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1.
The meeting had been scheduled for ninety minutes.
Ilya had been assured beforehand that it would be "streamlined." He had learned(googled) that the word streamlined meant approximately the opposite of what normal people thought it meant.
At ninety-three minutes, he was still sitting in the same chair.
At one hundred and four minutes, he stopped pretending he was paying attention.
The man speaking was talking about marketing opportunities.
Ilya honestly couldn't tell anymore.
The slides kept changing.
The words kept coming.
Nothing ever actually happened.
Across the table, Farah was still focused.
Somehow. Ilya had no idea how.
Maybe she had evolved beyond ordinary human limitations.
That seemed likely. Farah could sit through six hours of meetings and emerge with her sanity intact.
Ilya considered that more impressive than any athletic achievement.
"...which positions us well for next quarter..." The speaker smiled.
Another graph appeared.
Ilya looked at the clock.
12:22
His stomach tightened.
Not because he was hungry.
Because lunch started at twelve thirty.
Lunch with Shane.
Whenever their schedules allowed.
Time neither of them cancelled unless absolutely necessary.
The knot in his chest tightened further.
Not because Shane would be angry. Shane would never be angry.
That was part of the problem.
If Ilya called and said he was running late, Shane would smile and tell him not to worry.
He would say the meeting was important.
He would say they could talk later and he would mean it.
And then Ilya would worry if he had actually eaten or not.
The thought immediately irritated Ilya.
Shane was doing better.
But Ilya knew enough to understand that better didn't mean finished.
There was no magical finish line.
No moment where someone crossed a tape and announced they were cured forever.
Some meals required somebody sitting with you while your brain insisted on being an asshole.
Ilya couldn't fix any of it.
Couldn't fight Shane's battles for him.
Couldn't make recovery happen.
But he could show up.
Across the table, Farah looked up.
Their eyes met.
Immediately, she narrowed hers.
Damn.
Caught.
Ilya offered an innocent expression.
Farah looked completely unconvinced.
Reasonably so.
The innocent expression had never worked on her.
Not in all the years she'd known him.
She glanced at the clock.
Then back at him.
Then she pointed one finger downward.
Sit.
Ilya smiled politely.
Farah sighed. The presentation continued.
Twelve twenty-four.
Six minutes.
The speaker clicked to another slide.
Another collection of colorful shapes pretending to be important.
Ilya stopped listening entirely.
His mind drifted.
It drifted where it always drifted.
To Shane.
His husband.
The word still occasionally felt ridiculous.
Not because it was wrong.
Because it was real.
For years, husband had existed in the category of impossible things.
Like teleportation.
Or dragons.
Now it was simply true.
His husband.
Someone he got to love in public.
Sometimes the reality still caught him off guard.
The speaker laughed at something.
Several people laughed with him.
Ilya had no idea why.
Twelve twenty-six.
Four minutes.
His phone remained face down beside his notebook.
He resisted the urge to check it.
Then failed.
No messages.
Good.
Shane was probably finishing practice.
Maybe heading home.
Maybe already unpacking lunch.
The image arrived instantly.
Shane in sweats.
Hair damp from a shower.
Probably standing in the kitchen.
Maybe arguing with himself about which television show to put on and scaring Anya.
Maybe staring out the window.
Maybe—
The speaker said something that included the phrase "long-term vision."
Ilya raised a hand.
The room quieted.
The speaker smiled. "Yes?"
"How much longer?"
The smile faltered. "Sorry?"
"Meeting."
"Oh."
The man glanced toward his laptop.
"A little while."
Ilya waited.
The man cleared his throat.
"Maybe fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes.
Absolutely not.
The decision arrived fully formed.
He stood.
Farah closed her eyes.
Several executives looked alarmed.
The speaker blinked.
"Mr. Rozanov-Hollander?"
"I have another commitment."
Farah spoke without opening her eyes.
"Ilya."
"No."
The speaker laughed nervously. "We really are almost done."
"I believe you."
The man relaxed.
Then Ilya picked up his phone.
And walked toward the door.
Behind him, Farah said his name in exactly the tone people used when they were contemplating homicide.
He kept walking.
The door shut.
Silence.
Freedom.
Immediate relief washed through him.
There.
Problem solved.
Meetings, in Ilya's experience, became dramatically more enjoyable once you left them.
------------------
2.
The first text arrived at 11:07 p.m.
Shane: Still alive?
Ilya was halfway through a vodka soda and trying to convince Svetlana that he absolutely could win a drinking competition against strangers.
He grinned immediately.
Ilya: Obviously.
Ilya: I just danced with a woman who was seventy years old and she said I had beautiful hair.
Shanya: Sounds serious.
Ilya: We may be in love.
Shanya: Damn.
Shanya: Hate to lose you like this.
Ilya laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.
Across the table, Svetlana pointed accusingly.
"Shane?"
"Yes."
"You have not listened to a word I said for thirty seconds."
"I listened."
"What did I say?" Ilya thought about it.
Svetlana groaned.
"You are pathetic."
"Correct."
"You used to be fun."
"I am fun."
"You are married."
"Yes, very."
She stole one of his fries.
Ilya immediately stole it back.
She slapped his hand. "Not today asshole, mine."
The bar was getting crowded and loud.
Svetlana was on her third story about somebody from Moscow who had apparently become involved in three separate pyramid schemes.
Ilya was having a fantastic time.
Which was exactly why Shane wasn't worried.
Years ago, Shane would have encouraged him to stay out.
To enjoy himself.
To stop worrying about everyone else.
These days Shane knew the truth.
The truth was that Ilya genuinely enjoyed going out.
He genuinely enjoyed dancing.
He genuinely enjoyed spending time with friends.
But there was something he enjoyed more.
And unfortunately everyone knew it.
Especially Shane.
Especially Svetlana.
-----
By midnight they had migrated to a second bar.
This one had a dance floor.
Svetlana immediately disappeared into the crowd.
Ilya followed her of course.
For nearly an hour he danced with absolutely no dignity whatsoever.
At one point Svetlana grabbed both his shoulders.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"You are happy."
Ilya blinked. "What?"
"You are." She smiled.
Not teasing now.
"I have known you since we were children."
"I am aware, I was there. You think hockey has given me amnesia now?"
"Shut the fuck up...I have watched you make every terrible decision."
"There have been many."
"So so many." They laughed.
Then she poked his chest.
"But this?"
"What?"
"You look so fucking happy." And that meant something to him.
She had known him when he was angry and lonely.
She had known him before Shane.
Or maybe before he'd admitted what Shane meant.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
"Yeah."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." The smile widened.
Svetlana's expression softened.
"Good."
Then she ruined the moment.
"Now stop being emotional and buy me another drink hoe!"
"There she is."
-----------
At 12:46 a.m. his phone buzzed again.
He barely noticed.
Music filled the room.
People crowded around them.
The dance floor shook beneath his feet.
Then it buzzed a second time.
He frowned and pulled it from his pocket.
The moment he saw Shane's name, everything else faded.
Shanya: Heading to bed.
Ilya smiled immediately. Then another message arrived.
Shanya: Love you.
Shane: Don't stay out too late.
And then:
Shane: Actually ignore that.
Shane: Have fun.
Ilya stared at the screen.
The smile on his face softened.
The noise around him felt distant.
Nothing urgent.
But suddenly all he could picture was Shane at home.
Probably already showered.
Probably in sweatpants.
Curled beneath blankets with Anya in the corner.
All sleepy and warm.
Waiting for absolutely nothing.
Because Shane genuinely expected him to stay out and enjoy himself.
The idiot.
The sweet, wonderful idiot.
Svetlana appeared beside him.
"You got the face."
"What face?"
"The Shane face."
"There is no Shane face."
She leaned over and read the texts.
"Oh my God." She giggled into her drink.
"What?"
"He told you he was going to bed."
"So?"
"So you're leaving."
"No."
"You are."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
"I am having fun."
"You are already mentally in an Uber Illyushka."
"I am not." Svetlana looked completely unconvinced.
Because even as he argued, his thumb was hovering over the rideshare app.
Shane was home.
Shane was sleepy.
Shane was in bed.
There were blankets involved.
Which was honestly unfair competition.
Nobody could compete with sleepy Shane.
Not bars.
Not dancing.
Not friends.
Not literally anything.
His phone buzzed again.
A final text.
Shane: Goodnight ❤️
That was it.
The fatal blow.
The heart emoji.
Ilya closed his eyes briefly.
"Damn it."
Svetlana started laughing.
"Oh my God. I am right, as always."
"Shut up."
"You are unbelievable."
"He did this intentionally."
"He absolutely did not."
"He knew."
"He texted goodnight."
"He knew." Ilya side eyed her.
Svetlana was practically crying now.
"You folded instantly."
"I did not."
"You folded before I even got over here."
Ilya sighed dramatically.
Opened the rideshare app.
Requested a car.
Svetlana immediately cheered.
"There it is."
"You are very unsupportive."
"You left a bar because your husband sent a heart emoji."
"He is sleepy."
"Oh no."
"He might want cuddles, he does not sleep good away from me."
"The tragedy."
"He definitely wants cuddles Sveta. And-and he probably needs his water refilled because he never fucking remembers until his mouth is all dry and scratchy, and he makes this cute scrunchy upset face when he sips from his cup and its empty.."
Svetlana grabbed the table for support.
She was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
Years ago she probably would have mocked him for weeks.
Now she just seemed delighted.
Mostly because she knew exactly how ridiculous he was.
The rideshare app confirmed the driver was six minutes away.
Done.
Decision made.
No regrets.
None whatsoever.
Five minutes later they stood outside.
Cool air.
The distant sounds of music behind them.
Svetlana shook her head. "You know you're hopeless."
"Correct."
"I don't even understand how you function."
"Neither do I." She hugged him.
"I'm glad you're happy," she said quietly.
The words caught him off guard.
Again.
Tonight seemed determined to make him emotional.
He squeezed her shoulders.
"I'm glad too."
She smiled.
Then immediately ruined it.
"As disgusting as it is."
"There she is."
His Uber pulled up.
He climbed inside.
The moment the door closed, he was already texting.
Ilya: Coming home.
The reply arrived almost instantly.
Shanya: Thought so.
------------
3.
Colored lights swept across the crowded club, painting everyone in flashes of blue, red, and gold. The Ottawa Centaurs had taken over a large section near the dance floor after a convincing win, and for once nobody seemed interested in talking hockey.
Not tonight.
Tonight there were drinks, terrible dancing, and a complete absence of responsibility.
At least for most of them.
Ilya was having the time of his life.
He stood in the middle of the dance floor with Barrett and Boodram while Beyonce blasted from the speakers. Around them, strangers danced without caring who anybody was. A few people recognized the players, but nobody was bothering them.
That was the best kind of night.
Ilya laughed as Troy attempted a spin that immediately went wrong.
"You look so stupid." Ilya shouted.
Troy pointed at him. "You've been doing finger guns for three songs."
"They are cool."
"They are not."
"You would not know cool if it sucked your dick Barrett."
Zane snorted into his drink. "You both look stupid."
"You are dancing too."
"Barely."
"You were body rolling five minutes ago."
"That was an accident. It's in my blood, it was Pon De Replay!"
Nobody believed him.
Nearby, Hayes was leaning against the bar with Dillon and Chouinard, looking vastly more composed than the rest of them.
"I can't believe we're letting those three represent us in public," Wyatt said.
Nick glanced toward the dance floor.
"I can."
Tanner lifted his glass. "Honestly, this is still better than Troy's karaoke."
Troy heard that from halfway across the room.
"I WAS GOOD."
"You sang the wrong verse twice, fuck face." Tanner yelled back.
"It was still good!"
Ilya laughed so hard his drink nearly sloshed over the rim.
The season had been exhausting.
The travel had been exhausting.
Life, sometimes, had been exhausting.
But nights like this reminded him why he loved being part of the Centaurs.
Even after becoming captain.
Even after marrying Shane.
Especially after marrying Shane.
The thought made him smile.
His husband had declined the invitation hours earlier.
Shane had stretched out on the couch, looked completely content beneath a blanket, and announced he intended to spend the evening doing absolutely nothing but reviewing game footage and calling his mother.
Ilya had kissed him goodbye.
Shane had kissed him back.
"Have fun."
"I always have fun."
"That is because you are incapable of sitting still."
"You love me in motion Hollander."
"I do..."
Then Shane had stolen one more kiss before pushing him toward the door.
Now, several hours later, Ilya was still riding the high of the win.
He danced through another song.
Then another.
At some point Luca appeared carrying enough drinks to supply a small village.
"I come bearing gifts."
"You are beautiful little shit, ugh-" Troy declared.
"I know." Luca handed drinks around.
Near one of the booths, Boyle and Young were debating the exsistence of mermaids.
"No chance," Boyle said.
"I'm telling you it happened. Tail was doing the little flip thing in the water and everything."
"It was not idiot."
"It did."
"You're lying."
Young looked offended. "I would never."
"You are literally lying right now."
Across from them, Holmberg and LaPointe were watching with amusement.
"Five bucks says they keep arguing for another hour," Holmberg said.
LaPointe shook his head. "Only an hour?"
"Good point."
The team scattered and regrouped throughout the night.
The club grew warmer as more bodies crowded the floor.
Ilya was in the middle of attempting to teach Dykstra a dance move when his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then he glanced down.
Shane.
A grin appeared instantly.
Evan noticed. "Oh no."
"What?"
"That's your husband face."
"I do not have a husband face."
"You absolutely do, heart eyes and all."
Ilya rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone.
The message was short.
Miss you.
Ilya was still staring at the screen.
Another message arrived.
A picture.
Shane naked under the grey blanket in their living room.
One arm behind his head.
Laying on his side to show off his bulging abs and the arch of his ass Ilya longed to live in.
A smug little smile on his face.
The caption underneath read:
No rush.
The lie was obvious.
Ilya laughed.
Then another message appeared.
Actually rush or im staring without you.
That did it.
Evan watched his captain turn toward the exit with all the focus of a man receiving divine instruction.
"Oh my God."
Ilya pocketed his phone.
"Evan."
"No."
"I should go."
"You've been gone three seconds."
"I have husband duties."
"You are insane."
"I know."
Then Ilya clapped him on the shoulder and started walking.
Evan stared after him.
Ilya disappeared into the crowd.
By the time he reached the door, he was already pulling out his keys.
Outside, cool air hit his face.
The city lights reflected off wet pavement.
His phone buzzed again.
How fast are you driving?
Ilya laughed aloud.
Legally.
A response came immediately.
Coward. but good.
He unlocked his car.
Started the engine.
And headed home.
-----------------
5.
Rose had known Shane for years.
Long enough to witness the entire ridiculous saga with Ilya Rozanov.
"That was sickening."
Shane looked up from his coffee.
"What was?"
"This thing you two do."
Rose gestured vaguely in his direction.
"The husband thing."
"The husband thing?"
"The 'Ilya worships the ground I walk on' thing."
Shane nearly choked on his drink.
"I have literally never said that."
"You don't have to, you love to show it off."
"I don't."
"You absolutely do you little bitch."
They were sitting in Shane's kitchen on a rainy afternoon while Rose worked on her laptop and Shane pretended he was helping.
In reality, he was mostly eating crackers and providing unwanted commentary.
The house was quiet.
Ilya had gone to the grocery store forty minutes ago to cook dinner for the two of them.
A completely normal errand.
Rose, unfortunately, had decided to spend those forty minutes accusing Shane of exaggerating his husband's devotion.
"I think you've become symbiotic. You spent like ten mintuets saying goodbye."
Shane laughed.
Rose pointed at him.
"See?"
"See what?"
"That."
"That explains nothing."
"You have this expression."
"What expression?"
"The one that says you're about to tell me something insufferably romantic to remind me i'll die in a ditch old and alone."
"I wasn't."
"You were, at least be humble about it." She smiled through a grumble.
"I wasn't. Swear."
"You absolutely were."
Shane rolled his eyes.
Rose leaned back in her chair.
"I'm serious."
"About what?"
"I know Ilya loves you."
"Good."
"You're married."
"Excellent observation."
"But everyone talks about him like he's some kind of golden retriever and I hate that i'm starting to see it."
Shane snorted. "That is surprisingly accurate."
"No way..."
"He once drove across town because I mentioned I was craving a specific kind of donut."
"That's normal."
"It was a blizzard."
Rose paused.
"Okay. That's insane."
"Thank you."
"But I still think people exaggerate a little bit."
Shane considered this.
Then a smile slowly appeared.
Rose immediately looked suspicious.
"No."
"What?"
"No Shane.."
"I haven't done anything."
"You're thinking about it you naughty little slut."
"Maybe."
"Shane."
He picked up his phone.
Rose groaned.
"Oh my God."
"What?"
"What are you doing?"
"Science."
"You are not doing science."
"I am." Shane opened his messages.
Rose watched him with narrowed eyes.
"What are you going to text?"
"Nothing terrible." Shane typed quickly.
Then set the phone face down on the table
"There."
Rose folded her arms.
"What did you say?"
"You'll see."
"I hate this."
"We've already discussed your negativity."
The phone buzzed almost immediately.
Rose blinked.
Shane picked it up.
Then laughed.
"No."
"What?"
"No way."
Shane turned the screen around.
The message had arrived less than ten seconds after he sent his.
Shane: Come.
Ilya: Everything okay?
Shane: Yes.
Ilya: On my way.
Rose stared.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"He just left?"
"Looks like it."
Rose grabbed the phone.
"He can't be serious."
Shane accepted the phone back before she dropped it.
"He is."
"Why?"
Shane shrugged.
"I asked."
Rose smiled down at her lap "So crazy love like this is real huh?"
"Yup."
"Maybe i'll find it."
-------------
+1.
The barbershop was quiet
Ilya sat in the chair with the kind of patience that made barbers like him immediately.
“Same as usual?” the barber asked, tilting his head slightly as he studied Ilya’s overgrown hair.
“Yes,” Ilya said. “But a little shorter on the sides.”
The barber nodded like this was serious business.
“Got it. Clean but not too clean. Athlete clean.”
“I am an athlete.” Ilya said.
The barber snorted. “I know, man.”
Clippers came on.
Hair fell away in soft, dark strands.
Ilya stared at his reflection in the mirror, watching the familiar transformation happen. It was routine. Simple. A reset between games, between travel, between everything that filled his life.
Somewhere in his pocket, his phone buzzed.
He didn’t check it immediately.
He usually didn’t while getting a haircut.
The barber moved around him with practiced ease, shaping, combing, trimming.
“Busy season?” the barber asked.
“Yes.”
“You guys doing okay this year?”
Ilya considered.
“We are improving.”
“That’s coach talk.”
“It is accurate talk.”
The barber laughed.
“Cmon Roz, wanna know if I can put money on you guys.”
Ilya just smirked and shrugged.
Buzzing continued.
Ilya’s phone buzzed again.
Then again.
The barber paused briefly.
“You good to check that?”
“It is fine,” Ilya said automatically.
But his attention had already shifted.
Because only a few people messaged him repeatedly like that.
Only a few people made his phone feel like it mattered more than the haircut.
He waited for the barber to finish a pass, then reached carefully into his pocket.
Shane.
Of course.
A small smile appeared before he even unlocked the screen.
The first message was a photo.
Shane holding the camera slightly too close to his face, grinning.
Caption: Miss you.
Ilya exhaled softly.
The barber noticed the change in expression immediately.
“Ooooo.” he said. “Wifey problems?”
“Husband, remeber KJ?” Ilya corrected.
“Hubby problems, my fault princess.” the barber said.
Ilya opened the second message.
Another photo.
Shane now on the bed.
Blanket over his legs.
Eyes narrowed slightly like he was plotting something.
Caption: What are you doing?
Ilya smiled more.
He typed with one hand.
Haircut.
A response came instantly.
Send picture.
He hesitated only long enough for the barber to step away and reposition himself.
Then he angled the phone toward the mirror and snapped a photo.
The new cut was still mid-process. One side cleaner than the other. Slightly uneven. But already sharper than before.
He sent it.
Then waited.
The reply came within seconds.
No words.
Just a photo.
Shane again.
This time sitting up.
Blanket gone.
Hand around his erect cock.
Caption: Come home.
Ilya blinked.
Read it again.
Then again.
The barber leaned in slightly.
“You good?”
“Yes, da.” Ilya said quickly. Like a switch had flipped somewhere behind his dick.
The barber continued working, unaware of the....shift.
Thank goodness for that tarp thing.
Ilya stared at the message.
Then typed.
Ilya: I am still at barber.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
Shanya: I know.
Come home anyway.
Ilya stared at it.
The clippers buzzed behind his ear.
The barber said something about blending, but Ilya barely registered it.
“Is everything okay?” the barber asked again.
“Yes,” Ilya said.
He stood up.
The barber froze mid-motion.
“Uh.”
“I will come back later,” Ilya said.
The barber looked confused.
“Bro, I’m halfway done.”
“Yes,” Ilya said, already reaching for his jacket.
“I can finish in like ten minutes.”
“It is fine.”
The barber blinked.
“Are you serious right now?”
Ilya nodded once. “I apologize.”
KJ stepped in front of him. "You are not leaveing."
"I am." Ilya's tone darkend.
"Uh, my guy...calm down, you seem worked up and-"
He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet without really looking and moved around him.
Pressed it onto the counter.
Then another.
“No, man, I don’t need—”
“It is okay,” Ilya said quickly. “Thank you but I must go.”
The barber held up his hands.
“Dude, at least let me finish the other-”
“I cannot wait.”
“For what?”
Ilya paused.
Like he was genuinely considering whether this was information worth sharing.
Then, as if it explained everything:
“My husband wants me home.”
Silence.
The barber stared at him.
Then slowly looked at the half-finished haircut in the mirror.
Then back at Ilya.
“You’re leaving…a haircut…because your husband texted you.”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane.”
Ilya nodded politely.
“Yes.”
And then, as if this was just another day in his life, he smiled slightly.
“I will come back tomorrow.”
The barber let out a disbelieving laugh.
“You can’t be real, man.”
“I am real.”
“I mean like…this situation.”
Ilya was already halfway to the door.
“Thank you,” he said again. “I appreciate your work.”
“Yo, wait—”
But Ilya was gone.
The bell above the shop door jingled sharply as it closed.