leaning against the wall. Messy curls falling on his eyes, wearing a black sweatshirt, and black sweatpants. He looked like he was in mourning attire, which made sense, knowing that he had recently lost his dad.
With a comprehensive smile, Shane approached him.
“mhh Hello.. I am sorry for your dad. Please accept my condolences. Shane knew that although the corridor was empty as everyone was getting ready, they were not in a private space.
“Mhhh,” Rozanov grunted in response without looking at his eyes.
Some minutes passed, which appeared like an eternity for Shane. Ilya was still not looking at him in his eyes. Until, in a cold, accented voice, the russian boy broke it. Shane felt his heart beating.
“Listen, Hollander. Let’s stop. I do not want to see you again. I cannot.”
The words were articulated with a chirugical precision, cutting Shane open.
Shane tried to articulate something, but the blood left his face. Tears were not falling, no, it would have been too easy. He just remained looking at Rozanov, who was now looking at him with a cold stare.
A couple of seconds passed, and Shane still had not uttered a word, which Ilya might have taken as a message.
“Good game”. He breathed before passing by Shane, brushing their hand slightly.
After that moment, Shane does not really remember what he did. He felt hard to feel anything, as if Ilya had not trashed ten years of his history, their history. He regained the locker room, got ready, and even cracked some jokes with his team, but the one cracking jokes was not him. It was someone else. The match started, and he was still in autopilot. All these years of control and lists have helped him with those kinds of situations. Everything was measured. He knew exactly all his next steps. Until he did not.
He was speeding, having captured the puck a couple of seconds ago from Rozanov. They had cross gaze, and Shane's little modus operandi crashed as soon as he gazed at the Russian hazel eyes.
A huge mass crushed into Shane with the force of a train at full speed. Shane will know later that Cliff Marlow had bumped into him.
Hear buzzing, and respiration cut, Shane tried to move, but the medics that were dispatched on the ice directly immobilized him. He could not even see if Ilya had seen that, and he was worried about him. Worried for him? At this exact moment, his words went crashing down his skull, “Let’s Stop”, “I cannot”... Of course, Iyla would not worry for him, because he did not want to have anything to do with Shane anymore. It felt so dumb, but Shane did not have the energy to shed any tears; his heart was empty, not being able to feel anything else but the pain in his head and the muffled words from the medics.
“Hollander, you have to stay awake.”.. “Awake”... but Shane has no more energy, sleep sounded like a sweet release, he wanted it so much. He wanted to stop feeling, stop his body from hurting, and stop his chest from burning.
—-------------------------------------------
The hospital time was uneventful, to be honest. Shane had to lie in bed and undergo countless exams to make sure his precious body was not impacted by the hit. Sadly, even if his state was stable, he had a bad concussion, which disqualified him directly from the playoffs. Shane felt bitter about it, but on the flip side, a bit relieved, because he felt that very moment that he did not want to play hockey. He did not want to do anything other than look at the wall, and he was happy about it.
After a couple of days in the hospital, he received a visit from almost all his teammates and his coach. His parents were also constantly present, which made the time pass quickly. At night, Shane thought about his cottage, and everything he had to do, to make it habitable for his convalescent. He had all planned: Release from hospital, go back to Montreal condo, make a suitcase with essentials (he had a separate mental list for this), clean his kitchen, pack his leftover food from the fridge and cupboard, drive to the cottage, unpack, clean the cottage, go grocery shopping. Everything was in order. He would have no time to think about Ilya.
When the day of his release finally came, Shane was checking his messages in the taxi going to his Condo:
Mom: We will be waiting for you at home for a late lunch before you head out to your cottage. Is that ok?
Shane: Noted
He stared a little too much at his phone.
Lilly: Meet before the match, 5 minutes, corridor in front of the showers
Shane angrily took his phone and deleted the chat with Ilya, the one they had had for ten years. It was not much, just a couple of messages scattered over the years, but Shane felt he was erasing all his life.
He felt the lump in his throat, which had never left since their conversation, get bigger and bigger. Tears were dangerously threatening to fall from his eyes.
He could not; he was not strong, and he could not hide behind lists. He could not control the implosion of his whole system. Shane barely reached his apartment before collapsing to the floor. He felt tears wetting the expensive wooden floor. His breathing became ragged, and his throat sore from the cries. He could not contain his sobs. More than ever, he was mad, so fucking mad at Ilya for ending things like that. For not giving him a chance to repost, Ilya knew him; he knew Shane needed his time, did not like surprises, or being caught off guard. He had done it on purpose. Shane was sure of it; he had done it to cut the grass under him, to prevent him from responding.
Why could he not reply to Ilya? Shane replayed the scene over and over in his head. The all-black track suit, the cold stare, the brief speech, and his inability to utter any words.
He was spiraling, not able to move from the entrance of his apartment.
With trembling hands, Shane managed to type a brief yet efficient message to his mum.
Shane: I need to pass by the Rink. I will be driving to the cottage tomorrow.
He knew this message would absolutely not convince Yuna Hollander, but that was the best he could do at the moment. He could not possibly explain his state to his parents. It would mean coming out to them, which he did not really have a problem with, but explaining who had caused that distress in his mind did. Shane was positive that as soon as his mother got to know, she would drive to Boston to kill Rozanov with her bare hands, and Shane could not bear this idea. He had to find a solution, but currently, the most pressing matter was calming his panic attack. Dragging himself from the floor to the sofa took more strength than he thought. He was a professional hockey player, Olympian, goddam, and yet he felt like the voyage from the entry to the sofa was like climbing Mount Everest.
Reaching the Sofa, Shane did the only thing he could think about, which was calling the only person on earth who knew: Rose.
The ringtone took a couple of minutes, but thankfully, Rose picked up.
“What’s up! What’s up! How are you, my love? Did you receive my flowers at the hospital? Are you out already?” Rose's voice was cheerful, bright, and happy.
“I….” Shane could only breathe before shattering again, violent sobs ripping through his exhausted body.
Rose's cheerful tone suddenly went out.
“Shane, what’s going on?” Rose questioned with concern in her voice.
“We broke up, and I am here crying like an idiot on my sofa. I….I took 1h to go from the entry to the sofa…Rose, please…” It was too much for him, and Shane started to hyperventilate again.
Right away, Rose's voice became smooth.
“Shane, my dear, Breath in, Breath out. Come on, do it with me.”
He followed her lead obediently for a couple of minutes.
“Perfect, you are doing just fine. Now,” she said, “You are in your house in Montreal?”
“Mhh,” Shane answered in a nearly inaudible confirmation.
“Ok, I will be there in 3h tops. I can stay on the phone if you need.”
They both stayed on the phone until Rose reached Shane's condo 3h later, as she had promised. She was carrying a big box full of things, which she promptly dropped as soon as Shane opened the door of his Condo to embrace him fiercely.
“Rozanov is an idiot,” She spat. Over the three hours coming to that moment, Shane had poured all his ache on Rose, explaining the full story of his very long relationship with Ilya.
Hearing Ilya's name again made Shane sob again.
“Oh no, no, darling, forget what I said. I brought non-approved diet things to make you happy.” She guided Shane to the sofa, and emptied the contents of the box, which was indeed full of sugary non-approved threats… Rose made the list of all of them: “...and last but not least Canada dry.”
She smiled at him. She looked stunning as usual. Shane was not sure which movie set she had to leave in an emergency to reach back to him.
“Thank you for being here for me,” he said weakly. He felt so exhausted.
“Anytime. Anything for you.” She smiled, grabbing his weathered cheeks
After a couple of hours lounging on the sofa, eating sugary treats that indeed warmed Shane's heart, and watching dumb movies, time seemed to blur. At first, laughter and the mindless comfort of sugar and silly jokes made the atmosphere feel lighter, almost safe. Gradually, though, the silences started to stretch out. As the daylight shifted through the curtains, Shane felt the familiar ache creeping back in, the weight of reality settling between them. Rose noticed the change and turned to Shane with a serious look.
“I think you should talk about it to your parents. Don’t get me wrong, I am not forcing you to out yourself before the hour, but breakups are tough times, you need all the support you can get, and above all, all the love.” She smiled sadly at him. Shane knew he would have to explain everything, all of it, to his parents. He did not know if he was ready. The thought made his chest tighten as anxiety prickled at his skin.
The memory of his last argument with Ilya flashed behind his eyes: Ilya’s voice, cold and distant, telling him it was better if they stopped seeing each other. Shane had tried to hold on, desperate for some sign that Ilya felt as much as he did, but the more he reached out, the further Ilya drifted. Now he felt wrung out and hollow, a mix of hurt and anger tangled in his heart, and all his doubts about being lovable seemed to roar back to life. Before the conversation with Ilya, Shane thought that maybe, in an ideal world, he could have invited Ilya to his cottage, asked him if they could be more than this ridiculous situationship, and then maybe they could have gone out to eat at his parents' place. His mother would have been shocked at first, and his dad would have been speechless, but he was sure they would have accepted everything… Unfortunately, this plan was no longer available. Shane hated it when his plans were failing.
“I can go with you, if you need me. Of course, if I am not intruding, I know it can be a complex moment…” Rose was starting to ramble.
“Let’s go.” Shane sprang to his feet. “I need to do something, otherwise I will go crazy. I need to leave this house, otherwise my head will explode.” He needed movement, needed to act before he thought himself into pieces.
Rose looked at him with a weird look before adding, “Are you sure?”
Shane nodded before getting ready. He had to regain control of his life; otherwise, he would be drawn in for good. He realized with pain that he had never thought about a future without Ilya in it, the russian playboy being his favorite comfort zone, but Shane was so mad at him that he needed to regain control and prove to Ilya that life did not end without him, that he did not need him.
They reached his parents' house in record time. Rose was maybe an F1 pilot in her previous life. Shane was sure of one thing: he was so stressed about losing his life to her driving that he did not think that much about Ilya for the last two hours.
When his car parked in his parents' driveway, Shane felt fear gripping his stomach. He had lost his determination after his sudden burst of confidence back in Montreal.
As soon as his mother opened the door, Shane sank back into despair. His puffy eyes and his gloomy energy would not fool his mother. Now, he had to explain to her and his dad why he was in a state of disarray and who had caused it.
“Shane..” his mother exclaimed upon seeing him. “What happened to you? Are you ok, baby?”
He saw Yuna's gaze go from him to Rose, who was standing beside him with a sorry smile.
“Let’s go inside. I think we have to talk.” He managed to articulate emotionlessly.
“Sure,” his mother replied, worried.
Thirty minutes later, he was tucked into the sofa between his Rose and his mum with a warm coffee mug.
“So if I recap,” His mom started before being interrupted by his dad, who had a painful expression.
“Darling, he just explained, maybe we should not stir more…”
“It is ok, Dad,” Shane cut in a tired voice. He felt so tired that he no longer had the strength to keep his eyes open, and the coffee was not helping to keep him afloat.
“You had a relationship with your nemesis rival, Rozanov, for over ten years now, and right before your match with his team a couple of weeks ago, he called it out ?” Yuna recapped in an analytical tone. Shane felt Rose squeeze his hand in reassurance.
“Correct, it would have been fine… but I do not know why I am like this.” Another sob erupted from his mouth. He knew why he was like this. Ilya had broken his heart casually on a Saturday in a corridor of the Monteral stadium. He had loved him dearly and had taken so much time to realize it, but this was too much to reveal to his parents.
“Ok… maybe let’s have a little break. I will prepare dinner. Shane, darling, take it easy, take some rest. I will bring you dinner when it is ready.”
His mother stood and marched toward the kitchen. Shane knew his mother was like him, or rather, he was like his mother. She might have already been calculating all the information to find a logical solution to Shane’s despair. Rose followed her to the open kitchen while Shane lay down on the Sofa
He told himself that he would close his eyes for a couple of seconds to rest them from all the crying. In his slumber, he heard his Mom and Rose discussing.
“It can be a brilliant idea…” a feminine voice commented.
“Lavender what?” his dad questioned.
“Lavender marriage. It is a fake marriage between two person to protect their common interest. It was fairly common in the past, and it could give a bit of time to Shane to recover and also buy him time to come out on his own terms and…” he heard a second feminine voice comment;
“And I am sure he will react; if he loves him, he will be outraged. I saw him at this club last winter, he was out of himself…”
Shane could not question what was happening, Lavender's marriage, outrage; he knew that Rose and his mom were cooking something, and he did not really like it. However, his eyes felt so heavy, and his heart felt so broken that yet again the sweet slumber of his sleep was the only place he wanted to be at the moment.