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Ilya rounded the corner and came to a stop outside the hospital room. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
“Ilyaaaaaaa!”
It was Shane’s voice, drawn out and full of glee in a way Ilya has never heard it before. Ilya looked to Shane and saw how his face was all lit up in a smile, despite the discolouration across his cheeks and nose and his arm wrapped up in a sling.
Before Ilya could say anything, a voice from the window side of the room spoke up, “Rozanov?”
Ilya looked over and his stomach dropped. Yuna Hollander was staring at him from the small lounge chair, confused. She looked tired, her clothes rumpled as if she had slept in them.
“Mrs Hollander,” Ilya said, surprise coating his voice, “I–I just wanted to come to check on Sh–Hollander.”
Yuna continued to look confused and before she could speak again, Ilya blurted out, “as Captain.”
“Oh, of course. Well, we appreciate it,” Yuna said with a terse, almost polite smile.
Before she could speak again, Shane, with a small voice copied “‘preciate itttt.”
Ilya looked to him and his chest squeezed at the dopey smile Shane was staring at him with. He looked so happy and carefree. Ilya had to get out of here before he did something stupid like throw himself at Shane and never let go.
“I should go,” Ilya started, his voice strained. He cleared his throat. “Feel better soon, Hollander.”
Ilya, with one last look and a small nod to Yuna, turned to grab the door handle and started opening the door.
“Hey!” Shane spoke, and Ilya looked back to see Shane had his hand reaching out to him. Ilya stopped and his breath caught. He looked at Yuna again, as she rushed to grab Shane’s hand. Shane, but shook his hand vigorously, causing Yuna to drop it and take a step away. Before Yuna could even really react, Shane held his hand out again towards Ilya. He started speaking again, his voice raised higher as he made grabby hands like a child at Ilya, “Heyyyyy!”
Ilya quickly let go of the door and turned fully towards Shane. It was clear that Shane was high or concussed —or maybe both. Ilya needs to leave. Shane was not in the right mind and his mother was in the room.
“Hollander,” he warned, sending him a look that tried to convey that they should be careful, nodding ever so slightly in the direction of Shane’s mother. “You should rest. I will go.”
Shane frowned, his nose and eyes crinkled in such a cute way, like a child being told he cannot have a cookie. His grabby hand got more aggressive and the light from the window highlighted his glassy eyes. He sniffled so softly, Ilya almost didn’t hear it.
Ilya moved towards Shane automatically, before his brain even caught up. He gently took Shane’s outstretched hand and glanced tentatively towards Yuna.
“Yesss,” Shane said softly, squeezing his hand, “better.”
Yuna looked bewildered but quickly composed herself under Ilya’s gaze. She straightened up, casting a stern look at Ilya and said, “Rozanov, sorry, but Shane is a little out of it at the moment, maybe it’s best if you go. We appreciate your visit.”
“No, Mom,” Shane said in an exasperated voice like he was a child explaining something for the fiftieth time, “we call him Ilya now.”
Ilya forced out a carful laugh and shot him a small look with wide eyes, “Hollander, maybe your mother is right? You are not yourself right now.”
Shane let out a whine, “Why do you keep calling me that?” He sniffled again and his eyes started to well up as his lip started to tremble. His voice cracked as he said, “Do you not like me anymore?”
Ilya’s chest hurt and he quickly—and despite Yuna looking on—gripped Shane’s hand tighter and brushed his other hand across Shane’s cheek.
“No, of course I do,” he spoke, hushed, “please no tears, Shane.”
At the sound of his name, Shane let out a small hum and he smiled again, looking up at Ilya as he leaned into Ilya’s hand that was caressing his cheek as if he was trying to bury himself in it.
“Better,” he said, showing off a toothy grin. Ilya huffed a laugh at it, and responded with a small smile. He bushed his thumb over Shane’s cheek, the bruising making his freckles appear more prominent.
“You scared me,” Ilya whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Shane whispered back, his big eyes staring up at Ilya.
“No, it’s okay,” Ilya reassured him softly. “And you—you are okay?”
“Concussion and a broken collarbone. Out for the playoffs but—”
“Could’ve been worse?”
“Could’ve been worse.”
“Marleau feels terrible, he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know,” Shane said, “all part of the game, right?”
“Right.” Ilya drew his hand back from Shane’s cheek. “Maybe I should be going now, right, Shane?” Ilya made sure to use the correct name again, hoping it would help ease Shane into letting Ilya leave before the situation could be more unexplainable to Yuna.
Shane, as if not listening, said, “I am mad at Marleau though. I had a whole plan to ask you something after the game.”
“Shane,” Ilya spoke, warning in his tone. He glanced back towards Yuna and, unsuccessfully, tried to pull his hand out of Shane’s grip. “Your mother is—”
“I was gonna ask you,” Shane bulldozed on without a care in the world, “will you come to my cottage this summer?”
Yuna’s eyes went wide and she let out a small noise.
Ilya cleared his throat and turned back to Shane, panicked. “Holl—Shane. Maybe you should—”
“Don’t go to Russia,” Shane interjected. His eyes were closed and his face looked so relaxed as if he wasn’t breaking his mother’s reality. “Come to my house. We’ll have so much fun, it’s so private, no one will know.”
Yuna, finally, spoke again and stepped towards them both with a careful expression. “Shane, honey, I didn’t realise you were friends with Rozanov?”
Shane let out a snort and Ilya felt a sense of dread wash over him. “I told you it’s Ilya. And we’re not friends, Mom!”
“But, then—”
“We’re boyfriends!”
Yuna let out a sharp gasp and the room fell silent except for the beeping of the machines. Shane looked so pleased with himself that if Ilya wasn’t so scared, he would have been endeared at the sight of it. His heart was beating fast, the word boyfriend alone sending it into a frenzy, let alone that it was said to Shane’s mother.
“He—um,” Ilya stuttered, trying to find the right words, “Shane is not of good mind right now, he is not thinking straight.”
This was clearly bad wording because Shane laughed so hard he snorted a little. He spoke through giggles, “can’t think straight when I’m so ga—mmph.”
Ilya’s free hand clapped over Shane’s mouth and he looked at Yuna in a panic, shaking. He could feel Shane licking his palm but he didn’t pull his hand away.
Yuna held her hands in front of her towards Shane instinctively, eyes wide. She looked at Ilya and there must’ve been something in his expression because her eyes started to soften.
Ilya realised that his lip was trembling softly and he bit it to try and stop it.
“Roz—Ilya,” she spoke softly, reaching out, gently resting her hand softly on his arm. “It’s okay.”
Ilya swallowed, nodded, and slowly released his hand from Shane’s mouth and opened his own mouth to speak—
“Gay!” Shane said, proudly. He looked so smug to have bypassed the obstruction of Ilya’s hand. It was such an absurd moment that the tension in the room bled out at Ilya and Yuna both let out unbelievable laughs.
“Oh, sweetie,” Yuna cooed. She walked around the hospital bed to Shane’s other side and rested her hand on his thigh. The movement gained Shane’s interest and, for probably the first time since Ilya entered the room, Shane looked away from him and towards Yuna.
“Hi,” Shane spoke to her, his eyes and tone soft. “Mom, Ilya’s here! He’s here and I want him there at my cottage, please tell him he should come visit.”
He was so earnest and Ilya, for the first time since the accident, finally broke. A tear dislodged itself and rolled down his cheek. Ilya moved to wipe it away but the motion caught Shane’s attention again and when Shane saw Ilya, his own eyes showed concern.
Shane made to move to comfort Ilya but let out a groan as he moved his injured shoulder. Both Ilya and Yuna made quick motions to settle Shane back towards the bed.
“No, Shane, you are hurt, do not move,” Ilya said, squeezing Shane’s hand, his free hand moving once again to Shane’s cheek. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not,” Shane protested.
“I am,” Ilya reassured, “it has just been a long night and morning.”
“Oh,” Shane nodded, then squeezing his eyes shut as if the motion hurt his head. “Okay.”
The room fell into silence and Yuna was glancing between them both. She looked like she was trying to figure out what she should ask or say.
The door to the room opened and on instinct, Ilya pulled away from Shane. The grip on his hand tightened however, so Ilya could not move away far.
Ilya froze as David Hollander walked into the room carrying two coffee cups. He paused at the sight, but after a moment and a slight shake of his head, just moved towards the bed and handed Yuna one of the cups.
He glanced quickly at Ilya and said, “Rozanov, right?”
“No, Dad!” Shane groaned with a petulant look, “It’s Ilya.”
David nodded at this, smiled at Shane and then at Ilya and said, “Okay, Ilya then. It’s good of you to visit, thank you.”
Ilya didn’t know what to do or say so he just gave a small smile and nod.
“Dad,” Shane said. All eyes went to the injured man. “Can you tell Ilya how nice the cottage is?”
David looked a little puzzled, but echoed, “it is a nice cottage.”
“Yesss,” Shane said, looking up at Ilya with big eyes. He whispered, his tone pleading, “please come.”
Ilya looked at the older Hollanders and then back at Shane. He squeezed Shane’s hand and whispered back, “Okay.”