Archive of Our Own

Montreal had lost the game in Washington, and an air of sadness hung over the whole team. J.J., who always celebrated and screamed at the top of his lungs after these games, was silently scrolling on his phone as they all waited for the team bus. Shane’s phone buzzed, and he smiled when he saw the caller ID. Rose.

“Hey chica, sorry to hear you lost the game, but what’s one loss in The Shane Hollander Dynasty?” she said dramatically. Shane could picture her, one hand dramatically over her forehead as she recalled his tragic loss tonight, which made him chuckle.

“Hi, to you too, Rose! How can I help you?”

“You wound me, Hollander; you think I will call you only when I need something?” She gasped.

“Yes, Rose, because you never call me after a game- well, not since we broke up, anyway,” Shane replied.

“Yes, because you left me for another man, a handsome blonde with beautiful curls, while I stayed right where you left me, waiting at the door, a satin gown clenched to my body, candle in hand, like a good wife,” she replied, sadness laced in her voice. For a moment, Shane truly believed her, but he knew how good she was at her craft.

“Rose Landry, you are a good actor; you know that?” Shane heard Pike calling him over to board the bus. He quickly crossed the road and sat. Hayden sat next to him, while J.J sat across the aisle, still on his phone.

“Shane Hollander, were you doubting my phenomenal acting? I am hurt that my best friend doesn’t believe in me,” she sniffled, and Shane laughed, “ but that’s not why I called dumbass. I want you to go to Instagram and support me by resharing my post on your story. It’s for a charity I am doing, which is organised for Women’s Reproductive Rights. Please, please, Shane.”

“Ok, ok, I’ll do it. Happy?”

“Yes, very. Bye, Shane, I love you,” she said and hung up before Shane could even reply with a ‘love you too.’

Shane never opened Instagram. The last time he opened it was when he and Ilya had fought, and just thinking about it made Shane anxious. He would never repeat his mistakes. He saw that he had 200 unread messages, and the latest were from Ilya. Curious, he opened them.

Shane.

You are the best thing in my life.

I love you. Always. Maybe from the first time I saw you.

I am thinking only about you right now. A million memories. Thank you for those.

Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart. I believe it.

Why did Ilya write that? Was he suddenly feeling like a poet? Shane was puzzled. Ilya and Shane never used Instagram to communicate. He read those lines again. They felt wrong and eerie in a way Shane couldn’t figure out. His gut feeling told him that something was wrong. He decided to text Ilya when he heard J.J shout.

“Holy fuck, the Centaurs’ plane crashed while flying to Tampa!”

Shane could feel his fingers slowly losing sensation, like a thousand needles pricking him at the same time. Those words weren’t poetic. No, worse, they were meant as Ilya’s last words.

“Are they all alright?” He mustered all his courage to ask, terrified of the answer he might receive, but his throat betrayed him. It came out as a whisper. J.J looked at him with concern.

“The report says that the crash was bad, and they don’t know if there are any survivors.” J.J could see the colour drain from his closest friend’s face, so he continued, “But the medics had arrived on time, and the rescue operation was quite quick.”

Shane’s phone slipped from his fingers and landed with a loud thud on the bus floor. Everyone’s attention was on him now. He should stop acting like a scared little child, but he couldn’t. All he could think about was Ilya. Shane’s palms were sweaty, and his heart hammered against his ribs; he could hear the loud beats and the blood rushing through his veins. He could taste the warm, salty tears that flowed from his eyes.

Ilya, he thought. Was he ok? Was he safe? He must have felt so alone. If Ilya died, he would never be able to speak to him, ever again. Oh god, what will he do without Ilya? The last time they had spoken to each other, Ilya had told him he was getting better with Galina’s help. But why did Ilya need a therapist in the first place? Shane was a bad boyfriend, he thought. He didn’t even know what was troubling his boyfriend. Ilya had uprooted his whole life and chosen Shane, and what had Shane given him? Excuses to hide. And Ilya wasn’t even happy with that. Shane had forced him.

All the Voyageurs looked at their captain, baffled by his current state. Legs close to his chest, eyes rimmed with tears, rocking his body and chanting one name. One name they hated with all their being.

Ilya.

Ilya.

Ilya.

Shane frantically picked up his phone and started pressing buttons like a man possessed. His teammates had never seen him lose control. This was new.

The phone rang.

Hi, you have reached Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.

Shane called again and waited.

Hi, you have reached Ilya. I will never listen to your voicemail.

Voicemail, again.

Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Shane felt bile rise in his stomach. Ilya’s voicemail was there. His cheeky, annoying voicemail, and the person who always picked up his phone was not answering it this time.

Shane thought about Ilya’s smile. The smile he had grown to love over the past few years. How his whole face lit up when he was teasing someone, and his soft curls under Shane’s hands- he’ll never get to touch them again. How he was a kind-hearted soul. No one would know. No one would know what Ilya meant to Shane because Shane had fucked it up. Would he even be allowed at his funeral? What did Ilya want? He had never asked Ilya how he had wanted to be cremated. In Moscow, or here at his house in Ottawa? Right now, Ilya was probably on a hospital bed dying, and they could not even call Shane to inform him, because as much as Ilya wanted the Hollanders to be his emergency contact, Shane had refused. He had told him it was a stupid idea. He had laughed at it. Shane was an asshole. He didn’t even want the man he claimed to love to be his emergency contact. Shane should have been on that plane. Because now he didn’t know where Ilya was. Dead or alive.

Shane reread Ilya’s messages. He was thinking about him in his last moments. No, no, Ilya wouldn’t leave him alone on this planet. Who would he compete with? Hockey for him meant Ilya. It had been since perhaps the day that they met. If there was no Ilya, what would he do, playing alone in the league, no one to give him competition, no one to chirp at. And what was the point of hiding it all, if in the end he couldn’t have the one person he loved, Ilya. He couldn’t even grieve him openly. He didn’t want to keep Ilya safe in his heart; he wanted him physically next to him, to hold him and tell him that he loved him so much. And he would choose Ilya over hockey. I choose you, Ilya. I choose you.

A gut-wrenching voice came out of Shane’s body, and he screamed. His whole body began to shake. He couldn’t take this; his Ilya was out cold, and Shane was here, sitting on a bus with no way to contact him. But he couldn’t move from his place. He was stuck inside his thoughts. His sobs kept getting louder.

He looked at Hayden and whispered, ‘Ilya.’

Hayden looked at his best friend’s state and immediately called Wyatt Hayes. But he didn’t pick up either. He tried again, but no luck. Hayden knew he needed to get Shane off this bus and on a flight to Tampa. Only Ilya knew how to handle Shane’s panic attacks, and Ilya was the only person they couldn’t reach right now, and nobody even knew what Ilya actually meant to Shane.

“Shane, hey buddy, stop thinking about the worst, ok? He’s ok; I know he is. You know how arrogant and stubborn he is. He wouldn’t go without a fight, yes?”

Hayden looked at the team, their eyes wide open with shock and betrayal. Their captain was friends with Rozanov, but they didn’t know he was this close. Hayden didn’t know how to help Shane and stop the Voyageurs from crowding around Shane; he silently pleaded to J.J who understood and asked them all to sit down.

Meanwhile, Shane was getting worse. Hayden noticed that Shane was wheezing, finding it difficult to breathe. He suddenly remembered a video he had of Ilya and his kids, and searched for it on his phone before finding it and pressing play.

‘Hey, baby, is ok. I am ok, da? I am not hurt, look.’

Shane’s ears immediately perked up. He snatched Hayden’s phone and listened to Ilya’s voice. Warm, gentle, loving. It was a video of Ilya and Arthur, Hayden’s son, playing. Arthur had accidentally thrown his toy truck at Ilya’s nose, and it had resulted in a small incision, which had made Arthur cry. Shane was cleaning Ilya’s wound while Ilya calmed the little boy. Hearing Ilya’s voice calmed Shane. He could feel his muscles loosening, but his body felt like it had gone through some tri-athlon thing. His breathing slowly returned to normal. Shane closed his eyes. And played it again.

He saw all his teammates looking at him, anger, shock, concern, disgust, all emotions packed into them. His first instinct was always to hide. Run from these people because they would never understand. So when J.J asked him if Shane had an unrequited love for Rozanov, he could have chosen that path. The safe path. He could have agreed, lied and moved on. But one thing he knew for sure was this: if anything happened to Ilya, he would never be able to forgive himself, and look himself in the mirror because he was a coward who couldn’t love the man he loved, out loud, as he deserved.

“No, Ilya is my boyfriend, the love of my life.”

Nobody said anything. Except for the loud honking from the driver, it was eerily silent. They all stared at Shane like he had grown two horns.

He could see that they had almost reached the hotel. And wanted to dash out the door when Cormeau asked, his tone laced with malice, “How long has this been going on? You never threw a game his way, did you, Hollander?”

“Never.”

Shane smiled a little as he looked at him.

“Because you have never known a Shane Hollander who wasn’t in love with Ilya Rozanov.”

They were all dumbfounded as Shane left the bus and hurried to the hotel room, not looking back at the people he called family.

Shane and Hayden reached their hotel room, and Shane zoned in on the task at hand. He knew if he thought about Ilya, he would spiral again. So he did what he knew best. Zeroing in on one task: Getting to Tampa.

He sat on the floor while Hayden was on call with Jackie, trying to figure out a way to get Shane to Ilya. His screen lit again. Mom. Shane knew he couldn’t pick up his mom’s call; if he did, he would cry again. And this time he would need his mom physically close to him, so he could cry his heart out. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Thrice. And then it stopped.

“Shane, Jackie has booked a flight for you. Quickly pack your bag, change and leave for the airport. It’s an economy ticket. That was what was available, sorry,” Hayden broke the silence.

“Hayd, do you think I care about economy right now? Thank Jackie for me, also does she have Coach Wiebe's or Wyatt’s wife's number? So they can connect me to Ilya?”

“I’ll ask. You only worry about getting to Tampa ok?”

Shane nodded and was on his feet in a matter of seconds. Shane never really unpacked his whole suitcase, so packing wasn’t going to take a lot of time. He removed his sweaty clothes and discarded them, and put on a fresh, crisp white T-shirt. In 10 minutes, Shane was packed and at the door.

“Look, Jackie was able to find Coach Wiebe’s number through the WAGs’ network. I am sending it to you, ok?”

“Thank you,” Shane replied, tears welling up in his eyes. He had Hayden and Jackie with him, but Ilya- Ilya was alone.

“Come here,” Hayden said as he engulfed Shane in a hug. Shane realised he needed that, and didn’t let go for a good five minutes. Shane realised he had been crying and had ruined Hayden’s jersey, which now had a damp spot. Shane wiped his tears.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, ok? Now go get your man, and keep sending me updates. When you board, when you land, when you reach the hospital- everything ok? And don’t worry, I’ll handle J.J and the team, and make sure nothing goes out, to the best of my abilities at least.”

“I love you, Hayden,” Shane said as he exited the room. He heard a faint ‘love you too, buddy,’ as he stepped into the elevator.

Shane sat in the cab that Hayden had already called for him and pulled up his phone gallery. He had asked Hayden to send the video to him. Shane hit play. Again. And again, and again. Shane had seen that video countless times. The lady sitting next to him on the flight had realised that something was wrong, and had silently understood when she saw Shane’s sniffles and the man on his screen. She had held Shane’s hand for the entirety of the 2.5-hour-long flight and whispered, “Everything will be fine, young man; just have faith in God; he’ll help you. And keep him safe.”

When Shane landed, he texted his Mom and Hayden both that he had landed safely and would be going to the hospital. But Shane had no idea what hospital Ilya was in; only one person knew. Coach Wiebe, who had sustained no injuries, was with the players.

He picked up his phone and called Wiebe. It was 1 a.m. And he knew it would raise suspicions. Calling him to ask about Ilya at this hour. So Shane knew he had to come clean. Wiebe wasn’t like his own coach; Ilya had told him that. No one on the Centaurs was like his own team.

“Hello?” Wiebe had picked up the phone; his voice sounded tired, like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Hi Coach Wiebe, this is Shane. Shane Hollander. The hockey player.” Shane didn’t know what else he could say.

“Shane Hollander? How? What? I am sorry; I am just a bit confused. How come you are calling me?” He sounded surprised. But Shane should have expected that. The best NHL player calling the coach of a team which barely reached the playoffs every year, in the middle of the night, when they just had an accident.

“Yes, I know you are surprised, but I am here in Tampa to meet Ilya. Ilya and I are boyfriends. Ilya wasn’t picking up my phone, and the news said there were no survivors. Then Hayden tried to call Wyatt Hayes, but he didn’t pick up either. Then Jackie somehow got a hold of your number and booked me a flight to Tampa, so here I am at the airport, and I don’t know where to go, so I decided to call you, because I really need to see him. Oh my God, is he ok? I never asked you that,” Shane was rambling.

“Shane, take a deep breath.” Wiebe’s voice was calm, even when Shane had dumped such a big confession on him. He breathed through the phone for Shane to follow along with him. Shane could see why Ilya loved his coach so much. Even when he himself was going through a bad time, he still managed to stay calm for Shane.

“Better?” He asked.

“Yes,” Shane said.

“I wouldn’t say I am not surprised; I am, but I think I can see why Ilya moved to Ottawa. It makes complete sense now, and why he is never available on off days. Ilya is at Tampa General. I am not at the hospital right now. I’ll send you Boodram’s number, and I’ll talk to him before you reach the hospital, so that he isn’t surprised when he sees you.”

“Thank you.”

“And look, Shane, Ilya is not good. He is out of imminent danger, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t sustained major injuries. Ilya’s ribs were smashed, and he had gotten stuck between the seats. Boodram and Barrett had to pull him out because the side that Ilya was sitting on was the side where the plane crashed; most of us on the other side came out unscathed. So be prepared for the worst. He's got a concussion. A bad one, but the scans look good. The doctors are keeping a close eye on him. But Shane, our boy, is a fighter. He’ll be fine, ok?” Shane flinched. He imagined Ilya lying in his own blood as Bood and Barrett pulled him out of the wreckage.

“Yes, I’ll be prepared, Coach. You please tell Bood I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” Shane said as he cut the call. Shane looked out of the cab window and wondered how that level of maturity that Wiebe had displayed came to someone. Was it with age? But his own coach was older than Wiebe, and his coach was a homophobe and racist. No, it probably came by surrounding yourself with good people. The only good people in Shane’s life were his parents, Ilya and the Pikes.

“Sir, we are about to reach the hospital in 2 minutes,” the cab driver alerted Shane, as per his request. Shane called Zane Boodram.

“Hello?” Bood’s voice was loud compared to Wiebe’s soft voice.

“Hey Bood, this is Shane. Hollander. Wiebe must have called you already.”

“Oh yes, goddamn Hollander, you bagged Rozanov? Shock of the century, you know? Like, I still can’t believe it. When Coach said, 'Hollander is coming,’ I thought he was pulling a prank, and this is no time for those, right? But then he-,” Shane cut Bood off.

“Bood, can we talk about this later and focus on Ilya, please? I need you to find me some sort of back entrance so I can walk in without the media and the public, and if you could talk to the doctors about not making a big deal out of it?”

“Sorry, it’s just YOU, you know. But yes, there’s a fire exit in the parking lot, and I’ll send Barrett to get you because I am with Dykstra right now; they are taking him for surgery, or I would have come myself. And the hospital has made the whole staff sign an NDA, so you are safe.”

“Thank you, Boodram,” Shane replied.

“Anything for Rozy,” Bood said, his tone laced with mischief, which made Shane smile.

**

As foretold by Bood, Barrett was waiting for Shane when he arrived. Barrett had taken Shane’s bags from him. Shane silently followed Barrett; the panic in his stomach was back again. Shane took slow, careful steps and focused on his breathing.

“You know, I had kind of figured it out,” Barrett said. Shane was thankful for the distraction because he felt like the hospital had the longest walk from the exit to Ilya’s room.

“Really?”

“Yes, when Roz told me he’s bisexual, I asked him about him and you, but he shut me down. I thought for a moment that he was offended, that the thought of him being in a relationship with you was horrific, but then I thought maybe not, because you both are friends. But now I have realised I was very close to the truth. I placed a bet with myself, and I won.”

“Wow, Ilya never told me about this little conversation, probably because I would have asked him to be more careful.” A heavy gloom weighed Shane down. Barrett saw Hollander turn even sadder than he had first arrived.

“It’s a good thing I never asked him for your number. I thought you were really cool and had heard you were gay. I can’t even imagine what horrific war crimes Rozanov would have done to me if I asked him to set me up with you.”

Shane laughed. Ilya would have absolutely killed Troy for that. Ilya was a possessive boyfriend and a menace to other people. Especially the ones who wanted to date Shane.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t, Troy. How big is this hospital anyway? We have been walking for 5 minutes, and we still haven’t reached his room.” Shane was desperate to see Ilya now. He couldn’t keep suppressing the agony he felt with every step he took.

“Just the end of the hallway,” Troy replied, and Shane nodded curtly.

Shane read the words above the room. Intensive Care Unit.

“Ilya is in the ICU? You didn’t think of mentioning that to me, Barrett?” Shane’s anxiety was at its peak. He didn’t wait for an answer and barged in. What he saw shattered his heart into a million pieces.

Ilya was lying completely still.

For a moment, Shane couldn’t understand what he was looking at.

There were tubes and wires everywhere. A breathing tube was secured over Ilya’s face, disappearing into his mouth, and clear tubing ran from his body to machines beside the bed. Electrodes were stuck to his chest, their wires disappearing beneath the blanket. An IV was taped to the back of his hand, and another line ran into his arm. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around his other arm, inflating and deflating every few minutes.

There was a small monitor beside his bed, showing numbers Shane didn’t understand and a green line that moved with every beat of Ilya’s heart.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Shane stared at it. Alive. The only thought his brain could process was that Ilya was alive. But he didn't look alive. This was not his Ilya.

His face was swollen, with bruises spreading across his cheek and forehead. There were small cuts near his temple and jaw, some covered with fresh dressings. His beautiful curls were matted down in places, and Shane could see dried blood near his hairline that someone had tried to clean away.

A thick bandage covered part of his chest. And then Shane saw the tube coming out from underneath it. His stomach dropped. There was a clear tube running from Ilya’s side into a collection chamber beside the bed. Shane had no idea what it was for. He didn't want to know. But he couldn't look away.

Ilya's lips were slightly parted around the breathing tube. His chest rose and fell, but not on its own. The machine beside him breathed for him, filling the room with a soft mechanical rhythm. Shane had heard Ilya breathe a thousand times. He had heard him snore. He had heard him laugh until he couldn't breathe. He had heard him curse Shane from across a room. He had heard him whisper моя любовь against his skin.

But this- this wasn't Ilya's breathing. This was a machine keeping him alive. Shane felt his legs weaken.

“Shane,” Barrett said quietly behind him. Shane didn't answer. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. He took a slow step towards the bed Ilya lay on. And then another. He wanted to scream at Ilya to wake up, because this wasn’t funny. This wasn’t like the other times that he had pranked Shane, and then laughed at him afterwards.

Shane was terrified of even touching Ilya. What if the pressure from his fingers hurt him? Would Ilya be able to recognise Shane’s touch? What if he couldn’t? That was worse somehow. No. Shane could not get stuck inside his own mind again.

He reached the bed and looked down at the man he had spent years loving.

“Ilya,” he whispered.

Nothing. Not even a twitch. Shane swallowed hard. He wanted Ilya to open his eyes and yell, “Got you,” even though he always hated it in the past. But now, he was silently begging for him to do that again.

“I’m here.” His voice broke. Barrett had left Shane’s bags near the sofa and had left to give Shane and his captain some privacy.

“I came.”

He reached for Ilya's hand, careful of the IV taped to it. His fingers closed around Ilya's. It was warm. That was enough. Shane brought his other hand to his mouth and tried to hold back the sob that rose in his throat.

“I'm here, моя любовь.”

The monitor continued its steady rhythm.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Shane lowered his head until his forehead rested gently against their joined hands.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and landed on the white blanket.

“You can't do this to me, Rozanov.”

Nothing. Shane closed his eyes. For the first time since he had heard about the crash, he allowed himself to believe the one thing he had been too afraid to believe. Ilya had survived. He was here. He was hurt, badly. But he was here. And Shane wasn't going anywhere. Shane wasn’t a religious man, but today he had prayed to every god to keep his Ilya safe.

**

Shane woke up when he heard the shuffling of feet. He didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment he had his fingers wrapped around Ilya’s, slowly taking in his condition, and the next he woke up with sunlight peeking in through the blinds. He had slept on Ilya’s arm in a weird position and his back hurt. A nurse, in her late forties, greeted him enthusiastically. Shane didn’t understand why she was so cheerful when there was nothing but dread cast upon them. He looked at the clock.

3 p.m.

Shane stared at it. He had slept for over 15 hours. Was that humanly possible? What if Ilya had woken up during that time and needed him?

“Hello, Mr Hollander. Mr Wiebe has informed us to contact you for Mr Rozanov’s further treatment procedures,” she said, a warm smile decorating her face. She was short, with dark, curly hair, tamed in a ponytail.

“Yes, thank you, but I don’t know what exactly Ilya has and how long his recovery will take. Is he very critical? I just don’t know, anything,” Shane let out a melancholic sigh.

“Mr Hollander, your boyfriend looks worse than he actually is. Most of these tubes are only for helping him recover as his body heals itself. He had difficulty breathing yesterday, which is why he was intubated and on the ventilator. But he has shown amazing progress overnight, and we are going to start removing some of these tubes. As for these tubes,” she pointed to his chest, “his broken ribs caused a lung injury, a pneumothorax, as the doctors call it. If he continues to show this level of progress, we are hoping that he will be out within 5 to 7 days,” she beamed.

Shane let out a sigh of relief. Ilya was getting better. He would be discharged within 5 to 7 days if he progressed. Shane knew he would camp in this hospital room till the end of time, if he had to, but he would take Ilya home with him. No longer a secret from their loved ones. Because Shane still had a support system and Ilya had no one. Shane knew that Ilya thought he was being sly, going around meeting all the queer people in the NHL, but deep down he was making a safe space for him and Shane to be accepted.

For the first two days, Ilya had just slept, a pained expression on his face. And Shane could do nothing but gently stroke Ilya’s hair and hold his hand. Wiebe, Bood and Barrett came in at different intervals of the day to relieve Shane of sitting by Ilya’s side and to put some food in his stomach. They had assured him several times that Shane and Ilya would be a secret amongst them, and nobody would have to know unless Shane and Ilya were ready to come out. Even though Evan Dykstra, Wyatt Hayes and Tanner Dillon, all of whom had been injured badly and were in the same hospital, had begged them to be taken to Rozanov, they were basically banned. And Shane realised how there was a stark contrast between the Voyageurs and the Centaurs. Barrett had even taken Shane on a walk the first night; they hadn’t spoken to each other. But Shane had been grateful for it.

Shane’s mom and dad had called him several times in the day, asking him how Ilya was, his progress and how Shane had been. They wanted to fly out to Tampa and be with Shane and Ilya, but Shane had refused. Having him here was a miracle in itself; he didn’t want an overcrowded room when Ilya woke up. The nurses had told him to make sure it wasn’t too noisy when Ilya woke up. It could trigger a sharp pain in the head, and they also asked him to keep the lights dimmed because too much light would put a strain on Ilya’s eyes.

So for two days, Shane sat quietly, reading his hockey book, ‘No One Wins Alone’ by Mark Messier, a former NHL champion, that he had found in the hospital cafeteria. And playing Ilya’s video on his phone to pass the time.

On the third day, while Shane was reading on the sofa, he heard a little groan; he had almost missed it. And, to his surprise, Ilya had opened his eyes. His eyelids were fluttering, and his fingers twitched. Shane immediately left his book on the sofa and dashed to Ilya’s bed.

“Shane?” he mumbled.

“I am here, Ilya, I am right here,” but before Shane could say anything, Ilya was back to his state. His eyes closed again. He could hear him breathe now that all the tubes were removed, and Ilya only had the IVs attached to his hand because he was still very weak. Shane had also found that Ilya had sustained a hairline fracture on his left arm, but the doctors had said that hairline fractures were easily recoverable.

Bood had come in later that day to sit with Shane and his captain, but mostly to make sure that Shane hadn’t gone insane, the way he had closed off everyone from them.

“You know, Hollander, when the plane was crashing, everyone was on their phones. We couldn’t call our families, but we texted them and assured each other everything would be fine. We had made a little group, but Roz never joined us. He was focused on his phone and didn’t even look at us. I thought I heard him say Shane, but it was all such a blur; I thought I was hallucinating. And when we did crash, Rozanov had the most injuries; he wasn’t out cold,” Shane winced audibly, and Bood gave him a moment.

“I am sorry; it’s just the thought of him, lying there, blood all over him, it makes me terrified of all the things that could have gone wrong,” Shane replied, and Bood nodded.

“It’s alright. Rozy looks way better now than he did at that time. I am actually glad that you didn’t have to see him in that condition; it was truly horrific. No partner should have to witness their loved ones in that condition. But you know the funny thing? He was conscious enough to whisper, ‘Shane,’ and I thought, oh my God, our captain is brain-dead. He now only knows the word plane,” Bood chuckled, and he had a way with talking because Shane remembered smiling and nodding the whole afternoon, as Bood filled the silence in the room.

In the evening, they had reduced the sedation dosage Ilya was receiving and told him that Ilya would most probably be awake tomorrow. Shane had been a little happier that night when he went to bed, which basically meant sleeping with his head on Ilya’s thigh.

Shane had just scored a goal in their game in Washington. And his team was rejoicing when suddenly all the screens in the arena displayed the horrific news that would shatter Shane’s entire world. The Centaurs were in a plane crash, and their captain, Ilya Rozanov, was dead. Shane was stunned. All the blood from his face went away; he would be sick, his vision blurred, Ilya, Ilya, Ilya, gone. Shane felt like he was responsible for Ilya’s death. He had killed him. Asking him to hide behind these giant walls Shane had created. Shane was a monster. Ilya hated Shane, and now Shane would never be able to hear his voice again. Shane sobbed, and sobbed.

A familiar warm hand caressed his head. Shane woke up groggily. His face was damp with fresh tears, and his eyes adjusted to the sunlight in the room. He had remembered closing the blinds so it wouldn’t irritate Ilya. Ilya, he thought and looked up; it was Ilya’s hand that was comforting him.

“Ilya, you are awake,” Shane beamed.

“Yes, and so are you, thought I was on too many drugs when I saw you on my bed, umm, what do they call it……. halucine?” Ilya asked. His face looked tired, but his eyes still had that mischievous glint Shane had missed these 4 days, imagining the worst possible scenarios.

“Hallucinating is what you mean. But no, I am here. I couldn’t leave you, Ilya, even if they had to burn me alive to keep me away from you. You should know that.” Shane replied confidently. Ilya studied Shane for a minute before replying.

“I know, моя любовь. You look like shit. Do they not have a bathroom here?” Shane laughed.

“You were in a plane crash. You should look at yourself,” he replied.

“Yes, but you look worse. I didn’t have the amenities that you had, like combing your hair, so you look good when your boyfriend wakes up,” Ilya winked.

“You are still an asshole,” to which Ilya blew Shane a kiss.

“Any new gossip you have, like how you got here? Didn’t you have a game in Washington?” Ilya inquired.

“I very publicly had a giant panic attack in front of all my teammates, and then basically told them that you are my boyfriend and I love you,” Shane narrated the whole incident to Ilya, while Ilya looked heartbroken and held Shane’s hand, but when Shane told Ilya about what Cormeau had asked, Ilya seethed with anger.

“How dare he talk to my boyfriend like that? I will kill him.”

“No, Ilya, it’s alright. Don’t you want to know what I told him?” Ilya nodded, and his face lit up when Shane told him. He looked like he was on cloud nine. Ilya tried to sit up but winced in pain.

“Ilya, don’t move.”

“No, Shane, come here. I want to kiss you so bad. You love me so much,” he gestured for Shane to come sit next to him.

“Ilya, were you doubting my love for you?”

“Nooo,” he grinned.

“For the record, Ilya, I choose you. You know I didn’t want to fight with you. I didn’t understand at the time why I hesitated, but now I know. I probably expected your team to be like mine: disgusted, indignant, hating me, us. But I know now why you wanted me to meet your team. Bood, Barrett and Coach Wiebe helped me stay with you all these days, and not only took care of you, but they were taking care of me too. Taking me for walks, taking me to lunch, bringing me dinner, keeping me company while we waited for you to wake up, and in return they didn’t expect anything from me- not a winning goal, or an assist, or a Stanley Cup. You always say that you are alone; the only people you have are my parents and me. But I think, Ilya, you found yourself the most wonderful family ever.”

“Extended, though,” Ilya laughed as Shane continued, “because I would like to be your only immediate family.”

Ilya had listened to every word Shane had said, and his eyes teared up.

“Is beautiful what you said. You are beautiful, and yes, we wouldn’t want Barrett and Bood living with us and walking in on us while you take me so perfectly, da?” Shane wiped Ilya’s tears.

“Come here, gimme kiss,” Ilya demanded.

“You are in the hospital,” Shane stated as a matter of fact.

“Oh, I didn’t know this was a hospital.”

“Ilya.”

“Shane.”

“You nearly died.”

“Has nothing to do with you depriving your injured boyfriend of kisses.”

Shane leaned down and pressed his lips gently against Ilya's.

It was barely a kiss. Just a soft press of their lips, careful and hesitant, as though Shane was still afraid that touching him too hard might make him disappear. Ilya's fingers curled weakly around the front of Shane's shirt, holding him there. Shane pulled back only an inch. Ilya opened his eyes and looked at him.

“Again,” he whispered.

Shane laughed softly, his forehead resting against Ilya's.

“You're unbelievable.”

“I almost died. I think I deserve two.”

“You're negotiating kisses now?”

“Yes.”

“You're still an asshole.”

“And you still love me.”

Shane smiled.

“Unfortunately.”

“That reminds me, Bood gave me your phone; it has been blowing up for the past 4 days, so many NHL stars asking about you. For one of the most hated players on the ice, you sure do have a lot of fans.”

“Of course, who wouldn’t want a piece of me?”

“Asshole.”

“You looooooove me,” Ilya teased in a sing-song voice.

“Unfortunately, I do, you idiot,” Shane mirrored Ilya’s smirk.

“I think I am ready to tell your teammates too, Ilya. They should know who their captain is sneaking off with during his off days. Maybe we could invite them for dinner after you recover?” Ilya grinned.

“Why? You don’t want them to continue thinking about my extremely hot affair with a married woman?”

“Your teammates think you are with a married woman?”

“Yes, some think that; some think I have a secret family with a girl I knocked up in my man whore era.”

“Oh my god, Ilya, and you never thought about correcting them?”

“Is ok, Shane; they will help me raise my illegitimate kid. You can help too, sometimes.”

“Ilya, you don’t even have an illegitimate kid. Wait, you don’t, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“I am a porridge now?”

“God, Ilya, I love you, but I need a break. I’ll tell Troy to come sit with you.”

“Can you give me my phone, please?” Ilya begged; his eyes looked so soft and inviting that Shane allowed him 5 minutes to reply to his texts.

Ilya opened the Centaurs group chat, and it was flooded with messages from the team asking about him, Dykstra, Hazy and Dillon. Ilya suddenly had an idea.

“You really meant what you said? About telling my team?” Ilya asked as Shane opened the door to the room, ready to leave.

“Yes, I meant it. Why?”

“Nothing, just want to tease them in the group chat,” Ilya replied.

“You really are a menace.” Shane shook his head, laughing as he left.

Harris: Troy has been secretive about making sure nobody meets Ilya.

Hazy: +1. Because I am right here in the hospital, four rooms down, and even I am not allowed.

Haas: Yes. Coach was ready to throw paws when I asked why.

Dykstra: Do you think Roz has died and they are trying to soften the blow for us or something?

Rozanov: Rude to think your Captain died, Dykstra. I am very much alive, thank you.

Haas: Oh my god, Rozy, how are you?

Rozanov: I am good here. My boyfriend is here. He loves his privacy, famous and all, you know.

Bood and Barrett entered the room a few seconds later, coffee in their hands. They took their seats on the little sofa.

“Evil,” Bood announced.

“Absolutely evil,” Barrett agreed.

“I am injured,” Ilya protested.

“You are evil while injured,” Barrett corrected.

“He is evil even when he is not injured,” Bood added.

Ilya rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face gave him away. Bood and Barrett joined Ilya as he laughed while reading everyone’s messages in the group chat.

“Do you think I should let them know?” Ilya asked earnestly.

“Is Hollander ok with them knowing?” Bood asked.

“Yes, it was Shane’s idea. But I think I want to see their reactions a little.”

“Of course, you do. I still can’t believe you and Hollander are like a thing. Who would have thought that, you know? The two biggest rivals in hockey who loathe each other actually love each other. Plot twist of the century.” Bood exclaimed.

“Barrett, remove that smirk off your face, or I’ll punch your pretty face. Then that coffee won’t help you land a partner.”

Barrett roared with laughter. “I was so right, Roz, you know that. For a minute there, I really thought you hated Hollander so much you were disgusted by the mere thought of you two being in a relationship.”

“Wait, what coffee, what partner?” Bood then looked accusingly at Troy. “You fucking asshole, you knew all this time? And didn’t even think about mentioning it to me?”

Ilya replied at the same time Troy did. “Secret.”

Bood nodded, but still stared at Barrett like they would continue this conversation later. Just then Shane came back from his walk, a can of ginger ale in his hand.

“Hello, boys,” he greeted the two hockey players, whose company he had started to really enjoy.

“How do you even tolerate him?” Bood asked.

“I am a ray of sunshine,” Ilya commented.

“More like a pain in the ass, but I have to make do with him, you know, it’s tough finding people out there, so I just picked the first one I came across.” Shane had meant it as an insult, but the way Ilya was looking at him with adoration, he smiled.

“As if you didn’t cheat on me with Rose Landry,” Ilya jabbed back.

Bood and Barrett looked at them; they looked disgustingly in love. Their eyes softened for each other, and there was a tinge of red that had developed on Shane’s face. Both of them wondered how these two had kept such a big secret for so long.

“How long?” Bood asked.

“What?” Shane said as he looked away from Ilya. It looked like it pained him to tear his eyes away from Ilya.

“You said the first man you met?”

“Oh, since rookie season,” Shane said sincerely.

Bood and Barrett were stunned. Like someone had stolen their entire inheritance from them.

“No, summer before,” Ilya cut Shane off. And Shane smiled.

“Whoa,” Bood said.

“You done with your phone? You aren’t allowed to use it, you know?” Ilya and Shane had started talking about something again, and Bood and Barrett took this as a sign to leave.

Ilya picked up his phone again. There were 200 new messages on the group chat. He ignored all of them.

Rozanov: Team meeting tomorrow @2pm in my room.

Ilya gave his phone to Shane, who had settled back into his book, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted from all the talking he had done that day. Tomorrow was going to be fun. But first, he had to find a way to get Shane out of the room while he gathered his entire team.

The next day, Ilya woke up bright and early, with a new sense of purpose. To introduce his team to his boyfriend, his Shane. Shane would no longer be a well-kept secret from them. No more hiding, no more excuses for missing the team parties. Shane had woken up a little late, and Ilya had watched him sleep on the couch, how his hair fell on his face when he slept, how his freckles looked so adorable, and Ilya wanted to trace his fingers over them. Shane’s breathing was slow, quiet in the morning.

Ilya remembered how Shane had woken yesterday. He was crying in his sleep, and Ilya had gently stroked his hair to make sure Shane didn’t feel alone in whatever horrible nightmare he was having. Shane had looked broken when he had eventually woken up, but he didn’t talk about his nightmare. Last night, when Shane thought Ilya had fallen asleep, Shane told a sleeping Ilya that he dreamed of Ilya dying in the middle of his game, and how agonising his pain was, not being able to cry, to tell people that it was his boyfriend who had passed away, how Shane had thought he was a monster. Shane’s fault was that Ilya needed a therapist because of Shane, or at least that’s what Shane thought, but it wasn’t true. Ilya hadn’t missed how Shane had cried himself to sleep, which had made him cry as well.

“Good morning, Ilya. How do you feel?” Shane asked him as he folded his sheets and kept them neatly stacked in a duffel bag he had brought along with him.

“Good. Did you sleep well?” Ilya asked Shane.

“Yes, went to bed a little while after you slept, but these couches leave me sore,” he replied. ‘Liar’, Ilya thought.

“You only like it when I make you sore, don’t you?” Ilya wiggled his eyebrows. Shane rolled his eyes.

“I’ll shower, and then we’ll have breakfast together ok?”

“I already had breakfast, sorry,” Ilya replied.

“But your breakfast doesn’t come till 10:30,” Shane said, then proceeded to look at the time on his phone. “Oh my god, Ilya, why didn’t you wake me up? It’s 11:15; I overslept again.”

“You looked peaceful. I like watching you sleep,” Ilya said.

“Pervert,” Shane huffed.

“Only for you,” Ilya winked. Shane disappeared into the bathroom and came out half an hour later wearing his favourite blue shirt. Ilya called it the ‘Shane serious discussion’ shirt.

“You are wearing the blue shirt today,” Ilya pointed out.

“Yes, I didn’t do laundry, and Coach Wiebe had told me yesterday he was going to come over today, so I thought I’d dress nicely.”

“Why? You like Coach now? Are you leaving me for Coach? Is that why he’s coming? To introduce his boyfriend to me?” Ilya snickered.

“Ilya, you are very annoying, you know. Wiebe is a nice man, but my type is assholes like you, and he’s married, or I would have locked him down. Barrett is handsome too; maybe he’s a better fit for me. Wasn’t he an asshole earlier? We’d look good together too,” Shane mocked him.

“Shane, you hurt me; am I not enough? Handsome, charming, Russian, best NHL player, and Yuna Hollander’s favourite son,” Ilya smirked.

“Oh, you are neither the best NHL player nor my mom’s favourite son.”

“I spoke to her in the morning, and she assured me that I will always be her favourite son.”

“Mom called?”

“Yes, she was very mad. You didn’t call her yesterday to tell her that her favourite son was alive and well and could talk now.”

“Shit, I totally forgot. I’ll call her now.”

“No, she said she’s busy till 1:50. Call her at 1:50.”

“That’s an odd time to call someone, or expect a call from someone. Ilya, are you up to something?”

“No, my love, what have I ever done to put you in distress?”

“I have a list.”

Shane had breakfast shortly after; he complained the entire time about how terrible the hospital food is. And then Ilya and he sat with each other and spoke about random things, like they always have. Shane then remembered that he had totally forgotten to post Rose’s post on his Instagram story. And then he quickly posted it. Five days late. But Rose would understand. She had already texted Shane several times while Ilya had been unconscious. And eventually, they talked about the impending doom of Ilya’s Instagram texts.

“They were meant as your last words,” Shane had said, to which Ilya had just nodded.

“I wanted them to mean something, to let you know exactly how I felt about you, if I never had another chance, you know, because it’s not like I could call you.”

“I am sorry. I wish you didn’t have to go through that moment. I wish it never happened. God, I would have been a mess if anything happened to you. I don’t know if I can ever live in a world without you. I thought you were saying goodbye to me.”

“I was trying to make sure you knew I loved you. That is not the same as saying goodbye.”

**

“What are you reading?”

“Messier.”

“Again?”

“It’s a good book.”

“You are reading about hockey while sitting beside your injured boyfriend.”

“You are the injured boyfriend who spent twenty minutes explaining to me why your goal against Kent in 2016 was better than mine.”

“Because it was.”

“It wasn't.”

“You are delirious.”

“I have a concussion.”

“Exactly.”

Ilya looked at the time. It was 1:45. His teammates would come up in 15 minutes. He needed to throw Shane out of this room. The nurse Shane and Ilya both loved had just entered the room too. Ilya knew exactly the kind of errand he would send Shane on.

“Shane?”

“Yes, Ilya?”

“Can you get me some tuna melt sandwiches, please?“

“Ilya, I don’t think you are allowed to eat outside food.”

“Please, I am very injured, and I have a craving. It’s your moral obligation to keep your injured boyfriend happy.”

Shane looked deep in thought, pondering over his request. He then looked at the nurse and decided to ask her if Ilya could really eat it.

“Hey, Marge, is it ok for Ilya to eat a tuna melt sandwich?”

“But, for breakfast -,” she stopped midway to look at Ilya, who was frantically shaking his head and giving a thumbs up.

“Yes, he can have a sandwich,” she said, and Shane agreed to go buy him a sandwich.

“Shane. Don’t forget to call Yuna while you are out there,” Ilya said, smiling.

“I know you are up to something; I just don’t know what yet.” Saying that, Shane left the room. Marge raised her eyebrows, looking at Ilya for an explanation.

“You already had a tuna melt for breakfast; it was your special request.”

“Yes, but I have a surprise for him, and he had to leave the room for that to come in.”

“Oh, young love,” and she left too.

At exactly 2 p.m., Harris and Troy walked in together, excited to meet Ilya’s boyfriend, but were disappointed to find nobody else in the room.

“Ilya? How are you?”

“I am good. Great, even. Just a little weak, but they think I can go home tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Ilya, so where’s—”

Harris was cut off by Wyatt, Evan, Luca, Bood and Dillon, who all entered the room together. Given that Wyatt, Evan and Dillon had been injured, they were offered seats on the sofa. Dykstra had been cleared to leave his room for a little while, despite the nurses’ protests.

“Roz, you okay?” Wyatt asked.

“He’s okay because his boyfriend is here,” Harris jumped in.

Ilya just grinned.

“Where is he, then?” Luca asked.

“Is here. Sent him on a little errand.”

“Sent who on an errand?” Coach Wiebe asked as he entered the room with the rest of the team: Boyle, Holmberg, LaPointe and Young.

The room, which had seemed spacious when it was empty, now looked tiny with all the buff hockey players crammed inside. The only empty place was the chair beside Ilya, where Shane’s jacket was still hanging. Nobody dared to sit there after Ilya glared at Luca when he approached. Luca immediately put his hands up in surrender and backed away, choosing to lean against the wall instead.

“Yes, welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. Today’s agenda is the next match we have to play. As you already know—”

“Fuck off, Rozy.” Dykstra was surprised that Rozanov could still be annoying even after a life-altering experience.

“What? Is true. We have to discuss strategy.” Ilya smiled innocently.

“You know, you didn’t need me to discuss strategy,” Harris said.

“Ilya, stop being a jerk. The kids are impatiently waiting to meet your famous boyfriend,” Coach Wiebe cut in, trying to make sure Ilya didn't get beaten up.

“How famous is he, anyway?” Luca asked.

“Is he an actor? That’s why you had to hide it?” LaPointe wondered.

“Or he could be in the government. Or a prince?” Everyone looked at Harris, amusement dancing in their eyes.

“What? You guys don’t know about Prince Henry and Alex?”

Everyone shook their heads.

Harris sighed. “Roz, you are enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Is fun. I almost died; I deserve this.”

The room door opened once again.

Shane stood there with a tuna melt sandwich in one hand and a bouquet in the other. He was busy texting someone on his phone and didn't notice that everyone in the room was staring at him with their jaws practically on the floor.

“What is Hollander doing here?” Young, the rookie, whispered.

“It’s Shane Hollander.”

“Thank you for enlightening us, Wyatt. We never would have guessed.”

“Anywho, hi. I am Harris Drover. I’m the social media head of the Centaurs.”

Harris approached Shane and shook his hand.

“I’m Shane.”

“We know,” the rookies collectively replied, far too excited to have the best NHL player in the same room as them.

Shane finally looked at Ilya.

Ilya had a grin like a Cheshire cat plastered across his face.

“Ilya.”

“Yes, Shane?”

“Should I come back later?”

“Who said anything about that?” Ilya's eyes dropped to the bouquet. “Are those flowers for me?”

“Yes. I saw them. The hospital has a florist as well, and I thought you’d really like them. They’re your favourite, sunflowers.”

Everyone stared back and forth between them, utterly confused by the interaction. How were Hollander and Rozanov suddenly so close? And why weren't they fighting? They had never seen them be polite to each other.

“Aren’t flowers for dead people, Hollander? Do you want me dead?”

“Fuck off, Rozanov. You said I could come visit you today, and you are having a whole team meeting here.”

Ilya caught the gleam in Shane’s eyes and knew he was going to enjoy his team’s reaction.

“You are not the only one he promised things to, Hollander.” Dykstra leaned forward. “He promised us a boyfriend we could meet.”

Everyone watched as Shane sat down on the chair beside Ilya. Ilya didn't even bat an eye.

Luca gasped. “You let him sit?”

Harris nodded, while Bood, Barrett and Coach Wiebe remained extremely quiet, enjoying the show. Their faces looked brighter than they had when Shane first arrived in Tampa. The panic and worry that had been etched across their faces was gone.

“I didn’t promise shit. That was all you.”

“Are we ignoring the fact that you let him sit there but glared daggers at me?” Luca brought it back.

Ilya could see that Shane was enjoying this too. He probably never got this kind of banter around the Voyageurs.

“Are we ignoring the elephant in the room that Shane Hollander is here? Why are we not lingering on that?” Harris asked.

Barrett chuckled. If looks could kill, Ilya knew Barrett would be dead by now.

“Wait. Bood, Barrett and Coach know. Why aren’t we asking them?” Wyatt suggested.

“Because we don’t want to be subjected to Ilya’s wrath,” Bood answered on their behalf.

Barrett and Coach nodded. Shane took out a plate and handed the tuna melt sandwich to Ilya. Ilya looked at him with such open adoration that it made everyone even more confused. Ilya Rozanov, the killer goal machine whose only aim in life seemed to be getting under Shane Hollander’s skin, was being cordial.

“Your team meetings are fun,” Shane chipped in.

“Is because they have a wonderful captain.”

“No, you aren’t shit.”

“I almost died.”

“You can’t play that card to extort whatever you want. And why have you messed up your blanket? Were you hooking up even with a serious injury?”

Shane straightened Ilya’s blanket and made sure to cover him completely. Ilya looked at him with so much love it was disgusting.

“I couldn’t hook up with him. He was out calling his mom. How is your mom, Shane?” Nobody said a word. Shane stared at him.

“Shut up and eat, Ilya.”

Ilya nodded and quietly finished his sandwich. It was Shane and Ilya’s world, and everyone else was just too stunned by the interaction to react to it.

“Uhm.” Wyatt cleared his throat, trying to bring everyone's attention back to him. “So, Hollander, when did you get here?”

“You can call him Shane. Hollander is too hockey-coded. We are in the hospital,” Ilya interrupted.

“You can call me whatever, Wyatt. Don’t listen to him. And I got here the night of your accident.”

“But that was almost five days ago. You’ve been here since then?” Harris asked.

“It’s like you are dating Ilya instead of Ilya’s actual boyfriend, who is nowhere to be seen,” Dykstra said.

“I can’t believe my team is this dumb,” Coach Wiebe muttered.

“I think we are all thinking it, but it’s way too chimerical to actually happen,” Luca offered.

“Chimer-what?” Ilya asked.

“Like a unicorn existing,” Shane explained.

“Oh, but Ruby has a unicorn. No? She showed me.” Ilya said.

“It was a pony with a fake horn Hayden made for her.”

“Hayden duped his own child. That man is vile, Shane. You shouldn’t trust him.”

“You know Hayden Pike’s daughter?” Wyatt asked.

“Yes. I babysit his kids with Shane sometimes.”

“You babysit with Hollander?” Young asked.

“Yes?”

The room went silent. Harris looked at Shane. Then at Ilya. Then back at Shane. And then at Barrett. The glint in Barrett’s eyes almost confirmed it for him. But he had to be sure.

“Wait.”

“What?” Ilya asked.

“You know his mother.”

Ilya frowned. “Yes?”

“You know Hayden's kids.”

“Yes?”

“You brought him flowers.”

“They're his favourite,” Shane answered.

Harris slowly turned towards Ilya.

“You let him sit in your chair.”

Ilya shrugged. “It's a chair.”

“You glared at Luca when he tried to sit there!”

“He is not Shane.”

Silence.

“Oh, my God.”

Harris slapped a hand over his mouth.

“No fucking way.”

Ilya looked around the room, completely unbothered. His team looked confused, trying to see where Harris was going with this.

“What?”

“Hollander is your boyfriend.”

Shane blinked.

Ilya grinned.

“Finally. You are probably the smartest in this team, Harris. I will get you a ‘you figured it out’ gift.”

Shane shook his head at Ilya’s antics. Ilya was the most dramatic person he had ever met, and then went on to date him.

“Isn’t Harris the one-” Shane started.

“Yes,” Ilya answered. Shane nodded.

“Isn’t Harris what?” Harris asked.

“Nothing,” Ilya and Shane said together.

“HOW LONG?” Dykstra shouted, at the same time Wyatt asked. “Since when?”

“Rookie season,” Ilya answered.

“Summer before,” Shane said, to which Ilya looked at him with a quiet, unguarded warmth settling into his eyes before he looked away.

“Almost thirteen years ago? Oh my god, I need to sit,” Harris said as he slid down to the floor. And sat cross-legged. Troy joined him as well.

“So, you were dating during all those games? But you hate each other,” Luca stated.

“No, actually, we love each other,” Shane replied to him.

“But the rivalry, and the league? Do they know?”

“Well, doesn’t mean Shane and I don’t hate each other on the ice. We still do. Shane is my only worthy competition. The league doesn’t know, and this secret doesn’t leave this room. Capisce?” Ilya said, going into his stoic captain mode. Everyone nodded.

“Yeah, someone needs to be there to keep Ilya grounded. He thinks he’s fast, but I am faster,” Shane said.

“Oh, I’ll get you at the All-Star Skills Competition, just you wait.”

“You are already wounded; maybe sit this one out.”

“So, you can win with no competition whatsoever, Hollander? Not letting that happen.”

“So, does your family know?” Harris asked.

“My parents know, and I came to my team the day your plane crashed; it wasn’t half as entertaining as this, though.”

“Is because your team is homophobic, and mine is not.”

“That’s true,” Shane sighed. Ilya held Shane’s hand, and Shane smiled gratefully.

“Shane, you can join us for our team outings; they are super fun. And we don’t discriminate between the best NHL team and your team,” Dykstra said.

Shane laughed and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Who knew first?” Luca asked meekly. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Me. And that’s all you are getting,” Ilya said.

“Who made the first move?” Barrett asked.

“I organised an ad campaign to shoot with him. It was my idea to include Shane in it.”

“No, I did. I approached you at The International Prospects Cup.”

“No, you didn’t do shit. It was me.”

“You literally texted I have loved you since the first time I saw you. To organise the campaign, you would have to know that I existed. And how did you know that? Because I approached you.”

“I was dying. I wasn’t thinking straight. High on adrenaline.”

“No, we both know you are an asshole.”

“Do you want me to tell everyone how I approached you in the showers? What I had to do to get you to look at me?”

“Rozanov, I swear to god, you are testing my patience right now. Keep your mouth shut.”

“Ok, if you are so worked up, I’ll let you take this one.”

“What do you mean, take this one? I win fair and square; what do you guys think?” Shane addressed the Centaurs.

The room was speechless. Their eyes were wide with shock. They had seen Hollander and Rozanov argue, but it was always about goals, never about something so domestic, like who approached the other one.

“I think Shane wins that one; you’d have to know him to take it forward in any direction, Ilya,” Coach Wiebe said.

Ilya huffed and puffed like a child, and everyone laughed. Shane looked around the room.

Four days ago, he had been sitting beside Ilya, wondering if the man he loved would even wake up. He had been terrified of a world without him, terrified of what would happen if people knew, terrified that choosing Ilya meant losing everything else.

But here they were.

Bood was arguing with Dykstra about something neither of them could remember, Luca was still trying to process the fact that his captain had been secretly dating Shane Hollander for almost thirteen years, and Harris was already demanding answers about their first date. Barrett was laughing, while Coach Wiebe watched the chaos with the quiet amusement of a man who had known this was coming.

And Ilya was beside him, holding his hand. Shane looked down at their joined hands and smiled.

Maybe the future wouldn't always be easy. There would be questions, headlines, people who wouldn't understand, and challenges they couldn't predict. But for the first time, Shane wasn't afraid of them.

Because he had Ilya. And now, they had a family. A real one. A messy, loud, ridiculous family that had chosen them without asking for anything in return.

Shane squeezed Ilya's hand. Ilya looked at him, his eyes softening.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Shane smiled.

“I just think we'll be okay.”

Ilya's fingers tightened around his.

“We will be more than okay, моя любовь.”

And for the first time, Shane believed him. Whatever came next, they would face it together. No more hiding. No more running. Just them.

Together.